#keep the hobbit fandom alive

[aliensurvivalist]

This is the funniest shit in the world to me

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 20 - Emotional Angst

title: waiting

fandom: 3rd Life SMP

cw: character death, and all that entails

~

Scott had almost (finally) drifted off to sleep when he hears it.

The shot of a cannon.

Loud, echoing, as if it had come from right beyond the little bunker where they're spending the night.

Fear steals into Scott's heart, taking his breath with it. That could be it. That could be the signal that starts the war.

All four of them stir—Scar sits up in the cramped bed, and the chair where Grian is curled up creaks as he shifts, and Jimmy slips out of the makeshift cot to creep over to one of the thin window slats, the moon just slightly illuminating his face as he glances from side to side, crouched slightly against the low ceiling.

They hear a couple of shouts in the distance, but nothing more. After several minutes, Scar lies back down, and the tense line of Grian's shoulders eases as his chair creaks again, and Scott lets his head lie back on the folded blanket that he's using for a pillow.

Jimmy stays at the window, though, waiting. Silent, but on high-alert.

Scott doesn't exactly relax—if Jimmy's watching something, keeping track of a spy, it could mean battle in moments and he needs to be ready.

He is ready, honestly, body poised to shoot up. His bow is leaning against the wall by the door, his sword in its belt beside it. He can strap that on in a matter of seconds, load an arrow to the bowstring just as quickly.

But Jimmy doesn't say anything. And after several minutes, he's still standing there, just looking.

Then, as Scott's still watching him (though blackness creeps quicker and quicker over Scott's eyes every time he blinks), Jimmy turns away from the window.

Instead of heading back to his cot, though, Jimmy stops by Scott's patch of floor.

He lies down there, next to Scott, back popping just the slightest bit as he settles.

Scott glances over at him. Jimmy's lying beside him on his back, hands clasped over his chest, staring at the ceiling.

"Scott," he says quietly, voice low enough that it doesn’t disturb Grian and Scar. "Are you afraid to die?"

Scott turns his own gaze to the rough ceiling of the bunker.

Is he?

He doesn't think so.

"If we die," he says eventually, sensing the sober mood hanging over the night, "I don't think we need to be scared. There's something . . . something after this."

He believes it. He doesn’t know what exactly he believes, but he cannot accept that this is the end.

Jimmy doesn't respond.

"Something . . . kind," Scott eventually settles on. "I don't think I have much reason to be afraid."

Scott doesn't say that whatever comes has to be better than this. He's sure Jimmy knows.

"Do you think this is it?" Scott asks after another quiet moment.

He waits—not necessarily for an answer, and not necessarily for acknowledgement.

He waits the same way he's been waiting all night.

"You'll go home," Jimmy whispers, breaking his silence without warning. "You'll see our hobbit holes again."

Another pause.

"Scott?"

"Hm?"

"We never built anything on that hill."

"Hm."

"Build something, yeah?"

Scott nods, just a shifting of his head against the gritty, sandstone floor.

Jimmy doesn't go back up to his cot. He stays there, on the floor beside Scott, and eventually his breaths even out into the slow draws of sleep.

And Scott waits.

-

Scott is the only one who attends Jimmy's funeral.

He and Grian had narrowly escaped the fight alive—he with a wound to the leg that twists his step and causes him to walk with a crutch, and Grian had caught an arrow in the fleshy part of his upper arm—painful, but not difficult to recover from. Scar had emerged unscathed.

And Jimmy had lain dead on the bunker floor, an arrow in his throat and several others piercing his body.

Scott had brought him all the way home.

And once he had returned (their beautiful stone walls, that he'd built up to protect them both and now are all but abandoned), he'd climbed that hill where they’d never built anything and dug a grave.

It's rough, hewn by tired hands, the fresh grass torn and overturned and many roots of the nearby tree chipped and cut off by his clumsy shovel. Still, Scott supposes, Jimmy certainly won't mind how ugly his grave is.

It's been one full day since Jimmy died. Twenty-four hours, almost twenty-five. Scott's been working on the grave since sometime before the sun rose, and now they've circled back around to mid-afternoon.

