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jomarch-wannabe · 5 months

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Relax (Thranduil x Fem! Reader)

Pairings: Thranduil x Female Reader

Synopsis: The Elvenking has had a long day.. he has an idea on how to relax

Warnings: Smut 🔞 (power dynamic, size kink, dub-con, breast play, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, praise kink, fingering, dry humping, multiple orgasms, marking (biting), pure filth)

Author’s note: I started watching the Hobbit with my dad and I actually had to hold myself back from (s)creaming when this man appeared on screen. This entire fic is the inner workings of my touch starved mind. Hopefully this reaches the target audience.

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“You sent for me, my lord?” You stood in the door frame of the Elvenking’s chambers, clasping your hands in front of the other. In anticipation you played with your fingers, awaiting his instruction.

The truth was, you developed a strong infatuation for the king. His calculated and elegant demeanor captivated you. He walked and carried himself with such grace, yet held a sense of immense power and dominance. You wondered what darkness lied beneath his light eyes, and what form existed beneath his silk robes.

“Yes.” The word dragged slowly off his lips with a languid, cocky tone. He studied you from under his dark brows, thumbing his chin. The cushion beneath him squeaked as he adjusted his hips, widening his legs. You swallowed at the view, flicking your wide eyes over his form.

“Come. And shut the door behind you.” His commanding baritone made you shiver with nervousness. With a trembling hand you pulled the door closed, finding yourself alone with him. It was quiet except for the shaky exhales fleeing your lips.

The pads of your feet pattered timidly against the stone floor as you faced him, beholding him stretched out on a lounge chair, dressed in expensive garments.

He observed you with a controlled expression, his angular fingers thumbed the wooden armrest, drawing circles, slow, and deliberate. A warm pulse commenced in between your thighs at the sight.

“I require something from you.” He broke the silence, drawing your attention to his commanding blue eyes.

Your breath hitched as your eyes darted to his, “Yes? My lord?”

He took in a breath, letting his eyes wander for a moment. He was troubled, evident by the subtle knit of his black brow. “I’ve been.. tense, you see.” He let out an exasperated breath, finding you with his sapphire eyes. They glinted with lust, sparkling in the warm amber light of the room. “I require your assistance, to relax.”

A burn crept over your face at his words. You suddenly felt very small and weak before him. A pit formed in your stomach, capturing your breath. You struggled to speak, “I’m not sure how I could help.”

“Ah.. but I think you do pet.” His pink lips pulled into a smirk, glistening with saliva as he darted his tongue out to wet them.

A whimper threatened to flee your throat, you stifled it by biting your lip.

“Come along now.” He motioned with his fingers, showing off the band of gems ornamenting them. “Be a good girl for me.”

As you faltered towards him, a cool, musky scent evaporated off his skin in his proximity. You breathed him in, growing warm with arousal.

“On your knees.” He instructed in a controlled tone, looking at you down his nose. In obedience you dropped slowly to your knees, noticing the thumping of your pulse in your ears. You dared to touch him, cautiously caressing your hands over his thighs. They were firm and muscular, twitching under your touch.

Soft exhales fled your parted lips as you gazed up at him in desire. His grip on the wooden armrest tightened as he took you in. Your wide needy eyes, and long hair flowing over slender shoulders, and the top your breasts.

His garments wrestled as he sat up, hovering above you. Your stomach caved as your eyes followed his finger, grazing over your shoulder. With a calculated swipe, he released the strap, loosening the bodice of your dress.

“I want this off.” He murmured darkly, undressing you with a predatory gaze. In eagerness you helped him, unhooking the other strap. The garment slid down your chest, revealing your breasts to the still air. Your nipples became erect in the cold air, pink and hard.

“Enchanting.” He gasped in admiration, feeling himself growing hard. He shifted in his seat, searching for friction. He couldn’t help but touch you, exploring your left breast suddenly, pinching your nipple between his finger. The pressure made you jump slightly, feeling a jolt of pleasure.

“Shh.. be a good girl now.” He asserted, aroused by the feeling of your soft breasts.

“Y-yes my lord.” You stuttered, feeling your eyelids flutter at the circling of his hard fingertips.

His hand slid around your back, urging you up. You straddled his lap, settling on the tops of his thighs. A unison sigh filled the air as you felt the weight each others bodies. His head leaned forward, brushing his pointed nose against your sternum. Your hand came over his head, sifting through his soft strands. A wet warmth commenced as he latched his mouth onto your breast, sucking softly. He let out a low groan, vibrating against your skin.

“F-fuck..” you whimpered, grinding your hips against him. He hummed lowly, continuing the action.

“Oh fuck..” your eyes fell closed in pleasure, tugging softly on his white blonde hair.

“Such a pretty thing.” His warm breath fanned your skin as he praised you, peppering kisses along your chest.

“All for you.. it’s all for you my king..” you sighed, relaxing under his touch.

“How does your mouth taste I wonder?” He questioned with an inquisitive look in his eye, pulling back to look up at you. The weight of his hand came suddenly to your head, sifting through the roots of your hair. His eager grip tugged you towards his face. The feeling of his large hand sent chills down your spine, making you shiver in pleasure.

His nose brushed against yours as he inched closer, speaking against your mouth, “y/n.”

A desperate moan fled your mouth as you looked into his eyes, those captivating, sapphire eyes. He palmed your face, leaving goosebumps on your skin as his thumb caressed your cheek. Your eyes danced over his expectantly, brushing your lips against his. He stuck his tongue out, licking your bottom lip, before closing the gap, capturing your mouth.

The force of the kiss pushed you back slightly, making you gasp. His grip kept you upright, growling primally as he tasted you. His lips were soft and full, molding against yours perfectly. You moaned into his mouth, enraptured by his dominance.

A wet pop commenced as you pulled away from him, breathing heavily. Your eyelids fluttered open, entranced by him. They scanned over his face, to his swollen pink lips and lust blown eyes.

“I want you now my angel..” his hand thumbed over your cheek affectionately, not breaking eye contact.

You bit your lip, nodding in agreement, before sliding slowly off of his lap to his feet.

At this angle he looked even more ethereal. An amber light poured over the top of his frame, casting gray shadows on his prominent cheek bones and deep set eyes. He looked masculine, powerful, forcing your being to submit to him.

You fingertips explored the soft silk of his pants, moving up to the waistband. With eager fingers you hooked the fabric along with his undergarments, shuffling it down his thighs.

Your stomach sank at the view of his hard cock, bobbing towards his abdomen, free from the confinement of his clothing. The sight made you salivate. He was long and thick, with a pink tip and trimmed blonde hair at the base. He moved his position, letting out a sigh as he grew comfortable, making his length bob slightly.

You swallowed thickly, losing your breath. Unable to wait anymore, you settled your elbows on his thighs, extending your tongue on the shaft. He was warm and heavy. The pulsing of a vein throbbed against your tongue as you licked a clean stripe up to the head. He let out a low groan, knitting his thick brows together as he watched you.

You let out an aroused moan, lubricating him with your mouth. Your eyes didn’t leave his, you were entranced by the contorted look on his face. One that you only ever saw in such control.

He let out groans of pleasure as your fingers wrapped around him, dragging the head against your lips, coating them with precum.

As you pleased him his fingers sifted through your hair, grabbing a fistful of your straight strands. The grip made you involuntarily move downward, pushing his length into your mouth, you gagged instinctively.

“That’s it…” he sighed, bucking his hips up in pleasure.

You whimpered around his cock, digging your nails into his thighs as you struggled to fit it all. He was heavy and warm, filling the back of your throat.

Your lips closed around him as you pulled back, sucking.

“Ahh..” a gravely groan came from him, flexing his fingers in your hair.

His sounds made your core throb, warm in between your thighs.

As you struggled to take him all, he began to take control, moving your head with his hand. His hips nudged upwards as he guided his cock in and out of your mouth, brushing his pubic hair against your nose.

Your eyes closed shut as you gagged, spilling saliva down your cheeks, onto his thighs.

“That’s it.. fuck.. you feel so good little one.” He panted, sloppily bucking his hips up and down. Suddenly he stopped, making you hold still. You struggled, gagging and spitting. You writhed against his hand, unable to pull back.

“Shh.. stay still darling.. be good.” He hushed, sighing lewdly.

Your throat closed as you struggled for air, before he finally lifted your head up, granting you breath. You sputtered and coughed, licking your dripping lips.

“I’m not finished yet.” His deep baritone made you shiver as he forced you back onto his cock, hitting the back of your throat.

“Ah.. ah! I’m close..” he was desperate now, grinding his hips upward as he chased his release. A muffled moan came from you, you loved the feeling of his thick cock claiming you, making you obey and submit to him.

His thighs shook against your fingertips as he reached his peak, sloppily bucking his hips. With a loud guttural groan he came undone, emptying his release down your throat. The feeling was warm and salty, making you wince.

“Take it all,” he panted, “swallow your king’s seed.” You obeyed, squeezed your eyes shut as you swallowed it down.

Once he was satisfied, he loosened his grip on your hair, pulling you off of him. Your wet, swollen lips gaped open as you caught your breath, finding him with your eyes.

“Get up.” He commanded you, pulling you to his lap with his hands. You squeaked as you straddled his lap, feeling his hard cock in between your thighs. You couldn’t help but moan, feeling the wet tip brush against your clit.

He manhandled your waist, turning you around so you were facing the door, with your back pressed against his chest.

“Open up for me flower..”

Your stomach caved with your breaths as you widened your legs, extending them over the top of his thighs. He was so large, your feet reached just past his knees. His strong chest pressed against your back, vibrating as he spoke, “your mouth.” His sultry whisper hovered next to your ear as he inched from above you, brushing his nose against your cheek.

Your plump pink lips fell open for him. From the corner of your eye you followed his hand, holding your chin with his thumb. Two long fingers pushed into your mouth, sliding over your tongue. You gagged slightly while moaning.

“Suck.”

In obedience, you closed your lips over the digits, swirling your tongue over them as you sucked, humming.

“Good girl.” His lips parted as he watched you in admiration, hungrily observing you with his crystal eyes.

His fingers pulled out of your mouth, tugging down your bottom lip. You smiled, gazing at him in amusement and arousal. His thumb moved down your chin, palming your chest, and gravitating down your stomach. You whimpered at the warmth of his strong hand. You watched his hand move further, down, and finally.. there. Your body tensed as you let out a moan, indulging in the sudden pressure against your clit.

“Shh.. relax my angel.”

A jolt of pleasure moved down your legs as he rubbed into you, making you head fall back.

“F-feels.. so good..” pleasure filled tears blurred in your eyes as you submitted to him.

His nose brushed against your shoulder, inhaling deeply as he planted his lips on your skin. “My treasure.”

A whimper came from your throat as you pushed your hips forward, pressing against his fingertips.He groaned in arousal, exploring his fingers down, slipping in between your slick folds. “Soo wet for me pet.” He dragged his words out, vibrating against your skin.

