#so i know almost nothing about lotr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

somnambulic-thing · 4 months

Text

page 622 read on ao3

Eddie Munson x afab!reader E +18

summary: It's the middle of the night and you just can't find sleep. Eddie wants to help. He wants to help so bad.

Words: 3k

||reader has insomnia, smut, fluff, pinch of angst, LOTR references, domestic, nerds in love||

A/N: This is for all of us who haunt the nights. <3

Page 622 is graced with not one, but two dog ears.

That’s nothing unusual for the thick heavy paperback in your hands. A copy of The Lord of the Rings, all three parts united in one book and littered with battle scars like a gnarly old Orc of Mordor.

It belongs to both of you, bought on that whimsical fleamarket by the side of the road with spare change collected from the nooks and crannies of the van. It hadn’t mattered that you already owned a box set each, it had been clear that this book wanted to go home with you. Once integrated into your shared collection, it became the copy that was pulled out when Eddie and you had an argument about the most minuscule details to settle. It wasn’t a rare occasion that someone got tackled before they could claim victory over the matter. That brave book had been ripped from victorious hands more times than you could count and flung over shoulders, into corners or behind furniture.

It was also the copy Eddie used to ponder ideas. When he was writing a campaign and the atmosphere he was eager to create didn’t feel quite right, he would go down into the Mines of Moria or deep into the thicket of Fangorn forest and seek inspiration between the lines. There he left marks with the heavy tip of his pencil, elbows catching on the edges of pages as he reached for his notebook, creating new dogears, sometimes small tears.

You loved those marks and never grew tired of discovering fresh traces of his adventures. They kept you company on those days you wouldn’t get tired at all.

The world between the worn covers was familiar, the motions of the adventures committed to memory in many places, the adventurers friends that comforted you on restless nights.

You chose this copy over the others you own because it’s an intimate object, because you could trust it to catch you should you fall asleep on its pages, trust it to be more beautiful in the morning with more kinks and wrinkles.

But there were days when even the unhastiness of Treebeard wouldn’t do the trick to coax you into slumber. Today was such a day; stuck on the sofa on a dark, restless sea and no sleep in sight.

You hadn’t heard him coming.

“Just flopped around the mattress like a fish out of water looking for you.”

Eddie’s voice is deep and raspy and a little cranky around the edges. Your eyes shift from page 622 to where he stands in the doorframe, all tousled hair and sleepy eyes. There are lines on his right cheek, a shallow relief in the mirror image of his pillowcase. His boxers sit dangerously low on his hips and it tickles in your fingertips to follow the trail of soft hair and tuck them further down.

“That’s an amusing image,” you say with a smile as Eddie rubs one eye with his flat hand, nose scrunched up and wrinkly. “Can you demonstrate that to me?”

“Do not mock me. I awoke all cold and lonely…” he waves the other hand through the air. “Forsaken by my love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the mirth in your tone slipping just slightly, but Eddie catches it.

“How long have you been up?” he asks, banter put aside in exchange for worry and makes his way over to the nest of blankets and pillows you’d made on the sofa.

You frown, not sure you know the answer to that question, feeling like you’ve fallen out of the stream of time; trapped in endless night, doomed to read the same three sentences on page 622 again and again with nothing but your thoughts for company. Until now.

You turn to check the thin green digital numbers on the VHS recorder while Eddie lowers himself to the ground in front of you. “Almost two hours.”

“That’s no good,” he says softly and fumbles with the blanket draped over your legs in search of your skin, nudging the book off balance. It slides down your lap with a soft rustle. Dark, heavy eyes search your face for clues he knows you’re reluctant to give him and a warm palm finds your thigh moments later, an epicentre for violent goosebumps. You shiver and he smiles. “What can I do?”

“Nothing—“

“You underestimate my relaxing properties.” He places a kiss on your knee. “It’s pretty annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “Don’t want to keep you up—“

“Want me to take over the reading? You just rest and listen—” He lowers his voice to a soft rumble. “—let me hypnotize you.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“Shhh… would you please just let me help?” Without waiting for an answer, Eddie slides the blanket off your thigh and covers it in soft, slow kisses.

“Can’t—“ kiss “go—“ kiss “back to sleep—“ kiss kiss “knowing—“ kiss “you’re out here alone. Suffering.”

His hair is soft between your fingers. You loosen a few small knots while you rake your nails over his scalp.

“Eddie… I…”

It’s exhausting being a ghost, to haunt the wee hours of the night unable to find rest. It was also lonely. There was a hazy barrier isolating you from the people around you. From the man whose company you craved so much but struggled to accept in this circle of hell.

Eddie has had his fair share of sleepless nights, had done plenty of haunting himself; but not like this, not without a trackable cause that offered some degree of sense. And you’d never wish this on him no matter how lonely you get, but sometimes, you find yourself envying him for the way he just falls asleep on any surface most days and with the envy, there comes resentment. The disconnect between resentment and longing a rope binding your hands behind your back, keeping you from reaching out.

Dark eyes are staring holes into your body as Eddie is waiting for you to continue, to give him something.

“You what, sweetheart?” He’s rubbing circles into your skin. “You want me to leave? Like, actually?”

“I don’t want to take my mood out on you…”

“Why not?” he grins. “We could make it fun. Tire you out, air out some of that—“ his hands leave your legs to gesture wildly through the air. The cold creeping in where his warm palms had just rested feels unbearably cruel. You don’t want him to leave. “— some of that pent-up… whatever it is.”

“Okay.”

Eddie’s brows vanish under tousled bangs. “Okay? Shit, I had this whole speech planned about how we’re a team and that you’re being so stubborn is a waste of time—”

“You complaining?”

“No… no…” he smiles and runs his hands up your thighs. “So, you wanna be a little… mean to me?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Don’t want that.”

He hums and nods, leans down and licks your skin; from your knee right up to the hem of your shorts. It’s the slightest touch, just the tip of his tongue, but the sensation sinks into your body like warm summer rain falling onto dry and dusty ground.

“Let me love you,” he mumbles against your thigh, running the tip of his nose along the border of fabric you hide behind. “I hate it when you feel lonely while I’m right here and fucking crazy about you…”

“You’re right here,” you repeat like in a trance. Eddie looks up at you, so soft and wild at the same time and so sincere and you feel the last layer of resistance melt as if it had never existed.

“Right fucking here.”

“Fuck me.”

Warm gentle hands begin to free your legs from the tangle of blankets and you marvel at how much of Eddie’s essence resides in his touch; soft but rough around the edges where his fingertips have put on tough skin over the years. There’s so much love, so much passion lingering in those points where you end and he begins.

Accompanied by the soft rustling of fabric, Eddie runs those storytelling hands up and down your thighs, from the inside to the outside and up to the round of your ass where he ever so slightly puts his nails against your skin and runs them down down down to the back of your knees where he holds on and pulls you further down the cushion. You yelp a little and then you both laugh a little and you lift your hips to aid him rid you of your shorts and underwear.

“M’ gonna try a thing,” he says and spreads your legs just wide enough to fit in between.

“Try w-what?” you ask around a hitching breath as you watch Eddie slide two fingers into his mouth. They glisten with spit when he pulls them out and you can hear a few drops hit the floor as he lowers himself down.

“You know how I sometimes take ice-cold showers to shock spiralling thoughts out of my mind?”

“I… what? AH!”

One long finger enters you swiftly, moves in-out-in-out and is joined by the other. Heat expands like a shockwave through your pelvis as all the blood rushes to greet the pads of Eddie’s fingers. He moves with precision in quick pulsing motions against that soft erogenous spot deep inside you, watching you closely.

“Good?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Not too much?”

“No,” you grit out as your hips start to twitch.

There is no smug little smile, no told-you-so grin, only deep concentration and a bright red blush high on his cheeks and you desperately wish he’d kiss you. That thought is gone and forgotten as that penetrating pulse quickens, deepens and Eddie’s mouth inches closer and closer to your clit. There’s a sharp tingling in your cunt, not quite a sting, not quite pain and it’s hot and delicious and as it spreads out into every corner of your body, the world gets smaller and smaller, shrinks countless miles each second until this sofa is the only place left in the universe.

“Holy shit, holy shit, those noises, sweetheart.”

You can’t hear a thing over the rush in your ears and as Eddie’s lips close around your confused, prickling clit, your eyes roll up and close.

And for an infinite moment, there’s nothing left but ecstasy.

When time starts up again, you’re re-entering the world shaking and gasping. Eddie is quick on his knees. One hand closing around your wrist and the other pressed into your back he pulls you into an embrace that you collapse into like a dying star.

“I love you I love you I love you…” he whispers into your hair and holds you holds you holds you until you feel solid again. “You good?”

You nod and hum.

Hands find your face and guide you up and you remember how badly you need a kiss when Eddie’s lips form pretty words so close to yours. “Now, let me take you to bed and—“ You interrupt him, pressing your mouth to his with desperate, sloppy urgency. He chuckles softly, catching your lower lip with his teeth for a gentle tug before he pulls away.

“Come on,” he kisses the corner of your mouth. “Really wanna continue this.”

“Can’t move… you broke me.”

“Oh, well, pretty sure you broke my fingers with your pussy so we’re even. Get up.”

You laugh and reach for the hand cupping your left cheek; you kiss the palm, run your tongue along his fingers and kiss the tips. “Better?”

Eddie’s brows shoot up and he takes a sharp breath. “Bedroom!”

He scrambles to his feet and pulls you with him. In motion like that, you can feel drowsiness settling in, slowly taking hold of your muscles. Your legs still feel shaky, almost heavy, and Eddie wraps an arm around your waist for the moment it takes you to steady yourself.

“Looks like it’s working,” he says softly.

“Feels like it, too.”

Finally, there is the smug smile you have been waiting for. “And it took me less than two minutes. ”

“You… checked the time?”

“For science,” he says proudly and the smile turns into a grin.

“Ah, science. Alright, Doc,” you reach down, hook a finger into the waistband of his boxers and let it snap. “I’m ready for the next experiment.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrows his sleepy eyes and hums. You can hear the cogs in his mind take up speed and then he sidesteps you and begins to rummage through the mess of blankets and pillows on the sofa.

“What are you doing?”

“Just a sec, you gave me an idea— ha!” He whirls around and shoves The Lord Of The Rings into your hands. Your reaction is tardy and you feel the cover catch on your thumb and bend in a way that probably leaves a crease but you have not time to check because Eddie is quickly maneuvring you to the bedroom.

He sits you down on the bed and swiftly pulls your shirt over your head and you have no choice but to let go of the book. It drops somewhere on the mattress and out of your mind when Eddie flicks on the bedside lamp and strips out of his boxers.

“Never gets old”, you marvel at the sight of him, pale and lean but soft and the smile you just conjured with those words seems nothing short of diabolical with the way the light catches his features from below.

You recede onto the mattress and he follows you like you’re magnetic, crawling after you until he’s back between your legs, kissing his way up your body, taking his time to caress your breasts with his hands and lips. Only when you yawn he stops and comes up to face you, to kiss you and you drink in the sigh of relief that he places inside your mouth as he slides his hard cock against your folds, you hold on to goosebump-covered shoulders as he pushes inside you.

“Never gets old,” he moans as he rolls his hips against you in deep, slow thrusts and kisses your nose when you have to giggle.

You’re not chasing ecstasy now, but wholeness, you’re not searching for a high, but for refuge. All your thoughts slow down while Eddie occupies all your senses.

“How do you feel?” he asks into the soft spot below your ear.

“Good… Sleepy.”

“M’ not saying I told you so—“

A chuckle tickles your skin and suddenly, a bolt of guilt and fear flashes through you. “But we can’t do this every time—“

“Hey!” He lifts his head to look at you, presses a finger to your lips. “Shhh… Don’t go there,” he says and puts his forehead to yours. “Come back… come back to me. I got you.”

“I’m here.”

“You just have to let me in…” He kisses you like he’s sacred you could vanish from beneath him and you swear you can feel his heartbeat reach out for yours, swear you can feel it pound against your chest like it’s begging for entry.

“M’ sorry,” you whisper and sling your arms around his shoulders. “I’m trying.”

And then he moves, slowly pulling his cock from inside you—

“Eddie?”

and stretches long across the bed to grab the book right off the edge.

“On your side,” he instructs and manhandles you into position before you can comply on your own and slides back into your cunt before you can process what’s happening.

“Fuck… oh fuck…” you moan as quick deep thrusts hit just the right spot over and over. You can hear the rustling of pages behind you and Eddie’s chest retreats from your back. “W-what are y- ah you…?”

‘It was not much more than a tall man’s height now…’ he reads the first line from page 622. You try to turn to look at him but he pushes you back. “Nu-uh, relax. M’ going to read to you and I’m going to fuck you till you pass out and maybe then you’ll think of waking me sooner the next time you pick up this book in the dead of night.”

You moan and laugh and there are tears in the corner of your eyes. “You trying to condition me?”

There’s no answer, he just keeps reading; shakily, punctuated in the quick rhythm of his thrusts and laced with moans of his own. You just close your eyes and let go and soon enough you’re close to the edge again.

’We are famisshed, yes famisshed we are, precious,…” he croaks in a toned down, breathy Gollum impression that’s highly confusing and you clutch the sheet, pulling it loose.

“Shit… you gonna make me come…”

After a few more lines he stops reading and you hear the book drop. Eddie presses close to you, softly bites your shoulder while a hand wanders down between your legs to play with your clit.

‘Yess, yess, nice water,’ said Gollum,’ he continues from memory.

“Oh, you asshole,” you groan.

‘Drink it, drink it, while we can! But what is it they’ve got, precious? Is it crunchable? Is it… tasty?’

One strangled moan falls from your mouth and then your insides tense violently. Eddie mercilessly fucks you through it and beyond and doesn’t slow down until he coaxes another orgasm out of you. He follows you this time. You feel him pulse and twitch deep inside of you, feel his hot breath on your shoulder and neck and one stray tear escape the corner of your eye. It runs down the side of your nose while you listen to both your mismatched breathing slow down again.

“I fucking love you,” you babble groggily. “So much… so much…”

Eddie places a kiss on the back of your head and picks the book back up, resuming where he left off. He stays inside you while he softens until he slips out. The distinction between characters fades, the gaps between words grow longer but you barely register it; it’s the sound of his voice that pulls you under into the depths of Morpheus’ realm and you’re finally ready to descend completely…

‘Look here!’ Sam whispered to Frodo, not too softly: he did not really care whether Gollum heard him or not. ‘We’ve got to get some Sleep—' Eddie pauses. “Precious? You asleep?”

Your slow, even breathing is all the answer he gets. He carefully reaches over you and drops the book on the mattress before he turns off the light and wraps his arm around you.

“Gonna find you in my dreams,” he whispers into your shoulder and follows you into sleep.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie munson smut #Eddie Munson fanfic #my fic

473 notes · View notes

normal-horoscopes · 2 years

Note

As an aspiring hobbyist fantasy author, what books do you recommend I read?

I offer an old note from a friend, and a buffalo nickel

It's IMPERATIVE that you read LOTR and then copy it almost exactly, change very little except make the elves even cooler and more badass and make the humans more racist towards the other races. Really hamfist some original lukewarm social commentary that wasn't in LOTR. Also make all the hobbits human they're lame.

Next, read Robert Jordans Wheel of Time series and take these specific lessons from it: Skilled editors are a waste, and REAL fantasy series don't get good till book 11. Take several pages to explain the history of every song the barkeep regularly hums in exquisite detail, right down to the ethnoreligious conflicts that prompted the creation of the song and then never mention any of those things again. Make up a dictionary worth of fantasy nouns with no consistent rules of pronunciation.

Next, read all of Game of Thrones. Remember: realistic and intimate political uberviolence makes a story good. Be sure to absorb none of the underlying themes or learn anything about narrative pacing or tension and just add more graphic incest to your story.

Now that you've read GOT, read Discworld. By this time you should be an expert in the fantasy genre, so be sure to RIGOROUSLY critique every possible element of Pratchett's worldbuilding like you're high fantasy cinemasins. Make sure you compare it to GOT as often as possible and talk about how much better and cooler and more realistic GOT's magic is. Post about this on Twitter as much as possible.

Also, remember that none of what weve talked about so far is REAL fantasy writing. Everyone knows that the true elites of the fantasy world read nothing but poorly translated Soviet-era LOTR knockoffs with an original print run of 2,500 copies. Find yourself something like that so you can obnoxiously look down on people for not having read it.

