#i tried to get in as many Frodos as i could think of but i know i missed some

[nowandforalways]

Today I'm thinking about how playing Frodo Baggins is a thankless job in much the same way Frodo actually carrying the Ring was.

Like, when people talk about performances in LOTR adaptations, they talk about Sam, they talk about Gollum, they talk about Gandalf and Galadriel. All these characters that have iconic lines and big flashy moments of greatness or bravery or twistedness that let the actor show off. Frodo doesn't have any of those. What Frodo does have is the arguably harder job of making something external that is almost entirely internal, and, in most adaptations, having the most to do, just from a time-on-stage/screen/microphone perspective. But this never seems to get acknowledged and that's always kinda weird/interesting to me. I suppose people just respond to the big heroic/heartwarming/menacing moments, and not so much to littler moments of the same kinds. In the musical, in one of the dialogue breaks in "Now And For Always", Frodo says to Sam "It's not me they'll remember, you know". And that's funny because even if Sam tries to fight that in-universe with the finishing of The Red Book, it consistently ends up being true in a meta sense.

Anyway I suppose what I'm saying is appreciate Christopher Guard, Sir Ian Holm, Elijah Wood, James Loye, James Byng, and Louis Maskell or die by my blade.

[mushroomates]

legolas headcanons:

is, by all accounts, the worlds most awkward elf

most of the fellowship doesn’t even realize how weird he is

thranduil did not socialize his boy well. legolas is not aloof he just has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.

will walk very slowly with exaggerated movements around hobbits because he thinks they won’t see him otherwise.

the hobbits thinks this is elf custom. frodo theorizes this is because elves want to rest their eyes and ears when they’re at home, so other elves like to announce themselves so no one gets spooked.

this is aided by the fact that legolas loudly announces his presence whenever he enters the room, just incase you missed it.

this conclusion is false. legolas will approach other elves by charging at them, full speed. alternatively, shooting an arrow in their vicinity for a vibe check.

he also likes shooting at people to wake them up and/or scare them

legolas likes that it’s a gentle reminder to his companions that he could kill them at any time and they should be honored that he doesn’t.

aragorn has options about this. legolas tells him that he should be grateful that such a skilled elf is on his side and cares for him. aragorn maintains that if legolas really cared, the elf would stop waking him up with ‘good morning’ shots. he also would like to note that legolas’s loud singing is only slightly better than an arrow flying at you first thing in the morning:

legolas tries to make friends by staring at them from afar and when they look at him he looks away. like a cat. he will also blink at u as if to say “look! i like you! i’m closing my eyes!!!” again, like a cat.

will bring you small gifts to curry favor, also like a cat. interesting rocks and pretty feathers, samples of dirt, fallen leaves in different shapes and colors, and whatever flowers are near by and catch his eye. gets very upset if you don’t marvel at them for the appropriate amount of time.

will eat bites off of your plate. this is a form of endearment. he’s showing he trusts you and likes you. he’s also showing his inability to cook and hopes you’ll take pity on him by sharing your food.

sometimes will intentionally walk loudly around the camp if he’s bored, angry, or lonely so he can wake aragorn up and they can be awake together :)

likes to sing, loudly, at inappropriate times

no one in the fellowship has seen him piss. some of the hobbits are under the impression that elves don’t pee. aragorn and gandalf do not correct them.

up at the asscrack of dawn. this is annoying, because he’s chipper, looks amazing, and is a tad judgements that you aren’t as well.

captain obvious as well as worlds most unhelpful elf ever. will point out your mistake, claim to know how to fix it and half the time not offer the solution or his assistance.

cannot do laundry. he doesn’t even get dirty enough to consider it, and with how little people in middle earth wash their clothes anyway, none of his clothes have been cleaned for easily centuries.

is very confused by dogs. doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with them. they’re always so happy and want (physical???) attention and,, it’s not a one and done thing either. you’re supposed to keep petting them? after you already pet them.

they’re like wolves, but smaller and maybe stupider. they also stink. boromir has explained to him many times that dogs are man’s best friend and are beautiful creatures. this worries legolas, because that means either dogs are more evolved than they let on,, or men are significantly further behind than elves than he first thought..

can not play the harp. is upset by this fact.

never really bothered to learn how to harp, either.

he believes he should be able to play the harp regardless because the harp is just a big bow with many strings. this is, in fact, false.

will eat anything. mushrooms and questionable berries mean nothing to him.

this upsets aragorn as he believes legolas is setting a bad example for the hobbits, dispite hobbits having the most durable digestive systems. (note: elves can eat almost anything, but hobbits have the stomach of a labrador retriever. they are always hungry, can can eat anything, even what they’re not supposed to)

DID set a bad example for boromir, who mistakingly ate some of the berries legolas offered him and had the shits for weeks.

is like 90% sure who frodo is. it’s definitely one of the hobbits. it’s probably not the one with the pony.

is faceblind. he can’t recognize other people’s faces for the life of him. if you asked him to pick out aragorn in a sea of humans, he’d panic dispite knowing the man for 50+ years.

this also goes for all races, including dwarves. gimli thought he might just be racist and covering his ass, but then watched him stall for like 30 minutes making small talk with some lorien elves and try (and fail) to pick celeborn out of the crowd.

does know what galadriel and thranduil look like. has a hard time pointing out elrond.

will forget your name almost immediately after you tell him. guys like 3k old and has met a lot of people give him a break

to be fair he does know who you are and what you sound/look like. defining features like voice and hair help a lot. it’s just if you were to give him a book of cropped faces and ask him to name, just one,,, he’d panic and throw it at you.

feels robbed of the golden ages,, resents the fact that the world he knows is drastically different that the world he could have been. wishes there were more elves his age and just more elves in general.

that being said he wouldn’t change this for anything as the world he’s in gave him the friends he’s made and the adventure of a life time :)

he doesn’t wash his hands. like ever or at all.

[atelierwriting]

so you want to build a character 102

written by popular demand of nicole @seasteading’s cat meowing into the mic

so you’ve got a story idea, and now you need to populate it with characters—where do you begin? or perhaps you have the vaguest idea of a character in your mind, but you need a little help figuring out their story. characters are absolutely vital in the story you want to tell, because they’re your readers’ eyes into the world. they experience the story as your characters do. you might even hope that your readers will get attached to them and send you a million all-caps messages crying about the fate of said characters. 

whatever your goals are, here are a few things to keep in mind as you begin.

TRIED AND TRUE RECIPE FOR MAKING THE PERFECT CHARACTER (run them through the mary sue litmus test)

don’t write characters, write character arcs. characters are not static. throughout the story, there will be conflict that should—and will—change your character. the character arc can either compliment the main plot or be that plot. many conflicts are resolved by characters overcoming their own personal or mental battles, or developing in a way that makes a solution possible. the person your character begins as at the beginning of the story will not be the same as the person they are at the end.

think of lord of the rings and how frodo ends up at the end of the story as compared to the very beginning. the struggles he went through ended up changing who he was, and he realized that there was no way he could return to how he was before his journey.

point a to point b. this is one method that i use to write character arcs. i first figure out who my character is and what their situation is like at the beginning of the story. then, i come up with how i want them to end up at the very end. once you have these two points, you can work on how it is possible for them to develop from point a (the beginning) to point b (the end).

along the way, there will be a lot of intermediate points. you can flesh these out as you come to them, and even discover more things about your characters. point b can eventually become point z, or point 1000. how did we go from letters to numbers? who knows! but the journey of character development doesn’t happen immediately. it is a gradual shift.

conflict. pay attention to how your character responds to conflict. conflict can be used as a catalyst for change for your character. when coming up with conflicts, it is important to keep in mind your character’s values and limits. in order for the conflict to feel worthwhile, these two things need to be challenged. it is an ideal situation for development, and even a little angst, if you want that.

character relationships. how does your character view the rest of the cast? if you’re working on the previous point, how might they come into conflict with them? relationships between characters allows the readers to understand more about nearly everything in the story—the plot, the world around them, and in turn, the characters themselves. the way they treat each other can reveal a lot about their own backstories. think about all the ways that they can play off each other, and how this may change as the story progresses, especially when the characters each branch off and develop.

character-driven narratives. if your story is character driven, it becomes even more important that your character motivations are solid and progress in a believable manner. they are the ones enacting change around them—specifically, they will be the ones moving the plot along. think about the ramifications of your character’s actions: how it affects those around them and how it affects the larger picture. then, think about where your character will go from there as a reaction to the things their own choices have caused.

the plot doesn’t just happen. even if you are writing a more passive character, the plot doesn’t magically part for them like the red sea for moses. there are other factors, such as other characters within the story, or perhaps your own character’s desires. of course, this all depends on where you want the character to go from here. you might consider what would make a more passive character less passive, or how else you can ruin their lives to force them to act. either way, plot is something that moves the story forward, not something that just happens to characters.

fundamental character traits. we’ve been talking a lot about how the characters change, but we also need to keep in mind that in some ways these characters must also remain the same. they each have fundamental character traits that will remain by the end of the story. for example, kaz is still the bastard of the barrel at the end of the duology—but he’s opened up more to the crows. the changes a character goes through must be proportional to the events of the plot. they might change a lot, but they must still be recognizable at the end of the story due to the things that they have gone through.

flaws. last but not least, make sure your character has flaws! these can be their weaknesses, things they work on throughout the story and eventually improve upon, or even just character traits that aren’t exactly the best to have—simple facts about them. people aren’t perfect, and your characters shouldn’t be either.

[obsidiancreates]

Concerning Hobbits Who Cause A Great Deal Of Concern

Sequel to There and Back Again (Starting From The End)

Bilbo picks over the pile of supplies in front of him. "Extra clothes, good, maps, good, plenty of water jugs- won't be making that mistake twice, not after that holiday when Frodo was a lad-"

Gandalf clears his throat in the doorway, and Bilbo waves him in without looking up. "Come in, come in. Do you suppose I could find a good walking stick somewhere out in the desolation? Nevermind, I expect not. Let's see here- ah! Yes, yes, perfect." Bilbo holds up a small chain, meant for a delicate pendant. "Frodo wore the ring on a chain such as this, to resist it's temptations. I think I shall follow his lead. He was the one to do this quest first, after all."

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf says, slowly entering the decrepit supply room of Erebor's less ruined halls. "You owe us all some answers, I think."

"I explained it already, didn't I? I've been sent back from countless years in the future to prevent- well, prevent it all." Bilbo rifles through the pile some more. "The war, the misery, the deaths. I'm making grand plans for the coming years, Gandalf. Frodo told me as many stories as he could in the years before my return, and there's more souls in need of saving than I'm prepared for yet. We'll have to finish up this quest as quickly as we can, if I'm to settle in here and then get back to The Shire before poor Drogo and Primula meet their ends."

"Every word you utter brings more questions than answers," Gandalf huffs. "You told Gloin his son would face Sauron himself, prophesied my death and resurrection, and in the same breath pulled Thorin Oakenshield to your lips and have left him in a daze ever since!"

"I've tried telling him to come help me pack," Bilbo mutters. "Of course he's dazed, Gandalf, I myself didn't realize what exactly I felt until after his death before! It's only been a couple of days, he'll shake it off."

