#i don't even want to tag this as lotr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

drunk with stagnant breath - ch. 12

First - Previous - Next

The penultimate chapter!! I really really like this one lol hope you enjoy!

reminder that this fic features scott possessed by xornoth, causing him to act as an abuser to other characters. please block the tag ‘abusive scott’ if you don’t want to see this fic. it’s very heavy, please stay safe.

cw: past abuse, choking, battle, facing an abuser

CHAPTER 12: in which jimmy pulls a fiona from shrek

As the stories go, the war was in full swing when it stopped suddenly to herald the arrival of the ruler of the world. When Lord Smajor landed, surrounded by guards, in the center of the battlefield, all fighting halted. One of his men waved a green flag—the flag of parley. Soldiers of all armies rested, laid down their weapons, even collapsed onto the ground right there.

Some said that Smajor waited until all of the rulers hiked to the battlefield, unmoving as even the wind stopped blowing. Other stories told that Smajor climbed onto the back of a black stag and rode to the tent, hosts of demons buffeting him on all sides. Others still said that he was impossible to perceive, both everywhere and nowhere all at once, and he picked up the opposing emperors into the sky and carried them away to a meeting place where he was both present and not.

In reality, Scott Smajor, fallen elf, landed in his host of guards and paced back and forth between the lines of soldiers until the weary and battlestained King Joel of Mezelea appeared over the crest of the hill. After a quick exchange of words, they both (with two guards following Lord Smajor) hiked off in the direction of the parley tent, set up in advance for just this event.

That was where the stories paused, flipped to the next chapter, or completely invented what went on inside the tent. All that anyone outside of the small circle within the tent (and even that was not fully known) knew was that the meeting did not last long.

The exact length of time was unknown—some claimed ten minutes, others twenty. Some brave souls (those who bragged loudly of being present at the battle) believed it was five. Truthfully, the meeting lasted barely longer than two minutes—just long enough for Scott Smajor, fallen elf, to step into the trap laid by the Ocean Alliance.

Just long enough for the Ocean Alliance to spring into action.

Just long enough for Scott Smajor, fallen elf, Exor-touched, to lay them out flat on their backs with an unmatched explosion of pure power.

The tent shot upward and collapsed, something remembered in all stories, to reveal only Lord Smajor standing. He flew out, his glossy midnight-black wings beating heavily, to the battlefield, where he drew his rune-lined sword and screamed a battlecry gone long unheard in any kingdom—“For Exor!”

While the emperors of the Ocean Alliance slowly picked themselves up, their weary forces charged against the renewed strength of the enemy. This time, all emperors joined the fight, friend against friend, swords clashing between those who had once been allies. All of the emperors, their weapons and shields dulled in the clouded light.

All save one.

The tellers of stories, when explaining to those collecting the tale, never were able to answer the most important question: where did the Codfather come from?

It was as if the most important character appeared out of thin air. Everybody agreed that he was not there before that point, but where he had come from eluded everyone. Some suggested that he was disguised as a soldier, others that he had been in the tent the whole time and had hidden himself from view afterwards.

In truth, Jimmy Solidarity was watching the battle occur from behind a rock atop the nearest hill. He had flown there just minutes previously, coming straight from Rivendell. He was tired, confused, and terrified out of his wits.

There was Scott—he could see him clear as a tidepool, armor black and eyes glowing. He was scary. He was terrible.

He was beautiful.

“What do I do?” he whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from Scott. “Who do I give the crown to?"

There was no answer.

That couldn’t be right. It wasn't like he could do it. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know anything about Scott’s power, about how to fight. He’d never properly been in possession of a magical artifact before.

Maybe—Lizzie, Lizzie knew how to deal with magical artifacts—or Sausage, or Pixl—anyone was more qualified than he was. He reached out to that place in the back of his mind where Aeor usually resided, looking for clarification. None came.

He wasn't sure how to reach anyone more capable. He couldn't distract them from the battle. He couldn't alert Scott to his presence before they had a chance to figure out what to do with the artifact.

So, Jimmy had to go out there. He had to get on the battlefield, confront Scott, and do something with the antlers.

He fell back behind the boulder he was peering around, slipping down to sit. He ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. How was he meant to do this? What could he do?

Sure, he’d been regaining his strength. He was still nowhere near the power of Scott, whom he could feel even from as far away as he was. He wasn’t even wearing any armor—He’d shed the ocean-style jacket and his hat and gloves, leaving him in the sweater from Joel and his usual Mezelean leggings. There was nothing protecting him from Scott—forget Scott, there was nothing protecting him from the thousands of soldiers fighting for their lives.

Jimmy bit his knuckle to keep a whine from escaping him. It was getting harder to breathe, his chest tightening in fear and anxiety. He had to do this. Aeor needed him. His friends needed him.

He wouldn’t succeed. Whatever it was he was meant to do, he would fail. But he couldn’t sit here, cowering behind a rock, while his friends gave their lives to protect him.

He peered around the side of the rock again. He could see Scott, of course, sending a swoop through his lower stomach, but he could also see Lizzie, hair falling out of its ties and mouth open in a battle cry as she attacked the enemy soldiers. He could see Joel, crown gone, on his back as he cradled an injured arm. He could see Sausage, a limp form on the ground, a pool of red around his head. He could see Katherine, blood spattered across her face, plunging her weapon into the heart of an elf as tears ran down her cheeks.

In the center of the field was Scott, parrying blows from all sides as he slowly made his way to where Lizzie fought. Scott was aiming for her. Scott was going to kill his sister.

Even if it didn’t work, trying to take down Scott would pacify the elf. It would keep him away from his family.

Jimmy had known for a while that he wasn’t meant to be free. He’d known since he’d been rescued that Scott would have him again. His greatest worth was as a sacrifice. He couldn’t just stand by and watch his friends be struck down by an angry god.

Jimmy swallowed back a few tears—shed for his lost freedom, his lost memory, his lost family—and stood, came down the hill on the side of the Ocean Alliance’s armies.

At first, it was difficult to walk through the forces. He was shoved and jostled one way and the other, struggled for balance several times. However, when the soldiers, annoyed at whoever was trying to push past them, looked at his face, any words of anger died on their lips. One by one, they stepped aside, until Jimmy had a clear path to the center of the fight.

A clear path to Scott.

When he took the step into the actual battle, past the final line of shields, the chaos took him by surprise. Shouting was suddenly all around him, the clanging of metal on metal sending shudders through his entire body. Without any general consensus, though, the fighting slowed. The yells died down. Soldiers from all around him were turning to look at him.

Then Scott, in the center of everything, twisted his sword in a crab-hybrid’s chest and yanked it out, and turned.

His glowing black eyes found Jimmy’s.

Scott’s expression went slack, his weapon lowered. Jimmy’s heart leapt into his mouth—Scott was as perfect as the day he married him.

He was awful, yes. It hurt to look at him, to gaze into those eyes. Almost every part of him wanted to run away, hide, hope he was never found again. Almost every part.

There was a part of Jimmy, small but vocal, that reminded him of the good times. The cozy evenings by the fireplace when Scott read aloud, Jimmy curled in his lap. The strolls through Rivendell with the most powerful elf in the land stopping at every shop to buy him a sweet or a gold trinket. The nights filled with laughter as they fumbled and explored one another’s bodies.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

And suddenly his heart longed for Scott, every part of him—the pain, the love, the pleasure, the grief. He wanted Scott, he loved him, he wanted to go back to him.

There was still a battle going on—his point in it was the eye of the storm, a small circle of frozen soldiers, the destruction carrying on outside of the few privileged to see the intimate exchange occurring in the center.

“Jimmy—no! Jimmy!”

“Jimmy, don’t! Run!”

He ignored the familiar screams of Joel and Lizzie. Scott was before him, and Scott’s mouth was moving, forming the same name over and over and over—JimmyJimmyJimmyJimmyJimmy.

Jimmy took a step closer, then another. Scott stood frozen, watching him as he approached.

It was simple to move his feet. He felt as if in a dream, walking on clouds, floating. Grass sprang up behind him where his soft footfalls bent it. Every step brought him closer until he reached his husband.

The stories were, again, unclear on what conversation occurred between the two. They told of the Ocean Queen, angry tears streaming down her face as she stood, frozen, watching. They told of the King of Mezelea, injured on the ground, attempting to struggle to his knees and crawl toward the couple. They told of the dozens of soldiers who paused their fight to watch, confusion and shock dawning.