Hope this helps.

3K notes · View notes

jq37 · 11 days

Text

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 15

The Buddy System

Welcome back to Fantasy High where the Bad Kids are still fighting for their lives and, more importantly, their grades.

After a sterling start to their Last Stand exam, they still have a lot more test to get through before they’re academically out of the woods and they need a perfect score on the written portion to pass which is incredibly harsh but that’s Aguefort for you!

This is a very long episode where everyone gets to be so cool. Truly, you can see how competent all of the players and the characters have become as they carve a bloody path through wave after wave of enemies.

As usual, it doesn’t really make sense for me to do a blow for blow recap of this fight but it’s absolutely worth watching. It’s an absolute delight from Siobhan and Emily irl making up a limerick in tandem to pass the Performance section of The Last Stand to Gorgug rolling truly more Nat 20s than I’ve ever seen in my life and almost solo-ing a *Purple Worm*. There’s not really any commentary that I can add to improve on just how amazingly they do in the episode. They’re forced to use the auto-pass stamp twice but only on the two most unreasonable things Brennan asked them to do–write a 300 word essay longhand in five minutes and do a (gag) math word problem. With those two stamped, they get 100% on their written exam. They even get some extra credit (partially due to Siobhan’s IRL LOTR geekery).

Not only that, but Gavin (the proctor) only gets hit (I think) once and never actually goes down! None of the Bad Kids do. Hell, Adaine–their squishiest member–basically just sits at her desk the whole fight answering questions and slinging spells and she’s fine! Happy ending, A+s all around, roll credits, right?

No, of course not. Nothing is that simple–not that this was simple. They can’t just be the first party to ever pass The Last Stand without dying and have it be done.

During the fight, everyone–but especially Kristen–has been suspicious of Buddy. She does an Insight check and sees that he seems on the level but that’s not enough to quell her suspicion. Near the end of the fight, she eats the Vulture King eyeball (granting her a minute of Truesight) with the intent of seeing who Buddy really is–a reasonable instinct considering Ruben was in disguise at the festival.

She sees that Buddy is Buddy. She *also* sees Kipperlilly Copperkettle invisibly aiming a crossbow at Gavin. KP clocks Kristen clocking her, smiles, and lowers the crossbow, instead choosing to SLIT BUDDY’S THROAT. Buddy falls to the ground, absolutely DEAD. Not making saves. FULLY DEAD. A blue scaly hand touches her and they both vanish–Kristen can tell that the spell was Plane Shift (which is necessary for getting in and out of this testing pocket dimension). She frantically looks for a diamond to cast Revivify but her pockets have been picked and Buddy’s Revivify diamonds are gone as well.

They finish the fight victoriously but Buddy’s death casts a pallor on everything. This was supposed to be a fight to the death but Buddy was the one person whose death wasn’t figured into the bloodbath. Gavin tells them that they pass the rest of the year with A+s but is shaken and thrown off kilter by the seemingly random murder. Kristen tells him what she saw and Gavin says that he was observing so he can vouch for the fact that none of them had anything to do with the murder but this is a crime scene and they have to call the Fantasy FBI. The Bad Kids are all super worried about Gavin’s safety since Kipperlilly was going after him initially, but in the end they agree to take him to the Council of Chosen office in Bastion City so he can be under their protection and to leave Fig’s phone (juiced up by Gorgug) in the pocket dimension with Buddy’s body in case there are any shenanigans (you know, besides him getting murdered which was already a pretty big shenanigan).

The Bad Kids drop off Gavin and then take a bus back to Elmville with a new mission: CSI Elmville, let’s get this bitch arrested!

Editing to Add: This is a very cool post by @thisisnotthenerd that covers all the Last Stand Qs and monsters in the form of Gavin's proctor notes. Check it out!

Detention

Kipperlilly for Icing Buddy

This was gonna go to Brennan for making a bunch of stand up comedians do math under a time limit but I can’t not give it to Kipperlilly here. She smiled. She looked at Kristen, smiled, and slit Buddy’s throat. There was no gritting her teeth like it was a hard but pragmatic choice. She was about to take the life of someone who fully trusted her and she did it with glee. There is something *deeply* wrong with this bitch, and we knew that already but hoo boy this certainly clinches it.

Honor Roll

Gorgug for DESTROYING that Purple Worm

Everyone was in top form this episode but if I have to give it to one person, I’m gonna give it to Gorgug for single handedly holding back a Purple Worm, a monster so terrifying that there is an official D&D show where the premise is that all the players have to fight an OP monster they’re almost certainly gonna TPK against and the title is “Faster, Purple Worm! Kill! Kill!” Our boy didn’t even drop. That’s Maximum Legend Behavior.

Random Notes

Kristen has the thought that she interrupted a truly horrible thing that KP was about to do and wonders what the crossbow bolt was loaded with. I didn’t mention it in the recap but I wanted to call attention to it because Brennan called attention to it.

Also Riz got some footage of Gavin clearing them with his tie and Gavin sent their scores to the superintendent (not Jace to be clear–Tectonya Karkovnya who we met in The Seven).

Ugh I’m so annoyed because if KP and Oisin get questioned under Zone of Truth they’re absolutely gonna be dosed up with Devil’s Honey.

Buddy’s throat was slit and there’s no rune on his chest so presumably he can be revived if he’s brought to a hospital–hell Kristen could probably do it with a higher level spell–but I’m worried someone’s gonna slap that rune on him while his body is alone.

Do we think KP killed Buddy without a thought because she knows she lives in a world with revives and she knows it’s temporary or is she just like I truly do not care what happens to this (literally) corny ass cleric. I don’t know him like that.

Once again, I love Adaine’s div powers so much. “You crit actually.” What a legend. Also love Fig coming to her with doubt and her just being like don’t be crazy and slapping a reticle on the monster to help her aim. I really love their friendship.

Adaine is my favorite Bad Kid and I am first in line to throw down wrath on anyone who tries to mess with her. That being said, my favorite non-Bad Kid character is Aelwyn who has absolutely tried to kill Adaine and attacked her on multiple occasions and also is wanted for murders she absolutely did. My point here is that Oisin’s next moves will determine if he’s “surrounded by bad influences/I can fix them” material like Aelwyn or, “Throw out the whole man” material like that cop Antiope had a crush on. I am still rooting for the former but I will flip on a dime, do not doubt me.

I tried that essay writing task and with 25 seconds left on the clock (I stopped when I finished making my points) I was only at 174 words and my hand was seriously cramping. So I would say, valiant effort from the Bad Kids but that was a *rough* ask.

Kristen’s Bless really came in clutch! Honorary mention to her for that AND for having enough intuition to keep an eye on the Rat Grinder situation. I wonder if Brennan contemplated that might happen.

Fig bug zapping all those flying monsters was chef’s kiss.

Did Bobby Dawn fail Kristen specifically so she’d have to take the Last Stand? If so, he is indirectly responsible for his grandson getting iced. Hope that tastes bitter when he finds out but for all we know he’s one of those ends justify the means guys. Bleh.

This season really is a love letter to all that came before it. The questions, the pentacorn, Adaine’s go to move even magically just being making a fist and letting it fly. I really love how much love Brennan clearly has for this world. And the 100% score the players got on the test shows they obviously love it right back!

Loose Ends

It is Fantasy High tradition for us to get a huge lore dump near the end of the season that ties together a lot of disparate clues and I hope we’re getting there soon because there are a LOT of loose ends we have yet to tie. Here are as many major ones as I can think of right now in case it helps spark productive speculation amongst y’all.

Who killed the Loams?

Why the move to Loam Farm for Frosty Faire?

What specifically was Ruben trying to do with the symbol when he was playing at the festival? Presumably the thing Grix was trying to prevent?

Who killed Professor Badgood?

What were the exact circumstances behind Lucy’s death?

Who was able to put the rune on both of their bodies and what exactly was the goal there?

What is the Devil’s Honey being used for? What about the other things Aelwyn was getting for KP like Ambrosia? Why did she want a Cloud Rider engine?

How is Jace involved? Why is he manipulating Ruben?

How culpable is each individual Rat Grinder? Are they all in it together or are there varying levels of how involved they are?

Why were Ankarana’s domains wiped from heavens’ computers?

Why did Ankarna become corrupted and why was she forgotten? Were the celestial gods (Sol and co) involved?

How did KP find the rogue teacher?

Also what’s her damage? Why is she obsessed with Riz? What are her anger issues about?

What’s her current goal? Who is she loyal to (if anyone)? Why did she want to know about Kristen creating a god exactly?

Why did Lucy change her god and then change it back?

Why was Buddy specifically requested by the Rat Grinders?

Why is KP running for class president? And is Mazey being principal a purposeful machination or just a weird thing that’s happening incidentally?

What’s up with Spy’s Tongue Curse and Kalina only being able to say Ragh’s name? Is it related to that conversation between Kalina, Adaine’s mom, and Jace from SY?

Why wasn’t Ivy surprised to see Fig in disguise as Lucy who was at the time fully dead?

What’s up with the party vision that Adaine has now had at least twice?

Where is KP getting her money from?

What made the Rat Grinders become the Rat Grinders when they started as the High Five Heroes?

What's up with the shatter stars infecting the soil around Elmville?

Where exactly is Cass right now?

What does Ankarna want?

How does Ruvina fit into all of this?

Feel free to hit me up if there's something you think I should add to the list! Can't wait for next week. I'll see you then!

#Dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 #d20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #spoilers #the report card

55 notes · View notes

silvantransthranduiltrash · 2 months

Note

So you know how Mirkwood teamed up Lothlorien during lotr? Imagine after that battle's over one of the mirkwood elves is just like "man, I'm fucking STARVING after all that" then just sits down and cuts a piece from an orc's arm before popping it in their mouth. To the horror and concern of the Lothlorien elves, the elf actually swallows it like it's nothing. Then the rest of the mirkwood army proceeds to follow their lead and do the same thing.

Celeborn looks over at Thranduil like "you seeing this?"

But Thranduil just says with a slightly disappointed tone, "they couldn't even wait to season it. Or at least roast it, like damn- at least set up a fire!"

Thranduil immediately rushes off to order everyone to to set up proper camp and fires, and while some elves do whine about it, they comply bc this might be the last time some of them get to eat orc now that sauron is gone so they gotta savor it.

When asked by celeborn, thranduil replies with: “do you have any idea how hard it is to get supplies when you’ve been under siege, essentially, for millennia? Letting dead orcs rot is a waste of meat and at least this way that bastard can’t use their corpses for whatever necromancer magic he wants. Besides, orcs and spider and wargs routinely want to eat us. I don’t see why we shouldn’t eat them right back.”

Of course some lothloriens complain about it UNTILL some of the silvans from lothlorien join in with their mirkwood brothers and sisters bc, while they’ve relinquished most of their silvan culture under the rule of galadriel, they do still remember that in the past they used to chomp down on orc meat bc why not?

Soon the atmosphere turns almost festive as pots and pans and spices are brought out and fires are started and everyone is celebrating their victory and the silvans are trying to convince the lothloriens to take a piece (some do and some dont). Either way, it’ll certainly be a story that gets passed around once the elves reach valinor. How the silvans turned the tables on sauron by not only defying him but also eating his soldiers right back.

Silvan: wait until we tell them we used to eat balrog during the first age before they became extinct.

Legolas is hundred of miles away and lowkey pissed he couldn’t attend this impromptu party. He also stealthily took some chunks of meat from the orcs after his own battle bc if there’s one thing he learned, it’s that humans don’t react well to perceived canabalism.

#silvans eat orcs #silvans are arguably cannibals #feral silvans au #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr elves #silmarillion #the hobbit #legolas #thranduil #silvans #mirkwood

72 notes · View notes

anxiteyandsleep · 1 month

Note

I'm so sorry if I made you flustered about the smut question- didn't mean to! 🫢🫣😆

Okay so I'm gonna try and request this: 🙏

Could I please request Thranduil x Male reader who's this tall and buffed tiefling (big horns, long strong tail) who looks scary asf but is actually a total sweetheart? He only looks intimidating bc he's always wearing his armor, covers his face with a cloth/a mask, has dark makeup around his eyes and basically looks like a fricking demon?

He wears a cloth/a mask around his mouth bc he has a big open scar on his cheek (naaah nothing too graphic he just can do this trick with food where when you're facing his healthy side he sticks a carrot into the opening (scar) on the other side and chews without even opening his lips- totally normal- he did it in front of Legolas once and that poor child didn't sleep for a week). He's not ashamed of it, he just doesn't like the stares.

Even tho I'm as old as the first LOTR movie I only just now became a fan and I saw that Thranduil has an injury on his face as well (but hidden) so that got me thinking...

Maybe reader and Thranduil are a couple (reader was treated badly for being a barbarian tiefling -> not by Thranduil <- but proved himself when he saved him) and he then made reader his personal guard, became friends and then lovers.

Thranduil is curious about reader hiding his face but never pushes him to uncover himself (Like why are you hidding yourself from me hmm? Why don't you kiss me? Your other facial features are gorgeous asf, for a tiefling barbarian who rips goblins in half with his bare hands you could even compete with some elves I know-).

One day Thranduil has some issues with his own injury which reader sees and comes to his aid, Thranduil is embarrassed and nearly breaks down, tears fill his eyes bc his love saw his hideous face and is afraid he will leave him (god I'm so bad at romance bro) but reader just chuckles, takes the cloth/mask from his face and shows Thranduil his own injury.

Now they both have scars! They know each other struggles! And they love each other like never before! Happy ending- No but really, angst with fluffy comfort for our two boys and mainly for the elf himself, he needs the love.

Maybe even emotional way back to their shared bedroom by sunset all lovely dovely bc why dafuq not- just Thranduil giggling kicking his feet and twirling his hair as he's princess carried-

Jesus...I got way too into this. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Sorry for it being so long, I honestly don't know how to write short requests...also sorry for any mistakes, english is my second language.

Add something, remove something, it's up to you. You don't even have to write it if you hate it or you're not comfy with it. 😘😘

This is adorable ahhh and dw you didn't make me embarrassed or anything! I may have missed some details, this was written over the course of multiple days with very little sleep😭

I included my head canon that Thranduil is blind in his one eye from the dragon fire, as well as that when low on energy he can't keep the disguise up.

Slight TW for blood, scars and such???

It has been almost a year since you and Thranduil had started dating, you were his personal guard and beloved boyfriend, he adored you so much. He never knew why you hid your face but he didn't pry, especially considering he hides his face in a way too.

Thranduil had always been impressed by you, a strong tiefling with a kind soul, much like a gentle giant. Sure you were rather... Gruesome in battle, using your bare hands to fight and always returning covered in blood and gore. It was truly terrifying but Thranduil loved it, especially after you had saved him from a spider attack.

Today, however, Thranduil was hiding away from his beloved barbarian, tucked away in his room with nothing but a small candle dimly lighting the room. He had overworked himself again, his head was aching and he had no energy left to maintain his disguise, the burnt skin and muscle visible, a sight he despised.

When you heard that Thranduil was taking the day off and locked himself in his room, you grew worried. He's never done that before, usually on his days off he spends them with you, taking a walk through the garden or getting some much needed sleep. So of course you immediately went to check on him, making your way to your shared bedroom.

"Thranduil? Are you alright? I heard the guards say you weren't feeling well and I-" you fell silent as you entered the bedroom, squinting as you adjusted to the dim light but you knew exactly what you saw. You never knew Thranduil had such a scar, it covered the left half of his face and his eye was completely white.

Thranduil had to turn his head completely to actually see you, quickly attempting to cover up the scar but alas, he couldn't manage to use his magic in such a state. He never wanted you to see this side or him, he wanted to keep this horrid scar hidden from you.

"(Name)... What... What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be on patrol?" He managed to get out, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his usual tone but his voice still sounded shaky. Perhaps if he didn't bring attention to the scar, you would just ignore it as well

"I just got back, my love..." You replied, slowly walking closer to Thranduil, head tilted slightly in curiosity as you examined the scar. When you reached the edge of the bed, you knelt down before him, resting your chin on his legs. "is that from the dragon you faced?"

Thranduil sighed softly, closing his eyes as he couldn't bare to look at you, afraid he'd see disgust in your eyes. "yes...I managed to survive but..." He vaguely gestured to the scar, shaking his head slightly. Thranduil finally opened his eyes again when he felt your strong hands holding his, the touch was so gentle and caring, he just had to see you.