"Bilbo." Gandalf puts his hand on his dear friend's shoulder. "I ask you as not only a friend, but a wizard concerned for the safety of Middle-Earth... and your own mind. What did you see, before facing the kings?"

"I 'saw' nothing, Gandalf, I lived. And it's hard to say, exactly, what I lived. After my hundred and eleventh it all goes a bit... hazy, and grows hazier the longer I'd gone on, frought with only fits of clear mind. But I remember enough." Bilbo pulls a broken spear shaft from the pile, tests it's weight and width in his hand, and then grabs a small whittling knife and begins to attempt to shape it into a good walking stick.

Gandalf sits next to him. "Then help me be prepared, my friend. You seek to lead us all into the heart of Sauron's very fortress. What did your young nephew face on his same journey?"

"Well, we shan't be taking quite the same path, I think." Bilbo pulls a map out of his bag. "He went somewhere along this path, lead on by that foul creature Gollum from about here to here. I shouldn't like to encounter the mother of the Mirkwood spiders like he and Samwise did- but I shouldn't like to go to the Black Gates either, if they yet exist."

Gandalf watches Bilbo with his pipe sitting unpuffed in his lips and palm, his ancient eyes fraught with concern. Bah. Bilbo's seen that look for- well, not even he knows how long. It's hardly a deterrent.

"How often have you used The Ring, Bilbo?"

"I expect you have your suspicions. I used it first in the goblin tunnels, of course, and then again in Mirkwood- terrible, terrible business in Mirkwood. Such a strange thing, Gandalf, to have it guide my hands. I knew it was evil then, but also that I needed it." It's hard to push the words out, though one would never guess by Bilbo's strong and steady tone.

Some part of him still shrieks to keep it secret, safe, unknown to others. But that part is very new, very young, and the older feeling of Obsession mingles with it in a way that diminishes them both- like adding together equal parts vinegar and honey, until it taste like neither and is altogether repulsive to taste.

"And then in Thranduil's halls, of course- did we ever explain that part of the journey to you? Ah, Thanduil mentioned it when I brought the Arkenstone, so I'm sure you don't need me to. Again with Smaug, though it was very little use against him. Then again when I ran to Ravenhill, and again to kill Azog. That's how often I've used it in this life and body, at the very least."

"And in the life before?"

"Too many times to count," Bilbo groans. "I used it to hide from unwanted visitors and relatives! Can you believe it? The thing that could destroy all of Middle-Earth, and I used it to avoid neighbors. Well, I didn't know any better, I suppose, and I'll admit I'm likely to miss the ability when I return home- not to stay, mind you. I left Erebor all those years ago because I couldn't stand living here when Thorin, Fili, and Kili weren't around to fill it. Thorin most of all."

Bilbo shakes his head. "But I'll still need to settle things with Bag End! I hope you're grateful, by the way, Gandalf. In the past before I returned home within thirteen months of running out my door and they'd already auctioned off most of my belongings. I expect I'll get home to a smial full of Sackville-Baggins belongs and a Shire full of my scattered heirlooms. It'll take me ages to round it all up again to leave for Frodo and Sam and Sam's sweet. Perhaps this time I'll get to know those children as they grow- Sam was always telling us about how impressive his children were, heh."

Gandalf finally puffs on his pipe, seemingly relaxing. "You're quite a different fellow in your old age."

"Yes, it does tend to do that," Bilbo mutters. "As do a great many other things. I should like to blame some of my later eccentricities on The Ring, but in truth I think I should have become so odd even without it." Bilbo gives up on the broken spear shaft with a huffs. "Right, I'm going to search outside for something more suitable."

"Perhaps take a companion with you." Gandalf's eyes twinkle. "A certain wide-eyed Dwarf king is in great need of some air, after you stole it from his chest."

"Ha!" Bilbo grins, wide and bright, in a way Gandalf has rarely seen- if ever. It's full of hope and promise. "Good idea, old friend."

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

Bilbo leads the way as he and Thorin go out to the mountain side. Thorin watches him, wary and wondering all at once, and Bilbo could savor the feeling of it forever.

"Alright now, Thorin, I'm the same Hobbit as before," Bilbo says, bending down to try an ancient branch broken from a burned tree corpse. "No need to get all strange about talking with me."

"But are you?" Thorin watches Bilbo with analyzing and admiring eyes. "You speak differently than you did only days ago."

"Alright, I've gotten wordier in my years," Bilbo admits. "And more sure of the words I wish to say before I say them. But that doesn't mean I'm some strange new hobbit unknown to you."

"Does it not?" Thorin picks up a stick as well, though it's clear he's not focused on it, merely feigning participation in the activity. "The Bilbo I knew wasn't one to..."

"Pull you in for a kiss?" Bilbo guesses. "Believe me, I wanted to, but I only admitted it to myself when it was... too late. That kiss was ages overdue, Thorin."

"How long overdue?" Thorin moves even closer. "How long did you live, beyond my death?"

"It's hard to recall, exactly." Bilbo pauses, hands on his knees, looking out at the snow-dusted mountainside. "I can't seem to track the years after I went to Rivendell again, but I was a hundred and eleven then, and I know a great many years passed after that. I could be thousands of years old now for all I know, though few of those years lived in a stable state of mind, so I don't know if they should count."

"Is a hundred and eleven... old, for a hobbit?"

"Well, my grandfather Old Took lived to be one hundred and thirty, so it's not impossibly old, but I barely aged until I passed The Ring to Frodo. And then it all sort of... caught up to me at once. I'd intended to return here, but deteriorated far too much by the time I made it to Rivendell."

Thorin picks up another stick and offers it to Bilbo for examination. "So you know very little of the quest ahead of us."

"I know enough," Bilbo says pointedly, shooting Thorin a look. "I know that if we wait, Sauron will grow armies larger than even what we faced already, and whole kingdoms will fall to ruin under his heel. I know that Gimli, only a lad as he is now, will venture into Moria with his Fellowship and find the bodies of our very own Balin and Ori before losing Gandalf to Durin's Bane."

Thorin sucks in a breath. "Durin's Bane? It still lives in the depths?"

"Lives and rages, and my terrible Took cousin leads it right to them," Bilbo says, shaking his head. "I'd often thought Fili and Kili had been reborn as hobbits, when Meriadoc and Peregrin began their antics." Bilbo's mouth twitches into a smile, a familiar expression to Thorin and something Bilbo had been told he'd stopped doing on a rare visit from- well, he can't quite remember which dwarf it was who came to visit, actually. Only that they'd said he'd changed quite a bit, but it wasn't bad change- simply unexpected.

'Like you lot,' he remembers saying back, 'Nearly knocking down my door.' He remembers they'd laughed. He still can't place who it was. Perhaps his memory is not as sharp as he'd hoped it'd be, in this new life, new youth.

Now, in the New Present, Bilbo finally finds a suitable walking stick- it just needs a little adjusting and it'll be perfect.

"Now that, is an amusement," Thorin chuckles. "I can't imagine it."

"You won't have to, someday." Bilbo puts his hand on Thorin's arm. "I intend to make trips to Hobbiton every few years, after all- I should like to save dear Frodo's parents, save his heart from that grief, but I won't remove myself from his life for the sake of it. He'll go mad without my stories, as will little Sam. I hope you're prepared to have about... four more nephews."

Thorin's eyebrows raise. "Very presumptuous of you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo rises to his tip-toes and pecks Thorin's lips. "I don't believe it's an unfounded presumption, though. The mithril shirt is a bit of an obvious show, I think."

Thorin blushes.

"Worth more than the entire Shire, apparently. And here I'd tucked it into a chest for sixty years."

"Into a chest?"

"Don't look like that, I was in grief. Besides, I passed it to Frodo, and it apparently served him very well."

"I'm impatient to meet this nephew of yours. He sounds like he'd belong with us as much as you do."

"No, no. He's a brave, kind, worthy soul, but a soul who belongs to the little rivers and rolling hills of The Shire more than he belongs to the world at large. Perhaps it'll be different this time, with no need for a terrible quest, but I have some doubts. Still, I think you'll get along. He has great spirit."

Bilbo, arm-in-arm now with Thorin, leads them both back to the entrance. "Dain will do very well looking after Erebor while we journey, by the way. I'm sure you knew it already, but I thought it might help to know that he was a great ruler in my life passed- according to passing stories, anyway."

"It makes leaving no easier."

"I know." Bilbo rubs Thorin's arm with his thumb. "But we'll be home soon, Thorin. And then we can truly rebuild."

[courtingchaos]

Rent the Space Inside My Mind

1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I PT 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Boy, Eddie sure is head over heels for you, and is also a teenage boy. Wonder what he's thinkin' about this time?

A/N: This is actually a part of part 3. It was longer but i'm having a hard time figuring out a good end and this one had it. Short like part 1, but there's still more to come and a lot quicker this time too. The holidays really got the best of me, sorry for the wait!

Warnings: 18+ (lil babies go on, git.), getting spicier but not like, anything filthy (we're getting there).

Eddie is fully willing and able to admit that he’s being an asshole in this situation, but like, just not yet. 

December had flown by and for a whole god damn month he had managed to not only get it in multiple times with one of the prettiest cheerleaders Hawkins had to offer, he’d also gotten to spend a significant (and close) amount of time with you. Every morning had been spent in usual routine of his hands in your coat pockets, your scent trailing him while he walked to first period. 

And, y’know, It wasn’t like he could do this with Gwen. He was positive he’d get his ass kicked if he laid a hand on her in public, and it wasn’t even like he really wanted to huddle with her like he did with you. 

And therein lie the problem. 

While Gwen was fun (so much fun) she just wasn’t you. 

And no matter how many times she’d sucked his dick (it’s been six, he’s got the mental tally going), or invited him to climb into her room, or slid into the back of his van, it didn’t actually matter because on the whole of it: 

She. Wasn’t. You. 

He’d been waiting to find fault, honestly counting the days down at one point, because it was bound to happen. She would finally slip and say something abhorrent to him. Something about his music or his club or, the worst, his life in general. He thought you’d be the trigger this time, considering how often Gwen brought you up. 

“So your friend, the conjoined twin.”

“What about her?” He’s kissed halfway down Gwen’s stomach, pausing to look up at her. He has no fucking clue which way this is going and he’ll be god damned if he’s got fingers in underwear if it’s mean. Hackles raised and-

“She’s like, really funny.” Oh thank god. 

“Oh she’s a riot. You should hear her and her friend Jackie get going. They got a whole bit about being Stepford Wives that’s actually pretty clever.”

“I’ve never seen that.” The course correct is strong; he wants so badly to explain that it’s a book as well. He instead reminds himself of the naked girl under him and becomes intimately acquainted with her bellybutton.  

“She’s like, so good at making people laugh. I think she would have made a great cheerleader.” Gwen is a little toasted, propped up in the back of Eddie’s van while he kisses down her neck and tries to avoid the joint she’s waving haphazardly around his head. His fingers have crept up to the button on her jeans and she’s dazedly helping him pull them open. 

