Since in canon hobbits are good at hiding and finding things, and their home is generally considered a paradise to other races for its peace and prosperity, I think it would be a fun little thing if for some reason Maglor ended up just being hidden in the Shire and accepted there despite being Unfortunately Tall and allowed to heal
Like maybe, when the Shire was being settled a group of Hobbits continued westward just to scope out how safe their land would be, and happen upon the shores enjoying the sound of distant singing. They set up camp and unfortunately didn't realize the tide was coming in until it was too late and are all scrambling and crying out for help as one of their party gets washed away to sea.
Maglor, who was nearby but didn't notice these tiny sneaks until the screaming started, rushes up and in a panic and sees what he thinks are a group of children (with pointed ears, he can't see their large feet under the water and sand, and thinks they're Elven) alone and Drowning and thinks "not again" and dives in to save them
Which he does, but he's had 4 thousand years of malnutrition, lack of care for his body and mind, and has his wounded hand that is black and scarred, which he had to use to pull these young ones to shore. Once everyone is saved he collapses to the ground, exhausted and unconscious.
The Hobbits, of course, can't just let their savior stay on the beach like this where he could also drown or be swept off to sea, and they MUST thank him for the life debt, so they carry him to their pony cart and head back to the Shire where they can give him a proper thank you
Maglor is out cold for weeks though, long enough to be brought back to the Shire and situated in one of the guest rooms in the newly built Great Smial of the Took Clan. They clean him, bandage and heal his wounds, put him in some hastily made Tall Folk clothes made out of bedsheets, and wait for him to wake.
When he does, he's in a panic and then confused, for he's never seen hobbits before, and under the fear and dread he's a little amused. All throughout the First and Second ages he's managed to avoid others and has never been kidnapped, yet here he is, at the mercy of folk that look like children.
Some things get lost in translation between Hobbitish, Westeron, and Sindarin, and Maglor thinks that he's now a prisoner to these small people, and the Hobbits think that they are going to care for him and have him be a guest of theirs for as long as he likes. Maglor, who hasnt had great mental health for the past 2 ages, agrees to be their prisoner, for honestly, he believes he deserves it.
So he heals, and once he heals (minus the blackened hand which gets medicated and wrapped and secured under a leather glove which reminds him of his eldest brother and he grieves) they put him to work. Or well, they allow him to help in their gardens, to sing songs of the sun, of joy and family and all things Hobbit. They let him help in the kitchen, where he shares recipes long since lost to the sands of time, and he helps them build a forge and how to do basic metal working, for even if his craft is one of voice and song, he is still his father's son and a Prince of the Noldor- he knows how to use a forge.
And time moves on. They build him his own smial, one that suits his height, and Maglor heals, both in mind and in body, and he goes from not wanting to escape his captors because he deserves enslavement to finding a second family amongst these folk. He gets adopted into the Took Clan, and the Hobbits all affectionately call him "Old Maggie Took" or "Songbird" or if his singing is particularly a little to loud a little too early in the morning "that damned Rooster"
He helped protect the Hobbits, weaving Songs of illusion around their home, fighting Goblins and Orcs off with Bandobras Took, making daggers and leather gear for Belladonna Took as she travels the world, and trying his best to fight off the wolves during the Fell Winter. Not as many Hobbits die to fang and claw that winter, but they did to cold and starvation and sickness.
After Belladonna and her husband died that winter, her young son Bilbo often spent time with him (mostly to escape the well wishers and their looks of pity) and so Maglor taught him things to keep his mind from loss. Taught him Quenya, and Sindarin, all about the Noldor, about Elves and Men of old, what little he knew of Dwarves from Maedhros and Caranthir, and when Bilbo asks in a quite voice, how it feels to be the only one of his family members left
He, and the whole of the Shire really, also play a very fun game of Keep Away with Gandalf whenever he visits, and while he knows Something Is Up with the Shire, he never found out about Maglor (even though he has heard about Maggie Took, and all her apparent namesakes)
While Maglor wasn't there to see Bilbo off on his own adventure he was able to make sure that when he came home it was to a home at all, even if some silverware did go missing. And when he sensed something fowl lingering in Bagend after his return, Maglor just brushed it off as something tainted from a dragon horde (later he weeps for how wrong he was and all the lives lost that he could have prevented if he investigated more)
And when Bilbo goes off to Rivendell, old and grey, all those years later guided by his dwarves, he has a silent, nervous, elven companion with him.
And its not the first or last time Elrond was grateful for the nature of Hobbits, but he wept tears of joy as he hugged his father nonetheless
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the one where jaskier is drunk (taken from this prompt list, for @clementinecrane)
“You’re pretty.”
He feels himself blush. He ignores it.
“You’re drunk,” Geralt grunts.
“Mmm, true,” Jaskier slurs as his head tips forward, “but that doesn’t mean you aren’t pretty. Because you are.”
Geralt rolls his eyes and pulls the bard from the chair he had been seated on. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
“Yes!” The bard claps his hand once before pointing towards the stairs and exclaiming, “take me to bed, G’ralt!”
