#Tolkien knew this I’m sure he did

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

[lovebugism]

eddie x shy!reader , she asks him on a date by giving him tickets to a concert and he thinks its a joke til she walks away feeling rejected & he realizes she’s like dead serious & goes up to her

thanks for your request! i sorta broke my own heart with this one — the one where eddie rejects you and immediately regrets it (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, 2.6k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Robin tells you that he’s nice. She says he won’t turn you down because he loves Mötley Crüe too much and he’s called you pretty too many times. Robin Buckley is many things — a dork, a polyglot, and your best friend, to name a few — but she’s never been a liar.

She wouldn’t lead you to the slaughter that way. She wouldn’t just let you get your heart broken. More than anything, though, she knows Eddie far better than you do — partly because she’s actually able to talk to him.

So despite your lingering worry, you swallow her words like a shot of vodka and maneuver helplessly through the bustling crowd of the Hawkins High lunchroom.

Eddie Munson sits alone at the Hellfire Club table — the smallest one in the very back corner by the large square window. 

Instead of eating a real meal (even though the hamburgers might be horse meat instead of cow), the boy eats crumbled-up pretzels from a worn ziplock bag. He pinches them into his mouth blindly because his chocolate syrup gaze is trained on the well-loved book folded in his left hand. 

J.R.R Tolkien’s, The Hobbit.

It makes you smile softly to yourself. You hope one day you’ll have the courage to tell him you’ve read that book so many times you could recite it in your sleep. You hope that day comes soon.

“Eddie?” you call softly to him when you reach his table. Your sweaty fingers fidget with the concert tickets you clutch between them.

He just thinks he hears his name at first. It’s barely audible over the sounds of muddled chatter in the cafeteria. He glances up from his book, not expecting anyone to be there, and gaping when he finds you standing in front of him. 

His cinnamon eyes go wide. The boy blinks owlishly at you once, then flits his eyes behind you like he’s expecting to see someone there. When he doesn’t, he blinks at you again. 

“Hi…” you waver with a trembling smile.

Eddie grins back, still obviously confused. “…Hi?”

“I, uh… I don’t know if you heard, but— well, obviously you heard, that’s… that’s stupid,” you laugh at yourself, shaking your head with your eyes squeezed shut. You’re already stumbling all over yourself, and you haven’t even managed a full sentence yet.

“Mötley Crüe is coming to Indianapolis in a few days, and a friend of mine was selling tickets, so I bought them. For us. Potentially. You know, if you wanted to… to go… With me.”

Your offer lingers and hangs in the air between the two of you.

A smile quirks at the right side of Eddie’s pink mouth. It isn’t a kind one, though. It looks more cynical than anything else.

His head juts back. He’s almost peering at you from the corner of his eye as though you were some suspicious thing he needed to analyze. A laugh sputters from his lips. “Did Buckley put you up to this? Is that what this is?”

Your faltering smile fades entirely. Your features crumble in disappointment.

This worse he could say is no, Robin had told you. 

You hadn’t prepared yourself for this.

“…What?” you wonder, voice fragile like a wilting flower petal.

Eddie chuckles to himself. He sets the book down to give you his full attention, though you’re not sure you want it anymore. “You know, I knew she was upset about me trying to set her up with Vickie and all, but this is a… whole new low.”

“Vickie…?” you murmur through a tightening throat, brows pinched in confusion. “I don’t understand—”

“Look, sweetheart… Tell Robin that this was a real funny joke, but I’m not interested, alright?”

Your chest aches with an empty feeling. You think your heart might be breaking. “J—Joke?”

“—Actually, tell her that this was very not metal of her, and that I will get my vengeance,” Eddie says with a sardonic laugh deeply rooted in his chest. His smile looks almost like he pities you as he shakes his head, eyes twinkling with pessimism. “I’m sorry she sent you to do her dirty work, but… You should probably go now. This is, you know, the Hellfire Club table and everything, so…”

You swallow thickly, then nod.

Eddie doesn’t want you here. Eddie doesn’t want you at all.

“I’m— I’m sorry if I…” The words get caught in your throat. You clear it and blink back burning tears. “I was just… I thought that maybe—”

“Eddie!” a boyish voice calls from across the cafeteria, only halfway drowned out through all the noise. A group of guys in Hellfire shirts walk towards the table.

You take that as your cue to leave. You don’t want to burst into tears in front of your crush and all of his friends.

“I’m sorry,” is all you manage to choke out before turning on your heel and walking away.

He’d been smiling up until that point — like it was all a big joke to him — because it was. 

The girl he’s been fawning over since junior year comes out of nowhere with tickets to see one of his favorite bands? That was the kind of shit he dreamt about — the kind of plan only someone as vicious as Robin Buckley could concoct to hurt his feelings. And after spending so many years being the brunt of bullies, Eddie was tired of being embarrassed.

And at first, he thought you were just a really good actor. You did look almost genuinely confused when he’d snuffed out the plan so quickly. But those wide, glassy eyes you looked at him with — he doesn’t know if a person can fake that sort of heartbreak. That looked real.

Eddie had been close to commending himself for not letting Robin win. He thought he was a genius for not allowing Buckley to use you against him. Now he knows he’s the same dumbass he's always been.

“Hey, man…” Gareth wavers as he sits at his designated seat adjacent to Eddie’s. The boy’s forlorn and faraway gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the club. They all share looks of confusion, but the sandy-haired boy is the only one brave enough to speak up. “You okay?”

Eddie keeps his gaze trained on your figure as you maneuver through the crowd. Robin looks happy for you when you reach her, but the puppy-like excitement washes away when she notices how sad you are. 

He feels like someone’s shoved a knife between his ribcage. He wonders if this is what a broken heart feels like.

“I think I screwed up,” he answers, laughing cynically at himself. “Like, big time.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, right?” Dustin jokes before popping a fry into his mouth. He laughs, but no one else joins him. “…Right?”

Eddie glares at the boy.

He cowers. “…Kidding. I was kidding.”

—————

He stews over it all day — your offer and what he said to you and how sad you looked after he said it. 

He pictures your pinched brows and big, glassy eyes and his chest starts to burn a little. Everyone always thought he was some raging asshole just because he had crazy hair and a crazier taste in music. Now he feels like they were sort of right about him. 

Whatever chance he had with you has surely turned to dust by now. It wouldn’t surprise him after he shrugged you off like he did. But after waging a nearly four-hour war in his mind between lunch and dismissal, he knows he has to make sure. 

He has to know if he’s ruined things entirely or if there’s a glimmer of hope he can hang onto.

He comes to you at the end of the day, dripping in metaphorical blood from the mental carnage he’d endured. He stood across the hall from you for five whole minutes as he tried to come up with something to say. He walks to your locker empty-handed and just blurts, “I thought you were joking,” like a total idiot.

Through the muddled conversation in the bustling hallway, you hadn’t heard him coming. You didn’t know he was there at all until he was right next to you. Seeing someone so suddenly close to you makes you flinch — hard.

And it’s not totally Eddie’s fault. You’re jumpy and too easily frightened at times, but he can’t help but feel like he’s messing things up more than he already has.

“Oh…” you deflate with a sigh, eyes still wide and swimming with something he can’t quite place. You look like you’re almost relieved to see him. Almost. 

“Sorry— shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The boy stumbles over his words, then trails off when they don’t come out the way he wants. He shakes his head and finds it in himself to smile. It’s bitter, though, filled with self-abhorrence. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

With one hand still clutching the door of your locker, and the other gripping a stack of textbooks, you peer at him through your lashes. “I know. It’s okay. I just— I wasn’t expecting it…”

He grimaces. “Sorry…”

“’S okay,” you repeat.

“I, um, I only came in so hot ‘cause I wanted to apologize— you know, for earlier. In the lunch room,” he stammers and puts his fidgeting hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more as an insincere puff of air. “Honestly, I thought you were joking.”

Your brows pinch. “Joking? Why would I—”

“I sorta locked Robin and Vickie in the old chemistry room in the east wing a few days ago,” he confesses, bouncing his shoulders. “Just because I know they both like each other and everything, and I thought maybe they’d finally admit it if they were alone together.”

“Okay…?” 

“Well, they didn’t. And Robin was pissed. So I thought she was using you to get back at me.”

“Using me?” you echo.

“Yeah. ‘Cause I’ve kinda been into you since junior year and everything,” he admits with a nonchalant shrug. The corner of his rosy mouth quirks into a half-smile. “It’s, like, the one card Robin could use against me that would actually hurt, you know? If she did try to get me back.”

Your heart swells so much it hurts, almost — the same kind of hurt you'd felt in the lunch room earlier. It feels fiery, like someone’s taken a match to your ribcage and lit your heart aglow. But it’s different now. This is a good hurt, a happy hurt.

“Really?” you squint at him, your voice high and light. Your lips twitch like you want to smile, but you don’t let yourself — lest this all turns out to be some kind of elaborate dream. Or a joke.

“Since we had Mr. Kaminsky’s together, yeah,” Eddie affirms with a slow, confident nod. His chocolate eyes flit up to the water-stained ceiling. “Let’s see… We were learning about reproduction, and Tommy Hagan made some stupid joke about using you as a real-life model instead of the pictures in the textbook—”

“I remember,” you nod, trying not to shudder at the memory that still haunts you. 

“And I told him that he was making it real obvious that he’s never seen an actual vagina before and that the one in the textbook looked a lot like his mom’s,” the boy recalls with a soft laugh. “And you looked over at me, and you smiled, and I… have been a goner ever since.”

He looks down at you again, all sheepish like he isn’t gluing your broken heart back together again. His chocolate eyes twinkle in a way you’ve never seen before. They sparkle in their softness. You have to look away before it turns you into a puddle at his feet. 

You smile widely into your locker, pursing it off to the side in attempts to conceal its brightness. 

“No one’s ever stuck up for me like that before,” you confess quietly after a few moments, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m pretty sure I gushed to Robin about it for days.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums. He can feel his hopes getting too high.

“Yeah. I told her all about the pretty boy in the back of the room that finally got Tommy H. to leave me alone.”

“Oh… You think he’s pretty, huh?” the boy teases despite his pink cheeks.

You nod — made much braver by his previous admission — though you still have a little trouble looking him in the eye. You drag a notebook from your locker as you tell him, “I think he’s very pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that the boy you think is pretty is super sorry for being such an asshole to you earlier,” Eddie murmurs, his nose scrunched and head tilted. “And that he’d really love to go to that concert with you— if you haven’t found some other schmuck to go with you, that is.”

Your eyes light up like a Christmas tree as you beam at him. No one’s ever looked at him that way before now.

“I’d like that,” you nod, then shrug. “I don’t think I’d wanna go with anyone else, anyway…”

“So, it’s a date?” Eddie asks, just to make sure. His raised brows disappear behind his fluffy bangs. His chin tilts to his chest as he smiles hopefully down at you.

You nod, and repeat it more softly than the loudmouth boy. “It’s a date.”

Eddie can feel himself grinning like an idiot. His cheeks ache with how wide he’s beaming at you, but he's too lovesick to stop. Like squinting into the sun, smiling every time he looks at you is muscle memory by now. 

And what did a freak like him ever do to deserve a date with the freakin’ sun?

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: Three Is Company

Frodo calling it “Our Birthday” is making me feel things. Oh would you look at the time, it’s Crying About Bilbo and Frodo O’Clock again TT~TT

It’s honestly such a mood that Frodo says to himself “I’m following Bilbo!” so he doesn’t have to think about “I’m carrying a thing of great evil into danger and unseen ends”. Me too, Frodo. Me too.

“And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I really shall turn him into a toad.” 🤣

“Bilbo went to find a treasure, there and back again; but I go to lose one, and not return, as far as I can see.” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME—

Also “and not to return” is so heartbreaking, especially knowing that by the time he gets to Mordor Frodo is fully expecting to die at the end of his journey TT^TT

“It may be your task to find the Cracks of Doom.” JUST DROP THAT FORESHADOWING RIGHT THERE LIKE IT’S NOTHING, HUH, TOLKIEN??

Also teehee crack

Yes I am a twelve year old boy on the inside, moving on

The local shade towards the Sackville-Bagginses is HYSTERICAL

“Ah yes Merry is looking out for a house for me in Buckland.” INSTANCE #2 OF MERRY BEING ORGANIZATIONALLY GOATED

I’m honestly very impressed by how neatly Tolkien crafted Frodo’s backstory and interwove it into the story. The idea that he’s going back to Buckland where he grew up really does seem credible! None of the hobbits would suspect a thing! I almost have to wonder which came first in Tolkien’s mind, Frodo’s backstory or the fact that he’d need a good excuse to go East. It’s so well-crafted and it makes my writer brain happy.

F in the chat for Folco Boffin; we know your name and nothing else about you

Frodo draining the last of the wine like “lol at least the Sackville-Bagginses won’t get THIS!” is very funny to me

I have said it before, I’ll say it again, Frodo looking in the mirror and going “geez I’ve gotten fat” will NEVER NOT BE FUNNY

“Frodo did not offer [Lobelia] any tea.” I hereby name you Frodo Sassville-Baggins.

Aww, the Gaffer agreed to Sam going to Crickhollow to work for Frodo!

If only he knew just how far he was really going

“…though it did not console him for the prospect of having Lobelia as a neighbour.” o7 for the Gaffer, everybody

And they had tea by themselves and left the dishes for Lobelia 🤣 FRODO SASSVILLE-BAGGINS

“‘Coming, sir!’ came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar.” LOL

Also I can’t blame him, knowing what he’s walking into

“He waved his hand, then turned and (following Bilbo, if he had known it) hurried after Peregrin down the garden-path.” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE—

Frodo, whining: "My bag is so heavy" Sam, lying: "I could carry more, sir!" Pippin: "Oh no you don't, let him suffer"

Honestly the dynamic of this trio is super underrated LOL

I'm honestly not sure whether "well, we all like walking in the dark" is meant to be sarcastic or genuine—the way it's repeated later on makes me think it's genuine, but I can't be sure—so just to be safe I'm bringing the Frodo Sassville-Baggins score up to 2.5

I'm taking the time to read the walking bits slowly now, and honestly, the way Tolkien describes the countryside of the Shire is so beautiful. I want to go there, and I want to walk there, and I want to see what the hobbits are seeing. Every little piece of nature and topography elicits an emotion; from the enclosed safety of Hobbiton, cradled in its cozy little valley, to the great fir tree standing guard over the hobbits as they sleep, to the road winding endlessly on before them, promising still more work and beautiful scenery and adventures to come. Is this slow reading? Yes. But I love it so much.

Frodo wakes up and the first thing he does is grumble to himself about his back and neck. He really is an old man. I love him.

Honestly this entire scene is comedy gold

Frodo: "Wake up, hobbits! It's a beautiful morning." Pippin, a literal teenager: "What's so beautiful about it?" ROFLOL

Pippin, literally out in the middle of nowhere: "Sam, draw a bath!"

And for that, Frodo steals his blankets and makes him roll over. Frodo Sassville-Baggins score: 3.5

Pippin: "Water! Where's the water?" Frodo: "I don't keep water in my pockets!" SASSVILLE-BAGGINS SCORE: 4.5

And then he makes Pippin come get the water with him, since he wants it so badly. I love Exasperated Older Sibling Frodo and I wish we got to see so much more of it.

Pippin, after Frodo randomly bursts into poetry: "Wow, was that Bilbo's poetry, or yours? It's kind of a downer."

I'm so glad they kept the "it's dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door" line in the movies, because it really is so good.

Sam's canonically good hearing returns!

Frodo suggesting they prank Gandalf for being late is honestly so cute lol

Twice in this chapter we get the eucatastrophe of Frodo just barely not putting on the Ring, right at the last second. The first time, the Black Rider just walks off on his own, and the second time the Elves show up and scare him off. I will praise Frodo's virtues 'till Spring turns into Winter, but I think this is clear evidence right from the beginning that Frodo was not, and could not, be saved from the temptation of the Ring by any virtue of his own. He is saved; he does not save himself. All of which is honestly very Christian of Tolkien.

Pippin, to Frodo: "All right, keep your secrets!"