“I’ll have to tell her that, she’s gonna laugh her ass off.” And he sure as shit will, as soon as he can get the image that has just been borne into his mind, out. You? In a cheer uniform? He’s clutching his metaphorical pearls over the idea of you in nothing but the cardigan and the bobbie socks, all pliant and willing and on your knees with his fingers pressed in your mouth-

“Oh? You talk about me a lot?” Gwen is looking down at him all soft and open and he feels guilty for a second. 

Focus, asshole. You got real girl in front you. 

“All the time.” He wonders if she can hear the white lie in that. 

“Why’d you call her Sam?” Gwen asks this in a kind of airy way, like she’s trying not to care. Eddie catches the tone, tries to explain as easy as he can. He feels like he’s trying to keep a horse calm. 

“Samwise.”

“What?” He doesn’t want to roll his eyes but she asks so quickly, like she doesn’t want to actually listen.

“Samwise. He’s one of the Hobbits from Lord of the Rings. Frodo’s best friend.”

“And that’s you?” She’s smiling again. 

Crisis averted, filly is calm. 

“I like to think so.” There’s a self depreciating ring to that but Gwen doesn’t hear it. Sidles up to him and grabs his vest to pull him closer. They are very obviously out of eyeshot of anyone of any importance. 

“I’ve never read it before.”

“I could read it to you next time I come over.” He runs a fingertip down the side of her face, pushes some strands of hair back. They’re silky and straight and blonde and he likes how it catches the light. 

Nothing like your’s though. 

“Will we have time for that?” She’s trying to be coy but she hasn’t quite got the foundations of being sexy down. Eddie grins, his soft spot for naive preps seeping through. 

“Baby there’s always time for hobbits.”

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to come fully out of her woodwork and ‘Carrie’ him, to borrow your phrasing.

“No, not her as Carrie. You as Carrie.”

It’s what’s kept him from admitting to himself that he’s being an asshole about this whole thing. She’s actually just…nice. She’s flippant about them sure, but for the same reason he is.

It ain’t that serious. 

He can’t deny he isn’t having fun with Gwen but it’s literally just sex and weed.

If he was better with his own emotions, he wouldn’t have let this go on for so long. It’s not like he’s deluded himself into thinking him and her are dating, but she’s gotten comfortable with him. It’s been so easy lately for her to call, drip the suggestion of sex down the phone line and wait approximately 15 minutes for him to pop through her window. 

And yeah sure, woe is Edward Munson, 18 year old social outcast, fucking around on the regular with one of the popular girls. He isn’t expecting any laurels and accolades for his heroism here, but he did think he had a little less cowardice in him. 

If he could just figure his shit out with you, then he’d be golden. 

You, both the figurative and literal woman of his dreams. 

The denim clad goddess, the pit dwelling priestess, the nerd loving oracle! 

You, who always had his back. 

You, who never cared when he whined about his girls or his games or his guitar. 

You, who had hung around longer than anyone he could remember. 

You, who was his best friend. 

Ah, the other problem. 

If there was one thing Eddie refused to do, it was ruining the best friendship he’d ever had by thinking with his dick. 

…Even if he really did want you to like, maybe consider his dick. He’s been told more than once that it’s great! (Big even! But he’ll get back to that…). Hell, he’s even 5 for 5 by his own mental scoring in bringing all the girls he’s been with to their screaming highs. Multiple times in the same night!

I’m a pleaser, sue me. 

None of them really matter at the end of the day though, when he’s alone and lonely. The whole trailer vacant and dark and quiet save for his music playing softly from the tape deck. He’s running his finger along the edge of the sacred polaroid like he’s trying to summon you right out of it. 

All of his past experience boils down to practice in this moment. 

Practice for when he can get his head out of his ass and just tell you how he really felt. 

Practice for when he’ll hold your head in his hands and whisper his feelings right into your open mouth. Tilt your head back and dip his tongue in, lick your own confessions right out of you. He knows he could do it too, he’s heard all about your exploits. Half assed fucking in the backseats of too small cars and not one asshole to even try and go down on you! 

And what a crying shame that is. 

God, I’d treat you right.

Eddie knows the warmth of thighs pressed up around his ears, fingernails running running running over his scalp, hands pulling at his curls. Knows the little sighs, the shivers that run up a spine when he licks right up their hot center, tongue dipping inside for a taste. Knows how to roll the flat of his tongue right up to that little pink button and go in for the kill. The way hands will grab at anything they can find purchase with and hold on while they come sighing and squealing and moaning his name EddieEddieEddie! 

All that’s just been practice for you. 

He’s driving himself insane thinking about your legs wrapped around his head, fingers dug into his hair, chanting above him. The low timber your voice gets when you’re Very Concentrated. 

It’d be his pleasure, and his alone, to waste an hour or two between those thighs making a mess out of you. He’d bury his fingers in your cunt and find that spot, the one he knows will make you see galaxies. The one that’d make you lock his head in place with your legs. He’d be relentless in his pursuit of your orgasm (and your second and third and fourth), have you whimpering and moaning and loud for him. 

Eddie knows he’s truly good at a few things in life, and this is one he prides himself on. 

The thought of you trembling undone under his hands is the catalyst for him to finally drop the picture and reach down under his sheets to let his dick free. Four quick strokes is all it takes and he’s coming, eyes rolled so far into the back of his head he sees white. His breath catches in his throat and he can hear himself letting out a low whine, warmth splashing over his stomach. When he floats down to a more even breathing he picks up his shirt from beside his bed to wipe himself off and can feel the plummeting beginning to take hold. 

Oh here it comes.

For all of his grandstanding by himself in the dark, he’s not going to grab you round the head and kiss you stupid. Post jerkoff clarity is settling in and reminding him of who he is. Which is your friend first and foremost, and also someone who has never quite grasped how to vocalize his emotions. Someone who’s still being led by the dick by a nice set of eyes in a pleated skirt. Someone who’s gonna get tossed to the side once prom season gets into full swing. Eddie covers his eyes with his forearm, takes a few deep breaths and wills the stinging in his eyes to go away. A new kind of shaky breath fills the quiet of his room and if he lets himself cry for a while it’s a secret between him and the four walls. 

~

Later when he’s outside letting the cold air clear out his lungs after his cigarette, his red face cooling in the night, he has his come to jesus moment. He’d decided after his little crying spell that he’d break it off with Gwen. It’s not like he was going to be her date for anything (not that he even really wanted to), and not like he’d ever even consider going to something as conforming as prom. 

And they weren’t even serious! 

So, he cuts her loose, she gets to look like the good guy and he’s free again. 

Free to hang out with you and go to shows, go eat and drink and get high and share smokes. 

Free to get his shit together and finally sit you down for a little talk. If he couldn’t find the balls to breathe his confession into you the way he fantasized about, then he could put coherent thought to paper with pen and write himself a little speech. 

💕Tag List💕

@edsforehead, @fracturedarkness, @munsonsguitarpick, @bebe0701

Thank you! You're all amazing!

[hobbithabits]

At the end of all days I am and will always be a bagginshield baddie, so I present you with this:

Bilbo, a few years past after the journey, before he’s taken in Frodo, lamenting everything that happened to him. He tries so hard to push away the thoughts that come up every night, but as always, he fails. But really, who is it hurting for him to sit at his own table and think about people he’ll never see again? Just him. There’s a part of him that’s almost glad people don’t come knocking as often as they used to, because anyone who saw him often enough would be able to tell he’s lost his appetite. His stomach aches from the emptiness, but the emptiness that spreads through his chest aches much more.

~“Our home”~

Did he even mean that to include Bilbo? Would Thorin have ever thought to include Bilbo in something like that? The fantastical version of the mountain king in his head assures him that it would never be home if Bilbo wasn’t there. Bilbo wonders if he would’ve stayed if Thorin had lived, but it’s more convincing himself that he had the option to leave at all if Thorin was there.

Every night at his kitchen table, Bilbo breaks apart into pieces again over an unfixable past. Every dream in the hours that follow glue the pieces back together enough to last another daytime on his own. He should stop the game and give up on it, and he knows that kind of dreaming would get him in plenty of trouble with the meddlesome wizard, but the bright sunny happiness he feels every morning when he wakes up to the thought of his love’s smiling face is something he can’t let go of.

It lasts for years this way until he welcomes darker hair and bluer eyes into his home, and suddenly he is in bed earlier and out of bed early enough to make breakfast for two. In the evening he’s settled into his armchair, sitting right across from someone who is new but so familiar. There are still the fantastical dreams at night, the ones that make it out that Frodo was his own son, raised with the help of a kind, gentle king from another land. He wakes up the morning after them and is okay that it’s not real. When he spins tales to Frodo and dear Samwise, he always ends up back in the world of a peaceful king with a son whose eyes shone like the brightest sapphires.

Thorin was not a legend to him as he was to the dwarves of Erebor. Thorin was a story, the same beautiful being told in as many ways as the mind could muster. His love lived on unnamed in hundreds of tales, leaving none but Bilbo to treasure the thought of his king.

[strawwritesfic]

Frodo Baggins x Female!Hobbit!Reader: Girl

Summary: Frodo doesn’t really mean it about turning Merry and Pippins into toads, but there are times he wonders if that wouldn’t make things a little easier on everyone else.

Rating/Tags: All (Movie canon; during canon; Fellowship of the Ring; A Long-Expected Party; Pippin & Merry; Pippin & Merry & Frodo; Frodo & Gandalf; Sam/Rosie; quarreling; love confession; birthday party; the Shire)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Girl

Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party had been the talk of the whole Shire for almost the entire year that led up to it. Every hobbit in the town of Hobbiton—and many more from the outlying regions—was invited to the massive celebration. To the young Frodo Baggins wandering through the crowd, it seemed that each and every one of them had come. Plus some, he judged, as a line of his uncle’s well-wishers nearly crushed him in their eagerness to get to the buffet. He had seen nearly everyone he cared to, including Merry and Pippin and Rosie and Sam...save for the one person he had hoped to see most.

The weight in Frodo’s stomach grew heavier and heavier the longer his search for you went on. Could it be that you hadn’t come? Of all the hobbits to skip his coming of age party—and to add to that, he knew that it was his fault if you had! If only he had not said what he’d said just that very week. Then maybe, maybe—

“Frodo!”

He looked up to see Merry and Pippin waving at him from beside the band playing for the wide field of dancers between Frodo and his friends. Both grinned widely upon catching his eye. Unable to entirely hide his disappointment, Frodo morosely picked his careful way through the throng of party-goers to the pair. Neither of them stopped smiling.

“Why the long face, Frodo?” Merry asked.

“Are you still looking for [Name]?” added Pippin.

Frodo looked over his shoulder at the constantly-shifting dancers, half-expecting to see you there with some other neighborhood tween. He did not. Pippin’s grin widened as Frodo turned back to him and Merry.

“Never fear,” Pippin gave Frodo a hearty clap on the back, “for we have found your maiden fair.”

Frodo tried to protest this, but Merry overrode him: “A little bird told us precisely where you can find her.”

“Who was the little bird?” asked Frodo. 