“Y-yes..” your hand came behind you, holding onto his neck, warm and flexing with his movements.

Without warning he delved his fingers into your entrance, making you gasp. A wet feeling came over your back as his still hard cock rubbed against it.

“Oh fuck.. please please…” you squirmed, digging your nails into his neck as you clenched around his fingers.

He groaned lowly at the sensation, aroused from the pain. He granted your wish, delving his muscular fingers in and out of you. Each deliberate push and pull built your arousal, making you squeeze around the intrusion.

“F-fuck..”

He planted soft kisses on your collarbone, scraping your skin with his teeth. A low groan came from him as he bucked his hips upward, stimulating himself against the curve of your back.

Your face flushed with exertion as you neared your high, dripping arousal down your thighs from the repeated thrusting of his fingers.

“Please.. please please..”

“Are you close pet? Are you going to come for your master?” He fanned you with his breath, rapidly bucking his fingers in and out of you.

“Yes! Yes please.. please..” you let out a pornographic moan, feeling a tear fall down your cheek as your eyes fell closed.

His chest caved with his breath as he fucked himself against your back, simultaneously pleasuring you.

“Come with me my angel.. come with me..” the request came out strangled as he struggled and panted, grinding against your spine.

In a few final deep thrusts you came over the edge, shaking against him as you mouth fell open. “Fuck fuck fuck..” a prayer of pleasure able sounds came from you as you rode out your high, squirming helplessly on his lap. His teeth sunk into your shoulder as he groaned lowly, ejected ropes of warm cum against your back.

His fingers slid out of you with a wet squelching noise, finding place around your neck. He squeezed softly, pulling your head back to face him.

“My darling..” he sighed with a smirk on his face, leaning down to scrape his teeth along your throat. You whined, submitting to him, weakly thumbing his clean shaven jaw. His nose tickled your throat as he sucked your skin, marking you.

“Do you feel relaxed now my king?” You asked him breathlessly, searching for his deep set blue eyes.

He hummed, pulling away to look at you. “Very much..” his nose brushed your cheek as he murmured in a gravely tone, “thank you for your services my flower.”

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@emmieson @mithrilandvilya @cassiopeiathranduilion @pandaalisa @merovingianprincess @telltale-vixen

#thranduil #the hobbit #Lee pace #the lord of the rings #Thranduil smut #Thranduil x reader

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frodo-with-glasses · 19 days

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More Reading Thoughts: In the House of Tom Bombadil

BEHOLD! ANOTHER CHAPTER! We’re making it at a magnificent clip nowadays

Eyyyy it’s Goldberry!

Frodo surprising himself with the poem that springs out of his mouth when he sees Goldberry will never not be hilarious and adorable

It does beg the question of where the heck that came from. Does Goldberry just have that effect on people? Does it have serving to do with Elf magic, like she implies? Does Frodo just have that accidental rizz?? Who knows!

Frodo: “Who is Tom Bombadil?” Goldberry: “Well, he is, of course, silly :-D”

Mighty convenient that Tom has exactly four beds for the four travelers

They DO take a bath before supper >8-D (Don’t mind me, just a comic idea percolating in my head. Some of you know what I’m talking about.)

Tom was waiting for them. Tom was waiting for them. He’d heard word that the hobbits were coming. He wasn’t actively trying to find them, but he wasn’t surprised when he did. I don’t know why that enchants me so much.

Merry and Pippin like “AAAHH NO DON’T TALK ABOUT THE WILLOW TREE” is simultaneously hilarious and heartbreaking depending on how you look at it

Heeheehee nightmare time

Frodo has a dream about Gandalf and Black Riders. Hmm, pity. You’d think he’d have a nightmare about water, given his near-drowning and the way his parents died…but I guess this is important for foreshadowing purposes.

Pippin has a dream about being inside the tree. He feels surrounded and afraid. Understandable.

MERRY has the dream about water and drowning?? Shut up!! If I were him, I’d be way more disturbed that a freaking tree was IN MY HEAD and threatening to kill me!!

“Sam slept through the night in deep content, if logs are contented.” Hilarious 🤣

Much apologies to my girlies on the server who headcanon the hobbits with phobias corresponding to the four elements; sadly, Tolkien is not on the same page as us this time.

Tom: “You’d better not be late to breakfast, or you’ll get nothing but grass and water!”

See, Frodo gets it. Rainy days are awesome. They are beautiful and force you to slow down and admire the world.

“The trees were here before you, mind, and they don’t much care for your shenanigans!”

Ooh, so the Barrow-wights are the ghosts of dead kings that the Nazgul woke up. Fascinating.

Nothing makes the world of Middle Earth feel old and rich in history more than Tom’s stories

Goldberry’s hand being partly translucent is such a vibe

WAIT. Tom and Goldberry. Differences. Tall and short. Blonde and brown. One graceful and ethereal, the other down to earth and joyful. Working together, not in competition. Frodo and Sam. SHUT UP GUYS I’VE CRACKED THE CODE—

Tom is friends with Farmer Maggot!!

FARMER MAGGOT HAS SPOKEN TO GILDOR

Dang where’s my fantasy epic about Farmer Maggot you guys

And this is the part where Tom puts the Ring on his finger and doesn’t disappear, and if they’d ever included this in the movies it would’ve destroyed the gravity and mystique of the Ring altogether

Merry having to bite back a yell like “HOLY CRAP FRODO’S GONE” 🤣

WAIT I CAN MAKE THAT ANGSTY TOO aw heck the brainrot is setting in

“Frodo laughed (trying to feel pleased)…” Relatable, Frodo, relatable

Tom: “And remember, DON’T GO NEAR THE BARROW-DOWNS!” Meanwhile, the hobbits, in the very next chapter:

#tom bombadil #frodo baggins #meriadoc brandybuck #merry #peregrin took #pippin #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #my writing #chapter review

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authorshen · 1 year

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Tips on Pacing

We, as creators, seek that hook that gets the readers invested and keeps them that way. Nothing does that better than tension. There are all kinds, but it often occurs between characters. The "do they like me" of romance, the interruptions of erotica, the intense adversary from an unknown opponent, or the whodunits of mystery; Tension comes in all shapes and sizes, but it boils down to one thing, leaving the readers holding their breath in anticipation of the next page.

A large part of the creative process is figuring out how to create that tension without leaving the readers wanting to quit out of frustration or confusion. I would like to say there is a correct way to pace things, but it depends entirely on the story and situation.

Action scenes, for example, move very quickly, whereas a scene with a lot of dialogue will move at a snail’s pace. A spicy scene will emulate real life, moving slowly at first and increase its pace. A dramatic scene can be either fast or slow, depending on what it contains.

There are the peaceful scenes that do not move the same as any other kind of scene, showing the contentment of characters, the sun setting, or moving from one place to another. In writing or showing these scenes in a comic, it will go very quickly but the reader will perceive them as slow.

Showing a car ride, or a cooking scene allows characters to reflect on what has been happening and offers character development, but it does not have that tension at all. Still, adding those scenes is like adding bread to your butter. Now, everyone has their own tastes, but I would find it very odd to find someone who would consume just butter, especially if it was unsalted. Adding those peaceful scenes makes the ones that aren’t, all the more impactful, to both your readers and your characters.

The calm before the storm does wonders in storytelling, but the one thing you want to avoid is spending too much time in that calm. An example of this would be The Hobbit. Now, I love The Hobbit. It’s a classic hero’s journey, with a deep world build and rich characters, but parts of it are unnecessarily wordy. There is a page that describes the moss on the trees in such detail that you can taste it, which shows Tolkien’s skills as a wordsmith, but it was ultimately padding.

waits for the rage. Padding; words that don’t move your plot forward and only add to your word/panel count. Padding or filler should not be confused with peaceful scenes. Peaceful scenes will add to your story, padding will not. The literary world has changed a lot since Tolkien wrote The Hobbit, and we can see that evident in modern literature by the fact that there would hardly be a mention of trees at all, let alone the moss that grows upon them.

The next subject of pacing is sentence variation and flow. Now, flow is a tricky subject, and is not often resolved during the initial draft. When I am editing, things will sometimes be in the wrong order and disrupt flow. When flow is off, tension wanes, and when tension wanes, readers will lose interest. There may be entire scenes that I think don’t work where they are, but rather than delete those scenes, I find a place where they fit better. Perhaps that place is earlier, perhaps it is later. If you thought that scene was necessary when you wrote it, perhaps there is a proper place for it.

In A Galactic Star, a part of the chapter titled Repercussions, was supposed to happen right before the climax. I moved it up to allow the reader to understand Chrome’s hesitations between him and Neon.

Even in comics, you aren’t going to necessarily catch things after you just completed them. Many indie creators will recommend a space between writing the initial draft and editing it. The amount of time varies per person, but it is suggested to at least give it a day. The reason is because of the completion high; You just created this thing and in your mind it is amazing and awesome, not seeing the mistakes that are there. I feel as though editing is like polishing a stone; Every stone, no matter how grey or plain in appearance, can be polished into a stunning masterpiece if given enough time.

The editing process has multiple phases, the first is checking for spelling and grammar mistakes, and the second is checking the sentence structure for flow and repeating these steps as necessary. Example: The loud dog barked. Vs. The dog barked loudly. The first is grammatically correct but makes you pause to process, whereas the second will allow you to move on to the next sentence without that stop.

Flow is a key component in pacing, which is a key component in tension, which keeps your readers engaged. As a potential reader of your story, I hope this will help you to bring it to life.

#writing #creative #writers #writers on tumblr #fiction #writeblr #novel writing #comic writer #writerslife #writer problems #writerblr #writing tips #writing advice #writer tips #pacing #storytelling #comics #comic tips #story writing

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nocturne-pisces · 1 year

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Jewel Encrusted

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

w/c: 1.4k

a/n: here’s some word vomit.

warnings: smut. it’s uhh- there’s some angst i guess? i also wrote like way too many similes and metaphors but whatever, yknow.

His knuckles turn white, his hands fisted at his sides. You don’t think his eyes could get any wider with the way he drinks you in like he’ll never see this again, like you’ll never let him this close again. He has to commit it to his Swiss cheese memory so he doesn’t lose the image of your face lit up in pleasure like neon signage.

You’re above him; the bounce in your tits matching the rhythmic slap of your ass against his thighs. This must be what it’s like to be ridden within an inch of your life, he thinks. Heaven lies between your legs and if he lets go he’s sure he’ll see salvation.

***

You might as well have invented antigravity when you waltzed into his life. The sway in your hips spun his world on its axis and Steve told Bucky that for the first time in a century he’d seen a glimmer of his best friend in the boyish smile he gave you.

***

You can’t imagine he could get any deeper if he tried, pressed to the limits of you while the springs in the couch are tested of their limits too. You look so soft, so supple, he wants to plant his hands on your hips and fuck himself a home in your chest where the heavy thud of your heart would make his echo a response.

