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thorin-apologist · 11 months

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the big debut

sooo ive been writing this bagginshield fic on and off for the past 2.5 years, it isnt quite finished but im going to start editing and posting chapters very soon (expect month long hiatuses because im terrible) but i just wanna get it out there!!! so heres the prologue, which will be posted to ao3 along with chapter 1 whenever i finish editing it. if so much as one person likes this shit im gonna be spurred on to work faster. ANYWAYS heres the prologue under the cut!! (approx 2.7k words, no TW just slight angst)

Prologue

“You’d think I asked my cousins to die and leave behind a parentless child,” Bilbo said bitterly to Balin. He was getting quite sick of Thorin Oakenshield hastily leaving any room Bilbo walked into. In this instance, it was one of Erebor’s libraries.

“He doesn’t resent your decision to leave us,” said Balin as he led Bilbo to the section of books written in Westron. “In fact, I think he’s more ashamed of how upset he is – he thinks it is you, and only you, who should be allowed to grieve at this time.”

“Sounds ridiculous enough, so you’re probably right.” Thorin’s strange, stubborn ways never failed to exasperate Bilbo, even after one and a half years of knowing him. “So, is he just going to hide from me until I’m gone?”

“I’ll talk some sense into him, laddie.”

Bilbo perused the shelves with Balin at his side, flicking through books and handing Balin the ones that caught his eye. Although he had to force himself to skip over the thick, heavy, leatherbound volumes, he was determined to take as much of the Lonely Mountain he could carry back to the Shire with him, regarding all his chosen books and keepsakes as his real fourteenth share.

On the 22nd of September, just days ago, Gandalf had stopped by the Lonely Mountain to wish Bilbo a happy birthday - though of course, this was not his sole motive for coming. He joined the dwarven birthday celebrations, eating and drinking and singing with them all through the night, waiting until Bilbo’s merry mood began to dissipate with exhaustion before taking him aside and extinguishing any residual cheer left in him.

“I am sorry that I must dampen your spirits on a day of celebration, but there will be no right moment fit for this news and it’s best that I get it over with sooner rather than later.” Gandalf paused, waiting for the sleepy smile to slide off Bilbo’s face. “Upon my last visit to the Shire, I learned the news that your cousin Drogo and his wife Primula had drowned in a boating accident not long before my arrival. This was mere months after their son Frodo was born. He was taken in by the Brandybucks and will live at Brandy Hall indefinitely.” Gandalf fell silent again, but not for nearly as long as Bilbo needed to process the blow from this information. Gandalf’s next words echoed from far away: “Today is his first birthday - he shares the day with you. He would have a better life at Bag End…”

Bilbo had viewed the Shire as something he would ultimately return to when it pulled hard enough at his heart, but until that moment came, it wouldn’t hurt to stay in Erebor a little longer. However, a month had turned into two months, and two into three, and three into ten, and still he had not felt compelled to leave. It was only at this horrible news that he realised that life went on without him there - hadn’t stopped in his absence, waiting patiently for him to return at his leisure. In the end, it was the grief of losing two dear relatives, the thought of the orphaned boy, and the guilt of completely missing something so important that prompted his journey back to the Shire.

Balin must’ve done as he’d promised and given Thorin a talking to, because he finally came out of hiding and approached Bilbo just before his official send-off the next day. It was dawn, so the Lonely Mountain’s vast foyer was empty apart from him and Thorin. They faced each other in dim light by the towering entrance gates, Bilbo with an armful of books that Thorin narrowed his eyes at.

“Haven’t you outgrown burglary, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo smiled at Thorin’s folded arms, knowing he was not in any real trouble. “Maybe not. Why, going to banish me for it?”

Thorin laughed softly and dropped the stern façade. “Take whatever you desire. Erebor is forever indebted to you.”

Bilbo’s bare feet shuffled sheepishly on the smooth stone floor. He always felt awkward whenever anyone acknowledged his part in reclaiming Erebor. His actions had led to victory, but also to devastation for so many people, and the latter was what he remembered whenever it was brought up. He tried to push it from his mind, not wanting to dwell on it during his last moments inside this place. “Don’t tempt me, I might take something expensive.”

Thorin asked questions about Bilbo’s route home, whether Gandalf would accompany him for the whole journey, and if he had enough food and supplies to last them both. None of these things warranted a private conversation before the rest of the company came down, but Bilbo was glad for it to be this way.

Despite his close friendship with Thorin, they had rarely been alone together over these past ten months. Thorin was either out on regular visits to Dale and Lake Town, overseeing Erebor’s reconstruction, or being forced to sit down and look over what Bilbo liked to call ‘kingly paperwork’, which mainly consisted of reviewing outdated laws and renewing old trade agreements. Thorin worked hard, but for all his work, Bilbo knew that his gold-sick mistakes still plagued him. In any case, it was in Thorin’s nature to be among his people, joining in the grunt work instead of lounging on a throne and ordering others around. Bilbo enjoyed helping with the paperwork when he could, usually accompanied by Balin and sometimes Dain Ironfoot – Thorin’s most trusted royal advisors. On many occasions, Bilbo was invited to dine in the King’s private hall, meant only for royalty and any desired guests. This party usually consisted of Thorin, Fili and Kili, their mother Dis, and often Dwalin, Balin, and Dain. Bilbo would’ve liked to have seen Thorin outside of these settings, but this was virtually impossible. Now that he was leaving however, he knew he would cherish all the time he got to spend with Thorin’s family and the rest of the company.

The small talk drew to a natural close and a short silence fell. Thorin broke it.

“Do you have any intention of returning?” Thorin said it casually enough but refused to meet Bilbo’s eye. A book began to slip from under Bilbo’s arm. He caught it and wedged it back into place. Thorin added, “It will be a sore loss for Erebor’s counsel.”

“Balin will keep you right,” said Bilbo, stalling as he thought of how best to respond to the original question. “I would hate to never return. I hate that I’m leaving now.”

Thorin brightened. “So, you will come back? When you are able, I mean.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to avoid Thorin’s eye. “It’s not that simple. It was irresponsible of me to stay so long. Really it was irresponsible to come in the first place.” Thorin nodded, his eyebrows sinking back down. “Not that I regret it,” said Bilbo quickly, “No, not at all. But I have family; obligations…” Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek. “And I have already let them down by not being there. The funeral would’ve been months ago. And the boy, he needs—”

“Yes, of course. I know,” said Thorin gently, quelling Bilbo’s anxious rambling. “I know you must go back to your family. It was selfish of me to hope for anything else.”

On the contrary, it warmed Bilbo to know that Thorin Oakenshield wanted him to stay. A bolder Bilbo might’ve made it known to Thorin that he felt equally selfish, and that if Thorin elaborated on what he hoped, it might just persuade him to abandon his plans. But this conversation was already looking to become uncomfortable. Bilbo needed easy, clean goodbyes today.

Luckily, it was at that moment that the chattering of Fili and Kili began to echo into the foyer. They soon emerged from a connected hallway, accompanied by Dis, whom Bilbo had come to like very much. She had silver-streaked dark hair and a strong nose, like her brother Thorin, but she shared the same kind brown eyes as Kili. However, her beard was by far the most impressive of all her family; tamed, glossy, and styled in intricate braids.

“Knew he’d be the first one down. Thorin! Changed his mind yet?” Fili called as they all approached. Thorin rolled his eyes.

As soon as they came to the place Bilbo stood, Fili and Kili pulled him into a group hug, making him drop most of his books. Bilbo decided drop the rest so that he could reach up and put an arm around each of their shoulders.

These two had come especially close to death during last year’s war, as had Thorin. In the recovery tents as the battle died away, Bilbo sat at their bedsides with Dis, who had been a part of the army from the Iron Hills but had not managed to get to her family during the fight. During this time, she had opened up to Bilbo, telling him stories about Fili and Kili as children, and some surprising tales about Thorin in his youth. Bilbo learned about Frerin, her and Thorin’s brother who had been killed in battle before he could come of age, and of Dis’ late husband, who had died alongside him. It was then that Bilbo realised that her sons and Thorin were the only family she had left, and how close she had come to losing everything.

“Tauriel sends her love,” said Kili as he and Fili broke away, “she and Legolas are working on repealing the Elvenkingdom’s law against marriage between dwarves and elves. You might run into them in Mirkwood, actually – if they don’t end up banished again.”

“If I come past the Elvenking’s Halls, I’m marching inside and giving Thranduil a piece of my mind on the matter,” said Bilbo.

Dis stepped forward, smiling at him. “You are sweet, Bilbo,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It has been a joy to have you here. Our family will never forget what you have done for us.” Fili and Kili nodded in agreement.

“It has been an honour to be allowed to stay here for so long,” said Bilbo graciously, choosing again to ignore the uncomfortable latter statement.

“Don’t be silly, I am reluctantly allowing you to leave us,” she said. Bilbo smiled.

Dwalin and Balin came down next. Bilbo pretended not to notice Balin’s overly wet eyes, not wanting to copy them. Next came Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. It had been Bofur whom Bilbo had ended up spending the most time around during his stay, as he was simply wonderful to be around; always finding ways to make Bilbo laugh after such a dark time. He gripped Bofur especially hard when they hugged, receiving hearty pats on the back in return.