Merry shrugged carelessly and reached for a passing tray of ales. “Gandalf,” he answered, passing Pippin a drink of his own while the latter nodded sagely.

“You know, I rather think Gandalf suspects us of something, Merry.”

“I believe you are correct, Pippin. And that he believes sending us on this errand to help Frodo will keep us from any mischief.”

“A pity for Gandalf. Everyone has to be wrong from time to time, I suppose, even great wizards such as he.”

Both sniggered into their mugs. Frodo waited for them to get to the point. They didn’t. At last, unable to wait any longer, he said:

“Well? Where is she?”

Merry gave a slight start, as though he had forgotten that Frodo was even there. He pointed off towards the edge of the main tent.

“Her mother has her helping with the catering, or so [Name] claims.”

“So you’ve spoken to her?”

Pippin shook his head. “Threw a plate right at my nose when we tried. You’ll probably have better luck.”

“I doubt it,” Frodo murmured. 

After gulping down the last of his ale, Merry made a shooing motion with his free hand. “Well, run along and find out, why don’t you? And if you see Gandalf along the way, tell him we passed along his message and were perfectly well-behaved for the duration of our conversation.”

Frodo knew that he ought to have been more concerned with his companions’ plans. If Gandalf desired to keep them occupied, it was probably for the best. A lot of planning had gone into this party. Merry and Pippin were more likely to ruin it with their particular brand of trouble than any of the other guests—and that included the horrible Sackville-Bagginses. On the other hand, Gandalf must have wanted Frodo to talk to you, if he’d gone out of his way to give him your whereabouts.

It hardly mattered. Before Frodo could breech the topic of whatever trouble the two were up to that evening, they had disappeared into the crowd. Oh, well. He hadn’t really wanted to tell them off anyway. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Relieved of this duty—though not without feeling some slight trepidation over what Merry and Pippin might have planned—he made his way in the direction indicated. This led him straight to a smaller tent set off from the rest of the festivities. Frodo joined the fast-moving line to the entrance and eventually came close enough to peek inside. A veritable hive of busy hobbits in uniform bustled endlessly before him.

None of them seemed to notice him slipping into the warm darkness after them. Everyone was far too busy with their assigned task. Here the party’s considerable amount of food was prepared, and none of the workers had time to rest. A constant stream of them carrying plates both empty and full moved in and out from the tent’s entrance flap. Heat from exertion and so many cooking fires pressed against Frodo’s skin until he was quite as pink in the face as those doing the baking. Of course, he found you at the very back, scowling over a steaming tub of water filled with dirty serving platters.

He was not surprised you were hiding among the cooks. Your mother was considered one of the top chefs in Hobbiton, and Bilbo had hired only the best for his eleventy-first birthday party. What did surprise Frodo was your expression. Rarely had he seen you appear so dour, and you hadn’t even spotted him yet.

“Pardon me, Mister Frodo,” said a man at Frodo’s back, “but if you wouldn’t mind scooting out of the way, I’d be much obliged. We’re rather in a hurry.”

Frodo hastily crossed the aisle in which he’d been lingering. The man’s additional, “and a very happy birthday to you, sir,” was lost on him, for at that very moment your eyes flashed upward to catch him in the act of spying. You dropped the platter in your hands, but being pinned in by the hobbits washing plates on either side of you, you could make no escape. One of the washers left, only for Frodo to step into the empty space.

You crossed your arms across your chest, and shot him a look eerily reminiscent of your mother. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my party,” Frodo answered, “as well as Bilbo’s.”

Apparently this was the wrong answer, because you threw him a dirty look and bent to snatch your dropped plate from the sudsy water. “Then go enjoy your party,” you snarled, attacking a stuck on bit of potato with more vigor than Frodo thought necessary. 

He inched closer, the better to stay out of the way of those continually coming to deposit dinnerware in need of washing. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

Your mother had explicitly freed you from catering duty for the party. She had done it as a favor to Frodo, an early birthday present, she had said. Why, then, did you seem so insistent on doing what wasn’t your job for the evening? Without bothering to look at him, you dropped your tray back into the tub, then reached over the resulting splash for a new plate.

“I’m sure Merry and Pippin would be more than happy to talk with you,” you said coldly.

“I don’t think I want involved with whatever they’re up to.”

“Bilbo, then.”

“He’s busy playing host.”

“Gandalf.”

“How would he keep an eye on Merry and Pippin?”

You threw your hands up in the air in frustration, and lost your grip on the plate. “Why not Sam?”

Frodo shuffled his feet. You were nearing the subject of your fight, whether you realized or not. “He and Rosie are dancing.”

Nose wrinkled, you rummaged through the water in search of your platter. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Frodo. Those are all the boys I know, and your only friends. After all, you told me yourself we can’t be friends, because I’m a girl.”

His wide blue eyes closed in shame. Frodo had said that. He hadn’t meant it. The whole thing had been badly bungled, and now he didn’t know how to un-bungle it, or if you’d even give him the chance to try. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, [Name].”

You did not answer this time. Having retrieved your wet things, you made a silent, angry beeline for a rack of clean towels to dry them with. He followed as quickly as he could, given how many hobbits were inside such an enclosed area. He wished he wasn’t having this fight so publicly—not that anyone really had the time to eavesdrop.

“[Name], I didn’t,” he insisted as he caught up to you. “You’re a girl.”

“Oh, very astute observation,” you said semi-hysterically. Now the pitch of your voice was drawing attention. “What would I do without you? I already figured out I was a girl because, in case you haven’t noticed, we're no longer friends!”

Frodo took a deep breath. Like mother like daughter—though he supposed you were still a tween, with your own coming of age several months away still. Either way, he was terrified of your rage, but this might be the last chance he got to explain himself. Bracing himself, he lightly looped one hand around your wrist. You fell into an enraged silence at once.

“You’re a girl and my friend,” he said, before you had the opportunity to recollect yourself. “When I said I didn’t have any friends that were girls…well, I meant that you’re something more.”

“What?” you said after a moment of struggle. 

Encouraged by your not making to run off again, Frodo slipped his hand from your wrist to your palm. “I didn’t mean that we weren’t friends. I was trying to ask you to dance with me. I just didn’t phrase it right.”

A strange noise like a cross between a giggle and a squeak escaped you. You still had not forced him to release you. “You wanted to dance? With me?”

The odd tone of your voice gave Frodo some doubts. You were not normally the kind of person to repeat others either. He offered you a hesitant nod.

“I didn’t mean to make you think you mean less to me than Sam and the rest. You don’t. You mean more. But,” he added when you remained as stiff as a statue in front of him, “if you want to just stay friends, I understand. So long as we’re still friends.”

Seconds went by as you continued to gape at him. His heart sank, and he let go of your hand at last. Yes, he understood you wanting to remain friends, but that didn’t mean he wasn't disappointed by this turn of events. Bilbo’s occasional asides about broken hearts made sense now. Frodo mashed his lips together for a long moment before he gathered his wits about him to take his leave.

“You’re busy," he said awkwardly as he backed away. "Bilbo will be looking for me. We’ll talk some other—”

“Of course I’ll dance with you!”

Frodo had barely got two steps toward the crowded tent exit when you practically tackled him in a hug. Twisting in your grip, he looked around to see your scowl had transformed into an enormous smile.

“You will?” he said. Bewildered as he was, his heart felt ten pounds lighter even as you shuffled off him to allow him room to stand.

“Yes! I—I like you as more than a friend, too. I’d love to dance with you. If,” you looked suddenly shy, “if you still want to after I was so mean.”

“You weren’t mean. I said the wrong thing. I got nervous.”

You smiled again, a little less brightly this time. “So…still more than friends?”

“More than friends,” he said. “But can you leave? Will your mother let you?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll serve me next if she catches me hiding from you in here.”

Just like that, you both were hand in hand again. Frodo squeezed yours firmly in his own. “Let’s go. I think I can get the band to play—”

KABOOM!

Everyone in the tent yelped and froze. Plates trembled. Frightened hobbits dropped their plates. You threw Frodo a knowing look.

“Pippin and Merry?” you asked.

“Pippin and Merry,” Frodo said wearily. “Let’s go see what sort of trouble they got in this time.”

“Then we dance?”

“Then we dance.”

The two of you ducked out of the food tent and headed for where Gandalf and a cluster of half-drunk hobbits—all grumbling over the fright they had received—were gathered. 

It was hard for Frodo to be too upset with Merry and Pippin after they’d help him get together with you. Gandalf had, too, however, so it could be that they were about to get what they deserved. It all depended on how much time this business took, and if Frodo at last got to have his long-awaited birthday dance.

On second thought, he hoped Gandalf turned them both into toads. It would be faster, Frodo thought, and after all, Gandalf could always turn them back...after you and Frodo had your dance.

[davidfarland]

David Farland’s Writing Tips: One Tip for a Powerful Ending

A few days ago, I was thinking about the endings to stories and what they made me feel. In particular, I was wondering, “What makes a story stick with me? What makes it feel like a classic?”

One author suggested that a great story typically arouses a sense of tragic romance.  In other words, love ends badly. I have to admit, there are some great stories that end that way. For example, John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars has two romantically involved teens who fall in love, but one of them dies.  Since it is a first-love, it feels doubly tragic.

Of course, it is a retelling of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliette,” except that it is cancer that holds the two lovers apart instead of a street gang. We see the same kind of emotions being aroused in many other powerful romances, enough so that I’ve heard Nicholas Sparks describe himself as a “tragic-romance” writer.

Let’s face it, if every romance ended in tragedy, I’d be scared sockless to fall in love. There are plenty of stories with “happily-ever-after” fairytale endings, where one hopes that the lovers live practically forever before they die in their sleep.

Yet many of those seem rather weak when compared to stories that have a stronger bite.

So this makes me wonder: what about non-romances? Let’s take a genre like horror. Do we need to have tragedy mixed with our horror to make it work? I don’t think so. Watching a world get irredeemably trashed doesn’t work.

Probably my all-time favorite horror film was “Alien.” At the end, I felt a strong sense of triumph along with creeping menace.

A few nights ago, I watched “Django” for the first time, a show where a black bounty hunter shoots up the south back in the 1800s, and we as an audience cheer giddily as he tries to “kill all the white folks in the south.” I found myself smiling over some of the better jokes in that one for two days.

I could go on, but I began to see a pattern. With stories that affected me the most, I noticed that they almost always arouse dual emotions.

Aristotle suggested that those two emotions be pity and fear. Pity for the protagonist bound to a horrible fate, and fear that “but for the grace of god, there go I.” Those are powerful together, I suppose, but off the top of my head, I can’t think of a tale that I love that arouse those emotions.

What I do think I see though is a pattern: the best tales tend to arouse two emotions at once. In Lord of the Rings, as Frodo leaves the Shire forever and goes to live in the Gray Havens, there is a strong sense of triumph, that something good has been accomplished, along with a sense of loss, for Frodo has not won the Shire for himself.

I could go on all day, but I think that perhaps you see where I’m heading. If you’re hoping to write a timeless story, pick the primary emotion that you want to arouse—wonder, fear, love, redemption—but then see if you can somehow meld it to an unexpected secondary emotion.