But he won’t, his traitorous hands will not ruin this for him.

***

You asked him out the third or fourth time he’d choked on his own tongue trying to talk to you. A handful of near completely crushed daisies in his fist as he talked about making sure you had a good umbrella in case wind accompanied the rain later.

“Wanna buy me a coffee?”

The question had slicked off your tongue like oil and the gentle chime of your voice bound him tight. He answered yeah with too much breath but the way your face lit up made him remember that he brought flowers.

You’d tried not to laugh when he held them up and they all fell over his fingers like some stupid cartoon, your hand over your mouth and your tongue firmly held between your teeth. His head hung in defeat, but he appreciated the way you put those depressed daisies in a vase all the same.

Green tendrils of smoke curled from your fingers and he watched as each and every blossom stood to attention again.

***

“Are you going to touch me, Barnes?”

He feels like he has to unroll his eyes from the back of his head- physically peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth, dumbstruck as he feels every ridge and quiver in the wet and hot of you.

You slow down, cradle his face in both of your hands and suck his bottom lip into your mouth. You can feel the tension roiling in his thighs beneath you, the fraying thread of his self control as you still your hips, grinding against him slow and dirty.

He chokes on his tongue again, the head of him nudging against your deepest parts while your wet slips a small river down the seam of his nuts. He can’t think through the haze, can’t think past the way your skin feels against his. The only thing anchoring him in this reality is the vice tight grip he has on the couch cushions.

***

You’d struck up a conversation about books, noticed the worn copy of The Hobbit that he carried around like a stuffed animal when Steve was on a mission and made conversation about it. Bucky says that he’s been making slow progress through it, his eyes averting to the cup of coffee sat in front of him when you ask him why.

He doesn’t lie to you. Steve told him once that people who mind didn’t matter, and those that mattered didn’t mind. Bucky says that it’s hard to follow the story through all the clutter in his mind and without missing a beat you offer to read to him. The most beautiful woman he’s ever managed to stumble over himself in front of offers to read him his favorite story.

It doesn’t hurt anything but his ego when the coffee spills over the saucer and into his lap, but the red creeps up his neck and into his face all the same. You move your own coffee to the side and lean across the table, those same green tendrils looping around broken ceramic and affixing them back into place.

You apologize because you can’t put the coffee back in the cup, or at least you haven’t figured out how yet. He shakes his head and tells you that spilled coffee isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. You give him a sad kind of smile, one that he feels in the marrow of his bones.

“Why don’t we make sure it’s the worst thing that happens today?”

***

“Bucky, please, put your hands on me, baby, please.”

You plead with him, but he still doesn’t move, his hands refusing to budge from their spot on either side of him.

Finally, you stop, chest heaving, pulling his gaze up to yours. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head, his eyes falling shut and his forehead coming to rest in the valley between your breasts. “No,” he gruffs out, hot air puffing against your skin. “No, I don’t want to stop, I just—“

Even from this angle you can see his jaw flex, wincing as he beats himself internally for ruining this incredible moment. “Things break when I’m not in control and—“ his voice cracks, those sea blue eyes tinged with a hurt you wish you could pluck out, “I don’t want to break you.”

Bucky says it with all the reverence in the world, with so much sincerity that your heart breaks for him. You lean down and kiss him, lace your fingers into his hair and steal the breath from his lungs and he still keeps his hands firmly locked on either side of him because you’re still rested snugly in his lap and on his cock.

***

“She’s not pretending, Buck.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I can. She’s not like that with anyone else. Just you.”

“Like what?”

“You don’t see the way she looks at you?”

“How does she look at me?”

Steve ponders it for a moment, tries to come up with any other time he’s seen that same look on your face. “She looks at you like she could understand where religion comes from.”

***

Bucky understands why some people are willing to die in the name of God. He understands why people are willing to live their whole life in devotion to something that may not exist. The difference is that there is real, tangible evidence that you exist in the purples and blues that blossom across his neck in the wake of your mouth.

“I’m not breakable, Barnes,” you pant, the heft of him still nestled deep.

“Everything has the capacity to break,” he groans back, swallowing hard when you clamp down around him.

“If you’re still coming up with Oxford words I’m not doing good enough.” You try to joke with him, but he’s so consumed with trying to keep himself under control that he can’t find it within to laugh at your joke.

You pull yourself out of his neck, kiss him back into this universe and rest your hands over his. “I can’t,” he pleads, like your hand rests on the dagger driven into his heart. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself—“

Your thumb presses his lips closed, fingers splaying against his cheek while you hold him steady. “I never asked you to be anything but who you are. I know what I signed up for and I want all of it.”

“I-“

You lean in close to his ear, press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, let your green unfurl from your fingers, trail down his shoulders, and wedge his grip from the couch. Your hands slip from his face, down the slope of his neck, and rest on the plane of his chest.

“It would be an honor to be broken by you, Sergeant Barnes.”

The single note that sounded from the snapped harp string of his self control wrote a symphony in understanding.

He painted you in your favorite shades of sapphire and amethyst because nothing is ever perfect; and he kissed every single bruise when the sun came up because you know he is.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 1 year

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Out of curiosity, and boredom, which LOTR characters do you think would be good Jedi's?

Oooh, juicy one. Hm...

Aragorn, as a mostly wandering Master with no Padawan. Kinda like Tu-Anh. He's got what it takes: the ability to let go out of love (because duh. Anakin wouldn't have waited 67 years for Padmé), the nobility of spirit, the willingness to serve the people first and foremost... He's even got the special sword and the long hooded cloak. He's selfless and dedicated and unwaveringly good, plus I'd argue his introduction to the story and his relationship with the Hobbits perfectly fits the Jedi - he shows up as a mysterious ally and people don't trust him at first, but after a while he becomes an indispensable advisor/bodyguard type who unfortunately can't fight all your battles for you (and has his own capital sidequest fighting ultimate evil).

Elrond, obviously, as a Council Master. He's "as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer." That's what Jedi are baby. Kind warrior-wizard-monks. He's missing the monk part, but not the ability to let go. Plus he's a robe-wearing loremaster. And the guy the whole of Middle Earth comes to whenever they have a problem, fully expecting him to be able to do something about it.

Gandalf and the other Istari, as Masters, for the same reasons. Radagast has Animal Friendship, Gandalf is the Mentor Archetype (like Ben and Yoda), and Saruman and Dooku are essentially the same character so yeah.

I wouldn't want the Hobbits to be Jedi because their role in the Quest shouldn't be for life. They're closer to the Rebels. They have to fight so they can live in peace as civilians afterward. They're little people, they're us.

Boromir and Faramir, I'm on the fence about. There's some juicy possibilities. Same for Gimli - I'm mostly leaning towards no, but as a pair with Legolas, it could def work. Galadriel would obvs be an extremely powerful Force-user, but idk about a Jedi. Maybe. She's kind of in a class of her own, power-wise. Eowyn would be pretty cool as a young, reckless Knight who needs to learn about slowing down.

Finally, Legolas, would make an absolutely stellar Jedi - not because he's as perfect as Aragorn or Elrond, but because he's an absolute troll and he's infuriating and reckless and relentlessly optimistic and an incorrigible show-off and I love his stupid face so much. Jedi would run on snow while everybody is sinking and go 'I'm off to find the sun :))))' and Jedi do compare kills (droids, in their case) and talk about how they feel the earth's ✨ancient vibes✨ and the song of the trees and everything. He's a Jedi, no questions about it.

#ask #anonymous #lord of the rings #aragorn #elrond #gandalf #saruman #legolas #jedi order #jedi au

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hobgobknowsbest · 6 months

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I've come to think of the recent trend making goblincore "pretty" as sort of like... a renaissance faire. We all know the medieval times were nothing like they are represented as at a faire, but it's still nice, still entertaining. People dress up as these idealized, pretty, fantasy versions of squires, knights, princesses, princes, queens and kings, laughs are had, money is spent, and everyone eats a giant turkey leg.

Same general idea. Who wouldn't love to live in a sun-dappled hole in the ground, in the middle of the woods, somehow subsisting off the land without the hardships that come with that lifestyle, happily gardening and sipping tea by candlelight? Chasing down the occasional human, causing mischief in the local town that's close to your acres of forest?

Perhaps I'm too stuck in the moment, but all I can see is what's at hand; the here and the now of it. Goblins and bugbears, bogarts, púca, changelings and creatures of all shapes and sizes, trapped in our little meatsuits, suffering from a whole new kind of culture shock day in and day out.

You can't stop humanity from encroaching too far upon nature's domain because they already have, and now you find yourself amongst them. Behind enemy lines, more or less.

You can't make yourself a hole in the ground because every inch of this land is somehow owned, regardless of whether or not someone has ever even set foot upon it.

It becomes less about roleplaying a hobbit on the weekends, and more about surviving with the power of sheer spite.

Your disguise is mostly above suspicion, so you can, for the most part, act and dress however you like. At your core, you are still the antithesis to humanity, so you find yourself stitching your clothes together, proud of your rips and tears. You earned them. You can't fully grasp the idea of money, no matter how hard you try, and so "the grind" is likely something you don't participate in.

Now, rules you are familiar with, but the ones you find in front of you have no sense to them, and feel as if they aren't directed towards you.

You're leery of people in general, and so are slow to make friends. You find yourself, more than likely, getting close to those who have been rejected by society as well: punks and felons, anarchists, street kids and van-lifers. You probably consider yourself a member of one of these little communities yourself.

It's a lonely sort of life, at the end of the day, no matter what you surround yourself with. No matter what you decide to distract yourself with. Finding more of your kind is difficult, even with the aid of the internet, but you can likely spot them here and there, and it is refreshing to bounce your unique energy back and forth.

What I'm trying to say, while I derail myself here, is that I'm coming to the conclusion that there's two sides to goblincore: there's the fashion side, and the lifestyle side. Everything becomes a fashion statement at some point, so I can't really complain.

If someone I met started dressing like me in real life, I'd be flattered, y'know? It'd be weird, as it'd be their own strange version of my normal dress, but it's still oddly endearing. A little Single White Female, but still endearing.

But if you're a lifer, if you've lived this way well before it was given a title, trust that your kind are out there. You're not alone.

You just might have to dig through a little bit of trash to find them.

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middleearth-polls · 8 months

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Please see each moment quoted below the poll under the cut.

1. Sam finds Frodo in Cirith Ungol:

‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Frodo, clutching him. ‘There was an orc with a whip, and then it turns into Sam! Then I wasn’t dreaming after all when I heard that singing down below, and I tried to answer? Was it you?’ ‘It was indeed, Mr. Frodo. I’d given up hope, almost. I couldn’t find you.’ ‘Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,’ said Frodo, and he lay back in Sam’s gentle arms, closing his eyes, like a child at rest when night-fears are driven away by some loved voice or hand.

