#pixie answers

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[materassassino]

🐅💛🕊🗡✨️ for both luke and din

Oh, you spoil me!

Luke // Din

Characterisation: when he's tired or stressed his accent slips. Get him tired enough and he'll sound fresh off Tatooine and come out with something so hick, so desert rat, you'll do a double take.

Can hold his liquour like nobody's business. Don't believe the propaganda that this boy only drinks milk, he comes from Bumfuck Nowhere where the only things for teens to do are shoot womp rats, race speeder bikes and drink, and the Rebellion made it worse because you know those X-Wing pilots party hard.

Can cook, but as a means to survive. He can handle two recipes really well but the rest is just stews and soups because it's hard to get those wrong and they last for ages. However, he's pretty adept at following a recipe and when he does it comes out decent.

Is terrified of the day he'll be asked to choose between his family and the galaxy again, but refuses to even consider the possibility.

Has officially dropped the aloof Jedi facade almost entirely unless it's necessary for something mission-related. It was, he realised, an externalisation of his trauma, and thus he recognises its disappearance as him healing.

Doesn't have any hobbies at all. There was little encouragement of them in the covert, and now he's in his late thirties with a surprising amount of downtime and doesn't actually know how to fill it. Luke encourages him to try new things so he's seeing what sticks at the moment. He's found he actually enjoys overseeing the work to rebuild Mandalore, and he enjoys reading more than he thought he would.

Better cook than Luke, by a long shot. Handles the meals.

Has no actual idea what he looks like in the sense that he doesn't entirely comprehend what he looks like to others. Is he handsome? Is he ugly? Is he average? He genuinely has no idea what others make of him because he's only been seen by like four living adult people and one of them he's literally married to.

Familial relationships: Obviously very close to Leia. They were best friends before, but now there's just added depth, a rock-steady certainty that they will always, always have each other's back. Obi-Wan told him Leia was younger and he's vowed to never, ever tell her.

Tries very hard to both treat Grogu as impartially as possible as his master, but ultimately fails because Grogu is his son. Definitely less of a soft touch than Din, however. He will tell Grogu off if needed.

The closest thing he has to family outside Grogu and Luke is the covert, and that is now a fraught relationship, but the societal norms of the Children of the Watch don't lend themselves to building the deepest relationships. Considers the Armourer as close as realistically possible to a mother figure, consider Paz a brother, in a way, but there's no great depth there, and eventually he realises he feels more of a familial feeling towards Bo-Katan than Paz or the Armourer anymore. He's adrift, in that sense, and it's actually a relief that Luke's side accepts him so openly and generally easily. It's much easier to view Leia as a sister than it ever was to view Paz as a brother.

Platonic relationships: Is friends with all his exes: Han, Lando, Wedge... As for enemies, he does try not to hold grudges, but man he just fucking hates Boba Fett. Poor Din, caught in the middle! Also supremely good at making friends with whoever he meets.

Din's platonic relationships have all been developed extremely recently: Boba, Peli, Fennec, Cobb, Bo-Katan... he's still trying to navigate the concept of having friends. It's weird?

I have no fighting style headcanons for either of them. Just watch canon content? Luke is a powerhouse, Din is supremely competent and prone to head trauma.

Worldbuilding: the rebuilt Jedi Temple is on Mandalore, designed by Luke and built by the New Jedi Order. Eventually they discover a wellspring of the Living Waters on the surface, and they build a garden around it. Neither will live to see Mandalore become green again, but Grogu does.

headcanon ask game

[zend-pixie]

Sm-baby's swap au is all of the humans swapped with Caine - so that he is the human, and they are all AI running The Amazing Digital Carnival.

ohhhhh alright

that's still a fun idea

[pixiemage]

so basically… x is a wet paper bag?

Absolutely. He’s a reluctant admin who can barely contain the chaos his Hermits create, he trips over his own feet half the time, he’s kind and friendly but can only handle so much pressure, he’s probably oblivious to more than half the problems that arise on the server, and his response to big issues is probably to sigh loudly and await the oncoming headache while silently wishing someone else had been chosen to be in charge.

