#and a pretty woodland elf from a forest you can only reach through a magical shortcut

[allpromarlo]

happy mother's day to him in particular <3

[wincestisasincest]

Bob Your Head (The Fellowship x Reader)

I HAD A DUMB IDEA BON APPETIT BITCHES.

Summary: You get stopped by a woodland spirit that inhibits you from continuing, before noticing your silky smooth hair. 

Words: 1616 (soz it got way longer than i intended)

Things literally just kept getting weirder and weirder for you. First, you’d fallen into this strange land. Then, you’d joined their crackhead quest. THEN you’d found all of these nerds oddly endearing. AND NOW you were to face to face with this mischievous tree motherfucker. Great.

“Please, I beg your pardon, but our quest is of the utmost sensitivity.” Aragorn communicated with the slender, brown-skinned sprite just as he would a political ally. Big mistake. 

“I am not some king to be courted by you greasy-haired hobo.” As the sprite convulsed, the rest of the trees began to grow around you, and you realized that you were completely trapped in the glenn. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that magic exists in this world, and then it comes back and smacks you in the head like that. 

“Are not the sprites kings of the forest?” Gandalf muttered under his breath. 

“It’s not up for you humans to decide what we are at all, actually.” 

“Okay, well that’s like half of the group, nice.” You said it sarcastically, out of instinct, but the sprite turned to look directly at you. You could feel the leaves begin to touch our arms and legs. Boromir, protector of literally everything he was, put his hand to his sword as the hobbits took a step back. 

“What was that?” His eyes flared with anger. Legolas coughed, looking at Aragorn, Gimli, and Gandalf like he was expecting them to do something, but the just stood watching you in fear. That’s enough fear for one group, though, and you took it on yourself to act at least a little brave.

“I said that’s half of the group, bro. Like, him,” you pointed to Boromir, “and him,” you pointed to Aragorn, “and me are human. Gandalf, I don’t know what he is, but it’s not human, Gimli, well, he’s a dwarf, that long haired guy is Legolas, an elf, and all of these peeps,” you gestured to the hobbits at your side, “are hobbits. So, uh, you got some of it right, I guess?” 

Aragorn facepalmed. Pippin seemed more intrigued by what you were doing, and almost opened his mouth to add something on to it before Merry nudged him aggressively. 

“Is that so?” the sprite raised an eyebrow. You nodded. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” You nodded yet again, suddenly aware of everything on your body that was modern, from your t-shirt under your tunic to your undergarments to your sneakers. 

“What gave it away?” You made eye contact with Frodo, who looked like he was about to cry. You recall that one night at the campfire he had shared stories of sprites that he’d learned back in the shire. He was shoulder to shoulder with Sam, looking utterly terrified. 

“Everything, human. What’s your name?” 

“Y/n” You flipped your hair back sassily. At this point, Boromir had put his sword away, but he still appeared very much on guard. 

“Where does one get a name like that?” You could swear that this man was writing a Wikipedia article on you.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Mr., uh-” 

“Elmwood. Call me Elmwood.” You swallowed the urge to call his name redundant. 

“Well, Mr. Elmwood, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you where I come from, and everything about me, if you let our lovely party pass.” You smiled, pleased with your own cleverness. Thus far, you felt as though you had been more of a burden to the group than anything, but now you were actually contributing. 

“Hm. No.” He put a finger to his chin, looking displeased. Even Gandalf was somewhat surprised, leaning in front of Legolas to get a better view of your conversation, almost as if he was expecting something. 

“Look, all we wanna do is-” You were not about to take his bullshit.

“I know what I want from you, human. You, you woman.” Ah yes. We have a real observant one here. Though some members managed to remain contained, the hobbits, especially Merry and Sam, visibly cringed. They were far more familiar with having unchangeable qualities about themselves being used as insults.

“Well spotted. Well, what is it? I haven’t got all day.” You wondered to yourself if they could smell fear, like dogs. Behind him, you noticed Aragorn reach for his sword and rest his hand on the hilt, while Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance before getting into a stance that would easily allow them to grab their weapons at any time. Boromir whispered something in Gandalf’s ear, but Gandalf just shushed him. 

