#it *is* the hobbits mother tongue

[k-she-rambles]

When he saw Strider, he dismounted and ran to meet him calling out: Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!

Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin,

No thoughts just elven place names in a Westron sentence. Our first character for whom the Common Speech feels like...not a concession exactly, but not quite as important as their mother tongue

Westron with a heavy Sindarin accent

[itsonlydana]

"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

[rivendell-poet]

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡 « one-shot »

Pairing : Legolas X Reader

Wordcount : 2.3k

No TWs | Gender-neutral reader | Elf!reader | Read on Ao3

Summary : “I was,” You hesitated, not wanting to reveal you were slacking off, “Observing our immediate upward surroundings, to make sure a… bird, doesn’t attack us,” At the end of your speech, it honestly sounded more like a question than a statement, and Legolas let out a soft laugh accordingly.

“It is ok, I think the stars are very beautiful too,” He looked up, then back down at you, hesitating for a second, “They are pretty, meleth nîn.”

There had been a pause after he’d said that, and you made eye contact for a brief moment. He seemed to be searching for something, but you weren’t sure what. And it didn’t matter if you had a brief thought it might be a love confession (and you liked him back-) you were not misreading signs and acting on unrequited love.

- - - -

You and Legolas should really be together already, but neither of you will admit it, and neither of you will confess. Until someone does. But, as an elf, you really should know Elvish. Miscommunication/misunderstandings occur, but everything work out in the end.

You had never regretted not learning Elvish more in your life. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, you could think of a few other times it’d been worse, but this had to be up there. As an elf, people always expected you would know your mother-tongue, but you’d been brought up by humans and never learnt it for most of your life. And even when you moved to Rivendell, you still hadn’t learnt it - even though you’d been able to.

Technically you could understand a few words, those being; gresta (help), dagor (battle), baura (need, or require), mann (food), and pen-channas (stupid, or idiot). To be honest, that last word was probably the reason most elves thought you could understand Elvish, as you used it fairly frequently in your vocabulary, and it was one of the first things you’d said to Legolas.

When you had said that to him, he looked at you with these slightly hurt eyes, then realised you were joking, and said something back in elvish (fôf you were pretty sure), and you had simply rolled your eyes in response. Looking back at that moment, you really should have informed him you didn’t know Elvish, but oh well - he thought you did, and you were way too prideful to admit anything otherwise.

Besides, although Legolas (and very infrequently Aragorn) spoke to you in Elvish, whenever it was something important they’d speak in Common tongue, as to make sure the hobbits understood too.

But to the point. You were regretting never telling Legolas you didn’t speak Elvish, because he’d started talking in it to you. Quite a lot. Never full conversations, mainly just phrases sprinkled in - but you had no idea what it meant. And you desperately wanted to find out.

Afterall, at one point - you and Legolas had been on watch together, him peering into the trees that weren’t illuminated by the fire, and you leaning up against him and looking at the stars. You felt him shift slightly, and leaned back off him, realising he was looking at you.

“Sorry, should’ve… asked permission, I know.”

There was a soft spoken smile in his voice when he spoke back, “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind it at all mellon . I was simply curious as to what you were doing.”

“I was,” you hesitated, not wanting to reveal you were slacking off, “Observing our immediate upward surroundings, to make sure a… bird, doesn’t attack us.” At the end of your speech, it honestly sounded more like a question than a statement, and Legolas let out a soft laugh accordingly.

“It is ok, I think the stars are very beautiful too,” he looked up, then back down at you, hesitating for a second, “They are pretty, meleth nîn .” 

There had been a pause after he’d said that, and you made eye contact for a brief moment. He seemed to be searching for something, but you weren’t sure what. And it didn’t matter if you had a brief thought it might be a love confession (and you liked him back-) you were not misreading signs and acting on unrequited love. So you had simply smiled, and then awkwardly shuffled up into a watching position, staying silent.

That incident had been two nights ago, and things had stayed awkward between the two of you. You had tried to approach him, going out to scout together, but he’d been reserved, and excused himself. All conversation was about what had just happened, and if you all had food. The only other thing you’d gotten out of him was a quiet muttering (that you weren’t sure if you should’ve heard), “ Im crumguru”

And being the Elvish genius you were, you had zero clue what that meant. But you could tell you’d done something wrong, you’d hurt Legolas. And that thought weighed you down, made even the supposedly limitless elf energy drain from you, being replaced by guilt.

Eventually you stopped walking for the day and set up camp, but despite all your companions around you, you still felt suffocated. Glancing up, you saw Aragorn and Legolas in hushed conversation, and conversation in Elvish for that matter. As you looked closer, although trying not to seem like you were staring, you saw a hint of sadness in Legolas’s eyes, before he turned away to Aragorn, who actually sent a brief look your way.

Frodo, bless his soul, saw your discomfort and gently sat down next to you, saying nothing but sitting in companionable silence. Before eventually something broke it, it was Sam, piping up, “Is anyone available to go get firewood, I want to start cookin’ before it gets too late.”

“I will.”

The exclamation went at the same time, from both you and Legolas. But before either of you could back out, Sam clasped his hands together, smiling, “Two is better than one I suppose, be back soon.” Stretching, the two of you got up - with you not missing the look that Legolas gave Aragorn. “Just be getting firewood, mind,” Gimli calls out, right as you begin to leave.

Normally, that would’ve elicited a dark blush from you (and sometimes a lighter one from Legolas), but tonight it just made your heart ache slightly. Normally, you made a light hearted reply at him, maybe nudge Legolas a bit, but this time you stayed silent. Instead Legolas responded, “Do not worry Gimli, it will just be collecting firewood.”

If it could, your heart would’ve sunk further into your chest, and you hurried along towards some of the trees, blindly stopping to see if any broken branches were lying about. You needed to apologise to him, or tell him the truth about why you’d responded the way you did. But instead you chose the cowards way, silently gathering fallen timber for a fire.

A few times, you could feel his blue eyes on you, not invasive, and more curious if anything - but you didn’t address or turn round and face them. It had only been a few minutes, and you’d gathered much more timber than you usually would with him, when you turned around, blurting out, “I think we have enough - do you want to head back?”

Great, that wasn’t at all what you wanted to say to him. But screw apologies, you know, why have them when you can ask your c̶r̶u̶s̶h̶ - Legolas, about how much wood he’d collected. “Wait, Legolas, I meant to-”

“Yes, I think we have plenty between us,” he cut across, his voice quiet but instantly making you silent. For a second your throat hurt, and you swallowed hard, turning sharply and your heel and beginning to make your way back to Frodo and the others, clutching the bundle of logs painfully tightly.

As you hurried back, you could hear Legolas say something, but you cut him off, dropping the logs in front of everyone, “We’re back. Is this enough?” As you interrupted what small chatter had been ongoing, you saw as they looked in confusion to only you, before they saw Legolas appear a bit away, also holding quite a few logs.

Dinner was quiet, to you and Legolas at least, as you both sat alone and off to the side, only speaking to mutter a quiet thanks as soup was served around. At one point, everyone had finished eating and was settling down.  The matter of who would watch went on, and you volunteered, knowing you probably wouldn't be able to sleep.

There was a brief moment of silence as people waited for Legolas to volunteer, you two always did watches or scouts together, but when he remained silent Aragorn stepped up, volunteering with a brief hand up, and an almost chiding look at Legolas.

Everyone had settled down, as much as they could at least, and began to sleep.The first thirty minutes went by silently, with Aragorn giving you concerned glances every now and then. And the guilt was awful, consuming even. Every now and then your eyes would flicker to where Legolas was sleeping, and then to your bedroll - as far away as was possible. This wasn’t right. And, you’d never admitted this before, but it wasn’t right because you loved him.

Then, just as the hour mark approached, and you could see Aragorn beginning to speak, you blurted out, “I can’t speak Elvish.”

Simply silence, and genuine surprise on Aragorn’s features. You continued, “I know, I’m an elf - I should be able to. But I just never learnt, I know about five words - and one of them I called Legolas when I first met, so I think he thinks I can speak Elvish. But I really can’t, and I need you to translate for me.”

There was a chuckle, and a slow whistle from Aragorn, “That… was not what I was expecting. But of course, what do you need me to translate? And why?”

Without you thinking, blush began to spread around your face, and when you tried to whisper it out you couldn’t. There was something intimate, in that moment in the woods, and something that you almost didn’t want to share with Aragorn. Until, “Well, first… he called me mellon , but not like the fruit, I hope… it, sounded Elvish.”

“I imagine he meant the Elvish translation too,” Aragorn smiled, “And it means friend. But you said that was the first one?” There was a more reserved element to his prying, and you were grateful for that. And you were getting mixed messages. You had thought that night was romantic, but what if it hadn't been. What if he didn’t view you the same way?

But still, friendly or not, you felt a reluctance to share the second word, and Aragorn gave an understanding, yet knowing, smile. “You don’t have to tell me by any means, but if you want a full scale on the situation, you need to ask him.”

You nodded, looking over to near where Legolas was still sleeping. “I’ll ask him tonight,” you resolved, sitting up a little straighter, and looking at the stars. 

Aragorn had gotten up by this point, rolling his shoulders back, “I may wake him now, and you can talk. And if you need any Elvish translations, please ask me,” there was a sudden sense of butterflies in your stomach, and constriction in your throat, so you just nodded.

There was just a short walk to where Legolas was lying, and Aragon picked up a stick on the way. With a slight grin, he gently tapped the sleeping body of the elf. No movement. Then he tried again, no movement. But the third time a hand shot out, grabbing it before taking a blind shot, and Legolas sat up, reaching for a bow.

Scowling, he looked around the starlight then at Aragorn, “I assume I’m taking over the watch?” He asked, a little stiffly, while getting out of the simple bedroll and putting on his quiver, bow grasped loosely in his hand.

Aragorn nodded, with a slight grin, before moving slightly out of the circle to sleep, like he always did. Wordlessly, Legolas completely stood up, silently moving to the opposite side of the fire and staring into it, face lit strangely by the dancing flames.

This was simple, this would be easy. You had just told Aragorn it after all, so really there should be nothing stopping you from saying the same to him. But your throat was constricting, and you could feel the smoke sting in your eyes a little bit more.

Instead of words, a small choked sound came out of your mouth, as though you were being strangled or a dying animal. Instantly you saw Legolas look up, eyes showing concern as you tried to speak. Before hardening again, as though he could decide. Then he began to look away, when you managed to speak up.

“I can’t speak Elvish.”

There was shock in his face, you could tell. Shock and confusion, as he stared at you, mind working to absorb the information so late at night. Before a quiet, timid almost, “So you could not understand me, when I was talking to you in the forest?”

You shook your head, another almost choking sob sounded out in your throat, “I know five words, the most useful one is food.”

