anaszpan

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are a cameraman working on a film set in which Richard plays the main role.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷 Ade GIF src: [x]

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow on the bustling film set, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety fluttering in my stomach. Today was the day I’d meet Richard, the charismatic star of our film. The crew was buzzing with energy, their laughter echoing alongside the clatter of equipment being moved and adjusted.

I adjusted my camera nervously, my heart racing at the thought of finally meeting him. Richard had been a household name for years, and I admired his talent from a distance. I wasn’t just a shy cameraman; I was also an enthusiastic fan.

As the crew called for a break, I found myself standing near the craft services table, trying to look casual as I sipped on my lukewarm coffee. My eyes kept darting to Richard, who was animatedly chatting with the director about his character. I wanted to inch closer, maybe even muster the courage to say hello, but the thought of stumbling over my words made my feet feel heavier.

Just as I was about to retreat to the safety of the camera cart, a PA approached me with a bright smile. “Hey! We’re introducing the crew to Richard! You should come!”

Before I could respond, she gently guided me toward Richard and the director. As we approached, I felt my heart race. Richard looked even more striking up close, his smile infectious, the light of the setting sun framing his face perfectly. The PA cleared her throat and gestured toward me. “Richard, this is our cameraman!”

Richard turned, his gaze locking onto mine. “Hey there! Nice to meet you!” His voice was warm and inviting, shattering my nervousness like glass breaking underfoot.

I blinked, heat flushing my cheeks, my voice barely a whisper. "Maria. The pleasure is mine." We shook hands. "Just… trying to get the best angle.”

Richard chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that melted away tension. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you.” He leaned casually against the equipment, his presence making the hustle of the set feel a little more intimate.

As we chatted, the world around us faded, and for those few precious moments, I felt like we were just two people sharing a connection—not a star and a mere cameraman, but simply two storytellers. I found myself slowly emerging from my shell, speaking about my passion for cinematography and how I loved capturing the stories unfolding before me. Richard listened intently, asking follow-up questions that made me feel valued, his interest genuine.

“Let’s make some magic together,” he said, a playful glint in his eye as he returned to set, his natural charisma leaving me a little breathless.

When the cameras rolled again, I felt emboldened by our brief encounter, my fingers trembling less over the controls. I captured every frame with renewed passion, knowing that sometimes, the shyest moments could spark the brightest connections.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You're a waitress at The Tracing Pony. One night you are serving Thorin.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The inn was warm, the flickering light of the hearth casting a cozy glow across the weathered wood and faces of patrons lost in their own musings. As I maneuvered between tables, I spotted Thorin Oakenshield seated in a corner, his unmistakable blue hood pulled low over his brow. He was a dwarf of regal bearing, a prince among men, though in the dim light he appeared more weary than grand.

I approached with a steaming bowl of goulash, the fragrant spices wafting up like a seasoned embrace. The rich aroma of meat simmering with root vegetables tickled the senses, a dish hearty enough to satisfy any traveler. "A warm meal for a cold night." I offered with a bright smile, setting down the bowl before him alongside a tankard of frothy ale.

Thorin glanced up, his steel-grey eyes meeting mine, and for a brief moment, I saw a glimmer of gratitude beneath the weight of his burdens. "A fine way to end a long journey..." he replied, his voice deep and resonant. He scooped a spoonful of goulash, the savory broth cascading like molten gold as he tasted it. His expression softened slightly, a rare chink in the armor of his stoic demeanor. "You have a knack, lass." he admitted, eyes crinkling in a way that suggested he rarely found such satisfaction in food.

"Just a humble waitress in a humble inn." I said, trying to downplay his compliment. Curiosity flared within me, yet decorum held me back. Dwarves were notoriously private about their journeys, and I would not pry. Instead, I ventured, “So… What do you think of The Prancing Pony, Master Dwarf? It’s a far cry from the grand halls, I wager?”

“Perhaps, but I find that sometimes the heart of a place lies in its strength of spirit.” he replied contemplatively as he raised his mug in a toast to the mingling patrons around us.

As he took a sip of the ale, the inn doors swung open, letting in a gust of cold evening air, ushering in two strangers. Their presence seemed to sap the warmth from the room—their intentions clouded like the stormy skies outside. The chatter of drunken patrons stilled as the inn took notice, eyes flicking from me to the newcomers.

Draped in dark, tattered cloaks, their faces obscured, one was tall and imposing, the other wiry, with lips curled in a sly smirk. They surveyed the room, taking stock of each face, lingering a moment too long on Thorin before they approached the bar.

"Drinks for two!" the tall one boomed, voice as thick as the ale he desired. But it was the way he leaned toward Thorin, a flicker of recognition mixed with something darker, that sent a shiver through me.

[anaszpan]

"They have feelings, my friend. The Elves began it. Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

[anaszpan]

Feeling rough lately.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are an elven princess and forced into a marriage with Thorin. It is not a happy one.