For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/

And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.

[marietheran]

LotR reread - book 2, chapter 1 - Many Meetings

That awakening scene and Gandalf's grumbling are iconic.

"You have talked long in your sleep, Frodo, and it has not been hard for me to read your mind and memory" - more potential mind-reading. Yes, Frodo was talking, but the phrasing implies more than that.

Honestly Frodo is rather unperturbed for someone who keeps getting told "oh, and by the way, I read your mind"

Frodo's disbelief that Gandalf could ever be held captive :))

Frodo having thought all the "Big People" stupid before meeting Aragorn. He doesn't seem to have considered Gandalf as one of them, though.

"Fortune or fate have helped you" - something for the Mysterious Allusions Counter?? Let's leave it at 3.5.

That the Shire could withstand Sauron until all else might be conquered, almost as much as Rivendell, according to Gandalf!

"To what he will come in the end not even Elrond can foretell." - Proof that Elrond has foresight? Or just referring to his knowledge of healing?

"He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can" - beautiful phrasing; what does it mean?

Some of the elves are "as merry as children"! -> me @ Peter Jackson

"We are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is getting dark." "Gandalf has been saying many cheerful things like that."

"On his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength"

Elrond is "ageless, neither old nor young"... "venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters [Elros! 🥲💔], and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fullness of his strength." Hmm, half-elven heritage seems to show.

His hair "dark as the shadows of twilight" - compare: Lúthien ("dark as shadow was her hair"); Arwen being both a carbon copy of her illustrious foremother and like her father in female form.

"Mighty among both Elves and Men"

Arwen also has this "young and not" quality. Both she and her father are said to have the light of stars in their eyes.

Hmmm... Grey rainment with no ornament save a silver girdle + headdress. Not Noldorin fashion, I believe.

Bilbo definitely knows about Arwen and seems to tease Aragorn. Not sure if it counts as an allusion, being semi-overt... counter at 1.5

When I was 13 I decided to learn the Eärendil poem by heart and got halfway through - later I learned the rest of it through music settings.

Hmm... I doubt Bilbo should be taken as an expert on Eärendil's journey, but it does seem the Mariner almost crashed himself on the Helcaraxë (From gnashing of the Narrow Ice) where shadow lies on frozen hills.../He turned in haste, and roving still, etc.). And then there's the mysterious "Night of Naught"; I'm not sure if it was mentioned in the Silm.

O'er leagues unlit and foundered shores/ that drowned before the Days began *:･ﾟ✧*

He came into the timeless halls/ where shining fall the countless years ✧*:･ ...Brings to mind elements of Galadriel's song later on...

The Silmaril as lantern light/ and banner bright with living flame/ to gleam thereon by Elbereth/ herself was set, who thither came (!!)

And over Middle-earth he passed/ and heard at last the weeping sore/ of women and of elven-maids/ in Elder Days, in years of yore... haunting...

But, yes, Bilbo dies have cheek in reciting that in the house of Elrond

Aragorn very overtly talking to Arwen, cleaned-up and all. The scene is specifically drawn attention to; I hesitate to add this to my AragornxArwen allusion counter because it's not even an allusion! Mmm... 1.75

"I'll take a walk, I think, and look at the stars of Elbereth in the garden" -- oh, Bilbo, you're getting very Elvish

[philtstone]

for Spotify wrapped prompts: lotr characters of your choice + #11?? (trying my luck to see if I somehow don’t land on a Bollywood song but will be thrilled no matter what!)

#11 -- main hoon na (I'm here now) so funny story my spotify wrapped playlist does NOT include numbering. no numbers. god knows why. and i am not counting my way thru that list. which means i will simply be selecting an inspiration song from the list for each of these prompts, but that still is not saving u from the bollywood of it all. so, to really hard launch things, im splicing the goofiest most spy kids ass incredibly sweet movie of all time with -- of course -- the hippie camp counsellor au

Aragorn's headache has been building since well before lunch, but the relative absence of any sort of real amenities at this truck stop has only made it worse.

First: because outside of a measly bag of chips, which he insisted be shared by Arwen (prone to blood-sugar-related headaches), Eowyn (technically still growing her frontal lobe), Frodo (looking too solemn for a thirteen year old, also still growing), and Sam (who immediately offered his share to Frodo), Aragorn has not eaten anything since their stop at the forlorn Wendy's last night.

Second: because, in pursuit of something more sustaining than said measly bag of chips, Merry and Pippin went investigating. Alone. And now they've been misplaced.

“Under construction! To be replaced by what? A corporate behemoth without any soul?! Without a whit of warmth? Grand oak tables! The ambiance of a fine dining experience! My cousin Balin’s restaurant was no ordinary truck stop facility! The spaghetti bolognese alone made it worth the detour! How many a road trip did I take as a boy –”

Gimli is only twenty one, so this is not so significant as all that. 

“Do you think we wouldn’t have misplaced them if we tried to find another Wendy’s?” Legolas asks philosophically, as if Gimli is not standing beside him on the verge of tears.

“We haven’t misplaced them,” Aragorn says. They definitely have. “We must simply ask around – they couldn’t have gotten far. At worst, they have squirreled their way into one of these trucks, and we would definitely notice that.”

The obnoxious horn-blowing alone, Aragorn thinks.

“They could have been kidnapped,” says Legolas, all pragmatic cheer. “Or run over. Or they could be trapped in one of the toilet stalls – the locks stuck on Gimli for a good five minutes when we were in there.”

“Gone!” wails Gimli, who gets very theatrical when upset. “Erased! An institution of road-side relaxation! Oooh, how could Balin not have told me? And for it to be replaced by a barren Travel Center with nothing but a few vending machines! I wasn’t prepared for this kind of tragedy to happen in my lifetime …”

“Legolas,” Aragorn grits out, “some optimism, please.” Gimli is going through multiple stages of grief, so Aragorn lets him be. “Let us put our heads together and do something constructive.”

Canvassing the truckers seems as immediate a solution as any, so that is what they do.

“We’re looking for the cousins of my father’s friend’s nephew,” Gimli describes emotionally to a confused old woman in a cowboy hat and her somewhat tree-shaped husband. “If anyone would have appreciated the smoked smash burgers of my own cousin’s menu … but it’s all lost now! Could you’ve seen ‘em?”

“We’re looking for two very small children,” Legolas says solemnly to the biker gang Eomer had serendipitously known from university, but who eye them with suspicion nonetheless. “You know, the kind you look at and immediately think, oh God, small children, if you’re the sort to not like children much.”

“We’re looking for two pre-teen boys,” Aragorn clarifies at every interval, feeling desperate. “Aged twelve and eleven, with fair hair, coming up to no higher than my hip. You couldn’t miss them if you tried; one of them is wearing a Super Mario t-shirt.” 

“Oh, that will be Pippin,” Legolas confirms from behind him. “Terrible taste in video games.”

Gimli dabs tearfully at his eyes with a large checkered handkerchief he pulled from the back of his jeans.

It’s not that he’s truly worried Merry and Pippin have been kidnapped – they do have a rudimentary grasp of stranger danger – only Aragorn is supposed to be exercising leadership on this trip. He is the driver, after all. Even if he still isn't wholly confident in his grad school options.

“Maybe you could do MSF or something,” Legolas wonders aloud, as they look underneath a particularly rusty-looking sixteen-wheeler for their runaway tweens. “Next year I mean, in between things. I’m sure Uncle Elrond would consider that a viable career. You had the pamphlet in your backpack last month and everything.”

“You need a medical degree to do MSF, Legolas,” Aragorn says tiredly; it’s not that he hasn’t thought about it.

“What if you started your own version of MSF, with herbal medicine,” Legolas continues, undeterred. “I’m sure that would be popular amongst middle class white moms. And you’d be an entrepreneur.” 

It would somewhat defeat the whole point, but Aragorn appreciates the brainstorming. 

Back to Merry and Pippin – technically they are Gandalf’s responsibility – but Gandalf is in the bathroom, so they feel like his, and, furthermore, Aragorn’s getting a bit nervous about leaving Frodo and Sam in the van all alone for so long. Two days ago they found a feral possum in the trunk who they kept on because it has an uncanny sense of direction (it will scratch at random points on the map when it’s not screaming and hissing from the back seat), and though it won’t stop chewing on the hem of Frodo’s jeans, Frodo refuses to let them toss it out of the car; he insists he and the possum can communicate. Aragorn would think he was lying if not for Sam also insisting they can communicate – he has absolutely nothing good to say about the Possum’s personality – and, well, Sam’s a stoutly practical kid. So certainly they must be being truthful.

But the poor possum could bite them, left unattended.

Aragorn decides to try the biker gang one last time.

“Please,” Aragorn says, “they’re like our younger brothers; we can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”

“Hmm,” says the gruffest of the lot, after a prolonged bout of contemplation. “There was a fist fight or something by the portapotties — I saw a kid’s backpack lying around afterward.”

Of course it had to be a fistfight, Aragorn thinks, as Gimli goes pale and Legolas places a delicate mourning hand flat upon his breast. They march over to the portapotties, accordingly. Sure enough, the backpack is there, but Merry and Pippin are nowhere to be found.

Aragorn kicks at the side of the nearest portable. His toe clips it awkwardly, so he has to sit down for a minute, limping, and resist the urge to bury his head in his hands.

“Oh,” he hears Legolas say. “Oh, alright. Yeah. Yeah. Uh huh.”

Aragorn looks up. 

“It's Eowyn,” Legolas says, holding his phone up somewhat unnecessarily. “She says they’re in the van.”

“This whole time?” asks Gimli, slow of voice.

“Well, no. They’ve got deli sandwiches with them. Real ones. Apparently the honey ham is pretty good.”

“Give me the phone,” Aragorn says; Legolas does.

“Hello,” it is not Eowyn, but Arwen’s musical voice on the other end of the line. Aragorn wonders if she perhaps anticipated his mood from the other end of the truck stop and so had the forethought to rescue an unwitting Eowyn from it. Arwen does occasionally demonstrate a telepathic sort of vibe when it comes to him. “We heard your yell from all the way over here – is everything alright?”

Oh. Right.

“Put Merry and Pippin on, please,” Aragorn says, because he couldn’t bear to be rude to his girlfriend and his toe really is throbbing, so he can’t trust himself. “Are they – there, yes. Yes. Well I can hear them in the background. Arwen –”

“Hullo Aragorn,” comes Pippin’s voice, after a staticy smartphone handover.

“I will leave you here next time,” Aragorn says.

“No he won’t,” says Legolas.

“No he won’t,” says Gimli.

“He’s just a little hungry,” chimes in Arwen, a muffled distance from the receiver.

“Well, that’s alright!” says Pippin, before Aragorn can protest. “We got you sandwiches, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yes,” adds Merry, just as close to the phone. “We picked one up just for you. Saved it and everything from that biker gang and Frodo’s possum.”

“Oh, he’s named it now. Calls it Smeagol.”

“I thought he said it introduced itself.”

“Oh, yes, it did do that. Sam disagrees though, says it’s named Gollum.”

“Terrible name for a possum.”