I love the walking song. I might do a revised recording of it, if you guys will tolerate my singing voice again X-D

Can we just acknowledge how bad*ss it is that Frodo sneaks up and spies on a Black Rider, just out of curiosity?? Like, I know this is more a feat of stupidity than it is of courage, but given everything we know about them by the end of the book, that is honestly WICKED cool.

Sam, having to be dragged back by his arms: "ELVES! ELVES!"

GILDOR!!

GILDOR MY UNDERRATED BESTIE

I can't wait to draw Gildor. He's gonna be so PRETTY

"But we have no need of other company, and hobbits are so dull" is so funny tho

The Elves, with all the love in their hearts: "You can't sit with us, you're boring!"

FINROD MY MAN

I have not read the Silmarillion, but I know enough about it to know that Finrod is the G.O.A.T.

The Elves: "You're being followed by Black Riders?? Okay you're coming with us now"

Frodo speaking the High-elven tongue like a NERD

I love him

And Gildor immediately like "LOL y'all watch your language, the babies can understand us!" I love him dearly

....Okay wait I have a thought about the hobbits walking with the elves until they nearly fall asleep on their feet. A thought about soldiers and Tolkien's experience in war. Wait. I'm gonna have to make a post about this.

Eyyyy it's the Turin constellation!

Something about the Elven hall did indeed become a core memory for young Lady Glasses. I spent quite a few years building a fantasy world that would capture that sense of mysticism and wonder. Just like Sam and Pippin, I never really remembered the details, but the emotion stuck with me, and it enchanted my imagination.

The Elves bringing out a Thanksgiving feast and saying "sorry we don't have better food" is like going over to your friend's immaculately cleaned house and them saying "sorry for the mess"

Frodo speaking the Elves' language and charming them all is so cute

Sam falling asleep at Frodo's feet as he talks to Gildor is SO CUTE

“At last Frodo asked the question that was nearest to his heart: ‘Tell me, Gildor, have ever you seen Bilbo since he left us?’” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT—

"My faithful Sam" UGH THE FEELS

Gildor: "But it is said: 'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.'" Frodo: "And it is also said, 'Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.'" HAHAHA GETTIM FRODO

SASSVILLE-BAGGINS SCORE: 5.5

Gildor saying "you don't need to understand the Black Riders, just stay away from them" is honestly very Christian of Tolkien too. The best spiritual warfare advice I've ever heard is "don't try to understand demons; just get as close to your Protector".

Anyway Gildor complimenting Frodo is very cute and that is all

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Hi there! So happy I found your blog! I also love everything Rohan 😄 I'm a linguist and am just wondering about the language of Rohan. Given your extensive knowledge of our beloved kingdom, I was wondering if you'd be able to share what you know about their language? I understand it's supposed to be similar to Old English? Would a modern-day English-speaking person be able to understand them at all? Or at least identify it as a language that is similar to Old English? Did the people of Rohan more commonly speak Rohanese/Rohirric or Westron? Did all of them speak/understand both languages? Thank you so much!

Hello, Anonymous! I’m so glad you’re here and that you enjoy what you’ve found so far! Your question, coming from a linguist, makes me a little nervous because I am very much not. But I have confidence that someone else will pop in to correct me if I screw it up!

Any discussion of Rohirric gets complicated by the framing device Tolkien used. We’re supposed to believe that LOTR is an in-universe history, written by people who were there and who wrote in Westron. So what we see as English in the published book is supposed to be Tolkien’s translation of Westron. He then picked Old English to represent the language of the Rohirrim as a way to demonstrate the relationship between Rohirric and Westron – namely, Rohirric is an older, more archaic language than Westron with some shared historical origins (though the shared origins between Rohirric and Westron are not as direct as the way that English descended from Old English).

That means Old English is just used to make a point, not to show us what the language itself looked or sounded like. For that, we mostly have Legolas’s description (“rich and rolling”, “hard and stern” and “laden with sadness” 😬) and a few individual words that are mostly found in History of Middle Earth. The differences between the actual language and the Old English representation is pretty huge! The Old English-style name Éothéod (“horse people”) is actually Lohtûr. The name Théoden (coming from Old English meaning “king of the people”) is Tûrac in Rohirric. Because we know “loh” means horse in Rohirric and Éomer and Éowyn’s names both have eo- coming from Old English for “horse,” their real names would start with Loh- as well!

So a real Rohirric speaker would be using a language that has no relationship to Old English and wouldn’t be intelligible to a speaker of any form of English. As to whether a speaker of Old or Modern English would be able to understand Tolkien’s Old English-based representation of Rohirric, I’m not sure. He clearly knew a lot about Old English, so I imagine his use of that is probably pretty good (though he definitely made changes, like replacing “þ” with “th”). And I know that sometimes, as a modern English speaker, I can recognize and understand Old English words, but only those that made their way down to us largely unchanged. If I listen to someone reciting a whole bunch of Old English, it still sounds mostly like mush to me.

As for what languages are used on a daily basis in Rohan, I think we’re supposed to consider that Rohirric is the everyday language. Appendix F notes that the Rohirrim “still speak their ancestral tongue” and the guards at Edoras in TT say that using Rohirric is how they recognize their countrymen and friends. But Tolkien also says the “lords” use Westron freely in the manner of Gondor, and even the Rohirric-speaking guards switch easily to Westron when Gandalf asks them to. That suggests to me that Rohirric is for everyone/everyday use, but Westron is widely known, at least for anyone who might be interacting with outsiders.

I hope that was helpful! And thank you for sharing in love and appreciation for my favorite place in Middle Earth! ♥️🐎🗡️👑

[heilith]

Sage Blossoms

Another something for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023, for this stunning piece of art (clicky) by @clumsycopy. This one suddenly grew into a longfic, so yeah...it's just the beginning. Buckle up, have a pleasant ride.

@fall-for-tolkien

Sage Blossoms, Part 1

Miserable and soaking wet.

Half-dressed. And sorely regretful no one was there to hear the cheerful rhythm your teeth were making in vain attempts to meet.

You could do with a laugh.

Or with an embrace.  

The drawbar had always been too heavy for you. You’d never been able to budge it on your own, not with your ludicrous bony hands.

The horses behind the thick oaken door were still raging. You prayed it was not a rat this time. That last incident with a parton’s horse cost the inn twice your yearly wage. You hadn’t had a new piece of cloth on you since.  

The rainwater was meandering down your face, sprouting new and new rivulets. The skin it touched was quickly turning numb.

The smell came first… A strange blend of dead embers and no longer living flesh. For an instant it seemed to you it was oozing from between the doors to the stables.

The thought of fire was far scarier than the thought of rats.

A horse inside let out a high-pitched shriek, making your hair stand on end.

You shrank back and choked on a short outcry at finding yourself locked between a pair of arms, reaching for the drawbar.  

The presence you’d collided with let out a sound, too, a something you could hear coming out of a mouth curled up in self-ridicule.

Strange as it was, it calmed you down.

A dozen years of serving lord and vagabonds had taught you to know a danger at the first syllable it sent in your direction.

The look you ventured at the man did nothing but add to your surmise. If anything, it was his slouching countenance that reassured you completely. That, and his eyes, the best feature on an otherwise unhandsome face.

He was holding your gaze silently, perhaps, waiting for you to be the first to say something.

It was hard to look away, no matter how troublesome a feeling the expression in his eyes was giving you. He knew exactly how much he had scared you, and what measure you had measured him with, and how by now you had no doubts that unsettling smell was coming off him, after all. And he was jeering at you, you could tell it for sure, in a way a wiseman could jeer at a baby trying to read its first word.

“Why you?” said he at last.

His voice had the same ashy quality to it as his whole self, as if his throat was burnt.  

“The grooms won’t return till the morning.”

The question brought you to the reality where your nightgown and the poor excuse of a shawl were still dripping with cold water and the horses were still going insane, shut in four walls with something that had scared them to death.

“I’m sorry, I have to…”

He didn’t let you finish.

The drawbar came out of the slots without a spare hitch. You couldn’t expect him to dispose of it with enough care, but he did, leaning the thing against the jamb in a weirdly habitual manner.

The dark mouth of the doorframe had swallowed him before you could utter a word of protest.

The beasts screamed so loud you jumped back faintheartedly, giving up the intention of following him.  

A century had passed in feverish struggle with yourself. You had to be there, and you had no courage to step over the threshold.

Your senses were strained to the limit that didn’t seem possible.

To your relief, little by little the clamour started dying down. The horses were falling silent one after another. First there were four of them, then two, then the last one sobbed quietly and all you could hear was a monotonous raspy whisper. Eventually it trailed off, too, leaving the rain the only thing to beget any sound at all.

There was a fresh cut on his cheek, when he stepped out into the yard again. In the scant moonlight the streaks of blood looked almost black to you.   

“Go back to bed, child,” dropped he without any feeling, “You do not wish to die in sickness.”

His breath was coming out weary, too weary for you not to put down your guard once more. With the sense you could find no name for you felt that whatever he had done had cost him more than it was worth.  And you deemed yourself guilty for that.

It was a silly move.

An obvious mistake.

The way his whole body convulsed at the touch of your shawl against his cheek made that clearer than daylight. In that brief moment your eyes met his again, there was such fury in them it made you nauseous.  

But you went on with it till you wiped away all the traces of blood and dirt and could be sure the wound was clean at least by the look.   

“Take care of it, please,” you said firmly.

The stables remained unlocked.

But you didn’t even think of it, as you turned away to leave.

[fistfuloflightning]

So. Someone a bit ago commented on one of my fics (or here, not sure) about my penchant for odd Tolkien rarepairs. I myself forget just how many I have, so here’s the rundown and why I like them:

Maedhros/Maeglin (just. the angst. of being buried under your mistakes and finding a kindred soul to share that same burden and heal together. soulmates. who might’ve even met during the nirnaeth. and they’re definitely switches your honor)

Celegorm/Aredhel or Celegorm/Dior (or Dior’s reckless/headstrong stubbornness reminds him of Aredhel and there’s a lot of angry/bittersweet proxyfucking and guilt and ‘I don’t know who I truly love anymore’)

Maglor/Luthien (beauty for beauty’s sake. and honestly anyone but beren. luthien getting involved with the war to protect her murderbard boyfriend and actually putting a dent in morgoth’s forces. mags trying his hardest to protect her as much as the silmaril she won back for him)

Curufin/Finrod (sending your husband to his death (that he knew abt but didn’t tell you) and screwing up your sons and living the rest of your shortened life regretting soooo. many. things. and then having to deal with them after mandos. a bitter beautiful chaotic mess that can only end in tears)

Fingon/Varda (don’t ask: even I’m not sure—something something gil galad’s associated w/ stars and no one knows who his mom is and I like me some valar with greek god leanings)

Aegnor/Haleth (battle bros to lovers, bc haleth won’t take no for an answer like andreth did 😒)

Argon/Amarie (falling in love with your cousin’s ex was not the intention after being the first one killed/sent back. but she’s finally moving on from finrod and you’ve grown to care for her company more than you thought…)

Daeron/Beren (beren didn’t deserve luthien—this started as a joke but these two seriously deserve each other in all their squabbling glory)

Mablung/Nienor (they just. deserve happiness and peace. and lots of adorable peredhel kids. please)

Eowyn/Merry (same as above, but they have the benefit of having an entire shire to rebuild and different cultures to find wonder in and grow to love as much as their own)

idk I might be missing some but these are my thoughts on my main Tolkien rarepairs

[karolinaandfrogs]

Flowers

A/N: There is no use of y/n because of my indescribable hatred for whatever that thing is. Also by saying this I just wanna say that I don't mind other authors using y/n as their main character. Just for me personally, I like it when my main hero has more obvious shapes, so I just dropped here my own character.

A/N: The reader is elf born. I like to mix the world of Tolkien and J. K. Rowling a bit so please, let there be no confusion of the main character for the house elves in Harry Potter.

Warnings: none

Pairing: Regulus Black x female!elf!reader

Words: 1,7k

"You're beautiful. As a flower.”

“Then, why won’t you make me yours?”

“Because every flower dries eventually. Each one of them becomes fragile with time. But not everyone has given their lives to the hands of time. No, some of us are cursed by it. We stay with heavy centuries on our shoulders as we watch the flowers vanish slowly.”

The library was almost empty today. This wasn’t surprising because most of the students were enjoying the day at Hogsmeade. Either buying gifts or just wandering from one shop window to another. November was slowly but surely coming to an end and as Christmas time was now, swiftly approaching the snow-covered school grounds, a festive but relaxed atmosphere was lingering in the air. Everyone excitedly awaited the magical part of the year.

Except him.

Regulus has never really liked this time of the year but that wasn’t the reason for the current state of his mind. Even Evan had told him that morning that he was grumpier than usual, but he wasn’t the only one to notice his friend’s despair. Regulus’ concentration in classes became loose as he struggled to pay attention to his professors’ interpretations. His marks took a quick turn down and before he knew that, he wasn’t at the top of his class. Many professors have noticed this sudden change in his behavior and one time even Professor McGonagall asked him to stay after the lesson ended. He’d be lying if he said that, it didn’t touch his heart, at least a little, when the usually strict and precise woman asked him motherly if he was alright. But of course, he hasn’t uttered a word to his closest friends, he wouldn’t confide in her.

And that’s why he was here, in the library, ready to get the post of the top student of his year back.

He was looking for a book to help him write an essay about the Salem Witch Trials for Professor Binns. He trailed his tired eyes along the leather backs of the books. He yawned and shook his head as if it were meant to cure his sleep deprivation. He grabbed the first book that looked somewhat useful and sat down at the nearest table. He took the first sheet of parchment he found in his bag, altogether with a bottle of ink and a quill. He took the book and started working on his essay. He was three words in when his mind started to wonder again.

“I’m too old for you, you know that right?”

“Didn’t you say, that elves age differently?”

“I did, didn’t I? But still.”

Hand in hand with his marks had taken a downfall in his appetite and sleep. He started to skip breakfasts and lunches and sometimes dinners. These days he’s always felt like he’d throw up any minute the little his friends almost shoved down his throat. The image of food touching his lips had begun to feel so unfamiliar. And it started showing.

When he saw himself in the bathroom mirror the other night his mind was unable to process what he was looking at. At first, he could only recognize the outlines of a young man. Although he could already tell that what he was about to see was rather ugly, he still reached out his hand to wipe off the water of the mirror.

The bathroom air was stuffy, hot, and heavy. The night behind the bathroom window was thick like a rich chocolate mousse. Almost as if inviting to dip a spoon in. And in the mirror stood a silhouette of a boy. His collarbones were sticking out. His ribs took more obvious outlines. He was staring at his outline and his outline’s gaze was fixed back at him. Each one of them looking unhealthy and miserable.

And all that for one simple reason.

His pride was hurt. His feelings were rejected. He was rejected.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his train of thought. Some first-year walked past his table with an armful of books, mumbling something Regulus couldn’t understand, and disappeared behind a first shelf of books.

Regulus sighed. He needed to concentrate. He’s not going to let his intrusive thoughts put him down this easily. Especially, when he’s got a goal to achieve. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Then he took a quick look at what he’s already written down. It wasn’t much, or, to be completely honest, it was merely a few words. He dipped his quill in ink again and started working.

“The Salem Witch Trials were a major event in the history of the wizarding world.”

“Reggie?”

“They provoked many witches and wizards who settled in the New World to return to their homelands.”

“Yes?”

“I thought you hated that nickname.”

“I don’t mind when you call me that.”

He snapped the book closed. He knew he wouldn’t get any work done like this. Plus, even tho he tried to occupy his mind, it always seemed to find a way for memories too painful to bear to float to the surface.

He quickly packed all his belongings and threw them into his bag. Normally, he would spend extra time organizing his belongings, but today he didn’t care. He just wanted to fall onto his bed, tuck himself under the sheets, and pretend he was already asleep so that when his roommates returned from the Great Hall, they wouldn’t try to convince him to eat something.

He exited the library and headed straight to the Slytherin common room. He was walking through the empty corridor when he heard someone call his name.

“Reggie?”

He froze. He knew this voice way too well. And so did he know the owner of this voice.

But he didn’t turn his head towards her. Not just yet.

He knew he wasn’t ready to look her in the eyes. Not after what she’s done to him. He hated her for that most ardently. He was bitterly swallowing the fact that he knew he would willingly go through all this pain all over again only if he could reach any possible closure.