The way you were looking at him surprised him, your eyes were full so of love and admiration, it made his heart swell.

"We kinda match" you hum in a soft whisper, reaching up to remove the mask you always wore and revealing your own scar. You weren't ashamed of it, you mostly hid it for everyone's comfort as the sight of your open cheek often made people uneasy and you hated the looks they'd give you.

it was now Thranduil's turn to stare in awe, one of his delicate hands reaching up to gently trace around the scar, his fingers soft and gentle as always. "hm I suppose we do, my love" he replied softly his hand trailing up to gently trace over your horns, following the pattern and ridges of them.

"forgive me for keeping this from you... I... I do not like people seeing me in such a state but I should've told you" Thranduil apologized, moving his hands back to gently cup your face, being careful to not disturb the scar

You couldn't help but chuckle a little, leaning into his touch while your tail wagged slightly. "there's no need to apologize, I kept a secret from you too"

Thranduil felt as if a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders, the stress slowly melting away as he held you in his hands. "Well now that we both have told the truth, how about we rest?" He whispered sweetly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss, one you eagerly returned.

Without breaking the kiss, you got off your knees, cradling the back of Thranduils neck with one of your hands. You kicked off your boots, accidentally sending one flying across the room but you didn't care. "a nap sounds good, yeah" you muttered against his lips as you carefully push him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him to continue the kiss.

Thranduil couldn't help but chuckle, pulling back from your lips just enough to talk. "My love, this is not napping ~" he didn't really mind as you continued to pamper him with kisses, his delicate hands reaching up to gently tangle themselves in your hair.

"mm we'll nap after, then"

#the hobbit #thranduil x male reader #thranduil #lord of the rings #lotr elves

50 notes · View notes

isildur-apologist · 1 year

Text

You don’t hate Amazon you hate the Silmarillion: a genuine review of Rings of Power

It’s no secret that overall I liked RoP. I watched it with my roommate who gets very hyped about stuff like that and it made for a really exciting viewing experience, instead of the more bitter perspective I might have taken if I watched it alone. But, I also know there are some real faults with the show, I never thought it was perfect and know it’s not on par with the the LOTR movies and I never expected it to be. But, the fault for that is not on Amazon.

(I want to note that I am not defending Amazon. I hate Amazon. Jeff Bezos can catch this guillotine. I am, however, defending the creative team behind the show, which is how I will refer to them from here on out, I only called it Amazon to grab your attention. )

Here’s my point though, almost every (valid) critique I see of this show isn’t a problem with decisions the creative team made, it’s an inherent problem in any adaptation of the Silmarillion (and associated works but I’m just going to refer to the Silmarillion for brevity’s sake).

The Silmarillion, as full and detailed as it is, is a shit story. The events of the second age do not fit neatly into a clean story structure the way LOTR does because it’s not supposed to. The Silmarillion isn’t a story, it’s a history, and history is never narratively satisfying. Tolkien (Jirt, not talking about Christopher here) didn’t publish the Silmarillion in his lifetime, he only even published LOTR and the hobbit, everything else attributed to him was published after his death. He had no intent of making the other works anything other than a comprehensive history of the world he made for documentation’s sake, never with intent to publish. He didn’t even compile all the writings, Christopher did.

Because if this, the Silmarillion is really hard to adapt for a number of reasons:

1. Elves aren’t good main characters.

Elves aren’t supposed to be relatable characters, they’re aloof and static and inherently non-relatable (There are exceptions but they’re usually not regular elves. Elrond is half elven, Legolas is very young). Humans and hobbits are the relatable characters through which we view the world, because they can have human flaws and conflicts, which makes for a very human story. To make elves the main characters you need to make them interesting characters, and elves aren’t supposed to have human flaws, and so you either stay faithful and they don’t feel relatably human, or you change their to be more human and it feels disingenuous to what we know elves to be like. It’s a lose lose.

2. Middle earth is not supposed to be pretty.

A huge part of LOTR is realizing every place they visit is either the ruins of a past, much larger civilization, or a city that is a fraction of what it used to be (Gondor in lotr is NOTHING compared to what it was in the early 3rd age, or Arnor and definitely not Númenor, Rivendell is a pebble compared to Lindon and Eregion, we only ever see Khazad-dûm as a decrepit tomb instead of the most prosperous mine in all of middle earth is once was). This juxtaposition is integral to the main themes of lotr and is imperative to the story jirt was trying to tell. A story set in the 2nd age cannot have these ruins because IT IS THE RUINS. It cannot “feel like lotr” because it is what will make lotr lotr.

3. Characters (individuals) are of little importance in the Silmarillion.

As important as Elendil and Isildur (and even Anárion) are to the plot of literally the entire 3rd age, we know little about their own narratives. They are names for the people that did these important actions and that’s it. Again, the Silmarillion is a history, it’s not going to say what Elendil and Isildur’s relationship was like in excruciating detail or what Isildur wanted to do with his life before sailing to middle-earth and becoming a king. You have to write these characters a good story if you’re adapting the Silmarillion and sometimes there isn’t space to write a compelling journey in the space Tolkien left. Because they don’t have a character, any character you give them will seem “out of character” to many people.

Basically my point is that before you go and say “well this is weird or I didn’t like this choice” think about what the creative team had to create to make an interesting show out of a story not designed to be told. Sometimes they didn’t make the perfect decision, but if you were tasked with adapting something unadaptable do you think you would do it perfectly?

#rings of power #the rings of power #rings of power review #lotr #tolkien #silmarillion #galadriel #elrond #gil galad #celebrimbor #arondir #numenor #elendilf #oops I meant #elendil #isildur #durin iv #lord of the rings #lotr rop

534 notes · View notes

tismrot · 5 months

Text

UNHEALTHY, NEURODIVERGENT GOOD OMENS BRAINROT

It really gets to me - how my brain was my own (my obsessions, emotions and intrusive thoughts were about me, my life, my relationships) until I watched that last episode.

I’d seen Season 1 a couple of years back and thought it was cute. I noticed the #ineffablehusbands hashtag via Instagram and I remember thinking “aww” - I didn’t care all that much. It wasn’t a Thing for me.

And then I notice season 2 is out on Prime, I wait a couple of weeks to see it and then, having finished some other shows I needed something new to watch while walking on my treadmill.

First episodes were… cozy. I shamefully have to admit I went “oh, right, they had that impossible love thing going on” when watching these episodes, and I thought it would be nice if they got together by the end, and it certainly looked like it was heading there, in a meandering, fuzzy way.

By the fifth episode I’m quite invested, of course, and after Beelz and Gab revealed their love in episode six, I was like YEAH, now Aziraphale and Crowley kinda gotta, don’t they? Still no brainrot yet, just the regular “I’ve watched almost all of this show now and the main characters are into each other, so I’m rooting for them”.

And then, of course, the Final Fifteen. It took me from [casual viewer in her 30s] to [teenaged, autistic me, alone in my room all of the equivalent of junior high, obsessively teaching myself to read and understand Elvish, sewing elven dresses for myself that I wore to school, listening to nothing but Gregorian chants and the LotR soundtrack, watching the movie until the cassette was ruined].

I’ve now read Ars Goetia, Paradise Lost and Dante’s Inferno. I re-read all of Jane Austen (and I’m not even a fan). I bought the script book, I’ve read thousands of pages of fanfics, and I’ve written probably 300 myself (of which some is published. It’s not very good, but it’s there, I made it, it’s the child of my brain that was born from this obsession). I draw again, and I haven’t for years. Everything I do and say and feel finds a parallel or reference within then GO universe.

And. I mean. I may be autistic, but since the days in my room during my teen years, I have lived. I have been around the block and I haven’t kept my nose clean, I’ve been terrible and terrific and out there, I’m an extrovert and I’ve made so many friends and enemies, I have experiences. When I was 14, I had very little of that at all. I did not see the brainrot coming, I had no idea I was still capable, I thought my own life had been dramatic enough.

3 months later, and I still can’t sleep. I see them when I close my eyes. I watch other kind of media and make notes for my fic. I want to break free, but God knows I’ve fallen in love, and I am BROKEN over this. Give me season 3 or give me a stash that lasts until then.

(This gif depicts me throwing Good Omens out of my brain)

#crowley #good omens fandom #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable spouses #innefable husbands #crowley edits #ineffable divorce #good omens brainrot #good omens tv #crowley good omens

82 notes · View notes

edges-of-night · 10 months

Note

Heyo! I was wondering if you could write something about the lotr characters meeting a modern!reader that starts crushing on them once they show up in middle earth? (Preferably the 4 hobbits) Happy writings!

I hope I did your request justice! Enjoy!

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Sure enough, Frodo had heard the gossip about a strange human showing up in the Shire – not only one of the big folk, but dressed especially strangely, and talking even weirder. Being the gentleman that he is, Frodo would not investigate or snoop around any further than that. Surely that human had enough helpful hobbits around them by now… Little did he know that nothing could be further from the truth!

Your time in this strange place had been nothing but miserable. No electricity, no internet, indeed nowhere to charge your phone – it wasn’t like your navigation apps were of any help out here, recognising absolutely nothing – but still you dreaded losing your only connection to home. None of the people here could tell you where you were. They looked like D’n’D halflings, with their pointy ears and short bodies, but all they did was pretend they didn’t understand you or shoo you away with whatever tool they were holding.

When your phone eventually died, you broke down crying in the grove you had been wandering. Covering your face with your hands, you sobbed with your back against the tree. It should be cruel that you were so lonely in such a beautiful place…

Somewhen, you heard light – well, as light as these big-fooded halflings could walk – steps coming toward you. A polite and quiet voice asked, “Excuse me… Can I help you?”

You looked up with a sniff. Before you stood a halfling with the brightest and biggest blue eyes you have ever seen. He carried a book under his arm. His words and demeanour were careful, as though he tried explicitly not to scare you.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. As soon as the words left your mouth, a comforting warmth spread in your chest – you had already given up hope of ever finding a friendly face here! You broke into a relieved laugh.

“I thought I heard someone crying,” the halfling smiled with a wave of his book. “And from the sound of your voice, you could use a glass of water, couldn’t you?”

You rubbed your eyes. “That’d be great, yeah. Haven’t had something to drink for almost a day now. I guess. I don’t know how time works here.”

“It’s the twelfth of July,” the halfling said gently, huddling down in front of you.

You sucked in a breath – such blue eyes could only mean you were in some kind of fantasy world! “The same day I left home,” you uttered, hoping your heart would not jump out right into his face.

“And still you seemed to have travelled quite the distance,” he said and smiled. “Come on,” he offered with an extended hand, “you can rest at my home in Bag End.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. But when you took his hand, you suddenly got the feeling everything would turn out okay after all…

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

In the hope that it would make you seem smaller, you ducked your head – but the halflings’ eyes were still firmly on you. You’d already been in their world for days, and yet they gawped at you as though you were an alien.

Well, considering you hadn’t seen any other humans in their little halfling town, maybe that was sort of true.

“The same as always,” you asked the bartender. Meaning: left-over bread and a bit of water.

“Right away,” she smiled. She was friendly – your only source of food for the past few days – but even her eyes were cautious. As though you might break something just by standing at her small bar counter. You suppressed a sigh and mumbled a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Belay that order, Rosie! They’ll have a summer vegetable ragout,” a rough voice next to chimed in. “And how about some redcurrant juice? Better than water all day. We’ll have a carafe.”

You shifted, elbows on the counter. You weren’t in the mood for petty halfling nonsense – you just wanted something to eat and get back to the tree you were hiding behind…

“On your tab, Merry?” Rosie asked, eyebrows risen in amusement.

“Yes, yes, everything on my tab.” He downed his beer and leaned further onto the counter. “My treat!”

Nothing in his voice suggested malice, so you did turn around. Next to you sat a bright-eyed halfling in a yellow vest. His cheeks were puffy from grinning. “Sorry if you looked forward to that ol’ bread,” his voice rasped. “Hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

Something about his shamelessness made you smile. “You didn’t. Thank you.” You swallowed, but your next words left your mouth before you could stop yourself: “That’s the kindest thing someone around here has done for me.”

“Ahh, don’t give a horse’s shit about other people,” he went. “I was never averse to the big folk, and neither are the Tooks. And the Baggins’, needless to say. And, yeah, I’m a Brandybuck, so…”

Gears turn in your head – you’d heard all those names around town before. “Oh, you’re – what’s it – Merry?”

His head spun around, bright eyes staring at you. “Yeah,” he uttered. “That’s me.” He put his drink down and fumbled with the curls that had fallen into his face. You chuckled at how flustered he was all of a sudden – it was very cute! “And, and,” he stuttered, “you are…?”

You leaned in to tell him your name over the crowd’s noise. He smelled of apples and summer meadows…

When you pulled away, Merry gave you the brightest grin. “What a beautiful name!”

“Thanks,” you laughed, blushing at his smile.

“Now that that’s settled…” He shifted to give you a conspiratorial look. “We’ll get your ragout and juice, and then we can dance and sing together, what do you say?”

You laughed in disbelieve. “What?”

“Yeah! My friends are sitting over there! We can join them and teach you all the songs you need to know in the Green Dragon.” Though Merry’s enthusiasm was unmistakable, he still glanced downward, as though he was nervous about asking this of you. You thinned your lips in order not to smile like a lovebird – he was pretty charming! “I’d love to join you, Merry. Thank you.”

His joy practically exploded: “Great! Great, now then let’s go!”

“What about the ragout…?”

“I’ll teach you to dance first!” he called and took your hand to pull you with him.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Halflings, or Hobbits, as they called themselves, were a strange little people. When you had crashed into their town last Tuesday, their initial reaction to you had been rather hostile. Especially older people did not want you around, let alone talk to you.

With younger Hobbits however, the story was very different.

Children, insofar their parents wouldn’t hold them back, loved when you came to town to get food and water. They asked if you knew “Gandalf” and all other sorts of names you didn’t recognise. They also whispered secrets into your ear, about this or that sibling of theirs who had a crush on you. While amused, you shrugged it off as children’s nonsense, just the same as in your world. Until… you found a letter by the tree trunk you’ve made your home base. It was a neat and tidy letter, gorgeous handwriting, and even a seal.

Your tall figure and round ears have enchanted me…

It was a love letter! Your heart skipped a few beats – and then you laughed. Hobbits were impossible! And impossibly charming, as it would seem.

Soon you learned that they all had such tidy handwriting and beautiful stationary. The letters multiplied. Each day you found more by your home. It was getting ridiculous – so few would talk to you in person, and then apologise for it in the most beautiful letter you’d ever seen.

One day, when you found another seven letters by your base, a voice stopped you from reading them right away. “Here’s another delivery for ye!”

You turned around to find a boyish Hobbit with dishwater blond curls and blue eyes heading your way. He had a shoulder bag around his turquoise coat and marched straight toward you. You laughed when he did a little tip-toe-dance toward you.

“Wow. Then all of these are yours?” you asked.

“Wha’?” He stopped in his tracks, giving you a wide-eyed look with his lips falling open. “No, no, you couldn’t be further from the truth! Everyone’s been givin’ me letters for you, but none of it my own, I swear!”

You smiled at his charming accent and outraged expression. He even raised his hands in defence, thereby holding up the envelopes he meant to give you earlier.

“So, you’re my little messenger?” you asked, trying to ignore the urge to hug him. He was too precious!

“Somethin’ only a Took would do,” he said with a proud grin. “I bet no one’s asked you out for a bowl of Second Breakfast strawberries in person, right?”

“No?” you went, a bit unsure – was he…?

“Then I’ll do just that,” he grinned, pushing the envelopes into your hands. He smiled up at you so brightly you needed a second to understand.

“Only if you like the freshest, juiciest, reddest strawberries, that is…”

You chuckled. “What a question.”

He jumped a little, beaming like the sun. “One best asked in person, I figured. Come on, then. I’m Peregrin, by the way, but everyone calls me Pippin. Or Pip is fine, too, if you prefer that – Merry sometimes calls me that – you might know him, my first cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck. I’m also cousins with Frodo Baggins, up in Bag End, I’m sure we can pay ‘im a visit later and play cards, that’d be a blast! And speaking of Bag End…”

Truly, you thought with a blissful smile as you walked down the hill, all that would’ve been a bit much to fit into one letter.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

For Samwise Gamgee, it was an ordinary day to the plant market and back. He was thinking about trying some of that summer lilac this year. The butterflies loved it, and the East side of Bag End could use another arboret anyway. It was heavier to carry than he had expected – but nothing rolled-up sleeves couldn’t handle, even below the warm late afternoon sun. With that, he was on his way back home.