“Don’t you think so? But anyway, your sandwich is safe with us.”

And, despite it all, Aragorn finds that he can do absolutely nothing else but laugh loudly, fondly, and for a long while.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 16: The Wisdom

Spoliers here! Get your spoilers here! This is a reread and I've read every book in the series except the ones that came out after it was over and I will tell you every detail that ever happened out of spite if you don't take this opportunity to protect yourself now! Run away!

We get yet another new chapter icon as we move into this chapter. Three leaves on a vine, and boy does it symbolize a lot. For this chapter it represents Nynaeve and her crashing the party. As we go forward it will refer to Tinkers, Ogier (particularly Loial) and the Waygates built for them, and even the Green Man.

“We don’t have time for that, boy,” Thom said gruffly. Min gave the white-haired gleeman a sharp look. “Go juggle something,” she snapped, drawing Rand further away from the others.

I can't tell what's better, Thom assuming that Rand's ducking out of the meeting to make out with a random woman, or Min telling Thom to go play with his balls. It's a strong showing though!

You’re all in more danger today than yesterday. Since she came.

Min, I'm going to be honest with you: you are the worst person in the world when it comes to interpreting your visions. There are assholes who grew up literally on your hometown's antipode with more skill than you. Right now, you're making Rand think that the danger is supposed to be Nynaeve, and that's crazy talk. Everyone is in more danger right now than they were a little while ago when you tormented Rand last because he's gone off and antagonized two sets of people.

Also, I forgot to mention last night, but all of Rand's actions are the equivalent of Frodo accidentally putting on the One Ring in the inn in Bree. I guess that makes Nynaeve Strider, which is awesome but of course nonsense because Lan is Strider. Thank goodness it's not one-to-one. Really I'd say every member of the nine EotW crew (counting Loial) has equivalences with two or more members of the Fellowship. Nynaeve's other half is Sam, for example.

Moiraine and Nynaeve sat at opposite ends of the table, neither taking her eyes from the other. All the other chairs were empty. Moiraine’s hands rested on the table, as still as her face. Nynaeve’s braid was thrown over her shoulder, the end gripped in one fist; she kept giving it little tugs the way she did when she was being even more stubborn than usual with the Village Council. Perrin was right. Despite the fire it seemed freezing cold, and all coming from the two women at the table.

I don't have anything to say here, I just really like it.

“You . . . followed our trail?” Lan said, truly surprised for the first time that Rand could remember. “I must be getting careless.”

This is the exact moment that Lan realizes what love is, and unlike so many of the romances in this series I'm quite happy with this one because as minimal as their reasons are they're perfectly good ones. Nynaeve is talented enough to best Lan and he's awestruck. Good.

“If you can follow a trail I have tried to hide, he taught you well. Few can do that, even in the Borderlands.” Abruptly Nynaeve buried her face in her cup. Rand’s eyes widened. She was blushing.

And this is the exact moment that Nynaeve falls in love, because Lan doesn't give her shit, he doesn't dismiss her for being too young, he just tells her she's as incredible as she knows she is.

They’d swarm over this inn like murderous ants on a rumor, a whisper. Their hate is that strong, their desire to kill or take any like these two.

Also Thom, Rand royally pissed them off earlier. You all should probably know that. It's a real shame none of you know that.

“We can’t,” Rand said, and was glad that his friends all spoke up at the same time. That way Nynaeve’s glare had to be spread around; she spared no one as it was. But he had spoken first, and they all fell silent, looking at him. Even Moiraine sat back in her chair, watching him over steepled fingers.

I mean she's way more moral about all of this but she is technically part of a cabal trying to bring about the fulfillment of prophecy to usher in a new age of humankind, and the reluctant teenage boy is finally promising to get in the robotgo to Tar Valon.

The Light knows how your . . . Mistress Alys”—she invested the name with a wagonload of scorn— “managed to make him believe; he has a mite of sense, usually, more than most men.

She didn't even talk to him, amusingly.

He’s afraid you’ll try your tricks with outlanders and get your head thumped.

Well, Mat's dad is right about one of those things already.

Egwene sat back so she was shielded by Perrin. “I left a note,” she said faintly. She tugged at the hood of her cloak as if she was afraid her unbound hair showed. “I explained everything.” Nynaeve’s face darkened.

What so many people miss in their support of one character over another is that Egwene is just as stupid and immature as Rand, Mat, and Perrin: she just shows it differently. If I were in Nynaeve's shoes and hearing this shit, Moiraine couldn't have interrupted my rant about "A note!" if she'd balefired me.

Even those poor men who find themselves wielding the Power for a short time gain that much, though sometimes touching saidin protects, and sometimes the taint makes them more vulnerable. 

For somebody who's supposedly pretty impatient and pissed, she sure is infodumping. Moiraine's such a nerd.

Egwene bounced to her feet, her desire to be dignified obviously warring with her desire to avoid a confrontation with the Wisdom over her unbraided hair. She had no difficulty gathering up everyone by eye, though. Mat and Perrin scraped back their chairs hurriedly, making polite murmurs while trying not to actually run on their way out. Even Lan started for the door at a signal from Moiraine, drawing Thom with him.

Again, there's not much to say, just the joy of the sheer intensity that is Moiraine and Nynaeve in the same room while innocent bystanders look on in horror. Shame it's over.

She turned toward Rand, and for the first time he realized the others had all quietly disappeared.

Poor Rand, too nosy to escape quickly, too thick to realize that Nynaeve's nervous around Lan because she's afraid that she'll jump his bones.

“Something happened,” he insisted. “Why do you want us to go back if you think there’s even a chance we are right? And why you, at all? As soon send the Mayor himself as the Wisdom.” “You have grown.” She smiled, and for a moment her amusement had him shifting his feet.

Again, Rand's actually really adept at political matters, he just doesn't realize it. Tam must have been prepping him for the Council his whole life.

Either way, though, almost every man wanted to be one of the party. Tam, and Bran al’Vere, with the scales of office around his neck, and Haral Luhhan, till Alsbet made him sit down. Even Cenn Buie. The Light save me from men who think with the hair on their chests. Though I don’t know as there are any other kind.

Note the double hypocrisy, in that Nynaeve is criticizing everyone for thinking they should be the ones to go get the kids when she thought the same thing about herself, and for criticizing people for thinking with their hair when her braid is how she gets her own neurons firing.

“Are you all right?” Nynaeve asked. “He said . . . said I . . . wasn’t his son. When he was delirious . . . with the fever. He said he found me. I thought it was just. . . .” His throat began to burn, and he had to stop. “Oh, Rand.” She stopped and took his face in both hands. She had to reach up to do it. “People say strange things in a fever. Twisted things. Things that are not true, or real. Listen to me. Tam al’Thor ran away seeking adventure when he was a boy no older than you. I can just remember when he came back to Emond’s Field, a grown man with a red-haired, outlander wife and a babe in swaddling clothes. I remember Kari al’Thor cradling that child in her arms with as much love given and delight taken as I have ever seen from any woman with a babe. Her child, Rand. You. Now you straighten up and stop this foolishness.”

It is both incredibly sweet that she notices something is wrong with Rand immediately and cares enough to ask and try and reassure him when she's pissed at how stupid she thinks he is and incredibly silly that the reassurance she gives - of a time when she was four or five years old and would have had nothing but a few fleeting encounters with the foreigner and baby who live out of town even when they do come home - is going to reassure anyone who isn't actively trying to drown in denial.

“No, it isn’t your business,” Nynaeve agreed. “It might not mean anything. She could just be searching blindly for a reason, any reason, why those things are after you. After all of you.”

This, though also wrong, is a much more reasonable sort of guess. That said, it's something Nynaeve wants to be true, so she doesn't think about the obvious connections either.

Sadly, that's it for this chapter. Next time we return to the Lord of the Rings inspiration when they have to leave the inn early due to an invasion of black-cloaked riders who serve supernatural evil.

[thewitchkingiscool-ace]

Stay With Me- Chapter Four: Shadowed By Demise (Boromir x reader)

Other chapters:

Chapter 1: Don’t Let Me Fall

Chapter 2: Thoughts Of Silver

Chapter 3: Golden Sunlight Breaking Through The Clouds

Description: The final chapter of my boromir x reader fic. I don’t really want to spoil anything, but this is set at the end of FotR, so I don’t think I need to tell you what happens to Boromir… 

Whole fellowship is in this except Frodo and Sam.

Tropes: angst, a little tinsy bit of fluff, but it’s a sad chapter so sorry :(

Warnings: fatal injuries, blood

Length: 1.7k words (1,781 words)

Genre: LotR

Notes: none really 

Chapter: 4/4

Up until now, you and Boromir had not failed to defend each other as the Uruk-hai pursued you. Though the going was tough while you clung to his side with his strong arm around your shoulder, the two of you managed it. However, some attacks were difficult to counter. And as an orc swung his sharp, heavy shield down upon you, you could not defend yourself in time, and neither could Boromir. It struck your upper shoulder blade with a blow that knocked the air out of you, and you jerked towards the ground, out of Boromir’s grasp. You lay, in throbbing agony, on the leaf-covered floor, blinking rapidly to keep the tears out of your eyes. You heard the orc that had struck you fall to the floor, but this didn’t give you much reassurance. They were everywhere. And now you were lying wounded on the floor, no longer in Boromir’s grasp. 

With each pulse of blood through your veins, the fresh wound throbbed as if the shield still lay embedded in your shoulder, and you cried out, tears swimming back into your eyes. You blinked them away and tried to get to your feet, knowing that if you no longer wanted to be a burden for the fellowship, you would have to fend for yourself. With a thud, you placed two feet on the blood-coated forest floor, and the first thing you saw was a sight that made your stomach lurch with sickness.

Boromir was being pushed further and further back by a huge wall of orcs. His head was only just visible above their helmets, and from the brief glimpses you saw of his face, he was panic-stricken. You wanted so badly to run to him and help him, like the countless times he had saved you. But your wound was agonising, and with every movement, it began to throb more and more. So instead of aiding him, all you could do was crouch gazing after him helplessly. His eyes met yours and you saw him begin to fight more frantically to get to you, but soon he was overcome and his head ducked beneath the crowd of orcs, and you could see him no more. 

You were still crouching on the damp forest floor when Gimli ran over to you and hoisted you to your feet by your good shoulder, and as your other shoulder dropped a little at the movement, you cried out again, more subtly this time, in an effort to try and mask it from the dwarf. 

“Come on, lass/lad,” he said to you gruffly, and you nodded once, then broke free from him and limped painfully towards the orcs, mustering up the last of your strength to defend the man that you held so dear to your heart. 

Aragorn and Legolas were now by your side, and as you were fighting yet another gathering of Uruk-hai, the blast of a horn rang through the thick trees, loud, strong, and clear. It was a horn that was now so familiar to you from your many visits to the White City, as you had watched troops of soldiers in their silver armour training for battle in its grounds.

The horn of Gondor.

All sound around you seemed to stop, except the tones of the horn echoing loud enough that anyone within half a mile could have heard it. But the thudding of the orcs was gone, though they were still swarming around you. The sour clang of steel against steel was muffled. All that replaced it was the pulsing of your heart in your ears, so loud that you could feel your eardrums vibrating.