And again he was disgusted by how pathetic this all was. This wasn’t the man his mother raised him to be.

His breathing got faster and he was starting to feel dizzy. He knew that he needed to get out of there. He wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation.

“Reggie, please look at me.” Her voice was soft. Just like every time she spoke to him. But it was hard to tell if she had this tone of voice dedicated to him and him only or if she had spoken like this with everyone. Either way, to him she seemed angelic.

He turned his head. His dark hazel eyes met her steel grey.

In the bright afternoon light that peeked through every window in the corridor, he could see that her curves seemed sharper than normal. Honestly, she looked… tired. Her long honey curls were today frizzy and wild. There were dark shadows underneath her eyes. Her tie appeared to be oddly knotted but at the same time, the knot looked like it was holding on only by the power of pure will. Overall she looked like she’s got a few rough nights behind her. Just like him.

This was the first time since the last time they’d spoken that he had a chance to really look at her. Of course, they had classes together but he usually kept his gaze buried deep into the ground. He just didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes.

“You know that we don’t have to do it like thi-”

“What do you want?”

His voice was way harsher than he wanted it to be. He could see that he hit the right spot when she twitched with a mixture of fear and nervousness. He should be happy about that. Then why wasn’t he? Why was he so afraid to hurt the one, standing behind all his despair?

“I wanna talk.”

“When we’ve spoken at last you made it clear, that you want me to keep my distance. So, that’s what I’ve been doing. And now it’s all wrong again?” Even he was surprised at how flatly he managed to say these words.

She paused, for a brief moment and when she spoke up again her voice was brittle. Her usual confidence with whom she spoke was gone. Now, she seemed almost fragile.

“You know that this is not fair Reggie.”

He scoffed, “oh? How so?”

There was a genuine hurt in her eyes and it immediately made him want to take back, what he said. But he couldn’t.

“You’re being mean. This is not the Regulus I know. This is not my Reggie.”

It was almost cynical to call him hers. They both knew it. It didn’t matter, how they called this whole situation of theirs. He wasn’t hers to keep. And she wasn’t his to look after.

The corridor was strangely empty. Regulus was thinking that anytime someone has to rush in and ruin this moment. Only, if it hasn’t been already ruined.

It was hopeless. Either way, they were doomed to fall apart. Of course, there were a few stories throughout history when an elf and a human had fallen for each other but these fairy tales always had the very same ending. When the wistful youth had washed off one of the lover’s faces and the long years passed there was only one left. And that one was chipped into pieces while hoping that something would bring their dearest one back to them. Cursing the wheel of time while wishing it would be them to break it.

How many romantic tragedies will pass before they learn their lesson?

There was a long silence in the corridor. Neither of them had anything left to say.

“Goodbye, Regulus.”

He knew this was about to come but he wasn’t ready for it yet. He didn’t respond. All he could do was to watch her leave him behind. As always.

[sp-by-april]

okay okay so i’m people really don’t do this because like it’s clyde but soft dom clyde and female reader

LIKE IK PEOPLE DONT DO IT BUT LIKE I COULD KINDA IMAGINE IT?? but anyways like imagine theyre at a party and clyde just wants to fuck the hell out of her,and like the party is at clyde or tolkiens house so they fuck in the bedroom and he’s a soft son but anyways i would appreciate it if u do it 🙏🏾🙏🏾

~⭐️

Ask and you shall receive!

Clyde x F!Reader

[Submit a prompt that makes you FERAL!] [South Park Master Lists]

My boyfriend Clyde was throwing one of his annual big house parties. Booming bass, flowing alcohol, a lot of people we aren’t even friends with who showed up to show out… You know the vibe.

Not to brag or anything, but Clyde and I have a great sex life. I’m not sure anyone would expect it of him, which is good for me cause he’s already good-looking and I don’t need every girl to know he’s also amazing in bed. The reason I’m telling you this is because despite our sex life not lacking anything, he was all over me. All night.

He was acting like he hadn’t gotten laid in months, and not, you know, three days before when we last saw each other. It was actually kind of hot seeing how badly he wanted me.

So I teased him a little. First, we started making out in the kitchen and I made an excuse to leave. Later we were dancing and I used all the sexiest moves in my arsenal. Then I sat on his lap and really started to grind on him while we made out again.

He had his hands on my ass and his tongue in my mouth when he suddenly broke our kiss and put his mouth to my ear, “That’s it,”

He scooped me up like it was nothing and carried me upstairs to his bedroom.

He dropped me on the bed and climbed on top of me, “You are in so much trouble,”

I feigned innocence, “What do you mean?”

“You’re such a smart girl,” He pulled my top up to my collarbone revealing my favorite lacy bra and then gave my breast a firm squeeze, “Don’t play dumb,”

“I was just having a little fun,” I said nervously.

“I know,” He kissed my breast and sat up with a grin, “It’s my turn now,”

He hiked up my skirt and then his hand dropped between my legs and pulled my panties to the side.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” Clyde bit his lip as his fingers rubbed along my slit.

He pushed inside and I sucked in a quick breath. He watched me try not to moan underneath him and was unsatisfied. He curled his fingers, massaging my sweet spot and I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I grabbed handfuls of the sheets around me as the sounds of my pleasure filled the room. He increased the pressure and I couldn’t stave it off.

My body tensed up and I grabbed the sheets so hard, that one of the ends popped off. A loud moan spilled out of me as the sacred space between my legs closed around his fingers and grasped him tight in the wake of my orgasm.

I panted, watching him grin as he withdrew his fingers from me.

Then Clyde started to unbutton and zip his pants, “You look so good when you can’t control yourself,”

He pushed them down to his thighs and I knew I was in for it. Clyde had a great dick, sometimes I just liked looking at it, but as I looked at him I could see how wet and sticky he was after teasing him for so long. I knew then that he was telling the truth and he was really going to give it to me.

He kissed my neck as he rubbed the head of his cock over my wet slit and when he finally sank into me, I couldn’t help but gasp a little.

Clyde started with long, deep strokes and I was moaning again right off the bat. He was hitting that plush little spot inside of me so deliciously, I could hardly stand it.

I grabbed onto hips and then ran my hands up his back, under his shirt. I was glad I did.

“You make really pretty sounds,” His hot breath fell over my ear, “But I know you can get even louder,”

He sped up and started to really thrust so much harder, it was like whiplash, and I knew it was exactly how he wanted me to feel. He could fuck me slow and deep, or hard and fast, either way, he was gonna fuck me regardless and I was going to love it.

My nails dug into his skin as the wet, wanton sounds of Clyde pounding into me blended in with my moaning and filled up his bedroom.

His hand dipped between us and his fingers found my clit. He started to rub me in tight little circles and I writhed underneath him trying to hold onto a little bit of control. It didn’t work.

He locked his mouth onto mine and our tongues turned over each other, I couldn’t fight anymore.

My back arched sharply and every muscle in my body seized up as all the pleasure he was giving me finally swelled and built up to an unbearable degree. I pushed a trembling moan into his mouth as the soft, warm walls in my core fastened up around him and gripped his dick as if I needed it to live. It kind of felt like I did, honestly.

He groaned low into our kiss and his eyes rolled back. Suddenly his hips jerked into me and his cock pulsed so strongly that it almost hurt as he pumped me full of every hot, wet spurt that he had to give.

“Good girl,” He panted as he broke our kiss.

He pulled himself off of me and collapsed beside me on the bed. I rolled over to him and he draped his arm over me.

I smiled, “Your party’s still going,”

He left a firm kiss on my cheek, “Pretty sure everything that matters is happening right here,”

[outofangband]

Rambling Morwen thoughts, more in my houseless for exiles tag, sorry for aforementioned rambling

“Rashness, lord! If my son works in the woods hungry if he lingers in bonds, if his body lies unburied, then I would be rash. I would lose no hour to go to seek him.”

-Chapter 14, The Journey of Morwen and Niënor

Everything in this exchange is so important to me, but it’s specifically the if his body lies unburied that really gets to me because I think it speaks a lot about  Morwen’s trauma from the Bragollach, and Húrin and Rían’s vanishing

Just have so much of her pride is in twined with her grief so much of her grief is so intertwined with uncertainty, and not knowing.

Her father and uncle, and a lot of her male relatives who died with Barahir, she never got news of their death.  If she did, it would’ve been decades after it happened when she finally came to  Doriath, if Beren’s full history was known there. Her mother may well have died in the Bragollach too*

And then her cousin, the last of her people there also runs off, and she never gets any news of her, and she never learns at least presumably never learns what happened to Rían’s son**

And of course Húrin! Húrin Rides off for war and never returns, and no tidings from any of his people who fought in the battle come back either. She doesn’t know if he’s dead, or captured, or simply prevented from returning as she says herself.

I have a couple posts in my houseless for exiles tag about this but also leaving Hithlum behind, knowing that she would never see it or its people again, and would likely never know of their fate, is yet another grief. She would have left Aerin and anyone else she was close with, knowing the circumstances they would be in and knowing the parting was a permanent one.

Which leads to my main point

Morwen is willing to drown crossing the Sirion (as she tells Mablung) or be murdered by Morgoth’s most dreadful monster (as she nearly is) trying to get news of Túrin, or save him or even just to bury him! She’s willing to risk that just to make sure he gets proper burial and so she knows what has become of him.

I’m sorry to bring this back into my thoughts about those words and traits that  are always associated with Morwen; her pride, her grief (and also her inability to grieve!!,)  and severity and stubbornness and resilience but I think it’s all so fascinatingly connected. She has been denied closure for decades. She’s willing to do pretty much anything to make sure it doesn’t happen again

And that’s part of what makes that last interaction at the grave of her children so heartbreaking

And this should be a post in itself I’ll make later but I also think about how for those who knew Morwen, they suffer this same uncertainty

…but Morwen also was lost. Neither then nor after did any certain news of her fate come to Doriath or to Dor-lómin.

(Also, I love her being able to tell the difference in the members of the party and to be able to tell that there’s one more member that there should be when these thousands of year-old fully trained elven scouts didn’t notice that it’s both awesome and very funny to me! And the part about Morwen refusing to be led back to Doriath by Niënor! It’s the second to last mention of her pride and resolve in the novel and it’s part of the last description of Niënor as Niënor!)

Anyway I love Morwen very much and I will do an entire post on the whence came he! Scene

* Neither the mother of Morwen nor her parents or any other maternal family is mentioned in canon. In The Shaping of Middle Earth, Tolkien originally had the mothers of Morwen and Rían as being of the house of Marach, his original reason for them having survived the Bragollach and ending up in Hithlum. He discarded this however, making Morwen and Rían refugees of the Bragollach but never saying anything more about their mothers.

** kept this part short as I have several post specifically about this aspect of their relationship and their relationship and general, which are very important to me, I’ll link one of the more recent ones just for my own organization here

[airyairyaucontraire]

As I continue with the LOTR audiobooks I’m struck by how different the sense of pace and urgency is from the movies. We know, of course, that a movie is different from a book and can simply and directly show us things that an author may need a few paragraphs to describe, also events in the plot may be brought closer together or be combined or dropped altogether, and dialogue generally needs to be more concise. I think I’m allowing sufficiently for that, but still.

With the abduction of Merry and Pippin, surely every minute counts in terms of the trail growing cold or the orcs reaching their destination, yet still, after caring for Boromir’s body and giving him the best funeral they can under the circumstances* (as they do in the movie, it’s just that it’s elided between scenes while in the book we have the full description, including a touching detail, that they made a pillow for his head from his folded Lothlorien cloak and combed his hair, because it’s such a human**thing that even knowing our friend or relative won’t feel it and doesn’t need it, we need to make sure they would be comfortable and they look nice) after setting his boat loose to go over the falls, because Lord of the Rings is a musical, they’re singing a song they must have improvised just now - not just Boromir’s favourite song if they knew it, or a pre-existing Gondorian folk song that seems fitting, but a new original song about missing Boromir, because not only does it have his name in it, it has pretty specific references to the geography of his journey and so forth.

The only way that makes sense is if you bear in mind that Lord of the Rings is a musical.

Also, I generally don’t harp on differences between the books and movies, but I would like to note that in the book Boromir is still alive, in his last moments, to feel Aragorn hold his hand and kiss his forehead, and I prefer that version.

Oh! Also Andy Serkis did come up with better voices for Elrond and Legolas than the rather irritating wispy fairy ones he did for the earlier elves. They still have a trace of the wispiness and a certain rhythm to their speech that’s distinctively elvish, and I think that was a good way to handle it. I guess Glorfindel and that dude the hobbits met on the way out of the Shire just have stronger accents when they speak the common language? I’ll let it go at that.

I bet he was glad Tolkien wrote that Galadriel had an unusually deep voice for a woman.

* I don’t blame them for the choice they made, they discuss different options but conclude that with no shovels to dig a grave and not enough rocks suitable to make a cairn over his body, the river is their best option. However, I’ve never liked the thought that, after going over the waterfall where the boat would break up at the bottom, what actually became of Boromir’s body was no different from if they’d just thrown him in. He would bloat and float and so forth. Yucky. Therefore I decided today that there was a huge fish (maybe a sturgeon) swimming not far down the Anduin and it ate him up in one go while he was still fresh. I think that’s more dignified.

**Here I’ll use the more expansive Ryoko Kui definition of human because I’m not excluding elves or dwarves (or indeed hobbits) from feeling this way. Also, I warmly recommend the New Zealand TV series The Casketeers.

[eccentricphilosoph]

People think Tolkien was racist. I did a lot of deep diving and… no. White people wrote about white people back then… and still do… and his stuff is based on Norse and English mythology.

Can’t get any “whiter” than Norse and English mythology and he is white, so… If you want to call anyone racist, it’s those who created those tales and myths he based things on… as if he would know that in the 1930s when the internet and political correctness didn’t exist… get over yourselves and do some research and think about the historical context and the kinds of things he was inspired by within his own heritage. Please.

His works are so heavily influenced by these mythologies that it’s difficult to say he made these things up out of his own head and any blame for any form of “racism” would be chalked up to the original mythologies. Of course, he realistically didn’t think or even recognize anything of the sort! It was the 1930s and he was in WWI!!

Strange how MANY who love DND still make this argument even when DND takes SO much from Tolkien and much of the same lore that he used for his own inspiration! I don’t see people faulting DND fans.

OR are you idiotic enough to look at the movie versions of orcs, for example, and decide that was racist? Because, last I saw in the novels, the orcs and Uruk-hai don’t have black skin and the Uruk-hai don’t have “dreads” or whatever. The films aren’t Tolkien’s literal vision. They’re Jackson’s and the people who did the designs!

If you knew LOTR better you’d also know that the orcs are “spiritually” corrupted elves. Much like fallen angels, if you will. Tolkien was heavily influenced by Catholicism as well.

The ideas of light/dark good/evil is quite innate to humans in general as literal darkness can be a source of danger because not only can humans not see in the dark, at nighttime, there are predators that can attack and harm humans. It’s quite common sense to understand why humans would believe that darkness would be associated with evil. Whereas light comes from the sun and we need the sun to survive and we can see and be alert during the day as well. The sun is what drives away those predators that would do harm in the night. Again, it’s quite common sensical and far reaching nonsense to think the ideas of light/dark and good/evil are somehow inherently racist…

Sure, the stories between the good and bad are somewhat two dimensional in some aspects, but his forms of races clashing against one another is from MYTHOLOGY and folklore that has existed for centuries! While it may seem shortsighted to us today, it wasn’t really a thought on anyone’s radar that it was highly offensive enough to be called racist.

Again, get over yourself and don’t be stupid. You have a brain. Use it. 

Don’t listen to hearsay. The internet is FULL of idiots!

Sorry, end of rant. I didn’t want to be mean, but I’m sick and tired of people taking political correctness too far. Sure, the idea of Tolkien being racist became a contention in the 90s, but it died out for a reason. Sensationalism. That’s all it’s been.

[underworld-park-offical]

CLYDE: HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK

CLYDE: THE FUCKING VIDEO CUT OFF BUT

CLYDE: CRAIGS PROBABLY DEAD HE'S DEAD HE'S DEAD HE’S DEADDDDD WAHHHHHH

TOLKIEN: I KNOW SHUT UP TOLKIEN: YOU'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT THAT THE WHOLE CAR RIDE!!!