2. Aragorn finds Boromir near Parth Galen

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet. Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. ‘I tried to take the Ring from Frodo,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. I have paid.’ His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. ‘They have gone: the Halflings: the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.’ He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again. ‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’ ‘No!’ said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ‘You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!’ Boromir smiled. ‘Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?’ said Aragorn. But Boromir did not speak again.

3. Pippin finds Merry in Minas Tirith:

Pippin’s face was anxious. ‘Well, you had better come with me as quick as you can,’ he said. ‘I wish I could carry you. You aren’t fit to walk any further. They shouldn’t have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit coming in from the battle is easily overlooked.’ ‘It’s not always a misfortune being overlooked,’ said Merry. ‘I was overlooked just now by – no, no, I can’t speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It’s all going dark again, and my arm is so cold.’ ‘Lean on me, Merry lad!’ said Pippin. ‘Come now! Foot by foot. It’s not far.’ ‘Are you going to bury me?’ said Merry. ‘No, indeed!’ said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity. ‘No, we are going to the Houses of Healing.’

4. Bilbo reunites with Thorin after the Battle of Five Armies

‘Farewell, good thief,’ [Thorin] said. ‘I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.’ Bilbo knelt on one knee filled with sorrow. "‘Farewell, King under the Mountain!’ he said. ‘This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils - that has been more than any Baggins deserves.’ ‘No!’ said Thorin. ‘There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!’ Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse. He was a kindly little soul.

5. Beleg and Túrin reunite in the woodlands

As night drew down they were all gathered about him, and Ulrad brought a brand from the little fire that was lit in the cave-mouth. But at that moment Túrin returned. Coming silently, as was his custom, he stood in the shadows beyond the ring of men, and he saw the haggard face of Beleg in the light of the brand. Then he was stricken as with a shaft, and as if at the sudden melting of a frost tears long unshed filled his eyes. He sprang out and ran to the tree. ‘Beleg! Beleg!’ he cried. ‘How have you come hither? And why do you stand so?’ At once he cut the bonds from his friend, and Beleg fell forward into his arms.

6. Gollum finds Frodo and Sam asleep

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo’s knee – but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

7. Húrin and Morwen reunite at their son's grave

But suddenly her eyes looked into his, and then Húrin knew her; for though they were wild now and full of fear, a light still gleamed in them hard to endure: the elven-light that long ago had earned her her name, Eledhwen, proudest of mortal women in the days of old. ‘Eledhwen! Eledhwen!’ Húrin cried; and she rose and stumbled forward, and he caught her in his arms. ‘You come at last,’ she said. ‘I have waited too long.’ ‘It was a dark road. I have come as I could,’ he answered. ‘But you are late,’ she said, ‘too late. They are lost.’ ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But you are not.’ ‘Almost,’ she said. ‘I am spent utterly. I shall go with the sun. They are lost.’ She clutched at his cloak. ‘Little time is left,’ she said. ‘If you know, tell me! How did she find him?’ But Húrin did not answer, and he sat beside the stone with Morwen in his arms; and they did not speak again. The sun went down, and Morwen sighed and clasped his hand and was still; and Húrin knew that she had died.

8. Isildur's son encourages Isildur to leave

Elendur, not yet harmed, sought Isildur. He was rallying the men on the east side where the assault was heaviest, for the Orcs still feared the Elendilmir that he bore on his brow and avoided him. Elendur touched him on the shoulder and he turned fiercely, thinking an Orc had crept behind. ‘My King,’ said Elendur, ‘Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!’ ‘King's son,’ said Isildur, ‘I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.’ Elendur kissed him. ‘Go! Go now!’ he said.

9. Lúthien finds Beren in Tol-in-Gaurhoth

Then side by side from stone to stone o'er Sirion they climbed. Alone unmoving they him found, who mourned by Felagund, and never turned to see what feet drew halting nigh. 'A! Beren, Beren!'came her cry, 'almost too late have I thee found? Alas! that here upon the ground the noblest of the noble race in vain thy anguish doth embrace! Alas! in tears that we should meet who once found meeting passing sweet!' Her voice such love and longing filled he raised his eyes, his mourning stilled, and felt his heart new-turned to flame for her that through peril to him came.

10. Eärendil is greeted by Eönwë and asks the Valar for help

Therefore he turned back at last towards the sea; but even as he took the shoreward road one stood upon the hill and called to him in a great voice, crying: ‘Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!’ That voice was the voice of Eönwë, herald of Manwë, and he came from Valimar, and summoned Eärendil to come before the Powers of Arda. And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Noldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.

11. Galadriel shows Gimli understanding and kindness

‘[...] If our folk had been exiled long and far from Lothlórien, who of the Galadhrim, even Celeborn the Wise, would pass nigh and would not wish to look upon their ancient home, though it had become an abode of dragons? ‘Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.’ [Galadriel] looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the names given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer. He rose clumsily and bowed in dwarf-fashion, saying: ‘Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth!’

12. Merry, Pippin and Sam tell Frodo that they will stick to him

‘It all depends on what you want,’ put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin – to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours – closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid – but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.’ ‘And after all, sir,’ added Sam, ‘you did ought to take the Elves’ advice. Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can’t deny it.’ ‘I don’t deny it,’ said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now grinning. ‘I don’t deny it, but I’ll never believe you are sleeping again, whether you snore or not. I shall kick you hard to make sure. ‘You are a set of deceitful scoundrels!’ he said, turning to the others. ‘But bless you!’ he laughed, getting up and waving his arms, ‘I give in. I will take Gildor’s advice. If the danger were not so dark, I should dance for joy. Even so, I cannot help feeling happy; happier than I have felt for a long time. I had dreaded this evening.’

Quote sources

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Lord of the Rings

J. R. R. Tolkien – The Hobbit

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Silmarillion

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Children of Húrin

J. R. R. Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth

J. R. R . Tolkien, edit. Christopher Tolkien – The Lays of Beleriand

#LOTR #The Lord of the Rings #The Silmarillion #Middle-earth #Tolkien #tumblr polls #middleearth polls #I know this is an evil one #it took me a looong time to find comparable ones #(more or less)#category: pick something #category: quotes

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yoga-onion · 9 months

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Legends and myths about trees

Ent, Treebeard of Fangorn forest - Tree Guardians in literature

Ents are a species of beings in J. R. R. Tolkien's fantasy world Middle-earth who closely resemble trees. Their leader is Treebeard of Fangorn forest. Their name is derived from an Old English word for "giant".

The Ents appear in The Lord of the Rings as ancient shepherds of the forest and allies of the free peoples of Middle-earth during the War of the Ring. At then, there are no young Ents (Entings) because the Entwives (female Ents) were lost. Akin to Ents are Huorns, whom Treebeard describes as a transitional form of trees which become animated or, conversely, as Ents who grow more "treelike" over time.

The Old Forest, Tolkien's fictional world of Middle-earth, was a terrifying ancient forest beyond the eastern borders of the Shire.

Treebeard, called by Gandalf the oldest living Ent and the oldest living thing that walks in Middle-earth, is described as being around 14 feet (4 m) tall:

A large Man-like, almost Troll-like, figure, at least fourteen foot high, very sturdy, with a tall head, and hardly any neck. Whether it was clad in stuff like green and grey bark, or whether that was its hide, was difficult to say. At any rate the arms, at a short distance from the trunk, were not wrinkled, but covered with a brown smooth skin. The large feet had seven toes each. The lower part of the long face was covered with a sweeping grey beard, bushy, almost twiggy at the roots, thin and mossy at the ends. But at the moment the hobbits noted little but the eyes. These deep eyes were now surveying them, slow and solemn, but very penetrating.

Tolkien called the collection of such writings a legendarium (legend space, legend system).

During most of his own life conservationism was not yet on the political agenda, and Tolkien himself did not directly express conservationist views—except in some private letters, in which he tells about his fondness for forests and sadness at tree-felling. In later years, a number of authors of biographies or literary analyses of Tolkien conclude that during his writing of The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien gained increased interest in the value of wild and untamed nature, and in protecting what wild nature was left in the industrialised world.

Nearly 100 years after Tolkien's time, the destruction of forests, trees and nature continues unabated. Moreover, because of the historical background, I could not believe my eyes when I saw several WWI war photography in his biography. The clothing, background and even the tactics are almost identical to the ongoing war photos. The only difference appears to be in black and white or colour.

It is obvious that human society has made little progress in more than 100 years. In the face of the whole universe, a century is probably just a fraction of a second. Alternatively, there is a good chance that what we think of as evolution may actually be degeneration.

After all, it may just be a bunch of half-monkeys who are conceited and not knowing their places. We should realise this and learn from other creatures who do not go against nature. Don't get caught up in what you can see, but don't forget that there are things you can't see.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

エント、ファンゴルンの森の木の髭〜文学における樹木の守護者

エントは、J・R・R・トールキンのファンタジー世界 "中つ国 "に登場する樹木によく似た生き物で、彼らのリーダーはファンゴルンの森の木の髭である。彼らの名前は古代の英語で "巨人 "を意味する言葉に由来する。

エントは『指輪物語』に森の古代の羊飼いとして登場し、指輪戦争では中つ国の自由民の味方となる。指輪戦争当時、エント女たちが行方不明になったため、若いエントたちは存在しない。エントたちに似ているのはヒューンで、木の髭は、樹木が生気を帯びるようになる過渡的な形態、あるいは逆に、時が経つにつれて「樹木らしく」成長するエントたちと表現している。

トールキンの架空の中つ国の世界である古い森は、シャイアの東の国境を越えた恐ろしい古代の森だった。

ガンダルフに "最古のエント "と呼ばれ、中つ国を歩く最古の生物とされる木の髭は、身長約14フィート (4メートル):

トロールに近い大きな人間のような姿で、少なくとも14フィートの高さがあり、非常に頑丈で、頭が高く、首がほとんどない。緑や灰色の樹皮のようなものをまとっているのか、それともそれが皮なのかはわからない。いずれにせよ、幹から少し離れたところにある腕にはしわはなく、茶色の滑らかな皮膚で覆われていた。大きな足には7本の指があった。長い顔の下部は、根元は小枝のようにふさふさで、両端は細く苔むした灰色のひげで覆われていた。しかし、そのときホビットたちが注目したのは目だけだった。その深い瞳は、ゆっくりと、荘厳に、しかし非常に鋭く、ホビットたちを観察していた。

トールキンはこのような書き物の総体を『レジェンダリウム (伝説空間、伝説体系) 』と呼んでいた。

トールキン自身は、自然保護主義的な考えを直接表明することはなかったが、いくつかの私的な手紙の中で、森林を愛し、伐採を悲しむ気持ちを語っている。後年、トールキンの伝記や文学分析の著者の多くが、『指輪物語』の執筆中に、トールキンは野生の手つかずの自然の価値や、工業化された世界に残された野生の自然を保護することへの関心を高めたと結論づけている。

トールキンが生きた時代からおよそ100年近くすぎた現在でも、森や樹木、自然破壊は延々と続いている。さらに、その時代背景から、いくつかの第一次大戦中の戦争写真を彼の伝記の中に目にして、思わず目を疑った。服装、背景、戦術すら現在進行中の戦争写真とほぼ同一だ。白黒かカラーの違いだけに見える。

100年以上経っても、人間社会はほとんど進歩していないことがわかる。森羅万象を前には、100年という単位などほんの一瞬なのだろう。あるいは、進化したつもりが、実は退化している可能性も十分にある。

所詮は、半分猿の身の程しらずな人間たちが得意になっているだけなのかもしれない。それに早く気づいて自然に逆らわない他の生物を見習うべきだ。自分の視界に見えるものだけにとらわれず、目に見えないものの存在を忘れずに。

#trees #tree legend #tree myth #literature #j. r. r. tolkien #ent #treebeard #huorns #Everything #nature #art #tree guardians #legendary space #2675 Tolkien #legendarium

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 1 month

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Ambassador to Madness

Rating: NR

Warnings: No warnings as of yet

Status: In-progress (7/?)