“That hair of yours. I want it.” Now everyone, including yourself, simply looked confused. Your hair had grown long and soft since you had come to Middle Earth, as your general lack of upkeep had allowed it to return to its natural state. To be honest, for a while, it was the least of your problems.

“My hair?” You reached up and touched your tendrils. They had dried well in the sun. 

“Stop this nonsense. Y/n, you don’t have to-” Boromir stepped forward. Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Boromir. Though, he is correct y/n. We can always take the long way round if you would rather not.” The hobbits nodded affirmatively. 

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not that big a’ deal. Just sorta weird.” You fingered around on your belt before landing on a dagger, a gift from Elrond, that you had yet to use. You slid your finger across the blade. It was mighty sharp. 

“Y/n, are you sure?” Legolas stepped forward, deeply rooted with some sort of concern. 

“Lass, I wouldn’t mind takin’ the long way round.” Gimli nodded. 

“Yeah, we’re durable!” Pippin called from the hobbit group, to which Merry and Frodo affirmatively nodded, while Sam continued to look on.

“I would hate for you to lose your lovely hair, Miss Y/n.” Sam said softly.

Gandalf stayed silent, calmly waiting for you to make your decision. 

“Uh, guys, it’s not that big a deal. My hair is not that important to me, like, it’s fine.” Before any more protests, you pulled your hair back, lifted the dagger slightly under your chin, and sliced, feeling the weight vanish from the back of your head. 

Your hands clutched a fistful of your locks, leaving you a very blunt bob cut. Though there were no mirrors to look at, you ran a hand through your hair, only to feel a wave of adrenaline run through you as you felt the emptiness behind your back. You shook your hair a little bit before making eye contact with the sprite again, who seemed awfully pleased with himself. 

“Well, here ya go,” You offered the fistful of locks to him, which he approached cautiously before snatching from you, “Now can we pass?”

“Sure, just mind where you step.” The sprite didn’t look you in the eye, but was too busy playing with the hair that was once yours. And just like that, he disappeared into who knows where, leaving a vacancy. 

You peered around. All eyes were on you, some with concern, others with pity, and only one, Gandalf, with understanding. You sheathed the dagger and put in back on your belt, before running your hand through your hair once more. 

“Are you alright, Miss Y/n?” Merry, bless him, looked at you with wide eyes. You awkwardly smiled. 

“Yeah, y’all, I’m fine, it’s really not that big of a deal. It saved us a lot of walking, that’s for sure.” You tried to ease the awkwardness as you looked forward.

“Y/n, if you require us to explain to people the situation with your hair, we would be more than glad too-” 

“Situation?” You cut Aragorn off. You didn’t mean to sound angry, but this sort of confusion was frustrating you. 

“There is no need to get angry, Y/n.” Gandalf sagely said. 

“What? No, I’m not angry, I’m just confused. Is there some hair stuff I don’t know about?” 

“I think what they mean to say,” Gimly stepped forward, “is that your hair is far more befitting of a young lad than it is a proper lady.” Everyone else nodded with agreement.

“Wait,” you paused, “Is short hair not a thing here?” Everyone looked amongst themselves awkwardly, but thankfully your own memories were there to ask you questions. Now, pretty much every man in this world, save for the hobbits, had longer hair than you, and the women all had hair down to the middle of their backs, at the very least.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” you said understandingly, “though like I said, I don’t really care. You don’t need to explain it to anyone, it doesn’t bother me, short hair is very common where I come from. Besides, now it can stop getting in my face when I’m trying to do things.” You giggled, and you could see Aragorn and Gandalf adopt small traces of smiles. 

“It’s common where you come from?” Frodo inquired.

“Yeah, like we would call this a bob cut. Cause it bobs.” You shook your head to demonstrate the bobbing effect, and the small crowd of hobbits laughed. 

Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir still didn’t appear to be convinced, but Gandalf didn’t have time for their shenanigans. 

“Well, now that that’s settled, on we go!” He lead with his staff, to which the hobbits quickly trotted behind, followed by you, then a tentative Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir, and finally a patient Aragorn, holding up the back. 

Wherever you went after, you could feel eyes on your short hair, though you didn’t mind. It was the least strange thing that had happened to you so far.