CLYDE: I KNOW WE ALL SAID WE WANTED HIM DEAD BUT CLYDE: BUT CLYDE: WAHHHHHHHHH HAAAA HAAAAAAAA!!!!!

TOLKIEN: BABE SHUT UP TOLKIEN: I'M TRYING TO FOCUS ON THE ROAD TOLKIEN: I DON'T WANT TO GET A SPEEDING TICKET TODAY

CLYDE: WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

CLYDE: I MISS CRAIG SO MUCH CLYDE: HE WAS THE WORST BEST FRIEND I'VE EVER HAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD

TOLKIEN: STOP CRYING TOLKIEN: I LOVE YOU TOLKIEN: BUT I NEED TO FOCUS RIGHT NOW TOLKIEN: I DON'T WANT TO CRASH MY CAR

CLYDE: WAAAHAHHHHHAHVAGUCGJFIYGXTUDXFRCYUHY*GCFGJUOTUDVHUPI*YIFGCJBLOUGTCGJOUFJGOUFDTYGUOCFJGYOFX

TOLKIEN: BABY I CAN'T COMFORT YOU RIGHT NOW TOLKIEN: I'M DRIVING CLYDE: YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT MEEEE HEEEE HEEEEEE CLYDE: OR CRAAA HEYYY HEYYYA AAAIG 

CLYDE: OR JIMM HEE HEE HEE…

CLYDE: HE'S DEAD YOU MONSTER HER HERRRRR!! TOLKIEN: I CARE, THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING NOT TO CRASH RIGHT NOW

CLYDE: YOU'RE LYING TO MEEEEEE TOLKIEN: I AM NOT TOLKIEN: BUT I AM TOLKIEN: THIS  CLOSE TOLKIEN: TO TAPING YOUR MOUTH SHUT

CLYDE: WAHHAAGHVHUGGCHFUIHCGFHUIYHVHVGUHGV GGUI PLEASE DONT I'LL BE A GOOD BOYYYYYYYY TOLKIEN: YOU'RE A BIG STRONG MAN TOLKIEN: PLEASE STOP CRYING CLYDE: (sniffle) Okayyyyyyy

TOLKIEN: GOD DAMN TOLKIEN: WE NEED TO TELL DAIMEN CLYDE: Whyy??????????

TOLKIEN: He's one of the few people in our friend group I can actually fucking TOLERATE

TOLKIEN: I’m pretty sure he's working at the 711 right now

CLYDE: STEP ON THE GAS BABY TOLKIEN: I'M TRYING

Meanwhile...with the gays

THOMAS: HAOUGUUGUGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHH

TWEEK: WHAT THE FUCK???

TWEEK: WHY ARE YOU THROWING UP KOOL AID?????

TWEEK: ARE YOU OKAY THOMAS???? TWEEK: THOMAS?????? THOMAS: NOHuuuuuu...... uuUHHHOUUUUGHHGHHFGGH–

PIP: Ugh he's getting me all red!

PIP: Gregory, make him stop right now!

PIP: He's getting kool aid all over my very expensive suit!

GREGORY: You know he has a condition!

GREGORY: You KNOW He has “throwing up koolaid-itus”!!!

GREGORY: He told me so!

PIP: UGHHHHHHHHH!!!

PIP: You all are going to make this plan go to SHIT!

TWEEK: SHUT UP!!

TWEEK: The douchebag is in our presence

PIP: I DONT CARE I'LL JUST EAT HIM LIKE I DID HIS STUPID FUCKING FRIEND

PIP: JIMBO OR WHATEVER HIS NAME WAS

GREGORY: Jimmy, sir

PIP: I KNEW THAT SHUT UP

GREGORY: Yes sir-

PIP: Infact

PIP: ALL OF YOU SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP RIGHT NOW!!!

THOMAS: Buhhh….. blehhh …..ughhh….

THOMAS: Eughhh…

THOMAS: I hated that…

TWEEK: DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP YOU STUPID BRITISH CROOKED TEETH MOTHER OF-

GREGORY: Ah ah ah 

GREGORY: No no no Tweeky!

GREGORY: Bad idea!

GREGORY: You dont wanna mess with Sir Pip whilst he's upset!

TWEEK: RRGHHHGHGHGH LEMME AT HIM!!!

GREGORY: Ah ah ah!

GREGORY: No way!

TWEEK: RRRRGGRHHHHHHHH!!!!!  

TWEEK: I'M GONNA SNAP HIM IN HALF LIKE A PRETZEL!!!

PIP: Not before I snap YOU in half like a goddamn Crumpet!

THOMAS: U- uh….

THOMAS: Guys??

TWEEK: YOU ARE SERIOUSLY THE WORST LEADER EVER!!

PIP: OH DON'T EVEN START YOU METH ADDICTED DEFIANT TROLL!

TWEEK: YOU DID NOT

PIP: OH I MOST CERTAINLY DID

THOMAS: Guuuuys?

PIP: I HOPE YOU FUCKING BURN BECUASE OF THE LAND WENCE YOU CAME, YOU SUPER SONIC MUFFIN MUNCHER TWEEK: KILL YOURSELF YOU CRUSTY PEANUT PIP: I'M ALREADY DEAD YOU MORONIC BRAINDEAD LUNATIC TWEEK: DIE TWICE PIP: FUCK YOU!!!

THOMAS: GUYS!!!!!!

PIP AND TWEEK: WHAT???????

THOMAS: What do we do with…. SHIT-! COCK-!!

THOMAS: What do we do with him?

CRAIG: What is going on? CRAIG: I'm like

CRAIG: Mad dissociating right now

CRAIG: What

CRAIG: What are you guys

CRAIG: How are you all here…?

GREGORY: Oh the mister has finally snapped out of his trance!

GREGORY: Apologies, dear friend!

GREGORY: Sir Pip had requested we keep you contained! He remembers you being the worst of the lot!

GREGORY: And with your fashion choice, I can certainly see why.

CRAIG: What are you….

CRAIG: Ohhhh…. 

CRAIG: Yeah this hoodie was a mistake

CRAIG: And the phone case….

CRAIG: Goddamnit…

PIP: He's come to his senses 

PIP: WHY HAS HE COME TO HIS SENSES??!?!

PIP: THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!!!!

PIP: AAAAAAGHHHH!!!!

PIP: DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT DAMNIT!!!

GREGORY: Oh dear

GREGORY: Sir Pip is upset again

GREGORY: There there Sir Pip

PIP: SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU ABSOLUTE KISS ASS PIP: I WILL RIP THAT PONYTAIL FROM YOUR SCALP!

GREGORY: Apologies, Sir Pip

CRAIG: Wait a second

CRAIG: Is that a fucking dead body??????

CRAIG: HOLY SHIT IS THAT JIMMY????

PIP: Well one of the side effects of opening a portal to hell,

PIP: Someone kicks the bucket!

CRAIG: Christ..

PIP: Why did you capture him,  Gregory?

PIP: You know I hate this one

GREGORY: He was the closest one, Sir Pip!

PIP: You could've just grabbed them ALL!

PIP: Now our plan will fucking CRUMBLE because of you!

PIP: You SENTIENT. STAPLER.

GREGORY: I 

GREGORY: Sir Pip….

PIP: NO! NO I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU ANYMORE!

PIP: Anyway, since you ARE here

PIP: You may as well make yourself of good use to me

CRAIG: What?

PIP: Where are Stan and his little friends?

PIP: Out of all of you dicktwats, THEY treated me worst

PIP: So… where are they?

(EDITS MADE BY @pissblanket)

[stilemawillow]

MTIJ | Ch.30 City of Dumbassery, Here I Come

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

word count: 13k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

warnings: nsfw content; mentions of nudity; virginity loss; oral sex (f! receiving); protected sex; explicit sexual content; reader discretion advised

A hundred-dollar question: where do people go to blow off steam when their interns weren’t back back from their vacation yet? First and foremost, never City of Dumbassery as it’s not a place for relaxation. I might’ve been its main population these days, but I fancied myself a rational person capable of making the right choices when needed. Pretend you’re not looking at my romantic history. The right choice, however, wasn’t always right in the heat of the moment, only in perspective, so we begin this scene with me, seated on Erwin Smith’s couch with Hanji Zoe and a cup of coffee.

For more information on the right-est choice I made as of late, keep watching. Or as asshole-me insists on promoting: Come see the prequel to the biggest fuck-up of this girl’s life. I, though oblivious to its imminent eventuation at the point where we start, had a vague notion of what I wanted the next few days to look like. Let’s just say, humourlessly enough, that my wildest dreams came nowhere close to the reality that would take place.

“I’m sorry about last time, (Y/N). I didn’t know about you and Eren.” Hanji’s contrite apology made my smile widen as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Dismissing the fact she brought the topic right back with the intention to make amends, Hanji was a good person and clearly sincere in her ways of regarding me. Kindness was one thing, but this woman’s pure cordiality was admirable.

“It’s not a problem. I could tell it wasn’t your intention to hurt me.” The corner of my mouth twitched in self-reproach at the manipulative bullshit I let slip. Instantly, I corrected: “Not that I was hurt.” If it’d been Annie, she wouldn’t straight-up laughed. Had it been Levi, he would’ve stared at me like I was dumb for thinking him dumb enough to buy it. But this was Hanji and she just smiled reassuringly.

“You can share if you want to. That’s what I’m here for with all my friends,” she offered. It sounded tempting but I couldn’t allow myself that kind of openness yet. Annie was, as always, the only person who knew the full story in all its repulsive glory but if I wanted to preserve (Levi’s privacy) my reputation, I couldn’t tell the whole thing here. The whole thing – look at me dodging the serious parts in an attempt to make myself feel better. I couldn’t tell Hanji about my intoxicated attempt to sleep with her friend, who gave dubious if any consent. Sounded appropriately disgusting like this.

“Mike and Erwin seem like they lead pretty decent lives, though.” Redirecting the topic, ignoring everything weird, dismissing all as a dirty scheme meant to humiliate me – a methodical step-by-step guide on how to be a paranoid bitch. It would’ve been my equivalent of the Bible if I weren’t an atheist. Even if I regularly used OMG, if I had to pick a fictional character to believe was real, at least I’d pick one from a book with a legit author – something by King, Thackeray, Hemingway, Tolkien, Orwell or Hawthorne. Following that train of thought, I might as well start worshipping Mickey Mouse – it’d do me more good than the big guy with the beard who loves me but would make me suffer for all eternity for stepping out of line once. I did it a lot.

“It wasn’t always like that. Not to mention Levi was stuck in the gutter a month back.” Hanji’s words snapped me out of my daze. “I know I told you to wait for him, but I don’t trust him, so make sure you keep this conversation a secret,” she warned while leaning forward as if afraid the walls would hear. The suspense, though exaggerated and a bit comical, made me put down my coffee. “So, you know how Petra is mentioned here and there?” I nodded. “She was Levi’s fiancé. She died in a car crash last October.” I knew I should’ve reacted appropriately but I couldn’t force it quickly enough. Hanji noticed. “You don’t look shocked.”

“No, but I am surprised. A lot of things make sense now. I’m sorry for your loss.” I hastened to make a recovery to lessen the doubt along the planes of her face. A pang tugged on my heart. When I considered the alternate reality where Petra hadn’t died, the notion of Levi not arriving for his internship was incomprehensible. He’d be studying hard at home and married. No rings, no chaos, no cheating for me – yes, good, but no company around the house either, no distraction and no comfort.

“You haven’t done anything to apologise for it,” Hanji said. “Anyways. Shorty was in a really bad place the months after. Working himself to the bone, no sleep, no food, no nothing. He just had to be doing something. The one good thing that came out of it was his weekly visits to his mother.” A small pause, a moment of consideration for her and an odd feeling of fascination for me. I was soaking it up like a sponge because I was seeing, at last, his angle. “Maybe it hit him that if death came for Petra, it could come for Kuchel, too. I can’t know for sure. All I know is he exhausted himself to the point he collapsed. Unconscious for three whole days. Isabel told him he’d gotten the internship when he woke up.”

“So he used it as an escape,” I finished. It was a logical conclusion. Hanji nodded. Avoiding pain wasn’t the way but he’d been desperate to get away and the internship had been the perfect opportunity. He’d grabbed his bags, boarded the plane and then… well, had to deal with me. Not a warm welcome by any means. He hadn’t even had the energy to get angry or look like he felt anything. I hadn’t known, hadn’t cared enough to see. It made me uncomfortable to realise it.

“Flew over a whole ocean and kept working,” Hanji proceeded. “He wanted something to distract himself with. When he ran out of work because he did overtime, he started calling home more often. Vague details were all he gave, but I got the feeling he had something else to work on.” Hanji’s words made a lopsided smile kiss my lips. He’d wanted to busy himself with my well-being, but I’d taken it the wrong way, as I often did. Nowadays the matter was often used against him but never by him – wasn’t that funny?

“Becoming the spoiled brat’s babysitter,” I filled in kindly, but Hanji’s disapproving frown meant to reproach along with the eloquent gesture of her crossing her arms. I didn’t regret the way I worded it. Eren, Annie, Mikasa and my mother had often tried to make me rethink my ways, but results were yet to manifest. This story, with me as the shitty protagonist most likely to be insufferable contrary to sympathy-inducing, portrayed reality as I saw it – and reality often neglected character development.

“He never called you either, but he did mention taking care of you had the same effect as working, if not better. I felt he might find himself a friend, so I supported him. I think I made the right choice. You have a lot in common,” Hanji declared. It struck a cord – did we really? Our arguments were fire lashing out at ice – not something that happened with people got along. Levi was hard to anger whereas I had a short fuse – everything was a personal insult. No easier target than a conceited paranoid.

“On the topic of that,” I piped. “How do you forget somebody?” The question was light-hearted. I decided to dismiss the whole story so I could ponder it later. Hanji’s brows furrowed as she smiled sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine the situation well enough. The question was I over Eren? had kept at a safe distance from my mind during my birthday vacation and the beginning of August only to assault it now with pitiless ire.

Things kept coming back when I least needed them. Thoughts of the twinkle in his teal eyes or the crooked smile he always wore before a kiss, the sound of his voice – the softness he’d told me he loved me with the first time, the haunting quiver in it when we were breaking up. I woke up at night with the howl of planes taking off and landing. On some mornings, I woke up, hoping to hear a knock at the door and see his face. Would he be more tan? Would his eyes be the same? Would his hair be styled differently? Would he have grown taller?

But, (Y/N), a voice would say in my head, people don’t grow taller just like that, it’s physically impossible.

Eren can, I’d argue, because Eren is my boyfriend and he can do anything if he puts his mind to it.

But Eren wasn’t my boyfriend and he wasn’t a miracle-maker. I’d sit in bed and argue with myself that Eren would come back, that I wanted the best for him and that wasn’t me, that we were done, but that he’d still come back. He never did. A small desperate part of me still hoped for the door to open – any door. Erwin Smith’s apartment’s front door right now, even. I could almost hear his footsteps going up the stairs. I swore I could. I turned to Hanji, a naïve question – can’t you? – flickering in my orbs. She didn’t catch it.

“I’m not an expert,” she said instead. “But Levi can be of help. His coping mechanisms aren’t the best example to follow, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He just doesn’t listen to it.” She might’ve thought, with how desperate I looked, that I might cry. She didn’t know pride would rather have me rip out of my tear ducts before that happened. I didn’t cry often or in many people’s presence. That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Hanji. But Annie and, unfortunately, Levi were the exceptions here. The latter was a mystery, probably my attempt to play a damsel in distress to ask for attention. Attention and help and fucking, might as well – a kiss. Couldn’t he just kiss me sometimes without me having to be in the middle of a mood?

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t copy those coping mechanisms even if I wanted to. Work, sex and alcohol are never a good mix.” I let out an awkward string of laughter, weirded out by my abrupt disconnection from the conversation and how it turned my thoughts against me. I didn’t miss him that much. Also, he was coming home tomorrow. I had nothing to play the desperate whore for. There was the blondie. That wasn’t jealousy, though. I’d say it was my wish to prove myself better.

“Sex?” Hanji echoed with a conflicted expression.