Summary: All Bilbo wanted was to be an ambassador to one of the richest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Upon meeting its prince, his opinion is greatly lessened. However, Bilbo still finds himself agreeing to play the part of his consort to help free Erebor from the gold mad Thror. Turns out, Thror may not be as blind as his grandson thinks, and intends to use Bilbo to get rid of Thorin once and for all.

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

New Chapter: Chapter 7- An Appointment for Tea

“Thorin, I went to go see the elves.” Bilbo interrupted.

Both he and Dwalin could only gawk in response.

“They threatened to kidnap you, and you went straight to them?!” Dwalin growled. “By Mahal! Do you have no survival instincts, Hobbit?”

“And how exactly were they going to whisk the Prince Consort out of a dwarven guarded mountain, might I ask?” Bilbo demanded.

He could tell from the expressions on both their faces that they had quite a few thoughts as to how that scenario would transpire, and Bilbo found he didn’t have the patience to sit through the lecture.

“Forget about that for a moment. I’ve learned something about the nature of Thranduil’s temper tantrum, and I’ve made a decision.”

“This ought to be good.” Dwalin rolled his eyes.

“We need to get the White Gems of Lasgalen back for him.”

There was a long pause as both Thorin and Dwalin seemed to be struggling to put into words their incredulity of the statement. Thorin’s lip pulled back, and Bilbo could only guess at the curses about to be muttered.

“I would not help, Thranduil, Great King of the Woodland Realm, if the end of all days be upon us! He has shown that he lacks all honor.”

“And yet, it is what is right, and you know it.” Bilbo pointed out.

Thorin seemed to still be fuming as Dwalin took over.

“Regardless of what’s right or wrong here, you seem to be forgetting that those gems are locked away in the treasury. Just how do you plan to get to them?”

Bilbo could feel his fingers brushing against each other as he tried to act more confident than he felt.

“I guess we’ll just have to sneak in and steal them.”

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's wips #the hobbit #bagginshield #ambassador to madness #arranged marriage au

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invisiblewashboard · 4 months

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Small Child's Thoughts on "Treebeard" Part 1

I can't go very fast in forest, because there are lots of roots and branches and piles of leaves that slow me down, so I think hobbits won't go fast either.

Leaves do fall off trees, so I don't think Pippin is right about them not falling off.

I hope it isn't as cold in that forest as it is at our house tonight. I have many blankets and cozy pajamas to keep me warm, but Merry and Pippin do not have those things.

Nature does not make stairs, only people do that.

Uh oh, who is that guy? Is that a bad guy or good guy? He grabbed them like orcs did so I do not think I like that!

Seven toes?! That's just bonkers.

What on earth is an Ent?

This Ent seems like he is not a bad guy. But your Ent voice is very low and very slow so maybe you should speed it up. You said this was a long chapter.

My name is not growing, but I am growing. And that takes a long time. But it does not take a long time to say my name.

Gandalf? Uh oh. He will be sad because Gandalf is dead. Unless he is a bad guy. But I think he is not.

I do not understand Ents, so I could not explain that to Pippin. But if he wanted to know things about trains, I could answer lots of his questions.

I have spent my whole life breathing, so I don't know why Treebeard thinks it's special that he did it for a week.

Why doesn't Treebeard have any chairs? (Because he isn't bendable, remember?) But he has little bowls for hobbits, so I think he should have chairs. Sitting on the table is rude.

Um, I don't think it went to their toes first. That drink would just go to their stomachs first.

How did he lay down on a bed if he isn't bendable? (Hmm... how do you think?) Like this! *Proceeds to go stiff and then fall on his face onto the floor* I don't think that is a very comfortable way to get in bed!

I don't like to worry about the future either, unless it is the future of trains. I think about that a lot.

I have a mind of metal and wheels... trains are made of metal and they have wheels. But I like trees too.

Merry cut off orc hands so he can help. And Pippin is pretty smart, so he can proabbly help too.

#small child's thoughts #lord of the rings #lotr #the two towers #jrr tolkien #tolkien #read aloud #first read through #you aren't special treebeard #small child has been breathing for years

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entishramblings · 1 year

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The Innocence of Brutality Pt.1 [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I've been working a lot on FATE (my long fic...you should check it out) so I haven't been posting many one-shots. BUT FINALLY....here you go! It's a bit different from my usual one-shots but hey I figured I may as well give it a go. This will have many parts depending on how much traction it gets ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word count: ~8k (yes I went overboard)

Warnings: nudity (not sex), mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist — PART 2

The sky had been getting darker and darker as the hours went by, the sun slipping into a restless dream as a storm brewed. Clouds hung deep and gray high above the fellowship while claps of thunder neared them. It was a grumbling and crackling battle of light and dark. With every booming sound, the menacing void loomed closer and closer, electrifying the air with anxiety. It was casting above them at a rapid rate—a rate at which they could not outrun.

Gandalf squinted up at the sky as it churned and flashed again. "Hurry up. We don't have much time."

Legolas and Aragon exchanged a worried look before shifting their gaze to Gandalf, at the front of the group, who was now murmuring to himself. For the past two hours, he had been pushing a fast past—too fast for the hobbits and the exhausted mortals of the group.

They were all acutely aware that it had something to do with the strange storm bubbling above them, but other than that they knew not.

Aragon, who was bringing up the flank with Legolas, leaned in towards the elf. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he spoke in the elvish tongue, not wanting to worry the hobbits who were straggling and struggling before them. "Man- na- ho pent? Tur- cin hear ha? (What is he saying? Can you hear it?)"

Legolas sent a deadpan look to his friend. "Cin attindo nin edhelen tûr? (You doubt my elvish abilities?)"

Aragorn rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm and faked irritability. "Tharchol- man an tuin -o ammen who are róvan -o lhaw, nin mellon. (Translate for those of us who are hard of hearing, my friend)."

Legolas' lip tugged slightly upward, like the stem of a flower reaching for the light, as he turned his attention back to Gandalf; however, that grin faded quite quickly as he picked up the words falling from the Maiar's lips.

"What? What is it?" Aragorn hissed, now in the common tongue, for they were far enough behind the others not to be heard.

Legolas shook his head as he lowered his voice. "He is worried. We are moving too slow."

"Too slow? Even I would not pick this pace to escape an oncoming storm."

Legolas pressed his lips into a tight line, tilting his head as he continued to listen to the wizard's muttering. "He thinks this weather is....unnatural."

Aragorn cast a weary and suspicious look up at the ever-darkening shadow upon them. "Sauron?" he whispered.

Legolas frowned. "I do not know. It doesn't necessarily feel...evil."

"What does it feel like?"

The elvish Prince shook his head, unsure.

Aragorn raised a thick brow. "You can't identify it? You are rather old. You must have felt such a feeling before."

Legolas shot him a gare at the words that came out rather a bit insulting.

His friend only smirked in reply.

The talking ceased between the two men, but they kept glancing up at the swirling clouds, which were now twisting with strange colors—hints of dulled oranges, pinks, purples, and blues. It most definitely was not natural. They were sure of that.

The storm continued to grow worse and worse with every advancing step. The pair now hung close to the hobbits considering the harsh weather conditions. The hot wind began whipping around them, making it harder to push against, as hail pelted them. The air was also stiff and murky, tension and power leaking into the atmosphere, which only produced more concern. An unusual combination of weather, yes. It was quite strange. It was terrifying.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn called out just as he yanked Sam out of the way of an entire tree turning and tumbling through the air. "We must seek shelter."

The wizard only shook his head as he turned to yell over the harsh sounds. "No. We must move further. We must get away from this."

"It will be the death of the hobbits!" Boromir interjected as he held tightly onto Pippin's shoulder. "We need to stop!"

"I wouldn't stop in this even if I had gotten my legs ripped off!" Gandalf snapped.

The cerulean blue eyes of the elf filled with worry. As an elf, he trusted Mithranduil and his wisdom, but this behavior made Legolas anxious. Never had the wizard been so admit about a concern. Not like this. "What is it, Gandalf? What worries you?"

The old man's gray eyes shifted to the center peak of the storm, where the light and thunder seemed to originate yet also hang calmly. He did not answer the elf's question though. Instead, his lips parted as a hole and began to open in the center. It was only then that he spoke. "We are too late."

With that, something began to tumble from the clouds. It spun, twisted, and warped—the winds tearing and clawing at it as if the world did not want its existence in this plane.

Legolas stepped forward, squinting.

What is that?

The Prince took another step.

A limb? No, it couldn't be.

Yet, as the object descended, he could make out flailing arms and legs, whipping hair, and...and wings.

"By the Valar," Legolas whispered.

"W-what is that?" Boromir stuttered, his anxiety dripping from his tone for he could not see what the elf could.

"A—a woman," Legolas breathed out. "A winged woman."

All eyes twisted and turned, necks cranking upwards in hopes to make out the figure Legolas described.

As the wind threw her into a rather forceful descent, she was finally close enough for the other members of the fellowship to make out her shape.

With gaping mouths, they all stared.

Her body, merely thirty feet away, slammed into the ground....hard.

Rocks and dirt were flung from every direction, which caused the men to raise their arms, turn their backs, and shield their eyes.

As the dust settled and the whipping wind hung still, the storm was silent and unmoving. Slowly, they turned back to see what was just delivered unto them.

A large crater had opened up, yet they couldn't make out the being that lay within. All they could see was a smoldering pile of feathers and little flickering flames.

Instantly, Legolas moved forward. His elvish body easily and quickly pushed him to the front of the group. He was about to pass Gandalf, but the wizard flung out his arm and stopped him—surprisingly fast reflexes for the old man.

"Don't," he muttered simply.

Legolas' brows pulled tight. "Is she one of Sauron's? Do you know that to be true?"