A full day alone. Waiting for the enemy to fall on him, take him by surprise as he is, laboring and wounded; or maybe waiting for friends to stop by, words of sorrow on their lips and help in their hands.

No one comes, though, for better or for worse. On the one hand, Scott gets the dignity of caring for his husband’s body without distraction.

On the other hand, he has to carry this weight alone.

And heavy it feels, especially when it comes time to part.

Jimmy is heavy in his aching arms, even with all his armor stripped from him, but Scott doesn’t mutter a word of complaint (not when this is the last time that he gets to hold him). He gently lays Jimmy's body in the hole, his fingernails crusted in dirt and his clothes soaked with sweat from the hard labor (and from the pain in his leg that hasn't stopped pulsing through his body).

Jimmy's eyes are closed. They had been when Scott found his body, the vestiges of a pained expression still painting his face.

He probably died as soon as the arrow entered his throat, but it's little comfort when his body is littered with so many other wounds.

Scott had cleaned the blood and dirt from his body before beginning work on the grave, but he hadn't been able to take the time to change Jimmy's torn clothes or brush his hair, or anything of the sort.

A war started yesterday, and there's already been far too many casualties for Scott to take his time.

Still, Scott takes a moment now, lying prone on the ground, leaning down into the grave.

He tucks Jimmy's hair behind his ear.

He rubs his thumb over Jimmy's lifeless knuckle.

He wipes a smudge of dirt off Jimmy's cheek.

Which won't change anything, because he's about to bury him in dirt, but it makes him feel more normal.

Scott had cried last night. Wedged into a corner of the Crastle, face buried in his hands, not able to bear the sight of the blanket-covered body laid on the floor near the door. He'd ignored Impulse when he offered to help Scott disinfect his leg, and then he'd ignored Impulse as the man knelt beside him and dressed Scott's wound without permission.

"Sorry," Impulse had whispered.

And Scott could only think that he clearly wasn't sorry enough. After all, Impulse had been one of the attackers. The arrow through Jimmy's throat had been Skizz (he'd declared his victory for all to hear), but any of the other three in Jimmy's body could have been from Impulse's bow.

He didn't stop crying, then.

Not until he had run out of tears.

Then he got up, and found a small pull-cart in the yard, and laid Jimmy's body there.

And even though he felt dry of tears, and still does, there's a lump in his throat and a burning in his eyes.

Scott doesn't want to cry again, but he doesn't seem to have a choice.

He lets the tears fall.

He lets his chest shudder.

And he waits.

It's not that he's waiting for Jimmy to suddenly wake up. He isn't waiting for anyone else to pay respects. He isn't waiting for help.

After a moment, Scott casts the first handful of dirt in—and it falls on Jimmy's chest, which doesn’t rise the way it ought to—and then he picks up the shovel and starts tossing heaps of dirt in, not even trying to suppress his tears.

And when all is finished, and the dirt is packed in nicely, and Scott's hands are washed and his clothes changed and his hair brushed, he waits.

[lucigoo]

Weekly Round up: 11th November - 17th November

Whoop!! We are finally back on track. I wrote 31,765 words this week, it was a slog and half as I mixed up some date fests 🤦‍♀️. I uploaded 7 fics this week, but 3 are unrevelaed until the 29th!

But as always, first is the fic recs.

The Lesson of You - thecouchsofa - Harry Potter (Harry/Draco, kid fic)

Summary: Harry likes kids. That doesn't mean he's ready for a small boy to turn up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place insisting that Harry is his father. That was weird enough, but the child identifying Draco Malfoy as his other parent was something Harry had no bloody idea how to handle.

Not All That Glitters (Is Good For Your Health) - comatosecombat - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin)

Summary: In his attempt to distract Smaug from attacking Lake-town, Bilbo accidentally destroys the One Ring of Power, saves the day and brings peace on Middle-Earth.

When it comes to him and Thorin, that resolves absolutely nothing.

The Herd of Durin - DomesticGoddess - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, Centaur Au, as we know in the Bagginshield fandom, Domestic Godessess' fics are phenominal, this is my fav of ALL their work!)