[ A/N ] : Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷 Mary GIF src: [X]

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : Once upon a time in the lush realms of Eriador, where the stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across the vast night sky, there lived an elven princess named Lúthien, which was known for her grace and beauty, with hair like spun gold and eyes that mirrored the depths of the forests she called home. Lúthien possessed a spirit that longed for adventure and freedom, much like the songs of old that spoke of the windswept mountains and the endless roads of Middle-earth.

However, the harmonious chords of her life were abruptly silenced when her father, King Elindor, summoned her to his grand hall beneath the ancient oaks. The air was thick with the weight of unspoken decisions. With a heavy heart, he revealed that she was to be married to Thorin Oakenshield, the proud heir to the Kingdom Under the Mountain. This union, he explained, was intended to strengthen the alliance between elves and dwarves, a bond that had long been strained by misunderstandings and old grudges.

Though Lúthien had heard tales of Thorin's bravery and nobility, she felt no thrill at the prospect of marriage. Instead, an ache formed in her chest—the kind that whispered of dreams unfulfilled. She had envisioned a life filled with laughter, exploration, and the celebration of her people’s history, not one confined to a castle where her heart would languish behind walls adorned with gold and stone.

As the day of the wedding approached, princess felt both contempt and dread toward the man she was to marry. She remembered the day they first met. Thorin, tasked with brokering the alliance, had come to Rivendell bearing an air of command, but beneath that hard exterior, she had sensed a flicker of pain. He was a king burdened with the past, always overshadowed by the ghosts of his ancestors—yet, she could not summon any empathy for the calamity of his plight.

Once wed, Lúthien found herself in a cold and stony kingdom, surrounded by the echoes of a past filled with battles and loss. Thorin was a warrior consumed by visions of reclaiming his homeland and restoring his family's honor, a task that left him little room for tenderness or affection. Their evenings together were marked not by shared laughter or whispered dreams but by the weight of unspoken words and heavy silences. Lúthien's heart longed for the warmth of connection, yet it felt as if she were a stranger in her own home, observed but not truly known.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are an elven princess, Thranduil's sister. One day, you came instead of him to negotiate with Thorin. Thorin began to insult you. The negotiations fail and you leave Erebor with a bang.

[ A/N ] : Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷 Mary GIF src: [X]

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : In the heart of the Misty Mountains, the air was thick with tension as I approached the grand gates of Erebor. I typically held no interest in the squabbles of dwarves, circumstances had compelled my brother to send me in his stead.

The last rays of sun glimmered upon the polished stone as I strode into the Great Hall of the Lonely Mountain. My attire spoke of my lineage — an elegant gown woven with silver threads that sparkled like starlight. I held my head high, braids of dark hair woven with delicate leaves, representing both my status and the deep connection I felt to the woodland realm from whence I came.

At the far end of the hall stood Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of the Company of Dwarves and the heir to the Kingdom Under the Mountain. His eyes were sharp, glinting with pride, but I could sense the flicker of disdain beneath his bravado. As I approached, his expression shifted to one of mockery.

"So, the great Thranduil sends his precious sister instead of attending himself..." he proclaimed, his voice booming and dismissive. "How charming. I suppose he is too busy preening in the woods to bother with matters of true importance. Perhaps he fears the strength of a true king, knowing that I, Thorin Oakenshield, have reclaimed these halls.""

I inhaled deeply, allowing the anger that brewed within me to settle into a calm determination. "My brother is a king who respects protocol, Thorin Oakenshield. Though I may not bear the title of king, my wisdom and experience in matters of diplomacy are greater than you presume. To insult me is to insult the very alliance we seek to forge."

His laughter echoed through the hall, harsh and grating. "Wisdom? Wisdom from a woman? Your presence here does nothing but show the weakness of your kin. A true ruler would not hide behind a lady’s skirts." The dwarves at his side snickered, and I felt the heat of indignation flush my cheeks. "And what do you know of struggle, dear lady? Have you ever faced the spitting breath of a dragon, or the bitter chill of winter in the dark corners of a mountain? Perhaps you’d prefer a negotiation steeped in ribbon and poetry?”

With a steady resolve, I replied, "Let it be known that wisdom is not measured by title but by actions and experience. Your pride will cost you dearly, Thorin."

Yet, the truth was, I had known that these negotiations were precarious from the start. It was no surprise when Thorin, in his stubborn pride, refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of my propositions. With each failed attempt to reason with him, the situation grew more heated. The dwarves had their minds set on their treasure, and Thorin’s arrogance blinded him to the potential of alliance with the Elves.

Finally, after an exhausting exchange of barbs and bluster, it became clear that we would achieve nothing further that day. I turned my back to Thorin and the assembled dwarves, my heart heavy but resolute. "This meeting is concluded, then. If you wish for my brother’s aid, you will have to look beyond your own pride, Thorin. Remember this."