The stories never knew that Lord Smajor dropped his sword; nor that he leaned in close, eyes wide, and whispered, “I thought I’d lost you.”

They never told of how the Codfather took his gloved hand, the seal of Rivendell burned into the back of his own, and replied tearfully, “I’m so sorry.”

The stories did tell, however, what happened next.

Jimmy smiled, rubbed a thumb along Scott’s knuckles, and surged up to meet his lover’s lips.

They kissed, and cries and gasps broke out across the battlefield. They kissed, and Lizzie fell to her knees, distraught. They kissed, and ice spread from where Scott’s feet touched the ground and out into the field. They kissed, and the clouds covering the sky grew darker, another shadow falling over the world.

Scott’s hands fell to Jimmy’s waist, pulling him closer. Jimmy’s arms ran up Scott’s chest, hands clasping at the back of his neck. There, his fingers found a delicate chain.

In one fluid movement, the Codfather lifted the chain from Lord Smajor’s neck and slipped the necklace over his own head.

The effects were instant. Scott crumpled to the ground, hands grasping at his head, awful screams tearing from his throat. Jimmy was tugged several meters into the air by the red crystal now around his throat, head whipping back, as he cried out. Several who tried to approach to assist (whether Lord Smajor or the Codfather, nobody was sure) were buffeted back by a dark force of magic.

Jimmy’s fingers scrabbled at the necklace as it choked him, pulling tighter and tighter with every second. What was happening? There was nothing he could do, his legs dangled uselessly as he tried to jerk free. Two voices intertwined, dripping with malice, echoed around his head.

“Another of His. We should have known.”

Jimmy shuddered, gasping for any spare oxygen. His gills flapped open and shut desperately.

“Our champion’s little plaything. Kill him or corrupt him?”

He couldn’t be corrupted. He couldn’t let it happen. He would hurt everyone, he would become like Scott, he would kill his family—he’d rather die—

“He has strong opinions.” The voices laughed, one slightly after the other. With the separation, one of them sounded almost familiar. “Death is not for you, not yet. You are of use to us, fish.”

No. No. It was as if a shadow was creeping over him, pulling a veil over his brain—his hands fell from his throat, the chain digging into the soft skin there and he couldn’t stop it—his vision was going dark—

Everyone around watched, despairing, as the Codfather’s eyes fluttered closed and his hands fell. On the ground, Lord Smajor, fallen elf, had stopped screaming, noises falling to a low keening as he rocked on his knees, hands clutched over his ears.

Jimmy’s fumbling, oxygen-deprived fingers fell to his satchel, one final act of desperation as the rest of his body began to go limp. He unlatched it, reached in, and pulled a dusty set of antlers from the bag.

With trembling arms, Jimmy set the antlers of Alinar upon his own head.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a burst of power so strong that everyone in a one hundred foot radius was thrown to the ground, the crown emitted a blinding light, beaming out in every direction. What had once been dim and burnished was now shimmering, perfect gold.

Jimmy’s eyes snapped open. Gone were the warm-yet-haunted brown irises, replaced with pools of molten gold that dripped down his face in glittering tear tracks. The crystal, still tugging into the air, froze, then floated down until it rested on his chest. There gold appeared, drowning the crystal and solidifying around it. The sweater tore apart, falling to the ground to reveal that all of Jimmy’s many scars were shimmering golden.

Then, suddenly, Jimmy moved. His head turned, surveying the armies, all of which had halted in their battle. Then he gazed up, and the clouds rolled back, revealing the sun directly overhead. He said nothing, just watched as the sky cleared.

Jimmy slowly lowered to the ground, feet touching down on the ice and instantly melting it. The grass under his feet brightened into a small patch of golden grass, and remained that way for the rest of days.

When Jimmy opened his mouth, a strange voice came out, with words that were not his own.

“I am Aeor, god of the sun,” the voice from Jimmy’s mouth spoke, amplified across the field. “The Codfather is my champion. Exor and his servant, Xornoth, and the ruler they possessed are vanquished by my champion. Abandon this war and leave for home immediately, or come to know my punishment.”

Some soldiers needed no further instruction, picking up their swords and leaving. Others looked to their generals, to their rulers.

King Joel of Mezelea was the first to approach the Codfather. He had managed to gain his footing, limped straight through the slightly glimmering force holding them back, his right foot dragging behind him. He reached his uninjured arm out, inches away from the Codfather’s shoulder.

“Jimmy,” he murmured. “Jimmy. Are you all right?”

Jimmy’s head swiveled toward him, golden eyes unblinking. “Joel,” he said quietly, raspily, and it was his voice. “I—I’m not doing great. But I can do this.”

Joel nodded, stepped back. “And what about him?” he asked, gesturing to Scott, now silent, curled on the ground. Jimmy looked down at him, brows drawn.

“I don’t care,” he said, before Aeor’s voice overlaid his. “He is weak from my brother’s corruption. He will return to himself in time. If one of you can find it within yourself, pity him and care for him.”

Joel nodded silently, then staggered away to the outskirts of the golden field, poked his hand out. Katherine stepped forward, grasped his hand, and stepped into the space. She shot a sad smile to Jimmy, gathered Scott in her arms, and lifted him with a grunt. She stumbled back out of the space to Gem, who had approached, and shared the elf’s weight with her.

The war was over. It was time to gather the injured, gather themselves, and leave. And leave they did.

The Codfather didn’t leave the center of the field for hours. He stood, watched as the armies separated and packed up. He didn’t move as the Ocean Queen carried the King of Mezelea to a medical tent, the man finally having collapsed. He stood there until the war-torn soil was free of soldiers, the armies on the road, all but the medical tents and workers packed up and gone. Then Jimmy Solidarity reached up with trembling hands and removed the crown.

The light emanating from the antlers faded until the glow was barely there, the glow from his scars dimming as well until they were returned to normal. Jimmy didn’t see that, though—his molten gold eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell in slow-motion, as if laid to rest on the grass by giant, invisible hands.

Quietly, a Pixandrian from the closest medical tent scooped him up, placing the crown on his lap, the forcefield long dissipated. They carried him off the field, into the tent, and laid him down on a cot.

The golden tears painting his face matched the crystal around his neck.

10 notes · View notes

neverendingford · 6 months

Text

#being bigender/genderfluid feels kind of like the bisexuality conundrum. like.. just cause I'm one thing today doesn't mean I'm not both #just because I'm guy mode today doesn't mean I can't be girl mode tomorrow. being transfem one day doesn't trap me into a forever of she/her #tag talk #like the bisexuality thing where it's like “just because my current relationship is het doesn't make me any less bi”#(which I don't personally relate to cause I'm very very very gayly into men but it's the closest simile I can think of right now)#I need people to know I'm trans to keep my options open. I need to be visibly genderfuck so that I don't get locked into expectations #because the thing I fear more than death is a cage (wow look at me referencing lotr I'm so cool and smart)#like. I can't get caged into gender. I won't get locked into what people think I should be.#being a trans woman means nothing except what I want it to mean. I refuse to derive my meaning from other's perspective #idk. just thoughts. because being visible to the public eye is stressful sometimes #a guy was talking on the phone at self checkout and was like “I know what a woman sounds like” and I don't think he was talking about me...#but also my paranoia kicked in and I dropped my voice on purpose because being seen as Trying to be a woman is still terrifying #like. idkkkkkkk. I don't even know how to say it without sounding stupid #and also that thing where voicing internalized transphobia directed inwards just makes people think you're being outwardly transphobic #but like. I want to be someone who is. not someone who is trying to be.#this is where I go cheesy validation mode and go “I'm not trying to be a woman i AM a woman” and I get thirteen reddit upvotes or whatever #but like. it's the chronic man-in-a-dress fear. which is both toxic masculinity and also transphobia.#whooo intersectionality ftw I'm experiencing two forms of internalized fucked-up-ness isn't that so cool?#anyway. that one line from All The Shine: I'm not trying to come hard. I'm trying to come me.#I don't wanna be trying for anything extra. the constant accusation of trying to turn yourself into something your not.#as if your true self is this fucking husk of human skin that you've hidden inside your entire life.#I just want the freedom to be myself without all this fucking cultural detritus. this ideological scum that clings to you as you emerge #I just want out from under this massive rock.