You, on the other hand, were headed in the other direction. One second you were walking down the street, looking at your phone, and then…

A gust of wind made you raise your head. You had to squint your eyes against the suddenly bright and golden sun. Insects chirped around you. You were standing by a field! Below your shoes was a gravelled path, above you the clearest blue sky you’d seen in a while.

Just when you turned around, you bumped into a child coming from around the corner of the high wildflowers – or so you thought. After your initial confusion and an autopiloted “Oh, sorry!”, you realised the stranger was far from a child. Before you stumbled a tanned man with blond curls falling into his freckled face, sturdy and kind. His broad arms, exposed by a rolled-up old-timey shirt, carried a potted plant that he now steadied in-between you.

“Oh, not to worry!” he let you know. He grunted when he realised that raising the plant like this would block your faces. Rearranging it gave you time to further scan him – his feet were naked and big. And very, very hairy – “You’re a halfling!” you realised.

“Aye, sure hope I am,” the man replied. A smile tugged at his lips when his brown eyes met yours. “And you’re a human, as it looks to me.”

You laughed. He was very good at this. Had you wandered into a fantasy festival? “Yeah, um – sorry, again,” you babbled, stealing a glance at your phone. No reception.

“No worries,” he assured you. He tilted his head. “What’s that magic tablet you’re carryin’?”

You were on the verge of replying that this was just a phone, not a tablet, when he instantly straightened his posture. “I mean, not to make any assumptions, but we don’t get big folk visitin’ very often. People might stare if someone walks around with magic stuff, not to mention a beauty such as you.”

“Beauty?” Your heart picked up pace when the halfling looked at you shily from below his dark eyelashes. Your own eyes fluttered. Where were you…? “I was just walking down the street,” you mumble, “and before I knew it…”

“I know the feeling!” the halfling agreed. “One step and you don’t know where you are anymore.”

You studied him – something made you trust him. “Yeah.”

“Were you on your way to Hobbiton then? I can accompany you, very well, if you want to,” he offered you in his simple and charming manner. You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Thank you!”

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #frodo x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* fluffy #* hurt/comfort #* modern #* ask #* request

163 notes · View notes

in-death-we-fall · 11 months

Text

Murderdolls

Love at First Sight

Metal Edge 48-11, March 2003

By Roger Lotring Photos By Eddie Malluk

(google drive link) Slipknot interview here – Stone Sour interview here

There are probably less than two hundred people at the Webster Theater. It’s Tuesday night in Hartford, CT, and the Murderdolls are in town to tutor a whole new generation on the fundamentalism of real rock ‘n’ roll. Without the vacant hype of Madison Avenue trendiness, their renascent timelessness is lost so far on the youth of a nation. But that’s about to change. They seize the stage with an adrenaline overdose that probably hasn’t happened since Mötley Crüe first molested Hollywood’s Sunset Strip over twenty years ago. The Murderdolls are glorious rock ‘n’ roll sluts in a manner desperately lost from contemporary music, and definitely lost on those two standoffish fuckers provoking the band with drunken taunting. Vocalist Wednesday 13 swings around to leap to the edge of the stage, leaning forward to dare them with confrontation. But they don’t respond—They can’t, even if they had the balls, because the kids are right in their faces. That pissed-off look in those kids’ eyes, their vehement willingness to defend their band, it’s a defining moment that marks this band as something special. For those couple hundred kids here in Hartford on a Tuesday night, they believe in the Murderdolls. Love at first fright, indeed, and it’s only a matter of time before the word spreads.

“There’s nothing better than that first time seeing a band,” enthuses guitarist Joey Jordison, recalling his own formative rock ‘n’ roll indulgences. “It’s so special, when no one else knew who the fuck they were, and they were your fucking band.” The impact of his influences–and those of the whole band, really—are just as prevalent today as they were back then. It’s obvious as the band prepares for the show with their battle cry of KISS Alive II shaking the dressing room walls. KISS, Alice Cooper, Hanoi Rocks, Twisted Sister—That is the essence of the Murderdolls. “We wanted him to come out and do ‘Twist My Sister’ with us,” guitarist Acey Slade says of Dee Snider, disappointed that he is no longer broadcast on Radio 104 WMRQ in Hartford.

Metal Edge sat down with Joey, Wednesday and Acey to discuss the Murderdolls. And while the conversation touched on numerous topics including their Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls debut, touring Europe, and drummer The Ghoul’s exhibitionism with two women in a crowded Japanese bar, at the heart of it were rock ‘n’ roll fans sharing their obsession with a sound that the Murderdolls are single-handedly determined to resurrect.

METAL EDGE: Where does a band like the Murderdolls fit within contemporary hard rock? Or is it more important to go against the grain of popularity? JOEY JORDISON: That was our point, exactly what you just said. The whole thing was–especially with me coming out of Slipknot—I did not want to do anything even remotely where music is right now. I wanted to come out completely different, and just create music that’s a little bit more fun, because everything right now is stagnant and stale. I think, really, the nu metal scene, where hard rock is right now, is almost like a dead scene. We wanted to be completely removed, as far as possible, from all that stuff. WEDNESDAY 13: It wasn’t that hard, either, because we really didn’t have to try. We just wrote the songs, recorded them, and didn’t think about anything outside the studio. JJ: What he was doing in the Frankenstein Drag Queens was pretty much a lot of what we’re doing now. Wednesday was one of the only people I saw in the underground scene that was doing what I was doing. That’s cool, because he doesn’t know about many bands that are out right now and really big—All that stuff that Slipknot gets lumped into.

ME: Joey, being the writer, producer, and principal musician on Beyond The Valley Of The Murderdolls, was it hard to be objective toward the songs? JJ: I was having a hard time, like is this even worth putting out or not? That’s why I wanted to get a songwriting partner. I really liked Wednesday’s voice, and the way he looked. His songs were very similar to what I was doing, but had a little darker feel to ‘em, and the sense of humor was a little bit more tongue-in-cheek. If I was not sure on something, he'd give me an opinion. If he wasn't sure on something, I'd give him my opinion. It made it a lot easier for the recording process, for sure.

ME: What's the most surprising reaction so far to the Murderdolls? What have you seen that you just kind of stepped back and said, "I don't believe I just saw that?" W13: We got a human heart given to us by a girl who had all our names carved into her arm—Even the band name. But, with me, she told me, "Well, I couldn't write your whole name, so I put a 'W' and a '13'." JJ: She's like, "I want to give you my heart, 'cause my heart belongs to the Murderdolls. Hold onto it safe, "cause I might need it back someday." And it had a picture of her and me with it in a fucking jar… W13: Floating around in the formaldehyde.

ME: To what degree has there been any moral backlash as a result of misinterpretation of your lyrics? ACEY SLADE: When we were in Germany, there was a Christian group that went around and put Show Cancelled (sic) over the top of our posters, so people won't (sic) show up for the show. I saw the shit [written] in German, and I was like, "Sold out! Right on, that means sold out!" They're like, "No, Show Cancelled (sic)." [Laughter] W13: But nothing really, really good has happened, though. We're still waiting… And hoping, keeping our fingers crossed. [Laughter]

ME: Do you think that will eventually happen? JJ: Most of that backlash stuff is an American thing. Over in Europe—actually, anywhere besides America—is way more open to the fun aspect. They see the humor in what we're doing, especially the U.K. Their type of humor kind of goes along hand-in-hand with our type of lyrics.

ME: It would seem that as far as any controversy, there's been more uproar over the "body snatching,” so to speak, of Acey from Dope. [Acey laughs] It's almost like one of those jokes: How many Dope guitarists does it take to screw in a Murderdolls lightbulb? [Laughter] JJ: Y'know, that's weird, 'cause I liked Dope. I was actually a fan of theirs. I really enjoyed them a lot, [and] thought they were great. And it was never a thing like, "Oh man, I want to get people from that band." I just hit it off well with them. Tripp was a great guy. It just came down to the time when we were going to tour, and he comes up with news that he had to go back to Static-X. Well, that's cool, but he wanted to stay in the band and play some [select] shows. I just didn't want to have a revolving door and confuse the fans. Acey was actually a choice to be in the [pre-Murderdolls] Rejects, as well, just Tripp came into the band first. Me and Acey kept in touch, so the only choice we even considered was Acey. Luckily enough, he came in and did an amazing job. He had like six days rehearsal just before we started our tour. AS: Not even. I came in on a Wednesday or Thursday. We left [the following] Monday. [Laughter] W13: Plus, me and Acey, we used to play in bands together in Philadelphia, before he was in Dope. We knew of each other, so we were into the same kind of music then. I met him back then, then when he was in Dope, I met him again and we started talking. AS: Back in ‘96 or ‘97, we were the only two guys on the East Coast with dreadlocks and eyeliner, so it wasn’t too hard for us to cross paths. So I’ve known him for years and years.

ME: From a musical standpoint, people don’t realize that what the Murderdolls are doing is very fundamental, but it’s a lot harder to learn because there’s a lot of intuitive stuff. AS: The thing is, we all have the same musical roots. For me it was like, “Alright, this part’s kind of like ‘Rock And Roll High School,’ this part’s kind of like Hanoi Rocks’ ‘Mental Beat.’” All three of us have the same point of reference. I think it would probably be a little harder from the nu metal school to come in and learn the stuff, ‘cause it would be so foreign to them.

ME: In a fatalistic kind of way, then, Murderdolls has actually been coming for a long time. JJ: Yeah, there’s been a bunch of links, but it’s not like this was just all of a sudden really formulated. It’s like, everyone knew each other in a weird, different way. We just didn’t all meet as a band until last year. But everyone knew each other through different people.

ME: But isn’t that how it’s theoretically supposed to happen if you’re going to do it right, so it’s not contrived? JJ: Exactly, man. People might think that, all of a sudden, it was just put together really quick, this little project that’s only going to be one album, and that’s it. It’s really not like that.

ME: Media comparisons have been to Mötley Crüe and the Misfits, but there’s so much more going on. Is there a predominant underlying influence behind the Murderdolls that might not be readily apparent? W13: I think we all have our different things. Me, it’s Alice Cooper, totally. And Acey, Hanoi Rocks, and Joey, KISS. I mean, it’s a lot of the same stuff, but I don’t think you can really pinpoint it al.

ME: Similarly, media focus is on Wednesday and Joey—and now Acey, coming from Dope. In all fairness, what do Ben [Graves] and Eric [Griffin] bring to the Murderdolls? AS: Well, first of all, Ben’s not Ben… He’s The Ghoul. [Laughter]

ME: Is that a capital “T” in the word “the”? AS: Yes, The Ghoul. JJ: I had the hardest time finding people that I actually wanted to bring into the band on bass and drums—Especially with drums. It took a really long time, and they just seemed to fit. I can’t really explain, but hey just brought that attitude—I guess the cockiness, in a way. Ben’s like the hardest hitting drummer that I’ve ever seen in my fucking life. He is so fucking loud. W13: I’ve played with some hard-hitting drummers, but he is so loud, and so hard. JJ: And that’s great! I mean, it drives our fucking music.

ME: But you’ve got to have that for this type of music to work. JJ: Exactly! He’s fucking great, man, as far as just slamming it home live. You can feel it. I mean, the energy is amazing that comes off that guy.

ME: Is it harder for him, in the sense that you’re a drummer, and going to be his worst critic? [Laughter] JJ: He’s cool about it. Actually, he doesn’t really even get that nervous. When I was working with him in rehearsal, I did kind of drill him, ya’ know? He did get it worse out of all the guys in the band, for sure. But he just worked his ass off, really, and he pulls it off amazing. W13: And [Eric] brings a lot of hairspray. [Laughter] AS: He brings a lot of hairspray, some good makeup products, and no less thunder. JJ: And tardiness. W13: This guy’s just really got the whole image of the rock ‘n’ roll thing down. AS: It’s kind of funny, how people ask us about the image of the band. To me, if you wake up and look the way you do, then it’s not an image. An image is something that’s formulated and calculated. We don’t have a consultant telling us, “Alright, track suits aren’t in as much as they used to be.” This is just who we are, ya’ know?

ME: But does your look empower you, as far as performing the music? If you think about it, you must feel differently than if you were going onstage wearing sneakers and levis. W13: It definitely turns something on for me when I go onstage. I mean, it definitely helps. It’s like, it turns it on. It’s just a switch.

ME: Being that Joey was responsible for pretty much all the performances on the album, how have the dynamics of these songs changed, now that you’ve got five individuals interpreting them? JJ: The album is really good, [and] I’m very, very proud of it. I think it turned out phenomenal—Actually, better than I expected. It is different, though, much more of a chemistry with the five guys, as opposed to me. Not necessarily completely different, but the vibe of the five different personalities playing some songs.

ME: Almost like the songs taking on a life of their own that they didn’t have before? JJ: Absolutely, yeah. AS: What Joey’s been really cool about is letting it become a chemistry, letting it become the Murderdolls. When I came into it late, I was looking at the CD, going, “Well, Joey played all these guitar parts.” When we sat down in the [rehearsal] room together, I was intimidated! But he was like, “Well, yeah, that’s cool, I like that accent… What do you think?”

ME: So you’ve been able to make your impact on the songs. AS: Yes, but keeping the original continuity. But it’s the same with The Ghoul, or with the other members.

ME: Are the songs continuing to evolve, even after being recorded? Watching you soundcheck “Love At First Fright,” that looked like you just stumbled across something brand new right there. W13: [Laughter] We did! That was the first time we did a different intro.

ME: How different has the reaction been in Europe than here in the United States? W13: We’ve really been touring there a lot, so we’ve built up a thing there—Especially in the U.K., man, it’s just insane. Hundreds and hundreds of kids, and they all look just like us. But we really haven’t worked it here, though, so this is like we’re just starting from the ground up. JJ: But that was kind of what we wanted to do, concentrate on everywhere else in the world first and establish the band. Those people [in Europe] really appreciate when you do that over there. Some bands, like American bands, nu metal bands, wait two years before they even go to Europe. We’re like, fuck that! And it’s already paid off. It’s only now that we are really going to start hitting America.

ME: Does it make it a little more difficult, though, having gotten such a reaction, then coming back to America? You must have known going into it that you are going to be playing to smaller audiences at first. W13: I prepared myself for it. I knew it was going to be hard. I know it’s a lot different, maybe for Joey, who’s in Slipknot. But before this, i was driving ten, twelve hours to play in front of ten people. That’s never going to leave me. I’m always used to that, so I can work an audience, whether it’s ten people, or ten thousand people, it doesn’t really matter. JJ: Doing what I do in the other band that I play in, it’s basically playing in arenas. But it doesn’t matter, man. As long as people appreciate your music, or want to come out and see you, i can still play in front of two people. AS: It’s weird, even though we’ve done dates, i still don’t feel like we’ve done a proper U.S. tour yet. And so, when we do that—probably February—I think all bets are going to be off. It’s gonna be off the hook.

ME: You’re going out with Papa Roach? Or are you going out on your own? JJ: We gotta get a (sic) on a support slot for a band, obviously bigger than us, to take the band out to a little bit wider of an audience. Papa Roach is an option, [and] there’s a couple other things that are in the works.

ME: Do you look forward to the fact that it’s going to be a challenge? If you’re out with a band that isn’t necessarily similar to what you do, you’ve got that challenge of winning over an audience. W13: We did. We did it with Papa Roach in Europe. We toured with them, five, six weeks, [and] every night…

ME: You’re getting the looks on faces, the “What the fuck is that?” look. W13: That’s exactly it. JJ: It was every night. And like, four songs in, they’d be smiling, singing the words, ‘cause our shit’s singalong. It’s so anthemic live, it’s so hard not to get into it. One of the big things about our band is that it’s a fun show. It’s fucking fun again. It’s something that’s been really missing [from music], probably like fifteen years.