As I made my way to the exit, I paused to take one last look at the great halls of Erebor, so resplendent but filled with such foolishness. Then, summoning a bit of elven magic, I raised my hand subtly. The torches lining the great hall flared brightly, casting dancing shadows that painted the walls. A gust of wind surged through the hall, rattling the torches and stirring the garments of the dwarves.

“You will regret this, Oakenshield.” I intoned, allowing my voice to carry like a whisper in the wind. Then, with a flourish of my dress and a fierce spark of light, I exited, leaving the hall aglow with the radiance of my departure.

Outside, I mounted my swift steed, feeling the sharp sting of disappointment but also a sense of pride for holding my ground. As the last echoes of laughter faded behind me, I took a deep breath, vowing that I would return to the dwarves, not as an insult to their pride, but as a force to be reckoned with. The balance of power was shifting, and the tale of our kingdoms was far from over.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are Fili's and Kili's sister. You go horseback riding with Sigrid. She asks why you keep defending Thorin.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : "Family isn’t always about blood; sometimes it’s about who takes you in when the world feels lost. It’s about loyalty. You understand that, don’t you?"

[ A/N ] : Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are Fili's daughter. When he teaches you to fight, he is very strict and doesn't go easy on you. You wrongly think that he is upset with you and that you will never be good, while he simply does not want you to get hurt.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : "You’re not focusing!" As I stood on the training ground, my heart raced with a mixture of frustration and doubt. Fili, my father, commanded the space with a fierce intensity that I admired but also found overwhelming. Today was just another grueling session, and as he demonstrated the proper stance for sword fighting, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was disappointing him.

“Hold your sword higher!” he barked, his voice cutting through the crisp morning air like the blade he wielded. “You’re not a child anymore. You need to be strong.”

I nodded but felt a knot form in my stomach. I gripped the hilt of my sword, my arms trembling. “I’m trying, Papa.” I said, hoping to soothe the tension that hung between us, but my plea seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Did he truly believe I would never be good enough? Each criticism felt like a dagger, chipping away at my self-esteem.

The sun hung high, beating down on us as I swung my sword, attempting to replicate the form he had shown me. I stumbled, nearly losing my balance, and instinctively, I glanced at him for approval. Instead, he frowned, his brows furrowing as he sighed heavily. “Again!” he commanded, and I could hear the disappointment laced in his voice.

And then it happened. In a moment of distraction fueled by my frustration, I stumbled, tripping over my own feet. I fell, the sword clattering away from my grasp. The sting of the ground brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I buried my face in my hands, the weight of my failures crashing down around me.

"Get up," he said quietly. There was no reprimand this time, only… concern? It was perplexing and disarming. Slowly, as I pulled myself up, I faced him, trembling and overwhelmed. "You have to learn to rise after every fall," he continued, his voice even. "This… this is where true strength is forged." As we continued, I grew more exhausted, and my movements became sloppy. I swung my sword wildly, and when he deflected it easily, I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs. The more he pushed, the more it felt like I was fighting against the tide, drowning in my own inadequacies.

“Enough!” I cried, dropping my sword to the ground as I collapsed to my knees, frustration spilling over into sobs. “I can’t do this! You’re always so strict with me! Maybe I’m just not cut out for this! Maybe I’ll never be good enough!”

I felt a lump form in my throat, stifling the frustration rising within me. Fili paused, his sword lowered, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes — pain, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “What if I can’t ever be like you?”

The air grew thick with silence. Fili stepped closer, lowering himself to my level. His expression softened, a blend of concern and guilt flitting across his face. “Halwûna*” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “It’s not that I don’t believe in you. I do, more than you can imagine. But the world out there,” he gestured beyond our secluded training ground, “it can be unforgiving.”

“But I can handle it.” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. “I want to make you proud. I don’t want to be a burden. I just feel like I’m failing.”

A flicker of tenderness crossed his eyes as he knelt beside me. "You'll never fail. You are my daughter, my strength, my joy, my heir. You belong to the line of Durin." His hands moved to my shoulders, squeezing gently, his warmth enveloping me. I leaned into him, feeling smaller against his sturdy frame, needing the comfort he provided.

He pulled me into a tight hug, wrapping his strong arms around me like a shield. I could feel the steady beat of his heart, grounded and steady. It calmed my racing thoughts, the whispered fears slowly fading in the embrace of my father’s love. “I do this because I care,” he murmured into my hair, his voice steady. “You are fierce; you just don’t see it yet. Every time you pick up that sword, you’re stronger than you were before. You need to believe in yourself, as fiercely as I believe in you.”

I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his love seep into the cracks of my doubt. “You won’t give up on me?” I asked softly, my voice muffled against him.