Oin and Gloin soon joined the throng, and finally Ori, Dori, and Nori. Now that everyone was there, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Dwalin and Dori headed over to either side of the gates and hauled the chains that opened them. The gates slowly parted outwards, revealing the bare grounds stretched out before the Mountain. The only things that had been added since the battle were some hastily built pens and huts dotted here and there. Mist obscured the horizon and muted the low-hanging sun’s rays.

Just outside the gates, Gandalf was standing by a cart attached to two horses and laden with all of Bilbo’s things. Bilbo and the company walked forwards into the chilly autumn morning. He reached the cart and loaded the last of his books. Gandalf looked down his long, crooked nose at him with sympathy in his eyes. Without saying anything, Gandalf gently patted Bilbo on the shoulder and boarded the cart. Bilbo turned around to face the fourteen dwarves, who were already huddling around him. They all took it in turns to embrace him (with some coming back for seconds), wishing him good luck and a safe journey.

When it was Thorin’s turn, he murmured in Bilbo’s ear as he held him, “Please write.” Bilbo nodded into the thick furs of Thorin’s cloak. They came apart for a moment. Then, to Bilbo’s shock, Thorin brushed his forehead against Bilbo’s. It was brief, but unmistakeable.

He heard a murmur from the group and hid his face as he climbed into the cart. Bilbo had been around dwarves long enough to know the gravity of that gesture. Bilbo valiantly tried to maintain his composure as he faced his dwarves for the last time.

“I will visit, if I can,” said Bilbo to the group, though he was looking at Thorin. Maybe it wasn’t as impossible as he had been telling himself; he might be able to find a babysitter once Frodo was old enough. Another impulse of irresponsibility might attack him again, and he could find himself running out the door without a handkerchief or a second thought. He would have to try a bit harder to fight these impulses now that he would have a child to look after. But if the last year and a half had taught Bilbo anything, it was that he could never be certain of what he might do next.

“You’d better,” Dwalin growled, and many of the others agreed in mutters.

“And likewise,” said Bilbo, his voice dangerously close to breaking, “you are all welcome at Bag End. Anytime.” As soon as you can, as often as you like, as many of you as Bag End can fit.

Gandalf took the reins and started the horses, guiding the cart away from the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo tried to keep his gaze on the dwarves, trying to burn their faces into his memory as they shrank away from him, but found that his eyes began to well. So, he twisted back around in his seat and faced the road ahead.

As soon as all the formalities regarding Frodo's adoption were dealt with, he had written a letter to Thorin, recounting his journey home, and greatly emphasising that he would love for them to meet again soon. The local postman would've surely fainted if Bilbo handed him a letter addressed to Erebor, so Bilbo entrusted his letter to Gandalf, who claimed he would be flitting to and from the East and West on ‘business,’ and would make sure it was delivered in good time.

Months later, Gandalf returned with Thorin's strangely formal response; that he would like nothing more, but he had to prioritise his duties as king and the ongoing restoration of Erebor. Bilbo understood of course - he had his own duties, what with being something of a parent, to be getting on with. Instead, he kept Thorin up to date with lengthy letters containing details of his contrastingly quiet life in the Shire, and many questions about the wellbeing of the other dwarves and what life as King under the Mountain was like. Sometimes he asked for advice on bringing up his nephew, as he knew Thorin had experience with Fili and Kili.

Bilbo wished for the same level of enthusiasm and detail in Thorin's replies but did not get it. In fact, each letter Bilbo received became shorter and more impassive than the last. Each time, Thorin found excuses to turn down Bilbo's (now somewhat persistent) attempts to reunite, whether it be in Erebor or Hobbiton. Bilbo couldn't fathom why this was. Thorin had earnestly requested that Bilbo write to him. Surely, he was not so busy that he couldn't write more than a few sentences. And if he was, why couldn't he get one of the others to write for him? After four years of this, Bilbo grew tired of how one-sided their friendship had become, and let frustration get the better of him. Halfway through a letter wishing Thorin a happy 200th birthday, he switched his tone and stated that Thorin need not reply if he no longer had the time of day for him.

Six more years passed, and he had not received another letter.

*****

aaaand because theres absolutely no way you could guess whats actually gonna happen in this fic just from the prologue, here’s a cheeky synopsis!

After years of lost contact, Thorin turns up on Bilbo’s doorstep with an awkward greeting and a dire warning. Upon learning about Gandalf’s uncharacteristically sinister plans regarding the ring, the hobbit and the dwarf king decide to take matters into their own hands. But are their hands the safest ones to carry the ring? (Spoiler: absolutely not).

#hope this at least intrigues someone lmao #if ive used a word/punctuation wrong PLEASE let me know i havent gone to school in 3 years #my fic #bagginshield #the hobbit #lotr

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years

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@missusnora I hope you like this.

Pairing: Éomer x fem reader.

Themes: Some angst | soft | fluff | smut | Slow burn

Warnings: Explicit content of a sexual nature | minors DNI

Word count: 3137 words

The toddler giggled on her father’s lap, runny nose and all. You give her a soft wafer and hand over a bottle to her father. “Make sure she takes a small spoonful of this, once in the morning, once just before bed, and she’ll be as right as rain in a couple of days.”

The farmer took the bottle and stored it away carefully in his bag. “I’ll make sure Livitha takes it. Good evening to you, miss.” In one swift move, he lifted his daughter into his arms and walked off.

And you collapsed into a nearby chair as soon as the door closed behind him. The last patient of the day, from Rohan anyway.

Six months. You had been here six months after accidentally walking through a portal in your world, and ending up in this one. A slip-up, the wizard Gandalf had said, after one of his students, a novice Maia, experimented a tad too much with a spell. They had been working around the clock to try and open the portal again, for you to go back home, to your place and time. Alas, it had been unsuccessful so far.

The door opened, and you sighed. “Another patient, captain Gerold?”

“No. Just me.”

"Your grace!" The smile that lit your face came unbidden. “Finally! Someone that does not need poking and prodding!”

Éomer was leaning against the door post, watching you. “Tired, y/n?”

“Uggghh!” You sink even deeper into your chair and invite him to join you. “If only you knew.”

He grinned and made his way over to a counter, picking up a goblet and a pitcher of water. “If you need a break, you need only ask.”

“Ooooh!” You clapped your hands and sat up immediately. A little holiday was just what you needed. “A vacation? Can I have one?” When he brought over a goblet of cool water for you, you thank him. “The mountains maybe? No! A sunny beach, with lots of drinks that come in fancy glasses with tiny umbrellas in them!”

Éomer arched an eyebrow. In the beginning, he would have been confused with words such as vacation and umbrella, but after six months of listening to you talk of your world, they made sense to him now. “I doubt very much you will find drinks in fancy glasses with umbrellas,” He held his thumb and index finger as close as possible to each other. “This big. And the nearest beach is almost four weeks by carriage.”

He fought back a chuckle when you choked and coughed out your water. Three to four weeks in a carriage, no matter how comfortable, would be a trial for the will. And your will was in no mood to be cooped up in a carriage, days at a time. “You know what,” You looked around for a cloth to clean up the mess you made, and Éomer was more than happy to toss a handkerchief he had to you. “I changed my mind. No. No beaches for me.”

“Just so.” Éomer grew pensive and sighed. He had just received a letter from Gandalf. He was sure it was about your journey home, and if he was honest with himself, Éomer didn’t want you to go back. After the initial shock of you literally falling on top of him that day when you walked through that portal, he had grown to enjoy your company. He found excuses to spend time with you, even rearranging his kingly duties to allow it. His sister had noticed and insisted he speak his feelings before you left. Éomer always shied away, fearful of saying the wrong thing and complicating everything. In his own words, fighting and king-ing were easy. Matters of the heart, on the other hand, were not.

His mind went back to the letter. His feelings aside, he didn’t want to keep any news from you. “Here.” He handed over the letter he was holding. “This came for you, from Gandalf. I think they may have found a way to get you home.”

The letter felt unwelcome in your hands. You find yourself not wanting to hear possible good news. Why did your heart fill with dread at the thought of leaving Meduseld and going home? Your fingers trembled as they worked on the seal, on the ribbon holding everything together. Your heart fluttered as you rolled open the parchment and read it.

My lady y/n.

Good news, my lady.

We’ve done it. We’ve found a way to send you, and only you, safely home. Should you still desire to do so, just send the word, and we will make all the arrangements.

With much fondness,

Your eyes drift to the postscript.

p.s. The Valar and I are making sure this spell is never used again, and they have more than willingly given leave for you to stay, should you wish to do so. So think very carefully about what you want to do. Once the portal is closed, it will never be open again.

You gulped. The wizard had indeed found a way. You could go home. Leave Meduseld for good and go back to your old life.

Éomer coughed, distracting you. You gulped again. If you accepted Gandalf’s offer, you would not only leave this realm for good, you would have to leave Éomer for good. Over the past six months, the two of you had grown close. Conversation came so easily when you were with him. You looked forward to seeing him, spending time with him. It was a feeling you had, that grew and grew, a feeling you could give no name to. And now, the thought of leaving him fills you with dread. “Gandalf-“ You gave the letter for him to read. “Gandalf has found a way it seems, to send me back. I--”

Éomer read the letter and then read it again, one ear trained to what you were saying, hoping against hope you weren’t going to say what he thought you were going to say.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

Éomer knew this day might come, but he hoped he still had time to talk to you, ask you to stay. Now it felt like it was already too late, and he cursed himself for his cowardice. He wondered how much time he had left.