“Sex with my father’s secretary. I think it was around May. He stormed out after calling her and came back drunk in the middle of the night,” I explained. The brown-haired woman took a second to process the story, then burst out in incredulous laughter. My brows twitched. “What’s so funny?” Was it something else or was I just weird for not thinking my father’s intern and secretary fucking the joke of the century?

“I remember him telling me about that,” she started, voice hinting at a new bout of cackling. “He went to her place for paperwork and she had her boyfriend over. They kept offering him drinks and he agreed to shut them up. Crossed the line at some point. He even got lost on his way back to the house.” I wanted to face-palm using the table and, hopefully, get myself into a coma. Was there a person on this Earth denser than me or was I a phenomenal idiot?

“Oh, God,” I muttered in a wheeze. “I’m so stupid.” Embarrassment and shame painted the tips of my ears bright crimson as I clenched my fists. Hanji patted my shoulder.

“You’re not stupid. I would’ve thought the same if I had no context. Levi would never just have a one-night stand, though. Not the type of person for it. He claims it’s the wrongest way to get over something.” Her brown eyes, previously fixed on me, were now directed at the coffee table. “Might work for you, but he most certainly hates it.” A snort was drawn from her lips as she withdrew her hand from my shoulder. I tried not to think about it, but it was inevitable. Hitch’s party, him refusing, refusing, refusing, because it would be “just like that” and “just like that” was a solution for neither of us.

“I’ll consider it,” I joked. “I was busy up until recently, but maybe university won’t be enough to distract me.” I smiled as Hanji chuckled, patting my back.

“Another boyfriend should do the trick in that case,” she said.

But I don’t want another boyfriend, I wanted to counter. I want your grumpy short friend. The thought froze me up. Asshole-me joined Hanji’s hearty chuckle. Bold of me to think it. Terrible of me to think it. Wrong of me to think it. It was complicated. If romance was not involved here, it was undeniable at this point. I could almost feel it written in capital letters on my forehead.

ATTRACTED TO LEVI ACKERMAN. VERY.

“I’m not ready for the commitment.” Was the only comment to exit my mouth due to the sudden discomfort nestling in the crevice of my ribcage. “I think,” I added awkwardly, reluctant regarding a relationship but very opinionated on the topic of engaging my father’s intern in something inappropriate that would make our relations twice as complicated as they were.

“A friend with benefits then?” Hanji’s mind-reading abilities amazed. I realised it suddenly – that it was natural, this attraction of mine, no matter how humiliating and inconvenient. It wasn’t weird and maybe it wasn’t all that wrong. It was a guy who was three years older than me who lived with me that I considered unreachable. The forbidden fruit, so to say. He was handsome, mysterious and had abs. Natural to be attracted to that. Natural to be attracted to it when I saw it every day and it saw me every day and most times it treated me with passive kindness. So there’d be no harm, I assumed, in initiating something a smidge bigger. What was stopping me? I didn’t have a boyfriend, I wouldn’t feel guilty and I wasn’t insecure because, hey, he’d kissed me last time. Obviously, I wasn’t nasty.

“Update from a virgin to a slut then?” I smirked, a decision born. Hanji’s mouth clamped shut shamefully and I laughed. “I’m kidding, calm down. It was just a joke.” I patted her back. The ring on my finger was cool to the couch and soothing. My resolve, for once, was there. I had a goal. A simple one at that – nothing dangerous. Two words: kiss Levi. I would do it because there was nothing to stop me. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?

…

Imagine an elegant expensive kitchen armed with all kinds of top-quality appliances. Paradise for all little housewives who greet their husbands with a warm meal. I wasn’t that type and the fact I spent four hours cooking more food than a family of six could eat didn’t make me one either. Judging was futile because I took care of that myself during the whole process. Currently, the fruit of my effort sat in front of me – a full three-course meal with different forks to go with the high-class atmosphere. I was far from a successor of Gordon Ramsay, but I outdid myself this time. Why? Last-minute anxiety maybe. Or fear. I needed a distraction because the thought of Eren wouldn’t stop pestering me. Added to that was the fact my father could walk in without Levi. Asshole-me didn’t help.

Bet on the outcome now! A once-in-a-lifetime offer that provides an endless amount of entertainment for the whole family! Fifty bucks says a discount version of William will use the vanishing potion and fly back to France! The other side of the bet? Sorry, I don’t know her. With such a commentator, it was early to skip the food and go straight to consuming my fingernails. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Place your bets right now, your bets need to go in the ballot box, quickly fill out the slips and put them in! Will he go or yes? And what’s the sweat for, princess? Don’t we like watching history repeat itself? I love it. So bet, bet, bet, bet! Come on, faster! If I had a penny for each time your father’s intern left you in the summer, I’d have two pennies. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s hilarious it happened twice!

The jingle of keys pulled the plug on asshole-me’s voice. I’d waited a whole hour now and my head snapped up so fast I heard my neck pop. The front door opened and my heart flinched when my father walked in, dressed in one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts they sold in souvenir shops and flaunting on his nose and cheekbones a really bad case of sunburn. He’d say the sun was harsh in Minnesota. I’d pretend not to hear because believing was impossible. He slipped out of his sandals and I clasped my hands together in excitement.

“Dad, finally! I was starting to think I’d have to reheat everything,” I said. He turned to face the fake exasperation masking the genuine joy I felt at his return. A doubtful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and my eyes were frantically bouncing from him to the open door. Panic began to well up in my mind. Asshole-me was diligently digging a hole for it, to fit as much as possible.

“A pretty big feast you have there.” Rolland Raven took off the sunglasses he was wearing to eye the food a bit better. I cracked a smile I hoped wouldn’t seem constipated. My thought process was starting to lag due to overload when I heard a faint curse. Next thing, Levi’s pale figure, wearing a ridiculous straw hat. My heart dropped like a stone, plugged the pit of panic and made asshole-me yelp when it nearly crushed her fingers. I felt like stumbling back into my chair and never getting up.

“I guessed you might be hungry after the flight. You don’t have to eat all of it,” I said. It was then a pair of graphite hues shot up to my face. It felt like each muscle in it strained almost to the point of tearing. My father took a seat at the counter while the intern opted to drop off his luggage upstairs and change clothes. I stared after him a second too long while he was climbing the stairs.

“You’ve never waited for me after a business trip before.” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) as my father began picking his food and digging in with more enthusiasm than I’d expected. Levi had mentioned the almightly Raven had complained about the poor quality on the trip compared to what he had at home, but it was still a compliment to witness it manifested.

“I usually have things to do when you’re on business trips, father. This summer I needed a source of entertainment.” I rolled my eyes, letting them scan the interior during the roundabout lie. Lucky enough, they caught the exact moment Levi was leaving his room, tugging down his shirt. A glimpse of fit abdominals. A vague tan line. The food on the counter became a tad bit less appetising.

“Don’t you have Eren Jaeger to help with that?” My father’s question made my attention snap back in place just in time for Levi not to catch me staring. He took a seat at the far end of the counter but I was too preoccupied with a small freak-out fit to dwell on it.

“About that,” I squeaked out with a constipated expression, prompting both men’s attention to turn from half-hearted to wholly undivided. Amazing. I couldn’t have done a better job at it if I’d begun yodelling out of the blue. “Eren broke up with me two months ago.” The key to not sounding like a squeaky toy was to not meet anybody’s gaze. My father was blinking like something had gotten in his eye and Levi’s jaw clenched at the discomfort he was subjected to.

“And I wasn’t notified of that because?” Rolland Raven, among many a quality, was a proud man who, in spite of his profession, could never act quite as predictably as I wished him to. This was no exception because I didn’t have time to open my mouth before he silenced me with a hand in the air. “No, forget I asked. I need to have a serious talk with him. Maybe make him pay back all the dates you’ve handled with interest. We can make a fortune.” The devious plan was voiced in his typical cold-blooded businessman manner. I waved my hands around in discomfort.

“Hold your horses, father. You’re not the one who got dumped. Eren ended the whole thing because he went to study in Germany,” I explained but it wouldn’t satisfy my father, who only glared while putting a fork-full of potatoes in his mouth. Levi tried to become fully invisible. I thought if things got too heated for him, he might make a dash for his room with the dish.

“Unreasonable as can be. If he loved you as much as he had the balls to claim in front of me, he could’ve thought of an alternative that didn’t include breaking your heart. Because of something as insignificant as distance, too.” My father leaned back in his chair with folded arms. He forgot all about food so he could glare at me.

“4898 miles to be exact,” I murmured pitifully. Both men shot me an incredulous look, to which I switched on defence mode. “I did my research. I wasn’t crying the whole time.” Subconsciously copying my father’s position, I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms, glaring like a child prior to giving a sigh and smiling weakly. “I gave it a lot of thought and he did the right thing. So can you be the one to tell mom later?” The last inquiry seemed to surprise him, maybe because it was expected of me to share more with my mother and thus already have her know the super secret information I was handing him.

“I’ll try not to cry as I do.” A nod and a similar weak smile. “You did well not to tell me immediately.” He returned to normal – calculating and sharp, looking for weaknesses and thinking in numbers. Levi’s lack of shock went unnoticed, which I was secretly thankful for. The raven was looking at me playing with the silver band around my finger to soothe my nerves.

“Because you would’ve gone to the airport to kick him to the curb like a good father?” I smirked, a pointed look aimed at the dark-haired businessman, who only snorted in return prior to redirecting his attention back to the food.

“… maybe.” A small pause betraying care, an awkward glance in his intern’s direction conveying mild panic as a result of his feelings showing and a fake clearing of the throat to show discomfiture. He changed the topic immediately. “Have I told you you’ve become a better cook than your mother?” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) and I knew he could see I was holding back laughter by the way the corner of his mouth twitched downwards in displeasure.

“You have now. Congratulations on successfully dodging the topic,” I announced with a complacent grin as he scoffed, ignoring the embarrassment so he could go back to eating. Levi’s gaze was relentless but, once having resolved the current minor conflict, I felt too ashamed to return it. I couldn’t be speaking of Eren, thinking of Levi and acting like a professional whore. It went against my moral code. I wished it was as stable as my pride. Somewhere in my head, asshole-me was drafting an advertisement for the future demise of both.

The following day was unexpectedly laid back in terms of emotions – the process of waking up and going to work was starting to become mechanical. I disliked that I was turning into a nine-to-five zombie, but Melinda’s cross remarks did nothing to hinder my placidity and Adam’s request for a date was, surprisingly, accepted with a pinch of reluctance. It was time for something new, I defended when asshole-me breached the topic of my change of heart. I couldn’t go a whole life without clashing with a man who wasn’t Eren. To forget him, I actually needed to accept that. Because knowing he wouldn’t come back and I didn’t want to get back together was different from realising I couldn’t stay in the comfort zone of being endlessly attached to him and using it as an excuse to never move on.

I felt a smile light up my face the moment I saw Levi in front of the TV with a cup of tea in his hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use him to move on – it was the conclusion I drew from the quiet happiness gripping my heart at the sight of him beckoning me over. Everything I’d done had been quite enough. I wouldn’t turn him into a tool as well. So I settled on the couch and we led a half-assed conversation about the movie playing until my parents barged in, beaming and formal. Going for a date at a restaurant – yeah, no, I knew where they were going after. I smiled as we sent them off, and then the ebony-haired intern began choosing the movie we’d be watching and I worked on the snacks downstairs.

Accepted a date, claimed you won’t use him and now you’re pondering the kiss you’ll initiate. You know you’re fucked in the head, correct? Asshole-me piped mockingly, making me huff. I knew I was fucked in the head because she was there. Also, kissing Levi and using Levi were two different things. Different for him how? It’s kissing. It wasn’t. It would be exploring this time – not thinking about being distracted but feeling it for what it was. Jesus, that’s such a weak excuse. I felt she might be face-palming. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You spent so much time telling your best friend you don’t like him, then you miss Eren, then you “date” Adam, then you grab your friend-zoned intern and decide you’ll be kissing him again – after you established you’re fucking inferior to the blondie who’s clearly hitting on him or clearly intent on doing it too. Can you not follow the timeline?

“Princess, why does Natalie tell me you’ve filled out all the forms related to the company’s income during our vacation?” Levi lowered the phone from his ear. The call had ended a second ago and he was glaring at me doubtfully. I was busy watching the movie – hopefully, excuse enough for scarce to no eye contact. I opened the pack of Doritos I’d dug up from my secret stash in the garage and warily eyed the pale intern’s expression.

“Because the forms were in the office downstairs and I figured they’d get in the way of our movie marathon, asshole. I haven’t messed them up.” My scoff was promptly returned to sender as Levi shoved his phone back in his pocket and clicked his tongue in exasperation. Another three minutes passed before I spoke up: “By the way, I need advice.” The room was dimly lit and the raven’s sharp gaze was on my temple.

“Will you have it in mind when you get back on your bullshit?” The inquiry was flat and doubtful. I tried to nod but it came out looking like a cringe and a shrug. His lips pursed in exhaustion. “Spill,” he ordered coldly, making me pout.

“How do I forget Eren?” Squeaky was the best I could do after becoming tense again. Nervousness was gnawing at the feeble stem of courage I’d managed to grow and my hopes for this to go as smoothly as a chat about the weather were stuck in an elevator on the top floor of a skyscraper. Even overthinking was useless here.

“Easy,” he said. Again, there was that breach of grammar. “Find somebody new. Judging by how much you’re smiling these days, you might as well be done with that.” The suspicious mockery made me snort.

“Don’t you think I might be happy to have you and dad back home?” I asked pointedly.

“No,” he countered with a defiant click of his tongue. What he said next sounded like an extract from a Jorge Bucay book. Something about self-love maybe. “Before you get with Rivers, however, you have to accept that Jaeger is now your ex. He’s part of the past and the past doesn’t hold power over the future if you don’t let it.” I bit back laughter to not offend him.

“Such a poet you are,” I huffed half-heartedly. “And how do I stop loving him?” Seriousness stood perched on my right shoulder, but the Doritos between us kept decreasing and I felt the soothing coolness of the ring on my finger. Our gazes locked and I stared, just because I could, because he was back, because he acted normally. And why wouldn’t he? Our circumstances surely weren’t enough to alter his demeanour.

“You don’t. You never will and you should get used to it.” His answer cut deep and I realised it might’ve confused me but I was too captivated by his eyes to process it. He forced himself to explain: “We never stop loving somebody once we’ve fallen for them. We just fall harder for another person.” It was as romantic as it was businessman-like. A bit too… systematic somehow.

Line up, line up! Asshole-me encouraged. I imagined a big queue in front of an entrance door with a sign bearing my name above it. Number 12, pass through, but beware – number 10 wasn’t careful with his words and number 11 made no effort to change that! The asshole side of me clearly fancied the idea. For all waiting, the Eren Jaeger mural is on the left and the guy on the right is the one you’ll never be! Keep trying but keep this face in mind – Levi Ackerman is hiding in a lot of the corners you’ll visit! He’s an invaluable guest at this establishment! Oh! Is it time for the next one already? Hurry up, number 13! Don’t hold up the queue, who knows how much capacity we have left. And so on until the last victim had walked in. It made my nose scrunch up.

“Does that mean you still haven’t gotten over Petra?” I piped curiously, bright eyes observing closely the intern’s reaction. The movie was no longer as interesting. Everything I could focus on was the furrow between Levi’s brows and the flat unperturbed look in his eyes. He grabbed a Dorito from the pack. I moved my hand away just in time to avoid a clash.

“It means I haven’t fallen in love with the next in line,” he said, reinforcing the notion of a queue. “I’m used to the fact she’d dead. Filling out every report in the world won’t bring her back,” he paused briefly and gulped, “so I go on with my life.” The explanation was simple but relatively quiet, like he was trying to say the words while not exactly aiming to have me hear them. His gaze was staring at the screen ahead as I looked down, trying to come up with a good one-liner to put him out of his discomfort.

“I feel like we’re becoming pensive,” I started with a lopsided smirk, “so let me pull a Reverse Uno card on this mood by saying I’ve reached a milestone in my life.” Licking the Dorito dust off my fingers, I puffed out my chest proudly, making the intern put a hand to his mouth. Maybe he’d bitten back a smile behind it. “I won’t get fined for driving without supervision now. Not to mention, I can have sex.” Waving an index finger in front of his face, I didn’t react when he grabbed it without warning.