“Never,” he promised, pulling back to look at me with those bright blue eyes filled with unwavering affection. “We’ll train together, and I’ll be right by your side. You are capable of great things, and I will always be here to remind you of that.”

With those words, a flicker of hope sparked within me. Perhaps, just perhaps, I was not as far from my father as I thought. I wasn’t just his daughter; I was a warrior in the making, and I could feel his faith in me becoming a part of my own spirit.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You're on night watch with Thorin Oakenshield. You don't like the dark and every little rustle and sound scares you.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The night was thick with darkness, the kind that seemed to swallow the faintest light. The air was cool, and the only sounds were the distant hoots of owls and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. I stood next to Thorin Oakenshield, his silhouette strong and imposing against the night sky, but my nerves were on edge.

“Thorin,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady, “did you hear that?”

He turned his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the treeline. “What did you hear?” he asked in a low growl, the authority in his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Just… a rustling. It sounded closer this time.” My heart raced, and I could almost feel the weight of the shadows pressing down on me.

For Thorin, the night was just another realm to navigate, filled with potential threats to face head-on. But for me, it felt like a monstrous entity, each breeze urging shadows to creep closer. “You should be more alert,” he said, sharp yet patient. “The world is full of sounds, but not all are threats.”

I nodded, but it did little to quell my racing thoughts. Every whispered rustle felt like an imminent danger stalking us under the cloak of night. “What if it’s something dangerous?” I pressed, glancing nervously at the inky blackness before us.

“Then we will face it as we have faced all dangers,” Thorin replied, crossing his arms, his confidence an anchor amid my anxiety. “Keep your wits about you. Fear serves you little in these woods—but caution does.”

I tried to muster some of that bravery, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way a leader draws strength from those around them. “I know you’re right, but…I can’t help it.”

A low, guttural growl emanated from the shadows, and I jumped slightly. Thorin stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Stay close,” he commanded, stepping slightly in front of me, an imposing guardian against the night.

I swallowed hard, my instincts urging me to stay grounded, to stand firm. “What if it’s just a rabbit or a deer?” I asked, trying to rationalize the tension in the air.

“Aye, it could be...” he conceded, but his eyes remained vigilant. "Always be prepared. That’s how we survive.”

I nodded, my heart still racing but feeling slightly bolstered by his presence. As the night stretched on, I tried to focus on the stars peeking through the gaps in the foliage, the twinkling points of light reminding me that even in the darkest times, there was still a glimmer of hope.

[anaszpan]

 ———— When in doubt, bake it out 👩🏻‍🍳 🥧

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Imagine lazy evenings with Guy as he gets ready for night patrol.

[ A/N ] : English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. 📷 Guy GIF src: [x] ; Mary GIF src : [x]

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As the soft glow of evening light filters through the narrow window, casting gentle shadows across the modest chamber, Guy stands in the dimness of the room, preparing for his night patrol. The air is thick with the subtle scent of sandalwood and dried herbs, remnants of the day’s warmth linger, wrapping around you like the patchwork coverlet that adorns your bed. You lay cocooned, your head propped on plush pillows, carefully observing your man.

Guy, tall and sturdy, possesses the kind of rugged charm that has been carved out of experiences both hard and kind. His tousled chestnut hair falls in soft waves around his face, occasionally obscuring the thoughtful lines of his brow. As he moves, the flickering candlelight dances along the contours of his strong jawline, accentuating the slight stubble that has grown over the day.

He dons a simple yet functional leather tunic, worn at the edges but well-maintained, its deep green hue reminiscent of the dense woods that surround your village. The fabric boasts a few scuffs and scratches. Over his shoulders, he has thrown a cloak, the dark fabric draping gracefully to blend with the approaching night, its interior lined with the comforting warmth of wool.

Around his waist, a simple leather belt holds a sheath for his dagger—a faithful companion that has seen him through countless adventures. You catch sight of the hilt, intricately carved, its handle cool to the touch as he adjusts it.

You watched, captivated, as he sharpened the blade, the rhythmic sounds echoing softly in the quiet room—a metallic scrape followed by a contemplative sigh. He caught your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, a playful smirk danced upon his lips.

“See anything you like?” he asked, breaking the silence. The shadows danced around him as he paused, the flicker of candlelight framing his handsome features. You laughed.

“I might be persuaded to stay in bed, you know,” you replied, a playful glimmer in your own eyes. “The village can fend for itself for one night, surely?”

He chuckled, a rich sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. “And let the night creep by without my watchful gaze? Unthinkable!” He shot you a facetious look that made you giggle. But there was a note of sincerity in his voice, underlying the jest; he truly believed in his calling.

“Will you be here when I return?” he asked, his voice low. There was an urgency in his tone, a flicker of vulnerability that made your heart ache. It was a reminder of the dangers that loomed, lurking just outside the comforting walls of your shared haven.