Geralt releases an exasperated sigh as Jaskier leans his full weight against him. It’s fine, really, he can carry the extra weight. What isn’t fine is the fact that his cheek is suddenly being poked at by a very pesky finger.
“You have such… lovely features. Nicely defined jaw, pretty plump lips, very expressive eyebrows,” Jaskier lists off, index finger dragging over every attribute he names, “and don’t even get me started on your eyes.”
It’s easy to ignore the feeling sneaking up on him when Jaskier nearly pokes one of out his eyes out.
The witcher growls warningly as he snatches Jaskier’s hand away.
The younger man laughs, “oh, Geralt. All bark and no bite.”
“Want to test that, bard?”
“Want to test that, bard?” Jaskier mimics using his Geralt Voice™.
Geralt has half the mind to let the bard trip and fall on his ass right here. Despite the temptation, he doesn’t.
“You’re so pretty,” the bard sighs. It comes off a little sad.
“So you’ve said.”
“And I’ll say it again. So pretty. So so pr—”
“You really never stop talking,” Geralt observes, and it was meant to be an insult but it came off a little… fond.
Jaskier goes on as if Geralt had said nothing at all, “the prettiest hair and the prettiest eyes. Why are you allowed to look so pretty? It hurts to look at you sometimes.”
“So stop looking.”
Jaskier gasps, clutching at his chest as if all the air has been knocked from his lungs. “Now why would I ever want to do that?”
Dramatic idiot, Geralt reminds himself even as he feels another layer peeling away. The universe is testing him, mocking him and his emotions.
Getting the door open proves to be a challenge with Jaskier draped over him but Geralt makes it work. He even manages to remove the bard’s jacket and boots, all while the man in question continues to wax poetry about Geralt’s never-ending prettiness.
“Pretty even when you’re covered in monster guts,” Jaskier giggles, “pretty even when you’re grumpy. Prettiest when you take care of Ciri. You smile. You have such a pretty smile. You should smile more.”
Ignore it. Ignore it.
He gets Jaskier situated in bed, making sure the pillow is properly fluffed before pulling the covers over the bard.
“So pretty all the time. Wanna be pretty for you, too.” Jaskier mumbles sleepily, eyes hardly open.
Ignore it. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Go to sleep, little lark.” Geralt whispers, combing a loose strand of hair away from Jaskier’s face.
Jaskier snuggles deeper into the blanket, eyes fully shut now as his head lulls to the side.
There’s a hint of a smile on his face, a flash of a thing. “My pretty witcher,” he murmurs.
And that one... he simply can’t ignore, not with the accompanying warmth that spreads through his limbs at the words.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s real or not. It doesn’t matter that Jaskier would never say this while sober.
Geralt can hold onto this, can’t he? He can have this, even if he can’t have anything else.
My pretty witcher. Jaskier’s witcher.
His.
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Hi!! I’m hosting a long overdue 3k on tumblr and 10k on insta DTIYS! Tysm for all the support!! This is purely for fun so feel free to participate and tag me in your drawings! <3
oh right! and tag with #clowniesdtiys !!! i totally forgot :PP
more info and closeups under cut :) have fun!
Theres no rules really, as long as you keep the pose and theme you’re good! (but of course no tracing)
You can change up the outfits, expressions and background as you please, heck feel free to add your own stuff in!
you dont have to keep the format the same, or even the card inspiration if you don’t want to!
any tarot inspired symbolism of your own is more than welcome but deffo not neccessary lol im just a esoteric nerd i love that shit
there’s no time limit you can do whatever whenever :))
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To whom it may concern,
If you have had the misfortune of finding this note, then you are most likely the new owner of this property. And for that, I can only apologise and offer my condolences.
I have done everything within my power to ensure that this property never gains a new owner, but as the years go by and my body and mind begin to fail me, I fear that all of my preparations might have been in vain, as one can never hope to fully prepare for every eventuality.
As such, all I can do now is offer what little advice I have managed to gather over the years, in the hopes that whichever poor soul is reading this, will be able to avoid the fate that myself, and all those before me, were doomed to.
1 - Never extinguish or move, the lantern in the attic.
2 - If the lantern moves by itself, do not try and put it back in its usual place. It will return there in due time.
3 - Never use the back door. It does not lead to where you think it does, and it is locked for a reason.
4 - If said reason starts knocking or scratching at that door, do not respond, but be sure to cook a little extra that night, and try to pretend you do not notice when there is nothing left behind come the morn.
5 - Never remove flowers from the garden without having something on hand, to give back in return.
6 - Do not light the fireplace on the north wall. There is something living there, and the flames will be seen as an invitation.
7 - Those are not people by the lake, and they do not like it when you stare.
8 - Do not touch the apple tree. You cannot afford what they cost.
9 - The fourth step will squeak if you step on it during the day. Pay no attention to how it growls, when you do so at night.
10 - Never leave a mirror uncovered when you leave a room. These too, will be taken as an invitation, and not all guests are as polite as the chimney beast.
11 - Mysterious books should be avoided at all costs.
12 - No, that corner was not always that dark. Do not try and investigate it.
13 - Do not respond to the whispering you hear during the night. They do not only seek to wake you.
Good luck, dear stranger.
May you succeed, where all before you, have failed.
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