Summary: Thorin's herd is the last of the Durin Tribe. Between dwindling food supplies, a mare shortage, and an increasing human population, Thorin has his hands full trying to keep his herd alive. Thorin knows, despite his best efforts, its only a matter of time before the Khuzd centaurs face extinction. At least, he though he did. Everything changes when he discovers a strange  a strange little pony centaur who smells like a mare, but looks like a stallion.

Take me as I am - phiaura - The Witcher (TV) (Geralt/Jaskier, AWAU)

Summary: Thus, a deal was struck, a treaty agreed upon. Rivia would not take military action against any allied kingdom and in turn, the kingdoms would provide the king of Rivia with a consort. So far, that last bit was the part of the treaty that had gone to shit. As far as Jaskier had understood, up to now the White Wolf had turned down all the proffered brides. If a consort was not approved, the treaty would be null and void.

Where Jaskier is the last chance of fulfilling the requirements of a treaty between the warlord of Rivia, and the allied kingdoms. Will it prove to be his rescue or his doom?

i've loved you in a million different ways - dotty456 - Harry Potter - (Sirius/Remus, This is one of my favourite longer fics. I have read it so many times and stil I adore it)

Summary: An everybody lives fanfic that follows the Marauders from before their first year to the end of Hogwarts - may include mentions of their children/marriages and future stuff because I can. Dumbledore is a douchebag, Voldemort doesn't exist and the Black cousins join together before the elder Blacks start burning that damn family tree

Green-Handed - lotus0kid - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin)

Summary: Post-BotFA, while Thorin, Fili, and Kili are slowly recovering from their wounds, Bilbo finds himself subject to a condition that hobbits might experience at a few very particular times in their lives, under very particular circumstances, none of which apply to him. Very confused (and somewhat embarrassed) he decides to keep it a secret during this delicate time in the mountain. This goes about as well as you might expect.

I hope you all have a wonderful week and find something to read that brings you joy <3

As I am also doing a basterdised Nano, I am using the month to finish as many of my Wips as possibel, of course, I also write new ones baseu I cant help myself lol.

Of the 63 wips I started with, i have finished 9 of them and so im feeling pretty proud tbh.

I have also worked on

Ghost Ship Of Witchers and Songbirds King of Azkaban

Feel free to ask about any of hem.

Anyway, this weeks fics are:

Love and Laughter at the Burrow - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter (Percy/Viktor, Weasley siblings) this was written for HP Rare Pairs Game Night flash fest, heres ths coolection.

Summary: Percy has brought his boyfriend, Viktor, to the Burrow for family game night.

Why he thought his siblings would have at least a small amount of decorum he doesnt know, he thinks as he watches Viktor get interrigated and the rest if his siblings cheat at snakes and ladders, because of course they do!

Spinning in Memory - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter (Gen, Weasley fmaily, Harry, Hermione and grief) This one was written for the Remember Remember Flash fest comp and heres that collection. Warnings, this one deals with post war grief!

Summary: It has been 6 months since the Battle of Hogwarts. 6 months since George's twin, his best friend, was ripped away from him. And now its Bonfire night, a night both Fred and George had loved their entire lives.

Now there was just George and his broken family looking into the fire. Feeling the weight of the missing Weasley, of Geroge's now lost brother.

Give it to me - Lucigoo89 - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling] (Sirius/Remus)

Summary: It's Remus 65th Birthday. He is alive and his husband, Sirius has a suprise for him, and it's not just him in his sexy little black dress.

The Warmth of His Hands - Lucigoo89 - The Hobbit (Billbo/Thorin) Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt #279 - warm hands. Warning for MCD.

Summary: Thorin's hands have always been warm, always been strong.

And now Bilbo's heart is breaking as he feels the warmth fade form them, as he feels his heart break as his loves heart stops.

Well thats it for this week, see you next Sunday <3

[epilogue-and-prologue]

For the AU-gust Mashup:

Fili x Reader + Fairytale + “Just look at me. Forget everything else.”