“Always,” you breathed, and the promise hung thick in the air—an unbreakable bond between you two, forged in both the mundane and the perilous.

“Remember to keep the hearth warm for me, my love,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. A soft smile on his lips as he turned toward the door, ready to step into the night.

With a final glance over his shoulder, he vanished into the shadows, leaving you cocooned in a cocoon of warmth and anticipation. The fading echoes of his footsteps lingered in the air, intertwining with the soft flicker of candlelight, as you settled back against your pillows, waiting for the return of your brave knight, the guardian of your heart.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You're Fili's daughter. During expedition, one night Kili tells you stories about Erebor and your mother, a brave warrior. (she died)

[ A/N ] : The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. /// English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. Freya GIF src: [x] / Fiili GIF src: [x]

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As the stars flickered above like jewels scattered across a deep blue tapestry, I settled around the fire with Kili. The warmth of the flames cast a cozy glow, and the crackling embers danced with the night’s gentle breeze. Kili leaned back against a fallen log, his eyes twinkling with mischief, ready to spin tales that only a true son of Durin could tell.

“Did I ever tell you,” he began, a grin spreading across his face, “about the time your mother faced down a pack of wargs all by herself?” I shook my head, eager for his stories. I adored hearing about my mother — a fierce warrior and, surprisingly, a woman of great humor.

“Ah, yes,” he continued, “it was a dark night much like this one. Your mother had been out scouting for a place to camp when, wouldn't you know it, she stumbled upon a whole family of wargs! Big, hulking beasts with teeth like… well, let’s just say they could take a hearty bite out of a dwarf!”

Kili paused for effect, widening his eyes dramatically. “Now, most would have turned tail and run. But not your mother. Oh no! She gripped her sword, called them some rather unfortunate names, and said, ‘You might want to think twice before challenging a daughter of Durin!’”

The flames crackled loudly, as if in agreement with Kili’s animated retelling. I could almost see my mother’s fierce determination reflected in his eyes.

“What happened next?” I urged, completely immersed in the tale.

Kili chuckled, his voice rife with admiration. “Those wargs, I tell you, they didn’t know what hit them! With a battle cry that could wake the dead, she charged at them. The aplha warg lunged at her, jaws wide. But your mother — bless her heart — sidestepped expertly, and with one swift slice, she drew her blade across its snout! The others hesitated, and before they knew it, she was a whirlwind of fury, dodging and striking as if she were dancing!"

I gasped, picturing the scene vividly in my mind. “And the others?” I asked, eager to know how the story unfolded.

“Ah, that was the fun part!” Kili laughed, leaning forward as if to draw me deeper into the excitement. I couldn't help but chuckle at the image Kili painted—a fierce vision of my mother, standing defiantly against the snarling beasts. He continued, his voice rising in excitement, “They looked at her like she was mad! But she mustered every ounce of courage and charged right in. A true daughter of the mountain, she was!”

I could almost see the scene unfolding—the night filled with the sounds of battle, the clash of metal against fang, and my mother’s fierce shouts ringing through the air.

“She sent them running, howling back to whatever dark corners they came from,” Kili finished with a flourish. “And when she returned to camp, her hair was a glorious mess, with leaves and twigs stuck in it like a crown.”

I laughed, picturing my mother’s triumphant return, her laughter mingling with the night’s sounds, proudly recounting her adventure, oblivious to her disheveled appearance. “And what did she say afterward?” I asked, leaning in, captivated.

“Ah, she merely shrugged, tossed her hair back, and said, ‘You should see the other fellow!’” Kili roared with laughter, and soon, I was laughing alongside him, the bond of shared stories warming my heart.

As the flames crackled and popped, casting flickering shadows around us, I felt an overpowering sense of pride swell within my chest. Kili’s stories never failed to remind me of the strength and courage that ran deep within my lineage, a tapestry woven with bravery and humor, much like the night sky above us, filled with countless tales just waiting to be told.

As the fire crackled and the stars twinkled, Kili continued to weave tales of my mother’s conquests and escapades. Each story painted a picture of a brave, strong, and surprisingly humorous warrior, revealing bits of her personality that I had always admired but never fully understood.

Eventually, Kili’s voice softened, and he looked up at the stars. “Your mother was more than just a warrior. She believed laughter is just as powerful as any sword. She taught me that sometimes, the greatest victories are won with a quick wit and a sharp tongue.”

Feeling cozy and content, I smiled. “I hope one day to be as brave and clever as she is!”

Kili turned and ruffled my hair. “You already are, lass! And I expect nothing less from a daughter of my brother!"

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : You are taking a shower with Richard.