0 notes

datastate · 2 years

Text

[ its-captain-sir: i Don’t completely [know] who the dude is yet but. called the murder painting dude a dilf. I’M STILL NOT OVER THAT ]

SORRY FOR KNOWING TASTE WHEN I SEE IT <3

#he is basically confined to that room only as far as it matters. i just think i like his sexy sexy face #and headshots in the yttd official art. do you want me to send screenshots of my man in suave poses with that shitty hat of his <3 ugh <3 #I'M SORRY AHGJSGM #it's so. i don't even know how *I* got here to be completely honest #i just saw him and i was like ohhh irrelevant & no faced...hot. hot.#anyway tags for you:#star wars fan is too easy. gently shakes you. you started making me rewatch narnia and lotr again how dare you how dare you #if i fixate on either of them i will bring my complaints (& analyses) to YOU #too influential as well. how many followers do you even have bro o_o;#jestersvaguely #reply #solidarity squad #its-captain-sir #v

0 notes

ach-sss-no · 10 months

Text

I feel weird giving out unprompted permission statements because I'm making a big assumption that anyone's going to want to use my work. That said I also know people do like to build on other people's art and can't always work up the nerve to ask, so: Anyone is free to use this design if they want to for any reason- I don't own this character anyway. (Although I am hopeful that you do not, you know, monetize it, because i cant do that and if you do that its not fair ;_; ) Feel free to remix, improve, use as basic inspiration, etc. I would appreciate a tag/mention if you use it so I can see what you did!

This design has evolved a little since I first started drawing it, and I will see people reblogging the original design notes and think 'oh no! those are out of date and I don't have new/accurate ones!'

Reblogging the old one is still an honor- and the first take on a design just sometimes has a different appeal because it's less refined and more chaotic (especially with a character that should be chaotic), so I suspect some people will just prefer the older drawings & they'll still get shared, which is great! But I felt as if the project was a little bit incomplete without an update, since I think I've reached the point where if you see that old post & then come to my blog and look at my current content, there's a noticeable difference.

Also I kind of like making design notes.

If anyone's wondering why things changed, the answer's really simple- 90% of it is just the result of him settling into having more consistent anatomy and facial structure so that I can keep him looking accurate across different angles and poses. If you look at the old drawings you may notice that Gollum has an inconsistently shaped squishy head. That's fine for a concept post but doesn't work as well for maintaining him across different comic panels or in an animatic, at least not the way I work.

In the same vein, while my art is still & will always be heavily stylized, I started giving him more structured semi-sorta-realistic anatomy so that he wouldn't look entirely out of place next to less bizarre-looking characters such as Aragorn. (I feel that's also helpful in nudging Gollum into the uncanny valley where he ought to be, rather than leaving him so abstractified that there's a risk you won't see anything wrong with him having noodle arms.) He also acquired the new-style 'garbage bag' outfit because I found a reference in LOTR to his arms and legs being bare/exposed (it's in one of my favorite passages, the 'an eagle would think Gollum was dead if it came by right now' passage in The Two Towers):

Not even an eagle poised against the sun would have marked the hobbits sitting there, under the weight of doom, silent, not moving, shrouded in their thin grey cloaks. For a moment he might have paused to consider Gollum, a tiny figure sprawling on the ground: there perhaps lay the famished skeleton of some child of Men, its ragged garment still clinging to it, its long arms and legs almost bone-white and bone-thin: no flesh worth a peck.

#long post #blobart #lotr #lotr gollum #lotr fan redesign #i really do love that passage because it says so much and implies more #sam and frodo are sitting there invisible because they are being protected by the gift of love and honor galadriel gave them #gollum who has been busting his butt to hide all of his life #issplatted out there like a frog entirely exposed. he has nowhere to hide and no protection- not even proper clothing #and even a carrion bird would think he was 1) dead 2) of no value #...and then we have tolkien drawing the allusion to a starved/abandoned child #it's eerie and deeply empathetic at the same time #It's also funny. why would there be an eagle here pondering gollum #same energy as 'a fox wondered why these hobbits were bobbling around in the woods' and then the fox disappears forever #also same energy as 'there was a thrush nearby. bilbo was in such a bad mood that he tried to kill it'#body horror #eye horror #unsanitary/#bones?....#tw: gollum #there #I will be doing a morning reblog of this because i only do this once every two years so postblock it if once was enough

285 notes · View notes

allyriadayne · 3 months

Note

will someone explain to me what the deal is with asoiaf lore? i'll see someone talking about something and it will come from martin responding to a fan letter from the 90s? and this is canon?? like who found and compilates all of the stuff he has said besides released books and interviews i guess. i've never been a fan of a series like this, is this common?

this has me genuinely in tears sorry 😭😭😭

okay serious now. i genuinely don't know if this is normal or expected in fantasy book series, at least i don't think it's that common in modern fantasy where the fashion has gone other ways from the expansive sword & sorcery type from the 20th century. i could not tell you if other fantasy authors are as involved as grrm is because i haven't been involved with any other fandom like this either (maybe lotr fans can say something different), but considering the years between publications (let this one be the last 🤞), the massive fanbase and fame of the source material, i think it's normal that his interviews, comments, and fanmail has been archived in the internet.

strictly speaking, everything outside asoiaf (books 1-5), fire and blood, and the dunk & egg books is not considered canon. BUT if the info comes from people like elio and linda like twoiaf book, or like the calendars, cookbooks, official art etc it's considered semi-canonical, just like anything grrm says /outside/ of the books. famous example, it's like when jk rowling said dumbledore was gay /after/ the books were done. it's semi canonical bc it comes from the author themselves, it doesn't affect the main body of work so it can be taken or discarded.

the thing is, martin has done A LOT of interviews and answered A LOT of fanmail and worked closely in answering doubts from the westeros dot org site for their rpg games set in westeros (girl, the dream) during the more than 30 years since the publication of agot. all this is considered semi canon and this archive is called "so spake martin" (SSM), which i think was started by elio & linda in the 90s and it's still collecting info. if you go to the awoiaf wiki, esp in the main series characters you'll see this citation (from tyrion's page):

most will be things like "martin has said tyrion has similarities to richard iii" (i mean duh) but other will be really neat like saying tyrion has been trained in arms, which while not something new (he does fight more or less ably during the blackwater battle) it's interesting to point out when it's a detail that may be lost in the series. it goes from character trivia to how casterly rock is different from the show. most fans take what he says seriously but i know there are people that only consider what's in the book and that's it, which is fine. in any case, most of these is used to enrich theories or character analysis, it's why you will see trivia from a fanmail from 1996 or whatever. i myself haven't read SSM completely one by one but i do like to peruse the wiki often, even if it's not complete.

i've seen a few blogs on here who also "collect" grrm's words like nobodysuspectsthebutterfly's "so spake martin" tag (mostly analysis but really interesting read if u don't want to go thru the westeros org page) or georgescitadel that has specific info about characters or themes in asoiaf.

#ask #Anonymous #im currently reading og fantasy like the fafhrd and grey mouser books and all that. not lotr......i could not get into it #so i cannot say if it's different in other fanbases #if anyone has other things to add abt the subject you are most than welcome #hope i answered some of anons doubts

88 notes · View notes

thethreeeyed-raven · 9 months

Note

Hi !!! First I wanna say that I love the aesthetic of ur account it’s so pretty and nicely put together I’m obsessed. Second, I was wondering if I could request something for a Legolas x half elf reader where the reader is very like, unladylike, and doesn’t follow elven traditions ?? Like she’s very brash, flirts with lots of people, drinks a lot, doesn’t really have any of that elegance or poise that he’s used to when it comes to eleven girls and is a extremely good fighter. She’s a trusted friend of Gandalf and he brings her to the council of Elrond and she joins the fellowship and all dat.

Ok I’m done sorry if that’s too detailed feel free to not write it if you don’t want to, don’t want you to feel pressured to jus cause I asked 😅

i think you are beautiful

navigation | warnings : gimlis a little bitch, a little bit of angst? a little bit of gimli/dwarf slander😭 | a/n : if this isn’t what you want then i’m sorry😭, also of the elvish is wrong PLEASE LMK i literally used an sindarin, i kind of forgot about the flirty part and half elf part, but it’s mentioned a little bit, i asp used british slang for ‘hello’ IM BRITISH | lotr masterlist | tags : @knight-of-flowerss @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom

Legolas hadn't expected to see you at Elrond's secret meeting.