Gandalf, with narrowed eyes, shook his head. "No. Something far more dangerous."

The Prince shifted his weight. "What is she?"

Gandalf glanced at all the curious eyes upon him before his deep voice huffed across the dirt as he reluctantly spoke his next words. "Rámaite Mahtar."

Legolas spoke the translation. "Winged Warrior."

Gandalf nodded. "Before the Maiar were created, the Valar built a breed of warrior spirits. Strong, fierce, and utterly brutal. They used them once, and only once, to help defeat the darkness that occupied the lands long before they were molded into what we wander today."

"Why? Why only once?" Aragorn interjected. "Not even to defeat Morgoth?"

"Because they destroyed everything."

"We are here, are we not?" Boromir replied.

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "But before, we were not, were we? I would not dare interact with such a creature."

"But why was she sent here then?" Legolas rebutted.

As quick as an arrow, Gandalf's form shifted towards Legolas rather aggressively, and he barked his next words. "She could not have been sent here! She must have escaped to here!"

"Escaped?" Aragorn questioned.

"We don't have time for this. We must move while she is still. We can only hope that she is dead."

Legolas shook his head, muttering to himself for a moment, as he strained his elvish ears to listen.

Badum, badum.

Badum, badum, badum.

"She is not dead," he breathed out.

Badum, badum.

Not able to bear leaving a living woman, probably juried, behind, he shoved his bow into Gandalf's hand and took off in her direction.

"Legolas! Legolas!" Gandalf yelled, vexed.

But he did not falter. The Prince skipped across the rock and stone until he climbed to the top of the crater. Curiously, he peered over the edge.

About ten feet across and five or six down, among the dirt and dust, there she lay.

Her naked body, covered in ash, was curled in on itself like that of a baby deer left alone in the forest. Her (h/c) hair was sprawled messily across her face, blocking her features from view. It concealed her. It hid her. It was a block in the path to her soul...if she had one. Gandalf did say they were brutal. Regardless, much of Legolas' focus was on another part of the being: her wings. They now laid across the ground coated in the same dust....and blood. One wing specifically was badly damaged. It was broken. It was warped. It was snapped at the bone. It looked bad....very bad.

"By the Valar," he breathed out.

Legolas knew he would need to get a closer look at that wing. There was still a chance he could repair it. If he didn't, an untreated injury like that would kill her. He knew could help her. He knew could heal her. He knew it.

The Prince felt the fellowship's eyes on him as he began to slowly climb into the crater, being sure to avoid some of the smoldering embers and flames that still flickered within. He was slow as he approached the woman, for he didn't want to startle her.

Unfortunately, he did.

As his foot, silent in step, settled approximately two feet away from her, her eyes snapped open. He got a flash of brilliant (e/c) as they stared into his cerulean blues—for barely half of a second. As quick as an arrow leaving a bowstring, her form snapped upright and her wings warped around her entire body—forming a shield. It was a broken, bloody shield but a shield nonetheless.

Legolas faltered back. She was quick....maybe even quicker than him. And most definitely unpredictable.

Softly, Legolas spoke. "I am not going to hurt you." He took a cautious step forward, reclaiming his previous position. He could feel the fellowship's gaze still burning into him. They had moved closer to see what would take place. He could sense it. He focused back on the barricade of bloody feathers before him. "You are injured. Let me help."

One of the wings shifted, barely noticeable to any being of mortal descent, but Legolas was not one of those, was he? He could see the very small gap in the cascade of pain and dust. And, through this waterfall of despair, peered one of those curious (e/c) eyes.

Legolas knew he was being evaluated. She was examining and studying him. She was deciding if he was a threat.

He raised his palms, showing he was not going to touch the knives on his belt and back. "I am here to help," he repeated.

There was no motion.

He swallowed dryly as he thought back to Gandalf's words. The woman was a warrior. She was born of a warrior race. She was created to destroy and decimate entire worlds. Supposedly. Regardless, if she was going to kill him, she would have already.

With shaky hands, he opted to make a decision on how he would proceed. He reached forward. The Prince let his palm gently touch the un-injured wing in an attempt to move it out of the way to see the figure.

Wrong decision.

In an instant, the wings flew open and spread wide. The injured stretch of feathers hung at an awkward, bloody, and most certainly painful angle, but that didn't seem to matter to the woman. Her hand wrapped itself around Legolas' throat tightly. His own came up to hers in a poor attempt to pry off her grasp as his feet rose from the ground. Wheezing and huffing sounded from his lips, but she did not stop. Instead, those brilliant, (e/c) eyes only stared through the ash coating her face and form. That vibrant color burned into him with rage, anxiety, and....and fear.

Instantly, loud shrieks sounded from the hobbits—which were quickly shushed by the others, for they knew what may happen if the woman's attention focused on them.

Aragorn, however, still pulled his bow, ready to fire—not that it would do much.

But, at the sound of that panic, the woman's head snapped towards the group of people watching the interaction. She tilted her head curiously.

Legolas, thinking the same thought that his friends had, tried to speak to get her attention. He would rather it be on him than on them. Therefore, his raspy, broken voice sounded weakly. "Friend. We–we are friends."

Once again, those (e/c) eyes twisted back to him. The woman tilted her head again, her gaze peering into his.

The word then rolled off her tongue strangely and uncertainly, as if she was unsure of the sound. "F-friend."

"We-we can help," he wheezed out, desperately.

"We can help," she repeated.

"P-please," he whispered, his vision starting to blur.

All in one moment, the tightness fell from his neck as she abruptly dropped her hand. As soon as his feet hit the dirt, Legolas bent forward. He placed his hands upon his knees as he desperately tried to get air back into his lungs. He inhaled it in long gulps, begging it to fill his lungs.

He was defenseless. He was nothing against her. He knew it. And she knew it too.

She stood there, as still as stone, watching him as he recovered.

Aragorn took aim once again.

"Wait, laddie," Gimli muttered, putting a hand on the Ranger's bow.

Aragorn glanced at him suspiciously but lowered it nonetheless.

As Legolas stood upright once more, he peered at the woman before him. His gaze was cautious, for he feared she might wrap that viperous grip around his throat again; but, still, his curiosity and desire to help wouldn't fade. He needed to know more.

The Prince shifted as he took to observing her.

She wasn't exactly what he expected. She was human-like. She was elf-like. She was in the same image....but not. Something about her looks seemed slightly off. It was different, but not in a prominent or bad way. She just seemed...distinct. She seemed evolved. She seemed primitive. All contradictions. All at the same time. Yet, still, she was similar enough to pass as human or elf...well, mostly. Her ears were not pointed but she held that eternal expression of the elves. She was in between the two races. The woman was smaller than him—excluding the massive wingspan of what had to be nearly sixteen feet—as most beings were, for he was indeed an elf. Apparently, even the Rámaite Mahtar didn't have the height of elves either. Regardless of all this, she still stood proudly and powerfully before him.

She could kill him in an instant.

"You are injured," he began, his voice now rough, as he glanced at her broken wing. "I can help you."

She squinted curiously at him, once again. "Help," she stated, with no tone or inflection.

Legolas nodded. "Yes. I can help heal you if you will allow me."

Her gaze poured confusion into his.

Slowly, Legolas moved to the broken wing. He stopped as he arrived at the section that was ruptured and cautiously lifted his hands. He looked to her for permission, except nothing but that empty stare looked back at him. Therefore, making a decision, he took the wing in his hand.

Wrong decision. Again.

Immediately, she jerked back and hissed at him.

Legolas' hands flung to the sides of his head in a motion of surrender. "It's alright," he said calmly. "I am just examining it. I am here to help you."

Still, she held a frown of distrust.

He slowly touched the wing again, and she snapped an angry snarl at him.

"Shh, shh. It's okay," he whispered. Legolas then placed his palm upon her wing for the third time.

This time, she winced but did not make any motions to attack him.

As Legolas began to examine it, he spoke to her. "My name is Legolas."

She tilted her head, now seemingly interested. "Leg-o-las," she repeated.

He smiled and nodded. "And you? What are you named?"

That interest practically evaporated into nothingness in one second. She turned her head away from him, focusing on the group staring at them both. She basically ignored the elf. Clearly, she was not worried about an attack from him.

"Alright," he mumbled to himself. "I suppose I will have to earn your trust before I learn your name."

She did not look at him.

As he examined her wing, he told her of what he discovered—though he wasn't sure she was really listening. "It is broken. Still hanging on limply though. I can bind it with supplies and provide medicine for the wound." He let his hands fall as he moved back to face her, trying to get her attention. "If you come with me, to my friends, I can help."

She tilted her head, now looking at him. "Come with...."

"Yes. That is where we have supplies. That is where I can help."

Legolas took a couple of steps to his friends, before looking back to see if she was coming.

Seeing this, the woman took a cautious step forward.

Legolas smiled softly, holding out his hand in an inviting manner.

She, however, did not take it. She just pushed past him, her good wing knocking into him rather aggressively, as she continued towards the group.

Legolas jogged to catch up to her, being sure to avoid the massive wings this time, for he knew his friends may panic at the way she was approaching them. It most certainly seemed menacing.

They all shifted nervously when they saw her advance, but Legolas was still alive so they presumed the woman had made peace with him...hopefully.

She stopped about three feet in front of them, waiting for Legolas.

He ducked under her wing and stood before their gaping gazes. "We are going to help her."

"Are you serious?!" Boromir gruffed out. "The wizard said–"

"She is a living being. We will not let her become a victim of Sauron's manipulation. We are going to help her."

Boromir released a rough exhale. He knew what the elf was saying. And he was right. It was either them or Sauron. And they could presume that if she sided with Sauron, it would mean their end.

Aragorn nodded, accepting the situation much quicker than Legolas would have thought. "Alright. We must find a place nearby to camp for the night."

Legolas turned to look at Gandalf.

Would the wizard approve?

He would not look at the elf.

Apparently not.

Legolas sighed. He knew this would cause strain within the group, but what was he to do? This was the only option. Rámaite Mahtar or not, she needed help.

Therefore, he, with nothing else to say, took to following Aragorn—and the winged woman followed him.

Pippin, however, stood still, gaping as the naked figure strutted past him.

"Advert your eyes, Pip!" Sam huffed out in exacerbation. "It's not proper to look at a woman when she's unclothed!!"

The little hobbit, whose lips were parted and whose eyes were still fixated on the woman's ash-covered chest, replied. "I wasn't lookin!"

"Yes, ya were!" Merry replied with a giggle. "But so was I!"

"Come on," Frodo interjected. "Let's not stray from the group."

With that, they moved towards an area encircled by trees and rocks amount a mile away. The fellowship then began to set up camp and the sun started to set—the previously menacing weather entirely gone from existence. Aragorn started a fire as Boromir collected more wood and dropped it near the center. Sam began to unpack his cooking supplies, the rest of the hobbits huddling around him and stealing some scraps as he began. Gimli took to smoking his pipe, Gandalf doing the same but with a wary gaze on the strange woman who now joined them.