Something was filling his eyes, you could see. Something like relief, and possibly something more… but you couldn’t tell. And you didn’t want to make assumptions. There was a few seconds of silence between the two of you, before he stood up suddenly, and moved over to you. Not touching, but closer than you’d been in days.

“What… what did you call me? On that night,” you asked eventually, tearing your eyes away from the fire and into his.

“I- I’m not sure how you’d respond to it now,” he managed to get out stiffly, eyes not yet leaving yours.

“Legolas, the only reason I didn’t react is because I didn’t understand you, I promise. I was just uncertain about what you’d said, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Legolas stared back at you, almost warring emotions in his eyes, and almost subconsciously his hands went out, wrapping gently around yours. You could see him try to speak, when he gulped, nervous one - still looking, but with a hint of fear.

“I called you my love,” he whispered, almost as though he was afraid, “In the forest. Meleth nîn means my love, and I said it because…” At that his voice trailed off, and you grasped onto his hands to stop them slipping out from yours.

“As… as in partners?” You asked, gripping onto his hands again when you could feel them slipping away.

“Yes, meleth nîn , as in… I love you.”

(Story from Legolas' POV) Hope you enjoyed! Requests are open <3

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Greetings, dear readers. Here you shall find my writing masterlist. I regularly take requests, and can write for The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and The Witcher. I dally in gender-specific, gender-diverse, and gender-neutral reader inserts, and am happy to cater. Read on and let your mind drift away into a world of submersible imagination…

She’s the Man (Fellowship X Disguised as Boy! Reader!)

The Road Less Traveled (Fellowship x Pregnant! Reader)

The Road Less Traveled (Part 2) (Legolas x Mother! Reader)

“Thanks, I Owe You Guys One.” (Fellowship x Reader)

Speak My Language (Fellowship x Hurt! Reader)

Leap of Faith (Fellowship x Reader)

Wrong End of the Ithillien Stick (Legolas x Reader)

Not a Hero (Fellowship x Soldier! Reader)

Elf Got Your Tongue? (Legolas x Reader)

The Wrong Kind of Stardust (Legolas x Reader)

And Then There Were Two (Legolas x Reader) (One Bed Trope)

The Softest Shout (Fili x Reader)

Silver is the New Sexy (Kili x Reader)

Imagine the Fellowship comforting you as you reveal your aro/ace identity to them

Imagine accidentally marrying Legolas whilst drunk in Edoras

Imagine Legolas only yelling at you in Sindarin when angry

Imagine spending your Sweet 16 with the Fellowship

Imagine Mairon and Melkor dangling you over lava to extract information from you

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

Imagine waiting at the battle of Helms Deep

Imagine Thranduil helping you deal with your skin insecurities

Imagine you, a bard, writing the song ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ about Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas

Imagine Gandalf taking the Fellowship to you after they’ve all been turned into animals

Imagine you, a journalist, forcing your way into the Fellowship of the Ring

Imagine having a spa day with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli

Imagine Legolas becoming a “bridezilla” at your wedding

Imagine Aragorn and Legolas helping hide your mermaid identity from the rest of the Fellowship

Imagine having a playful songwriter rivalry with Maglor

Teaching the Fellowship to drive a car would include: (Fellowship x Reader)

Imagine having Maglor as your neighbour in the 21st century

[christian-oc-tournament]

Please vote based on the picture AND the description!

Amelia Liadon [Between the Veil and Crown @secretariatess]

Amelia Liadon is the adopted daughter of the Liadon family (after her mother passed away from an ongoing illness) and has carried on her adoptive mother's work of healer. Her favorite brother is Kylin, who stops by to visit her between Ranger duties, she lives in a cottage by herself in the forest (the exception being her goats and chickens), and has an unfortunate reputation of accidentally committing felonies, such as kidnapping a prince out of panic and making him do work around the cottage- because what else are you supposed to do with a kidnapped prince? Besides that, she's the sweetest thing who wishes Kylin wouldn't call his new horse "Vicious"- it's too cruel of a name, even if the horse has a habit of biting.

Amaranth Brandybuck [Loyalty, Honor, a Willing Heart @as-dreamers-do] - Hobbit OC

Amaranth Brandybuck may be just barely out of her tweens, but she's already traveled the Shire more than might be seemly for the oldest daughter of Brandy Hall. When her less adventurous cousin Bilbo turns down what seems the offer of a lifetime, she volunteers to join a strange band of Dwarves on a quest to steal back their ancestral home from the dragon nesting in its halls. Her love of good stories and longing for adventure are rivaled perhaps only by her quick wits and glib tongue, which she tends to use more often than she'd like to admit in keeping on everyone's good side. She may be leaving behind her family (though Bilbo's last-minute change of heart was very welcome), her rolling green hills, and all semblance of proper pie-baking facilities, but something about the twinkle in a certain dark-haired Dwarf prince's eye and the mountains rising in the distance make her think she's none the poorer for the exchange. (Note: Amaranth's name, age, and all family relations are straight out of the LotR family tree appendix--her youngest sister is Frodo's mother, Primula!)

[wheels-of-despair]

Draw Me Like One of Your Dwarf Girls, Eddie Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie decides to work on his drawing skills, and accidentally awakens a monster in the process. Contains: Titanic references, female nudity, a brush with death. Word Count: 1.3k-ish

"Draw me like one of your dwarf girls, Eddie," you say in a sultry voice, trying your hardest not to laugh.

"What did I tell you about talking?" He pauses to give you a pointed look, since he's already told you to pipe down several times. You roll your eyes, and he returns to his drawing with a renewed vigor.

It's early 1998, and you've recently dragged your poor Eddie to a theater to see that damn Titanic movie everybody and their mother keeps raging about. All 3 hours of it. You may have neglected to mention the runtime when you bought the tickets. You owe him.

He survived, but was suddenly faced with the desire to "work on his people-sketching skills." Which of course meant it took him less than a week to convince you to strip and pose like Rose on the couch, wearing only that red guitar pick necklace he's had since high school.

You're stretched out and exposed and already bored. Two hours ago, he'd adjusted your hand a quarter of an inch this way, your knee a quarter of an inch that way, and you'd been instructed not to move.

Well, it felt like two hours, but it was really only about 30 minutes.

With nothing else to do, and being mildly disappointed that he didn't find your commentary amusing, you watch his eyes follow the pencil scratching across the paper you can't see. He's cute when he's concentrating. Tongue poking out, brow furrowed, that spark of creativity in his eye. It must be going well, because he smiles occasionally. He even giggled once. If you had to guess, you'd say it probably had something to do with a nipple. It was a little chilly.

"Just as I thought; it's a masterpiece."

"Are you done?" You'd only been in this position for an eternity.

"Oh yeah, this baby's getting framed." Ignoring you, he holds his sketch pad out to view it at an arm's length, beaming at his creation.

"Can I move now?!"

"Yeah, you can move."

You stretch your stiff limbs and get up off the couch, reaching for the flannel he'd discarded on a chair nearby, buttoning a few buttons as you pad over to where he sat admiring his work.

You place a hand on his back and look over his shoulder at the figure on his sketchbook. You're confused, but you can't take your eyes off of it. You can't think of anything to say. Until…

"What. The FUCK. Is THAT."

He looks up innocently and says, "What? I was just following instructions. You kept talking, figured I better listen."

You have no words.

You do, however, have a fucking BEARD in Eddie's drawing.

He sits there, looking up at you with a proud grin on his face, waiting for you to react.

You stare at him wordlessly, still in a state of shock.

Until he laughs at you. LAUGHS AT YOU.

Your brain begins to swirl furiously, until it flashes one word: KILL.

You clench your fists, and he begins to sense that you're not going to start laughing with him. His eyes widen, and he jumps out of his chair, vaults over the coffee table, and stands on the couch.

"I can explain," he says quickly, trying to sound calm, steps unsteady on the cushions.

You can explain too. Explain to the responding officers how one Edward James Munson met his gruesome demise.

"It's Tolkien."

You ignore him and advance slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Eyes unblinking. Blood boiling. Steam probably coming out of your ears. He jumps off the couch as you approach the coffee table.

"It's from a book!" He's walking backward, holding out his sketch pad like a lion tamer with a chair.

His eyes bulge as he hits something solid. You've backed him into a corner. Literally.

"Tolkien! Middle-earth! The Hobbit! Nerd shit!"

Nerd shit won't save you now, Munson. You narrow your eyes and prepare to go in for the kill. He panics.

"Dwarf women have beards! It was a joke! I'm sorry! I love you!"

The "I love you" makes you pause, just as you were about to pounce and slash your prey to pieces. The hell?

"What?" you ask, giving your head a slight shake in confusion.

"Dwarf women have beards. In the books. You said to draw you like a dwarf. It was a joke. I thought you'd know what it was."

"You thought I'd know some random detail from a book I haven't read in over a decade?"

"I mean, it's a pretty memorable detail…"

You roll your eyes, heave a sigh, and pinch the bridge of your nose. Why is this not surprising?

"So you're not gonna kill me?" He's still backed into his corner. You consider it for a moment, deciding that you've played with him enough for today.

"Not tonight, Munson."

He exhales and leans his head back against the wall.

"But I WILL get you for this," you threaten, pointing a finger at him. He nods, used to this constant back-and-forth game you'd both been playing for over a decade. He knew you'd never really hurt him, just like you knew he wouldn't hurt you either. It was just a game.

You turn to walk away, and hear him whisper to the abomination he's still clutching: "Don't worry baby, you're still gettin' framed."

You whip around, eyes flashing. He gulps. You step closer, making him lean further back into the wall. He's cute when he's scared.

"Give it."

He stares at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his.

"Give it," you repeat, holding out a hand and waiting for him to place his sketchbook into it.

Reluctantly, he hands it to you. You maintain eye contact as your fingers find the thick cover page, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking at his ungodly creation again. You slam it shut and he flinches.

"What are you gonna do with it?"

Beat your nerdy ass to death with it.

Still clutching his sketch pad, you step back silently and gesture for him to walk on by with your free hand. He slowly peels himself off the wall and begins to move with an apprehensive look in your direction, and a thought occurs to you.

As he scurries past you, you smack him on the ass with his sketchbook. He whirls around with a yelp, hands clutching his cheeks. It's cardboard, you drama queen. You step closer and swing the book at his arm.

"You made me lay there for AN HOUR! While! You! Drew! That!" You punctuate each word with another smack of the sketch pad. He continues overreacting to each hit and falls to the floor with a wail when you finish yelling, clutching his imaginary wounds. You lift the book above your head with both hands, ready to finish him.

"It started out real! But I couldn't make it look like you! It wasn't pretty enough!" You graciously decide to let him continue, still holding the sketchbook in an attack position, just in case. "I tried," he explains calmly now, "but it wasn't working out, and then you said the dwarf thing, and I thought it would be funny. I'll make it up to you."