“I think I might take him up on the offer. Go home.” Home. To a quiet apartment, the grind of routine, insane hospital shifts, day in, day out, rinse and repeat. You quickly steal a look. Éomer was reading the letter intently. His hands were all bunched up in fists, his knuckles nearly white from the strain, the letter nearly tearing in his hands. He was angry.

“Home,” he muttered under his breath. “You want to go home?”

“Yes, I want to go home.” The words felt like ash on your tongue. “I’m not sure I belong here, really, and…”

Fearful of the thought of losing you, of you ending up with someone else, Éomer cut you off with an abrupt, “You are not going.”

It came out like an order, and you stood up with a start. “I am not going? I am not going?” You got in Éomer’s face and pointed a finger at him. “Listen, sir, I know the past six months have been nice and all, but I would like to go home.”

“Home?” Éomer stood up and tossed the letter to a side. The both of you squared up like two fighters going against each other. “To a place with no true friends, where you are worked to the bone, for little appreciation and reward?”

“Yes!” You spat, although his words made you question yourself. Why did you want to go back to such a life? “I want that!”

I think.

He could have given you every possible luxury and comfort he could muster, a life of peace, and to hear you say that angered him even more. “Oh! You want such a miserable life?” Éomer was up in your face now, and his sister was by the door, debating if she should stay out of this argument. Eowyn used her better judgment and quietly closed the door to give you both some privacy. “My lady?” Captain Gerold, and two of his men, stood behind her, wondering what the hullabaloo was all about. “My brother is trying to convince the lady y/n to stay. In the worst possible way imaginable.” Eowyn murmured as she waved her hands about, to shoo them away. “Let us give them some privacy, and pray the king does not bungle this up in glorious fashion.”

Meanwhile, you and Éomer were still going at it. “Miserable!” You hissed through your teeth. “You want me to stay and insulting my life from before is how you go about doing it?!?”

“Yes!” Éomer quickly rethought the wisdom of his answer and changed tack. “I mean, no! I did not mean to insult your life! I just do not want you to leave!”

“Why don’t you want me to leave?”

“Because if you leave, I will not be able to come to your realm!” Éomer shot back. “Not being able to travel to your realm means I lose you!”

Because the portal was going to be a one-time thing. The Valar were making sure of it. That still didn’t answer your questions. “And why don’t you want to lose me?”

“Because!” Éomer snorted, his eyes blazed. “Because! Be--” He gave up and sighed, let go of his anger and stopped fighting. The time had come to bare all, and if he didn’t say it now, he never would. “Because I am in love with you. I--” He inched his way closer, till he was right in front of you. “I do not want you to go because, I am in love with you and I do not want to lose you. I want you to stay here, with me.”

“Wha--” It felt as if the wind was taken right out of your sails. Éomer, King of Rohan, one of the greatest warriors of his age, was in love with you. And wants you to stay with him. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

You were taken aback by his confession, and stuck for words. You did not know what else to say, or do. Éomer, however had the answer. “Say yes. Say yes, that you will stay.”

It was still so much to take in. Your mind was a roil. “But--”

“I can look after you, give you the kind of life you deserve.” Éomer gulped, placed his hands on your shoulders. “You can still worker as a healer, if that is your wish, but you will be happier here, I will make sure of it.”

Here. Meduseld. Rohan. On Middle Earth. Away from the stress and grind of it all, with people that genuinely cared about you and where magic was very real. When large, callused hands drifted over your shoulders to your cheeks, the warmth of them made you forget all your worries. “Stay,” It was a plea, and from a king, no less. “Stay here, with me.”

Time seemed to stand still. Éomer waited, hoping for an answer, and then, when he couldn’t wait anymore, he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours.

His kiss was so gentle at first, so tender, as he slowly back you up until you bumped into a table. His hands drifted away from your cheeks, going lower until you felt fingers undoing the clasps and ties of your dress. Feeling more than a little daring, you undid the cords of his doublet, helping him slip it off. When your dress loosened, he stopped, curled a finger under your chin, tilted it up and asked, “Do you want me to?”

You licked your lips, as nerves from before gave way to excitement. “Yes.”

He took his time, hiking up your dress, lifting it over your outstretched arms and tossing it to the floor. Your stays joined it. You felt cold in your shift, but you watched while he undressed himself. Under tunic, boots, breeches, all joined the growing pile on the floor. When the last of his clothes were disposed of you felt your cheeks burn. His body was covered in scars, from battles of old, but that was not all you saw. You quickly lower your gaze, but Éomer tutted and lifted your chin. “Yes?” He asked, his eyes never leaving you.

You were now more certain than ever. “Yes.”

In a move you have to admire, he scooped you up, set you down on the table. “Leg,” He ordered.

You stick out your left leg playfully, giggling when he struggled with the lacings of your shoe. “And here I thought armour was a trial.” Éomer chuckled as he finished up with one shoe and worked on the other. “Women’s fashions are never an easy business,” you teased. “Did your sister never tell you that?”

“More times than I care to recall.” He mumbled and hiked up the skirt of your shift. That too went over your arms and onto the floor. Your eyes dart to the door. “Someone could barge in.”

The door. It was closed, but not locked. Éomer quickly went over and made sure it was locked and bolted before coming back to you. “There,” He crooned and dipped to your neck, drawing out a gasp when his lips glided over your flesh. “No one,” he whispered as his teeth gently nipped. “Is going to disturb us now.”

While one hand hooked around your waist, holding you close, the other hand worked up your body, to your breasts. You felt jolts when he massaged a nipple between his fingers, when his teeth pressed down harder on your skin. You felt yourself grow wet and throb between your thighs. “Éomer,” you breathe, “Don’t stop.”

He loved that, loved hearing his name rolling over your lips. He kissed his way back up to your lips. “Your legs,” He mumbled against between kisses. “Spread them.”

You hesitate for the briefest of moments before resting your legs on your hips. Éomer rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit, drawing out another gasp out of you. You bit your lip, to try and contain your moans. Éomer didn’t want that, not one bit. “Let go for me.” He rasped as he slid in his cock, making your walls stretch for him. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

Every time he went a little further, his name rolled over your lips again, and again. It was like a drug to him, hearing his name spill from your lips. When you managed to open your eyes, rich hazel pulled you in. Éomer let go and plunged in completely, making you cry out as he sunk his cock as deep as he possibly could. Your eyes fly wide open. There’s no protection here, something could happen. “Éomer,” you breath when kisses glide over the shell of your ear. “This is r-risky,” he began nibbling on an earlobe, one arm holding it tight, the other playing with your nipple. “I-I c-could get,” your mind had grown foggy, your body overcome with lust. “I c-could get pregn--”

His kisses had stroked their way down to the curve of your neck. “And?” he mumbled against your skin, his breath growing ragged with each passing second. “What if I want you to carry my child?”

The surety and confidence in his words. “B-but the others--”

He bit down on your flesh again, his cock throbbing and pulsing in your cunt. “Fuck the others.” He pulled away again and cupped your cheek. “I am king, anyone who says speaks against my future wife answers to me.” He fingers gripped into your cheek when he kissed you again, this time with his tongue licking past your parted lips, making you tremble with desperate need. Your arms move away the table and circle his shoulders. It felt like your very breath was being pulled out from your lungs and unable to help yourself, you let one of your hands glide down, to his back. That nearly broke Éomer, and he started moving. Slowly again, gently, his arm around your waist tightened like a vice as he pumped you, bringing the both of you closer and closer to the edge. “Say you will stay,” he mumbled.

You whimpered into his shoulder. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

Éomer kissed your neck again, roughly this time, his teeth biting, his tongue running over the bruised skin. When he pushed in deep and you pulled on his hair, he almost sobbed, it felt so good. Still, he wanted to hear more. “Say you will be mine,” he lifted his head, rested his brow against yours. “Say it.”

Something about the way he said it got your pulse racing like made. “Yes. Yes I’ll be yours.”

When he growled and slammed into you, you bury your face into his shoulder, your moans growing louder, filling the room. Someone would hear, but you had gone beyond the point of caring. All that mattered was the man inside you, what he was making you feel. Your hands dig into his skin, you head rolling back when your orgasm neared. “É-omer,” you couldn’t hold on much longer. “Éomer, I-I’m g-going t-to--”

Teeth sank into your skin hard this time, making you cry out again. “Cum for me,” he grunted as he grabbed onto your hips, to go deeper. “Now.”

It grew intense, so intense, your muscles coiled and your cry was drowned when he crushed your lips with his. It felt like a switch had gone off, your body splintered and shattered as he continued to thrust past your pulsing walls. So overwhelming it was, you barely felt a tear streak its way down your cheek, the deep grunt he made when he whimpered your name and filled you with his seed. You could barely feel yourself breathe, you certainly could think. The world seemed to have a ground to a halt, and all that was there was you and the man on top of you.

Éomer held onto you, not wanting to let you go. He wanted to make this moment last, for it was the first time he had lain with you, and he hoped no one came to disturb either of you. His chest heaved, sweat gathered over his skin, over yours. “Y/n,” he murmured against your ear. “My queen.”