And I love him for it.

[wanderingcoyotes]

🧡 for the ask thing! :)

:D !

[pixiegirlcam]

Who did the art for your chemist tattoo?

the scientist on my calf? the artist designed it himself (also he was guesting and I wont lie Ive forgotten his name x.x)

[ars0nistpixie]

i was wondering if reg and barty will have any kind of relationship? like friends or something? or its just gonna stay the way it is now? hope you dont mind me asking:)

ofc, they'll be friends!

they'll interact again in the seventh chapter <3

[thehobbitchronicles]

You have an absolutely lovely blog! 🩵

aww thank you sm ♡ i appreciate you 🌿🌸

[pixie-mage]

B...Banana?

[mspixiepixie]

Tag, you're it! :D

List five things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers :3

Oooh these are always fun!

1. My dog. He’s my little shadow. Always either in my lap or by my feet. 🖤

2. Music. Idk how I could ever live without it tbh. Especially instrumental music? Movie scores? Oof best things ever tbh

3. Sunshine. Where I live it’s usually overcast and gloomy from November to mid April (now) and we just started getting some sunny days again

4. Older movies. Seriously Hollywood needs to bring back the way they filmed movies even twenty years ago! I can see everything! I miss that and I’m grateful I can watch my favorites

5. Writing. It changed my life and gave me so many people to connect with. It’s one of the best things ever and I hope I do it for the rest of my life 🖤

[middleearthpixie]

Hello! ^^ Can you write a first time smut for Lindir x female elf reader? They both fell in love with each other and they take their time exploring each other's bodies. Super soft and gentle, from Lindir's perspective. Please!🙏 Thank you 💙

Hi there, Nonny! I'm sorry it took me so long, but here it is and I hope you enjoy it.

Moonlight

Summary: You and Lindir consummate your romance…

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Lindir x fem!elf reader

Warning: oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected intercourse

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.4k

***

A cool breeze wafted gently through the treetops, the rustle of the leafy canopies blending seamlessly with the chirp of crickets and the throaty growls of the frogs that called the various lakes and fountains home. The night sky looked spangled, the sparkling stars looking like diamonds that had been strewn about along a bed of inky black velvet. 

Lindir cupped a hand about a thick white pillar candle, trying to shield it from the wind as he attempted to light it. It took several tries, but finally, the wick caught and held long enough for him to slip the glass cylinder over it to protect it from the wind. He set it on the low, white stone wall that ringed the small courtyard just off his chambers, where it joined nearly a dozen of its brethren, their small golden flames flickering every now and then, but their dance did not include bending to the wind or succumbing to it, thankfully.

His gut churned with a nervousness he’d not felt in what seemed like a lifetime. He could not recall the last time his stomach was in such knots, which was silly, really. You had been a couple for a while now, and saw one another on a daily basis. You’d shared a few kisses, but that was all.

Until this night. 

He looked over at the large fleecy blanket spread out across the lush green grass. A bottle of wine chilled in an ice bucket to the side. Two goblets stood beside said bucket, just waiting to be filled. He’d set out the candles.

Now, he waited.

Then, he heard your steps on the grass and smiled even as his heart sped up. Even as his mouth went drier than it had ever been. Even as those knots instead became butterflies and without even seeing you yet, his blood seemed to rush warmer through his veins.

“Oh, how lovely.”

His heart skipped a beat as you came into the courtyard by way of the gate. The moonlight shone silver upon you and he knew he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as you were right then. “I thought the candles might be a bit too much. Are they?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.” 

You crossed over to where he stood, stopping before him to smile. “I think they look lovely.”

“Good. I was a bit… nervous. I should hate to have to explain to Lord Elrond how and why I burned down the whole of Rivendell.”

“What would you tell him?”

He reached for you, catching your hand in his, and drew you into his arms. “I’d blame you.”

“He would never believe it.”