"Damn right, you will." You lower the book and release it. It lands on his chest with a light thud. He grins from his position on the floor. You step over him and make your way toward the bedroom.

"Starting now," you inform him from the hallway, not slowing or turning around. You hear him scramble to get up, knock something over, and curse before he hurries in your direction.

He's lucky he's cute.

[frodothefair]

Hobbiton Girls

Inspired by Derry Girls, I came up with the idea that in the Flowers of Mordor au, Sam and Frodo's offspring form a friend group that is akin to the one in the show. Conveniently, some of the characteristics I'd come up with for Frodo's kids already jived, and the fact that they would be friends with Sam's kids only made sense, since their parents are so close. Together, the Hobbiton Girls (even though one of them is a boy) get up to all sorts of trouble, and are at times the bane of their parents' existence! So, without further ado, I present:

Galadriel Baggins (prototype: Michelle Mallon): Loud, a natural leader, beautiful, popular with the boys, and very interested in the transgressive, such as smoking pipeweed and drinking ale well before it is socially acceptable, and having rendez-vous with the opposite sex. Is not shy about her proclivities, and is often the one who comes up with the most fun ideas, drawing the rest of the group after her. Also the only brunette of the group, and fond of yelling "rapscallions!" either as a form of greeting or a way of emphasizing something (similar to how Michelle yells "motherf-ckeeeeeers!")

Samwise Baggins, "Sam-lad" (prototype: James Maguire): Level-headed, a bit shy, bookish, often the voice of reason, perhaps not too classically masculine in that he likes to help his mother at home, and is not fond of fighting. Galadriel is always told to "mind" him because he is her younger brother, which she reluctantly does, and that is how he becomes part of the group. He is often the butt of Galadriel's disparaging jokes, and everyone else's jokes which subtly question his gender and sexuality. He is, however, straight, has a crush on Elanor for a while, and grows up to be a doctor. However, he and Elanor never court because it could break up the friend group if things went sour between them.

Elanor Gardner (prototype: Erin Quinn): Overall wholesome, beautiful, sweet, clever girl with "main character energy." She good-naturedly spars with her parents, trying to assert her independence. She wants to be seen as more than "the Fair," and has ambitions as a songstress, but her compositions are hopelessly overwrought and, well, tweenage. Is eager to follow her friend Galadriel's lead in raising hell and meeting boys, but often makes a mess of it, despite her beauty. i.e.: At one point she tries to confess to a lad, but she's so awkward about it that he assumes she had been "bewitched by faeries."

Rose Gardner "Rosie-lass" (prototype: Orla McCool): Probably has AuADHD in that she is not very good at reading social cues and says whatever she wants, which leads to comedy and annoyance on Elanor's part. She has a special interest in wild animals and plants, as well as wilderness survival, which most hobbits would not care for, being homebodies as they are. She is also nonbinary, sometimes wearing lad's clothes, and is very good at dancing. Evil tongues may wonder whether she might be the product of infidelity between Mistress Rose and Mr. Frodo, being as odd as she is, but there is no substance to that rumor. She is just Like That, and her friends and family all take it in stride.

Goldilocks Gardner (prototype: Clare Devlin): The baby of the group. She's bookish, clever, girly, fond of handicrafts, and very much the rule follower and intimidated by authority, so the most likely to "crack" when the group gets in trouble. Often tries to keep her friends from enacting their most ridiculous or dangerous ideas, but gets overruled and reluctantly follows along, with much screaming and cursing and "I told you so's."

@from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @invisiblewashboard @konartiste

[papermonkeyism]

Oh. Wow. I'm suddenly having. Some kind of emotions? Definetely multiple emotions. Many of them.

I'm not sure if I know how to describe this... But, like, in the ancient times of my childhood, back before internet ever got to be a thing. Pretty sure the village I grew up in had a grand total of, like, maybe two computers at the time. With the beige boxes for screens. BEFORE dial-up. I had just discovered the existence of fantasy genre thanks to my literature teacher (technically mother-tongue teacher, but I think that doesn't translate to english directly as English is a foreign language here so the meaning of the class isn't strictly the same BUT I DIGRESS) who had lent me the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and I discovered there was in fact a fantasy shelf in the library, so I pretty much devoured most of the books I found there...

I was a MASSIVE fantasy fan. Still am, but back then I consumed so much more of the books. All of them. I was obsessed.

Like Special Interest™ level obsessed. Absolutely autistic amount, as you know. Except, as this was before internet happened to my world, there was nobody else I knew of who would also be interested, and somehow I guess I thought I was the only one reading this stuff.

At some point I kinda grew out of some of the prevalent tropes, and stopped reading (as much of) the books, and kinda fell out of the most intense obsession. Like I had a favourite book trilogy at one point that I absolutely adored as a kid, but which didn't really hold up after I re-read it somewhere around my later teens, and I found out I wasn't as into some of the tropes anymore. (like DnD alignment systems are fine for games built around battling but I prefer my stories without the "this entire race is evil and should be killed on sight" and such)

But the thing is, I haven't thought about those books specifically in twenty years. It was something only I had experienced and then gotten over, and didn't cast a thought about in two entire decades.

In hindsight, considering how much I like DnD now, it probably shouldn't surprise me this much and yet

But I just clicked some random pics of some art of drow elves and

What do you mean there's an actual fandom for stories of Drizzt Do'Urden? You're telling me that wasn't just some kind of childhood fever dream I had forever ago? Why do I recognize all these names of places and NPCs and stuff, that's not a real thing is it? These are Actual Memories I'm for some reason still having??? (oh gods, I'm suddenly getting flashbacks of tormenting my poor english teacher by asking her how to pronounce all the atupid drow names because "the author speaks english so I'm sure these names must have english pronounciation" I am so sorry...)

The fuck???

So.

I feel like I just failed a saving throw and took 3 d10 psychic damage.

I'm

What

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Tempestuous

Warnings: this fic includes dark content including rape/noncon, object insertion, some violence and other potential triggering elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king and his court visit Storm’s End, bringing chaos with them.

Characters: Jaime Lannister

Note: Why did I right this? idk. 

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.&lt;3

Love you all like a hobbit love second breakfast. Take care. 💖

"The king has come home to Storm's End," Delia says as you pull down a stiff sheet from the line, stale from hours in the rare summer sun of the otherwise overcast city, "you shoulda come see. Oh, but he is a rather large man."

"Did he have his hammer, then?" You taunt as you take down another linen sheet, "the one he cracked the old prince's skull with?"

"Don't say that," she hisses with a frantic wave, "it is not only the king who's visiting. He brought half his court and them ears as well."

"Is it treasonous to wonder? To speak of the past?" You frown and drop the swathe of cotton into the basket, "Deli, why d'you even care about the king? He's not come to see buncha shepherd's daughters."

"What else is there to care about?" She sighs as you lift the wicker basket between you, made heavy by the lengths of fabric, "his wife, oh, she's so beautiful. Definitely a Lannister, golden and shiny."

"Don't let pa hear all that," you warn, "you know how he is."

"Must be where you get it from," she sticks her tongue out, "can't never be happy about anything."

"I'm happy. Happy for a roof and a plate," you shrug, "happy for my family and the hens. What happiness can I spare for fancies and dreams?"

"What's so wrong with dreamin'?" She pouts. 

"Nothin', so long you're content with disappointment."

"There's to be a tourney," she declares gaily as you come in site of your father's house.

"In this season?" You glance up at the yellow sky, fluffy clouds certain to turn grey.

"Ugh, you must see the worst in even the best. We may never see the knights and ladies again in Storm's End."

"The Lord Paramount frequents often enough. Is he not noble enough for your tastes?"

"That isn't my meaning," she bemoans, "I blame this rainy land for your similar tiding."

"Do you think father would let you sneak into the pits and watch?"

"Why, do you think to sneak with me?" She brightens.

"Hm, perhaps I might be in the mood to see a rabble," you sigh as you pass through the low gate, sheep chewing lazily at the long grass, "but you should be more concerned if pa would let us."

"Pa loves the king," she huffs, "so why wouldn't he?"

"I hear things of the king's friend he mightn't be so fond of," you turn your hand up, "but I cannot say if they are more than rumours. If father allows it, I will go, if only to keep you in hand."

"Claim whatever you like," she chimes, "but I can see you are as curious as I to see the knights."

You grumble and give her no further words. There is more to worry about than jousts or showy combat, the event will be no more than a speck in the dull eye of any peasant.

⚔️

Your father mulls his decision despite Delia's impatience. Your mother leaves it to him, offering no word against or for, but you see the concern in her eye. Delia has always been careless and bit impulsive.

Your shared straw mattress is restless as your sister tosses and turns, babbling about how she might convince your father. Despite your pleas that she sleep and not worry so much, she does not cease. Each time you are close to dozing, she grabs your arms and wakes you for another ramble.

"Del," you sit up and shake her off at last, "whatever father decides, no amount of shearing or sweeping will matter to him. It is on his shoulders now, let it rest there... and let me sleep!"

"Oh, but I cannot stop thinking and imagining it all. What if I was to meet a knight and he were to see me and--"

"Rats, Delia, rats! You drive me mad!" You push yourself to your knees and groan as you get your feet under you and stand, "I would rather sleep on the silt."

"You don't think it could happen?" She bats her lashes.

"Tell me, sister, which knight would fall so fervently for a sheep's minder? Hmm? If that is the reason you seek permission, I will not be your comfort when it does not happen. You've cost me enough sleep as it were."

"Oh, you always were so dire," she falls back and drapes her arm over her face, "fine, go sleep with the sheep. See if I care."

You roll your eyes but let her to her wallowing, alone. You hardly think it'll keep her from chattering as you've caught her more than once at a dialogue with herself. You descend from the loft over the common space of your fathers house and tiptoe in the dark. You take your mother's heavy shawl from the hook by the door and shove your feet into a pair of leather clogs.

Restless, you know sleep is lost to you for some time, if not entirely. You curse your sister as you emerge into the damp residue of the evening's storm. You hear the waters off the coast, loudly ebbing and flowing, but not stirred by malice. The sea is as calm as it ever is in Storm's End.

You pass the pen and let yourself out the gate. The moon gleams over the water, reflection swirling in the mist. You follow the winding path down the hillside, soles gritting across the rocky shore. A chill stirs the tails of your sleeping shift and you hug the shawl closer as you look out at the water.

You find a place in the stony sand, just beyond the reach of the waves, and watch the sea. It is eerie to be there alone but peaceful. You take a handful of dirt and let it go, watching it cascade back over the ground. You stare up at the silver face off the moon and think.

How can Delia act as if all has changed and yet nothing has? The king and his men can hardly change the order of things, even with crown and title. No, every day is just as the one before and after. You can already hear your sister morning their departure and its insignificance.

You lay back in the sand as the noise of the water calms you. You close your eyes, knowing you should go back and sleep in the barn as Delia suggested. You don't, instead letting the night waft over you.