ME: From that standpoint, I get it because I remember. But does the 14-year-old kid standing in front of you, wearing the Slipknot shirt get it? JJ: Good question. I think yes, by the end of the set, he does. You don’t have to be a fuckin’ brain surgeon to understand what the fuck we’re doing. But I think that’s what’s great about it. It’s simple, and it’s anthemetic (sic). The lyrics are fucking cool, and it’s not about fucking childhood trauma, or war, politics, or bullshit like that.

#if you want anything else from this scanned lemme know!#murderdolls #joey jordison #wednesday 13 #acey slade #eric griffin #ben graves #interview #metal edge 48-11 mar 2003

237 notes · View notes

luckynumber-8 · 10 months

Text

♡ ~ HOBBIT TRAUMAS (AND HOW YOU TAKE CARE OF THEM) ~ ♡ (4 Hobbits X Reader Preference)

a/n: No one would escape an adventure like the Fellowship had unscathed, especially not if you were an innocent, good-hearted, fun-loving hobbit.

My take on the traumas the 4 hobbits would have after the adventure, and how you, reader, help them deal with that.

P.S. -This is my first-ever writing post in Tumblr... and also my first-ever posted fanfic-type-thing! It's just a bunch of headcanons right now - maybe I'll take one of the ideas and turn it into a drabble or something later. Feedback is the best thing ever, and I would love to get any that anybody has!

P.P.S. - Shoutout to @wordbunch, who's LOTR writings I absolutely adore, and whose post formatting I basically used as a cheat sheet, because I'm a totally clueless newbie. So thank you! I hope that wasn't out of line for me to borrow 😕

Frodo

Sometimes he can still feel the crushing weight of the ring pulling on his neck or weighing on his chest, and you catch him absentmindedly rubbing one of these spots

So you, you special person, find some excuse to give him a neck rub or a back rub

Because you absolutely cannot stand seeing him trying to hide his discomfort like this

You know openly calling him out on it will just remind him of all that happened to him, so you have become a Master of Subtlety and Distraction

Whenever you catch him staring into the distance, you know it is Time to Remove Frodo From His Own Head

Distractions ensue

Namely:

Surprise hugs

Randomly launching into stories or rants that you know he won't be able to help listening to

(Because the sound of your voice is not-so-secretly one of his favorite things and he will listen forever)

Offering to read to him (we all know this is Book Boy, so what better than having his favorite tales read aloud by you?? His favorite narrator??)

You make him cups of tea as he writes his book

When he sees you smiling in the doorway with a mug in one hand and the scent of his favorite leafy brew drifting out of it, it just makes his day because…well, you.

You just think of him too much and he can't handle it lol

Sam

Never

Ever

Try to put this poor boy around spiders

Ever

(yes I love this HC, idk who came up with it and I can’t remember where I saw it but it’s basically canon in my bran now)

He cannot stand them, not even in the garden anymore. You can see how he stiffens and twitches every time one of those ugly eight-leggers scuttles across his path and instantly know how much restraint he's using not to kill it on the spot.

Spider in the house? It's all you, Y/N

You know he would try to face it down for you and you alone

But you can't stand seeing him go all cold and shaky at a little garden spider

So you often remove them before he can even notice because peace in the house is a nice thing to have

He also has alarming levels of self-doubt sometimes because of how he thinks he's misjudged things in the past

But luckily for him, he has you

You are there to support him and are always advocating that he is strong and makes solidly good choices

And you know what? You are his world, so he believes your every word.

He drinks those affirmations up like there is no tomorrow

And you are happy to continue on as his supplier till the end of days

Merry

Personal HC that when his arm is burned after stabbing the Witch-King, he gets phantom pains not dissimilar to Frodo's

It's almost like nerve damage - he'll be fine one minute and drop whatever he was holding the next, or his hand will start twitching in weird and sometimes disturbing (to him) ways

This is Mr. "Nothing-Bothers-Me-And-I'm-Fine", so naturally, it bothers him quite a bit that one of his appendages refuses to follow orders on a regular basis

It's something that he tries to hide from you - pretends it's not there, BARELY jokes about it.

If Merry Brandybuck ain't joking about it, you aren't either.

Sometimes you hear villagers mentioning it in hushed whispers, and you (badass) shut them up before a single one makes it back to Merry

Because you know that's what he'd do for you, so you absolutely do it for him.

And you know he secretly appreciates that you don't fuss over it, because he doesn't want to feel different or incapable. It helps, for him, that you treat him like just the same person he was before (because he is duh) and nothing has changed and he doesn't want or need to be coddled.

Not saying you do, but you might sometimes give this particular arm a little extra love and affection. Massaging his hand, tracing circles on his wrist, and just letting him know how dead cool you think his scar is.

Because, really…how many people have changed the fate of Middle Earth and have something to prove it?

Your Merry does, that's who. And you'll never let him forget how amazing and brave he is.

Pippin

Pippin is constantly awake in the dead of night

Because he's haunted by wild nightmares

And you're the first and probably one of the only people he would turn to for comfort

So guess what? You're up too, holding him close to you in the dead of night while he tries to calm down

Sometimes he tells you what the night mare was, sometimes he keeps silent and just wants to lay next to you. You know he'll tell you in his own time if it's right to.

This little hobbit is such an empath, he really took to heart EVERYTHING that happened on his journey

And he thinks that way too many things were exclusively his fault

Gandalf's death? His fault.

Merry getting hurt (because he got them separated and wasn't there)? His fault.

Boromir's death (because he didn't know how to fight)? His fault.

Again, you know better than to push, but you know the content of a lot of his nightmares revolves around his contributions being insignificant, his actions causing people's injury (or death), and how badly things could have played out because of him. It worries you, how much brainspace he gives to these things.

So you keep him close to you. I mean that both literally and figuratively. He's not shy about taking the physical comfort he needs (honestly I don't think he's aware of the concept of personal space), but he gets tripped up trying to talk about his own feelings

So you just give him his space, all the time he needs, and bottomless snuggles

Because contrary to what he thinks, a lot of things went right because of him, and you can't tell him enough how much he means to everyone (and you. most importantly, definitely you.)

Thank you for reading, if you made it down this far! I hope to post some actual writing soon, if I can find the time to sit down and put my Writer's Cap on. I am considering opening requests! At this point I don't know who will see this r how it's going to do, so we'll see how things work out :)

218 notes · View notes

draculasfavoritewife · 9 months

Text

Meleth Nín (My Love)

Summary: The very future of Middle Earth may hang in the balance, but a quiet night allows thoughts to stray toward questions of a more personal nature.

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x elf!Reader/OC

Warnings: Pining, female language used for reader.

I wrote this a couple summers ago during my brief but intense LOTR phase. "Enelya" is the Elvish name I got from a name generator as a kid so I used it here 😁. Apologies for the length, I got massively carried away. This IS supposed to be x reader, I just wrote it before I was comfortable writing in 2nd person.

(Translations of Elvish phrases at the end)

It is my turn for first watch tonight, an assignment that I do not mind even during normal times, and that I am almost bittersweetly grateful for on this night. I have much on my mind that needs settling, and somehow, I do not think that listening to the grating snores of the sons of Gloin and Denethor would give me more peace than the crisp night air.

The surrounding woods are still, nothing moving about in the underbrush that shouldn’t be, and I allow my guard a chance at rest, turning my attention to the stars instead of the trees. Crouched where I am on a wide branch, I have a perfect window through to the deep ebony expanse of the sky, and a strange blend of homesickness and excitement blazes briefly through my chest. The stars are strange here, arranged differently than they are back in the Greenwood, yet a few familiar individuals still flicker amongst foreign constellations.

It reminds me of the first time Legolas coaxed me into climbing his favorite tree back home so I could see the stars. I will never forget the wonder I felt as he pulled me through the last layer of obscuring leaves and the sky unfolded before me, rolling on forever. I’d seen the stars many times in Imladris, but they were different there, blessed with a sense of safety and serenity that everything beneath the watchful eyes of Elrond felt.

With Thranduilion, high in the crown of the wood, balanced on the very threshold of the sky, with nothing anchoring me except his steady hand holding mine, it suddenly seemed I could reach out and touch the Valar themselves. I remember laughing, simply because no other reaction could express what I felt. Thranduilion laughed beside me; it was late, we were the only two still out after a hunt, and I still am not entirely sure why he took me up there.

Whatever the reason, that instance changed many things for me. It sparked in me something older and fiercer than I knew, some desire for more than what I had there in the Greenwood, much as I loved it. Some yearning which prompted me to accompany my Prince along on this solemn venture, wherever it leads.

I’ve tried not to admit it, but that night started changing the way I saw him as well.

Someone approaches, passage no more than a whisper, only slightly less silent than one of my own people, and there is only one it could be. No guard is needed around one I’ve known since we were both children.

“Estel.”

“Mae govannen, Enelya.” He leans against my branch, supported on crossed arms. The others call him Strider, or Aragorn, but to me he will always be my Estel, the companion I spent a couple of decades with after my childhood, before my mother’s people sent for me to return to the Greenwood. Elrond looked after the both of us when our mothers died, and besides my Prince and hunting partner, Estel knows me better than any being in all of Arda.

Silence hangs between us, draped across the strange stars, until he brushes it aside like a curtain of cobwebs. “What troubles you, Gwathel nín?”

“Who said I was troubled, Gwador nín?”

“Your face does, for one,” he replies, voice wry.

“Manen?”

“Well, you won’t look at me, Mellon nín. That’s usually a telling sign I’m right and you don’t want to admit it.” He gives no sign of letting up with his persistence.

I sigh and glance down, taking in the familiar grizzled face and sharp gray eyes. “Mar bedithach, Estel?”

“I’ll leave when you unburden yourself. I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t already heard from anyone else on this journey. If you miss the Greenwood, or are having a difficult time restraining yourself from stabbing several members of this fine Fellowship, I assure you, you are not weak, nor are you alone.” White teeth flash in a crooked grin, and I can’t help returning it.

“Those are both excellent guesses, and I admit to you that such thoughts have passed through my mind on multiple occasions. However,” I cast my gaze back up to the heavens, “I highly doubt that anyone else in this…most distinguished company is suffering from the same unrest of the soul that I am.”

Oh Valar, don’t let my face be heating up….

Estel turns so his back rests against my branch, leaving his hands free to light his pipe. He does so and takes a few long draws without responding to my declaration.

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re inviting an early death with such bad practices, Gwador nín.”

“So Legolas has informed me several times over, but without such sisterly concern for my health.” He’s laughing at me on the inside, I can tell. “Speaking of, am I terribly far from the mark in assuming your fair Prince is the source of your ‘unrest of the soul’, Mellon nín?”

He knows me too well. Even decades apart have done nothing to weaken the bond we shared as children, nor have I mastered any technique of hiding my thoughts that can escape his piercing gaze, it seems.

“You don’t have to answer,” Estel murmurs. “Your silence speaks more clearly than anything you could say.”

“I didn’t think I would fall in love with him,” I offer.

A grunt is his disbelieving answer. “You spend every free minute together, and even the time that is required for patrolling, hunting, and so on and so forth. To be bluntly honest, I’m surprised it took you six decades. I owe my brothers some money, it would seem, if they still recall the wager we made upon your departure from Elrond’s house. Perhaps I won’t remind them.”

I can’t decide whether to be astonished or angry. “You and the twins made a wager on me?”

“Not on you,” Estel is quick to clarify. “On how long it would take you to develop an attraction towards Thranduilion.”

“So you all just assumed I would, hmm?”

“And rightly.” He sounds so insolent, as if all of a sudden he is once again the younger brother, and not the protective elder he made himself out to be as he reached maturity. “It was only a matter of time, Gwathel nín. You held out longer than I bet, of course, but Thranduilion is easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. My correspondence with you has been irregular, I will be the first to admit, but from the time I learned of your partnership on both the battlefield and hunting grounds, I thought you would find him a kindred spirit, and someone to admire.”

I shake my head as if to protest, but what is there to protest? Estel sees truth. Far from being pampered royalty, Legolas it was who took it upon himself to teach me the ways of his father’s kingdom. He reawakened the Silvan part of my heritage that had long since been denied its native wildness in Imladris, and instilled in me that ferocious love for the Greenwood that keeps the Silvan people rooted there even now, as we have to scrape our very livelihoods out of the Dark Lord’s overhanging shadow. We get along as well as if we have walked side by side for an Age, not the paltry decades I have been in the employ of King Thranduil’s guard. The Prince chooses me for the majority of his hunts and orc raids, and we have reached an understanding so fine that words need not be exchanged for us to always know where the other is in the thick of combat.

He is nearly as much a part of my identity as the Silvan and Noldor blood that runs mingled through my veins.

Is it any wonder, then, that I want more?

“Enelya.” Estel’s voice is soft as he blows smoke into the breeze. “You can talk to me, you know. I’ll die before I betray your trust.”

“I know.” I sink to a sitting position and let one leg dangle into space, resting an arm across my other knee. “I’m not entirely sure what else to say, aside from what I’ve already said. I love him, Estel.”

He nods thoughtfully and taps the end of his pipe against his teeth. “Your eyes betray you when we travel. Ever they seek him out, even as you watch the landscape for danger.”

Estel almost seems about to say something else, but even minutes of waiting do not draw it out of him, so I go back to the protest I would have made.

“He does not distract me. I am as deadly as ever.”

“I did not accuse you of distraction. I only observed that you watch him.” His eyes flit upwards, to my face, before darting away into the darkness again. “As he does you.”

I stare down into my sworn brother’s shadowed countenance, unsure of whether my ears are playing tricks on me. Estel wouldn’t lie about such things. Surely I heard wrong.

“He does what?”

A burst of smoke from between his lips could mean either amusement or irritation. With Estel, the two often travel hand in hand. “Thranduilion. His eyes follow where you go when we are on the move. Always his attention is on you, even as he stands watch over us. You mean a great deal to him, Mellon nín.”

Trying to tamp down the surge of emotion rising inside me, I shrug, letting the wind run its cool, long fingers through my hair. “I should hope I do. We’ve been through much together, and saved each other’s lives many times.”

Now I know he’s annoyed with me. “I meant more than that. I don’t have much with which to wager at the moment, but if I did, I might wager he feels similarly about you as you do him.”

I stare down at Estel, but he’s looking away again. “Well. Even if that were the case….” I trail off, pulling my knees back up to my chest. “There are too many problems standing in our way.”

“Such as…?”

“By the Valar, you’ve become so nosy in your old age, Little Brother.” Despite my ribbing, I can tell by the set of his jaw that this ridiculous matter has become of utmost importance to him for some reason, and I know Estel too well to believe he would give up before we have talked this through. I sigh, resigning myself to discussing my nonexistent romance with him.

“For one, he’s thousands of years older than I, Estel. I’m barely over a century old.”

“Oh no,” he mutters dryly. “How scandalous, an age difference.”

Realizing that he and Arwen are also thousands of years apart, I drop my forehead to my knees. “Well, maybe that wasn’t the best reason.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Another long draw of his pipe sends a misty cloud drifting about his face.

“His father would never approve of his son taking up with a Silvan and not a Sindar.” This is painfully true. Legolas told me of his father’s harsh objections to his interest in Tauriel quite some time ago.

“Are you in love with Thranduil?” Estel asks in a monotone.

I glare at him. “No! Mîbo orch, Estel.”

He ignores my insult. “Then worry less about what Thranduil thinks and more about what Legolas thinks. He’s as loyal as one could ever be to those he chooses, and more than stubborn enough to stand up to his father.”

There is wisdom in his words. However, the biggest reason that has kept me silent on this subject for so long still remains.

“You know Elves only love once,” he murmurs, tone fading to gentle. “And they seldom err in their choice of soulmate.”

“I know.” The words slip from my tongue, condensing in the cool air. “And he once thought he loved another.”

Estel says nothing to this revelation, merely sending smoke rings floating up into the night sky. I can’t tell if he’s pondering what I’ve said, or if he truly has no rebuttal for it.

“You never saw the way he looked at her, Estel. He talked about her many times when it was just he and I on a hunt. No one else was ever allowed to see how deeply he was hurt when she fell for the Dwarf. I can’t be sure, but I expect he’s never been the same since.” It feels freeing, to finally relate all of this to my sworn brother. I keep many secrets, probably the reason Legolas felt he could confide his heartbreak in me. Yet long has that particular burden hung heavy on my own heart, and I am relieved to bare it to the man beside me.