He didn't even know you knew Gandalf. Well, he didn't know much about you at all really. Of course, Legolas has seen you before, with the adventures he went on with Aragorn and what not, he was hardly ever seen around Lothlórien, and he was sure you were too.

But when you entered the circle of middle-earth creatures with your eccentric aura and manly stance, he thought of you intriguing.

"Another bloody elf?!" Gimli explained in disgust.

Legolas turned to the dwarf seated beside him, opening his mouth ready to throw a remark back when you interrupted.

"Well you are in the Rivendell, dwarf. If you are willing to help with the destruction of the ring, you must watch your tongue, before I cut it out." You threw him a smirk, and watched as Gimli shrunk back in his seat.

"Y/n! I've been expecting you for quite some time." Gandalf made his way over and enveloped you into a hug, which you reciprocated.

"You did show up in the middle of nowhere when I was trying to fish, you owe me a pint, don't forget."

You patted his back and made you way over to an empty chair, which was ironically beside Legolas.

"Oreyt there Legolas?" You patted his shoulder and look towards Elrond. "Let's get on with it then!"

It had been about a week since you and the fellowship had attended Elrond's secret council meeting, and since then, you hadn't really bonded with anyone like everyone else had, though you thoroughly enjoyed flirting.

You knew Aragorn already had his heart set on Arwen, Gimli couldn't stand you (you found it funny to rile him up).

Legolas was your favourite to tease.

He wasn't used to your heavy drinking, swordsmanship, the way your eyes glistened in the moonlight...

You weren't at all what he had thought.

You had a kind heart. And your beauty went beyond those of the other elven women.

And Gimli made sure to point out that you were different.

"Are you sure you're not a man?"

You turned around to look at him, holding back a frown.

"Wait, you're not a man?" Pippin chimed in, finally causing the frown to appear and you started to walk ahead of Gandalf. "Did I say something wrong?"

Nearly an hour later, you all had found a place to rest, yet you didn't talk throughout the whole way through.

Legolas and Aragorn were relieving themselves of their weapons when Legolas peered over at you who stood in the far corner away from everyone else, but near enough for you to hear him insult Gimli.

"I norn na- an imbecile." He placed his arrows next to his bow and Aragorn turned to look at him.

"Whui ceri- cin eithad Gimli? Does ha gar- something na ceri- with ui/n?" Aragorn questioned him.

"-o iór ha does! How berth- ho ask hen such a nad! At least with ammen galadrim mín know what mín are!"

Gimli looked up at Boromir who wasn't paying any mind to the rather loud conversation they were having.

"What are the elf and the man speaking about?"

Boromir just shrugged. "I don't know, I don't speak Sindarin.

You, having understood their conversation, smiled a little to yourself, happy that at least someone here would defend you.

You sat quietly beside a lake, inspecting the flora surrounding you, when you heard footsteps.

You swung your body round, placing your hand on the blade strapped to your leg.

The sound revealed itself to be Legolas. "There you are, Gandalf sent me to make sure you weren't missing."

You nodded and motioned him to sit next to you.

"You were being rather loud with Aragorn earlier." You chuckled as you watched a red tint spread across Legolas' cheeks. "Thank you."

Legolas nodded in acknowledgment and he was about to stand up when you grabbed ahold of his hand.

Your hand was rough, no doubt from the countless weapons you have wielded or practised with.

"Legolas, do you think I'm pretty?"

He was taken aback by your sudden question.

Since you were little you had struggled with femininity. Your hobbies were 'un-ladylike', your looks were considered to be 'manly'.

The silence was too loud, too long. So you took that as a no.

"I think you are beautiful. And I think you're too good for anyone here." He sat back down next to you. "Not only are your combat skills exceptional, but the way you carry yourself outshines any of the elvish women. They can't compete."

You moved closer, until your pinky was touching his.

"I may not know you that well, I've hardly ever seen you around Rivendell or any of the elven parts for that matter, and quite frankly, I couldn't care less if you were half elf, or half dwarf, or half whatever. I've still admired you from afar-"

You shut him up with a quick kiss to his lips.

Aragorn watched further away from the bushes, shaking his head with a grin, then going to tell Gandalf that you were safe.

"Im like cin verui limb legolas, a im gar- admired cin o palan too."

ELVISH TRANSLATION

‘I norn na- an imbecile’ - the dwarf is an imbecile

‘Whui ceri- cin eithad Gimli?’ - why do you insult Gimli?

‘Does ha gar- something na ceri- with ui/n?’ - does it have something to do with Y/n?

‘-o iór ha does! How berth- ho ask hen such a nad! At least with ammen galadrim mín know what mín are!’ - of course it does! how dare he ask her such a thing! at least with us elves we know what we are!

‘Im like cin verui limb legolas, a im gar- admired cin o palan too’ - i like you very much legolas, and i have admired you from afar too

#lotr x y/n #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #lotr x you #lotr elves #lotr fandom #lotr #lotr imagine #lord of the rings #legolas #legolas x y/n #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas greenleaf #legolas greenleaf x reader #orlando bloom

315 notes · View notes

ghosttownwherenoonegoes · 9 months

Text

'Ruined' domesticity - e.m. x gn!reader ft. Uncle Wayne (dad💗)

Summary: You and Eddie are both cuddling in bed after a long day full of all the usual bullshit and just as you reach your threshold consciousness, Uncle Wayne comes home from work and you 'ruin' the moment by launching out of bed to give him a hug. Uncle Wayne would later call it a 'flying tackle', but you won't care. All you ever want is the Munsons home together with you, and they're here. This is just another favourite part of your day, but it always happens right at the end... as Uncle Wayne comes home, you and Eddie come home to yourselves. Home is where the heart is.

A/N: Inspired by a conversation @thefreak0fhawkinshigh and I have had a few times. I couldn't get this little daydream out of my head. If you spot the LOTR reference, I'm giving you a forehead kissie.💗This is self-indulgent as all hell, I just wanna attack Uncle Wayne in a hug and call him dad and feel him hug me back. I just want to be loved by a parent since my own do not care.

TW; this is just fluff but in case it's triggering to anyone, there's swearing in the narrative, Eddie is a squeezer and I describe his hugs as being held by a boa constrictor (positive, affectionate, I adore snakes and Eddie), mentions of unspecified stresses in your lives, reader calls Uncle Wayne 'dad'; there is no familial connection but he's a definitive paternal figure to Y/N, mentions of reader's parents not taking good care of them so Uncle Wayne is very much their father figure and fulfils the role perfectly because of course he does!😭🥺

Gender neutral reader & no coded language.

People who wanted to be tagged: @ali-r3n @jslittlebirdie

Word count: 2, 080.

Finally, finally, you were exactly where you had wanted to be even before you had dragged yourself out of bed this morning.

Wrapped up in Eddie Munson's arms, and he in yours.

Limbs tangled together, heads sharing the same pillow, your arms around one another so tightly that you could feel his heart pounding against the safety of his ribcage and fluttering against your own. You could feel your own heart racing, too, your blood singing in your ears even as you laid there waiting for Morpheus to embrace you.

The 'you' was singular but it included you and Eddie, for nowhere would either of you go where the other couldn't follow.

Eddie hummed contentedly as you pushed your body into his, curling your arms tighter around his shoulders as you nuzzled the cool tip of your nose into the crook of his neck.

"Love you so much, Eddie," you mumbled, carelessly pressing kisses to whatever part of him was nearest, "don't know what I'd do without you."

Eddie had a feeling that you had more to say, so he squeezed you even tighter into him, until not even a sheet of paper could have been slid between your bodies, and awkwardly moved so that he could kiss the top of your head. "I love you too, sweetheart." No matter whether you were mid-intense discussion or half asleep, you and Eddie always said those few words back to each other. Even if such a 'rule' hadn't already been in the Munson Doctrine, you would have made it an addition; Eddie knowing how important he was to you was always a top priority. The thought of Eddie not knowing how loved he was made you feel genuinely sick.

