#FOTFICS october

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Treat 🍪

My friend!

Finwë looked over at the wondrous creature beside him with deep affection. Elwë had ever been wild in the most serene sense of the word—he sang to the rain and danced on sunbeams. Despite the ages they’d spent apart, they could still sit in silence thus, comforted by the other’s mere presence. Unspoken words of solace and support hung like dust motes between them, and they both smiled as the shared sadness strummed the chords of their ancient friendship with tender fingers. For one precious moment, they were young again, and the world was full of hope and potential.

Let me tell you how much I love you through a drabble about my old boys!

As you can see, I coloured a word for you. Take it as the tender confession of reverence and respect it is <3

Thank you so much!

I love you tons and tons!

[fellowshipofthefics]

Happy October, Fellowship! 🎃

As there are a ton of amazing prompt lists out there already for October - kinktober, tolkientober, etc - we have decided to not add to that list of many temptations. However, we do have a fun little game for you this month!

It's simple: have your followers go to your inbox with a "Trick" or "Treat" - if you are asked for a Trick, share something angsty or emotional! If you are asked for a Treat, then it's sweet and fluffy all the way!

This can be a drabble, a sneak peek at your current wip, or plans for a future idea if you feel like sharing! YOU get to decide the rules!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hey hey~ coming in with a little trick request for your Halloween event!😈

I'd like to see some vampire!Manwë x Námo with prompt number 4 or 9 (your choice🧡). Dark content is welcome, also leaving that up to you.

Thank you! Looking forward to this!💜

Ooh! I have decided to go with number four for this. I also hope that you don’t mind that I took some liberty with the themes and the timeline.

"The choice"

Pairing: Vampire! Manwë x Námo (Calamórë)

Location and time: Halls of Mandos/19th Century England

Prompt : 4 - "Why won’t you let me turn you?”

Themes: Angst | Emotional | Loss

Warnings: Vampirism | Illness (Typhoid) | Death | Blood tears | Explicit language

Wordcount: 900+ words

Summary: Námo falls grievously ill. Manwë wishes to save him.

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge. Two more slots are available for requests, but prompts 4 and 6 (for Vampire! Finrod) are out. The rules and prompts for requests can be read here.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Námo was so still, it was frightening.

He was gaunt, his warm, ivory skin now as white as chalk. He did not open his eyes. Not when his sister fussed with his pillows to make him more comfortable; not when his brother covered his face and wept; not when the physicians spoke to the family in hushed whispers. He was too weak to do anything but rest.

“It is too late,” one said.

“There is little that could be done now,” another said.

“Only a miracle could save him from the clutches of this wretched disease," a third said. “And these mere mortal hands have not been blessed by the divine. You must prepare yourselves. I am sorry.”

One by one, they left. One of the physicians helped Irmo out into a dimly lit corridor, and down the stairs to the parlor. Nienna dithered by the door. Tears continued to streak down her cheeks, but she did not sob. She had to be strong, for all their sakes. 

“You will be wanting to say your farewells, Mister Súlimo,” she said.

Manwë was startled. He had been standing by the hearth, staring into flames that fought to keep the autumn chill from drifting into the room.

“Yes.” He smoothed his jacket and straightened himself, his tone perfectly calm, perfectly neutral. His face was a mask of serenity. “My thanks.”

Nienna acknowledged him with a silent, courteous bow before leaving the room in a swirl of dark silks that rustled with each step she took.

A servant closed the door behind her. The moment the corridor outside grew silent, Manwë's mask of serene composure dropped beneath the crushing weight of unspeakable agony. He did not know how he placed one foot ahead of the other or how he even reached the wide bed. When he arrived at Námo’s side and took an all-too-cool hand into his own, he sank to his knees and sobbed, unable to rein in his pain.

One last time. Manwë prayed, though to which God, he did not know. If only I could speak with him one last time.

Námo finally stirred and opened his eyes. It is as if he received one final surge of vigor. “You...came. Even... even after we argued..."

It was soft, barely over a whisper. Námo shivered, and grew silent. Manwë lifted his eyes. They were wild with grief and filled with deep red tears. More tears left scarlet trails that stained his pale skin. 