Legolas motioned to a log near the fire, in efforts to get the winged being to sit, as he gathered the healing supplies from his bag.

She glanced around at the group of people around her. Seeing Gandalf and Gimli upon a different log, she looked back to the stretch of wood that Legolas had gestured to. Cautiously, she moved towards it and sat down.

She stared at the various individuals around her and that stare was felt. Every so often, they would glance at her with anxiety in their eyes. Except Gandalf. His eyes never left her.

After a moment or so, one of the men, Aragorn, approached her. With a small smile, he passed her a long stretch of fabric before turning back to the fire.

She tilted her head as she took it before placing it limply on her lap—not necessarily covering much.

Legolas looked up from his leather satchel of healing herbs and pressed his lips together to suppress a small smile as he witnessed her little frown. She looked so confused. Despite knowing how lethal she was, it was cute.

He stood, taking his leather bag with him. He placed it at her feet before gently taking the blanket from her lap. He smiled softly, to assure her there was no harm to come, as he draped it over her body. Legolas did his best to swirl it across her skin while leaving her wings free from the fabric. She only looked up at him as he did it.

The Prince stepped back and was about to move to her left—towards the break in her wing—when a gust of wind rushed through his hair. There the injured wing curled, the wound now directly in front of her, and, therefore, him.

He knew what she meant by that: heal me.

Legolas knelt upon the soil and took to making an athelas paste with a mortar and pestle. She watched him curiously as he did so. Soon enough, he gently took the injury in his hand and began to smear the healing property onto the afflicted area. She let him.

"This will help stop any bleeding and prevent infection. Though, I will have to tend to the wound regularly."

She did not answer. Instead, her brilliant eyes were focused on those behind the elf. He glanced up at her as her gaze shifted with every word of conversation between his friends.

The Prince's brows pulled together.

When Aragorn spoke, her eyes were on him.

When Gimli spoke, her eyes moved.

When Boromir spoke, her eyes drifted again.

Boromir was the first to notice Legolas noticing such a pattern and, in turn, noticed the said pattern.

He stood. In an accusatory tone, he barked out a rough demand. "What is she doing?"

Instantly, all eyes shifted to the woman.

"She's just sittin there, lad," Gimli gruffed, drawing another breath from his pipe.

Her eyes went to Gimli...again.

"Nay, she's—she's looking at us," he argued.

Her eyes focused back on Boromir.

Gimli rolled her eyes. "Eh, let the lassie look. What is she gonna do?"

"What is she gonna do," sounded again....but not from any man. No, no, it came from her—from the woman.

Instantly, all eyes stuck to her like tree sap.

"That!" Boromir huffed as he pointed. "What was that?!"

"What was that," she repeated.

"Stop it!" Boromir snapped.

"Stop it," she replied.

"I said! STOP!"

"I said. Stop."

The hobbits' eyes were wide. Frodo stepped behind his friends. Sam grasped onto an empty pan. Merry and Pippin's mouths fell open, food falling from them as they stared in fear—like the rest of them.

Surprisingly, Gandalf was the next to speak. "She's learning, you fools."

She repeated his words: "She's learning, you fools."

"Every word you speak, every action you do, every look you give...She learns."

Each member of the fellowship's eyes filtered back to the woman as the sentence sounded again: "Every word you speak, every action you do, every look you give...She learns.

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, now emerging from the hobbit blob and shakily walking towards the woman.

"What do you mean."

Aragorn grabbed the hobbit's arm, stopping him. In a parental-like tone, he spoke. "He means that she is incredibly intelligent."

"He means that she is incredibly intelligent."

Gandalf nodded, drawing from his pipe again. "Rámaite Mahtar are incredibly intelligent, smart, and deadly creatures. And you are feeding it."

Her tone echoed him again. "Rámaite Mahtar are incredibly intelligent, smart, and deadly creatures. And you are feeding it."

"Just get her to stop it!" Boromir snapped.

"I will not stop it," she stated.

At that, all sound was sucked out of the air. Everything seemed to be still but the breeze that shuffled lightly through the leaves. Did they just hear that correctly? Those words—they were not repeats.

Her voice then sounded again, slightly unsure. "I want to learning."

Legolas looked up at her from his kneeling position. In a soft and gentle tone, he spoke ever so quietly. "I want to learn."

A small smile pulled at her lips. "I want to learn," she repeated.

"Don't teach her!" Boromir yelled. "You want her to get smarter faster? You want her to learn how to kill us quicker?"

Legolas stood up, his form blocking the woman from Boromir's view. "She already knows how to kill us. And she hasn't. What is the harm in helping her learn how to communicate with us? She is a living being, you should treat her like one."

Boromir took a menacing step forward as he pointed at her. "A living being?! She might be, but she–she is an animal!"

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "She is more similar to us in likeness and image than any wild beast."

Boromir snorted. "And she has ensnared you with it." He raised a hand, motioning to the woman behind Legolas. "With those breasts, that ass, and those warm folds between her legs—I bet you just want to bury yourself in there—"

Legolas' fists balled and he practically growled at the person insulting him...and the woman. "You, human, know nothing of elvish culture. How dare—"

"ENOUGH!" Aragorn interrupted. "She is learning. Do you want her to learn this?! Hmm? You want her to learn anger and violence? More than she already knows?"

Silence.

The Ranger huffed slightly, dropping Frodo's arm and picking up a, rather large, stick to poke the fire with. "That's what I thought," was his gruff reply as he sat down upon a log.

Slowly, the fellowship dissipated back to their own tasks, uneasiness hanging in the air.

Legolas turned back to the woman. She was already focused on him with those frustrated, confused, (e/c) eyes of hers. Legolas knew she didn't understand what Boromir's words meant, for she was still figuring out what words were, but he presumed she could pick up on the basics of interaction by now.

She tilted her head at the elf.

He knew that she knew that he was upset.

He inhaled through his nose, releasing a long breath as he knelt down in front of her once again. "Don't mind Boromir. There is a lot of unease with our quest."

"Quest?" she questioned.

He nodded slightly, unsure of what to answer. He knew that his companions would not appreciate him telling her of their strenuous mission. They were already irritated with his decision to bring the woman into their group. Besides, he was unsure if she would even be able to understand it if he tried to explain it. Yes, it seemed she was grasping the basics of their language, but that was all at the moment: the basics.

Therefore, instead, he decided to comment on what he was doing. "I am going to wrap your wing in a bandage now. We don't want any dirt or grim getting in there, do we?" He smiled gently, glancing up at her ash-covered face before moving to finish the winding. "My, uh, my father and I used to repair injured birds' wings. At my home, in Greenwood, we have a great castle. It's strong for defense but the stone isn't so great for the creatures of the sky. Some of them have, unfortunately, flown into it. When I was a young elfling, he taught me how to mend their wings from such injuries. Yours are not far off from that of a bird, though significantly more damaged."

She tilted her head. "Bird?"

He bobbed his head, looking up at her. "Birds," he repeated gently. He pointed up to the sky and imitated the sound they make through a soft whistle.

She smiled, a little giggle escaping her lips.

Legolas grinned too. He liked her laugh. It didn't seem so scary or deadly. It was almost childlike, to be honest. He wondered if Gandalf had truly been right....she didn't seem that utterly, completely terrifying. Yes, she may have almost killed him earlier, but she could have just been scared. Living beings react when you scare them.

He looked back at her adorable face and instantly, his mind began racing through what else he could do to make her laugh. He wished to hear more of those little, bright giggles again.

Feeling embarrassment filter through his blood at that thought, he glanced back down at the wing.

The Prince tucked the last of the wrapping into itself before looking to her once again. "How about we get that ash off of you?" With that, he dug through his bag until he pulled out a rag. He then removed his water skin from his belt, using his teeth to pull open the stopper. He took a quick sip, then held it out to her.

She cautiously took it from him, twisting it in her hands, before glancing at the man before her.

He nodded encouragingly.

She raised the leather-skin to her lips and took a sip. It spilled down her chin as she did so, but she drank most of it. She then handed it back to him, almost in a shy manner.

Legolas poured some of it onto the swatch of the fabric before lifting it to the woman. He then gently began to wipe the grim from her skin, revealing the natural curves and extensions of her face, until there was no more ash upon her expression.

As he pulled the now gray fabric down to pour more water on it, she looked down at it. Her lips parted as she reached a dirty hand to her now clean face. She looked back to Legolas with an expression of surprise.

After a moment, she held out her hand to him.

He raised his brows slightly but began to wipe the ash from her hand, wrist, and arm. As he did so, he noticed something that made his heart freeze. Purple bruises, now uncovered from the ash, hung upon her wrist. Legolas glanced at her other hand. He could see the same purple and blue hue peaking through the dirt. He was sure to be extra gentle as he cleaned it, for he knew it must be painful. His mind, however, was now spinning with more questions.

Gandalf had said that she had to have escaped. What had she escaped from? It was obvious that she had been restrained. Why had she been? Was she tied up for a rather big reason? How dangerous was she, really? Should they be worried?

She lifted her hand in front of her face and examined it before another giggle left her lips. Valar—it was so adorable. She then pulled her leg out from the blanket and set it before the elf, her dirty foot resting upon his thigh.

Legolas' mouth parted at the action that would, in any other circumstance, seem sexual. She didn't know that though. No, she just wanted to be clean.

With nervous hands, Legolas took her calf in his grasp as he gently scrubbed away again. Valar, if his father saw him now, he surely would be smacked. She removed that leg from him and place her other in its spot. Her eyes were asking him to do the same for it. So he did. Once that leg was washed from the elements, she stood upright and began tugging on the blanket that Legolas had wrapped around her.

Understanding what she was bout to ask, and deeming it too provocative for their circumstances and his culture, he too stood and held out the rag.

She tilted her head.

"Learning, yes?"

Tentatively, she took the rag from his hand. "Leaning."

He smiled before turning away and scrambling to collect his medicinal supplies. He did not wish to be beside her when that blanket finally fell. It wasn't proper. With his leather bag hung over his shoulder, he began making his way towards Aragorn and the now blazing fire.

"Legolas," the winged woman's voice called out, seemingly urgent.

He turned, along with the rest of the fellowship.

"(Y/N)," she stated.

He blinked. "(Y/N)?"

She nodded. "Yes," she paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to convey what she wanted to say. "Legolas. You. (Y/N). Me."

"Your name? It is (Y/N)?"

She dipped her head up and down ever so slightly.

"Nice to meet you, (Y/N)," Legolas replied with a smile.

She grinned.

He then took to sitting beside Aragorn at the fire. He gratefully accepted a bowl of sausages and vegetables from Sam, for he hadn't realized how hungry he had been.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) took off the blanket and began to scrub away at her body. Every member of the fellowship, including the elf, avoided looking at her. They might be men but they were respectful. Legolas had seemingly decided for them that the Rámaite Mahtar was to be of their group, at least for the time being, and they were going to respect that—as well as her honor.