"I just miss you all the time," you sighed, "even when you're right here." You squeezed Eddie and he playfully groaned, pretending to be in pain from the strength of your grip. "Want you around all the time. More I have, the more I want of you. Don't wanna let go."

"Whoa, hey," Eddie grinned a megawatt grin which left your heart aching, giddy was he to know just how loved he was by you, his eyes soft with all the love in the world because he never thought he'd ever have this with anyone, let alone with you, "you don't have to miss me, okay? I promise. I'm right here, sweetheart." He tightened his arms around you again until you felt, for a second, like you were being held by a boa constrictor (and you loved it when Eddie held you like that). It was a silent reciprocation of everything you had just shared, and a mutual need to have you as close to him as possible. In turn, you pressed kisses where you could reach. With you and Eddie, the more affection which was shared, the more the love grew. Your hearts were so big anyway but they were limitless and timeless when it came to each other.

You could never get enough of Eddie; your heart squeezed so much that it made your chest physically ache with the force of all the love you held for him. You both laid there, wrapped up in one another's embrace and not willing to let go for even a second. Little more was said as the both of you wound down for the night. Just holding each other, breathing and thinking and finally finding peace in one another's company after yet another crazy day full of too much to do and little time to do it in, mixed up with all the usual bullshit which life liked to throw at you like you weren't already busy enough.

You and Eddie were creeping closer and closer to your respective threshold consciousness, but just as you allowed yourself to properly settle down with the intention to sleep, you heard the roar of a van coming down through the trailer park, tyres crunching on gravel, and then the sound of a car door opening and closing. Boots bit down on gravel and then concrete, and you froze as you realised that the steps the feet were ascending were the ones outside the trailer. Which meant only one thing:

Uncle Wayne was home.

There was the familiar jangle of keys and before you even realised what was happening, your body was wriggling out of bed. Now that Uncle Wayne was home, there was no way you would relax enough to fall asleep without being able to say hello and give him a proper hug.

"Mm?" Eddie sleepily shuffled around, his hands patting around for you. "Wassit?" It would have been enough to make you get back into bed at any other time, but this was Uncle Wayne. You could cuddle Eddie any time you wanted, but Uncle Wayne was only around for limited hours every day and you always made a point to seize every opportunity for a hug that you could. He was more of a father to you than either of your parents had ever been, and he had only been too honoured the first time you had told him. He was used to you greeting him excitedly and always with some sense of urgency. You had been waiting for this moment all night and now he was here.

"Dad!" You hissed, shaking Eddie gently, "dad's home!" you were desperately dodging Eddie's grabby hands as you tried to untangle yourself from the hot bedsheets which you and Eddie had been sharing for several hours. Finally, you got yourself free, hopping awkwardly on one foot to make sure that you didn't trip over the sheets wrapped around your toes. You moved much faster than your sleep-heavy mind could comprehend as you were already in the hallway by the time your mind told you that your limbs were cold from being in bed for so long. "Dad's home dad's home dad's home!!!!" Your words quickly became nonsensical as your excitement heightened and you ran down the hall, just catching a blur of red and blue flannel closing the front door behind him, a hand deftly locking it, before you launched yourself at it. "Dad!!!"

Uncle Wayne was very used to being attacked when he came home from work. Anyone who knew him, though no one knew him better than you and Eddie, knew that he adored being attacked when he came home. It meant that he was home, that he was safe, that he was loved. Eddie had been throwing himself out of trees and vans and into his Uncle's arms for as long as he could remember, but now you did the same thing... it had been just over a year since you had begun to date Eddie and you were well and truly a Munson now. Honourary, at least. But still... a Munson.

And that meant that you were 'allowed' (encouraged) to indulge in the luxury of doing what Eddie liked to do every morning before school after setting up the trailer so that his dad could reheat dinner, shower and then collapse into the bed Eddie unfolded and set up for him - throw yourself at Uncle Wayne in a hug. But more than that, oh, more than that... you would be caught, held tightly, and feel yourself coming home just like Eddie did, when he did the same.

If anyone other than a Munson tried to do to Uncle Wayne what you and Eddie loved doing, then woe betide them. Being loved by a Munson as a Munson came with a different set of rules, a different way of expressing and sharing love. The only exception to that may well have been Dustin... everyone loved Dustin, and for good reason. He, too, could score an Uncle Wayne hug, but he would not have been allowed a moment of flight beforehand, unlike you and Eddie.

Uncle Wayne's arms were already open for you; he had heard you almost yell Eddie out of his threshold consciousness and then bound down the hallway, through the living room, and then -

home.

Uncle Wayne grunted, a gruff oof as you collided with him in that red and blue flannel you loved so well. He didn't stumble, he didn't falter. No, he merely adjusted his feet, caught you in his arms, and held on tight. "Well, it ain't a proper homecoming 'less someone throws themselves at me." Uncle Wayne's greeting was saturated with laughter, his ocean blues deeply creased at the edges and alight with tender affection. He squeezed you in his arms and you nuzzled in, smiling to yourself as your body took a natural deep breath of its own accord. "Hey there, darlin'," Uncle Wayne ducked his head down to press a kiss to the top of your head; it was all he could see of you. You moved your arms so that instead of being over the top of his flannel, you moved them down and then under his flannel, where it was warmer and closer to your dad. "Take it you missed me?"

"Even when you're here." You squeezed Uncle Wayne around the middle, letting yourself sink into the hug with the man who was more of a father to you than either of your parents had ever been combined. You didn't want to let go but you knew that you would have to eventually. "How was work?"

"Miss you too, darlin'. You and our Eddie." Uncle Wayne sighed between greeting you and answering your question; the exhaustion in his voice made your breath get stuck in your throat. "Oh, same old, y'know." You had the feeling that Uncle Wayne was going to elaborate a little, but before he did, there was a loud and overdramatic sigh from behind you. You gave Uncle Wayne one final big squeeze before you stepped away from him. You stayed close, though, and waited to see if your Eddie would join you in greeting his dad.

"Would you quit stealin' Y/N from me, man?" Eddie's words were harsh, but his tone was soaked with barely restrained laughter as he bounded across the trailer. He skidded to a stop in front of his dad, thought better of it and then jumped at Uncle Wayne, throwing his arms around his dad's shoulders as he pulled himself in.

Uncle Wayne chuckled. "I did no such thing! Y/N attacked me!" He held onto Eddie like if he let go, then Eddie would slip through his fingers like the sands of time. "I ain't gonna complain about that, you know I ain't." Just like with you, Uncle Wayne let himself both sink into his hug with Eddie as well as be the strong wall for Eddie to melt into. The hug between the Munson men went on for longer than the hug you had with Uncle Wayne, but that was okay - you could have a hug from him any time you wanted, all you had to do was ask. And sometimes, you didn't even have to ask; just one look at you, when you were in a certain mood, and Uncle Wayne knew that you needed to be sandwiched between him and his boy for an undetermined amount of time. Uncle Wayne tried to let go of Eddie, but the boy whined and Uncle Wayne smiled to himself and squeezed Eddie tighter. "Easy, son, that's it. You know I ain't lettin' go 'til you want me to. M'right here."

Eddie sniffled and mumbled something like, "never gonna want you to let me go, dad," and your heart melted into a puddle on the floor, right along Uncle Wayne's. You weren't supposed to hear it, only Eddie's dad was, so you let Eddie keep his secret. Finally, Eddie literally wriggled his way free and found his way back to you as Uncle Wayne turned to look around the trailer. He saw the pull out sofa ready for him with the duvet pulled back and the pillows fluffed up, he saw frying pans and dishes on the draining board next to the sink and suspected that dinner leftovers were waiting for him in the fridge (he was right), and that the shower would be ready for him as well with pyjamas and his usual products (it was). His kids had made sure that all he had to do was eat, shower and then sleep, and warmth bloomed in Uncle Wayne's chest like flowers in a garden.

An eternal spring day, deep inside, forever.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader #wayne munson #the munsons #eddie and wayne munson #stranger things #stranger things x reader

188 notes · View notes

now-showing-at-the-hawk-events · 2 days

Text

Now Showing At The Hawk

🎟MetalSandwich Movie Mania🎟

Welcome to the MetalSandwich Movie Event! I hope everyone will have a good time and make new friends as we create or appreciate the cool stuff that comes out of this event!