“Not even those who hunt my kind could keep me away from you," he declared, and brushed his hand over spun silver hair. It was still soft, slipping around his fingers like silk. Manwë watched with a mournful expression. Soon, he would not be able to touch that hair. 

Námo fought to stay awake. He yearned to reach out and stroke Manwë’s cheek, to offer him some comfort. Alas, he could not. He could not even raise his arm a grain’s breadth above the bed. He only whispered, “Your tears. They… they must not…see.” 

Manwë no longer cared, but he acquiesced anyway. He took out a square piece of red silk from his pocket and dabbed his eyes, his cheeks. Crimson soon soaked into crimson, but at least no one could see even if they tried.

“Why won’t you let me turn you?” The words came out in a smothered sob. “I can save you, little raven. Why will you not let me?”

Ever since Námo fell ill and they learned the cause of it all, Manwë beseeched him to let him intervene. Let me help you, he pleaded. Let me make you into a being like me. Then no illness will claim you, and we can remain together, for good and always.

Námo had a ready reply, and every time Manwë asked, it was always the same. He wished to remain mortal. He did not yield to any other course of action besides heeding the counsel of the family physicians. Then they argued. Caught in sorrow's grip, Manwë uttered things he could never take back before he departed the manor. Only Nienna's made him put aside his confusion and despair and anger, and return. Manwë listened again, certain the answer would be the same as always.

“This… this is my choice,” Námo insisted between labored breaths. “I wish…to leave… this world… the way… I have lived it. As… as a mortal.”

Manwë wanted to argue. To rage. This should not be so, he wanted to say. It was not right. It was not fair.

Twelve months, he thinks. Many a century spent searching for my soul’s other half, and when I do find him, all that is given me is twelve fucking months.  

“Do not…be angry,” Námo pleaded. “Please.”

Manwë stops, hesitates. Heated words soon die in his throat. 

“I am sorry, little raven.” Manwë grasps his hand and brings it to his lips. It is icy now. He smothers another sob. "And forgive me, for what I said before. I offer no excuse for being so cruel."

“There is... nothing... to forgive. Perhaps,” Each breath is a battle now. And yet, Námo persists. “If… fate is… kind, we… we will meet again.”

“I will wait for you,” Manwë vows. “I love you.”

Námo closes his eyes. A strange, numbing sensation crept up his throat. He whispers three words. Three final words, and then he goes still, for good and always. Manwë leans down, and kisses him for the last time. He buries his tears and rises. The fire burns brighter now, warming the room. Manwë does not feel it. The world will never be warm for him again.

tags: @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese

[ao3feed-silmarillion]

by I_did_not_mean_to

Here's this month's little Trick or treat game

Feel free to send in an ask on Tumblr :)

Words: 100, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 15 of FOTFICS Challenges

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo, Finwë (Tolkien)

Relationships: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo & Finwë

Additional Tags: Fotfics, FOTFICS trick or treat, Drabble, Let's see what happens

[fellowshipofthefics]

Happy October, Fellowship! 🎃

As there are a ton of amazing prompt lists out there already for October - kinktober, tolkientober, etc - we have decided to not add to that list of many temptations. However, we do have a challenge for you this month if you want to apply it to those lists!

It's simple: have your followers go to your inbox with a "Trick" or "Treat" - if you are asked for a Trick, you write something angsty/emotional! If you are asked for a Treat, then it's fluff all the way!

Establish the rules however you like (i.e. prompts, characters, etc), but try and challenge yourself with these different writing vibes!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Trick-or-Treat

Angbang & a dead Glaurung for @melkors-big-tits

Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm for anon (Part I)

Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm, and Turgon for Moonlord (Part II)

Hedgehog Curumo for @cilil

Wolf!Maedhros x Fingon for anon (NSFW)

FëaÑolo Vampire AU for MoonLord (slightly NSFW)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hi, it's Moonlord, and can it be more than one request? For the trick-or-treating? For example, Finrod became a werewolf, in a Finrod/Celegorm (with or without Curufin) or Finrod/Turgon

Hello dearest!