[ A/N ] : The photos / gifs do not belong to me. I do not claim any copyright to them and do not own any. /// English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story. Richard GIF src: [x]

[ WARNINGS ] : Hot, but not smut

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] In a cozy, dimly lit bathroom filled with the gentle sound of water cascading from the showerhead, you stood under the warm spray, letting the steam envelop you like a cocoon. The scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, a calming aroma that melded with the heat of the water. The world outside faded away as the worries of the day dissolved, replaced by the soothing sensation of droplets gliding over your skin.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Richard walked in —tall and statuesque, with that trademark charming smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

He glanced toward you, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he quipped, stepping closer, steam swirling around him like a shroud, accentuating his chiseled physique.

You chuckled softly, feeling a flutter of excitement in your stomach. “Not at all. The more, the merrier, right?” “Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice smooth like velvet, a hint of amusement in his tone. You couldn't help but return the smile, a thrill racing down your spine. “We will fit in.” you replied, your heart quickening as he stepped closer, the heat radiating from his body mixing with the warm mist swirling around you. The shower was spacious, with multiple streams of water falling like gentle rain. Richard drew nearer, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your bodies grazed against each other. His skin was warm, and you could feel the droplets trickle down his chiseled abs. You fought the urge to bite your lip as his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes darkening with undeniable desire.Without a word, he tilted his head, capturing your lips with a tender yet possessive kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away, the only sound being the echo of the water and your mingling breath. His hands explored your back, fingers tracing patterns that set your skin ablaze. “Let me wash away all your stress.” he murmured against your lips before pulling back slightly, his eyes sparkling with playful intent. You nodded in agreement, heart racing at the thought of what was to come. Richard reached for the showerhead, directing the water to flow over you both, cascading down in a warm embrace. With gentle hands, he took the soap, lathering it between his palms before moving to your shoulders, massaging the suds into your skin. His touch was electric, every caress igniting a fire within you.As he worked the soap down your arms and sides, his fingers brushed against the sensitive curves of your body, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You leaned into him, the heat building between you palpable. Richard leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful…” With each word, he drew your body against his, the water tumbling down over you both. You could feel his heartbeat against you, steady yet rapid. Your fingers tangled in his wet hair, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened, a dance of passion weaving between you.When Richard finally pulled back, your breaths mingled, hot and ragged. He grabbed the loofah, his movements confident as he began to wash his body. You watched, unable to tear your eyes away. The water glistened on his skin, the muscles flexing as he worked the loofah over his torso. “Your turn,” he smirked, turning the loofah toward you with a playful glint in his eye. You took it, feeling the warmth of his hand linger on it. As you began to wash him, your fingers explored the defined lines of his chest, trailing down to his waist, enjoying the way his breath hitched at your touch. Your hands slid lower and lower, and you became more and more impatient to touch him there. “God… you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he groaned, the thrill of your fingers dancing over his skin evident in the way his body responded. You reveled in his reaction, feeling a sense of power as you traced the outline of the muscles, immersing yourself in the moment. “Maybe I do.” you replied teasingly, meeting his smoldering gaze. You stepped closer, the slickness of the water making it easy to glide over him, your bodies so close the heat was all-consuming.Richard took the loofah from your hands, tossing it carelessly aside as he gripped your waist, pulling you against him. His mouth was on yours again, hungry and demanding, the kiss igniting a new wave of desire that swept through both of you. “Let’s turn up the heat.” he murmured, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around him.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Fili orders you to stay in Dale while he and his company set off for Erebor. He doesn't want to put you in danger, he can't bear the thought of losing you. You don't want to accept it.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : I watched in horror as the sun was setting over the horizon, casting a golden hue on the calm waters of the lake. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore was at odds with the tempest brewing in my heart. I stood on the wooden dock, fists clenched at my sides, my mind racing. Fili’s decision to leave me behind weighed heavy on my chest, constricting it like a vice.

“Fili, you can’t be serious.” My voice cracked, desperation creeping in as I stepped closer to him. His blond hair glowed in the fading sunlight, but the joy that usually accompanied his presence was absent. Today, all I saw was determination etched in his features, a resolve that sent daggers straight into my already fragile heart.

“It’s too dangerous, love,” he replied, his tone firm yet gentle. “I can’t allow you to face that. I have to protect you.” His eyes softened as they met mine, but I refused to let his sweetness sway my resolve.

“Protect me?” I scoffed, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think keeping me here, safe and sound, is protecting me? You’re just pushing me away! I’m not some frail flower that needs guarding. I want to be with you, Fili — don’t you understand?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of conflict within him. “I know you want to be by my side, but this isn’t just about us. The journey to Erebor is fraught with danger. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Then don’t make me stay away!” I shouted, anger and sorrow intertwining. “I can face whatever lies ahead if it means being with you. If you leave me here, it will be my heart that is in peril. What good is a life without you? You may go and face foes, but you will take my heart away with you, and that is the most dangerous peril of all.”