The sound doesn't disturb you at first. You think it's crabs or some creature scuttling, but then it grows louder, steady, heavy. You look over at the silhouette of a horse, it's rider glowing gold against the moon light.

You frown and stay flat to the ground. You watch with bated breath as he dismounts and lead the horse to the water. The salty foam is not fit to drink and the horse does not try. The man bends as he wiggles off his glove, dragging his fingers through the shallows.

You roll slowly, carefully, and lift yourself on hands and knees. You carefully begin to crawl towards the shadows of the hills. You hear the water and the sand, not daring to glance back at the soldier.

"You there," his deep voice carries over the coast, "halt."

You don't obey. Not at first. You go faster, hoping to evade him up the hillside where his horse can't go.

"In the name of the king, I said halt," he repeats.

That time, you must. Knowing he's a king's man, it would be next to treason to do otherwise. You hang your hand and sit back on your heels.

You turn as you hear his footfalls, his cape flapping in the wind as he nears. You watch with dread, knowing the gold silk can only mean one thing; king's guard. You can't wonder why he's there, more so detest that he is.

"My lord," you get to your feet and give a clumsy bow, "apologies, I was wandering--"

"Hiding," he stops and rests his hand on his pommel. He wears no armour, only tan leather to match the hue of his cloak, "and why's that?"

"No reason, lord, I did not mean to disturb so I was--"

"And if you are wandering," he interrupts, "why here? Where do you hale from? Some brothel or street corner?"

"N-no," you say stunned, "no, Ser, I am only sleepless."

He harrumphs and pushes his head back, "you peasants, so simple."

You swallow and stare at the high collar of his jacket. He's agitated as he shakes out his hand, only to once more grip his sword.

"I don't know how my brother finds you all so endearing," he mutters, his golden locks catching the moonlight as his square jaw is cast in shadow, "suppose it's more about what they give him for his coin."

"Ser, I am not a--"

"Course you aren't," he dismisses with a flick of his fingers, "what man would pay for you? I dare say my brother may even turn his nose up."

You furrow your brow and dip your head, "my lord. May I go now?"

"Where?"

"Home?" You reply, perplexed.

"And where's home?"

"My father's. He's a shepherd," you point up but without clear direction. You know this man, of his reputation. There is no other king's guard of the same cut. Jaime Lannister, the king slayer.

"Back to your sheep," he scoffs, "perhaps that is who my brother is paying for his lusts while I await him like some servant."

You clamp your mouth shut and shrug.

"Certainly, you wouldn't know. What do you know?" He waves his hand and turns away, "fine, go home to your father and his sheep."

"My lord," you keep your head down and spin on your heel.

She noise of steel on leather sounds as he unsheaths his sword and you stop. The tip of the blade rests on your shoulder, a good and dangerous weight.

"You know who I am?" He asks and you nod. "And you know what I've done?" Another nod, "so you have the sense not to speak of this encounter?"

"My lord," you whisper.

He pulls the blade off your shoulder and lets the tip brush along the shawl, "very well."

You don't move until you hear him stride away. He laughs to himself, his voice echoing up into the sky as a distant rumble rolls over the sky, as if to join in. You scurry up the sand, back to the path, without looking back.

Who would think to meet a Lion of Lannister down in the sands? Certainly not you. And you daren't mention it to Delia for fear of stoking her hopes. Even if she were to meet some knight, you doubt him to be any better.

⚔️

It's the same old answer. 'You may go, if your sister does.' While you agreed to the outing prior, it does not make that statement any less edged. As always, you are you sister's keeper, tasked with being a chaperone, rather than companion.

Delia nearly squeals at the circumstantial acquiescence. You thought your father would refuse and had no intent of truly watching the men pretend at battle. Still, your sister is not entirely incorrect. It is like an experience that will not come twice.

The frenzy that seems contagious spreads beyond your household. The other farmer, the merchants, even the beggars are alight with anticipation. Your own is restrained only by the memory of that peculiar night, the encounter with the king's guard which you could hardly believe was more than a dream. Perhaps it was. You don't worry either way as he would be unlikely to recall a commoner, nor to meet you again amid the hordes of unwashed.

You let the thought fade into the monotony of your daily toil, all as Delia is agog in her fantasies. She tells you aloud how she will meet a fair knight and no longer be the shepherd's daughter. You withhold your cynicism as you sweep what she's left untouched by her own broom.

You long for when she no longer is distracted by her fanciful delusions and so you count down with her to the first day of the tournament. She wears a yellow dress with a braided belt, her nicest, and you pull on your usual undyed cotton, beige and unremarkable. Amid the crush of the crowd, you expect to be muddied up, though she believes she will be a shining star amid the miniscule.

You follow the train of peasantry, old, young, and in between, along the winding streets and past the silken tents erected for the knights and their squires. You can't help but marvel at the blowing banners of houses, dyed in every colour and shade. Horses nick impatiently and servants run between canvas and wood at their duties.

The stands are made of thick logs, to be destroyed upon the departure of the royal party. A waste like anything else the rich indulge in. You don't think much on it, it isn't your trouble to worry for.

As you stream into the crowded pits, the shouts of vendors erupt, selling pies and watered-down ale, as the higher rows fill with nobles and merchants, dressed in bright tones and glittering jewels. The furor is deafening as bodies press together and push you to the limit of the pit.

"Oh, there are so many," Delia groans and you hold onto her arm, afraid to lose her.

"I told you--"

"Oh, you always tell me," she fans herself with her hand, "must you always be so right?"

You tilt your head wryly but say nothing. If you had, it would've been smothered by the blare of the trumpets. The horns are joined by beating drums and plucking strings, all before the crier announces the arrival of the king, to sit in his box to watch the entertainment. Too old and fat to sit a horse himself. Too vaunted to lift his hammer against blade.

Delia latches onto you and shakes you as she cheers, trying to see over the masses to the distant dot of the king as he waves to his subjects. You hardly feel beholden to him. So lowly that you doubt you have any effect upon him or him you. 

A figure beside him, slender, tall, with golden hair to her waist, mirrors him in his greeting. His wife, Cersei Lannister, plays her part gracefully. There are two others, to either side, golden and still. King's Guard, though you cannot make out which.

"Can you believe it, sister?" Delia breathes in her ear, "we're really here."

You smile at her. She is happy then and you won't spoil it. Even if after you will have to live in her disillusionment.

⚔️

Delia loses you in the rush to disband from the pit. The prospect of free ale at the expense of the crown has the people thirsty and thoughtless. You’re nearly trampled as you lose sight of your sister, swept up in the futile flow of the swarm.

Finally, you come into open air, breaking free and turning to watch the train of spectators. You don’t see Delia, only the blend of bodies moving across the grasses, sandals, clogs, and boots crushing the wet grass. The tumult of the tournament lingers, booming in voices and jostling with playful punches and nudges.

You feel lost and a bit scared. She can find her way home and likely will but what if she wanders too far? You’re both full grown but that doesn’t make it any less dangerous. Drunkenness is hardly a parent of good behaviour.

You wait until much of the flock are in the tents before you follow. Outside, you hear horns and laughter from those tents further down, those reserved for nobility. There are those who mill about, covetous of the event, soldiers with sword on hips but eyes on cups.

You enter to the ribaldry, the flow of foam topping bone cups. You walk the parameter, dodging out of the way of fellow celebrants, searching, sweeping over every step. If Delia is there, you cannot find her.

The heat within the canvas grows stolid and sweat mingles with humidity to coat your skin. You elbow your way to the long flap and let yourself out into the evening. The darkness descends as the moon rises to its apex. The day has run by like a river.

You peer down the rows of tents, horses tied at posts and torches stuck into the dirt. You could wait there until she is forced out. It could be hours but it may be the best way.

You resign yourself to the tedium but a trill tweaks your ear. You tilt your head and listen. Hushed voices float in the air. There’s some rustling as you follow the noise, a sudden shriek shaking you.

Your heart lodges in your throat and you look around. Shadows pace lazily between tents, soldiers making their watch heedlessly. They do not seem to hear the shout. Another rises and you race past the ten without a thought. You know it’s Delia, she screams like that when she sees caterpillars in the house.

“Come on, girlie, just a taste,” the gritty voice growls, “stop squirming, eh? Pull your skirts up.”

You stop short as you see their silhouettes, skin pricking, head buzzing. The golden arm glints in the moonlight. What do you do? A soldier, a King’s Guard of all people, it is a crime to even challenge him, yet he is groping and grabbing at Delia. Was he not sworn to protect the king and abstain from all else?

Before you can find your voice, a light flickers from behind you. Footsteps near and a throat clears.

“Trant,” the deep timbre cuts through Delia’s whimpers, trapped behind the guard’s gauntlet, “are you truly going to do all this with a witness?”

The man, Trant, releases your sister and she falls to the ground as he squints as Ser Jaime. You step aside as he holds up the torch in his hand. His lips are crooked in a half-smirk.

“At least take her in a tent,” Jaime scoffs.

Trant chuckles and bends to grab Delia by the nape of her neck, “get up, wench.”

“Wai–” you lunge forward and Lannister stops you with an arm.

“Move another step and I’ll have him throw her in the sea,” he sneers.

“Please, ser, she is my sister–”

“I don’t care if she’s the Maiden herself,” he turns and shoves you as your sister squeals and kicks as she’s tossed over the other knight’s shoulder.

“Why–”

“You ask me questions, peasant?” He grabs your arm and shakes you, “how fate must delight in our meeting again. I believe it is a sign from the Seven, don’t you?”

You stammer and shake him off. He hisses and reaches for his pommel. You stumble, nearly bowled over by the venom in the noise. 

“You think highly of yourself, like a queen,” he grips the sword, “that I, a knighted King’s Guard, dare touch you…” he closes the gap and grabs you by the chin, thrusting you close, “I could run you through and leave you for the crows to find. And who would care?”

You gulp and stare up at him, the dim grey of the night consumes you as he blocks out the moon.

“But what am I to do? The king is in his cups and shall have his queen, whether she wishes it or not. My brother has his whores, rented in gold, and I…” he inhales, “what do I have?”

You murmur, nonsensical as your fingers brush his sleeve. He tuts and throws you away from him.

“Don’t think yourself so special,” he snarls, “bend over.”

You stagger and face him, a quiver rattles your breath. He slides the steel slowly up from the sheath.

“Did I not give you an order?” he rasps as the metal shines in the silver moonlight. “Turn around and bend over.”

You wince and blink as your eyes burn. You move stiffly, your body resisting your mind. As you bring your back to him, he grips the back of your neck and pushes you down, nearly slamming you to your stomach before you can get your foot out to keep off the ground. You whimper as he pinches you meanly.