You didn't say whether you wanted a trick or a treat, so I stayed with the vibe of the previous story!

🎃Trick🎃

Have another ficlet about Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm, AND Turgon.

This is Part II of this idea. (Part I)

Have 600 words of Wolfinrod.

Celegorm frowned as he entered the clearing—as an accomplished hunter, he relied on his instincts unhesitatingly, and the musky scent making his nostrils flare now set his teeth on edge.

Something was here, and it was hungry.

Pushing his younger brother—Curufin, for all the things he might have been to him throughout the ages, would never not be a youngling in need of protection—behind his broad, muscular back, he squared his shoulders and advanced cautiously.

“Cousin,” Turgon looked up sharply, his full, sensual lips contorted into a mocking sneer. “I did not expect thee to come.”

The derision dripping like blood from those white teeth was so maddening that Celegorm almost failed to notice the bright golden eyes—tinged with ocean green and sky blue—that settled on his approaching form voraciously.

“What—” he cried out in alarm as sleek limbs untangled and silver fur rustled in the eerie quietude of the remote meadow—even blinking rapidly did nothing to dispel the nightmare he seemed to have fallen into unwittingly.

In Turgon’s lap lay a wolf. Nay, Celegorm knew dogs and wolves well enough to know that there was nothing natural or legitimate about that overgrown, sharp-fanged monstrosity now rolling to its massive paws and stalking towards them leisurely.

“Don’t toy with them,” Turgon warned softly, but there was no real reprimand in that exhortation.

“What sorcery is this?” Celegorm groaned. His body melted into a defensive stance as he heard Curufin gasp breathlessly behind him, and he patted his hip in search of the purely decorative knife he wore on his belt.

“It is he, this is our cousin Finrod,” Curufin hissed. “The Valar have returned him to us…changed.”

The canine creature, intelligent eyes flickering with something akin to dark humour, paused and settled on his strong haunches as if waiting for the appropriate reaction.

“It cannot be,” Celegorm panted, but his hand extended against his will to touch the soft fur of the mysterious he-wolf.

Yes, Celegorm trusted his instincts, and he had never crossed an animal he had not been able to connect with.

Freed of the necessity of polite words and proper turns of phrase, he could let his raw thoughts and unfiltered emotions flow through the unique, inexplicable bond that could only ever be established between unguarded, feral souls.

On that primal level of hunger and survival, he finally managed to convey his shame and debilitating regret. They were pack animals and letting one of their own face danger and death on his own meant unbearable infamy for those who had stayed behind to usurp a position they had not deserved.

Finally, the creature that was Finrod and yet resembled their ridiculously cheerful, strongminded cousin only vaguely inclined its heavy, lethal head in mute acceptance of their contrition.

Then its ears perked up and it gave a short, commanding yap that brought Turgon to his feet and made Celegorm’s skin tingle with the old-familiar thrill of the hunt.

“Stay here,” the silver-haired savage hissed at his forge-bound brother as the scent of a disoriented deer that had been separated from its herd flooded his awareness. “There will be blood.”

“I am no longer afraid of blood,” Curufin laughed, fey and ferocious, and pulled a thin, deadly blade from the sleeve of his formal tunic. “Let’s go!”

As one, the fallen descendants of righteous Finwë fell into a run, their steps all but inaudible, in pursuit of yet another innocent, clueless victim to satiate their thirst for slaughter that even the grace of the Valar had not erased from their guilty souls.

Ah, this was fun! Thank you so much for your amazing prompts!

-> Masterlist October

[i-did-not-mean-to]

TRICK-OR-TREAT? Request? For example, Trick with Finrod in relation to Celegorm and Curufin in Valinor in the future, afterlife

Hello Anon,

yours is 1/2 requests I got for Finrod, Curufin, and Celegorm, so I'll do two parts for the same story!

🎃Trick🎃

Here are 310 words for Part I (Part II)

“Ingo!” Curufin lifted his hand as if to touch a shoulder he no longer had the right to even graze. “Wilt thou not come and break bread with us?”