“Never say never. I can be quite convincing when need be.”

You gazed up at him. “I’m a bit nervous, I confess.”

“You needn’t be,” he assured you. “But, if you’d rather not tonight, we can always—”

“No, I didn't say that,” you were quick to reply. “I am just being silly.”

“Would it help if I was to ask for your hand first?” A hint of teasing wound into his smooth, low voice. “That way you’d know I am not going to disappear on you come sunrise.”

“Lindir! What a thing to say. Do you think that is what I’m thinking?”

“I hope not. But, just in case. Will you marry me?”

“You know the answer is yes.”

“Very well. Now you have no reason to fear, my darling. You have said yes and you are not forever stuck with me.”

“Oh, no,” you replied dryly, trying, but failing, to look utterly serious, “I have made a terrible mistake.”

“Liar.” He leaned in to sweep your lips with his. He’d meant it to be but a gentle, innocent kiss, but the moment he felt your soft lips against his, he had no choice but to press his a bit harder to yours. 

You melted against him, parting your lips and he released a hand to slip his arm about your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your firm breasts pressed against his chest, heating his blood as it slowly changed course in his veins, tightening every fiber, every sinew and tendon, as he responded to just that pressure. 

You wound your arms about his neck, welcoming the silken soft stroke of his tongue along yours. His kiss deepened, and when you traced your fingernails lightly along the back of his neck, he shivered against you and sighed heavily into your mouth. 

He could resist temptation no longer, the hand he’d splayed across your back sliding down to curve against your backside. He cupped a cheek, pulled you firmly against him, and it was your turn to sigh as that telltale bulge of his erection ground into you to create an altogether new and delicious ache deep inside. 

His hand slid up, the other one joining it at your shoulders, where his nimble fingers made quick work of the row of tiny buttons that trailed from the neckline of your gown almost to the small of your back. The fabric parted, the cool breeze skittering across your bare skin as he skimmed his hands outward and the material poured from you to pool at your feet.

You stood naked before him and he almost moaned aloud at the sight—at the high, proud breasts with their already-beading nipples, the curve of your waist and the slope of your hips. Just the sight of you was enough to make his blood scorch through his veins as it flowed south now, his manhood responding to give him away, should you lower your gaze.

But you didn’t. You held his and that served only to fire his lust further. Without shyness or hesitation, he let his gaze roam over you and smiled as he murmured, “You are so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you,” you whispered back, and then you caught your bottom lip between your teeth when he reached out to cup your left breast. He was so gentle, his fingers dancing along the delicate skin, his thumb slipping lightly about your nipple, which tightened even further beneath his touch.

His fingers tightened about that breast, kneaded it gently, and then leaned in to sweep his lips down along your neck. You tilted your head to the side to allow easier access, and his kisses came softly hot against your increasingly sensitive skin. He punctuated each kiss with a teasing nip, and soothed that with a flick of his tongue. 

His thumb slipped about your nipple again, then caught it between thumb and forefinger to roll until you gasped. It was amazing to see how tight it beaded beneath his touch, how you responded when he gave a gentle tug, and when he leaned over to take it in his mouth? You shoved a hand into his hair, twisted your fingers into the length, and gave a tug that sent a sharp zing across his scalp. But that only heightened his arousal for you, only made him want to explore you further, to see what else would make you pull his hair and arch hard against him.

He took his time, let his lips caress each delectable inch of you as slowly as he could, which was no easy feat, as the very sight of you, the scent of you, the feel of you—warm and soft—against him was enough to drive him mad with desire. But, he wanted you to feel that same fairy desire, wanted you to ache for him the way he did for you. This was not only your first time with him, but your first time ever, and he wanted it to be as magical for you as he could make it.

He caught you in his arms, maneuvered you onto the soft blanket, and came over you gently. His lips found yours, his kiss hot and teasing and slow and he fought back a sigh as your lips parted and he slid his tongue along yours again. You tasted of sweet strawberries and he took his time exploring your mouth, drawing your tongue back into his own to savor that heady sweetness for himself.