“This is what I hate about you peasants. You have nothing. You are nothing and you come and get your fill and go back to your sheep and your shit,” he drags his hand down your spine and tugs the top of your skirt, raising the hem as he gathers the layers into a bundle above your rear, “you don’t know what it is to matter… how absolutely miserable it is.”

He pulls his hand away and smacks your bare ass. You gasp and hear the steel against the leather as he frees it completely. You shut your eyes, is this how it happens. You wait for the sword to descend, for the pitiful execution in the muddy grass.

He steps behind you as you brace your knees. He tisks and presses the cold pommel of his sword to your bottom. He slides it across and down between your cheeks. You shiver, uncertain, as he reaches your folds. 

He pushes against you. The hard round end strains against your tight entrance. He frames your hip with his hand and leans more weight into you. The metal stretches you, strangling a gurgle from your lips. The bulbous end slips past the last of your resistance as your thighs quake.

“You think you’re worth my cock?” He scoffs, “no, no, I am a man of the sword.”

He wiggles the sword and inches in further inside, the rough leather-bound handle scrapes against your walls. Tears trickle down, born of shame and pain, and the jams in the last of the pommel. He eases it back as you catch your breath, only to ram it back in. 

Your pelvis rings with the force and you reach a hand to the ground to hold yourself upright. Your fingers graze the dirt as he thrusts again.

He fucks you with pommel, jolting you with each violent intrusion. Your tears well up and flow free, sobs hiccuped through your tight throat. You can barely keep afoot, barely think as he desecrates you. You throb and ache around the thick handgrip.

He stops abruptly and his hand crawls down from your hip to pinch your ass. He chuckles and bends over you, breathing down your neck.

“I had a funny thought,” he taunts, “as this is no man’s cock, though I must say it is as great as that weapon sheathed in my trousers, does that mean you are still virginal? Or perhaps you may claim you’ve been deflowered by The Warrior himself.”

He clicks his tongue and shoves the pommel deep, until your legs fold and he follows you down, descending to his knees as he keeps it buried inside you. You hide your face in the dirt as you wail, the vibrant clamour from within the tents drowning your cries.

“Say what you will, but you will never forget the King’s Slayer’s blade, will you, wench?”

[blackarrcw]

@tilosecretbirb asked: Why didn't you say anything about this before?" (Fí to Elyssa)

The half-elf simply shrugged her shoulders, her attention shifting to the elder of the two brothers "Because I didn't know." At the time when she'd been offered an opportunity to accompany them upon their quest, Elyssa hadn't known that she could easily understand the words the dwarves would say in their mother tongue; Khuzdul. Her mother had kept much of her heritage from her over the years, only relinquishing what she felt her daughter needed to know.

Clear blues looked to the blonde once more, her arms folding across her chest loosely. Was he to be angry with her for not saying anything? She'd hoped not. It would pain her in many ways, losing her friend in all of it. "It wasn't as if I tried to keep it from any of you." Her words were soft, an urge to get him to understand that she truly wasn't trying to hide anything.

It was only with the encouragement of the resident Hobbit that she came out with it, after Fili had confronted - well, overheard her while she was in the library. What was she supposed to say? 'Hey look, I know you're saying things because I can understand your language?' That wouldn't have sounded good and probably would have set some of the dwarves off for a bit.

[buckysgrace]

Twenty-Seven

Previous Chapter

“Billy,” Her mother’s voice cut through the house. Her and Neil had just been on their way out when the phone rang, “It’s your friend Tommy.” Kim felt herself trying to sink into her mattress. She had once again forgotten about the freckled boy. She tried to think of where she had placed his number but couldn’t remember for sure. She really hoped that Tommy hadn’t called here with hopes of speaking to her.

She watched as Billy strutted out of his room, looking calm and even a bit irritated as he walked towards the phone. Kim adjusted in her bed, holding her book closer to her nose as she worked on focusing on the words on the page instead of Billy’s conversation. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday and she very much compared it to being an addict. She had spent the morning with her door closed, wearing nothing but his shirt as she rutted hopelessly against her pillow. Even now she could feel her panties growing wet as she heard the tone of his voice. She wanted to feel his lips against her neck again, breathing in her scent as he fucked her into the bed. 

She huffed, urging her dirty thoughts to go elsewhere as she tried to focus on her page again. She was too lost in her imagination about Billy to really absorb what the words on her page meant as she groaned and slammed her book shut. She rested her head on the bed, sighing in irritation as she tried to will her body to relax.

“You’re weird,” Her head snapped up to look at Billy. She felt a strange sound leave her mouth as she tried to swallow, staring at the tight purple basketball shorts he wore and nothing else. She felt her eyes lingering on his chest, sinking in every curve of his body, “What’s wrong?” He asked in a more serious manner as if she wasn’t completely ogling at him. 

“Nothing,” She spoke up quickly, trying to dismiss her red cheeks, “I just couldn’t concentrate on my book.” She quickly held up The Hobbit, proving to him that she wasn’t reading anything dirty at the moment. He looked at her amused, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against her doorway.

“They’re all gone. I thought I’d teach you something new?” He tilted his head as he watched her. She nodded quickly, pushing her book onto the floor as she sat up on her bed. Tommy must’ve actually been wanting to speak to Billy because Kim couldn’t see any lines of anger or annoyance on his features.

“What would that be?” She asked him, watching as he shut the door behind him. She felt her heart racing as he stepped near her, resting on the edge of her bed next to her pillows. She looked up at his golden skin before meeting his blue eyes.

“I want you to ride me,” He chewed on his bottom lip as he watched her. She could smell the fresh cigarette off of his tongue as he scooted further on her bed, resting his back against her soft pillows, “Before I trust you with my car.” He nudged her side with his foot and she scoffed.

“I’ve driven it once before,” Kim responded and he looked at her sheepishly. She could tell that he still felt bad for how he acted the other night, but she wasn’t quite ready to let it go despite him apologizing. She was still bitter that he had left her. She felt nervous as she looked at him, “How do I do it?” He leaned forward to pull at the hem of her shorts and she took the hint, understanding he wanted her to undress.

She was more than happy to do as he said as she watched him pull his shorts down. She wasted no time then, knowing he was serious if he was already undressing. She felt his eyes lingering as she placed her clothes into a neat pile on the floor.

“Come here,” He scooted down some, patting the thick part of his thighs. She gulped, noticing how hard his cock as it rested against his navel. She licked her lips, doing as he asked as she crawled over his legs, “You just, well to put it simply, you just bounce on my dick.” She still felt confused as she furrowed her eyebrows together.

“I bounce?” His hands caressed her sides, traveling up and down her hips softly as he watched her, nodding his head.

“How about I get you warmed up first?” She nodded, unsure of what to do as he slid his torso down between her legs. She gulped hard, feeling completely exposed as his head nestled between her milk thighs, “God, this view.” He smirked up at her, his lips brushing against her thigh gently. She felt her face grow warm.

“Shut up,” She mumbled, unsure of where to place her hands as she avoided looking at his observing blue eyes, “Do I just-?” Her voice cut off at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up her folds, flickering against her clit. She breathed out in awe, feeling her worries drift away at the feeling of his tongue licking against her bundle of nerves. She didn’t like to admit that this was allowing her to indulge in her fantasies from earlier. 

“Billy,” She moaned out as she grabbed a hold of her headboard. His hands cupped her backside, moving her hips down further on his face as he attacked her wet heat with his tongue, “Mhm, that’s nice.” She breathed out.

Her hips rolled forward as his grip around her thighs tightened. She gasped in awe, his nose brushing against her wet clit as his tongue slid around her entrance. She squeaked out an odd sound as he licked her wet hole, his laughter vibrating across her pussy. She ignored the burning feeling in her cheeks as he slipped a thick finger where his tongue had been. She pushed her hair out of her face, suddenly feeling very hot as she rocked her hips forward to meet his finger and tongue.

He sucked harshly on her clit as he curled his finger against the bundle of nerves inside of her that made her feel like putty, “God, you taste so good.” He mumbled against her thigh as he curled his finger inside of her. She glanced down at him, feeling a rush of excitement curl inside of her as she looked at his glistening lips and dilated eyes. 

“Close,” She breathed out, feeling her toes curling as he dove back in and attacked her cunt. She was whimpering about him, “Don’t stop.” She begged when he stopped lapping at her folds and began to pull his finger away from her wet hole. She whined, irritated as she peered down at him. He licked his lips.

“Not yet, baby,” He smacked her bottom harshly, looking up at her mischievously, “I want to feel you coming on my cock.” He scooted himself up towards her pillows again as she stared at him distraught. She was so close. She watched as he leaned over and grabbed his shorts before pulling out a condom and setting it near her knee.

“Billy,” She whined out in annoyance, but instantly halted at the feeling of his hard cock sliding between her folds, “Okay.” She mumbled as she resisted the urge to grind her hips down onto him. He smirked up at her, resting his arms under his head as he watched her.

“Put it in.” He said simply, rolling his tongue across his bottom lip. She halted for a moment, feeling pressure growing within her chest.

“What?” She asked nervously as she reached to push her hair out of her face. She tried to ignore the burn tingling between her legs. She didn’t know why she felt so intimidated now.

“You wanna come don’t you? Put the condom on my cock and push me in.” He looked very amused and very pleased with her nervous stance at the moment. He had asked her to do it before but she was unable to pluck up the courage to do so. She glanced at him one more time before looking down to his hard cock that was resting against his stomach. She noted how red and angry the tip looked, how his slick was coating his veins. She wondered how long she could dawdle before he took control again. He looked like he needed her just as bad as she needed him. 

She fiddled with the piece of plastic as she tried to remember how he had slipped it on earlier. She finally tore it open, feeling overly frustrated when the throbbing sensation between her legs. She was close to just rutting down on his thigh and getting herself off that way.

“Like this?” She asked breathlessly as she used one hand to grab the base of his cock. She furrowed her eyebrows, unsure of how to slide it on with one hand while holding onto him at the same time. He grunted softly, moving a hand away from his head to grip himself as she slowly slid the plastic over the head of his dick. 

“Yeah,” He breathed out and she glanced up into his blue eyes, watching how he was observing her movements. She must’ve paused too long because he looked up at her with thick eyelashes and grew amused again, “You want a picture or something?” She felt her face heat up because, yeah she wouldn’t mind a picture of him the same way he had a picture of her.

“Don’t be mean,” She grinned at him, pushing the plastic all the way down to his base, “This okay?” She wrapped a small hand around his base as she pumped him, looking at the etches of pleasure on his face to confirm that it felt good.

“Really good,” He exhaled slowly as he watched her hand moving, “It would feel a lot better in your pussy.” She shot him a look, scooting forward as she pressed his tip against her folds.

“I can’t even see,” She sighed out exasperated, his tip sliding past her wet hole, “It’s no fair.” She grumbled as she tried again. He chuckled, moving his hands again to place them over hers.