“I don’t see what stopped you before,” he stated nonchalantly. I shrugged, concluding I hadn’t exactly shared with him details about my childish vow.

“There was this really religious teacher at school when I was ten – she scarred all her classes by giving them unsolicited Sex Education lectures mixed with Bible verse. Got fired because children complained to their parents, but she did a good one on me before that,” I explained with a smile, yanking my finger from his hold. “Since sex was for sinners – both began with the letter s, she explained to us – and I didn’t want to be a sinner because it meant… well, a bad person, I told myself I’d have sex only after turning eighteen, regardless of the temptation. So I held out. Proud of myself for that.” My complacent smile made him snort. He might’ve glanced at my lips right after.

“I’m sure there’s been a lot of temptation for you, princess,” he drawled in a deep sarcastic voice, moving the empty bag of Doritos away before wiping his fingers with as I processed the retort. I sat still, pouting for a fraction of a second, when it hit me this was my chance. The signal was there – shining in bright green, if I wasn’t color-blind – and it was time for me to grasp the opportunity.

“More than you can imagine, asshole,” I said with a scoff, not parting my eyes from his profile to observe his reaction. We cast aside the fact he could’ve poked fun at me being the furthest thing from a believer, yet such a big aspect of my life had been altered by a religious teacher. The tip of his nose twitched when he snorted in dismissal, not daring to meet my eye all of a sudden.

“The mood has been brightened. What do we do now?” He turned to face me, curious but hesitant, and I felt a surge of courage at the sight of the indecisiveness dawdling about in his grey eyes. The blue specks were calling me – count us, (Y/N), count us – and I concluded this would be the one time I initiated anything between us. It was stressful and scary, but it was Levi, so want overpowered fear, resulting in something we’d have a hard time sorting out our feelings on.

“Watch the movie you so diligently picked for us maybe?” But actions contradicted words because I was leaning in and he could see it. For two whole seconds, there was no movement on his end. Panic was about to make me pull back, pin it to something else, anything else, when his hand lifted, slender fingers gently tucking my hair behind my ear. This was it. It would happen. I was exploring what it’d be like without the guilt of purposefully seeking distraction.

It was slow – the first kiss – his lips barely landing on top of mine so we could taste the water even when we knew it was lukewarm. The movie was like white noise – I could catch fragments of dialogue and the screen illuminated Levi’s profile the few times my lids fluttered open. His hold on the side of my face was gentle, granting permission for me to pull back at any point. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew I was barely thinking and it felt nice, for my head to be so blissfully empty. It was all sensations and when he dragged his tongue over my bottom lip, my mouth opened to allow access for further exploration. The kiss deepened and I tried to push closer into him.

“Get on top,” he muttered into my mouth. His right hand dipped to grab my leg. I might’ve flushed bright red, but I still complied, slowly straddling him and letting his hands guide me to where he found it most comfortable. I was terribly aware of what I sat on. It might’ve been terribly aware of me, too.

It was slow and fast at the same time. We weren’t breaking the kiss but some moments of it – like his hand brushing my side and making me cover in goosebumps – were fleeting like blinks while others – like the weird scorching thing in my whole torso – felt endless. It was indescribable to a point, the heat of the moment but the moment was long and the pace was changing slightly the more it went on. It hadn’t been him either. It was him responding to me, because I couldn’t for the life not hold him tightly and subconsciously look for more. We were glued together and his fingers had tentatively pushed up my shirt at the back so they could trail up and down the curve of my spine.

My head was tilted, fingers tangled in his hair and heavy huffs escaping my nostrils. He smelled like lavender and rain and cologne, and my fucking conditioner I’d told him a thousand times to stop using because it was expensive. I didn’t bother scolding him about it now. My desperate want turned the kisses hungrier and there was this point – I might’ve wiggled slightly to find an even closer spot – but he stiffened and grabbed the back of my head, growing twice as persistent and passionate. Weird, using that word about him. It hit me the forbidden part of male anatomy I was seated on top of had risen to attention. It made me wonder if it had happened before and that, in turn, was simultaneously embarrassing and flattering. He was attracted to me, too. Duh. We were literally making out on my bed.

When more began translating as more of everything instead of more of this particular thing, he seemed to sense the shift. His hands guided me off his lap and back on the bed. My head was resting against the pillow and my head was empty, lids fluttering open to drink the sight of him the first time he broke the kiss – pale but handsome, tired but caring, bored but clearly moved by the happening. It was a miracle. I’d been begging for this statue to show me anything in the beginning of his internship. I hadn’t known it could show me this – it looked like a godsend. My heart was going a hundred miles per hour, my breath was unsteady and my body felt hot all over.

It didn’t matter where he kissed – my lips, my neck, my chest, my shoulders – I just wanted him to keep kissing me. Temptation had seldom been this strong and the vow was no longer active, it was fulfilled – an electrifying realisation. I didn’t need to have him stop. What my sinner’s hands did the moment that resolution snapped in place was to grab the hem of his shirt and, with pointed urgent eyes, plead with him to take it off. He hesitated for exactly one second, then complied, like he’d complied with everything else without having me say it. He was kneeling between my legs, arms going over his head so the piece of clothing could be discarded. His chest and abdomen flexed, the biceps, the triceps, all the other names of muscles I’d had to read about but hadn’t memorised. Adonis in the flesh. Fuck me for drooling. Oh.

If I could paint, I’d paint him. If I could sing, I’d write a song. If I had a taser, I’d tase myself out of being so cringe-worthy in admiring the body of a man. But when that body pressed against mine, everything became a bit too hot – literally and metaphorically – so I decided the next step was to cool down by taking off my own clothes. First the shirt, then the pants he helped out with. I almost laughed when they tangled at my ankles and he had to tug them off with an irritated frown. Here it was, having my father’s intern see my bra again. This time I didn’t mind.

“Frills? Seriously?” Well, now I minded.

“Do we have an issue?” I snapped with a pointed look. It didn’t help he was towering over me, sizing up my underwear with eyes that spoke simultaneously of him being amused and him being something else. I wondered if he was still hard. I hadn’t touched there once.

“It’s almost cute,” he mocked flatly. He didn’t reach to take it off – he just leaned down to mollify me with a kiss. It worked. I was carried off into wanting more again. The weight of him on top of me grounded the body and made the soul soar. It was a cringe comparison but whatever, it was true. I realised, right about the time I tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants and his brows flashed in unrestrained surprise, that I was an eighteen-year-old doing exactly what was expected of every single eighteen-year-old on the planet – sneaking a boy into my room while my parents were out.

This here was a boy I trusted and a boy I was halfway convinced was more of a man than a boy, mostly when it came to observing how he casually sat up and removed his sweatpants with precision contrary to clumsiness. My eyes flickered down to his boxers. Still hard alright. There was a rush of excitement and shame all at once when I realised it. A bit too late to stop and pin this a mere heat-of-the-momet make-out session. It was the real deal. Happening. Live. In my room. On a late August evening. Goodness gracious.

It took me a second to process it and he might’ve sensed that I’d grown a bit rigid despite remaining just as active. He didn’t advance the happening, petting my hair and kissing me, and trailing lower, but only as low as he’d gone before, finding the rest a sort of forbidden land. Didn’t even take off the bra with the frills he mocked me for. What a gentleman. He was kissing the curve of my breast and I was wondering how in the fucking hell I’d deserved this.

“We don’t have to,” he warned at some point. “If you don’t want to. Saying no is allowed.” He kissed me and it was intoxicating, but also the last snapped nerve. I arched my back off the bed, elbows bending so my hands could reach for my bra clip. The shoulder straps went loose and Levi paused for a moment to process what the act meant.

“I won’t say it,” I muttered with determination, eyes locked with his. Pride was strong within me even now and, having the wordless consent, he gently took off the bra before paying some attention to newfound territory. It was like being examined in a lab. Again, my boobs weren’t perfect. It was genetics and fate, and whatever else. In being embarrassed about him staring at my chest, I was graced by the thought I hadn’t shaved anywhere. Double embarrassed. Wasn’t it only right that the first time would come with presentability? There go the Raven teachings.

And the word nipple is somewhat lame – I’ve heard it from native and non-native speakers of English both – but there is no other word. So when his tongue rolled around my nipple, I forgot I hadn’t shaved and drew such a sharp breath I almost choked. My chest was heaving and he was thumbing my other nipple. I thought we’d get straight to it and was mistaken. He knew better, it seemed, because a virgin needed the bare minimum of this much and more foreplay to truly relax. It hit me for a fraction that this was actual foreplay while I was staring at the ceiling between trying not to make any sounds. I was like a dead fish, just letting him do things to me. More responsive than a dead fish but awfully inexperienced in any case. It made me feel just a bit guilty. My one saving grace was the fact his erection kept brushing against my leg – and if that was there, then it meant he wasn’t dissatisfied.

It was a black spot for a while because I couldn’t pinpoint between the overwhelming build-up of nice but not nice enough where exactly Levi was kissing or sucking or nipping or touching. Now it would be my thigh, now leaving a hickey on my shoulder, now trailing kisses over my jaw and down my neck, now caressing my side, now trailing a finger down to my navel, now my boob, intermission, the other boob – and the whole time there was that thing in my abdomen, the same one I’d felt with Eren, the hot knot begging for attention.

This was a new person and I hadn’t thought it’d come with a new person, but it was there alongside a brand new dynamic which wasn’t hurried or harsh or overtly passionate like I’d been used to. The pace was decent and steady and passion here didn’t amount to bruises – or at least not explicitly so. The new person made it thrilling, overwhelming. The new person made it a brand new experience. And when the brand new person’s hand gently dipped to touch the part where my legs met, I shivered all over, heart and lady boner flinching at once. Levi, with his obstinacy, refused to ask permission vocally. I still nodded, spreading my legs a bit wider. Slowly, like my panties weren’t in the way, he kissed from my knee to the base of my inner thigh, nipped slightly and made me yelp, and muffled something like a chuckle against the plush of my leg.

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew his fingers pressing against the spot where wetness had accumulated made my mouth gape slightly. I craned my neck and closed my eyes. There was embarrassment holding hands with excitement, with pleasure breathing down their necks. Nothing quite mattered. I breathed out like I’d been holding my breath for fourteen minutes when the raven’s fingers gently dragged back and forth against my core and then he might’ve been impatient, because he tugged my underwear out of the way, down my legs, past the knees and the ankles, dropping it with the rest of our clothes and the empty Dorito bag on the floor. It was a whole mess, this thing. I wanted it.

“The house is empty, princess,” he said while leaning down to kiss below my navel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, almost out of breath in spite of my lungs functioning perfectly. His fingers were ghosting on the side of where I wanted him to touch. His mouth dragged lower. There was the jab of shame about not being shaved again. It hadn’t sent him to his feet and out of the room, so it was probably fine. A man wasn’t afraid to fight the jungle, I’d heard a few times before.

“That you can make noise without being scared,” he responded casually. I snorted and decided inwardly that I wouldn’t be making any noise whatsoever, just to spite him. It did feel good, though, so I doubted I could actually hold back effectively. As though to challenge the unsaid decision, Levi cut the suspense short. When his tongue rested where only one other had before, I came close to whining. My hand shot down to paw at his hair and he hummed against my clit. The vibrations of it made me writhe slightly.

He licked and sucked – nipped twice, which made me yelp both times – and did all sorts of other magic. Added to the title of mind-reader would now be the rank of mage. Then, there was this point when I could feel his fingers prodding at my entrance – a gentle warning of what was to come. First it was one. My mouth gaped and there was a slight flash of something like pain. More like discomfort. Now this was brand new wherever I looked at it from. Remember, my vow had its doors but none had included penetration. Officially the furthest I’d gone with somebody. Goodbye, hymen. You served us well.

He waited. Waited almost a full minute and distracted me with his tongue before I rolled my hips to give him the green light. Slow pumps. It was still uncomfortable, but the friction wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable and new and I didn’t like change, but when this one found with its finger one particular spot sold off as the Bermuda Triangle for men to find, I might’ve liked this particular change. First, it made me moan. Second, the more he kept reaching that spot – because it was impossible to miss I liked it – the closer I was to coming. There were sloppy sounds and a second finger inserting itself in me, and my voice bouncing off the walls before dropping to the floor in a hush.

I might’ve said his name, actually, I might’ve half-screamed it. The orgasm hit me like a brick dropping straight on my genitals and he kept flicking his tongue slower and slower until I’d ridden it out in full. How considerate. When his fingers came out, there was a spot of blood. My mouth clamped shut in shame. He reached over to clean them with a wet wipe – then he cleaned me, too, because obviously he could see things that were invisible to me. There was slick on his chin and I glared half-heartedly when his eyes twinkled in amusement at me.

“Well, that’s done,” I muttered while he leaned over with the intention to kiss me again. “Wipe your mouth, asshole.” I put a hand to his chest to prevent my own pussy juices from coming in contact with my face. For a clean-freak, he sure didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get them off.

“You don’t want to see how tasty it is?” He was mocking me. I was red and hot all over still, a bit like a deflated balloon being refilled with exasperation contrary to air. No longer a virgin, as far as doctors would care. Still kind of in the middle, considering typical hetero interactions included something more than fingers.

“God, no!” I tried to push at his jaw and he almost chuckled when the pussy juice got on my fingers and I flicked my wrist frantically to get it off.

“It was god, yes a second ago,” he drawled pointedly. I burned bright red under his gaze, naked and not a hymen-bearer and kind of lost as to what came next. I pouted, swatted his shoulder and pretended to be very disgusted when he kissed me, making it open-mouted and sloppy for the sake of spiting me. In truth, it didn’t taste like much. Tasted weird, unlike food and drink. Well, that’s bodily fluids for you.

Remember the right-est choice I made as of late? Here it comes. The kiss guided his fingers down to my clit again and mine – to the band of his boxers. A tug and a snap, and he asked me three whole fucking times if I was sure. Not verbally, of course. It was just the particular way he stopped between each step to make sure, to look at me straight in the eye and have me nod my consent back to him. Like I’d change my mind that fast. God’s sake – if I would’ve said no, I would’ve said it before we’d kissed. But this wasn’t something he would do under normal circumstances – not a matter of alcohol, guilt or duty. It was free will and choice. Mine might’ve been made sometime last month, right around my birthday.

The boxers were gone. I blinked at it. A penis in textbooks, a dick in colloquial speech, a cock in smut books, a member in tame erotica. Length, girth, meat sword, love machine – could go on forever. We sat staring at it like it was an alien and while I was bashful, I was also bad with measurements without the aid of a ruler, hence why I safely concluded that I could stack about four donuts on it and put the zipper on it. There was that thing – precum, was it? – leaking from the tip. In all honesty, no I didn’t want to lick it off. Same went for sperm. In the history of mankind, I’d done the gracious thing and sucked off my boyfriend exactly once – the rest had been handjobs because blowjobs came with terrible pains in the jaw, a cramping of the tongue, a crap salty taste and the awkward detail of looking like an unattractive fish during the act. So, no, I didn’t volunteer to show off how bad I was at it.

“Condoms, shit.” It flew out of my mouth unintentionally. Levi’s face scrunched up. We were both visited by the bitter realisation that going further was not an option anymore, unless he wanted to don on a sock. Then the solution came to me. “Keep it up, I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumbled hurriedly, jumping off the bed and rushing butt-naked out of the room so I could go to my parents’ bedroom. Yeah, no, such was the reality of things. I tried to keep my conscience untainted while rummaging through the wardrobe. The hidden box of condoms in the back by the shoes was the saving grace. I wouldn’t speak of this to a living soul that wasn’t Annie Leonheardt ever.

The moment I returned to the room with the box held proudly over my head, Levi snorted. He laid me on the bed again and the mood returned, which was weird because I’d pinned him the type of experience one moment of interruption and consider it all ruined. Not that I’d thought about him during sex or having sex. I hadn’t. I promise. I was thinking it now, when I was about to have it with him. The kisses eased the natural awkwardness and by the time he was putting it in, I was a desperate mess again. Sweat stuck to skin and my breath got stuck in my throat when he pushed it in. I blanked, gaped like I’d received a headshot and felt him stand still to let me adjust. There was, again, mild discomfort. Fingers couldn’t compare to a dick.