Cold, expressionless eyes turned upon him slowly, and Curufin wanted to shrink away, but his brother’s solid frame, pressed close against his stiff back, kept him from retreating.

Once upon a time, having a meal together had been as common and easy as whistling a tune, but both convivial banquets and merry songs had been befouled irreversibly by dark deeds and deplorable decisions.

“You and I shall never abide under the same roof again,” Finrod replied in a toneless, dead voice. “It cannot be.”

“Please, friend, cousin, sovereign ruler of heart and hearth,” Curufin pleaded fervently. “Grant us some token of goodwill, I beg of thee!”

Eternal prince, never to become king, Curufin now accepted that he was destined and doomed to be the slinking shadow of another’s glory evermore.

“Let me—” His voice cracked and faltered like steel that had been tempered incorrectly by a careless apprentice. “Anything…”

“Yes,” Finrod finally declared with a minute inclination of his gloriously golden head—the days of cropped hair and haggard misery had passed, and he looked so much like the King they had once revered and desired again that it made their hearts shiver painfully. “Tonight, in the clearing over yonder, I shall listen to what you have to say!”

A ripple of pain and regret flashed over his face—restored and rejuvenated—and both Fëanorians waited anxiously for the joyous, optimistic grin that usually followed Finrod’s darker thoughts—it never came.

With a grave nod, Finrod withdrew, walking away with the same stubborn dignity that had led him to his demise.

This time, though, both Curufin and Celegorm wished that they could follow him, but they were no longer welcome.

Thank you so much for this request, and keep your eyes peeled for the second part <3

-> Masterlist for October!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Can I get a treat with hedgehog Curumo (and Aiwendil too, if you like)?🧡

👻Treat👻

We're really in it now, aren't we? @cilil has requested a treat!!!!

It's my honour and pleasure, of course, to supply this!

Here are 920 words of sweetness (and a bit of sad, for spice)

Warnings: there are insects in this story. Also Curumo is a hedgehog...ask Cílil lol

<3

Curumo was literally and figuratively speechless once more—the indignity of being confined to the puny body of a hedgehog was too much to bear for someone as proud as he was, but to be pushed away gently but resolutely from the big, orange treat Aiwendil was attacking enthusiastically with a small, sharp knife was a new, utterly devastating low, nevertheless.

“You’ll be sick, you dummy,” Aiwendil cooed softly and lifted his most beloved into his cupped hand to bring him to the level of his disgustingly indulgent, warm eyes. “And I don’t want you to be unhappy tonight.”

Sniffling expressively to make sure his vexation was noticed, Curumo rolled up with a huff while pointedly facing away from that loving gaze. It was unbearable—this whole ordeal was so humiliating!

“Don’t be like that, love,” Aiwendil pleaded. “I promise that I have not forgotten you.”

Despite being piqued himself, Curumo was nevertheless careful not to hurt Aiwendil’s tender palm with his spiky dismay.

Come to think of it, his present form might have been well-chosen after all, he had to admit—he had ever been a thorny fellow who had inadvertently harmed those who had had his back out of sheer misery and misplaced pride.

Throwing one suspicious look over what had once been his shoulder—his current, laughably round shape did not really allow for such anatomical distinctions anymore—he gave an inquisitive squeak, confident that Aiwendil would go on blabbering merrily even though Curumo was patently unable to answer.

“You’ll see,” Aiwendil chuckled. “Now, would you please let me finish carving the pumpkin without throwing another hissy fit? The sooner I’m done with this, the faster you’ll get your surprise.”

Curumo vaguely remembered that there had been a celebration on this night, but his memories of his previous life were slowly fading—drifting in and out of focus—and he was convinced that this festivity had never been of much importance anyway.

While humming an old song, learned at the feet of Yavanna, The Bountiful, Aiwendil carefully placed Curumo on a richly embroidered cushion and took up his blade again.

A pleasant, companionable silence fell around them as the beautiful, ever-youthful Maia reverentially modified the fruit of his Lady’s labour to take on a more celebratory appearance and his eternal friend dozed in the fragrant heat of their little hut.