His hand rests comfortingly on my back, once again the protector he thought I needed when we were young. “None of us are ever the same as we once were, Mellon nín. Much as you resemble the elleth I once knew, even you have been changed by your time in the Greenwood. Your people may not change as swiftly nor as dramatically as mine, and yet not even the eternal can live so long in Arda without being shaped. Six decades certainly influence a lot of things.”

I nod, turning his argument over in my mind. “You say he watches for me?”

The small smile that crosses Estel’s weather-worn face is this time not sarcastic nor teasing. “Indeed he does. Whenever the two of you are parted for a time, even if it is just that I sent you off to scout ahead, he is as tightly drawn as his own bowstring until you return. Who knows, perhaps even he hasn’t entirely recognized it yet. But something will come of it, Enelya. Of this I am sure.”

“And if Elladan and Elrohir were along with us, am I to assume you would all place a wager on how soon?”

He nudges me with his elbow. “There’s that sense of humor I’ve been missing. Now, I suppose I had better leave you, because as unobtrusive as he thinks he is being, someone else is waiting for you. I’ll take next watch. Losto mae, Gwathel nín.”

“Nostad lín sui orch, Estel,” I snicker, referring both to the stench of his pipe and what I’ve been telling him since childhood. “And le hannon.”

He waves as he returns to the light of the fire. “Carnen an gwend, Enelya.”

I stare back at the stars above me, knowing that if who Estel implied is really waiting for me, he will approach at his own time and no amount of cajoling will bend him my way sooner.

So I wait as well.

No more than a sigh of the tree itself heralds his arrival beside me on the branch.

“Do you wish to be alone with your thoughts, Mellon nín?”

Gazing over my shoulder, I am met by Thranduilion’s piercing blue eyes as he leans against the trunk of my perch.

“If so, I will gladly leave you to them.” There is the slightest wistful note beneath his tone; for all his politeness, he wishes to speak to me.

Did he overhear my conversation with Estel?

Heart starting to flutter like a sparrow’s wings, I shake my head. “Avo ‘osto, Hîr nín. Baren bar lin, as they say.”

“What have I done to deserve such formal address, Mellon?” he asks lightly. Though he laughs, warm and cheerful, an undercurrent of hurt runs deep through the words.

Does it hurt him, truly, to call him so? “Goheno nin, Thranduilion,” I murmur, unable to look away from that intense gaze. “My mind was not in the present moment, I fear.”

“Ú-moe edaved, Enelya.” His reply is warm, and I cannot miss the affection that wreathes around my name as it falls from his lips. “I am only glad to learn I have not offended you.”

“Rest assured, I would have let you know in no uncertain terms if you had,” I inform him saucily.

His laughter at my cheek is bright now, all trace of concern gone. “This is true.” Nodding towards my view of the dark sky, he leans closer, bending so he can see what I am seeing. “Looking for old friends among the new?”

“Indeed.” I stretch out my spine, careful not to knock him away from my shoulder. “I miss some of our constellations that you pointed out to me in the Greenwood.”

Legolas stands upright again. “Aphado nin.” He reaches upward for a branch and swings to a higher level.

I rise to my feet and stare up at him between the leaves. “Am man theled?”

“To see the whole sky, of course. You’ll never gaze upon the greater picture if you do not climb higher, Mellon nín.” He holds out a hand.

I take it, allowing him to pull me up to his level before continuing the climb. “You said those very words when you made me climb that tree the first time back home.”

“I didn’t make you.” I can nearly hear the smirk in his voice. “You were given a choice.”

It is my turn to laugh now. “Not when you say such poetic and inspiring things, Legolas. Although I was terrified of climbing to the crown of that tree, your way of putting it made me feel I should never be complete until I had seen the whole sky. I consider myself bewitched.”

He shoves my shoulder as he easily passes me up. “No one is whole unless they have seen the entire sky. Estelio nin. It is truth.”

“I do trust you. That’s why I climbed the tree with you that night, even though I was still frightened of falling. I knew you would catch me.”

We remain in silence then until we break through the leaves, pushing through as if to the surface from underwater. I cannot count the amount of times I’ve done something similar with Thranduilion, those late nights after a hunt, but it still takes my breath away, to gaze upon the veil of stars and clouds that rolls ever on to the very edges of Arda. The sight makes the songs of my people flow through my veins, never failing to give me the gift of peace.

I should thank him for introducing me to the sky more often.

“I hope I never grow tired of this.” It takes me a moment to realize I’ve breathed the words aloud.

Legolas is gazing out in the opposite direction, handsome face serene. “You will not.”

I want to impertinently ask him how he would know, but I swallow the teasing words. He has walked these lands for nearly three millennia, and still finds such joy in it that he felt he needed to introduce me to that joy. He would know.

“Enelya.”

“Yes, Mellon nín?” I turn to face him.

He drops down to sit on a branch that is old enough to serve as a seat. “Will you help me?”

I know what he is asking for. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but it has been a ritual of ours for years, and I enjoy it as much as he does. “Of course.” I make my way to his side and start to unwind his braids.

“I’ll do the same for you,” he promises, relaxing into my touch.

I weave my fingers through his silky hair as I release it to the mercies of the breeze, untangling any knots, minuscule as they are, and drawing out fronds of moss and bits of leaf that have found their way into his tresses. I can’t remember when we first started caring for each other’s hair at the end of the day, but it is always one of my favorite times spent with him. The few moments we have no responsibilities and can just talk about nothing, as friends are wont to.

“What do you think the others would say, if they knew the truth?” I ask teasingly, moving to the tiny braids over his ear.

His eyes flash to give me a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

I smirk. “Do you not hear them speak of you, in wondering whispers? They all ask how Thranduilion manages to stay so neat, how his hair, long and beautiful as it is, remains free of forest debris and untroubled by tangles. They have begun to speculate that it is some gift from Elbereth, that he looks fresh as the day we set off while the rest of them grow ever more unkempt. What would they say, if they knew it is simply because I re-braid your hair every night?”

Wicked mischief flashes across his countenance for a brief instant. “They would all come running to you for your excellent services, I imagine. Do you want me to tell them, and so dispel the legends? I would prefer to keep your company in such matters to myself, but perhaps I shouldn’t be so selfish. After all,” he leans closer to whisper, “it might be worth it, to see you running your fingers through Aragorn’s oily mane.”

I can’t stop the choking noise that comes from my throat. “I love that man, but there are some things I will never do for him, Legolas.”

His quiet laughter floats into the night. “Nor should you have to.”

Something pricks my fingertip and I yank my hand away from his hair. “Ai! Is this a burr, Thranduilion? Where on Arda did you find that?”

He shrugs easily. “It could have been anywhere. Yet I assume it came from one of my solitary scouts. Had the halflings followed where I tread, surely they would have all come away full of them.”

I try not to laugh at the thought of our four smallest companions drowning in burrs. “It is fortunate you only picked up one.”

Once my Prince’s hair has been seen to, he turns so I can sit before him and begins the same process on mine. Much as I love the feeling of the wind running its fingers through my hair, it cannot compete with the gentle and nimble hands of Legolas. My eyes close as those hands begin their familiar path, and for some time all that I know is the warmth of his body next to mine and the soft melody of the well-loved song he hums next to my ear.

Is it any wonder, that I have come to care for him as I do?

“Mellon nín?” he murmurs suddenly.

“Yes?”

“What made you decide to accompany me on this quest? You know you could have returned to the Greenwood.”

“That I do.” I sigh and let my eyes flutter open again. How much do I say? “But if this quest fails, it will not matter if I had returned to the Greenwood, for even Thranduil Elvenking cannot keep the shadows at bay forever if the Dark Lord triumphs.”

He is silent for some time, and I let him remain so. I learned long ago that Legolas will not share what is on his mind except at a time of his own choosing.

“I suppose you are right,” he finally concedes. His fingertips brush my ear, and I shiver at the contact. “It was no doubt my own desire to know you would be safer at home that clouded such truth from my mind.” His voice grows somber. “You do know, Enelya, that we may never see the Greenwood again.”

“Of course, Mellon nín. Yet through all my time in my mother’s land I have been at your side, and the Valar themselves could not keep me from staying beside you. Even unto the Halls of Mandos, I would rather accompany you than be apart from you.” My breath catches on the last word. Have I said too much?

His hands pause in their combing to rest upon my shoulders. “I am blessed, then, to have found such a companion as you.”

“Le hannon, Legolas.”

When next he speaks, there is a layer of hesitation resting over his tone that I rarely hear from him. “Do you know, I was quite angry when you first insisted on traveling with me.”

“Oh, I remember. How could I not?” I sniff. “You didn’t speak to me the entire first day of our journey.”

“I am not proud of my conduct,” he admits penitently. “However, I do realize, since that time has passed, that some good came of it.”

I feel his long fingers trace my jawline, soft as a breath, turning my face slightly and prompting me to shift so I can meet his gaze.

His eyes are deep and thoughtful, turned mithril silver by the moon as it breaks from behind a cloud.

“Do you know, Enelya, how that one day without your company felt to me? Even the torture of seeing you walk at the perimeter of our Fellowship, yet kept from approaching you — by my own stubbornness — made my heart feel sundered from my chest. I realized that day that I could not have endured it if you had indeed returned home as I suggested. One day without your laugh, without your smile on me, was enough for a lifetime.” Legolas’s tone is raw with honesty, and a great many things seem to be making sense to me now.

It would seem Estel may have been correct, after all, though I won’t tell him so.

I remember how difficult that first day of the trek was, knowing all too well that Legolas was displeased with my choice. I have seen him angry, at his father, usually, and I knew all the signs too well. I can recall then how delighted and relieved I was when I awoke the following morning to the smell of my favorite fish baking over the fire; Legolas and I have had our fair share of tiffs over the long years, and that is his tried-and-true method of asking my forgiveness when he is at fault.

We ate our morning meal sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, no one else the wiser of our wordless play of apologies and affirmations.

Well, Estel probably was. But he doesn’t count.

“What do you wish to say to me, Mellon nín?” I murmur, lifting my own fingers to brush against his cheek.

He leans into my touch. “I have thought about you much during these uncertain days, even when we are not given much opportunity to talk. About how sorely I would have missed your presence, and grieved at not being able to feel you at my back whenever we face a threat. About how much I have missed times like this, when there is no one but you and I beneath the stars, sitting in the lap of the heavens.”

“And what would you have done, without me to braid your hair? Become as scruffy as dear Estel?” I tease.

He curls his lip in mock disgust. “Gerich faer vara, suggesting such a thing to me! I should certainly think not. I admire your Estel, Mellon nín, but I don’t believe the man has bathed once since we set out from Imladris. Yet he has had plenty of chances!”

I laugh, leaning back against his chest and settling into my new position, comfortable from countless times of sitting like this. “Estel and his questionable hygiene aside, what were you saying?”

His hands trail down my arms to my hands, where he weaves our fingers together. His hands are finer, more elegant than a mortal man’s, yet they are still wider than mine, surrounding my smaller ones with gentle fondness. This, too, is a much-practiced gesture between us, though there is a different flavor to it tonight. It feels more intimate, as if it means more than our mutual trust and respect this time.

He smiles; I can hear it in his singsong words, close to my ear. “What I am trying to say, Enelya, is le annon veleth nín.”

He gives his love to me?

“Gerich veleth nín,” I answer simply. “It already belonged to you.”

His lips brush my hair. “I used to wonder, when I was a much younger ellon, why I never felt the need to find a life partner when I came of age. Indeed, Ada certainly bothered me about it for several centuries, until other more pressing issues caught his attention.”

I’ve never heard Legolas refer to Thranduil as Ada, and certainly not with the echo of a sigh beneath the endearment. It makes my heart ache strangely, to wonder what long-forgotten love once flowed freely between adar and iôn before they let their rift widen so far.

But this moment is not to be sullied by mourning what has been lost.

“Do you believe one can wait thousands of years to find their soulmate?” he asks.

“I do. I know most can’t fathom such a wait, but for our people, it does not matter.”

“Truly. I think I never pursued anyone with much seriousness because my heart knew it was waiting for yours.” Legolas turns me slightly, so our eyes can meet again. “I would make up for my blindness, Meleth nín, if you wish it.”

I rest my forehead against his. “I wish it so, Meleth nín.”

Then his lips are pressing into mine, and this kiss that I have awaited many years is a summer thunderstorm, warm and wild, washing away everything that came before and paving the way for love to bloom.

Whatever our perilous path holds for us, I suddenly have all certainty that we can weather it.

Together.

Mae govannen = Well met

Gwathel/Gwador nín = Sworn sister/brother

Manen = How?

Mellon nín = My friend

Mar bedithach = When are you leaving?

Mîbo orch = Go kiss an orc

Losto mae = Sleep well

Nostad lín sui orch = You smell like an orc

Le hannon = Thank you

Carnen an gwend = For friendship

Avo ‘osto = Don't worry

Hîr nín = My Lord

Baren bar lin = My home is yours

Goheno nin = Forgive me

Ú-moe edaved = No need to forgive

Aphado nin = Follow me

Am man theled = Why?

Estelio nin = Trust me

Gerich faer vara = You have a fiery spirit

Le annon veleth nín = I give my love to you

Gerich veleth nín = You have my love

#legolas greenleaf #x reader #female reader #romance #mutual pining #first person perspective #legolas x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings #sweet #another one from a couple years ago ✌🏻#aragorn #good LORD this is fluffy I can't believe there's so little angst lol

126 notes · View notes

hellfireclubmember · 7 months

Text

Secret Nerd PT 2

Someone requested this and I can't find the ask so I am sorry. I'm also sorry for literally taking forever to get to it.

part 1

Summary: Eddie, who may or may not be in love with you, finds out you like LOTR.

Warning(s): lots of steve fluff but eddie angst, unrequited love, not proof read

pairing(s): boyfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader, platonic!in love!eddie munson x fem!reader

w/c: 1.6k

Siouxsie and the Banshees was softly playing through the dimly lit shop. The stacks of new records were beginning to lose their height as you sorted them out into their appropriate bins. There was dust in the air from the number of bins you were kicking out of the way. Usually there was someone to help you with the heavy lifting, but it was 10 AM on a Tuesday. A time void of customers.

“(Y/N)!!” Eddie’s voice boomed through the store.

There was something almost pathetic about how fast a smile appeared on your face when you heard him. You loved it when Eddie visited you at work. He always made your shift go by at Mach speeds. He helped you on inventory days, walking around holding piles of records all whilst giving you free music advice. Which was really just him complaining about anything you put on the loudspeaker. Because according to the dramatic mop of hair, ‘your music taste would be perfect if you just cut out all the moody, creepy whining.’

“I know you’re in here, short stack! Only you would be playing Siouxsie.” You could hear the eyeroll from across the store.

“Yeah, whatever, act like I haven’t seen you nod your head to Happy House.” You walked onto the main floor where Eddie was sitting on the counter, next to the Madonna cassettes. “Nice of you to come see me, Edward.”

“No need to continue the act, (Y/L/N).” His face was stone cold, eyes blank. Last time he looked that severe, he was being told that Hellfire couldn’t use the theatre room because the basketball team had booked it last second. Not a good day to be around Hellfire’s dungeon master. Mike, Dustin and Lucas avoided him for two days, just to be safe.

“You don’t have to pretend to be friends with me any longer; for I have been told the truth.” He hopped off the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, covering the Megadeth graphic plastered on his black tee. “The lady lies.”

“Me lady?” You pointed your finger to your chest, confused as you could be. “I lie?” Brows furrowed as you thought of any fib you might’ve muttered out lately.

“You lie! If we were friends, you would’ve never kept your love for Lord of the Rings from me!” he exclaimed, hand on his forehead. In that moment, the appreciation you had for Eddie’s dramatics had been replaced with a strong urge to kill. You should’ve guessed it though; it had been exactly one day and one night since you had admitted it to Dustin. And Dustin is a HUGE blabber mouth. The boy did not stop.

“Ah, heard about that huh?”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” He rudely mimicked your voice and glared at you. “This entire time, when I was holding stacks of Duran Duran for you, we could’ve been talking about Boromir’s heroic sacrifice.” It was taking everything in Eddie not to crack. He couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you look all pouty. You were all frown lines and crossed arms.

The small crush Eddie had on you seemed to grow at speeds that would leave NASA’s head spinning. When you were first introduced, he didn’t think much of you. Some chick he saw at school occasionally, walking with Nancy or laughing with faceless losers. You were one of the rare people that didn’t move to the other side of the hallway when he walked by, so he definitely remembered you when Dustin was pushing him toward the group. He already knew you were dating Steve, how could he not? ‘Steve’s girlfriend’ was your identifier. And back then, there was nothing he cared less about. Currently it’s something that didn’t let him sleep at night.