As they ate, Aragorn nudged the elf and spoke in a low tone. "So, (Y/N)."

Legolas swallowed. "I do not think she is going to kill us. If she was going to, she already would have."

"I suppose so." He stated. That is not what he had intended by his words. Aragorn sent a quick look at the woman before turning back to Legolas with a raised brow. "We should find her some clothing, don't you think?"

The elf only nodded, his cheeks red as he refused to look at the winged being.

"Don't suppose the hobbits' would fit her. Neither would yours. Or mine. I doubt Gandalf would spare his robe either."

Legolas chuckled at that. "I don't see many options. We will just have to make do. I think I may have an extra tunic. Those wings of hers will make it a bit difficult though."

Aragorn nodded. "I have an extra pair of trousers."

The two then began to ruffle through their belongings until they pulled out what they could.

"What about shoes? She has small feet. Smaller than mine and yours," Legolas said.

The Ranger snorted as he sent a glance at the footprint on Legolas' thigh. "You would know, wouldn't you?" The Ranger then tossed the trousers to his friend.

"Aragorn," he whispered in a slightly irked tone for he didn't appreciate the comment or the fact that he had to be the one to approach the rather very naked woman...again!

He smirked. "You will figure it out."

"But why do I–"

"She trusts you, doesn't she? She told you her name."

"I–" Legolas began, but the man had already walked away.

With a sigh, the elf began to approach (Y/N).

His gaze refused to drift anywhere but from her face to the ground—nothing in-between. He cleared his throat. "(Y/N)."

She turned, her wing nearly knocking into him.

"I, uh, I brought you some clothes."

She tilted her head and walked towards him until she was only inches away. He could feel her hot breath upon his skin. It tingled at his lips and brushed upon his nose. He could even smell her distinct scent—most ash and fresh soil, but there was something else there. Something different. He could hear her heart too, beating steadily, as if she didn't know what she was doing to him. And he could see that ever-present curious gaze of hers, examining him. Every part that made her living and free was there. It was right in front of him.

Legolas swallowed dryly and shifted his feet uncomfortably, before placing the bundle in her hands.

(Y/N) accepted it. She grasped onto the top fabric, letting the rest of them crumble to the floor.

She frowned at the trousers in her hands, twisting them trying to figure out what to do with them.

"They-they are to cover you. Trousers. To-to cover your legs."

Her frown deepened.

Legolas cleared his throat as he patted his thigh. "Legs."

She held up the pants. "Legs."

He shook his head. "No, no." As his face turned the color of a rose, he gently moved his hand forward, allowing a singular finger to poke her thigh. "Legs," he repeated. The Prince then touched the fabric in her hands. "Trousers." He then pulled at his own pants. "You wear them."

She nodded, understanding.

(Y/N) held them open as she lifted her leg to fit it through the hole. It easily slipped in and she moved to do the same to the next one. This, however, did not go so smoothly. She instantly began to wobble. Out of instinct, Legolas reached out and steadied her by the waist.

She pulled the pants up, her fingers brushing against his.

Instantly, he let go of her form....and she let go of the trousers. And, of course, they slipped. Quickly, she caught them, her eyes wide as she looked up at Legolas. "Help."

He pressed his lips together to prevent a little laugh. As uncomfortable as this situation was, he would have to admit that it was a bit amusing. But seeing this...this pure behavior. Well, there was no way she could have destroyed entire worlds—not with that kind of innocence to her. She seemed so...so precious. So young. So malleable. Gandalf had to be wrong.

Nodding to acknowledge her plee, Legolas tugged out a long stretch of fabric from one of his pockets. It was meant to bind wounds, leftover from wrapping her wing, but it would have to make do as a belt. He quickly looped it through the small hoops upon Aragorn's pants and tied it taught in the front. He then bent down to roll up the trousers around her ankles, for they practically swallowed her feet. While Legolas was down there, he grabbed the tunic she had dropped only moments before. He stood once again and began to dress her in it, trying his best not to look at her breasts. Luckily, it was a wrapping tunic, so it went rather quickly—until he got to her back. He, quite fortunately, was able to weave it around the part of the wings that extended from her skin so they could still move at ease. It wasn't perfect, but—once again—it would have to do. Legolas then began to pull some more fabric from one of his bags. He ripped it into smaller strips and began to bind her feet to serve as temporary shoes.

"There you are," he stated simply as he stood upright.

She smiled, playing with some of the soft material that now coated her body. "There I are!"

The corner of Legolas' lip tugged upwards just a bit. "There I am," he corrected.

She nodded. "There I am."

He bobbed his head as a means of telling her she was correct. The Prince then took to moving back to his place near the fire. He knew it was a bit abrupt to leave (Y/N) there, but he was unsure of what else to do. Besides, if he was being honest, his pants were now feeling a bit too tight for his liking and he wanted to take a couple of steps away from what had caused such a thing—especially before anyone noticed.

Much to his dismay, she followed him—stopping by Gandalf for just a moment to give him a rather large sniff. The wizard glared at her.

Legolas, once again, sat down on the log next to Aragorn. And she sat next to him.

The Prince swallowed dryly. Not what he had intended.

Aragorn, of course, saw that subtle discomfort and snorted rather obnoxiously.

(Y/N) frowned at the Ranger, not understanding, but she quickly became disinterested in the interaction. Instead, she settled her elbows upon her thighs and rested her face in her hands. She let her gaze become absorbed by the flames.

After a couple of minutes of this, Legolas—feeling guilt swell in his chest for his rather rude behavior of abandonment towards her—spoke again. "It is called fire."

She sighed, almost longingly. "I know....fire."

Legolas raised a brow and Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. She was speaking of the last time she was on a physical plane like this. She was speaking of the destruction Gandalf had mentioned. She had to be.

"You know fire?" Legolas pryed.

She bobbed her head. "I know fire. Fire was before."

"Do you like fire?" Aragorn asked, a bit too boldly for Legolas' liking.

She frowned, her eyes drifting to her bandaged wing. "Fire hurts."

The two men exchanged a look.

Before anything else could be said, Sam surprisingly approached. He seemed nervous as he did so, timid and unsure as the plate in his hand shook ever so slightly. "I, uh, lady (Y/N)," he began. "I made you up a plate. I reckon ya gotta be hungry after that fall you had there. Some fine sausages will do you good and help to heal that injury of yours."

"Does she even eat?" Aragorn whispered to Legolas.

The elf shrugged. "I–I don't know."

Cautiously, she took the plate from Sam as well as the fork he passed her. The object moved strangely in her hand as she looked at the others eating—trying to figure out what she was supposed to do. Her gaze settled on Gimli, who was shoveling the meat into his mouth way too quickly. Slowly, she impaled one of the sausages and brought it to her mouth. She chewed, just as the others did, and swallowed. Suddenly, the hunger seemed to settle in. She quickly continued the motions and, within minutes, that plate was empty. Suppose Gimli was good at teaching at least something, despite not knowing that he was doing such a thing.

(Y/N) looked up at Sam. "Like sausages."

The hobbit smiled, a little breath of relief escaping him, as he took the plate back. He was about to walk away when she reached out and grabbed onto his sleeve.

His form stilled almost immediately, and Aragorn's hand danced across the hilt of his sword.

"Sausages," (Y/N) stated.

"You–you would like more?" Sam stuttered.

She nodded.

"I–I can get you more sausages. We have some extra that will go bad if they don't get eaten up."

She released his sleeve and he nervously scurried off before returning with another plate.

She eagerly took it and cleaned it right off. Passing the plate back to him, she sighed, placing a hand on her stomach. "Good sausages."

Sam smiled shyly. He supposed that if someone who didn't know much about food liked his meal, he better be good at cooking. Therefore, failing to hide his grin, he disappeared back to his cooking supplies to tidy up.

The fellowship began to settle down for the night. The hobbits seemed to pile themselves together in a puddle of blankets and Gimli and Boromir laid out their bedrolls.

"I can take first watch," Aragorn stated simply as the sound of snoring started.

"Do you want company?" Legolas asked.

Surprisingly, it was Gandalf who interjected. With his attention still on (Y/N), he spoke. "I will do so, Legolas. You have had a long day, haven't you? You should rest."

The elf frowned at the subtle coolty upon the wizard's tone. He knew why, of course, but he didn't exactly appreciate it.

"Very well then," Legolas replied. With that, the elf stood and began to set up his sleeping roll as well. He laid down upon it with a quiet sigh. As angry as he was at Gandalf's little comment, he did indeed need the rest. Taking care of (Y/N) had been a lot—mentally, physically, and emotionally. He needed to close his eyes. He needed to just....think. Had he done the right thing? Should he have pulled her from that crater?

(Y/N) did not move to sleep, however. Instead, she stood up and began to explore their mini campsite—Aragorn and Gandalf's weary gaze hanging upon her.

As she strut about, picking up sticks and stones and examining them, their eyes followed. She tapped two rocks together curiously. Little clinking sounds echoed ever so quietly. She did it again, and again, before suddenly dropping them and moving on. She then plucked a leaf from a tree and began chewing on it, abruptly spitting it out only seconds later.

Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged a confused look. Well, this was interesting.

(Y/N) continued on with her mission of discovery. As she stomped through the camp, her exhausted wings dragged down upon the ground—knocking Sam's neatly stacked dishes onto the dirt—earning a couple of grumbles and groans from the sleeping men. She didn't seem to care or realize, for that matter.

Instead, she picked up Legolas' bag and began to pick random things out of it. She lifted a little leather pouch from its depths and pulled at the strings. She sniffed what was inside. Reaching into it, she pulled out some leaves. (Y/N) held them above her, examining them in the firelight, before putting them back in their container. She then pulled out another little leather pouch and yanked it open. She stuck her hand into this one too but pulled out a gold coin instead of herbs. She sniffed it. She put it in her mouth. She spit it out. (Y/N) reached into the bag once again and pulled out a sheathed knife.

At this, Aragorn and Gandalf shifted. What was she going to do with that?

She began twisting it around until she figured out how to pull the weapon from the sheath. Aragorn's fingers filtered over the hilt of his sword once again. She, however, held the blade close to her face and sniffed it. She then took her finger and poked the sharp point. Jumping at the pain, she frowned. (Y/N) watched as a little bit of blood prickled upon her finger, just for a moment, before wiping it on her trousers—well, Aragorn's trousers. It seemed she was more surprised than hurt.

She sheathed the blade and put it back in the bag.

(Y/N) continued doing this with all of the objects in Legolas' bag until she went through the entire thing. She then stood up again and went around to find something else to examine.

Soon enough, as the night's watches changed, the winged woman got tired. She eventually sat down, leaned her back upon a tree, and wrapped her dropping wings around her. There, she fell asleep.

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