No pressure at all! Thank you in advance for considering the request! <3

Words

Fandom: Lord of The Rings - The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Fili x Reader Trope: Fairy Tale - Curse Note: Prompt is in the ask. Thanks @sotwk I don't have the occasion to write for Fili near enough. SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE. Warnings: Curse, losing your voice, not being able to communicate, near death experience. Word count: 1 954 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The summer had barely begun, when you met him. At first, you thought he was an illusion. A trick of your mind. Clear eyes, blonde hair, he’d carried himself just like you thought he would. The Crowned Prince, they called him. He had introduced himself as Fili. Nothing more. He came and went to your stand on the market place. Over the course of a few months, he had become a vital presence in your life. Just as you did in his.

To your agony, none of you would speak of it aloud. In your mind only, could he hold you, could he be with you. The status was one thing. The other was how people called you: the witch. Fili would never refer to you in such a way. He once called you a “soft-spirited soul who could cure any wound”. It had made your heart beat so fast you thought he would surely see the beats on your skin. But, the herbs you used and the unguents? It was common knowledge, yet it was not as widely used as it should have been. It was considered a women’s trade first and then was replaced completely by modern medicine. They did not keep your stall empty though. Even, on occasions, some people would come to you for more than just healing. For a kind ear and a cup of ale. That was why it did not surprise you when the tall and grand man came, in his white robes and equally beautiful staff. He did not say his name but you would remember his face forever. An intricate affair of wrinkles and bones showing under his skin. It was as if he’d been taunt over an overused canvas. You had seen worse ugliness, worse gnarly members, deformed by arthritis or unfair accidents. It was nothing new and you thought nothing of it.

“What may I help you with tonight, traveller?”

His robe was stained on the hems, earth and what you assumed was crusted mud over it. He did not move, only following your movements across the room with intent. His lips seemed to be moving, but no sound came out of them. Uneasy, you sat down and offered a cup of warm tea, just brewed. He stayed motionless.

“You look just like her, you know? — What?”

The jolt almost made you knock over your tea. The last time someone compared you to anyone else was when your grandmother was alive. Could he have known her? Or was he toying with you?

“You like just like your grandmother…” He stepped into your space, closing in on you. A chill ran down your spine. He had known her then. “The same eyes, the same face, those same treacherous lips…” He grabbed onto your chin, a harsh grip forcing you into meeting his eyes. You were so scared you did not dare move a muscle. “And you will pay for her lies and her filthy words.”

He released you, your body meeting with the floor in a violent attempt at getting away from him. His staff pointed at you, he mumbled incoherent words. Then, some all too coherent ones.

“Blood of the blood of my enemy, I hereby punish you. For your grandmother broke my heart with her words and it will break yours too! You will remain speechless, until someone confesses their love for you. Only if they do and you love them in return, the curse shall be lifted. A day and a night you shall have before the words strangle you. Hear my wrath, blood of the blood and know your time to be shortened.”

A maniacal laugh echoed through the room, white and grey fog sneaking through the door. You raised your head and he was gone, heaps of smoke the only sign he was there at all.

The next morning, you were mute.

———— It had taken a heavy toll on you. People could not understand why from one day to the next, your voice had gone out. The weather could not explain it. You couldn’t any more either.

Of course, Fili chose that day to show up. He did not exactly chose, for it was the first time in weeks he had managed to have some free time. Naturally, he arranged to come and see you.

“Hello.”

The smile you offered was…odd. Uneasy. He wondered what he could have done to deserve this thin lipped, excuse of a smile. You were always so quick to smile brightly, even in the early hours of the morning, eyes stinging with the last remnants of sleep.

“Are you not going to say it back?”

He rose an eyebrow, more out of curiosity than animosity. You tried. You really, really tried to tell him. But the clients were growing impatient and the line was growing thick behind him. Upon seeing you interact with them, gestures and half guessed prices, Fili realised you were not choosing not to answer. You could not. In an impulse, he jumped over the stand and joined you behind.

“Hello, good sir, what might we do for you today?”