When he rested his brow on yours again, you disentangle yours arms, and cupped his cheeks. “My king.”

His kiss was tender now, chaste and sweet. “So, when do we tell the others?”

Your smile was as wide as his.

#Éomer #Éomer smut #Éomer x reader #eomer imagine #lotr x reader #LOTR #reader insert #creative writing #writing #writeblr

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adamwatchesmovies · 7 days

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The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)

It feels like every single fantasy film has been building up to The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. This sprawling world of myth and magic is a landmark achievement. The special effects, characters, art direction, score, scale and faithfulness to the source material make it the kind of picture that will shape generations. It’s big, wonderful and epic but also small, intimate and emotional. This is a labor of love and it shows.

In the Second Age of Middle-earth, the Dark Lord Sauron forged the One Ring. With its power, he was poised to conquer all. Defeated through sheer luck, his evil dissipated. 3,000 years later, the One Ring is discovered in the possession of a humble hobbit named Frodo Baggins (Elijah Wood). To save the world, from Sauron's return, the ring must be snuck back into the shadowy land of Mordor and thrown into the volcano where it was forged. On this quest, Frodo is accompanied by his friends Samwise Gamgee (Sean Astin), Pippin Took (Billy Boyd) and Merry Brandybuck (Dominic Monaghan), his mentor, the wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen), and representatives of the free races of Middle-Earth: humans Strider (Viggo Mortensen) and Boromir (Sea Bean), dwarf Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) and elf Legolas Greenleaf (Orlando Bloom).

To get us up to speed, the picture begins with a history lesson that’ll knock you off your feet. The armies clashing seem immeasurably large. Sauron effortlessly radiates evil despite having no dialogue. You can feel the thousands of years of culture in the fighting styles, weapons and scenery. Middle-Earth feels real. The scale is immense, which makes director Peter Jackson’s decision to focus the plot on an ordinary hobbit a genius move. In a story with caverns so large our civilization could never dream of carving them, elven cities that seem to grow from the trees that surround them, seamless towers of black stone and all sorts of monsters, it would be easy for audiences to feel alienated. We’d all like to think that when push comes to shove we’d be great heroes but in reality, there’s no way. The best a tiny person like you or me could hope to do is stay brave, which is exactly Frodo’s role.

Several times throughout, we hear that “Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” There couldn’t be anyone smaller than Frodo Baggins - except, perhaps, his friend to the end, Samwise. The hobbits are humble little people who have lived peaceful, simple lives free from adventure and are now thrust into a journey that will be the stuff of legends. Their joys are simple: warm meals, fields of brightly-colored vegetables and parties with friends & family. One particular scene that shows you just how small they are comes towards the end of the story. Sam and Frodo are traveling down a river. In the distance, they spot these enormous statues, the kind that would make the Statue of Liberty blush. Like us, they gaze at them in wonder, wondering who could’ve built them and who they represent. None of the other members of the Fellowship seem to give them more than a passing glance - and yet, these simple people prove themselves just as brave and reliable as the seasoned guardians they are traveling with. It’s awe-inspiring in so many ways.

By focusing on Frodo and his part of the journey, the film has a strong emotional core. The Fellowship of the Ring knows it has this time-tested story that’ll enchant audiences but before doing anything else, it made sure to get the basics right. Even if it hadn’t, it would’ve been an impressive production. Surrounding the inspirational battle of good vs. evil are incredible visuals, standout special effects and exciting action scenes. The film contains elements of horror in the form of its shadowy Ring Wraiths and scenes set in the deep mines of Moria. It’s got comedy to lighten the mood when necessary, chases so perfectly paced they should be shown in film school and battles that remain exciting whether they feature millions or a handful of fighters. There are so many great lines and iconic scenes you’ll love to quote it to your friends. The score by Howard Shore is this powerhouse that immediately sets up residence in your mind.

Though it ends in a "to be continued", The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring is the kind of movie you need to watch just to be part of the cultural conversation. Don't worry if you're weary of following trends; you would fall in love with this film even if you discovered it on your own. (Theatrical version on Blu-ray, April 26, 2022)

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thekingofwinterblog · 2 months

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The fundamental differences between Martin and Tolkien

What separates the works of Martin and Tolkien?

Both created vast, sprawling worlds, good, strong characters, and detailed histories.

Both are Gardner style writers, of a perfectionist bent, but whereas Martin wanted a world where you never could be fully certain about anything of the past, Tolkien created a timeline so deep and well constructed that there is only one single mistake that has to be chalked up to bad in universe sources(a couple of dates during Bilbo's journeys).

Tolkien focused on creating a mythology, whereas Martin wanted a fantasy world that put a lot more emphasis on the nitty gritty.

They have a lot of differences and overlaps, and Martin is the first to tell you that his own works in created very much as a response to what he saw as flaws in Tolkiens works.

Some of these do raise some interesting questions, while others showcases that Martin's thoughts on Tolkien for good or ill formed and crystalized very early in life, and he's never really delved deep enough into the lore that many others have, else he would know the answers to a lot of the questions he asks(For example, we actually know way more avout the constitutional limits of Aragoen's power as a king than we do the legal limits of any kings of Martin's).

This is not to just throw shade at Martin as not "Getting" Tolkien, but that very much comes back to the big, big differences between them, because Martin very did not, and does not get Tolkien's ultimate philosophy.

Martin's biggest Philosophy as a writer is the phrase; "The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself".

This is not a bad philosophy as a writer. A lot of the best works of man is very about this, one single consept.

But it's not a be all, end all to story telling. Many great stories have been told about characters who's desires were very much NOT in conclift with itself.

A lot of Tolkien's stories is about this consept, but not all of his characters were. Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Sam, Smeagol and Boromir would very much fit into this catagory, but Gandalf the grey would not, being a force of nature who serves as the big good in both the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.

Pretty much all of Gandalf's storybeats is about his limitations, and how it affects his mood and decision making, not the ethical questions thereoff.

And of course the most important Heroes in Tolkien's legendarium as far as Tolkien was concerned, Earendil, Beren and Luthien, do not fit this whatsoever. Their stories like Gandalf is about them seeking a goal, and how to reach it, the physical obstacles in their way, and how to overcome them, not any ethical dilemma they face on the journey.

And this in turn comes back to the biggest difference between the two of them.

For Tolkien had his own personal philosophy regarding what all stories worth telling are all about.

"Human stories are practically always about one thing, really, aren't they? Death. The inevitability of death."

"Nothing that ever happens to man is natural, since his presence calls the whole world into question. All men must die, but for every man his death is an accident, and even if he knows it he would sense to it an unjustifiable violation."

All men must die, and it is the reality of this that all actions people make is in response to.

Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim Erebor because duty demanded it, because if he did not, he and all his people who still remembered Erebor would die withouth ever seeing it again.

Beren was a mortal man, and so was doomed to die... But he eventually did as many men did, and fell in love, and like all who do, he wanted to spend his life with the person he loved. Meanwhile Luthien's story was about the fact that as an elf, she was not part of the cycle of death, but having to confront it head on, and feel what it was to lose the man she loved, she made a plea to to the Valar of death and so was able to enjoy life together with her love in exchange for giving up her immortality.

Gandalf is immortal, but the people around him who he loves dearly is not, and as everyone eventually dies, he is forced to find new companions again and again amongst the then younger generation.

Boromir was tasked with saving his people and country, with the very real reality that if he failed, he and all he loved would die, and this drove his actions for good or bad.

Bilbo, having finally settled into a standard hobbit lifestyle, still felt the pull to go out and seek something exciting in his life, and was given the choice of living comfortably until death claimed him in Hobbiton, or wheter to take a risk, and set out into the world on an adventure.

Meanwhile Tolkiens elves do not die natural death... But rather than this making them free from all such suffering, it instead just introduces other ills and challenges, having to either give up on the physical world, or fade away, with the forging of the rings of power being a mistake rooted in trying to stop their innevitable decay, so they can enjoy their immortality forever.

Meanwhile, all the societies Tolkien shows us, just as real life, imare built around the concept of the innevitability of death, and what we do in order to pass it on to the next generation after our death, and the consequences thereoff if we fail.

These ideas are not something Martin does not explore in great depths in his own way, just as Tolkien does not shy away from the human heart in conflict with itself, but it's not the rock upon which Martin bases all of his tales, the same way that the conflict of ones heart is not the basis of Tolkien's tales.

I would say neither is completely correct either. You can base a story about either concept as the core, or both, or neither, for there are other cores to structure a tale around that uses neither as the rock of the story.

#j r r tolkien #george r r martin #meta #philosophy #writing

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wisheduponastar · 5 months

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Not like pipeweed after all (Gen, 4.5k)

For Day 5 of @tolkienfamilyweek. Prompt : Found Family

Pippin has run out of long-bottom leaf, and it turns out so has Merry. They try and persuade Strider to find some for them, and he does. It turns out, however, this substitute isn’t exactly what they have in mind - their pipeweed isn’t normally this strong. Luckily, they’re around friends - and Boromir is here for them.

Or~ Pippin & Merry accidentally get high, but Boromir is there for them - and has to put up with shenanigans.