Aiwendil went by another name now, and he had taken on the guise of a gnarled, old man, but—just beyond the thin veneer of a skin-deep glamour—he was still overwhelmingly beautiful.

Blinking sleepily, Curumo glimpsed the shimmering emanation of Aiwendil’s very essence—soft, gentle, and boundlessly generous—and his acute dejection subsided.

“There we go,” Aiwendil exclaimed, holding aloft his slightly wonky craft, and beamed at Curumo with the same carefree, earnest joy with which he had won that cold, careful heart many ages ago. “What do you think, darling?”

Drumming his tiny paws against the pillow and wrinkling his snout in a heartfelt but ultimately failed attempt to emulate a genuine smile, Curumo did his best to convey approval and delight.

Of course, he recognised Olórin—meddlesome fool and annoying know-it-all that he was—in the blank spaces Aiwendil had cut out from the firm, plump flesh of the pumpkin.

A strange sense of wicked contentment washed through Curumo’s armoured little body then—he was a hedgehog, and Olórin was a gourd, and as such, they were both beloved by Aiwendil.

How could he truly resent an incarnation that had been inspired by the faithful, unwavering devotion of one so pure and loyal?

Nevertheless, he soon grew impatient—he had seen quite enough of Olórin in his former life, and he had no desire to stare at the old jester for any extended period of time, not even when his likeness was wonkily imprinted on a bulbous squash.

Consequently, he slid off his cushy throne and pretended to go after the accursed holiday decoration with renewed vigour.

“Ah! Don’t be so impatient, friend,” Aiwendil laughed, but he picked up Curumo once more and swiftly carried him to the shed in the garden.

“Here,” he said. “Have at it.”

Sniffing and squeaking faintly in confusion, Curumo thoroughly took in the maze of dry straw and discarded vegetable refuse before turning to Aiwendil, seeking his aid.

“There are delicious worms, beetles, and caterpillars in there,” Aiwendil whispered and gave Curumo’s butt an encouraging pat. “Go ahead! I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Even kneeling on the damp, hard floor, Aiwendil towered over the small labyrinth he had clandestinely built, and Curumo narrowed his beady eyes at him in frustration.

Nevertheless, the thought of juicy treats made his mouth water, and so he carefully started his path, guided by the small sounds of cheering and pride coming from far above the ephemeral walls.

When he finally arrived at the centre, he found a beautiful goblet—akin to the tableware he had once possessed himself—which was filled to the brim with crawling, writhing deliciousness.

“Quite topical,” Aiwendil giggled and, pulling out his own flask from a hidden pocket in his coat, he touched it to Curumo’s chalice.

It was an absurd, profoundly sad, but also undeniably sincere toast to a love that had lasted through ages, spanned continents and worlds, and even defied death and disintegration.

“To us,” the wizened man said to his pet hedgehog. “To all that we are, to all that we seem, and to all that we shall be once more.”

Thank you so very much for another chance to write these 2!

You're the very best!!!!

-> Masterlist for October!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fotfics October 2024 Asks

➲ Finwë & Thingol Drabble for @featheredmoonwings

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Ori One-shots

Fall(ing) (a tiny one-shot love letter to autumn and Ori, finished) with artwork by@crowrelli

Tiny Ori-Collab 🔥with@shrimpsthings

Autumn walk 🔥(imagine based on@middleearthpixie's ask)

Ori smut 🔥(based on@shrimpsthings ask)

Ice-skating (small ficlet, finished)

Birthday sex🔥 (ask for anon, finished, NSFW)

A Reading for@laurfilijames (a 2k, Fíli-smut story)

Mismaeve's January Tolkien Prompt Challenge - Looking back (very short, kind of sad)

Imagine about the -Ri brothers for @lordoftherazzles

Shalini's prompt about falling into ME (short love letter to the fandom)

Life is a poem that doesn't rhyme (Part I) for maalezzo (artwork by @estethell)

Goodbye but not farewell (trainstation scene) for @maalezzo for the February Challenge

Apple Tree (Part III for @maalezzo) for the February Challenge

One night 🔥 (SMUT!) for Valentine's Day 2022

Werewolf AU

Between the lines for @mismaeve's February Challenge

Solace for @eunoia4mind

Birthday Smut🔥 with art by @pistachiozombie for my own BDAY

Kissing Booth with art by @myselfandfantasy

@blairsanne's Blorbo Blessing Imagine for anon about Ori & fierce GF

Ori finds a haunted teapot with doodle by @scyllas-revenge

Ori helps Fíli organise a date for @guardianofrivendell's Bday Challenge 2022

Stone and Book for @maalezzo (BAD!ORI!!!)