Tag for the event is #MetalSandwichMovies24

After a movie night with some friends on discord where we watched The Lost Boys, the idea came about to me to have a Week, seven days with a prompt for each day, with the date and prompts announced months in advance so everyone has time to make something for it!

We held the event and so many of you participated and had a lovely time, I knew I wanted to keep it up!

The last event was for movies from pre-2000, but so many of you were interested in a post-2000s event, we're having one! And this time it's not one but TWO weeks!

The prompts for it will be focused on movies from the 2000s, 2010s, 2020s! After an interest check and vote, the date decided was June 9th-22nd!

Remember, even if you can't participate, you can still join in by showing others your love and support! You could even join the discord to hang out or have a movie night!

Tag for the event is #MetalSandwichMovies24!

The Official Prompts!

June 9th - Musical Movie Day

June 10th - Animated Movie Day

June 11th - Sci-Fi Movie Day

June 12th - Fantasy Movie Day

June 13th - Action Movie Day

June 14th - Adventure Movie Day

June 15th - Romance Movie Day

June 16th - Historical Movie Day

June 17th - Horror Movie Day

June 18th - Creature Feature Movie Day

June 19th - Free Genre Movie Day

June 20th - Iconic Movie Day (EX: The Matrix, Mean Girls, LotR, Legally Blonde, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jennifer's Body)

June 21st - Cult Classic Movie Day

June 22nd - Final Day to Post

Read more for Rules & FAQs

What is accepted for the event?

Anything! Fan fiction, fan art, photo edits, moodboards, fan videos, playlists, cosplays, you name it! Just let your creativity go!

Is there a minimum word count or something similar for other projects?

Not at all! Go wild, write drabbles, do anything!

I will ask that any videos include captioning and images include alt text to be considerate towards our friends with hearing and auditory processing difficulties!

How strict do we have to stick to the prompts?

Good question! With the variety and freedom of the prompts I hope you'll have plenty of wiggle room. And maybe you don't feel any movie au in particular but still want to participate? Maybe the boys just have a movie night watching a movie of your choice or they're actors! Who knows, you do! ;) I just want everyone to have fun. If you'd like any movie suggestions, let us know and we'll make a post!

What kind of ratings and content are allowed?

This is an explicit, kink, and Dead Dove friendly event as we are dealing with many kinds of movies, including horror! Just make sure to tag appropriately. If you're unsure and need help with tagging, reach out via DM and we'll give our best suggestions.

I might run a little late in posting? Is that okay?

Life happens and it sucks! The dates are good for organization and giving everyone a clear schedule to try to keep to. But anything made specifically for this event will be accepted as long as it is posted sometime in June or early July. Otherwise, there's always next year!

I'd like to chat, maybe share ideas, or just show love for our favorite guys! Is there a discord?

Yes! It's 18+ and you can join us here!

Cool! Is there a Twitter?

Also yes! Give us a follow and share!

If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to drop an ask! ❤

#metalsandwich #metalsandwichmovies24 #harringroveson #billy hargrove #eddie munson #steve harrington #harringrove #stedilly #steddie #metalsandwichmovies23

52 notes · View notes

buffyfan145 · 4 months

Text

Major Spoiler Warning!!!

Now with the spoilers confirming we're getting multiple versions of Sauron in season 2 of "Rings of Power" and the actor's name, I think we Haladriel shippers need to figure out what to call the new pairing as I'm sure some of us will ship Galadriel with Gavi's version of Sauron too and there will be others within the shippers that don't because it's not Halbrand (even though it is LOL). Reminds me a lot of "Doctor Who" and other fandoms where this happens. To me Haladriel is only with Charlie's Halbrand version of Sauron, Saurondriel is with every form of Sauron (but I also don't like using this as I know Sauron himself hated that name which is why lately I just refer to him as Halbrand or Mairon LOL), and then Martanis is Mairon and Galadriel/Artanis but it's highly unlikely the show can use that name even though Gavi's version is supposed to be this version. I've also written Mairon in all my fics looking like Charlie/Halbrand too so that's going to be confusing in the future. It's also likely Gavi's Sauron is also the Annatar version (Annadriel?), as they're doing a version of that storyline, but again we don't know if they can use that name and it could be a brand new name. So things are going to get complicated (and even more if there's more actors and animal forms LOL) and I guess we'll likely use different ship tags for each form and then use Saurondriel for a tag for all of them. But I've also already seen posts shipping Galadriel with both versions at the same time too. LOL 😏

ETA: Also want to point out that when I mean about Saurondriel I'm also talking about other formats the LOTR has been adapted to as well, as this to me also covers the book versions as well as Cate Blanchett and Benedict Cumberbatch's versions from the films too (as I've actually seen fanart and fics now with their versions).

ETA 2: Adding on again that I also meant this post for myself incase I and others need to block the ship tag for this other version. I don't know how I'll feel about this till it airs and I'm open to shipping Galadriel with all of Sauron's forms but in case I don't I want to block the ship and not the actor's name as that's not fair to him.

#the lord of the rings #the rings of power #haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel x sauron #martanis #galadriel #halbrand #sauron #mairon #annatar #spoilers #galadriel x halbrand #artanis

53 notes · View notes

elronds-meleth-nin · 2 months

Text

Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 1: Flight

This is set just prior to the events of the first Hobbit movie, so take that how you will. I'll probably have four parts for this fic. If anyone wants to be tagged for any future fics or updates, let me know and I'll start a taglist. Anyway, this is my first LotR related fanfic, so enjoy!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven't seen RoP, and I don't plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving's Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously, I mean, he's over 6000 years old), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it rn so uh...don't think about it too hard).

~*~

"Thank you again for taking the time to meet with me, Lord Elrond," the Man said as the pair walked through Elvish halls. The stone was older than the Human by several thousands of years, yet the Elf lord was there when they were first carved into bricks for construction. "I know your schedule is full to bursting–"

"Nonsense. I am always pleased beyond measure to speak with you, mellon-nin," the Elf interjected as they walked into his study. "Tell me, how are your people holding up with this new threat?"

That was precisely why the Man had come to Rivendell, in the first place. Even as nomads, Orc attacks used to be few and far between for his people, happening perhaps once or twice a year, but in the last six months alone, they'd repelled four assaults. Their losses were becoming concerning. The Man, their leader, decided that the time had come to seek advice and possibly assistance from one much wiser than he.

"They are shaken...frightened by even the smallest of things. The snap of a twig, a particularly loud howl from the wind..." The Elven host offered his guest a seat near his bookshelves - a quiet nook which he reserved for serious conversations or quiet contemplating - and took in his haggard expression. That Elrond understood more than anything. Remaining strong when you were just as afraid as the people whom you were trying to protect was a difficult task. Such endeavors could wear heavily on even the most seasoned and confident of commanders. "They are doing their best to remain strong, but I must confess, I-I am becoming less certain every day about the wisdom of my insistence that we keep moving. Perhaps we should find one good, defensive position and dig in..."

Elrond could see his dilemma.

"But if you took such an action, you would feel as though you were cowering, is that not so?" He offered no judgment and no solutions. Not yet. He wanted to guide his friend along the path to finding his own answer, not force his hand in one direction or the other. That was not his place. That was not his purpose.

The sigh that escaped the Man's lips was ragged, and his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of all Middle Earth was upon him.

"I know 'tis prideful, but our people have never shied away from a fight. To dig ourselves into a trench...that would feel too much like desperation. And, each time the Orcs returned, they would know exactly where to find us and how many more it would take to breach our defenses," he muttered running a hand through his hair. Once vibrant and full of color, the strands were flecked with gray. The Elf lord was reminded quite starkly of how much of a toll time took upon the mortals. A pang of sorrow twisted through his heart. After over six thousand years of life, he was well aware that death was a natural part of life for those species who were irrevocably tied to mortality, but his heart ached no less for his friend's eventual fate. "If we keep moving, though, they still manage to find us. Each attack grows in strength. Every time, more and more of my people fall upon enemy blades."

Elrond nodded his head with sympathy and understanding.

"Have your people offered any suggestions about what you might do?"

The Man stood abruptly and began pacing.

"Mekor put forth the idea of joining with a stationary settlement - just until the hoards are cleared, you understand," he said, but he shook his head. "I did not tell him, but the last time we were near several of the major cities, I...scouted ahead. I spoke with their leaders, explained our situation."