Read on Ao3

Ah, so it's not explicitly found family, but tell me they're not brothers-

He had packed far too lightly for this trip, Pippin reflected as he hoisted his pack further up his shoulders. Not that it, in any way, stopped his pack from being much too heavy. Now it was just filled with food, and things for everyone - rather than just for him. What he wouldn’t give to go back to his younger self. Well, younger self was slightly rich - it had been only about three months since he left the shire, three months and a bit.

He hadn’t been counting, especially as days in Rivendell seemed to move so unusually. Sam would almost certainly know, however, if Pippin were to ask him. But the main thing was what Pippin would say to his younger self. He wouldn’t tell him not to go on the quest - for it was going fairly well so far.

Pippin broke off his thoughts for a few seconds, simply looking around. Strider, well, Aragorn, was at the front of the group and in conversation with Gandalf. Also in front of him was Merry, who was currently talking to Boromir - captain of Gondor. And heir to… the stewardship of it? Merry and Pippin had asked Boromir about it once, but he wasn’t very willing to answer - which was rather unusual, as he normally talkative when talking about his hometown. Home city. Gondor was too big to be called a town, apparently.

Turning on his heel as he walked, Pippin spun round to observe who was behind him. Immediately behind Pippin and joining him in the, if he did say so himself, rather respectable, middle were Frodo and Sam - both walking and talking rather cheerfully. Then was Gimli, and then Legolas. Both looked as if they wanted to guard the rear, but neither wanted to be walking exactly next to each other - the awkward two-step inbetween them their compromise.

Grinning slightly, Pippin turned around again, jogging a small amount to catch up to Boromir and Merry.

“Merry, you can’t just leave me!” He cried, grinning and waving slightly as he made pace with the two of them.

Breaking off from the conversation, Merry titled his head to look behind him, “Maybe you shouldn’t be so slow, eh Pip?”

“My pack’s heavier,” Pippin defended, although he was unsure of whether it was true. They had been given almost the same amount of things, so it really depended on what his fellow hobbit had packed.

“I wish my pack was heavier,” said Merry, suddenly mood-swinging to somewhat forlorn, and wistful.

Boromir looked down, slight concern in his eyes, “How so? I assure you we have enough food to last all of us this journey.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” and with just those words most of Merry’s more cheerful attitude was back, “It’s just, I’ve smoked the last of my longbottom leaf - my pack just doesn’t feel the same without it.”

He broke off briefly from his mourning, and looked up at the sky, “I wish I’d brought more of it, or re-stocked at Rivendell.”

“I don’t think the elves are big on smoking,” observed Pippin, “But yes, if I could go back and tell younger me one thing - it would be to pack more longbottom leaf.”

“Truly?” Boromir laughed as he asked, surprised at how simple a hobbit's desire could be, but also with some good-natured envy. To have such little regrets about leaving, that the main thing you’d change was how much leaf you packed.

“See, Boromir,” Merry looked up, “You wouldn’t have any longbottom leaf, would you?”

Boromir shook his head, “No, but I am not completely sure what it is.”

“Here,” Pippin said, rummaging around the various add-ons to his bag, and finding the pot he stored his pipeweed in. Carefully, Pippi reached in and took the smallest amount he could - still enough for a smoke, but not enough for anything more. Holding it aloft, he gestured to Boromir, “This is longbottom leaf. Proper good stuff, it is.”

Boromir peered at it for a second, before recognition sparked in his eyes, “Ah. We call it sweet galenas.”

“D’you smoke it?”

“Not that I am aware,” was the honest answer, as Boromir did not engage in too much smoking or drinking, especially not of late, “It is only noted for its sweet fragrance.”

Merry looked slightly crestfallen, “So there isn’t much hope you’ll have any on you?”

“I am afraid not,” Boromir seemed to muse over the problems for a second, “Although Aragorn has a pipe, does he not? He may have some, or at least something similar.”

“You, Boromir, are a genius!” Declared Merry, a grin already on his face - eager to speed away and ask.

“Yes, a credit to all of Gondor,” tacked on Pippin who, although still having some pipeweed left, sped off with even more urgency than Merry - the two briefly leaving Boromir alone to smile after them and walk slightly faster, waiting for them to return.

“Aragorn! Aragorn!” Was the chorus that came from the two of them, causing the ranger to turn round and stare - conversation with Gandalf broken off. Merry had the decency to avert his eyes and look sheepish, however Pippin did not - until Merry nudged him worriedly.

“Ow- Merry,” he started, before cutting himself off and looking down slightly, “Ah, Gandalf. We didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

There was good intention in Pippin’s words, before his eyes suddenly lit up with a new idea, “Say - Gandalf, you don’t have any pipeweed, do you? See me and Merry have almost finished-”

“Merry, don’t nudge me that hard!”

“Pip. We’re trying to be polite, charming,” Merry looked sideways, then back at Pippin again, “We’re trying to charm Gandalf and Strider into giving up their pipeweed, not whatever you’re doing!”

“Ah - so that it was you are after,” there was no accusation in Aragorn’s voice, just lightheartedness, “Well, I am sorry my friends - but I have no more left at the moment. I dropped the last of my Southlinch when we were ambushed by crebain.”

“Southlinch?” Questioned Merry curiously.

“A type of pipeweed, grown in Bree,” supplied Aragorn, a warmer smile, “Have the two of you none left?”

“I have a little…” confessed Pippin, “But I want to save it for a special occasion, one of our great victories. Or maybe a horrific tragedy of some kind.”

“Horrific tragedy?” Echoed Gandalf disapprovingly, “Do not think so darkly, Peregrin Took!”

While the small scolding took place, in which Pippin did have the decency to look immediately down this time, Aragorn seemed to be thinking and observing the situation around him. There were a few moments of silence as they walked, Aragorn staring at the plant life before eventually he spoke, “You know, Master Brandybuck, I may be able to find something similar to pipeweed. If you are interested?”

“Of course!” Was the immediate answer from both hobbits, at the same time. Another chuckle came from Aragorn, and he nodded, “We are on the lookout for a plant called wild dagga, or leonurus. It can be from your to my height, and has a dark green stem with bright orange flower-like parts to it. Should you see something like that, alert me.”

Nodding, and promising reassurances, the hobbits smiled and chattered among themselves before retreating quietly back to Boromir.

“Good news my friend, I assume?” Boromir questioned as they went back, taking note of their large grins.

“Oh yes!” Answered Merry, “I’ve found a way to get us some more pipeweed. Or something close to it, at least. We’re looking out for a plant, it can be from my to your height, and it’s orange.”

“Anything else?” Boromir asked with sincerity, quickly scanning the surroundings to see if a plant like that would immediately appear.

“I don’t think so,” Merry trailed off for a second, looking to his friend, “That was it, wasn’t it Pippin?”

“I’m fairly certain,” was the confident response, “Shouldn’t be too hard, there aren’t that many orange flowers near here, are there?”

“I haven’t seen any,” supplied Boromir, the closest any of them could get to confirmation. Together, the three continued to talk for a bit about various herbs, and then their surroundings - which inevitably led to talk of the shire, which in turn prompted talk of Gondor. Eventually, Pippin looked up and asked, “Boromir, do you smoke often?”

“Not often, no,” Boromir answered, “It is harder to get than most ales, if I should have the opportunity to smoke or drink.”

“I suppose being a lord-”

“Steward,” Boromir corrected quickly, then looked apologetic, “I am sorry, please go on Pippin.”

“No problems,” was the cheerful answer, “But I suppose being a steward you wouldn’t drink much, would you?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Boromir decided to be frank, “I probably drank as much as the next person in my guard, probably slightly less. We had responsibility, so we almost certainly drank less than hobbits.”

Merry and Pippin exchanged annoyed glances, then Merry spoke up, “We didn’t drink that much. Besides, I didn’t know you could get ale in a pint before I left the shire.”

“Well, if you take into account your body size compared to mine,” began Boromir, before stopping that train of thought and instead contributing, “Well, I have certainly smoked less.”

“Only because you didn’t have as good leaf,” Pippin responded, in a somewhat sympathetic way. “Don’t worry, we’ll teach you the art of the pipe, won’t we Merry?”

“Oh yes,” there was pride in Merry’s voice, “D’you know, us hobbits were the first to put pipeweed in pipes?”

“Truly?” Asked Boromir, “You hobbits never cease to surprise, I’ll give you that much.”

“Thank you!” Merry said, making eye-contact with Boromir - and genuinely smiling. The two hobbits exchanged grins under the man’s gaze, a large grin spreading almost ear to ear - both of their faces mimicking each other.

Then they fell back into the easy rhythm of talking about whatever caught their fancy. When Pippin started the conversation, it was to complain about the long roads - which led onto discussions of horses and various modes of transportation (for a few minutes there was heated debate between Merry and Pippin as to whether Boromir would be able to ride a Shire pony or not). Eventually Merry had butted in, instead beginning a talk about the mayor of Shire, and then its various laws - and then the Gondor legal system (which, to be fair, was mainly the hobbits listing progressively more obscure actions before asking if they were legal).

When it was Boromir’s turn to start the conversation, it would also usually be about the Shire - or about hobbit life in general. He was more curious about their general lives, and the peace of the Shire, just how different it was to Gondor. At one their conversation started on where Boromir should stay, if he ever visited the Shire. Well, he said ‘if’, Merry and Pippin said ‘when’. It was during their conversation that the plant was spotted.