A domestic scene for @sorisooyaa

Daydream with art by @mathelaw for the FOTFICS calendar 2023

Silk and ink with art by @estethell

Repairman porn (🔥🔥🔥)

A good day's work for @lordoftherazzles (gen family fluff)

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

Events

FOTFICS 2022 February Challenge

FOTFICS 2022 August Challenge

FOTFICS 2022 October Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 January Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 February Challenge

THAUC 2022

FOTFICS 2023 April Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 May Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 August Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 September Challenge

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Events Masterlist

Tulkas Week

HOTD autumn prompts 23

Silmsmutweek 2023

Fotfics October challenge

Book of Lost Tales month

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 26th

Cuddles

Ah...@mismaeve, here we have my own - very tame - version of Thranduil.

He's a favourite with anon requesters and so, I thought I'd include him in the line-up.

Lots of love from me...

Words: 452

Warnings: innuendo

“Oh great Elvenking,” you sniggered, “mighty scion of the noble blood of the ancient Sindar.”

Thranduil groaned loudly from under the covers.

“Venerated king of the Silvan Elves,” you went on, choking with laughter, “ruler of the beautiful Woodland Realm, what wouldst thou ask of me?”

Leaning against the sturdy door you had just opened to exit his bedchamber, you watched his lean, powerful form unfold like a late-blooming blossom amidst the pristine sheets woven of a thread so soft it had felt like the river’s water beneath your heated skin.

“Come back to bed,” he demanded in a booming, authoritative voice that left you entirely unfazed for you had known him for too long to be deceived by the regal airs he liked to swathe himself in as if to disguise his tender heart.

“To what purpose, my liege?” you teased mercilessly.

“Enough!” he roared, flopping back onto his strong back and extending both arms in a wordless plea.

What choice did you have?

Slamming the door shut again, you returned to the oasis of calm and safety and fell into his embrace as into a ravine of pure delight.

“Doth His Majesty yearn for sweet blandishments?” you asked softly, trailing your fingers lightly along the expanse of the dimly glistening skin stretching enchantingly over his sharp clavicles. 

“I requisition generous cuddles,” he acquiesced in a dignified tone that belied the frivolity of his order, “by royal decree!”

Only too happy to oblige, you slipped your arms around his elegant body and pulled him closer to you and pressed eager kisses onto every patch of silken skin you could reach without letting go of him; finally, the tension, that was so much a part of him that it was inscribed into his very muscles, started to drain away under the fluttering caresses of your fingers wandering over his back and of your lips worshipping his form relentlessly.

A happy hum resounded as he slung his long legs around you as if to cage you, engulfing your cool body in the welcome warmth of his own, and tilted your head up by a gentle tap against your chin to capture your roving mouth in a passionate kiss.

“A gracious and generous king indeed,” you panted; your voice was laced with sunlight and indescribable bliss painted every word a different hue of the rainbow of your love. 

“Indeed,” he agreed as he rolled you around to firmly pin you against the soft mattress. “And I shall have need of you for the rest of the morn. Deny not your ruler!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Sire,” you giggled and let him exert his royal prerogatives over your body and soul only too gladly.

@fellowshipofthefics It's almost the end. We're almost through...

Lots of love from me, I hope you still enjoy those...

-> Masterlist

[fellowshipofthefics]

Welcome to #fotfictober! 

October’s monthly challenge is centered around fall-themed drabbles! Make them spooky, cozy, or anything in between! We want to see everyone inspired, but not bogged down by this event.