“Like this,” Billy’s voice was soft as he guided her hands, pushing his tip up towards her entrance, “See, you’ve got this.” He moved his hands away as she pushed him the rest of the way in. She gaped, feeling her eyebrows come together as the position burned differently.

“It kind of hurts,” She admitted, only pushing him about half way in before she stopped, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“Hold on,” His hands were gentle as he moved her forward a bit, positioning her better as he reached between her legs and slid himself out of her. He pushed his length between her folds, rubbing his tip in her slick before pushing back inside of her. She braced herself for pain but was surprised when there was none, “Is that better?” He asked after a few seconds, watching her face and making sure her expression was relaxed. She swallowed hard, feeling like she was filled to the brim.

“How do I-,” She exhaled sharply, all too aware that every time she breathed in he slid deeper inside of her, “How do I move?” She vaguely remembered that he had said to bounce but she wasn’t sure if he meant that literally. He looked up at her, a grin cracking against his lips.

“Similar to how you moved on my tongue, roll your hips to what feels good.” She listened, resting her hands awkwardly to her thighs as she listened to what he said. She licked the inside of her mouth, feeling awkward in her movements and she was sure she was doing it wrong as nothing felt good at the moment.

“Billy,” She whined out in annoyance, “It’s not working.” She claimed, looking down at him frustrated. He chuckled softly, his blue eyes hooded by his thick eyelashes. 

“Here,” His hands moved to her waist, helping to guide her movements, “Not so choppy. You’re overthinking. Just grind down like you normally do on your pillow.” He responded gently, looking up at her. She felt her cheeks flush even more as she looked down at the older boy. She didn’t want to admit that this was how she moved on her pillow. It was always rough with no rhythm, her only focus was bringing herself to orgasm.

Her eyebrows furrowed together at the slight burn she felt from the angle as he dragged her hips across his length. She rested her palms flat on his chest, looking down at him unsure as she moved her hips along with his hands. A soft moan tumbled free when they fell into a rhythm, the drag of his cock inside her left her breathless.

“Oh my god,” She muttered breathlessly as she rolled against him freely, no longer needing his hands for guidance as she remembered his movements, “Holy fuck.” His blue eyes widened under her as he delivered a harsh smack against her backside.

“Mhm that was a bad word, does it feel that good princess?” She moaned in ecstasy, his cock pressing against her sweet nerves. She ignored the burning in her thighs, too focused on how good she felt at the moment.

“It feels so good, Billy,” She mumbled in awe, rolling her hips forward again as his large hands cupped her butt, “Oh my god.” She sighed out again, her thighs quaking at the sensation of fully feeling his cock buried deep into her pussy. She thought it felt more intense than the other positions he had worked her into.

Her nails dug softly into his chest as she built her own rhythm with her hips, his hands now resting lazily against her backside as he watched her with a sort of glint in his blue eyes. Billy’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk as he watched her.

“You look so damn pretty riding my cock,” He murmured for just her to hear, “Just mine to look at. This pussy is all mine, isn’t it?” He questioned as he moved a hand between her legs, lazily stroking her clit. She moaned out even louder and she rolled her hips. She wasn’t sure what felt better at the moment, his cock pressing into the bundle of nerves inside her repeatedly or his thumb pressing down on her clit.

“Yes! Oh God, it’s all yours,” She moved her hips faster, beginning to understand why he had told her to bounce, “God, oh god Billy.” She repeated, unable to think of anything else as his thick cock throbbed inside of her aching heat. His low groans from under her gave her a new sense of urgency as she realized how good he was feeling too. He continued to press his finger against her clit, rubbing her harshly. She felt as if she was embarrassingly wet, already dripping down his cock and onto his thighs. She could feel it as she moved against him, sliding him in deeper each time she rolled her hips forward. 

Her cheeks were flushed and burning as she moved more desperately, rocking her hips forward as she felt a burning growing between her legs from how deep he was pressed inside of her. She cried out as he urged her on, grunting under his breath as his hands kept her steady on his cock. He looked at her, full of bliss and pleasure as he desperately thrusted up with her. 

He leaned up as her movements became more frantic, his wet tongue sticking out to lick at her hardened nipples as she neared her end. It sent jolts of electricity to her core, toppling her over on top of him as she came with a loud cry.

She shook around him as she clenched down on his pulsing cock, jolts of electricity vibrating across her core as he kept thrusting up into her. His lips wrapped around her nipple, sucking hard as he pulled her lip body forward and held onto her. He pulled away, looking up at her flushed cheeks.

“S’okay, s’okay,” Billy repeated as he held her hips in place, drilling his cock up into her with a brutal and rough pace as her nails dug into his chest. She was moaning so loud, filling the quiet house with promiscuous sounds. Something about this position left her in complete bliss and pleasure. Every movement he made hit that bundle of nerves inside of her and even though she had just come she didn’t want to stop. She wanted more of him, “Doing so good baby, you feel so good on my cock.” 

“Billy,” She whimpered, her movements coming to a halt as she let him take control. He was thrusting up into her so harshly all she could focus on was the sound of them echoing through the room, “More, more.” She begged as she dug her nails into his biceps. He grunted out, making her roll her hips forward to meet with his movements.

“Such a desperate whore,” He spit out, pushing her hair out of her face so he could attack the side of her neck with his lips, “You need my cock this badly?” He smacked her ass roughly, bringing her hips down on him harder. She moaned loudly, licking at her lips to keep the drool from pouring out of her mouth. 

“Yes, yes I need your cock so bad,” She was rutting down desperately, trying to meet his movements as he slammed into her repeatedly, “Mhm so close.” She could feel it building in her stomach again, her muscles tightening as she neared her end. She could tell Billy was as well by the way his movements were becoming more frantic and the way his nose kept scrunching. His sounds were encouraging her, making her roll her hips more and press him into her deeper as he began to unwind underneath her.

“Fuck, fuck,” He breathed out and she looked down, admiring how the lines on his face were scrunched up in pleasure and concentration, “Holy shit!” He held her hips in place, pushing fully into her until his balls were pressed against her butt as he filled his condom. She whimpered, feeling her walls flutter around his thick length as her orgasm followed shortly behind his. She rolled her hips gently, riding it out as he grunted beneath her. 

Her legs and thighs shook as he rubbed at her skin softly, looking up at her through thick eyelashes. Her eyes traced over his features as she tried to collect her breathing, noting how his features were relaxed as he watched her. Her arms felt like jelly as she moved forward, too tired to hold herself up anymore.

“That was-,” Billy panted out breathlessly as she fell on top of his warm chest. Her face fell into the crook of his sweaty neck. Her whole body felt like jello as she tried to come down from her high, overwhelmed with the orgasms he had wrecked through her body, “fucking hot.” She giggled into his neck, glad her flushed cheeks could hide her embarrassment.

“It was pretty nice,” She mumbled, trying to calm the heat in her body as he rubbed his large hand over the curve of her body. Her legs were shaking and she wasn’t sure if she had ever had such an extensive workout before, “We should do that again.” She grinned at him shyly. He chuckled, reaching down to slowly remove his condom from his softening length. 

“Damn, already thinking about my cock?” He teased, cupping her chin in his free hand and pulling her lips towards him. It was softer than she expected. She had never expected before that he would be able to kiss so gently. She actually couldn’t recall ever hearing any girls talking about him kissing them, just about their other habits in the bedroom. She pulled away suddenly, cupping his golden face in her hands as she thought of something. 

“Why did you,” Kim paused for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase her question in the correct manner, “Why did you masturbate that day at the pool?” Billy looked disgruntled as he laid next to her, scooting away from her a bit and inviting the cold air into them. He glanced at her and then looked away.

“Does it matter? I was fucking horny.” His voice was rough and the atmosphere turned tense and awkward as she wasn’t sure how to react to him snapping at her. She knew it was a dumb question to ask but she had been stupidly curious. 

“I guess not,” She tucked her hair behind her ear as her nerves took over, “I was just curious I guess.” She wished she could bite the words back as she watched him. She waited for him to leave, instead, he exhaled and turned to look at her.

“You,” He grumbled after a few minutes of silence. He looked straight ahead again, like he was trying to ignore her surprised look, “I overheard you and your friend talking about Pretty Boy and I don’t know. I guess I wanted to be the one to do it.” She blinked a few times, trying to process his words.

He had masturbated to the thought of her?

She stared at his features as he fought hard to ignore her, staring at her wall as she sat up a bit. She couldn’t believe that she had made him so hot and bothered without even trying. Suddenly his flirting made so much more sense to her after the pool. She was still stunned, unable to believe that she was able to make someone like Billy so bothered with the slight possibility of her being with someone else. She supposed it made sense, he did have the naked picture of her tucked under his pillow. Still, she had a hard time believing he thought of her that much.

She couldn’t help the giggle that poured out of her lips at his confession. Not because she thought it was funny, but because she felt so much relief in being right that he had been jealous about her talking about Steve all along. He looked at her, a bit irritated as she scooted closer to him. 

“You were jealous.” She didn’t give him any time to argue as she scooted closer to him, ignoring his soft protests as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her lips against his cheek repeatedly. He grunted softly, holding onto her sides as she attacked his tanned face.

“Shut up,” He murmured as she placed a leg over his waist, scooting even closer to him as she pushed his blonde curls out of his flushed face. She liked that he was on the receiving end of being embarrassed, “I just didn’t want Steve to ruin you.” She couldn’t break the grin on his face, knowing his words were far from the truth. He had been jealous.

“What were you picturing us doing?” She teased, nudging his cheek with her nose. She could swear he was getting even more red. He moved his hand from her sides, squeezing her thigh softly before smacking it.

“What were you thinking about the night of Tina’s party?” He shot back, his embarrassment fading away as a cocky grin overtook his expression, “I did hear you moaning my name, you know. Thin walls.” He grinned at her and she instantly went slack against him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck as she felt her body growing warm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She mumbled, her lips vibrating against his skin as she spoke. He moved his face against hers and she giggled again, jolting away from him when his fingers dug into her ribs, “Stop, it’s embarrassing.”

“Then why bring it up?” He looked at her incredulously and she shrugged sheepishly. She didn’t want him to know how badly she needed to hear that he was just as crazy for her as she was for him. His fingers rubbed over her soft skin.

“Just curious.” She replied simply, looking back up at him to see him staring at her lips. Her heart swelled when he looked back up at her eyes. His hands drifted to the back of her head, pulling her closer to him until he pressed his lips on hers again. She blinked in surprise, rolling her lips against his as she savored the moment. He tasted like mint and cigarettes, an odd mixture that she had come to enjoy. His hands tangled in the back of her hair as he gently pulled her away from him.