There could only be one person behind it. The only one who possessed such a horn. The only one who you knew was in the direction that the sound was coming from. And he was making himself a target. 

“The horn of Gondor!” Legolas spoke with shock. 

“Boromir,” you and Aragorn said in unison, and sprinted past the elf towards the sound, along with all the Uruk-hai that were following it. Why was he doing this? It was reckless! It was perilous! Surely he was aware of the danger? Then it must be an act of sacrifice, a last means of protecting the Fellowship before his strength was spent…

With every blow of the horn you felt more and more desperateness driving your limbs forward, a need to reach him in time that pushed you onward through the orcs faster than any motivation your own mind could muster. It was your heart driving you forward now, and you let it take over. 

You reached the sound in what you thought was just in time. There he stood in front of Merry and Pippin, their petrified faces watching the Uruk-hai in dismay. They soon snapped their heads towards you and the ranger, and Pippin tugged at Boromir’s sleeve and pointed in your direction. Boromir locked eyes with you, and his desperate gaze seemed to be pleading you to get out of there, and find safety. He shifted back and forth for a moment, split in two on whether to protect you and Aragorn or the young hobbits. He settled for a gesture with his hand, one that told you that you must get away, and that he could no longer protect you. That one movement of his arm told you that he was sorry. 

All you could do was stare at him in horror. 

Your aching heart seemed to stop beating as a distinct thudding came through the trees at the top of the shoulder of a hill to your left. To your sheer and utter despair, as you tore your eyes away from the captain of Gondor to look up at the slope, there stood Lurtz, the leader of the Uruk-hai, armed with a large bow. All pain from the wound on your shoulder no longer seemed relevant. Lurtz grinned menacingly and cruelly as he came stomping down the hill, followed by his second-in-command and his strongest gathering of uruks. And he had his eyes set on Boromir.

Time seemed to stop. A lurching, sickening nausea bubbled from your stomach and up through your throat, the darkness sticking fast over your heart once again, and you could not even cry out to Boromir as Lurtz raised his bow, smiling horribly as he locked onto his target. Boromir still span and slashed at the oncoming orcs, and there was nothing you could do to allert the captain of Gondor to his presence in time. 

Lurtz released his arm. Aragorn was still battling the orcs behind you. You could not keep track of the arrow as it rocketed towards Boromir, and your whole heart lurched with a blood-chilling dismay as he staggered backwards from the impact of the arrow, a short gasp escaping his lungs. He looked down at the wretched thing, sticking out of the front of his lower shoulder, and blinked slowly in pain. His hair did not seem to glow anymore. It was shadowed by oncoming demise and by the fact that the sun was nowhere to be seen. Merry and Pippin had been throwing stones at oncoming orcs and suddenly they ceased, arms suspended in mid-throw as they watched the man stumble backwards in shock and fall to his knees, breaths deep and slow. 

Orcs were still attacking you and you took many blows, the pain in your shoulder suddenly making itself present again as you struggled to counter, through agony of the wound and terror of what was happening to Boromir. Aragorn grabbed you suddenly and moved you away from the orcs, trying to take you down a different sloping path and away from the peril, and all the while you could not take your eyes away from the scene with Lurtz and the man who still fought valiantly to protect the hobbits. He cried out, pushing himself back up to his feet, and to your astonishment, he still fought on despite all pain and terror. 

Your heart was roaring with emotions. Surely, since he was still strong enough to fight, he would make it through this? But a deep shadow still clung to the back of your heart, which only tightened its grip as Boromir was shot by another arrow, and this time he staggered much more painfully. Merry and Pippin were looking at him in shocked sorrow. You broke yourself free of Aragorn’s grasp and sprinted back up the slope he had been trying to take you down and towards Boromir. 

He fell to his knees once again, this time forced down by a defeat growing in his own heart, but a defeat you thought that he should not be feeling. He did not deserve for this moment to be a failure. He had done what many could not; he had fought on through surging pain and terror to protect those who could not defend themselves. Lurtz roared in what seemed to him to be triumph. Boromir was breathing unsteadily, trying his hardest to stay upright as he locked eyes with the hobbits, whose expressions were painted with a sorrow that shook them to their cores, and they were still clutching the rocks in their hands.

The sight of them seemed to ignite a flame  within Boromir again, and suddenly he turned to attack the orcs behind him, swinging his sword strongly, crying out once again. He was back up on his feet, and the darkness on your heart released only a little, but now its place was filled with sorrow, that he was still fighting on through the pain that would eventually take him, which you knew was far worse than that of your shoulder. He was using the last of his strength. He looked around in distress before being shot once again by a third arrow, the life leaving his limbs with each impact. Dismay would not let go of you as you ran to him, but you were held back by the daunting number of orcs that now faced you. The hobbits suddenly charged at the Uruk-hai, but did not make it far, and were lifted up onto the orcs’ shoulders and carried away, adding to the pile of grief that weighed down your body. You caught glimpses of Boromir through the orcs. He was kneeling on the ground, almost motionless, despite his shuddering breaths that he could no longer steady. It was such a cruel sight. To see the man you loved so dearly in a state of demise, passing through one of the stages of being slain. 

Tears swam to your eyes. It suddenly struck you that Boromir would not be around to protect you forever. 

[wordsvoyage]

II. Reunited In Rivendell

3018

It was 3018 in the Third Age when your mother Galadriel received concerning news. This news came from lord Elrond of Rivendell. They found the One Ring, carried by a young hobbit by the name of Frodo Baggins, the young nephew of Bilbo Baggings who you encountered some decades ago. He was sending out messengers far and wide to gather a council to decide how the ring should be destroyed and who would do it. When the messenger came to Lothlorien, your mother and father decided to send you to Rivendell as their representative. As the future queen, this concerned you, too.

A day later, you had gathered the things needed for the journey, and together with three more people, you left. You were traveling for a few days, luckily no issues on the road. Then, you finally reached the passage for Rivendell. As you were crossing it, you felt a sense of relief. You were there, at last, and everything went smoothly. However, you had an unusual feeling deep inside you. As if you were nervous or maybe even scared.

You crossed the passage, and you were already on Rivendell's territory. As you reached the bridge to the gorgeous castle of Rivendell, you saw two dark-haired elves coming towards you - lord Elrond and his right-hand Lindir. You stopped your horse and got off. You smiled at Lord Elrond and bowed to him. He smiled and opened his arms to hug you. 

- Arise, mae govannen! I'm glad to see you even if it's for such concerning events.

- Lord Elrond, I am glad to be back here and that I'm seeing you. Lindir - you turned to the other elf, smiled and since you knew each other from kids, you even hugged him. He was surprised but he hugged you and welcomed you back. 

- Come, my lady, you must be tired. The rest of the party is not here yet, so let us show you to your chambers so you have some rest.

You walked the familiar halls with them, you could see how troubled and concerned Elrond was. The castle of Rivendell, with its halls full of books and rooms from which music sounded, gave you some sort of comfort and warm feelings. Even though you still had this unknown and unusual feeling in you, you tried to ignore it. You reached the chambers and Elrond and Lindir left you to rest. You entered the room with a big, gorgeous balcony, overseeing the beautiful waterfalls and forests, and the entrance to the castle. You stayed there, in the quiet, to think. You knew the fact the ring was found meant your mother's time was almost over. Which meant you had to take your responsibilities seriously now. You knew this was going to be a huge and really important challenge for you, and had to find the strength within yourself. 

You tried to get some rest but you could not get any sleep, you were restless and did not know why. So you did the only thing you've always loved to do when you were at Rivendell - you went out on your balcony. It was early in the morning and the world was waking up around you. Dressed in a light silver gown, with your blonde hair falling on your sholders and back, you could feel the crisp autumn air. You loved this season and the changing leaves, the crisp air and the sense of change.

As you were standing there, you heard horses. You saw three men with beards and long hair coming in. The rest of the council party had finally started to arrive. They were welcomed by the elves and taken inside the castle. This happened with the dwarves that came after as well. And then, you saw him entering - Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood. He got off his horse and greeted the other elves. He looked different but was still as handsome if not even more. You felt it in your heart, the love and the warm feelings just flourishing inside you once more. But they were mixed together with the pain of your broken heart. Yes, after so many years, your heart was still not healed. And then your eyes met. He was still smiling lightly, but he was surprised to see you. You broke eye contact as you looked away and headed back inside your room where you sat on the bed, and even if you didn't want to, you cried.

*******

On the other morning, you woke up and started dressing for the council. You thought how stupid of you was to cry over him. You are a princess, you are strong, and even though it hurts you, this was no way you should be behaving. You stopped yourself from thinking about this and looked yourself in the mirror - you were dressed in a gorgeous long-sleeved light blue gown and you had a beautiful silver crown with blue gems, your hair falling freely. A knock brought you out of your thoughts. It was Lindir who came to escort you to the meeting. You exited your room with him walking closely behind you. Lindir took you to the meeting where everyone was already seated. Elrond presented you. You sat next to him and one of his sons. You immediately felt the eyes of Legolas on you but as soon as you looked at him, he looked away. 

The meeting began. You sat there as everyone was discussing what to do with the ring. The ring had to be destroyed, and everyone knew it. But Boromir, son of Denethor, from Godnor, wanted to get the ring and use it to win. Little did he know that this was never going to happen. At the end of the meeting, it was finally decided that the ring had to be destroyed in the fires of Mordor. Frodo decided to take on this task, surprising everyone. Then Gandalf spoke, pledging to help the hobbit:

- Oh, dear Frodo. I will help you bear this burden as long as it is yours to bear. 

Then, more people followed the example of Gandalf.

- You have my sword - said Aragorn. He kneeled in front of Frodo and smiled to him.

Then Legolas stood up and went to Frodo:

- And you have my bow - said he, and looked at you.

- And my axe - said Gimli, son of Gloin.

Boromir was the last to join, pledging himself to Frodo. He was to protect him from any harm on this journey. This is how the faith of the ring and of every race was decided. Later on, the other hobbits decided to join Frodo on his journey. This is how the Fellowship of the Ring was formed. Nine people to destroy the ring who had the power to destroy all of Middle Earth. Lord Elrond looked at the fellowship and then at you. You stood up and said: 

- This Fellowship holds the faith of all free folk in Middle Earth. It has to hold. Remember, you are connected to each other now, so forget your differences and always think of what binds you - you were talking much like your mother, and looking at each member of the Fellowship. - As you embark on this journey, you can be sure that you will have the protection of Valinor and the elves. But keep in mind that even with it, the road ahead is treacherous and long, and the enemy will do anything in its power to destroy you. But you have to stay together and strong. This is the only way we can defeat him. 