"And?"

"And, they all said the same thing: 'I cannot in good conscience allow you to draw such large numbers of orcs to our gates.' The difference is that they at least have gates behind which they can defend themselves," the Man paused near the window overlooking the valley. "And you know why I cannot go to the Rangers."

The Lord of Imladris drew in a deep breath and stood, making his way to his friend's side and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Is there any help that I could offer which you would accept, mellon?" His question was quiet and probing, yet free of judgment. Elrond knew well the pride of Men and their desire to act as independently as possible. That would not, however, stop him from helping where he could. He would even go so far as to bring these mortals into Rivendell to stay. It was, after all, a refuge for just such an occasion.

After a long moment of consideration, the Man cleared his throat and lifted his chin as if to preserve his dignity.

"Our swords are old. Chipped and cracking. Several shattered during the last skirmish. And our supply of arrows and bow strings is...woeful. The few who were skilled at replenishing both were killed two months ago."

"I'll have Lindir draw up a list of supplies. No matter how small your need is, please tell him everything. We are more than happy to give you whatever help you require," Elrond said, and he could have sworn that the Human's eyes were filling with unshed tears of gratitude. Neither Man nor Ellon mentioned it. Trying to restore his friend's smile, at least to a small degree, the Elf lord changed the subject. "Tell me, how is your daughter faring through all of this?"

The grin that stretched the Man's lips was warm; the love he held for his only child shone brightly in his eyes, restoring some semblance of youth to his weathered features.

"She believes that this is all one big adventure. Though she be only a few years old, she is curious...asking more questions than I rightly know how to answer," he stated proudly. "She has her mother's intellect, and I am glad of it. I am no teacher, but I've managed to convey to her the meaning of a few words of your language."

Surprise was surely evident upon Elrond's face at his friend's declaration.

"Mellon-nin, I am honored."

"She'll need to be able to communicate with your people once she discovers what she is." The Human reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book, flipping it open and retrieving a loose piece of paper. "My late wife, as you know, was the artist of the family, however..."

He trailed off as he offered the page to his host. Elrond took it carefully, looking at the sketch of a little girl.

"Your daughter?" He asked almost reverently as he took in her joyful expression. Even in this simple drawing he could see the intelligence behind her eyes. After a few moments' keen observation, he tried to hand the drawing back to the Man who'd created it but was gently refused.

"Keep it. I brought you that, my dear friend, because if something happens to me...I want you to be familiar with her likeness. It will likely be vastly outdated by the time you meet her, but 'tis better than nothing." The somber tone of voice made Lord Elrond pause. "She is more important to me than all of Middle Earth, and if...if the Orcs take me from her, I must know that someone in this world knows to look out for her..."

Setting the sketch on his desk, the Elf placed his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Should either of you ever need help, I will be there. She will have every protection that I can possibly afford her," he promised.

"There is...something else," the Man murmured looking into his friend's eyes. "It could be no more than an old man's imagination, but things have happened around her. Small things. Rain repelled from her as if it cannot touch her. Ripples in a pond by which she sits, though no breeze caressed the water's surface."

Elrond's posture straightened further at this new information. He knew that the blood of Númenor was thin in most, but if this was true, his friend's daughter might have a rare gift.

"Have no fear, mellon-nin. Your daughter will find her path, and if I can, I will gladly help her."

By the time of the Man's departure from Rivendell, Elrond had prepared a gift. With the weapons and extra supplies that he presented, the Lord of Imladris had one other item to offer. Opening a small, wooden box carved with Sindarin script, he revealed a silver necklace. The craftsmanship of his people was evident in the intricate curls and swirls of the metal. In the center was a forest green gem that, to the Man, seemed to glow with its own light.

"This is for your daughter. The pendant is a symbol of our protection - proof that she has favor with us. All she ever need do is show this to any Elf, and they will do whatever is necessary to assist her. If none of my people are near, she need only touch it and ask for help," Lord Elrond promised, and as if the gem could hear him, it pulsed with a warm, affectionate glow. The girl's father looked from the necklace to his friend, and this time a tear slid down his cheek as he offered his profuse gratitude. "I would be remiss to do anything less, mellon-nin."

After tucking the box safely away in his saddlebag, the Man embraced his friend. Neither knew that it would be for the last time.

"If you find yourself in danger, seek the elves of Rivendell."

My father repeated that to me more times than I could count as soon as I was old enough to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Our people were nomadic, constantly moving from place to place, setting up camp wherever we found ourselves. Every time we stopped, he made sure that I knew two things:

The first was the location of the nearest source of water.

The second was the way to Rivendell from our temporary encampment.

Long before I was brought into this world, my father ensured that we were on friendly terms with the steward of the valley. Each time we were even remotely close to Imladris, he made a point of speaking with the Elven lord.

Once, when I asked what Lord Elrond looked like, he brought out a small box of my mother's sketches. Rifling through them, he made a triumphant sound when he found the one he sought. Setting the box carefully aside on his bedroll, he had me sit beside him and turned the page toward me.

"The last time your mother and I visited, she made a point of drawing him. You must remember his face, my little love. One day you might need to request his help as I have done."

Much of the time, our wandering took us far from that sacred valley and the river that flowed before it. The final time that my father was able to visit, he brought back a gift. A necklace.

But it wasn't just a necklace. There was something about it that sent a wave of calm assurance through me. A sense of safety permeated my being every time I touched it. The cool metal seemed impervious to the elements, never rusting or tarnishing, as only the skill of the elves could accomplish. More than once over the years, I found myself looking at the pendant, wondering about the being who'd given me something so obviously unique on a whim.

Two decades and a handful of years later, I found myself sprinting through the trees with half of our remaining people. We were twelve desperate souls, flying through the underbrush with a hoard of Orcs behind us. Every few steps, I aimed an arrow behind me and prayed that it hit its mark upon my release.

"Come on! We're almost to the river!" I shouted, and my father's second in command, Mekor, let out an answering shout as we approached the ford. The snarls of Orcs and their Wargs nipped at our heels, urging us to move faster.

As much as it hurt, I was forced to ignore a terrified shout as the pack swallowed up one of our tired stragglers. This was a last ditch effort. If we stopped, we'd die.

Eleven.

Struggling for breath, I urged my people toward the sound of the Bruinen River and its eastern shore. Arrows from our pursuers flew through the trees, embedding themselves deeply within trunks and flesh alike. A few screams began and were silenced abruptly.

How many was that? Two? Four? No, we could count our dead once we were safe. Any who fell behind at this point were beyond our ability to save. Fifty Orcs against less than a dozen Humans? We would be lucky if any of our number survived the crossing.

Aiming another arrow backward, I allowed myself a moment's relief at the injured shriek of a Warg and the sickening crunch of its rider's bones as both crashed to the ground. Adrenaline rushed through me as the treeline appeared before us. The grass beneath our feet became a mix of pebbles and sand, rocks and mud.

"Quickly! Cross the river! Make for the eastern shore!" I shouted, and a few of the remaining people in our group echoed the sentiment. Two were cut down before they cleared the trees, their gurgling cries sending a bolt of helplessness through me even as I nocked and released arrows to buy time and space for my people. A few splashes reached my ears, and I prayed they'd make for the trees.

A yell of my name sounded from behind me.

"Come on! Get clear!" Mekor sounded much closer than I would've preferred. I needed him to live.

There were too many of them for me to hold off alone, so I turned and ran, beginning to cross the ford as quickly as I could. The pendant beneath my shirt thrummed against my skin, and an arrow whizzed by my ear so close that I could feel the displaced air from its fletching. That was too close for comfort. Much too close.

For the most part, the Orcs were afraid to cross into this territory. The Elves defended their land fiercely against such filth, after all, and very few of the cretins were stupid enough to seal their fate so definitively. However, a few who were brave enough - or perhaps foolish enough - to risk death started into the water after me. Not yet having reached the shore, I turned, grasping for arrows, but my quiver was empty. With a quiet oath, I turned and ran toward the trees. My boots were drenched, my lungs ached, and I blinked away sorrowful tears at having lost so many souls so quickly.

With a forest as ancient as this, the trees were rumored to whisper to each other and to those who remembered how to listen. The Elves listened.

Lord Elrond listened.

"Get to the trees!" I shouted, then I dug my hand into my shirt and grabbed the pendant. "Help us! Please! We're dying!"