“Do you like to make me jealous?” She looked at him bashfully, unsure of her answer. She wanted to say no, but deep down she did really like seeing him get hot and bothered when she was with someone. She didn’t go out of her way to do it, but she couldn’t deny that it excited her when it happened. She was sure he did some of his actions on purpose as well. She knew he hadn’t asked Tina to dance with him just to be nice, no. He had put on a show since Kim was sitting right there. He knew she couldn’t do anything but watch. They were one in the same. 

“Maybe,” She focused on her pillow, dragging her hands along his chest and playing with the golden hairs on his skin, “You look kind of scary though.” She admitted, a small grin playing on her lips as she brought her eyes up towards his again. He was watching her with a certain fondness that she didn’t understand. He pushed her red hair out of her face.

“Have you ever been scared of me?” He asked suddenly. She blinked for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. She didn’t exactly know how to answer that question. She had been wary of him before, but she didn’t know if that was the same thing as being scared. She knew even when he was angry and upset that he wouldn’t hurt her. She had been scared for other people. She didn’t know how to quite put that into words. 

“I think you use your anger as a defense,” She said instead, watching how his blue eyes seemed to narrow and then relax as he listened to her words, “I don’t think you’d physically hurt me. No, I’m not afraid of you.” She replied to him, feeling a bit better to see that he seemed relieved in her words. She did think that people were too hard on him but at the same time he could work on his anger. Billy was quiet for a moment before he spoke up.

“Sometimes I wonder if she’d even know who I was if she came back. I became everything she didn’t want me to become. She’d probably hate me even more.” Kim was silent for a moment, trying to think of who he was speaking of. She watched how his blue eyes turned sad as she realized he was talking about his mom. She felt her heart clench.

“Billy, I’m sure she doesn’t think that about you at all. She left you with Neil, she can’t hold you accountable for how he’s changed you,” She replied softly, hoping she didn’t sound rude. She really thought he was harder on himself than he needed to be. Sure, he could be brash and rude but she didn’t think that meant he should hate himself. There was always room for change if he wanted it, “She doesn’t know what your dad is, what he’s done to you.” He was silent for a second.

“She does know. She went through it too, that’s why she left.” The way he was fidgeting made her believe that he was desperately craving a smoke at the moment. She stared at him, suddenly more horrified that his mother knowingly left him alone with his father.

“Neil hit your mom?” Kim asked slowly, looking at him bewildered. His words felt unclear to her. Her mother had mentioned before they had even met that Neil disciplined his son in his own way, and at the time Kim had figured that had meant spankings. She had thought that to be odd when they first met and realized that Billy was older than her. She had never, ever heard anyone mention that Neil would beat Billy’s mother. It felt like everything had been a lie. Did her mother know? She had thought that Neil had always been sweet towards her mom but maybe he wasn’t.

“Yeah, and I wasn’t strong enough to protect her,” His words were bitter and angry, “And now she has nothing to do with me either.” She stared at the side of his face, watching how he purposely avoided looking at her. She was shocked, in disbelief that he was able to place all of that blame on himself.

“Billy, you were a kid. A little kid. What were you supposed to do?” She replied softly, trying to make him see that it was ridiculous for him to hold himself to such a standard. He huffed softly, his arms crossing over his chest as he refused to look at her. He was still Billy, still so stubborn and unable to listen to anyone other than himself. She shifted in the bed, sitting up so that she could move closer to him. He grumbled but she didn’t care, curling up against his body. They were silent for a moment as she wrapped her pale arms around his warm body. She heard him gulp hard as he reached a hand up and wiped at his cheeks. She wasn’t sure what she should do, not knowing if she would make him mad. So she laid there and held him, hoping that he could read into her soft touches and know what she meant.

“We’re kind of -” She thought for a moment as his blue eyes flickered down to her curled up form, “Fucked up.” She said after a moment. He chuckled, wiping at his eyes again as she finally tilted her head up to look at him. His cheeks were red and his eyes glazed over with tears. She felt her heart hammering sadly in her chest. She’d never seen him upset like this before. 

“It’s not the sex that made us fucked up, it’s the abandonement issues?” He chuckled, clarifying her answer. She smiled sheepishly at him. Both accounts were true but maybe that provided an answer for her. They were similar yet so different.

“Parents suck,” She confirmed, “We’re going to be better than ours though.” She smiled sweetly at him. His hand wrapped around her waist again, pulling her closer to him. She sank into his warmth, craving the feeling of his body wrapped up against hers. 

“You want kids?” He raised an eyebrow as he watched her. She noted how his eyebrows were slightly darker than the rest of his hair. She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at his curious expression.

“I think I will one day. Not for a long time though.” She added quickly, hoping he wasn’t getting the wrong idea from her. She couldn’t imagine bringing another factor into their messed up lives.

“Speaking of,” He sat up a bit, facing her more. She was a bit disgruntled by his movement, missing how it felt to lay against his warm torso, “I think you should get on the pill.” He pushed his blonde curls out of his face as he looked at her. She glanced at him confused.

“Pill?” She questioned him, remembering what he had given to her the other day. She gulped, watching as he nodded at her. She had heard little bits about birth control but she couldn’t imagine her mother approving of it. She could remember Susan and Neil referring to girls who needed it as whores and worse. 

“Just for extra protection,” He added quickly when he looked at her worried expression, “I could take you in if you want?” She nodded in agreement. Her mother always sat in at her doctors appointments and she couldn’t imagine what her expression would be like if she found out that her daughter was not only sexually active, but doing enough of it that she needed to be on the pill. She shuddered. 

“I’d like that.” She admitted, feeling a bit shy in the way that he watched her. He pulled her in again, holding her against his chest as her heart hammered away. She wondered why he was being so touchy lately. She figured part of it had to do with when he abandoned her to go drinking. Maybe this was his way of making it up to her. She really didn’t mind that much, she could settle this for even.

Next Chapter

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: S3/EP4/One's Got Class The Other One Dyes

Episode titles with 6 or more words (the first four seasons): Season 1: The Lorelais First Day At Chilton, Star Crossed Lovers And Other Strangers Season 2: Red Light on The Wedding NIght, Nick And Nora And Sid And Nancy

Season 3: One's Got Class The Other One Dyes Season 4: The Lorelais First Day At Yale, The Hobbit The Sofa and Digger Stiles, In The Clamor and The Clanger, Girls In Bikinis Boys Doing The Twist, Last Week Fights This Week Tights, Nag Hammadi Is Where They Found the Gnostic Gospel (come on AmyShermanPalladino. Come on. She's just fucking with us with that one. She didn't envision a future where people like me would have to type that shit out). Anyway. This episode is a classic.

Let's have a look at what Jesstopher is reading...

That tracks. Lorelai: I think I'm in touch with the other side. Rory: Republicans? Ba dum tsssh.

What are we doing, naming things we see in the room? Dead cow, dead cow, non paying customer, non paying customer, old timey scale, the only business proprietor in America who purposely tries to drive away his own customers by insulting their selections from his own menu... Lorelai has been having premonitions about her own death. How does she know about the script for my Gilmore Girls horror movie trilogy titled "Blood In The Hollow"?

No, Lorelai will get a much more dignified slaughtering in BITH (at the hands of Rory? Luke? Jess? Her mother? Crusty? Possibly even DEAN, her jilted lover? The script is still in progress).

Now you're just naming all the hilarious ways I've imagined Dean's demise. TWWGG is chock full of "Dean Forrester should get eaten by a ____" , Most recently, it was a pair of T-Rexes. I may have suggested Death by Turtle before, I can’t recall. I do know that when he wore this sweater I said he looked like a turtle anus.

Stars Hollow has never once rocked and or rolled. Lane's got dreams of rock superstadorm. Not if AmyShermanPalladino has anything to do with it. Rory wraps her half eaten burger (The fakest fake burger I've ever seen) in a napkin (this is not a thing) and R&R leave Luke's without paying. INCOMING!

Lorelai's face. Lorelai mutters that Shane is a freak. Because why...? Sure, she doesn't have the best manners with all this barging through the door stuff, but you wanna talk about ettiquite, Miss Dine and Dash? So what makes her a freak? The girl has (horny, horny) needs and she knows how to get what she wants. Shane doesn't play silly games. On a random Tuesday at 6:17 pm, Shane thinks, "I want Jess Mariano's tongue in my mouth" And then she goes to the diner and gets that tongue in her mouth. That doesn't make her a freak, that makes her an example R&R should take after. Shane is a role model. Shane is Rock and Roll. Shane is a modern woman. Shane is a GOD DAMN HERO. SHANE IS SWAN FOOD (soon).

Nobody in the diner even blinks while this is happening.

There may not be any rock and roll in Stars Hollow, but there's certainly free porn, and Rory's going to grab a popcorn and watch the show.

"That was my intention, Uncle Luke"

Introducing for the first time, Zack Van Gerbig and Brian Fuller. I don't have any dog in this fight of "Which boyfriend was better for Lane". Well, maybe I do have a dog, but she's a sleepy bassett hound who can't be bothered to choose because anything that happens after season 4 (aka Lane's life trajectory after high school) doesn't affect me in the grand scheme of things. Alright let's briefly rate the members of Hep Alien: Zack: Lane's first sexual experience with Zack is a complete disaster. Zack enters into a teenage marriage with Lane, buys cheap off brand condoms and knocks her up with twins on their honeymoon, derailing her entire life and destroying her rock and roll dreams. (People on this show need to stop getting married right out of high school, for the love of all that is holy. And stop sleeping through Sex Ed! You live in a blue state where sex ed in school might actually be adequate and available! CHERISH IT). Zack is cuter than Dave. Zack is the lead singer, but I tend to crush on band members that are not the lead singers. Lead singers are trouble. That blond floppy hair is trouble. He looks like he might not shower that often. Dave: Dave didn't do any of those things. Dave definitely takes showers. Maybe too many showers + Impeccably clean, geeky clothes. Did you know Dave read the entire Bible in one night to impress Lane's mother? What a guy. He has curly hair which means he's a good guy. Got sucked up by the Male Gilmore Girls Character California Wormhole but unlike Jess and Max, She liked him so much she never spat him back out. Brian:

Lane gets a taste of the rampant sexism inherent in Rock and Roll when her suggestions for improving the band's sound are totally ignored by the men. Lane's paranoia about her mother is incredibly annoying and stifling to the other members of the band, and they almost walk out, and I'm not saying it's right to ignore her...I'm just saying, I understand.

In my gritty unrated Gilmore Girls spinoff with cursing and nudity and realism titled the Hollow no one would be shielded from perversion. At one point, Kirk apparently had a rock band called "The Kirk Gleason 5" who played covers of Queen songs and Mrs Kim put the kibosh on them.

The people of Hartford to the people of Stars Hollow: Please stop coming over here. There are other cities in Connecticut you can visit if you want to escape The Bubble. What about Stamford? We're full. Lane has to find a way to make it to band practice in Hartford 3 nights a week while still under the watchful eye of Mrs Kim. Rory and Lane try to brainstorm how she might get away with this Super Secret Band Thing, even though Lane has no money, no car, and no instrument.