The silence that followed was deafening. His gaze drifted to the boat slowly filling with members of his company, their chatter a world away from the turmoil between us. I took a step forward, grasping his arm, desperately trying to close the distance that he was creating between us. “Please...”

He sighed, his expression a painful mix of love and regret. “If you come with me and something happens—if I can’t protect you… I can’t bear that thought. You mean everything to me, and I can't risk losing you.”

Tears stung my eyes, hot and unwelcome, as I pulled away from him. The distance between us felt unbridgeable, the air thick with unresolved emotions. “So, you're willing to gamble our love on fear? What kind of future are you envisioning by leaving me behind?”

“I’m trying to give you the future you deserve, one where you’re safe!” he countered, his voice rising. “But if you’re with me in danger… I’ll be too distracted to focus on our mission. If we’re to succeed, I need to be sure you’re far from harm's reach.”

Each word was a wound. I held my breath, fighting back the tidal wave of heartbreak threatening to crash over me. I opened my mouth to protest further, but the words failed me. All I could do was watch as he stepped back, reluctance painted on his face.

“Fili…” My voice trembled, but he only shook his head. "Don't go…"

“I’m sorry. I have to do this.” His tone was resolute, but the quiver in his lips betrayed his own suffering. "If I stay here, I won't be the man you deserve."

I watched in horror as he turned, walking toward the ship where his comrades patiently awaited him, their faces obscured by the shadows cast by the setting sun. An ache spread through my chest, growing heavier with each step he took away from me. “Fili!” I called, my voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t look back.

The boat creaked as it began to pull away from the dock, my heart sinking with every inch it distanced itself. I felt as though I were watching a piece of my soul drift away with him, helpless to stop it. The beauty of Dale faded into a blur as I allowed the tears to fall freely, each droplet a testament to the storm raging inside me.

As the boat became smaller in the distance, lost and solitary in the endless waters, I couldn’t suppress the haunting sense of confusion and bitterness choking me. The world around me felt raw and jagged, filled with the echo of words left unsaid and a future I could no longer envision.

What if this was truly goodbye? The idea sank into me like a stone, heavy and cold. I clutched the railing tighter, grounding myself amidst the disarray of emotions swirling like dark clouds overhead. I loved him, yet here I was, powerless to sway his decision, left behind to wrestle with an emptiness that gnawed at my heart and filled me with desperation.

With every moment that passed, my hopes of seeing him again slipped further away.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Imagine what you feel when you discover that you are pregnant with Fili's child.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. I do not own any copyrights to them. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As I gaze down at the delicate curve of my abdomen, a rush of emotions floods through me — joy, fear, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. The realization that I am carrying Fili's child, the prince or princess and heir to the storied legacy of Durin's line, fills me with both pride and trepidation. I feel it will be a son. I will give birth to a strong boy.

Joy swells in my chest like the first light of dawn breaking over the misty peaks of the Lonely Mountain. I am carrying a life, a future, a continuation of a proud lineage that has weathered centuries of trials and triumphs. The thought that my child will have the strength of dwarven ancestors coursing through his veins fills me with an unshakable warmth. I can already envision his laughter echoing through the stone halls of Erebor, as vibrant and resilient as the gemstones that adorn our mountain home.

Yet beneath that joy lies a deep well of fear. I am acutely aware of the challenges that will come with raising the heir to the throne. Will I be strong enough to guide him, to prepare him for a world that demands courage and wisdom? What if the weight of expectation stifles his spirit? The thought of him facing the burdens of leadership sends a shiver through me.

Alongside this fear is an immense sense of responsibility. I am not only nurturing a child; I am shaping the next guardian of our history, a leader who will carry the hopes and dreams of our people. The legacy of Erebor, the stories of valor and sacrifice, will be woven into the very fabric of my child's being. I am aware that every choice I make, every lesson I impart, will influence the path he follow.

In quiet moments, I find myself talking to the embryo, sharing my dreams for him amidst the sounds of the mountain—the whisper of the wind through the stone crevices, the rhythmic pounding of hammers in the forges. I sing him lullabies steeped in our culture, tales of bravery that have been passed down through generations. I promise him that he will know the love of his people and the strength of his heritage.

Ultimately, I am filled with a profound sense of hope. The world may be fraught with uncertainty, but within me stirs the promise of a new beginning, a chance to continue the legacy of dwarven resilience and courage. Fili is my heart, my hope, and as I stroke my belly I realize that I am not just a mother; I am a guardian of the future, and together, we will forge a path worthy of Durin's line.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Imagine the feelings that accompanied Thorin when he entered the halls of Erebor for the first time in years.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. I do not own any copyrights to them. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : As Thorin entered the grand halls of Erebor, a torrent of emotions surged within him, overwhelming and tumultuous. The air was thick with the weight of memory; each step echoed with the whispers of his ancestors, and the remnants of a once-glorious kingdom enveloped him like a shroud.