So remember, you don’t have to spend a lot of time on these (unless you want to!) nor are you required to complete each day. Pick and choose, and if you have a “late” entry, post it anyway! We want to see it. There is no right or wrong about these, just have fun with it!

Be sure to tag #fotfics and #fotfictober so we can find your drabbles!

Happy writing! 🍂🎃

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 6th

Sweet treats

This one is for all the Dwalin, Dwori, Dwhorin and other Dwalin-pairing enjoyers.

He's a dear little old grump haha...

Words: 693

Warnings: None

The door banging against the wall made you jump, and, in an act of pure instinct, you flung whatever was in your hands in that moment at the surmised intruder.

“Hmmm, thanks,” Dwalin grumbled, holding aloft a sieve as if it was exactly what he had been looking for all his life. “What a nice sight to be coming home to!”

A hand pressed against your heaving chest covered in flour and spices, you managed to conjure up a wavering smile of welcome; you had not expected him to be home quite so soon and hence you had been greatly startled by his unannounced arrival.

“’Weather didn’t hold,” he explained while shrugging out of his coat and toeing off his heavy boots, “we made haste.”

Your eyes swept over the chaos in your kitchen quickly; you had thought that you’d have at least another evening and night before your beloved returned from his caravan-guarding duties. Consequently, you were considerably dismayed to be caught not only unawares but also in the middle of your preparations of what you had intended to be a surprise for the gruff warrior.

“What’s that?” he ambled over eagerly, letting the sieve clatter onto the table carelessly to wrap his huge hands around your hips and pull you in for a passionate kiss that conveyed how much he had missed you during your time apart much better than any of his rumbling words ever could have.

“It was meant as a ‘Welcome home’ surprise,” you gasped into his mouth when his hold on you didn’t subside as the seconds ticked by. 

It was common knowledge – even though nobody dared confront him on the matter – that your beloved Dwalin had a major sweet tooth; in your attempts to keep your mind off the terrible absence of his bulky body in your house and bed, you had spent many an afternoon out of doors, picking fruit and trading spices with the merchants passing through the settlement.

After several meticulously documented trial runs, you thought that you had finally perfected the recipe for the spiced pear cookies that – there was no doubt about that – your taciturn lover would devour eagerly.

Words were often difficult between the two of you as he was at times very reserved and this made you nervous to the point where you fumbled to find the right thing to say, squirming under his unyielding and unwavering gaze.

Hence why you liked doing things for him that showed him just how much you cared for him.

A rough thumb scraped along the corner of your mouth, and you looked up just in time to see him put it into his own, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Is that jam? Did ye make that?” he asked, his eyes alight with pleasure and curiosity as they scanned the room in search of the source of the delicious taste he had stolen from your very lips.

“There’s none left,” you chuckled, “it’s all in the dough already.”

“Dough?” he echoed slowly. His gaze returned to you, questing, and he gave you a little shake. “Beloved! Are you withholding sweets from me?” 

Unable to resist, you broke into resounding laughter at the sight of his evident distress; immediately, he started to list the bad weather, the blistering cold, his sore feet, and his undying love for you as the incontrovertible reasons why you had to hand over whatever sugary treats you were so heartlessly hiding from him.

“If you had not interrupted me,” you chided, “those would already sit in the oven.”

Instantly, he stepped back, slipping ever so slightly in his woollen socks on the polished floor, and lifted his hands defensively.

“Good,” you praised, “go grab yourself a tankard of ale, there should be a cask in the cellar, and in a little while, you may have a cookie or two, fresh from the oven.”

As you watched him stomp down the stairs, you already knew that he’d eat the whole batch, burn the roof of his mouth in the process, and then carry you to bed to make you feel just how much he had yearned for you as well.

In hopes that you've also liked this one, I remain your most devoted servant and friend.

@fellowshipofthefics Number 6 (?) Losing count here haha...

-> Masterlist

[i-did-not-mean-to]

October 31st

Author's choice : Halloween

Okkkkk here we go with the last one...In honour of the first character who's drawn me in and made me write fanfiction: Thorin II

A special thanks to @lathalea, @legolasbadass, @fizzyxcustard, @middleearthpixie, @linasofia and @laurfilijames who have been with me for long months since.