I gave it half a minute and told him to move. The first thrust had me whining into his mouth. It was good. It was good, progressively becoming better and better and better, a surprise arriving with each snap of his hips. My father’s intern having sex with me, my father’s intern, my father’s intern, my intern, my Levi. The first five minutes were full of careful slow strokes to let the awkwardness dissipate and for me to get used to it. I won’t call myself anything but I’ll say I got used to it a bit too fast for comfort. So it went. Losing my virginity to my father’s intern.

“Faster, can you--- a bit faster?” The words were choked out and you’d wonder why I would ask for faster when slow was doing a good job of making my chest heave like I was running a marathon, but it was maddening and addictive.

“I can for you, princess.” It was a rasp against the side of my neck and I was blanking because the voice, paired with the hands, with the scent, with the sensation of being full and empty, then full and empty again was so mind-numbing I could melt on the spot and stay there forever. So slow and careful turned into fast and considerate. There was no harshness in him even when he kneaded my boobs or licked stripes down the length of my throat, no harshness whatsoever when he gripped my thighs or my sides. It was tight, but pleasant, egging me on further.

I bit down on the pillow when he found the spot. I bit his finger, too. I bit his shoulder and I bit my own hand to keep my voice down because how was something on this Earth allowed to be so nice? Fuck. He murmured at me to moan if I felt like it. There was a smug undertone. And when he reached between us to roll circles around my clit, I didn’t moan – I was a banshee impersonator, neck craning, back arching, toes curling, all that jazz. I came with a crash and a bang, and it might’ve been an hour by now, or maybe more, but the neighbourhood was asleep and I was wide awake, trying to wake them up, too.

A five-minute break of kisses served as an intermission to avoid me becoming overstimulated but Levi was still hard and still quite energetic in spite of the fact he’d been fucking me for an overall of thirty minutes without stopping or having his pace hitch. Round two started fast and I had my legs up, knees on the sides of my head. It was hot, seeing him through that kind of frame. Just one bead of sweat on his temple – not sticky all over, unlike me. Why was I the one becoming exhausted anyway? I was being a pillow princess. His eyes were gorgeous and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Please, don’t stop,” I whined at some point. He didn’t seem to have any prospects of stopping anyway, but I couldn’t help it. He huffed, chest heaving with lust and I knew it wasn’t easy to be the one doing all the work, so I mentally gave credit where credit was due. “Oh--- Levi, God!” He seemed like he wanted to laugh and my ring glimmered in the dark against his cheek while I tried to pull him down for a kiss which was simply impossible in our current position. He switched it five minutes later. It was not an understatement to claim I was seeing stars and everything was nice and nothing was awkward and this was the most handsome man with the most stamina on this land.

I lost my voice at some point, or I thought I did because my third orgasm couldn’t make me bite down on the pillow fast enough to muffle the literal holler that left my lungs. His name, by the way. If that hadn’t woken the neighbours, I wasn’t sure anything would. I was recuperating and he was trailing gentle pecks along my neck, still not finished. Was sex always this physically draining? My mind might’ve blanked during the third round and we were in missionary again because I insisted that I be able to kiss him any time I wished to. His hand was holding my wrist captive and the other was massaging my breast and it was all a giant whirlpool of pleasure and heat and fluids – the nasty and the nice in one, but I couldn’t care less about the nasty.

He came with a growl, biting down on my shoulder to muffle something that sounded like my name as his pace hitched and turned sloppy for the first time in what felt like hours. He slumped down on top of me and I was breathing more heavily than him, calmed by the weight. I was blinking at the ceiling and my heart was doing somersaults in my ribcage. He went to shower after a minute of rest, I called him out for being a clean freak and it just so happened that my perception of time wasn’t all too warped because checking my phone made me realise we’d had sex for about three hours, foreplay included. I slipped into the shirt he’d tossed on the floor, wiped myself and very considerately ignored the soreness in my hips while changing the sheets.

To my biggest surprise, he returned to my room in a new pair of boxers with his hair wet. There was no invitation. He joined me on the clean bed and wrapped his arms around me. This might’ve been aftercare. When our gazes locked, I didn’t dare avert my eyes in bashfulness. It was surreal and I wanted to memorise it. Then he asked me again – as voicelessly as the first time and the following ten – and I answered positively by flashing him the biggest smile I could muster. No words were exchanged. Levi rolled his eyes and I tucked myself under his chin, legs tangling with his. I was knocked out cold. I wouldn’t hasten to write this off as a happy ending but I wouldn’t immediately turn it angsty either. I explored. It was nice. I don’t think I regretted it for a second.

Waking up was a surreal experience because it included the added luxury of being bathed in sunlight with a warm arm draped around my midriff and a pale sunlit face inches from mine. A spot of purple in the crook of his neck and a few red crescents on his shoulder. Perhaps one or two leftover scratches on his back. I blinked at the sight incredulously, gradually coming to and realising what this position meant – prompted by last night’s three different ones, too.

It happened! Asshole-me hollered in my head, nearly hysteric, slamming a pan into a bell and making the echo of the toll ring painfully against the confines of my skull. You ruined it all! It was like an automatic switch – suddenly, the neutral was the bad and I had complicated it with my impulsiveness, my stupid hormones. I imagined four months of awkwardness and the wish to have more but being completely incapable of asking for fear it would mean feelings. I pictured a tense atmosphere, uncomfortable interactions, embarrassing thoughts, lame excuses. A friendship built with struggle and just barely reinforced annihilated to smithereens by my dumb ass.

I cringed, removing my hand from Levi’s chest to slap myself across the face for being horrible again – not in using him but in indulging my own selfishness. His eyelids fluttered open before the admonishment transpired and I was staring straight into the melted silver which had the tendency to read my thoughts. The current self-reprimanding cacophony would entertain him.

“… should make you coffee,” he mumbled half-coherently, making me blink wondrously at his hazy composure. This is normal, his eyes whispered, lips pressing nonchalantly to my forehead before he got up, so there’s no need to be so shocked. The trip down the stairs was silent. I had left scratches. More than two.

Currently, we were in the kitchen, sitting around the counter with our mandatory morning drinks. Unsaid words hung from the ceiling like dangling cobwebs. Levi, who’d needed a moment to retrieve his memories in full, was stiff and uncertain, and in spite of that visibly calmer than me. I could feel my face heating up as I thought of what to say. This wasn’t normal, even if both of us upon our respective awakening had pinned it such. It was something we had to discuss but how were we supposed to discuss sex when we sometimes fought over food? Deciding what to do seemed impossible.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” The raven, of course, was the one who broke the silence while I was slurping on my coffee, gaze averted and heart beating erratically. “Princess, I’m afraid this is something important,” he said in the face of my silence. His piercing glare was on my temple but I wouldn’t turn, keeping my fingers glued to my cup and my mind grounded in panic. “Need I remind you exactly what happened?” Levi pressed additionally, husky voice raising in audible urgency. I felt completely and utterly naked – dressed in only his shirt and my own underwear.

“We had sex, that’s what happened.” I shrugged, mind preoccupied with the strange feeling eating its way into it. Deep into my stomach, up to my lungs, through the chambers of the heart, in the windpipe – but not painfully. “There’s nothing more to it.” The nonchalant statement didn’t get a warm welcome. That much was to be expected. The attractive intern was frowning, rubbing his temples with a frustrated sigh. I tried not to look at his fingers.

And I’m trying to do just that, asshole-me scoffed pointedly. There’s something different about them when they’ve been inside you last night, yeah? A good type of different. Imagine it. My shoulders tensed as I chased her around in my head with a frying pan. Levi ran a hand through his ebony locks. Wow, is that the sex hair? And I pursed my lips in displeasure, knowing the struggles of the current moment and choosing in spite of them to secretly a wish for a second time. No harm, you know, no harm whatsoever in wanting to fuck your father’s goddamn intern, yeah? No? Can you hear it? Does it sound like a good sentence? Does it?

“Where exactly does your lacking virginity fit into your nothing more to it?” His retort made me cringe, well aware of the virginity ace hidden up his imaginary sleeve. It was a bit harder to argue with him when he was half-naked, letting me see the spots I’d bitten and kissed. The situation: we’d had sex. My side: I had nothing against him being my first because I trusted him and he’d been experienced and careful enough to make it nice. The actual problem: he was my father’s intern.

The abstract part: intimacy often came with, well… intimacy. Casual sex had the advantage of not seeing your partner again afterwards and in our case, we’d had casual sex with somebody we saw daily. Future speculation: tension due to this adventure would brew either discord or twice the ferocity in repeating the adventure. A possible solution: talking about feelings. Additional issue: Levi and I talking about feelings? Not in this day and age. Not in this life either. Telling him he made me feel warm and appreciated? Impossible. Honesty in the face of something embarrassing? Sorry, I don’t know her. She must be really lame.

“Everywhere, because I don’t care for it. It might add complexity to your situation, but it doesn’t play a big role in mine.” Dismissing the whole of it and pinning it on him was wrong. My nonchalance was false. Maybe it was what made him take a deep breath prior to speaking up again, his tea untouched.

“You’re supposed to be freaking out, princess.” His eyes were on mine and asshole-me was screaming: Come on, do it! Just kiss him and make things worse! Go right ahead! I averted my gaze with a snort. He’d used my nickname last night. Added a shade of meaning to it. I tried to get a grip as my rational side reasoned with the situation. This had been a one-time thing – or at least for him. Following that train of thought, wanting more was useless.

“You think I’m not?” It was high-pitched and ludicrous. Memories were surfacing and it was somewhat unpleasant to think they wouldn’t repeat. Levi kissing me in the dark, almost saying my name, clearing the hair from my sweaty forehead, biting my neck as he came, smiling against my lips as I tugged on his hair and tried not to moan, holding me close afterwards, not once saying the wrong thing. “I’m freaking out. You just don’t see it.” My downcast gaze was thoughtful and the air was becoming heavier with something I couldn’t identify. I could feel him staring and it bugged me not to know what he was thinking. “What?” I snapped, refraining from playing with my ring.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked flatly, eyes pinning me in place. “Do you want me to pretend this didn’t happen or do you want us to keep going?” It was ridiculous hearing him say it because, usually, he wouldn’t. I blinked, thinking I’d misheard.

“Keep going as in keep having sex?” I echoed to make sure I’d understood. It might’ve gone out a bit more shocked than expected, which made him sigh.

“I was listing options. In the end, it all comes down to what you want.” The flat voice made me realise I knew what I wanted well enough to have chosen during the conversation with Hanji three days ago or maybe even before I’d had the courage to admit it to myself.

“I don’t know what I want,” I lied with a pointed look, vehement embarrassment clawing up my throat and scratching at the back of it. I could say I wanted to keep going – his offer meant he might be willing – but his response was a fifty-fifty on whether he was sexually frustrated or would rather stick to decorum while living in the same house as the girl he was fucking and her father. I couldn’t turn the question on him because it was mean. I couldn’t call it a mistake because that would be another lie. I was tired of lying when it didn’t go to protect my pride.

“You don’t?” He quirked a thin brow mockingly, feigning the surprise he didn’t feel. “Or you just don’t want to admit your favour the more embarrassing option?” I sat motionless, knowing this wasn’t what I should’ve been doing – considering it. Maybe this was a test he had for me – to see if I’d be dumb or act like a reasonable adult. But (there came that stupid word again) if Hanji had been right, this wasn’t a random hook-up, which meant there might be something and---

Are you seriously considering a relationship with somebody who’s leaving in less than four months? Asshole-me interjected, making me sigh in defeat. Doesn’t fuck randomly, okay, fine, but this is an exception. How in the fucking hell would he grow to like you? You know that’s impossible. Methinks he went along with it because you clearly wanted it. Think about it, he does all sorts of bullshit for you. So what sounds more plausible? Him being himself or him liking you? The former, of course, but I couldn’t admit it. Like I couldn’t admit he was right to say I favoured the more embarrassing option.

“Even if it was like that,” I chose to return the favour and be doubtful, “I’m not inclined to think your morals would let you humour me.” My chin was tipped upwards while Levi shook his head and finally took a sip from his tea. The ghost of a smirk in the corner of his mouth disarmed.

“I have little to nothing against it. But,” (that fucking word again) the firmness of his voice was the only thing keeping my chest from swelling, “it doesn’t sound like an ideal course of action when you’ve almost got yourself a new boyfriend,” he reasoned calmly, somber responsibility lacing his tone.

“It’s not cheating if we’re not official,” I protested instantly, furrowed brows and a pout. He snorted.

“That’s not what I meant, princess.” My lips pursed at the jolt the nickname gave me. “I don’t want sex clouding your judgement. I get Rivers isn’t your boyfriend, but you shouldn’t exclude him as a possibility just because you’ve started thinking you have feelings for me.”

“Besides being a poet, you’ve turned into a psychologist, too,” I exclaimed with a genuinely cheerful chuckle that made him quirk a brow. Something in my throat shrivelled up. “Don’t dwell on my feelings too much, asshole,” I reassured. “I like this because it’s something new, not because I’m head over heels in love with you.” I was still chuckling as he sipped on his tea and fixed me with one of those firm looks that had the ability to bend the knees. The effect was doubled in intensity this morning.

“Make your choice then,” he said boredly, not wishing to be too imperious, seeing as the situation wasn’t taking place in a formal setting where he was the boss and I was the indecisive underling. I might as well have been, with how hot my ears got while I held his gaze, brave and stupid in the face of somebody who read me better than I sometimes read myself.

“I’m not saying it out loud,” I muttered, bashful. The ebony-haired intern watched me struggle before tilting his head to the side with a fake air of oblivion.

“Then I won’t know what you want,” he said innocently, attempting to mock my shyness and what was more – succeeding. I burned bright red, feeling heat creep up my neck and my glare was pointed and uncontrolled. It couldn’t pass as mere annoyance because Levi was hitting a nerve.

“I didn’t see you having a hard time knowing everything I wanted last night, but okay.” There was more spite than sass in the sentence, which only further conveyed my inability to stay nonchalant – something that clearly amused him. “I want us to… keep going. Satisfied?” Crossed arms, downcast gaze and a childish pout. I was the live embodiment of the word petulance and Levi wasn’t done having fun with it.

“Not as satisfied as I clearly left you.” He was smirking and I glared at him, furious and not knowing where the blood would go when there was no space left in my head. I hopped off my chair, turning my back to him and hearing how he moved to stand behind me. A well-meaning hand landed on my shoulder. “It was a joke, princess, there’s no need for the cold shoulder.” His tone was flat and disinterested, but there was a pacifying sliver. He might’ve been trying to make peace but I wouldn’t have it after all the embarrassment he put me through – just to have a good private laugh, too!

“Un-fucking-bearable, that’s what you are,” I hissed, brushing his hand off my shoulder and heading to the staircase in order to escape. He gave chase and set on ignoring the usual code that forbade touchy-touchy when unneeded. The pure and unfiltered imagination one must have in order to picture a shirtless Greek God chasing after a poorly dressed eighteen-year-old spoiled brat was too ambitious a requirement for anybody to fulfil. Turn to mythology for that, but it’s inappropriate there and this one meant well.

“I’ll stop embarrassing you if that’s what you want.” His hands were on my shoulders. He turned me around and I didn’t look at him, much less respond. He could sense I was ashamed. His hands slowly trailed down over my arms to hold my wrists in a grip I could, with effort, free myself from. “Does the mere mention of sex with no context whatsoever embarrass you, princess?” He knew it did, leaning forward with twinkling eyes and a complacent half-smile. “Your face is red.”

“And you’re a fucking genius, congratulations,” I spat with sarcastic disgruntlement. He pulled me forward so that I bumped into his chest. My shoulders jumped in surprise. I didn’t want to look him in the eye but the sight of the marks I’d left on him were no less embarrassing to behold. My heart sped up and I was pouting, flush against him with nowhere to go.