Eddie was never sure what love would feel like; and now he knew what both love and heartbreak felt like. Even so, he was never truly sad, not when he could spend time with you like this. The faux vexed look you were forcing onto your face was enough to crush any self-pity swelling in his chest. Besides, he knew that there was no way he had a chance. You loved Steve, and Eddie knew there was no one else you would rather love.

“You would be a Boromir kind of guy.”

Eddie held his hand over his chest as if he were hit with an arrow. “A woman after my own heart.” He fell onto the counter he was previously sitting on.

“Where’s my pretty girl?” The voice of the sandy haired man was heard before he was seen. Eddie watched your eyes light up before you walked around the counter toward the door.

“Hi, Stevie.” You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his chest. Steve was like a giant, human Xanax. He made every muscle in your body relax, every racing thought slow down. You squeezed him tight and took a deep breath. Steve loved your hugs. You hugged him as if he had gone away for years at a time.

Steve’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, and he kissed the top of your head. “I missed you.”

“Aw I missed you more, Harrington.” Eddie stood behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest. He was trying his best to look as big as possible. Even if he did know you loved Steve, it did not keep him from messing with him as often as he could.

There was really very little things Eddie could do about the pesky feelings that clawed at his chest when your eyes reached his. He knew that at some point they would slowly fizzle out, like the bubbles in his favorite beer. But for now, he was going to enjoy them. Enjoy looking at you smile, hearing you laugh, rolling your eyes, even putting away those annoying records and cassettes. Even if the image of you stuck to Harrington chunked away at his health. He was used to piecing his heart back together with the scraps of time he could spend with you. Eddie knew what his role was in life and getting the girl wasn’t part of it. It was devastating but his songs had never been better.

You felt Steve’s body tense up. “Man, you’re in here a lot.” He kept a possessive arm around your shoulders. “You wouldn’t want my girl or anything, would you?”

Your head snapped up to look at your boyfriend. That was a really jerky thing to say. Something King Steve would say. Which is what was the most surprising bit, with all the effort Steve put in to distance himself with his asshole high school self. All his other moments of jealousy were pretty tame, cute even. But he was being a jerk to your friend, and it was very upsetting.

Eddie scoffed. “I could never. That would be really dumb of me, right?” He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward him, his lips placed a soft kiss on your knuckles. “I bid your farewell, fair maiden. I have dragons to slay and whatnot.”

The sunlight from outside painted the walls of the record store once Eddie opened the door. The second he was out of ear shot you finally spoke to Steve.

“I hate it when you’re like that.” Steve looked over at you when he heard your voice, and your frown was like a shot to the heart. He was no stranger to your cute angry face, but he knew when you were really upset. That frown looks nothing like the one you shoot him when he steals some of your fries. And he knew why you were upset. He was being a douche bag. As he was saying the words, he knew they were very asshole things to say but he couldn’t stop it. Steve couldn’t help how angry Eddie’s heart eyes made him.

“C’mon baby. He was flirting with you.” He tried to reason with you, walking around the counter to where you were counting some cassettes. “He has to know he can’t have you. Even if you’re all nerdy too.”

“Steve, Eddie isn’t a threat to you.” You turned around to face him. “Just cuz we both like..”

“I know. God, I know he’s not. I’m not insecure, sweets.” He put his hand on your right hip. Looking down at you. “I know I was made for you ‘cus there’s no one out there that loves you like I do.” He let go of your hip and found your hand. A perfect fit, but he already knew that. If that thing about an invisible string was true, he knew you were both knotted up together. Like those impossible knots on your necklaces, the ones you have Steve work out for you.

The anger that you felt for Steve dissipated and turned to another familiar feeling. Adoration. Love. Loving Steve has been the easiest thing you have ever done. He made it so easy. With his honey coated words and his pretty pink lips that kiss away all your worries.

“I just wish you would be nice to Eddie. He’s done nothing but be good friend to me.” There was a part of Steve that knew you were right. He was a good friend, not just to you but to multiple of his own friends. But the part of him that knew he was in love with you made him want to pummel Eddie.

“I just hate that he thinks about you the way I do.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “It should be illegal. I should put in a word with Hop, get him arrested or something.” Another kiss on the tip of your nose. “In fact, get every loser that thinks they have a chance with you and through ‘em in jail.” Another kiss to your forehead. He saw the way you were biting back a smile when he pulled away.

“Just please stop being an asshole okay?” His finger found your sides and he started to poke, making you giggle and squirm away.

“If you insist, angel.” His lips pressed to yours for a long kiss.

taglist: @slashersluttt @slurmp69 @sadbitchfangirl @actual-mom-steve-harrington @stylesyourmine @pennyllanne @johnricharddeacy

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie angst #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #joe keery

81 notes · View notes

ethereal27cereal · 2 years

Text

Listen to the Trees - Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader - Friends to Lovers

summary: Spending your long weekend home from college reading Tolkien with your childhood best friend, Eddie. Couldn't want anything more. Except you do. You want Eddie, more than just friends, but when the words don't ever seem to come out and you miss your train home, things get interesting...

warnings: little bit of perv!Eddie (he masturbates thinking about reader), nothing else really of note - this is pretty much just sappy fluff with two sweet stupid friends who don’t admit how much they love one another

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, little tiny smut

word count: 6.1k

author's note: I was inspired by a prompt I saw on @glasswriter1 "I missed the last train, and it is all because of you and your obsession with speaking trees!" and I just immediately thought of Eddie and his love of LOTR. This totally ends on a major cliffhanger so if you all are into it I have more to come. Asks are always open for any feedback 💚

part 2

The sweet solace of Eddie’s room is a welcome respite from the bitter chill of fall, the wind threatening against the thin windows of his trailer. Your long weekend home from college is almost up, not nearly enough time to spend with your childhood best friend and he is trying to consume every last possible second with you before your train leaves from Indianapolis. Taking you back to Chicago, back to the drudgery of school and work, and too far away from Eddie.

Bonding over fantasy lands and banding together as outcasts usually do, Eddie and you had been inseparable since that first moment you shared your lunch with him in 1st grade. You and Eddie had shared everything together since then; snacks, movie marathons, study notes, hopes and dreams, fears and secrets, looks that lingered too long for people who were supposed to be just friends.

Everything changed when you had decided to pursue an art history education in Chicago, wanting to get at least a little breathing space from Hawkins, and Eddie had stayed put, taking some vocational courses at the community college and working at Thatcher Tires. Late night phone calls and a stream of handwritten letters did little to fill the Eddie-sized gap in your life, only leaving a crater-sized chasm right in the middle of your chest. No friendship or sexual partner in college could ever muster up enough mortar to fill the cracks he created. No other man could ever match the way Eddie looked at you, deep coffee-colored pools of wonder and awe like you were the most captivating creature he’d ever seen.

Your romantic feelings for Eddie had bubbled up slowly, like a geyser waiting to erupt. They had always been there in some way or another, simmering under the surface as the years of friendship went on. He was your best friend, your protector from all the chaos in your life, your guiding moon in the dark night. He had always been there for you and you for him, but you didn’t know just how much you felt for him until the distance and separation made you reflect on everything that could’ve been. You were never sure if he felt the same way about you, you’d never had the courage to bring it up and it certainly wasn’t ever a topic he approached. He was always the affectionate, touchy type with the people he was closest to, so you had been resigned to the fact that you were just one of the guys to him.

The long holiday weekend had given the perfect excuse to make the train ride home. You told yourself were going to visit family and friends, but you knew from the moment Eddie scooped you into his arms at the train station, trying to hide the tears that were edging their way out of the corners of his chocolate brown eyes, that you would be spending every waking moment of the weekend with Eddie.

And there you are, lying propped up on your side on Eddie’s bed, covered in blankets that smell like smoke and the cheap cologne you had gotten him for his birthday last year, trying to tame a pending eruption of emotions inside you while staring and attempting to listen as he talks animatedly about everything and nothing all at once.

“Earth to Y/N?” Eddie asks, shifting forward from his upright position against the pillows to wave his hand playfully in front of you.

“Hmm, what? I’m listening,” you insist, adjusting your position so you’re sitting up fully facing him now.

“Sure you are. Then what did I say,” he smirks, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You were talking about speaking trees, Ents. And how you’re going to use them in an upcoming campaign with the guys you met at college,” you reply confidently, matching his challenging pose with your own as you sit up and cross your arms, the blankets shrugging off your shoulders.

“So you did catch some of it!! But I literally just asked you a question about said Ents. You gonna answer it, since you were listening so super carefully there, Sunshine?” his pet name for you rolling off his tongue with a tart sweetness that makes you giggle.

“Ok fine, you got me. I zoned off for a second. I was thinking about what time we need to leave to get to the train station on time,” your words not entirely a lie, but also not exactly what you had been ruminating about. “What did you ask me, sorry?”

“Do you remember the Entwives?,” his face softens into a smile with your apology. You do indeed remember the Entwives, in fact you’re pretty sure you were the one who had brought them up to him during one of your many rereadings of The Two Towers, finding it so achingly sad that there would be never be a reunion between the Ents and their wives who had gone to plant beautiful gardens only to be killed or enslaved when Sauron burned through the land.

“I think I remember them, but remind me please,” you smile coyly, knowing the information he’s about to share but truly wanting to hear what he has to say.

“Well Treebeard thinks that the wives are lost forever after they moved to the Brown Lands to plant and grow smaller things and were wiped out by Sauron. But remember how Merry and Pippin say they’ve seen an Ent, or Entwife, walking north of the Shire?” he wiggles his eyebrows dramatically, waiting for your response. An uncontrollable shiver hits you, realizing just how cold the room was without the cocoon of blankets, but you nod, teeth chattering.

“Jesus, Sunshine, how’d you already manage to wiggle outta that blanket burrito I made for you. Come ‘ere, I feel like a furnace right now so I’ll share some warmth,” he motions for you to lay in between his outstretched legs, untwisting the blankets and folding them back for you to crawl under. You stare down at his form, frayed light wash jeans hugging his slender frame, faded black t-shirt riding up to expose the soft trail of curls that disappear into his waistband as he reaches his arms out for you in a grabby motion. You want nothing more than to curl against his chest and tell him how much you missed him, missed his touch, your skin melting against his, missed the feelings you get when you’re around him, sealing all your words and feelings with a passionate first kiss. But you don’t do that. You can’t. Not now at least. Instead, you just burrow yourself into his lap, letting out a contented sigh as he wraps the blankets around you tightly and you rest your head on the soft cushion of his lower stomach.

“So, for my campaign, I’m going to have one of my players see an Entwife while they’re out on the road. Or I guess a treant wife because they’re called treants in D&D. Anyway, the wives aren’t really all dead, they’ve just been in hiding or hibernation or something, I’m still figuring out that idea. But then the party gets a summons from the treant that is the guardian of the local forest that there have been several sightings of the wives and the party is sent off on a quest to find them,” Eddie’s words tumble from his lips in a babbling flow, hands gesturing wildly then coming to rest softly on your covered shoulder. “What do you think? Does that sound cool or totally lame? I need some trademark Sunshine honesty here,” his voice anxious as he coaxes out your answer, always valuing your opinion even when it would come out a little harsher than you meant, which it often did.

“I think that sounds like the start of a totally awesome quest. If I weren’t so far away, you know I would want to jump in on that campaign in a heartbeat,” you answer honestly, looking up into his pleading brown eyes.

“I wish you could play in my campaigns again too,” he echoes with a playful pout, but you can see the truth behind his eyes. He has missed you too, he says so several times throughout the weekend. But you are sure it’s not in the same way that you missed him.

“There is a D&D club on campus and I tried to join in on one of their campaigns, but the DM was…creepy,” you admit quietly, ice cold fingers creeping out from under the blankets to toy with the hem of his shirt.

“Even weirder than little ‘ol me?” he grins and you nod, the movement of your cheek against his shirt causing it to shift up and expose that deliciously inviting swath of flesh and delicate curls. “Creepy how?” he urges you to go on, his eyes fixed to where your fingers are pulling loose threads from the worn patch just above the front pocket of his jeans, inching closer to his tummy with each thread yanked away.

“He just made it weird. Like the only thing he focused on about my character was the fact that I was the only woman on the adventuring party, and it was all heaving bosoms and dirty jokes at my expense. I played like two sessions and then never showed my face again,” you admit with an injured chuckle, and Eddie jolts forward, though you’re unsure if it’s from your words or your frosty fingers suddenly making contact with the bare skin of his midriff.

“Christ, your fingers feel like icicles,” his whole body stiffens, a sharp intake of breath as you swirl your fingers playfully against his alabaster skin. “That is super shitty about the club and the DM. Many guy DMs are weird lonely losers, but can be surprisingly real pricks whenever they have a real live lady in their presence, especially one as pretty, scary, and charmingly intimidating as you Sunshine,” his voice stiff but he boops your nose playfully, still wincing away from your frigid touch.

“Me? Intimidating? Are you sure we aren’t talking about you, moon?” your nickname for him leaving your lips easily, a familiar sweetness to it. It had started out as Moonbeam. Fracturing into mooney beam, moon boy, then simply moon. He was your Moonbeam and you were his Sunshine. He said it was because every time you entered the room it was like the sun had walked in, a warm and tingly feeling that spread through his whole body. He was 12 and he was sure it was the truest and most honest thing he could have ever said to anyone, and it made his heart leap into his throat when he said it to you. You quickly decided that meant he was your Moonbeam, a guiding light and comfort even when everything else was dark.

“Yes, you intimidating! You regularly made Gareth and Jeff cry during Hellfire! You didn’t even have to say anything mean, you would just give them this look whenever they made questionable party choices and they knew they had fucked up,” his laughter shaking his whole body, vibrating against your cheek.

“Well they were being dumb and they needed to know that,” you counter with a smug smile. Your fingers inch further under his shirt, palm laying flat against the soft pudge of his belly. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory to find yourself in, you two cuddled regularly even through high school, but it had been months if not a year since you had been this close to him and it made your heart race.

“Good god, woman! Why are your fingers so fucking cold all the time?” he bursts, shifting so you’re forced to make eye contact with him. “Go ahead, my ice queen, get your hands up in here and I’ll warm them up,” he lifts up his shirt, inviting you in. A million thoughts race through your head before you shimmy up further so your head is pillowed against his chest and you slide your hand up to rest just under his armpit, heat already seeping through your fingertips like warm honey. He adjusts the blankets so now you both are fully covered and lets out a deep sigh.

“I am burning alive so I hope you’re happy and warm there, princess,” he pats the top of your head affectionately, the whisper of his lips brushing your crown as he repositions to get comfortable. “Should I continue where we left off with The Two Towers? We are actually just about to the part with Treebeard, so we should be able to get to a good stopping point before we need to leave to get you to the train,” his last words leave his lips with a sadness that sends a pang straight to your heart, hurting worse than any break-up ever had.

“That sounds perfect. The train leaves at 9 and it’s only 4 now, so we have plenty of time,” you reply, offering him a gentle squeeze as you wrap your arms fully around his waist. Eddie picks up the dogeared book from the stack on his bedside table and flips it open to where you had left off

– -

You could listen to Eddie read for hours, and whenever you had the opportunity, you often did. The way he changed his voice dramatically for every character, facial expressions scrunching in anger or shifting with surprise depending on the scene. The soft lilt of his voice has always been a comfort to you, often pleading with him to read you to sleep after one of your numerous nightmares. He would always oblige, trudging over to your trailer in the dead of night if your mom was working night shift or whispering into the walkie talkies that you shared if he couldn’t come to be with you, waiting until he heard your steady snores to sign off.

Only taking a quick break to scarf down a dinner of Kraft mac and cheese, Eddie barreled through chapter after chapter, the story you have both heard and read so many times over still consuming you whole. Before you know it, your eyes are beginning to droop and an inky blackness closes in against the windows as nightfalls. You don’t even realize you’ve dozed off on Eddie’s chest until he is gently shaking you awake.

“What time does your train leave again?” Eddie asks, trying to free his left arm from your sleepy weight to check the time.