“Lobelia’s got a rather large ceiling, hasn’t she Merry,” observed Pippin, “D’you think she’d let Boromir stay at hers?”

“Pippin, are you suggesting we inflict Lobelia on Boromir?” Was the retort, “We want him to like the Shire, not- oh wait, I think I see the plant!”

Both of his companions' heads turned to see where his gaze was following. About ten or so metres away was a patch of the plant. Wild dagga, Pippin was pretty sure. This variety was taller than him, but shorter than Boromir - coming away at about the five foot mark. Overly large for a plant, Pippin decided, especially if it wasn’t even a tree.

“D’you think it’s the right thing, Boromir?” Asked Pippin, looking up briefly as he spoke before returning to stare at the plant.

“Herblore is not my expertise,” was the start of the answer, but Boromir smiled, “However it does look like what you described. I doubt there would be any harm in asking if they are the correct plants.”

“They look like the dagga to me,” contributed Merry, “Wait here - I’ll ask Aragorn!”

With that, Merry sped up again - a short and sudden burst of speed, before it quickly descended into a jog - damn this backpack. Still trying to catch up, the ranger and the wizard had walked awfully far ahead, Merry instead called out, “Wait! We think we’ve found the wild…” his mind briefly drew a blank as to what it was called, “The plant you were talking about!”

This seemed to catch Aragorn’s attention, for he nodded briefly to Gandalf and then began to walk back towards the hobbits, “So, my friends, you say you’ve found some?”

“Yes, over there!” Merry pointed out the blooming orange stalks, smiling, “That is the plant you wanted, right?”

“It is, that is very well observed master hobbit.” With thanks, and a promise to share it out equally among all who wanted it, Aragorn traversed off-the-path a little, going up to the plants and taking off the leaves and flowers.

“Will you try some Boromir?” Questioned Pippin, looking up at the man as they began walking.

Boromir seemed to consider it a second, “I am not sure. You should try some first, I will trust your judgement.”

“Really?” Asked Merry, before blushing slightly and looking at the path in front, “I mean, of course. We are experts on pipeweed, aren’t we Pip?”

“Aye Merry, that we are, that we are,” Pippin nodded on this point, in almost an imitation of Gandalf. Slightly less wise, but the spirit of all-knowing was there. Enough to make Boromir smile and laugh to himself, and make Merry laugh outright - immediately teasing his companion.

The lighter mood continued throughout the day with no further interruptions, except Boromir managing to spot another two patches of wild dagga. It was nice for Boromir to see the flower before them, because he could look down as he announced it. See right when their excitable grins appeared on their faces, and watch as they exchanged a glance then looked up at him, thanking him. Then run off to pester Aragorn about more of the stuff being found.

Eventually, they could see Aragorn and Frodo (for the marching order was prone to change throughout the day) stopping up ahead of them. Frodo setting his pack on the floor, and sitting down with some relief. Aragorn busy taking sticks from the surroundings and striking his tinderbox. Pippin didn’t even try to disguise the large smile that came upon his face, “Are we stopping for the night?”

“Yes, we are almost at Caradhras, I want us to be rested for it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Pippin said, looking at Merry, “Where d’you want to set up camp, Merry?”

“Probably near the fire,” Merry responded, briefly looking to Boromir for approval, which the man gave by nodding. He was, in some ways, touched that the hobbits thought highly enough of him to ask him questions. Even if it was only where to set up their bedrolls.

Looking around, Boromir shed the pack he was carrying and set it down beside his feet, also dropping the shield for the time being. His sword he kept on him at all times. Not just because he did not trust the wilderness of Middle Earth, but also because he didn’t trust Merry and Pippin. He’d let them use training swords, and then when he’d left his sword for a second to fetch a sharpening stone - he’d come back to find Merry holding it. That had given him much more of a fright than he was ever prepared to admit.

“So, Aragorn, how exactly is it you use this plant then?” Merry eventually spoke up, for it was Aragorn who still had all the plants. “I assume you still smoke it, like you do pipeweed?”

“Yes, I am just drying it out now,” Aragorn nodded to the fire, which had a number of smaller twigs over it - leaves and flowers skewered to them, and drying out. “It will not be a very sophisticated process, but we rangers have used it often enough.”

“The…” Merry struggled to find the word for a second, “The rangers smoke this often?” “When you are in the wilderness for months at a time, yes. Although sometimes pipeweed will grow in the wild, and we’ll use that instead.”

“Pipeweed grows in the wild?” Merry said indignantly, “We could’ve kept an eye out for that.”

“I have only ever seen it grow in the wilds near Gondor,” explained Aragorn, inclining his head slightly towards Boromir, “And even then, only near the city.”

“I still can’t believe you’d never thought to smoke it,” said Pippin, now also looking at Boromir.

“I imagine some would have,” admitted Boromir, “But the discovery of some new novelty to smoke was not exactly news one would share with your captain.”

“Why not?” Asked Pippin, rather sincerely.

Boromir simply shook his head and laughed a little, “Let me say… our worlds work very differently Pippin.”

“Suit yourself,” Pippin briefly smiled again, before turning to Aragorn again, “So, how long until we can use it?”

“About ten minutes or so. It still needs to dry out.”

“What needs to dry out?” Legolas had finally arrived, and was somewhat putting down his belongings, while simultaneously looking like he could run off now and be fine for the next couple of days. Actually, Boromir reflected, he probably could. Elves needed less sustenance, and Legolas’s bow and quiver were still on his back, so he could’ve made it. Boromir was fairly certain, however, that the elf would not suddenly abandon them.

“The wild dagga,” Merry answered, looking to Aragorn briefly for confirmation, “Me and Pippin have run out of longbottom leaf, so we’re going to try and smoke that instead.”

The elf wrinkled his nose slightly at that, “I have never understood smoking, surely it cannot taste nice?”

“It’s not really the taste,” Pippin tried to explain, “It’s the experience, the feeling. And it isn’t that bad!”

“Maybe not for hobbits,” conceded Legolas, “But for elves, the smell is most unpleasant.”

“Oh. Does us doing,” Merry gestured vaguely, pipe now in his hands, “It… does it bother you?”

“Not very, it is much more bearable in open air, besides,” Legolas glanced at Gandalf, “I have grown more used to it. A certain… visitor is rather fond of pipeweed.”

All of the hobbits laughed at that, with Merry observing almost out-loud, “And to think hobbits have been doing something longer than wizards. Although I daresay you’ll be better at it than us by now.”

There was a second as Gandalf deliberately avoided eye-contact, in a somewhat modest way, before breaking out in a smile and acknowledging it - sending a smoke ring that soon morphed into the shape of a star shooting around them.

“Well, we can do it best without using magic, ay Merry?” Said Pippin, nudging Merry conspicuously with a grin. “Aragorn, is the… whatever you called it ready?”

“Patience, Master Took,” was Aragorn’s immediate response, but he lent over the fire and then smiled, “But as luck would have it - they are. Do you wish to smoke them?”

“Do I wish to smoke them?” Echoed Merry, somewhat sarcastic - somewhat indignant. “Anything we need to know before we start?”

“It has always behaved like normal pipeweed for me,” answered Aragorn, “So I would say no.”

With the expertise of a knowledgeable smoker, Merry leaned over slightly to the now dried leaves - quickly getting out his pipe as well and busying himself by lighting it (and trying to take what he presumed to be the better leaf from Pippin).

“So, Pippin, Merry, is it good?” Asked Boromir after they’d let out a few smoke rings, still holding true to his thought that he would try some - if they deemed it appropriate.

Turning his whole head, even though Boromir was sitting almost directly next to him, Pippin looked up to the taller man, “Hmmm… I don’t know Merry, but I’d say so?”

There was a very thoughtful frown on Merry’s face, that suddenly split into a large grin, “Yes Pip. Without a doubt. Here Boromir, try mine.”

Merry smiled again, then held out the pipe to someone who was decidedly not Boromir - but instead Legolas. There was a second as the elf sat there, waiting for the hobbit to correct his mistake, before Legolas politely coughed, eyes gazing instead to where Boromir was sitting.

“Boromir!” Merry exclaimed suddenly, almost throwing down the pipe and (finally) held it in the direction of the man he intended, “You looked so pretty as a blond…”

There was now a forlorn tone in Merry’s voice, and his eyes became ever so slightly glassy - although Boromir was fairly certain this wasn’t because of Boromir not, in fact, being blond.

“I… I have never been blond Merry,” he gently corrected, frowning at the hobbit’s state of mind.

“No, you were just then!” It was remarkable how determined Merry could be, “When you were pretending to be Legolas. You’re a beautiful blond Boromir.”

Pippin gave a non-committal, although positive hum, nodding along to all of Merry’s words sagely, an image that was slightly ruined by the fact he was staring simply at the sky. Pippin then looked down slightly, at Boromir again, and opened his mouth - to say nothing for a few seconds, before hazily mumbling “D’you agree?”

“Agree? With what?” There was a gentleness in Boromir’s voice, as well as poorly disguised concern, “Tell me again.”

“So,” Pippin began, “It’s essentially just…”

There was a second as he trailed off again, instead just staring at the ground, “That… probably sums it up. I’m sorry, is that still confusing?”

“No, not at all,” Boromir was probably over-enunciating his words now, unsure if the hobbits could register them, “You should probably put down the pipes now, and go to sleep.”