He swept his lips down over your chin, down the front of your neck, which bowed as he caressed the sensitive flesh. He continued down, moving slowly along you body, kissing his way along your creamy soft skin, burnished ivory in the candlelight, his lips smoking a path along the inner curve of the breast he’d been teasing. With each sigh that wafted to your lips, each hitch of your breath, he grew bolder. Your body fascinated him, so soft and curvy, and as he kissed his way down, he sank to his knees before you. A hint of wildflowers and musk floated up to tease his senses. Your scent. Yours and yours alone. 

“My love,” he breathed, drawing back to gaze down at you, at the way your hair glinted in the moonlight, fanned out beneath you. Your eyes were heavy-lidded and sensual, your lips full and pouty from his kisses. “You have no idea how often I’ve envisioned this moment.”

“Do tell,” you whispered, your lashes fluttering against the pale expanse of your cheeks.

“I’ve dreamed of it. Of you. Lying just as you are now, bathed in silvery moonlight, a temptress amongst women.”

Heat crept into your cheeks even as you smiled. “You do have a golden tongue, my love, know you this?”

“I speak only the truth,” he whispered, letting his fingers trail lightly along the rise of your left breast. You sucked in a sharp breath, and he repeated the motion, smiling as he held your gaze even as he cupped your breast, slid his thumb harder about that aching bead, then worked down along the curve of your waist, over the rise of your hip. Each caress left you more languid than the one before it. Each one had you pressing your thighs together because the sensations offered up a hint of relief from the maddening tightness of arousal. You wanted to grab his hand, to guide it to that ache between your legs, but hesitated. What if he thought you wanton for aching to be touched there? What if he found you too brazen for wanting that arousal sated?

So, you bit down on your bottom lip as he continued his leisurely exploration of your body, as he moved slowly down along your thigh, over the back of it, to that sensitives patch just behind your knee. You couldn't help your sigh, which made him smile and switch direction, now skimming long the back of your calf. Up toward your backside. Over the rise of that cheek. Back down. You shivered against him, which spurred him on even further. As he drew closer to those curls at the apex of your thighs, he looked up and whispered, “I love you.”

You smiled, a hand curving against his cheek as you murmured back, “I love you, too.”

He winked then, and moved lower, his lips following in the path of his fingers—thigh, knee, calf—each kiss followed by a hot, teasing swirl of his tongue. 

He moved over your thigh and you bit down harder on your lip now. You ached with wanting him, the achy tightness between your legs growing damper with each caress. Everything inside you hummed with the need for him to quench the fires he sparked to life.

Your soft mewl didn't pass unnoticed and it took every bit of will he had to keep moving slowly. He felt your dampness. The scent of your arousal grew stronger still, as if trying to guide him to where you wanted him to be. 

He followed that guide, leaning in to graze your inner thigh with a teasing kiss. Your legs parted of their own and he almost signed at the heavy musky scent that filled his nose. Wildflowers. Honey. The most enticing of perfumes greeted him, welcomed him.

Lured him in.

He bent to you, his nose brushing the damp curls between your thighs. Fire swirled through him at the soft gasp that reached his ears when he slipped a fingertip into that wet heat. Slick. Hot. Enticing. He ached for a taste and so bent to you to slip the tip of his tongue into your folds, tracing along the curve of that satiny bead nestled within them. Your hand sank into his hair, spurring him on, encouraging him to caress you slowly, increasing the pressure against you as you sighed and moaned beneath him. 

Your hips moved with him, and he responded by flicking the tip of his tongue over that silken pearl, and when you grew wetter still, he let his fingers slip through that slick, stroking toward your opening. You moaned softly again as he eased his finger inside you, teasing you, caressing you inside and out, as you quivered around him. You thrust your fingers into his hair once more, twisting even harder now, your hips rolling slowly toward him to meet each caress. He was in no hurry, savoring every moan that bubbled to your lips, every drop of arousal that clung to his tongue, and he knew you grew close to your release in the way you moved with him. 