“It leaves at 9, but I wanna get there by like 8:30 to get all settled,” you murmur, voice raspy from your impromptu nap as you sit up and rub your eyes. “Why what time is it now?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. We gotta go, Sunshine!” Eddie scrambles off the bed after peeking at his watch.

“Eddie! What time is it?” you press, still trying to fight away all the drowsy thoughts swimming in your brain as you unwrap the blankets that have become twisted around your legs.

“It’s 8.” he mumbles under his breath, pausing as he watches the expression of panic wash over your expression. He knows that you get easily stressed out when it comes to his time management skills, or lack thereof, always giving him gentle reminders to be on time and keep a schedule, even buying him his watch so he wouldn’t have an excuse for not knowing the time. He doesn’t want to upset you or make you late in this case, but he is grasping at the fleeting moments you have left in the weekend and trying to come up with every possible reason he can think of for why you shouldn’t go back to Chicago.

You stare at him for a moment, jaw tense, blinking slowly as you try to process and plan. He speaks again before you can figure out your next step. “If we hurry, we should be able to get you there by 9, maybe a little before. We can still make it. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I really didn’t mean to fuck up, I just…I just lost track of time. I’m so sorry,” Eddie looks down at his feet, tugging a chunk of his dark brown curls over his lips and chin, as if he is trying to create a curtain around himself.

“You didn’t fuck up, Moon. You didn’t fuck up. I wasn’t really looking at the time either, but let’s just get my shit together, get out the door, and just speed to the train station. You already drive like a bat out of hell, so this shouldn’t be too much of an ask,” you soothe, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you rise from the bed to offer him a comforting pat on the arm and then a gentle pinch at your last phrase.

“Hey, I usually get you there in one piece, princess, so don’t complain,” he counters with a smile and then begins to shuffle around, shoving on his shoes and slithering into his leather jacket.

There isn’t much of your stuff to gather up since you had already packed that morning, choosing to do it while Eddie snored loudly out on the pullout couch. Wayne was coincidentally out of town for the weekend and Eddie insisted on sleeping out there instead of the bed with you, claiming some thinly veiled joke about not being kids anymore and you’d be more comfortable without him thrashing around the whole night. Silent sobs had reverberated through your chest as you shoved the last of your belongings into your bag, especially thankful that Eddie was a heavy sleeper. You carefully tucked a few of Eddie’s t-shirts into your bag, not for any sick and twisted reason, but just because you wanted to feel like he was holding you close when you were so far away from him.

Eddie sighs and motions for you to head out of his room, a solemn look on his face as he swings your bag over his shoulder and follows you out into the living room. Swallowing the lump of feelings that is forming in your throat and despite already being way later than you intended, your feet shuffle on the shag carpet as you struggle to make your body move toward the door. A staticky silence rings in your ears as Eddie holds out your fuzzy winter coat for you to slide into, gently squeezing your shoulders and turning to face him.

“I know, Sunshine. I miss you already. But before you know it, it will be winter break and you’re coming back here for that right?” he brings his palm up to cup your cheek, ready to catch the tears that threaten to fall, dusting over the field of freckles there while he waits.

“I think so, but that seems so far away,” your words choking in your throat. He doesn’t respond, but simply nods and pulls you into a hug. You want to remember how he feels forever, solid, warm, and safe. Clinging onto the little pieces you have of him even though you can’t really call him yours, not in that way. He reluctantly pulls away and opens the trailer door, the blustery chill harsh against your face as you follow him to his van.

— -

It doesn’t matter how fast Eddie speeds down the freeway, weaving through the lanes and ignoring almost all laws of the road, you still miss the train, watching it pull away just as you make it to the platform. “Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eddie puffs, exhausted from how quickly you both had booked it from the parking lot, running all the way through the train station. “I bet there’s another one coming soon. I’ll go check over at the ticket booth, don’t go anywhere,” he assures you and before you can stop him he’s scurrying over to the grumpy looking woman behind the glass of the ticket booth.

“That was the last train,” you mumble, but he is already too far away to hear. You had booked the last possible train of the night, prolonging the inevitable.

Eddie stands at the ticket booth, body tensed and mind whirring, his hands tapping anxiously against the counter as he tries to fix things. A few minutes later, he returns back to where you had slumped to the ground, hugging your bag against your chest, with an oddly hopeful look on his face.

“So, that was the last train of the night. But, I got you a ticket for the first train in the morning. It leaves at 10am. I figure we get a motel room, get some good sleep, and then have a big hearty breakfast before your train in the morning. Sound like a plan, Sunshine?” he asks, smiling despite himself, internally grateful at the new found time he could spend with you.

“I mean, I missed the last train, and it is all because of you and your obsession with speaking trees!” your tone laced with a playful sarcasm that has Eddie grinning immediately, then rocking backward on his heels, hands to his heart as if he has been mortally wounded.

“You wound me, princess. I thought you shared my love for speaking trees and all things wonderfully fantastical!? Don’t tell me the big city has changed my sweet little nerd?” he beseeches, still amping up the dramatics as he scoops up your hand as if you were some buxom maiden in a fairytale.

“Oh shut up, you weirdo. You know I still love the same nerdy stuff you do, always. It’s just a rarity that I miss important things because of my nerdy obsessions, but you always knew how to bring out the best in me,” you yank your hand away from his to swat at his chest, but he instead traps you into a squeezing bear hug.

“That is why we are an unstoppable team, you and me. I bring out the best in you and you know how to reign in all my crazy,” he pulls you away from the hug with a beaming smile, his heavy palm on your shoulder, fawn eyes flickering rapidly from your lips back to your eyes. You register his sharp inhale, nostrils flaring and lips suddenly pursing before he quickly turns away to pick up your bag off the ground. His features indecipherable as he slowly nods and begins to walk, hooking out his elbow for you to grab on.

“Um, but I guess as for your plan, it’s not such a terrible one. I’m sure there is a motel somewhere close by. And thanks for getting my ticket, Eddie,” you conclude, smoothing out your sweater before following Eddie through the station, looping your hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Oh yeah, I mean it is the least I can do. Motel and breakfast are on me too,” Eddie confirms when you reach his van and he opens the passenger door for you to slip inside.

— -

There is indeed a motel nearby, not the nicest one you’ve ever seen nor the dingiest, but there is only one room available and Eddie quickly offers over the needed cash and signs the paperwork at the front desk while you wait in the warmth of the van. Eddie emerges from the office, jingling the room key in his hand and you quickly gather your things, turning off the ignition before hopping out of the van.

“There’s only one bed,” you shrug your jacket off onto the nearby chair as Eddie closes and deadbolts the door to the room.

“Yeah, umm…” he begins, looking for the words that should come next.

“And it’s a small bed too.”

“I’m sorry, Sunshine. This is all they had and the guy said the other motels in town are all pretty booked up from the holiday weekend and stuff,” Eddie doesn’t know if this is true, only speaking to the guy at the front desk long enough to acquire a room, any old room with at least one bed, but it sounded convincing enough and you nod in acceptance.

“Totally, that makes sense. At least everything looks pretty clean,” you offer, looking down at the sheets and not finding any super noticeable stains.

“And it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before. This one is just a little cozier than normal,” Eddie smiles as he begins to shed layers, first his Reeboks then his jacket.

“So you’ll sleep with me in a motel room, but not in your own bed for the weekend?” you give him a puzzled look, realizing the conflicting meaning your words have as they settle into the air between you. Eddie chuckles as he watches you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a flopping fish. “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean, you perv,” your retort bitterly, sliding off your own shoes to get more comfortable.

“Sorry, Sunshine. I know what you mean. I just didn’t want you to have to spend the weekend hearing me snore and you know how hot I get when I sleep, I just wanted you to be comfortable. I can sleep on the floor if that would be better,” Eddie replies meekly, his cheeks flushing with a delicate rosy hue as he tries to avert your gaze. He busies himself looking for a spare blanket and flops a pillow dramatically down onto the floor next to the bed, eyeing you testingly to see if you were really going to banish him from the bed.

“No, no, no. Of course I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor. It will be cozy, but at least I’ll be nice and warm all night,” your voice softens as you begin to flip the covers back on the bed. He smiles at your peace offering and pops the pillow back onto the bed.

“I guess we should get ready for bed then, yeah?” you suggest with a shrug, and he nods. You settle into nighttime routines, bumping into each other as you navigate the tight quarters and his close presence.

— -

Eddie studies you for a moment as you rummage through your bag for something to sleep in, looking away quickly when you pull off your bulky sweater, leaving you in just a thin tank top and jeans. You have already worn the pajamas you brought for the long weekend, and going for a fourth day in a row seems like a stretch, but that leaves you with just a tank top and your panties to sleep in.

“Would it bother you if I…” you begin.

“I usually just sleep in my…” Eddie’s voice overlaps yours, neither finishing the thoughts. It suddenly feels uncomfortable between you and Eddie, a palpable tension as you both try to start your sentences over but run into each other’s words again.

“No, sorry. You go first,” he offers, not sure when his face had gotten so hot and his mouth had filled with cotton.

“I only brought one pair of pajamas, and they’re a little gross at this point, would it bother you if I just slept in my tank top and underwear?” you ask, hoping it won’t be a problem, but also that it might just spur some kind of reaction from him.

“Oh, uh, yeah that’s cool. Don’t want you stinking up the bed with old pjs anyway,” he sticks out his tongue at you, cringing a little at his forced joke but it makes you laugh anyway.

“Hey, rude,” you go to swat at him but he dodges away with a grin.

“Seriously though, it’s fine. When have you ever known me not to be an upstanding gentleman in these matters?” he mimics a proper posh accent, trying to hide his nerves with flair. “You can get under the covers first and I won’t look, no peeking,” he holds up a ringed hand to cover his eyes, smirking as he peeks through his fingers at you. A witty remark waits on the tip of your tongue, something about how you want him to peek, but you swallow the remark, a sour candy offering an acidic burn.

“What were you going to say though, before?” you bring the topic back around to where it began.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I was just gonna say that I usually sleep in just my boxers and is that ok, but if you get a pass for just underwear, I’d say my question is asked and answered, yeah?” he punctuates his question with a raised brow and a tentative thumbs up.

“That’s fine with me, as long as they don’t have any more holes in them than they’re supposed to,” you tease, quickly tugging off your jeans and standing firmly on your designated side of the shared bed, daring him to say something, do something. You see him falter for a split second, jaw tensing and eyes blinking heavily, before his expression fades to neutral lines, unreadable.

“That was one time and you’re lucky you only saw butt cheek,” he points a mockingly accusatory finger at you, referring to the time you had both impulsively gone for a night swim at Lover’s Lake, stripping down to holey undergarments before plunging into the frigid water. He tries not to conjure up the image of the way you looked that night, wet and wild eyed as you splashed and wrestled him in the waves, the thin layer of your bra doing nothing to disguise the chilled peaks of your nipples, soft silken curves in his arms as he held you against his chest, treading water and blurring the lines of your friendship. He tries not to, but the image still swirls in his mind, trying to shake it away before pulling off his shirt, balling it up and tossing it on the floor. Unable to meet your challenging gaze, he quickly unbuckles his belt, shuffling his jeans off and kicking them aside.

“These ones are entirely un-holey, I see,” you remark, seeing the flush that rises across his neck and chest with your words.

“Well, yeah of course, I had to be entirely unholy to get into that satanic cult, they require it all the way down to my underwear. Socks too. They’re pretty particular,” he quips, with a shy smirk, always one to bullshit his way through uncomfortable situations with humor. You roll your eyes and laugh, the sound echoing off the thin walls of the room.

“Good one, Moon. Are you going to get into bed or is the cult teaching you to sleep standing up?” you press, watching him squirm.

“I thought you were supposed to get in first, and wasn’t I supposed to be not peeking?” he quickly covers his eyes, metal smacking against the bridge of his nose.

“That was more your requirement than mine. It’s not like you haven’t seen it all already anyway,” you sigh and shrug, fanning the covers up and crawling under them quickly. You try desperately to gauge his response, but he is steel faced as he slowly removes each of his rings, depositing them with a jingle on the bedside table. He simply smiles and nods, winding up the clock to set an alarm before pulling back the covers on his side and sliding in.

You both lay stiffly for a few moments, backs pressed to the thin spring-filled mattress, distracting yourselves from the big questions at hand by counting the stains on the ceiling. You can feel him stealing glances at you, feeling his heavy breathing hit your cheek every time he turns to look your way.

“Are you…uh…comfortable?” his voice cracking slightly as if he didn’t expect words to come out at just that moment.

“I mean, not really,” you chuckle, repositioning as you feel a spring jut into your tailbone. “I’m not really a back sleeper, but I don’t want to get all up in your space and bother you,” you huff and pull the blankets up around your chin.

“And when has the potential of bothering me ever stopped you before, princess. Come over here, get all up in my space. You may try to say you’re a grown up college lady now, but if your earlier nap proves anything you’re still just my cuddle bug,” Eddie tilts to his side and opens his arms wide, offering you space in the cocoon you always craved. You weaken a little at his choice of words, the possessive adjective not lost on you, but knowing that it probably doesn’t hold that meaning to him. All the same, you scurry into his arms quickly, nuzzling your nose against his collarbone, the rounded angles of his hugs offering you only comfort and warmth for so many years. You both sigh, settling into each other like a habit neither of you are willing to break.

“Will you be able to fall asleep like this?” your question muffled against his chest.

“Probably, I’m pretty sleepy. Unlike you, I did not get a nap earlier,” he squeezes you in a teasing hug that angles you so your body is draped over his, legs intertwined, his hand squeezing gently on the soft curves of your middle while you trace shapes into the planes of his back.

“If you get uncomfortable or hot, just shove me off,” you suggest, feeling the lapping waves of drowsiness wash over you in spite of your nap.

“Ha, I will try, Sunshine, but you tend to be a stage 5 clinger in your sleep. Once you’re cuddled up, you’re like Velcro,” Eddie chuckles and looks down at you, chuckling again softly when he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep in his arms. He places a tentative kiss on your forehead. “And I would be stuck to you forever if I could be, I love you so much, Sunshine,” his words leaving his mouth in an honest whisper before he has a chance to bottle them back up like usual.

You stir and murmur something, lips feathering against his chest, leaving Eddie frozen in panic. He has been planning to say something about his feelings sooner or later, but it never feels like the right moment, and this especially isn’t the time. He just can’t risk it, fearing that he will muddle the best friendship he’s ever had with too many feelings, and an even uglier fear that you would reject him entirely, calling him a ‘freak’ and a ‘weirdo’ with anger in your eyes instead of the usual joking manner you used to refer to his town given moniker. It had already been hard enough when you’d gone away to college, leaving him behind for bigger and better things, new friends and the occasional boyfriend that you would mention in passing, never realizing how hard Eddie’s heart would sink into the pit of his stomach when he thought about you with someone else, someone who didn’t know you as well as he did, touching you the way he had always wanted to.

He had spent an embarrassing number of nights falling asleep to the thought of you. Always beginning honey sweet with memories of your laugh, the way you smiled at all of his stupid jokes, innocence rapidly fading as he remembered the way your ample breasts bounced with each giggle, instantly sending his mind swirling in a million dirty directions. The ending was always the same, hand wrapped around himself tightly, hasty and sloppy, pretending it was you around him instead in a race towards his release. When he was finished, the evidence pooling and drying sticky on his stomach, the same wave of guilt and shame would always hit him. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about you like this, shouldn’t be driven wild by even the tamest thoughts of you, but he couldn’t help it. Years of pent up desire were finally starting to bubble over, fissures and cracks fracturing into a great chasm that he couldn’t close up anymore.

He realizes he’s not breathing when you offer another incoherent sleepy babble, ending your musing with a phrase his ears almost fail to register at first, not wanting to believe they had just left your lips. “I love you so much, Eddie,” your sleep slurred words immediately sending his brain into a tailspin. Buzzing fills his brain as he still forgets to breathe, a shaky inhale doing little to subside the hive of bees in his mind. You don’t say anything else, lingering sighs and coos as you fade into dreams. Eddie doesn’t care if it was said while you were dreaming, it’s the sweetest string of words he’s ever heard laced together and he is bound and determined now more than ever to have you say them to him for real.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A little taglist: @boomhauer @wroteclassicaly @thisishellfire @a-time-for-wolvess @wtf-lindsay

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson x plus size reader #stranger things fanfiction #joe quinn #joseph quinn #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson imagine

592 notes · View notes