The few brave Orcs who made it across and had not been shot down instantly apparently lent courage to their fellows. The Warg riders began to cross the racing waters, and I felt a horrible sense of dread settle into the pit of my stomach. The sight of boots disappearing into the trees was all well and good, but the Orcs would follow.

Someone had to make sure that they were distracted.

I had but one shot.

About an hour before he and his soldiers engaged the Orc hoard, Lord Elrond of Imladris had a vision. His gift of foresight showed a group of terrified Humans racing across the Bruinen with countless Orcs behind them. He was about to send out his guard, but the face of the young woman fighting so hard to protect the others made him pause.

He knew her face. She was older now - quite obviously an adult - but he still recognized the intelligence in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw.

More than that, the sparkle of the pendant that had escaped the collar of her shirt made him freeze. Icy dread washed over him as the vision changed to show her fleeing toward the trees. Her voice floated into his ears as easily as if she'd been standing right beside him.

"Help us! Please! We're dying!"

Elrond did not hesitate.

"Lindir!" He shouted as he began donning his armor. The younger Elf rushed into his lord's study. "Lindir, have my horse saddled. And ready a group of fighters. Hurry! Orcs are coming!"

When Elrond and his warriors caught sight of the group, the Orcs and Warg riders had just begun crossing the river. The glimpse he'd caught an hour before of her hair swishing over her shoulder as she fought repeated itself before his eyes, including her plea for help which now sounded as it should - like a whisper echoing through his very being, drawing him toward her. As he watched, she doubled back on her path, rushing back into the water.

She was trying to draw the focus of the Orcs away from her people - there weren't many Humans left. He urged his horse faster, his heart a racing drumbeat in his chest accompanying the galloping of his mount. He would not allow his friend's daughter to die within his borders while these lands were his to protect!

He'd just drawn his sword when the river's water began to whirl around her. Creating a wall between the Orcs and the remaining Humans, the water roared and flared with a shout from the woman. She lifted her arms, shoved them forward as if pushing a heavy weight, and the wall of water crashed over the majority of her enemies, washing them away as easily as pebbles in a current.

Magic. She'd performed magic! Her father had been right all those years ago.

But it was not the time to ponder her abilities. The time had come for him to fulfill his promise.

She'd bought just enough time for Elrond and his riders to reach the Orcs and cut down those who remained. Blades hissing and flashing, the Elves felled them easily.

By the time he turned back to the river, he saw her collapse onto the sandy bank, panting for air. He recognized the sight instantly: she'd overextended herself. Dismounting with a swish of his cloak, Elrond ran to her side, dropping to his knees and sheathing his blade before turning her gently onto her back.

Her glassy, exhausted gaze met his, and recognition flashed through her clever eyes.

"Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn." The words fell easily from her tongue despite how close she was to unconsciousness. She'd practiced them before.

"You have it, my lady," Elrond murmured, and almost as soon as the words passed his lips, her eyelids closed and she went limp in his grasp. He lifted her into his arms, cradled her close to his chest for one selfish moment, and with a few orders to his men to round up any survivors, the Elves brought their charges into the Hidden Valley.

~*~

Elvish Translations:

mellon-nin = my friend

Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn. = Elrond of Imladris, we need your protection.

#elronds-meleth-nin fic #Elrond x Reader #slow burn

30 notes · View notes

ashfae · 4 months

Text

A03 meme

A03 meme time, except I've been writing and posting fanfic to the internet since before A03. And before fanfiction.net. And before Geocities. And before the World Wide Web. There's fic of mine with ASCII doodle illustrations somewhere out there where the wild BBSes once roamed…I was tagged by @moveslikebucky; thanks Buckie, here goes. <3

how many works do you have on Ao3? 54. (and yes if we added in all the fanfic outside of A03 it'd be a larger number but I can't be bothered to consolidate it all)

what’s your total Ao3 word count? 341,744, which is better than I was expecting, yay.

what fandoms do you write for? At the moment it's just Good Omens, but there's been a lot of Dragon Age, some Lord of the Rings, and way back in the day there was Harry Potter and a lot of anime. I am toying with dipping my toe back in LotR, there's a thing I wrote ages ago that's entirely finished and just needs editing and I've been meaning to get it out there for ages. It's long though, so that'd be a commitment.

what are your top five fics by kudos? What Custom Strictly Divided (507) Like an Echo Far Away (415) (this one wasn't in the top five last week when I first started writing this post! So I think @mielpetite gets all the credit for boosting it with amazing fanart) What Comes From Your Hand (402) Give Me Your Illusions (346) Nightswimming (307)

do you respond to comments? Yep! Sometimes just with "Thanks!" or hearts but I try to. Though they get away from me sometimes and then I do a bunch all at once.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Definitely Warmaiden, which is my "What if Éowyn got the One Ring?" fic, from an idea that occurred to me one day and wouldn't leave. Clearly that doesn't end well for her, or anyone. From GO fandom it's probably Silent Night, which I still want to expand into a larger fic to be a set with Give Me Your Illusions. Someday, someday.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Most of them! But for the happiest I'd say Swan Lake Revised, cowritten with @mostlyjustgoose. And if we ever get part three up it'll be even more happy. And smutty. Very smutty.

Do you get hate on fics? Very rarely. I've been lucky there.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Oh here's the irony. I used to do a lot a lot a LOT of online roleplaying and mygod I wrote smut. So much. So. Much. I don't do as much rp these days but even so the threads I have going are still frequently pure filth. But in fic, much less so, even though I want to. Why it all gets channeled into rp and not as much into my fanfic I do not know. Honestly I want to write a lot more of it. Smut forever!!

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? Sometimes, when I have a good idea. But the craziest one I ever wrote, ages ago, was a pure crackfic for my 21st birthday, where I imagined a bizarre party for myself in which LOADS of fictional characters (mostly from anime) showed up so I could make them interact in wacky ways. It was utterly ridiculous but amused me. Making all the characters voiced by Megumi "She's Everywhere!!" Hayashabara meet up and wonder why they all sound alike, for example. Also I wish I'd written an Artemis Fowl breaks into Gringotts to rob it fic before I became so disillusioned with both Artemis Fowl and Harry Potter. Heigh ho.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yep. It was impressive how lazy the person was about it too, they stole all the html as well. Someone brought it to my attention pretty quickly.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Twice, yes. Into Portuguese, as I remember.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Hi @mostlyjustgoose, I adore you, please co-write things with me forever. <3 Our baby is Unusual Strings, a reverse omens AU love story, and it's SO. CLOSE. to being done. So close. Aughhhh. I love our angel!Crowley and demon!Aziraphale so, so much.

What’s your all time favorite ship? Aziraphale and Crowley, Faramir and Éowyn, Hiccup and Astrid. Don't make me choose between those three, my head will explode.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Shut up shut up I will finish all of them ALL OF THEM I SAY…sigh. Beauty and the Battousai. Though I should probably mention A Demon in the Dreaming and The Queen Bee. (they're plotted and outlined and parts are written aaahhh come on ADHD meds help me out here)

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, definitely. I'm good at putting humour into things. Got compared to Patricia Wrede once and honestly, life goal achieved there. I can do memorable phrases and descriptions and edit well.

What are your writing weaknesses? What is plot. Why does it hate me. Why are my original characters one-dimensional cardboard. What is worldbuilding and how do I do it without getting stalled into paralysis. Baaaah. This is why my original novel will never be finished and I keep running back to fanfic instead.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Hoo boy contentious subject! I love reading it so long as it's translated somewhere in the footnotes, I'd be happy to write it if I knew other languages, the question of whether it should be italicized or not has apparently Officially been settled by The Publishing Industry on the side of Not.

First fandom you wrote for? Oh gosh I think it was the Dragonlance books by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. The first that ever got shown to other people was Ranma 1/2 though.

Favorite fic you’ve written? It's still What Custom Strictly Divided. Though Unusual Strings comes very close.

Gaaah I'm always worried I'll tag people who don't want to be tagged so, erk, um...if they're willing, @racketghost, @indieninja92, and @holycatsandrabbits! And you, if you're reading and want to do this, please say I tagged you. I meant to really, honest. ;)

#ask meme #a03 meme #fanfic meme #yay I wrote things

28 notes · View notes