“How’re we suppose to go to Mordor if we sleep?” Questioned Merry, although he almost rolled off the log - now lying on the floor, “Didn’t think of that - did you Boromir?”

Pippin snickered slightly, “Merry, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor - very bad for your spine.”

“Is it really?” Merry asked genuinely, looking up for someone again, “An… adult, who isn’t me, is this true?”

“You do need to sleep on a bedroll, Merry,” Boromir explained, guiding the hobbit up and getting his pack out for him (stubbornly ignoring the fact Merry was now simply lying on his feet). “Here, lie on this.”

“You’re so nice Boromir,” Merry said, sitting down onto the bedroll,

“Merry look. We’re not sleeping on the ground now, are we?”

“I’m not Merry. You’re Merry.”

“No, I’m Meriadoc. I don’t do nicknames Pip.”

“You just did.”

“No, your name’s just Pip. We didn’t tell you, thought it’d make you sad.”

“That’s not true!” Pippin exclaimed, with almost genuine (although certainly high-infused) uncertainty.

“Yes it is, isn’t it…” Merry looked around, eyes falling on Boromir again, “It’s true isn't it Boromir. You’ll know.” He turned to Pippin again, “Boromir’s very knowledgeable about your name.”

Shaking his head, Boromir decided to try and ignore the conversation, instead turning, with a growing mixture of concern and anger, to Aragorn, “Aragorn, what did you give them?”

“Wild dagga - my friend,” was the honest response, not helped by the fact it sounded like the ranger was trying not to laugh, “I had no idea it would affect the hobbits like this - I thought they would react to it like pipeweed!”

“And yet they are,” Boromir looked again at the hobbits, who had sat up and were talking in very hushed voices, “Frodo, this is not normal, is it?”

“No,” Frodo answered, still looking at Pippin, “Although they’ve behaved like this before - but usually after having a lot more pipeweed - or drinking more than they should.”

“It will probably be over by morning, Boromir sir,” spoke up Sam, looking in concern at the two younger hobbits. “I can watch over them, maybe make them something.”

“I will watch over them Sam, do not worry,” something in Boromir made him reluctant to go to sleep, especially when Merry and Pippin were vulnerable, but he smiled tightly, “Although they would probably benefit from something to eat.”

“Of course” for a while there was busying around the camp as people dug through their packs, contributing various things to make a stew out of. Boromir would have helped more, but he did have his work cut out for him. While being affected - the hobbits seemed to have developed a fascination with fire, along with a startling lack of self-preservation.

Boromir would have possibly cut more firewood, or stoked it when it was down - but trying to hold Pippin down while still being gentle (so he could not pick up one of the flaming logs) was a task that required more attention, and was probably more important.

“Merry, Pippin, let us sit over there,” Boromir glanced left into the clearing, “It will be better for your…”

“Eyes?” Suggested Merry, still smiling slightly and getting up, “C’mon Pip. We’re not going to Mordor anymore, we’re going over there.”

“My name isn’t Pip. It’s Peregrin,” Pippin protested, although both of them followed Boromir over. There was at least one issue solved - the hobbits could no longer launch themselves directly in the fire.

“Do you have a second name, Boromir?” For some reason, Merry had phrased it as more of a statement than a question, but he answered anyway.

“Of course I do-”

“What is it?”

“I think you look like a… Varno,” decided Pippin, after several long seconds of looking into Boromir’s eyes.

“Oh yes - I can see that!” Chimed in Merry, “That is your name, isn’t it Boromir?”

“No, it is not,” said Boromir, with all the patience that he could muster at the time.

“Well it should be!” The statement was said with such clarity, that for a second Boromir seriously considered its merits - before shaking his head and sighing.

“Boromir, your food,” it was Aragorn - standing next to him with three wooden bowls of stew, a soft smile on his face as he looked at the hobbits. “Will you be eating with us?”

“I am afraid they will still try to launch themselves into the fire,” Boromir admitted, casting a glance backwards. The two of them had begun laughing now, a high and carefree one - one that seemed infectious. “We will eat over here.”

“You are sure, my friend?”

“Yes it will be…” There was another glance backwards, “I am sure it will be fine.”

“We’re very responsible Strider, sir” added Pippin, who frowned as Merry suddenly began to laugh.

“Merry - I am.”

“No you’re not - neither of us are!”

“Oh,” the thought struck Pippin, and suddenly he laughed a little as well, “No - we aren’t.”

The rest of the night was just as chaotic - but in most ways Boromir did not mind. There was something nice about the two hobbits like these - even if it was just because of how much they smiled, or how much more affectionate they were. And if Pippin had insisted on a story to go to sleep, well that was his business - and Boromir was sure Pippin wouldn’t remember Boromir telling him one anyway.

#pippin took #meriadoc brandybuck #boromir #lotr #lotr fanfic #tolkiengenweek

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s1v0n1 · 1 year

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gandalfs big naturals mood board... :]

luscious, heavenly, beauty, bean bags, boobies, honkers, suffocation, voluptuous, bodacious, big man

Playlist^^

<3 you pal! Irl moot

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is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer · 2 years

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'Well!' he said. 'We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarrelling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit.'

As several people have said they would be interested in a reminder, here’s the section of the Hobbit that they are referencing here:

This is Bilbo’s first adventure after he starts traveling with the dwarves. Up until this point, Gandalf has been traveling with them, but he has gone forward to scout. It’s raining, and everyone is in a bad mood. The dwarves see a light, and send Bilbo (the resident “burglar”) to investigate. It’s a group of trolls. Bilbo tries to steal from them, fails, and the trolls capture all the dwarves. As Bilbo is wondering how the fuck he’s going to save everyone, the trolls start arguing with a voice that sounds alternatively like all of them about how to cook the dwarves. Soon, the sunrise catches them and turns them to stone, and we discover the mysterious voice was Gandalf. The dwarves find the trolls’ cave filled with treasure, and in particular Bilbo gets a small sword and Gandalf gets a big sword, both of them Important Elven Swords.

As readers of LotR, I’m pretty sure Tolkien expected people to have read The Hobbit before (LotR came out as a sequel to The Hobbit), so we’re supposed to recognize the scene. And as the hobbits here, we know trolls can’t stand sunlight. Sunlight making the trolls turn to stone is the whole point of Gandalf’s rescue. So the reader is supposed to either notice the problem when Strider does and feel smart, or get caught in the tension like the hobbits do and have a chuckle over it.

(Disclaimer that it’s been a while since I read The Hobbit so I could be wrong in the details here)

#lotr newsletter #lord of the rings #text posts #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #quotes

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michellesrandomwriting · 8 months

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I got bored and decided to write something about Thorin and my character. Most likely slow burn enemies to lovers, not sure how good it is. My first language isn't English so if you spot any mistakes please let me know. Also i would appreciate some feedback. Thank you!:) Also this is my first time posting here and I have no idea what I'm doing:D

As the last bits of sunlight fall behind the tips of the mountains and the wind grows colder, the darkness begins to spread across the tall green grass and the old withered trees. I can feel that my horse has grown nervous, perhaps as much as I have. The change of our surroundings isn't playing in our favor. We are lost enough as it is, the darkness will only make it worse.

The tight feeling in my chest grows stronger as I imagine the angry faces that wait for me at the end of my journey. I'm not even supposed to be there, now I'm gonna arrive unexpectedly and into the middle of the meeting. They shall skin me alive for this, the dwarfs will already be skeptical about an elf joining their company, but an elf that proves her responsibility by the fact that she can't even arrive on time? I can already feel their judgmental eyes fall on me the moment I step in.

If I step it, If i ever find that damn place. Gandalf said it was easy to find, and that he had marked the door early this week.

I curse to myself under my breath and look around the little hobbit village. Have I finally managed to find the right one? Most of the windows are only filled with darkness, and the only source of light around the village is the dimmed mood light shining from above.

I gesture my horse to speed up as I notice a small light at one of the doors, perhaps that could be the sign that Gandalf has spoken of.

The moment I ride up the house I'm sure that this is Gandalf's doing, there is a glowing sign written on the middle of the door.

I jump off my horse and tie up his leash to the fence. I make sure that my cloak and the rest of my clothing is looking properly as I walk through the garden and to the door. Taking a deep breath I knock three times onto the dark wooden door, my anxiety rising every time my knuckles hit the rough texture.

The voices of many go quiet for a moment before I can hear Gandalf excusing himself and his heavy steps getting closer. The door swings open and I look up to face the wizard, his slightly excited expression is almost completely hidden by his gray, long beard.

“It is about time my dear Arwyn” He says with a light smile but I can sense a slight annoyance in his words.

“You have claimed this place was easy to find, I got lost many times before I found it.” I say back with a lighthearted tone but still try to defend myself before his judgment.

“I drew a mark.” He replies and points at it with his hand, giving me a look that almost resembles a disappointed parent.

“It is tiny.” I say and measure it next to my finger. “Almost not even the size of my own finger Gandalf.” My voice switches to more of a joking tone by the end of my sentence, trying desperately to light up the mood so my body can finally relax.

“I'm sorry Miss, I'll create a beacon next time.” His reply is calming this time, his smile grows bigger and his voice is filled with almost as much lightheartedness as mine. He hugs me after the end of his sentence, I can see him struggling in the small hobbit home with such low ceilings.