Also @lordoftherazzles, @frosticenow, and many many others who enjoy Thorin :D

If you like this premise, @middleearthpixie has a whole fic about canon-Thorin falling into the Modern World. It's really good...check it out! -> Where I Belong

Here we go for the last story in October. Thank you for having been with me; I love you all.

Words: 750

Warnings: innuendo

“I don’t see why I cannot wear my own clothes,” Thorin grumbled, “as they are apparently so ludicrous.”

You wrinkled your nose as you sought a good retort to this for he was not entirely wrong; upon finding a disoriented and considerably sour-faced stranger wandering around in your neighbourhood last spring, you had not hesitated to point out how incongruous and absurd his heavy coat and sharp-looking sword were in this part of town. 

If only you had known then what you knew now, but there was no use in crying over spilt milk or careless comments carried away by the nightly mists.

It had only been after several drinks and many a confusing hour that you had found out that he had found himself indeed not only in the wrong locality or city but in the wrong universe entirely. 

Since that confusing night – there had been talk of a dragon, a hoard of gold, and other rather fantastical things – Thorin, who imagined himself to be the long-lost heir of some imaginary kingdom, had been your guest and lover in the small one-bedroom-apartment you called your own realm.

Weeks bled into months and, as he seemed rather interested in the customs and habits of the inhabitants of your world, you had decided to take him to a Halloween party.

Unfortunately, Thorin did neither understand nor like the idea of dressing up as someone or something else and had turned rather petulant when you had presented him with a fluffy wolf-jumpsuit.

He was bulky and broad and, short of letting him leave bare-chested in nothing but a loincloth, you had not come up with any better ideas as most costumes that were for sale in the tiny shop down the street would not have accommodated his prodigiously broad shoulders and sturdy thighs.

“Come on,” you coaxed, wrapping your arms around his midriff tenderly and resting your head on his shoulder gently, “you’ll look fierce.”

“What is that even supposed to be?” he asked with a hint of humour in his voice as he took the costume from you and fingered the cheap fabric disapprovingly.

“It’s a wolf,” you explained, even though you had to admit that the likeness was not a very good one.

Before Thorin could launch into a long description of birds and beasts in his world, you held up your hand and swirled it suggestively to signify that you’d be willing to listen to him while he was putting on the costume.

The red cape draped around your own shoulders billowed as you walked over to the mirror to check your Red Riding Hood costume one last time.

“Why are you a little girl?” Thorin asked while tugging off his boots to step into his own disguise.

“It’s a long story,” you laughed, “but suffice it to say that the little girl will be eaten by the wolf!”

“I’d eat you all right!” 

His words made a shiver race down your spine and so you forewent the pleasure of letting him know how the story ended for the wolf; you had already proven that you could rewrite a story and you were not about to stop now.

It was not entirely clear to you why it mattered so much to you that he’d accompany you to the small gathering in an abandoned warehouse, but – after so many years of heartbreak and loneliness – you finally felt like yourself again and you desperately yearned to take the little miracle that had been granted to you into the world.

A part of you was afraid that Thorin and all his tender love and unyielding support would just dissolve and vanish once the clock struck midnight but another, stronger and more adventurous, part needed to check whether the magic that had painted your grey and drab life in rainbow colours again would withstand the cold gleam of the moon and the pounding bass of bad music.

“As my lady commands,” Thorin groaned and stepped into the monstrosity as if into battle.

“You know,” he added slyly as he pressed a quick, possessive kiss onto your lips, “where I come from, our foes ride wolf-like creatures.”

Giggling, you allowed him to lift you onto his back, slinging your arms around his thick neck and breathing in the warm, seductive fragrance of his long, wavy hair.

“Carry me away, my noble steed,” you cheered, deciding that an approximation of a wolf was a thousand times better and more promising than an enchanted pumpkin anyway.

@fellowshipofthefics: Here we are...the very last of the month. Thank you for the lovely prompts and sorry for the spam!

Thank you again for everyone having read any of these stories...

Lots of love from me ❤️‍🔥

-> Masterlist