“It speaks,” he whispered by my ear. His hands retraced their steps over my arms and shoulders, gently gliding against the sides of my neck until they held my face. “Does it want to go up to my room?” Blue specks in a pool of melted silver. The question was genuine, in spite of being masked with slight mockery. The adult of us two. I tried to stay mad, but it was impossible. I promised the blue specks I’d count them later and then we were kissing. It was a funny picture – the whole of this situation – ridiculous but somehow not fictional. It was him lifting me off the floor and me wrapping my legs around him. It was him making step after step, steady and careful not to drop me while I snickered into his mouth. It was me being a literal koala and then it was us, hearing the jingle of keys.

“Shit,” I cursed, parting from him with a smack. He let go and I could catch only a glimpse of the panic on his face before I was running up the stairs. I’d barely closed the door behind us when I heard my mother greeting the empty kitchen downstairs. While I breathed out in relief, Levi was already heading to the balcony. It occurred to me that there was a pack of condoms on my nightstand and they were stolen. I’d need to make a trip to the pharmacy and replace the box. Talk about inconvenient. “Careful now,” I piped while the intern was preparing to make the jump, “we don’t want you to fall.” He gave me a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

When he was gone, I plopped down on my bed and grinned incredulously at the ceiling. This “secret sex” thing we were about to dive into wasn’t how I’d imagined the weeks prior to my first year in university, but oh, well. Expect the unexpected and if unable to – just accept it. This officially marked the beginning of my longest stay in City of Dumbassery. It was surprising, however, that I wasn’t alone in there. Twice as surprising that I’d be stuck with my father’s intern. Whom I was having sex with. Amazing. Spectacular. Asshole-me would have my ass for that.

tag list: @unloved-cadillac ; @donaldthrts

[babe-bombadil]

Poetry Ponderings

Summary: A short slice of life of Bilbo & Elrond's friendship.

Written for the 2023 @fall-for-tolkien event! Inspired by Teatime by @maglor-my-beloved

Rating: G

Word Count: 750

Read on AO3 or below

Bilbo struggled up the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing. A soft grunt escaped his lips as he pulled himself up the final step. Even simple things like stairs were getting harder in his old age. His many years were finally beginning to show.

“Ah, Bilbo,” Elrond smiled as he turned around. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve been working on a new poem and I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.” He frowned, noticing the hobbit’s labored breathing. “Are you alright? Are your knees ailing you again? I shall send Lindir to bring a salve.”

“No need,” Bilbo brushed his concerns off with a wave of his hand. “I just need a chair.” Elrond pursed his lips but did not continue his protests, instead guiding his friend to a seat and placing a cushion behind his back.

“Now,” Bilbo continued once he was settled. “What was this poem you were telling me about?”

The smile returned to Elrond’s face. “I have been trying to translate it into the common tongue but it does not fit quite as perfectly. Here is the verse that has been troubling me.”

“ With dignity above that of soldiers

The tree stands tall and proud in its sentry

Guarding the world of men in their folly

Men see only the use in cutting down

Or setting aflame to make short-lived light

Elves see the beauty of a tree alive

Breathing life into all that surrounds it ”

Bilbo couldn’t stop the grin spreading over his face as he looked fondly at the elf. “Positively sublime, my friend! You elves have a spectacular way with language. However, I would perhaps change the word folly to corruption. It’s a more impactful word and makes the wickedness of cutting down trees more pronounced.”

Elrond nodded thoughtfully. “I agree the word should be changed, but corruption has too many syllables. It would interrupt the pacing of the verse.” Bilbo furrowed his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair to think.

“Misdeeds? It keeps the pacing,” he offered, but Elrond was shaking his head before he finished.

“I’m afraid that still doesn’t fit quite right.” They sat for a moment in silence, pondering and enjoying one another’s company. Rivendell truly was a sight to behold in autumn, Bilbo mused. Of course, it was breathtaking all year round, but Bilbo found he liked it best when the leaves painted themselves in vibrant hues before drifting to the ground.

“You know, I’ve been working on a poem of my own,” he commented.

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “I’d love to hear it, if you are willing.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “It’s not very long yet but here is what I have so far:"

" I knew an old elf named Elrond

With whom I loved to correspond

In Rivendell one day

He invited me to stay

And of it I am now rather fond ” 

Arwen’s musical laugh announced her presence as she stepped delicately up to the balcony. “What a marvelous poem, Bilbo,” she praised. “We elves of Rivendell have become rather fond of you as well.” She set a tray down on the nearby table and crossed the room to clasp the old hobbit’s hands. “We shall forever sing ballads of the time when our halls were blessed with a halfling.” 

Bilbo blushed and looked down. “Surely you exaggerate, but I thank you nonetheless.”

“My daughter speaks nothing but the truth.” Elrond declared. “Now, is this strawberry tea you’ve brought, my love?” he asked, opening the teapot and smelling the contents.

“Yes,” Arwen replied. “I know it’s Bilbo’s favorite.” The hobbit in question beamed at Arwen and squeezed her hands as Elrond poured the tea. Suddenly, Bilbo drew in a sharp breath.

“Blindness!” he exclaimed.

Arwen's eyebrows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, not you dear Arwen,” BIlbo clarified. “I was reffering to Elrond’s poem.” He looked up at the older elf, who tilted his head thoughtfully. “It is the perfect word to show how men are ignorant of the worth of trees!”

“Yes, yes I think that would work. Men do show a shocking lack of proper reverence for forests.” Elrond walked over to Bilbo's chair, nodding as he continued. “Guarding the world of men in their blindness. Indeed, I quite like that.”

Elrond laid a hand on the old hobbit’s shoulder. “You have my deepest gratitude, mellon nin. I knew you could aid me.” Bilbo placed his hand over Elrond’s and grinned once again.

“Always happy to help a friend.”

[drbennedict-writingadvice]

hello! any advice to get out of your head for someone who hasn’t picked up writing since they were a teenager? for some reason, in my head, i view writing on my own time for fun as “embarrassing” or “cringy” simply because i’m getting older and view it as a immature hobby…

…which is obviously not true! i have a lot of respect for writers and i know you can write at any age, but whenever i open a page, i feel out of place and can’t read my old writing in fear people would look at me as immature. the same goes for creating detailed characters and storylines.

i’m not even old either (19) but i mainly wrote a lot in middle school—maybe that’s why? idk.

tdlr; any advice on writing for myself again without fear of judgement?

Hi anon,

Thanks for writing in! This is something a lot of creators struggle with especially if it’s something they did when they were younger and during a time they considered themselves to be “immature” or “cringey”. The brain is great at linking things and creating patterns, and because you wrote a lot when you were in middle school, a time period that I think is universally accepted as the worst and cringiest part of life lol, your mind linked the hobbies you did during that time to the feeling of immaturity and cringiness. The great news is that most people grow out of this phase naturally! I know it’s not exactly the same but I remember when I was just starting college I felt embarrassed to talk about the bands I liked in high school (and secretly still liked) but as I got older and became more self confident and sure of myself, I learned to unabashedly embrace those parts of myself. And nobody cared! In fact a lot of people felt the same way as I did.

But don’t worry, I’m not saying that you just have to wait it out! There are definitely things you can do to speed up this process. My first suggestion is that if you’re worried that people will think writing for fun is immature (which as a 29 year-old with a writing themed blog I promise you it’s not!) , then for right now, just don’t tell anyone! It can be your secret hobby while you learn to be more confident and rewire the way your brain thinks about this.

I’d also suggest trying to find other people who also enjoy writing either as a hobby or as a hopeful profession so you have a safe community you can explore your writing in. Surrounding yourself with like minded people can be really helpful! I remember the first time I attended a writing workshop it felt so amazing and freeing to be surrounded by people who I knew also loved writing and were never going to judge me for my passion. It’s currently national novel writing month and even if you don’t feel up to trying to write an entire novel in one month, there are still plenty of NaNoWriMo activities you can take part in. There are tons of discord channels, forums, virtual events, and in person events you could join.

A lot of it will just be reminding yourself that it’s not immature or cringey. This won’t change you knee jerk reaction overnight, but just like how positive affirmations work (at first you think it’s dumb, then it’s kind of neutral, and then you start to believe what you’re saying to yourself) after a while you’ll find that the way you think about writing has changed. Think of writers you love and admire and how you don’t think they’re immature or cringey for writing, and neither do most people! Think of Tolkien who created incredibly detailed story lines and characters, and even went so far as to create multiple fake languages that many people now genuinely learn for fun. Even if fantasy isn’t your preferred genre I have yet to meet someone who considers what he did anything less than impressive. Not once have I heard someone call what he did immature or cringey. So I think just recognizing that you have this thought pattern that your logical brain knows isn’t true, and for now just accepting that you have this cognitive dissonance and not feeling bad about it, but taking these small steps to work towards changing that thought pattern.

And finally, just write anyway! Like I said you can keep it a secret for now if you want to, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that! But try to write anyway. The more you write now then the more examples your brain has to rewire writing not as something you did when you were younger and therefore something immature but as something you do now as a young adult. And don’t put too much pressure on yourself as you’re getting back into writing for the first time in a while. Do not expect that your first attempt is going to be a masterpiece, but just have fun with it! Get into the habit or writing regularly, whatever that means for you. It could be once a week, it could be every day, just do what works for your life and your schedule right now. The more you practice the more normal it’ll feel and like anything, the better you’ll get at it, which will help you feel less cringey about your writing.

I’ll leave you with one small anecdote. Any time I tell people that I’m writing a novel they are always immediately impressed. I have never had someone say anything negative about it or anyone act like it was a dumb thing to spend time on. And most of the time I hear things like “Oh I wish I could do that, but I just don’t have the dedication.” Or “Oh I always wanted to write a novel, maybe I’ll give it a try now” or “Oh me too! What writing software do you use?”

I know this was a long answer but I wanted to try and ensure I was actually helpful! Please always feel free to reach out if you have other questions, or if you ever just need another reminder that there is nothing immature or cringey about wanting to write in your free time.

[maeofthenoldor]

“Harfoots of the first age suffered greatly”

Over the past few months, I've been forming a rough idea on hobbits (harfoots) who lived not just in early third age or second age like “Rings Of Power” likes to believe, but actually are much more ancient, descending from the first age. I have built around a culture that they would have, stemming from what I know of Tolkien's already written history of harfoots, and I would like to go even further. On more of the fine details, their culture, how they affected the first age and why they were written out of history. This will be a series of meta posts, and this is part one of five that I have planned. This will be focusing on the rough outline of their history, to get people interested before I go into what their folklore was, how their migrations worked, some of their notable figures, there culture and customs.

Before I continue I would like to mention that this is not about “Rings Of Power “portrayal” of Harfoots, this is completely my worldbuilding and culture creation. also these are only headcanons, not canon.

Anyway, let's get to it!

The Harfoots resided in Beleriand, long before the Noldor returned from Aman, and none knew where they came from. They lived in Thargelion, living in the tall grass that grew there. It was flat, with protruding mounds, so that you could have a clear view of Lake Helvorn and the blue mountains. They lived as the hobbits of the shire did, with the same concept as holes underground, but less sophisticated. These holes were like gainat ground squirrel holes, dug directly in the dirt, straight down and not in the side of hill. Their walls were made of packed grass and soil, building a technique to keep the soft mound from caving in by learning to take great stones and roll them with their wagons all the way from the lake bed of Helvorn. Which became heavily ingrained in their culture to live in holes, a longest ancestral tradition.

 Their society was built on surviving, nothing was audaciously adorned, everything was to be used to hide from morgoth's spies. As they were built on highlands of a plateau, they had access to upperground which allowed them to hide for longer.In fact, none knew they existed until the first rising of the sun and moon, when dwarves discovered them. At first they thought them faeries, and were wary of them, before it gave way to eager friendship between the two peoples, who were both very different and alike.

They were semi nomadic pastoralists, who relied heavily on trade with the dwarves, who raised sheep and gathered food in trade for metal pots, wool, clothing and other things that helped their colony to continue surviving. They had many places to set up throughout Thargelion, all the way to the first river of Ossiriand. They would have seasonal migrations from the plains to the  entrances of great Dwarf-holds to keep their sheep warm for the winter, where they would be sheared and clothing would be made. They would have a main village near the greater gelion, where the early “smials” were created.

When Caranthir took rule of Thargelion, the hobbits did not pay homage to him. It was a large area, and not populated by elven settlements throughout the middle part, and seldom could he find the small smials, or even care to look for them. Only when they were travelling with dwarves on the dwarf road would they have to pay for access.(I’m sure the dwarves had a few ways to cheat the harfoots out of paying the tax, Like hiding them in their wagons.) and Carnthir, though interested in their lore, paid them no mind.

The hobbits too were relatively safe, at the time. Carnthir and his troops patrolled the borders of Thargelion, so it was not often that an orc battalion would slip through. Rarely did they ever find the hobbits, for they were good at hiding, and defences strong from what the dwarves crafted for them. If they were truly attacked, the dwarves and sometimes spare elves would come to their aid if they were near, but it hardly came to that.

With the cross community of Dwarves-Hobbits often mixing with each other, there were many cases of Dwobbits (dwarf-hobbits) being made. Though few since dwarves tend not to find their “one” outside their race. This caused different sects of hobbits, which would later breed back into the harfoot race, but caused slight physical differences which would lead their clan to be called the Stoors, who could grow beards.

In their culture, food was valued highly, for it meant survival. They had many rituals for when the first berry of the spring began to show, and sang songs when winter came to brush it all to frost. Those who heard the singing from the harfoots said it was an enchanting thing, eldritch and unique, but haunting nonetheless. Usually their musical instruments would involve wooden flutes, drums and tiny bells they would put around their ankles to make noise when they danced. Their songs were fast-paced with many interpretations with imitating chirps of birds and crickets that dwelt with them.

 The hobbits suffered gravely, but near the time Carnthir came to Thargelion, they were relatively safe. Carnthir and his troops patrolled the borders, so it was not often that an orc battalion would slip through. Rarely did they ever find the hobbits, for they too  were good at hiding and concealment, their defences strong from the sturdiness of dwarves. If they were truly attacked, the dwarves and sometimes spare elves would come to their aid if they were near, but it hardly came to that.

Harfoots were traditionally skinnier than hobbits of the third age which is why the beauty standard for hobbits was to be chubby or plump. It showed them that being big was comfort and safety, being skinny took them back to the primal fear of starving, and once they didn't have to worry about it, they were able to see being plump as beautiful and meant you were well off.  Their clothing also reflected their surroundings. Though the dwarven style of clothing lended for brighter colours, they found ways to dye it to more natural/neutral colours that they would be able to hide better in the grass. By then they were able to make their own clothing much easier than before, and everyone at least had several pairs. They build nets covered in leaves, so that if they ever needed to hide, they would go under it and blend in to their surroundings.

However, their race would be utterly desecrated. In the Dagor Ballgorach, Galrung and his army came down from Angband and set the harfoots' world on fire. The dwarves did not come in time, and when they did, they were harshly beaten back. Many settlements of the harfoots were turned to ash, most of Thargelion and their ancestral migration roads were destroyed. Only a dozen family groups survived, and taking all they had left, took the dwarf road and crossed along the mountains of Ascar and passed through Sarn Athrad where they only stopped once to replenish supplies with the Dwarves of Nogrod. They did not stay long, for the harfoots were more close with the dwarves of Belegost, and these ones were less generous.Then they left the underground and continued past the blue mountains and into middle earth. The second age begins for them, and lead a hunter-gathering lifestyle until the fallohides  lead them to where the sects of hobbits would separately settle, in the northern regions of Middle-earth in the early first age.

It is said that hobbits only entered the history of men until the third age. It is a common misconception that hobbits didn't exist until the third age. This could be because they were not notable in any way during the last two ages, but I think they were very prominent in ancient dwarves' history, like in the kingdoms of Nogord, Belegost and other ancient dwarven kingdoms. Considering the closely connected cultures, it would be realistic. However I believe that these were written history, and most of the records were destroyed by dragon fire in the kingdom's fall, only to be forgotten orally by dwarves who later did not see the hobbits for centuries after since they moved all over the place in the second age.

Feel free to leave me questions in my ask box, I want to be challenged on creating this society, and I’m always in need of more ideas that can help corporate into a realistic looking culture. 

For my next few posts, I’ll be focusing on their Folkore containing elves and men, and some Ocs that helped with cultivating their society, the most famous being Razo Thorn foot who was eloped to a dwarf lord of Belegost, otherwise known as Azghal.