It almost makes me laugh to see him struggle and not drop his big pointy hat as it hits the wooden ceiling again and again. I'm glad he is here also, if I were to meet with the company alone there would be nobody to take my side and prove how useful I could be. With Gandalf here I felt a sense of welcome and friendship in the atmosphere instead of anxiety and pure judgment. He moves aside to allow me to step in. Luckily I'm pretty short for an elf so I fit better than him.

I look around the hall as I take off my cloak and put it next to the others.

“Everyone else has already arrived.” He adds after he notices me examining the rest of the cloaks and weapons that lie all over the place.

“How late am I?” I ask after putting my sword next to the wall and turning to face him, again trying not to laugh as I see him arch his back to fit into the small room.

“Not as much as the last dwarf that has arrived, but If I were to compare you to the first, very late.” He says with a light smile.

“Somebody also got lost?” The question sounds way happier than I have felt in the moment but I do have to admit It makes me more relieved knowing that I wasn't alone.

“Thorin, he got lost twice.” He says with more of a serious tone, most likely to let me know that the fact that somebody else got lost doesn't make my late arrival excusable.

“That the king?” Asking that was stupid since I already knew the answer, Galdalf told me about all the members of his company but not as much information as he did about him. Thorin Oakenshield, the son of Thráin II, on a quest with his company consisting of thirteen other dwarfs and possibly one hobbit if he were to accept. That's why they went there, to have their final meeting before the journey to the Bag end. They have met here to try and convince a young hobbit to join. Not at all aware of the fact that Gandalf has offered me a place among them.

That was the thought that has scared me the most, they have no idea that I'm here. That I'm going to join them. I wonder if they will even accept me to join.

“Yes, he is the king. Let's go and meet them Arwyn. They must be curious about who has arrived.”

Yes, they definitely must be. I nod and walk behind Gandalf into a small hobbit kitchen. The entire company is sitting around the table, talling, drinking beer and fishing the rest of their food. Thorin, I'm assuming, sits in the front of the table. Dead quiet. Unlike the others he has a serious expression on, he isn't telling tales or laughing among his brothers. He simply sits there and eats his food, as the rest has fun.

Gandalf walks in first and after he completely cleans my view I can perfectly observe the dwarfs inside. They look friendly enough, to each other that is.

“Who has arrived, Gandalf? We are not expecting anyone else to join us.” Thorin asks Gandalf when he sits back next to him and in that exact moment all the dwarfs look into my direction.

It is obvious to me at the first look to figure out who Bilbo Baggins is, the hobbit that is to join in. Not because the appearance difference between their kinds is not. Mainly because I can see how uncomfortable he is in the situation, unlike the rest of them. His expression is not serious like thorins or happy like the rest of the dwarfs. He looks anxious, about as much as I am. Only I cannot let them see it.

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #enemies to lovers #slow burn #romance #the hobbit #the hobbit thorin #rivals to lovers #elf #hobbits #dwarf

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racingliners · 1 year

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F1 2022 Re-Watch: Round 4 - Emilia Romagna

Alrightly besties I’m back shouting about races that happened months ago!! (We can thank the ROC brain rot for reminding me to carry on with this). If you have no idea what’s going on you can re-read my previous post here)

All I really remember from this one is that Seb got his first points finish of the year (P8, woo!). So, on we go!

Fingers crossed I’m on the international feed this time

Unrelated I also have popcorn

Anyway F1 intro

(do do dododo do do dooooooo)

I am on the international feed 🥳 (hi Crofty!)

(ugh remember when Ferrari were leading both championships 😭)

wet/damp start???? I do not remember this whatsoever

Seb in... P13. I’ll take it. (we get Sewis on the grid though!!)

ugh this was a sprint race weekend. ew.

iirc we’re gonna get some broken tifosi hearts today 😑

[Start/Lap 1]: Yup, Ferraris somewhat trounced at the start

oop Dan on Sainz turn 1 violence.

SEB INTO P9 THAT’S MY BOY!!!!!

aaaaand Safety Car

daaaamn Lando’s start was zoomy

[Lap 2]: Kevin??? in P5???? Viking power & midfield stay winning

Aston Martin safety car my beloved!!!

Teeeeeeed!!!! (I will always endure the rest of the Sky team for Ted)

[Lap 5]: SEB GOT PAST NANDO, THAT’S MY BOY

(insert quote from Abu Dhabi about how Fernando and Seb have always raced each other)

Seb in P8 🥰🥰🥰

Fernando racing Seb and Lewis on the same day, did we briefly go back to 2012?

[Lap 6]: Oh shit that’s a big hole in Alonso’s sidepod 😬

The Alpine said ‘fuck this shit I’m out’

[Lap 8]: The parallel of the Tifosi groans on lap 1 to the cheers when Charles got past Lando

Also, Imola actually seems like a good track. Not bad addition to the calendar (unlike all the new street circuits 😭)

[Lap 9]: Oof that Merc porpoising is bad

That’s a very ominous looking rain radar ngl

[Lap 11]: Kevin channelling his inner Gandalf with Russell

[Lap 12]: Val getting the popcorn out watching Kevin v George

The midfield once again providing the bulk of the entertainment. We thank you for your service.

[Lap 13]: Class zero to one rain???? What does that mean??? McLaren explain????

Seb sighting!!

Back to weather jargon, what the fuck is class zero rain?? a drop??? the weird misty rain that just makes everything damp. I need to know.

[Lap 15]: The inters are not having fun it seems. Make better tyres Pirelli.

Livery watch: Aston Martin preeeeeeetty 💚

[Lap 16]: Thank you Crofty for remembering that Imola is home race no 1 for Alpha Tauri too

(Yes, I am a midfield stan in case this wasn’t clear)

f1blr 🤝 Sky F1: roasting the FIA for their decisions

[Lap 18]: Seb in the pits for slicks 👀

pls don’t rain pls don’t rain pls don’t rain

[Lap 19]: And you pit for slicks, and you pit for slicks, everyone pits for slicks!!

Lewis on Esteban pitlane violence?????

Ferrari could have brought in Charles at the same time as Perez, but they didn’t. I’m having bad flashbacks.

[Lap 20]: ayyyyyyy Seb P7!!!!

Alex got past Lewis???? I did not have Williams overtaking a Merc on my 2022 bingo

ew no don’t go to Horner I don’t want to hear his opinion on anything

[Lap 22]: We still don’t have DRS??? wild

the racing has been decent though

[Lap 25]: Lewis P14. Ouch 😔

[Lap 29]: Missing - Ferrari’s straight line speed. If found please return to Maranello

[Lap 32]: Also Missing - DRS. Please return to the FIA ASAP.

ugh, the race was fun when it was damp. It’s now a bit dull. Past half distance at least.

DRS RETURNETH!! 🥳🥳🥳

aww Mama Gasly.

[Lap 38]: Toto sighting!!

Ted bringing up Seb unprompted. Big mood.

[Lap 41]: Verstappen lapping Lewis. pain.

[Lap 44]: Shit’s bad when Charles is asking about Plan D.

[Lap 48]: Yuki getting into P8!! good for him!!

no wait don’t get past Seb

ah shit is this how Seb drops from 7th to 8th?

Seb praise on comms though we love to hear it

[Lap 50]: Charles in the pits. Is this Plan D or E?

ohhh the old ‘pit for the sofest tyres to get the fastest lap’ trick. nevermind.

asdfghjkl Red Bull pitting Perez to do the exact same thing. F1 is a Serious Sport™️.

Oh they’re pitting Verstappen too. alright then.

[Lap 52]: Oh damn Charles has caught up to Perez maybe Ferrari weren’t clowning.

[Lap 53]: Yuki has indeed caught up to Seb. by P7 you were wonderful while it lasted.

[Lap 54]: SHIT CHARLES SPUN WHAT

ohhhhhhhh no

Well, my memory didn’t fail me. We did get some tifosi heartbreak.

big oof at that replay.

[Lap 56]: Meanwhile Lewis still can’t get past Pierre.

[Lap 57]: Potential Bottas on Russell violence? 👀

5 Laps left. Perhaps my popcorn was a good idea.

[Lap 59]: And Charles gets past Seb. nvm.

Light rain at the last two laps????? Mum can you pick me up I’m scared.

Livery watch: I’m begging McLaren to have less black and more papaya on the livery this year.

[Lap 62]: I’m not seeing any rain. Are we safe??? I feel like I’m being lulled into a false sense of security.

oop, Charles into P6

[Lap 63/Finish]: I had legit forgotten about Verstappen after he lapped Lewis ngl.

Lando P3!! Good for him!

Damn Russell just kept P4

SEB P8 FIRST POINTS OF THE YEAR HELL YEAH!!!!!

Double AM points finish too we love to see it.

Well, that was def a better race than Aus, despite the really dull middle section when there was no DRS. Still made I completely forgot that it was a damp/dry race, the opening laps were probably my highlight. The Russell/Bottas battle was v fun to watch even though they kept their positions. Overall, 7 and a half front wings out of 10. Up next... Miami 😶

#F1 Liveblog #F1 Re watch #F1 2022 re watch #Emilia Romagna edition #I rated Aus as a joke but I think I have to keep it up now #anyway; Emilia Romagna was pretty good actually!!

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