There was an initial jolt of exhilaration that coursed through his veins, igniting a fire in his heart. The sight of the vast, cavernous chambers, adorned with the remnants of dwarven craftsmanship, filled him with a fierce pride. The stone walls seemed to hum with the echoes of laughter, songs, and the fierce camaraderie that once thrived within these halls. But as he inhaled deeply, the bitterness of loss struck him. Dust hung in the air like cobwebs of forgotten dreams, a poignant reminder of the desolation wrought by Smaug and the years of exile.

Tears threatened to spill as he caught sight of the great throne—his birthright—now shrouded in darkness and neglect. It was a symbol of both his claim and the heavy burdens he bore, a potent reminder of the responsibilities he had to his kin. His heart ached with the weight of expectation; there was a bitter taste of desperation, an urgency to reclaim what was rightfully his, yet the specter of failure loomed ominously.

As he wandered deeper into the halls, memories washed over him like waves. He could almost hear the echo of laughter shared over shared meals, the clang of hammers forging weapons and treasures, and the soft stories told by the fireside. Yet, these memories carried with them the sharp sting of nostalgia; what was once a sanctuary was now a bittersweet reminder of all that had been taken.

Yet amid the sorrow, determination began to forge its own path through his heart. He stood at the precipice of destiny, ready to awaken the spirit of his people, to rekindle the hope that had been extinguished for far too long. A fierce resolve ignited in him, one that would not be swayed by the shadows that haunted these halls.

In that moment, as Thorin faced the remnants of a long-lost empire, he felt a profound connection to those who had come before him—a lineage of kings and warriors whose blood coursed through his veins. The fear of inadequacy washed away, replaced with a powerful sense of purpose. Yes, the past loomed heavily upon him, but it would not define his future. With renewed vigor, he lifted his chin, eyes shining with determination; Erebor was his to reclaim, and with it, the soul of his people.

[anaszpan]

[ IMAGINE ] : Imagine your first meeting with Fili after the Battle of Five Armies.

[ A/N ] : The photos do not belong to me. I do not own any copyrights to them. English is not my native language. Don't hesitate to use this idea in your story.

[ ( ´ ꒳ ` ) ♡ ] : The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the landscape of the desolate battlefield, now clearing and reclaiming its beauty after the chaos of war. The air still felt thick with the weight of loss, of sorrow and of victory—but mostly, it felt alive. The horizon stretched wide before me, a promise of hope that flickered like a delicate flame against the shadows of uncertainty.

As I wandered cautiously through the remnants of what had been fought for, my heart thundered within my chest. Each step resonated with the distant whispers of the fallen, their spirits intertwined in the earth beneath my feet. The echoes of their struggles danced around me, mingling with the sweet scent of wildflowers that dared to bloom in the aftermath. Yet, amid the wreckage, my thoughts remained ensnared by one singular yearning: Fili.

With every heartbeat, the agony of separation gnawed at me. I had not known if he had survived—if the fiery spirit I had come to admire so fiercely in him still burned bright or had been extinguished in the turmoil of battle. The uncertainty twisted within me, a tempest that threatened to unravel everything. I clenched my fists against it, fighting to hold on to the hope that Fili, brave and steadfast, would return to me whole.

It was then that I spotted him. He appeared like a vision. The light caught the glint of his golden hair, framing his face and illuminating the softness of his expression, now marred with the subtleties of concern and exhaustion. My breath caught in my throat, a tremor of disbelief rippling through me as the world around us faded into silence—nothing mattered but him.

“Fili!” I cried out. My voice broke, raw and overflowing with emotion. His gaze snapped to mine, those intense blue eyes widening in recognition. Tears blurred my vision, spilling down my cheeks as I rushed towards him. My feet almost stumbling over themselves in my haste, the distance between us evaporating with every hurried step.

In an instant, the uncertainty that had clutched at my heart melted away, leaving only pure, unadulterated relief. He was alive. My heart swelled, the rush of emotions clawing at my chest as I closed the void between us. And then I was in his arms, and everything outside disappeared. The warmth of his embrace enveloped me like a lifeline, banishing the chill of fear and worry that had plagued me during our separation. I could hardly breathe for joy, for the sweet weight of his presence.

“Great be the Mahal!” he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and disbelief, as though he too had feared that we might not have this moment. His touch gentle yet insistent, as if he feared that I might dissolve into the ether at any moment.

“I thought I had lost you,” I whispered, voice shaking between sobs and laughter, the richness of his scent grounding me in reality. “I thought…”

He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping my face, thumb wiping away my tears as if they were precious jewels. His eyes, fierce and gentle, spoke volumes of their own, a mirror of tumultuous emotions beneath a calm surface.

“Never,” he vowed, his voice a low rumble, fierce and tender all at once. “As long as I breathe, I will find my way back to you.”