A circa 2002 Karen (real name: Debbie), calling the Gilmores. Lorelai doesn't remember Debbie-Karen because Rory can only describe Karen-Debbie, the mother of a former classmate, as blond haired and average height. We find out Rory actually had another childhood friend of sorts besides Lane, Debbie-Karen's daughter Kathy. Rory would frequently go swimming at her house. Lorelai claims she can't remember any Stars Hollow Moms because they all look the same, except for Mrs.Kim and a woman with a glass eye. I guess that's Lorelai's way of saying Mrs Kim and Mrs Glass Eye are the only two minorities in Stars Hollow. That tracks. Lorelai doesn't even know Dean's mom? Things might get awkward when Lorelai and Dean have to write out their wedding invitations. Karen-Debbie: The PTA likes to ask prominent locals in business to talk to the students, you know, someone who knows about how much hard work it takes to run a business, and we thought of you. Bahahahaha. Lorelai, a hard worker. Don't make me laugh. Oh wait, I already did. I will laugh some more. Bahahahaha.

The Gilmore Girls California Wormhole is about to claim it's first female snack, Kathy. Things Googled While Watching GIlmore Girls We Owe You Nothing (first tried I Owe You Something because I couldn't see the cover), major cities in Connecticut, Brian's last name (it's Fuller)

[medusapelagia]

Give your all to me, I'll give my all to you [NSFW]

This is my gift fic for the Steddie one-shot holiday exchange!!!

For: @lorifragolina / TheMadcapLaugh Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Minor or Background Relationship(s)Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 12k Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Fake/Pretend Relationship, one bed, Anal Sex, Alcohol, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Christmas, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Steve Harrington Needs Love, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Sharing a Bed, Protective Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Steve Harrington-centric, Minor Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Christmas/New Year, New Year, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Bartender Eddie Munson, Alternative Universe - Roommates/Housemates Summary: When Steve receives the invitation to his mother's wedding his first reaction is to ignore it, but when she insists that he has to come Steve decides that he will attend the wedding… with his fake boyfriend, Eddie.

A brief snippet under the cut!

When Steve opens the mailbox he glares at the fancy letter with his address written in a nice calligraphy in gold letter. Mr. Steven Joseph Harrington. No one calls him with his full name and he dreads the moment he finds out who the author of the letter is, but he is already late for work so he puts it in his backpack and runs to catch the bus to town. He likes living in Chicago, where he moved with Robin when she got accepted at the University, and sharing his two-room apartment with his best friend was just a plus. He deeply regrets that they weren't friends in High School, but they made up for the lost time and now they are closer than ever. When he gets into the little bookshop Robin is already checking the new arrivals. "You are late, dingus." she scolds him. "I am not. A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to." he replies sticking out his tongue. Robin snorts "Oh my god, did you just make a nerd reference?" "Maybe?" "God I knew he was a bad influence but I thought you were immune." "Like you are immune to my charm?" Steve asks while going in the back to take off his jacket. The bookshop is tiny and cozy, they specialize in foreign books and most of the ones they sell have a double version of the text: original language and English. Robin started to work there during college and when the old owner proposed to her to take over the business she happily accepted, involving Steve who now is an underpaid employee. "You are not underpaid, Steve! Stop saying that!" she complains while adding the new arrivals to the shelves. Steve laughs and opens the bookshop. The place it's so small that even a few customers make it feel overcrowded, and it's even worse when the kids come to visit because they take up almost all the space in the shop, but both Robin and Steve are too fond of them so they have come to a little agreement, every Thursday the shop host a little game of D&D, it should be open to anyone, but in reality is always the kids (and their plus one if there is one at the moment) that join them bringing some pizza from the closest Italian pizzeria. The day is pretty slow, so when finally the kids make their entrance the table for the game is already set and Steve is taking a few refreshments from the fridge. "Don't touch the book with your dirty fingers!" he tells Mike who is looking at a very expensive French translation of the Hobbit. This time the DM is Will, who takes his role very seriously and asked anyone to dress according to their character, which means that Max has a pair of pointy ears, Dustin is wearing a cape, and Eddie... Eddie is wearing a corset.

READ MORE ON AO3

[lord-angelfish]

Happy fic rec friday! Tag, template.

Mother-Tongue by northerntrash (@northerntrash)

Fandom: The Hobbit Rated: General Audiences Warnings/tags: Flower Language, Getting Together, Misunderstandings Relationships: Bilbo/Thorin Author summary:

Forget-me-not: a small flower, with four petals, which are normally found in shades of blue with a pink or white centre. These are traditional flowers of intent in the Shire, used to express true love, and remembrance. In which Bilbo plans to leave Erebor, and Thorin tries to understand why.

Notes: This is so touching and so angsty and so sweet. And I love all of the little aspects of the plot. Absolutely lovely.

[sinisterbug]

Bagginshieldtober Prompt #9: Song

I started writing a song themed ficlet and it turned into a Khuzdul themed ficlet. It still counts technically as song-themed lol. I think maybe Ill do a part 2 of this for the Khuzdul prompt.

Warnings: Bagginshield, gen

Credits: @thedwarrowscholar for the Neo-Khuzdul translation of Durin's Song

Dwalin normally wasn’t one to hide his annoyance. Living amongst princes and being responsible in whole for their well-being, and in part for their rearing, the guard captain had long ago understood that he and his brother were among the unlucky few whom had the displeasure of saying “no” to Thorin Oakenshield, and many years later, too, to his terror nephews and heirs. Even Dis, who was usually the picture of restraint and amiability in her role as the Queen Mother, occasionally needed to be reminded why it wouldn’t do to have this or that courtier poisoned, just because they slighted her or her sons. Just last week, Balin had to talk her down from ordering the execution of Lady Norfi, who Dis thought had crossed the lines of propriety by batting her eyelashes at their king in front of his rightful hobbit consort.

This was to say, he wasn’t one of those people who had to worry about holding his breath and curtseying to the right person. He was free to show his annoyance, anger, or even pleasure at his discretion. Still, in times like these, he did his best not to sigh outwardly. His king looked so besotted, after all, watching his consort putter about the study, watering plants, and fussing over Mahal-knew-what. Thorin, mostly. It was as if the king of Erebor simply couldn’t hear what was coming out of his beloved consort’s mouth.

The day Bilbo Baggins had started to learn Khuzdul was the day Dwalin’s permanent headache had taken residence in his skull and never left. Of all things, Balin had thought it would be a good idea to teach him to sing their language first. Would that his brother had thought to set the wee sprite to poetry, or some quieter means of study.

The lad’s voice wasn’t bad, quite the opposite, different as it was from what his people usually preferred. It was just… amazing, really, how every single word he said was wrong.

“Kamon adda kim, uhbadaton danawk

Laksmabe kaya Kamon adda masakewl-”

It was painful to hear the sacred words of their history butchered so. For Mahal’s sake, no one should be allowed to disrespect Durin’s Song this way. It was Kâmin ‘atta khim, ‘abbad ‘atôn danakh, NOT kaMON adda kim—

He ground his teeth and counted the minutes before Thorin was supposed to leave for council. 

***

Bilbo chirped, “Aaglibee du sullu ‘aimugaleek umralul hagaas!” as Dwalin hurried down the corridor, suddenly quite eager to leave his king’s side. The hobbit sniggered, he couldn’t help it, but quickly looked around to see that no guards were observing him too closely. Thorin hadn’t missed it though, and he held out his elbow for Bilbo to take even as he gave him a reproachful look.

“It isn’t so much pestering Dwalin that I object to, mesmel,” Thorin said as they slowly made their way to their chambers after a very long day of ruling the mountain. He patted Bilbo’s hand, now heavier with bejeweled rings than ever before.

“Oh? You have objections, Your Majesty?” Bilbo responded airily. “Pray, count your grievances. You’ll find your subject a willing audience.”

Thorin’s countenance remained serene, but the noise he made in the back of his throat betrayed his good humored incredulity. 

“I do not want my people to spread rumors that my consort is an imbecile, when the truth is quite the opposite.”

It was Bilbo’s turn to scoff and he returned Thorin’s gesture, patting his hand placatingly. “We’ll simply spread the rumor of the truth. That your consort enjoys toying with your guard-captain, who is the real imbecile for believing I can’t comprehend Khuzdul conjugations or pronunciation after having mastered Sindarin, three tongues of Mannish, and becoming passable at Quenya.”

Thorin just shook his head and snorted softly, and together they harmonized sweetly, and with impeccable pronunciation, as they retreated to their chambers for the night.

Kâmin ‘atta khim, ‘abbad ‘atôn danakh

Laks mabekh aya Kâmin ‘ata masakhul

Galabî mabekh masharghiful aya’ ul fa’aban

Tân Durin Bekena ra besena zislal

Kharama hanâd ra zarsbizâr binakhrâm

Sheleka udu ’amâd binmasamkul na

Kurusifa  ra sakhaba ni kheled-zâram

[carniv0reev]

ezekiel’s intro post !!

general !

hellooo you can call me zeke if you’d like! i’m 19 and trans, i go by he/him pronouns and i am questioning my sexuality. i am currently single so feel free to flirt with me genuinely or just playfully lol.

interest !

warrior cats, true crime, wings of fire, avatar, atla, the legend of korra, jjba, mha, demon slayer, american horror story, supernatural, marvel, the arcane, godzilla, jurassic world, chucky, dsmp, the boys, star wars, stranger things. lord of the things|the hobbit, the walking dead, beastars, danganronpa, detroit become human, attack on titan, saiki k, fnaf, the conjuringverse, dinosaurs, insects, marine biology.

i loveee alice in chains, mitski, nine inch nails, ALEX G, the cure, the smiths, the neighborhood, modern baseball, current joys, imagine dragons, LORD HURON, DEFTONES, black sabbath, kings of leon, tame impala, 21 savage, odetari, the weekend, lana del ray, billie eilish, weezer, pantera, adrianne lenker, tyler the creator, hoizer, artic monkeys, melanie martinez, mother mother, childish gambino, glass animals, missio, unlike pluto, barns courtney, local natives. that’s all i’ll put for now

boundaries/triggers !

i honestly don’t get triggered so i can say i have no triggers, and it’s hard to upset me. all i ask is to not joke too harshly about me and my interest, just treat me how you’d want to be treated. don’t disrespect me.

obviously don’t flirt with me if you’re a minor LOL we can be friends ofc just no flirting bc that’s just weird

other things

i am a inf/tj, i say that bc i get both whenever i take tests LMAOO. im a questioning osdd system, im a capricorn.

i’m very adhd my memory isn’t always the best bare with me, but please talk to me about your interest!! i love to hear it, and i know people always want to share their interest with others.

i have my own fish tank and a blue tongued skink named dune !!