“Lindir…” Your breathless whisper rose into the gilded darkness. You trembled against him, your fingers twisting harder now, your breath rapid as you arched to meet each slow, teasing thrust of his tongue. He laved along that delicate pearl, gentle at first, but as you whispered “Yes…” he licked harder. Faster. He slipped his fingers into your slick, and when he found what he sought, he slid a finger inside you and smiled as you tightened around it. You sank against him as he continued his onslaught, stroking until he found that small swelling along your front wall and teased it as you pulsed around him.

“Lindir!” You shattered, your release as sweet as your arousal and he was relentless in his caresses as you throbbed around him, trembling and pleading with him to not stop. As if he would. Your cries of pleasure were the sweetest music to his ears and while he ached to find his own relief, he was in no hurry to end yours, either.

He slipped his finger free as you stilled against him and when you sank to your knees to meet his gaze, you whispered, “My turn,” and offered up a smile that turned his knees to jelly.

A hand pressed into his chest urged him onto his back on the soft blanket and he smiled as you straddled his hips and caught his hands in yours before pinning them to the blanket on either side of his head. 

Your lips claimed his and as you deepened your kiss, you slid your hands free to catch his tunic by its hem. You shoved upwards, breaking the kiss only long enough to whisk it over his head and then, when you came flush against him, he couldn’t hold back his moan. Your breasts, with those rosy beaded nipples, pressed into his skin, made the ache twisting his insides even worse. Your heat beckoned him, his hips rising to meet it, the pressure offering a bit of relief, but not nearly enough. 

His eyes closed as you moved down along him, trailing kisses over the smooth, warm skin his bared chest, and when you swirled your tongue along his left nipple, it was almost his undoing. He had no idea how sensitive his own were until then, and his entire body ached with the need to be inside yours, to feel that wet heat tight about him. 

Your hair spilled across his chest, warm and silken, and he buried his hands in it, let the gossamer strands caress him as you did. His head spun from the slow, teasing kisses you rained down over his belly, to the waist of his trousers.

Then you looked up and smiled as you unfastened them. As you gripped them. As you tugged them down and he sprang free from them, hard and proud and begging for your attention. 

Your name rose to his lips as you bent over and your lips closed about him. Your tongue moved slowly up from his base to his tip, your lips teased where your tongue did not, and when you gave a gentle pull…

He twisted his fingers in your hair as ever fiber in his body tensed, as the need for release tightened about him like a powerful fist, squeezing and pulsing with each stroke, with each teasing pull. White lights danced before him, and when you traced your fingernails along his sides? His moan rose like a mist into the air. His hips rose to meet each caress. The ache inside him grew stronger and more demanding and he had to force his eyes open as he gazed up at you. “Please… I need you…”

You pulled away, a look of utter satisfaction on your face as you whispered, “Need me for what?”

He smiled. “I think you know, love.”

He came up then, his lips seizing yours, his chest pressing into yours to urge you onto your back once more and as you obliged, your legs parted to let his hips settle between them. 

You felt the silken steel of his erect member slip into your folds, slide along your aching, overly sensitive flesh, and you shivered beneath him as he moaned above you. You teetered on the precipice. There was no going back now.

He caught your lips in a lingering kiss and you felt the gentle probe as he positioned himself. You were so tight about him, the resistance greater than he’d thought it would be. He drew in a deep breath and thrust, and you cried out at the brief sting of his breeching you. Then he went still, and you whispered, “What is it?”

“I love you,” he whispered back, then began moving inside you, each thrust slow and controlled, and little by little, the stinging ebbed and only pleasure remained. 

And what pleasure it was! It swelled within you both, fiery and hot and sweet, and with each thrust, that pleasure grew. It engulfed both of you, driving you both closer to the edge of madness. 

Your heat fed his. His fed yours. He surged harder now, tensing as his climax took root. It began in the soles of his feet and worked its way up like a rolling wave of thunder, and all he saw was you, your eyes sparkling, your cheeks flushed. You were close. He felt it in the way you tightened about him, the way you pulled him deeper still and throbbed around him once more. 