The meeting ended, and it was decided that the Fellowship would leave the next morning. Everyone went to their rooms to prepare. You went back to yours. Now that you were alone, you realized how scared you were that Legolas was going on this mission. When you heard him pledging himself, your heart sank. At first, you did not want to feel this way, but it was inevitable, you were scared for the love of your life. This was also the first time in decades you admitted to yourself that he was the one. Your mother prepared you for this. She knew that you and him were soulmates and were destined to be together, she told you that even if you did not want to feel this way, you had no choice. It was faith that binded you two, and you could not escape it.   Once you were in your room, you sat on a beautiful wooden bench. You were drowned in your thoughts about the future when you heard a knock on the wooden frame and then a familiar voice calling your name. You had not closed the door to your room, and as you turned around, you saw the prince standing in the frame. His eyes were dark with worry and sadness. Regardless he gave you a smile. You took a deep breath and invited him in. 

- Prince Legolas, what brings you to my quarters? 

- Arise...I felt the need to come and see you before we left - said he as he slowly walked toward you. - You look beautiful, my lady.

Something inside you trembled, and tho, you tried not to, you felt your cheeks going a bit red, you had trouble breathing. The last time he said you were beautiful was the day you got to Mirkwood so many years prior. 

- Thank you. I am glad you came to say goodbye...

- Arise, I wanted to say how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. I wasn't thinking straight, I was blinded by feelings I thought were real - he began. - But I realized quickly they were not. The worst thing is that I betrayed you, running away from my responsibilities and duties as a prince. But now, after all that happened and the last events, I've seen my mistake. And shall I return from this journey, I will do what is asked of me. 

As he was speaking, you felt as if he thought of you only as a responsibility, as a duty, something he must do, and not something he truly wants. Which in your mind meant he didn't love you or at least not the way you wanted to be loved. You couldn't help it, you felt your heart break and a lonely tear rolling down your cheek. You had not felt when he got so close to you but as he saw the tear he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. 

- What is wrong, my lady? - he looked at you and erased the tear from your cheek.

- Am I really only a responsibility for you? One of many you have? Am I really just something you are obligated to do? - it was really hard for you to speak, you felt as if you were going to cry any moment now. You had no power to pull yourself together even if you knew you had to. More tears started rolling from your eyes down your face as you were trying to get away from him. - After all this time you did not realize the truth...you did not...you have no idea how I feel. I am only a responsibility, a burden for you.

- Arise, no. You're much more than that...- but you didn't hear him. You could not contain your tears now. You broke out of his grip and headed towards the balcony. Your heart was heavy but you still found the strength to pull yourself together, wipe your tears and face him. You spoke out:

- I'm glad you came to say goodbye, Your Highness. I wish you luck on your journey, and may the power of the elves protect you - you said. He was surprised and hurt, but he bowed and exited your room. You turned towards the balcony and started crying again as he was preparing to leave.

*******

The next morning you and the other elves from Rivendell gathered in the garden to send off the Fellowship. Arwen was standing next to you, she was holding your hand while looking at Aragorn. You could feel how fearful she was and you wanted to show her support. You looked at Legolas for the last time, smiled at him, and said a protection spell. And then the Fellowship left for Mordor.

This is how you said goodbye to him, not knowing if you would see him alive again. Your heart was so heavy with sadness and anger, mainly towards yourself, that for the rest of your stay in Rivendell, you could not sleep. As you returned to Lothlorien, however, you decided to get a grasp on yourself and continued with your duties there. 

[yamcat]

ten faves in ten fandoms

I was tagged by the ever lovely @saltedpin , thank you for thinking of me, this was so much fun <333!!!!

Golden Kamuy: this is a tough one for me, because one of the things I love the most about this story is just how well written and intriguingly fleshed out each character is, especially in relation to eachother and to the story itself, but I think I will go with the OG who captured my interest right away, Tsukishima Hajime. Yes we love an unhealthy and obsessive relationship with authority and sense of duty, throw in the belief of living on borrowed time and therefore a life that can't possibly belong to you anymore, and I'm all yours.

Haikyuu!!: the thing is that I've always been IN love with Daichi, but Oikawa is the one who I have always felt the strongest for. A proud dramatic overachiever who cares too much but pretends like he doesn't, genuinely passionate about what he loves to the point it risks consuming him; a tough bitch as much as a sensible nerd. I care for him a lot.

HunterxHunter: Gon, my precious little feral kid who gets traumatized over and over again, but still decides to be kind. What I love the most about him, though, is that he is never portrayed to be inherently good; he is stubborn and occasionally selfish because of his nature as much as because he is just 12 y/o and he doesn't know any better, which is what makes him as lovable and charming as he is.

Helluva Boss: I know I'm not too loud about it, but I have been utterly in love with this show for a good couple months now, as well as with the helluva boss himself, Blitzø. He is a raunchy little imp who severely struggles with self-love and therefore does his best to push away every opportunity he has at a good and healthy relationship because who could possibly love him, right? but he genuinely TRIES, and sometimes he succeeds too, plus, he's still always there for the one he cares about. and honestly, he is just so fucking funny, he has my entire heart.

Dungeon Meshi: Laios, the supposedly knight archetype who does eventually fulfill his destiny, but in the messiest way, unwilling, and at the cost of what he loves the most. There are so many characters I genuinely like in this story, but I am too fascinated and amused by Laios' obsession with monsters and how it makes him so smart and so dumb at the same time to not love him the most. I'm sorry, apparently I have a particular liking for people who are extremely passionate about what they love.

Star Trek: I was unsure about who to choose between Spock and Kirk until the very end, but I have to say Spock. His double heritage and the way he navigates it, all the suffering and treasures he finds in feeling less and more, misunderstood and capable of understanding more than anyone else the multiplicity that deeply characterizes the universe he explores and is so curious about. Rarely I have empathized so much with a character before. Plus, he can be a dramatic bitch, Spirk divorce ark Spock is my favorite Spock.

Tiger & Bunny: honestly both of them, but for the sake of the game I shall say Bunny a.k.a. Barnaby Brooks Jr., my favorite traumatized model face babe with deeply rooted trust issues who completely falls in love with a hot loser single dad who has the tendency to help everyone else but himself. A match made in heaven. And me with them

LOTR: Frodo Baggins. No one understands him like I do....

FMA: my heart is divided between Olivier Armstrong and Riza Hawkeye, because what's not to love about strong, gorgeous, mature, cunning, intelligent, trust-worthy, powerful women? Different flavors, but equally delicious.

Saiyuki: Genjo Sanzo. In a few words, a trigger-happy, easily annoyed, short-tempered Buddhist monk who overly smokes and drinks. In a lot of words, please read Saiyuki.

I'm tagging whoever sees this and wants to do it, it is a lot of fun! And of course, please feel free to @ me if you so wish to!

[sindar-princeling]

5, 7, 12 for the lotr asks (or just 12 if you've gotten a million of these asks already lol)

thank you!!

5. Ruthlessly rank the main projects of the Tolkien universe (the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Rings of Power, the Silmarillion). You can break Lord of the Rings into three books for additional chaos, if you like.

I'm just gonna say this is in no way objective, I'm ranking them in terms of how much I personally enjoy them. LOTR is definitely first, simply because it's THE Tolkien work, and... I tried to come up with a more creative reasoning, but I just- it's LOTR, it simply doesn't get better than that. Next would be LOTR movies, because even with their characterisation they are just gorgeous and clearly filled with love for the source material, the acting is top tier, they look fantastic and the music is unparalleled. Next I'd put the Silm and then the Hobbit - the Hobbit is just a tiny bit lower because I'm a sucker for lore, but don't get me wrong, I love the Hobbit so so much. And those are basically all very close to one another, the ranking comes from tiny details of my personal taste. After these there is a long, long NOTHING followed by the Hobbit movies (PJ, LOTR movies looked so good, you knew what to do! why didn't you repeat it!! what the fuck happened there!!! also the idea to make it into three movies was just bad in my opinion, so the whole project seems kind of doomed from the beginning. I watched each of these movies once and I have no desire whatsoever to watch them again tbh). After that there is an even longer nothing, and at the bottom of the list we have RoP. While the Hobbit movies were a bunch of bad ideas in a trench coat, RoP is a goddamn offence because the show runners thought they were being so smart and changed the story Tolkien wrote to make it better, but instead they created one of the most insultingly stupid, hollow scripts I've ever watched. And because it's Tolkien, it's personal. The only thing that saves this show is a few good scenes (like Disa singing) and a few really well-cast actors (like Ismael Cruz Cordova and Robert Aramayo)

7. If you could download a Tolkien language into your brain and speak it fluently, which one would you pick and why?

Oh Sindarin, it rolls off the tongue so well and sounds just gorgeous.

12. Tolkien's work contains a lot of interesting themes: devastation of war, things lost that cannot be restored, rebirth/renewal, holding true to one's companions even when it is darkest, and others. Which is the most important to you?

I think I have to say bridging the gaps - Galadriel reaching out to Gimli, Gimli and Legolas' enemies to life companions arc, Sam starting out as Frodo's gardener and ending up as the person Frodo loves most, the class difference between them becoming insignificant, Sam looking at a Harad soldier and feeling sorry for him, Frodo showing Gollum pity... there's so many examples and each one makes me want to cry

thank you for asking!

[marsharmonicorchestra]

Tolkien Ask Game 🫶

ty very much for the tag @scyllas-revenge !!

(I was so excited to answer these but then I found myself also getting so stuck on narrowing everything down 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️)

How old were you when you read/watched LOTR for the first time?: I was 8 when my dad took me to see The Hobbit in the cinema, and I thought I was going to be bored but ended up being so obsessed that I didn’t shut up about it for two years, and so after the last film came out, my dad introduced me to LOTR :)) (so about 10 I believe). I read the Hobbit in 5th grade and LOTR in around 8th and 10th. Definitely due for a reread.

Favourite LOTR character: Boromir (ik so shocking), Samwise and Frodo. Also Eowyn and Eomer (And literally so many others but u know, narrowing it down)

Book or films?: I love the books but I’m definitely a movie girl.

Favourite Movie: Fellowship of the Ring.

Which location in Middle Earth do you want to visit most?: First of all, how dare you. Second of all, the Shire (if I have to pick one.) I would love to live life as a flower growing, dessert baking, dancing hobbit with no qualms and cute clothes.

Favourite scene: All of them, obviously, BUT, I remember as a kid not particularly caring about Boromir as a character all that much (I’ve grown), until I sat down and watched the extended edition of The Two Towers and saw the flashback to the last time Faramir saw him alive. The part where he tries to praise his brother but Denethor doesn’t care, and even though he tries to stand up for Faramir, in the end he can’t risk losing the favour of his father because then no one can protect him. Idk as an older sibling I remember being like “that was disgustingly accurate” and then being attached to that one scene ever since.

Favourite quote: “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you!”

Gets me every time 🧎🏽‍♀️

Which Middle Earth race would you want to be?: A hobbit :) But also maybe a human so I can be a shield maiden of Rohan. I feel like I could be both. Yes I’ll be both.

Favourite LOTR ship: I honestly have no clue, but I have also fallen down the Boromir/Theodred rabbit hole recently and I don’t think I can go back now. So them. I need more of them.

Not sure whose already been tagged, so I tag @nihilizzzm & @shirebarbie , and ofc anyone else who wants to participate (and if you’ve already been tagged imma be checking those answers cause love these tag games)