Everything inside him tightened. Twisted. Threatened to drive him insane as his climax bore down upon him. He couldn’t put it off, had no choice but to surrender to the inevitable as you squeezed him with a powerful rhythm and your fingernails dug into his chest. You tensed about him. 

He twisted his fists into the blanket beneath you, arched hard, and climaxed with a blazing fury that had him moaning and shuddering above you, that had him going rigid from the force of spilling hard inside you and you eagerly accepted it, pulsing and throbbing around him. You clung to him, your fingernails digging deep into his back. Your surrender met his and as he sank against you, you wrapped him in your arms as if you would never let him go. 

You fought for breath, as did he, and you held him as he trembled against you. Smoothing his hair away from his temple, you murmured, ��I do love you.”

“Oh, I love you, too…”

“I think we should do this again.” 

You smiled as he lifted his head to stare at you incredulously. “Already?”

“Well, perhaps we should wait a few minutes,” you amended. “At least my head clears. I might faint otherwise.”

“Probably a wise idea.”

“I thought so.” You tightened your arms about him, and it all just felt so perfect, so right. You were where you belonged and you were not about to let him go. Not ever, if possible. No moment had ever been so perfect, as the one you shared with him in the moonlight on the most romantic night of your life. 

[materassassino]

🐅 about JC for the headcanon ask thing?

OP... I genuinely don't know who you meant exactly by "JC", so I chose to do all three

Characterisation headcanons

Jiang Cheng

You know this cunt has fucking sky high blood pressure. He's going to end up having a heart attack at 43 and it'll make him worse, because the idea of Jiang Cheng doing anything calmly is pure insanity. No doctor will want to deal with him because the only doctor who probably could have is dead and died years earlier, and even then not even Wen Qing could have stood his unmanageable ass. He'll be told to go to Cloud Recesses for his health and will hate every second of it.

2. Jesus Christ

He would love disco.

3. Jeremy Corbyn

Oh he probably loves a pub quiz, does that man.

headcanon ask game

[zend-pixie]

WAIT HOLD ON I SAW A COMMENT FROM YOU ON A DETROIT BECOME HUMAN VIDEO- MAY WE BECOME CLOSER DUE TO THIS, FOR DETROIT BECOME HUMAN IS MY CURRENT HYPERFIXATION :D

OH YO LETS GO DUDE I LOVE DBH

May i ask tho was it a jse video cause I thiiiink I commented the most on those when it comes to dbh

[pixiemage]

Renchanting duo really is just so beloved. They really can't help but find ways to buddy up and interact, and it's honestly very sweet to see considering they didn't know each other pretty much at all before 3rd Life. The fact that we got to see their friendship start and develop because of 3rd Life too is awesome

I completely agree! I’ve actually talked about this in another post before, about how half the people in Third Life had probably never interacted with the other half before joining Grian’s game. They were all invited by association with Grian. We had Scar, Ren, Cleo, Bdubs, Etho, Impulse, and Tango, all from Hermitcraft. Then Jimmy and Big B and Martyn were all Evo folks back in the day. Scott and Joel, I’m not sure how Grian might have known them besides MCC, but Scott knew Jimmy beforehand at the very least and it seems like they both knew Joel. (I’m not as versed in the extended connections of MCYT creators lol, forgive me.)

BUT REGARDLESS.

It was a series that threw a bunch of strangers together, and though most people teamed with people they already knew at the start of 3L, Martyn and Ren were the outliers. They just clicked right off the bat and it has been SPECTACULAR to watch them interact ever since.

[wanderingcoyotes]

sory i saw the bingo thing and had to take this opportunity.. how do u feel about Steve Cobs (you already know how i feel about him (no, i dont like him))

i dont have thoughts about him

[pixiegirlcam]

MCR or Fall out Boy?

its a tough call but gotta go with MCR on this one