The dandy man blinked once. Twice. His eyes kept going from you to Fili before choosing to ignore the fact that the future heir to the kingdom was now selling herbs and creams on the market. You could not stop him even if you had wanted to. Before you could try to intervene, he had already taken it upon himself to help you. He pushed you back and sat you down on your chariot. He did not stop, not for one minute. The whole morning he served and listened sometimes turning to you for confirmation. You intervened once or twice, and that was that. How long did he observe you to know almost as much as you did? From where you were you saw him leave his heavy pelted coat, warmed up by the activity. His shoulder blades barely hidden behind a linen shirt, became a good distraction to the feeling of helplessness within. Your fingers twitched once or twice, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him. You knew you couldn’t. But one can always dream. Right? Suddenly in lack of clients, he turned to you, chest rising rapidly. A hint of hair peeked from under his collarbones and you had a hard time focusing on his words.

“Now. How did you lose your voice?”

A real worry started to gain his face even as he smirked. He could not fool you anymore. His eyes started studying you, as if your face could tell him what had happened.

“Did you catch a cold?”

You shook your head and sighed. This was going to be impossible to explain. Suddenly, you sprung to your feet grabbing his hand. If he had been in his right mind, he would have stuttered and crumbled internally at that. Luckily he wasn’t and merely blushed when you did. Your hands were showing him something.

“Something to write?”

Excitedly, you nodded. He pulled a piece of paper and a charcoal out of his pocket and handed them to you. In quick words, you explained the situation to him. As he read on, his heart kept sinking. He knew his attachment to be love. Fili had known for quite some time. Regardless, if you did not feel the same then it was a doomed story. The deadline was growing closer as each moment passed and he was losing his mind. He kept pacing trying to find another way out of it. There was none. Even if he had gone to Gandalf - the sorcerer of the Kingdom - it would be too late before he’d come up with a solution. His only hope was to tell you how he felt. In the unlikely odds, that maybe, you would not reject him. If not, he’d make your last day a feast and a paradise. The taste of grief melted in his mouth. He swallowed it soon. In a whisper and an extended hand, he called you to him. When you took his hand, shaking and hesitant, his heartbeat accelerated.

If only he knew. His face told you everything. You could see his resolution disappear with every passing moment. He had no solution. So, he did not love you in the end and the dreams you had about living together were just dreams. You almost cried when he pulled you in, embracing you in his arms, his warmth. He could not look at you and you could not blame him for it.

“It’s time I told you…”

You held your breath, a deep sigh shaking him. He took your face in his hands, gentle and tender.

“I am afraid that all those months I have deceived you.”

Your heart sank again and as you struggled in his hold, he stopped you.

“Let me finish, please.”

You nodded, tearful sobs already on the edge of your lips.

“I have not been honest. From the very first time we met, I knew. I knew I would come to love you. I did not stop it. I knew our stations would not match. It didn’t bother me. It still doesn’t. I don’t care if you don’t love me back. I need you to hear this…”

Tears ran down your cheeks. He had to be lying. He had to be. How could he say such lies when you were in this deadly situation? How could he toy with you like this. Again, you struggled against his hold and he gripped your shoulders. Through the cloths his heat was both a fast poison and a powerful balm.

“Just look at me. Forget everything else. Forget where we are. Just listen to me.”

You did. You looked at him and his sea-coloured eyes. A deep feeling of content took root inside of you. Maybe if you were to die by tomorrow, enjoying him was not the worst thing you could be doing right now. So you did as he said and focused on his voice, his eyes, his neatly braided beard. Your fingertips combed gently through it and it made him stutter for a moment.

“I love… No. I adore you. You will not die today, I will not allow it. Never will I allow it. You cannot leave me like this. There were shadows in me before, now there’s only your light. Yours and no one else. How you did it, I will never know but I love you. I love you, and I will always love you until the end of time… —I love you too.”

Your voice croaked as if it had been unused for years. It startled both of you. An immense joy washed over you and you jumped into his arms, breathing him in, basking in his warmth. He held on to you so tight, it was sure to leave marks. The market around you was unchanged but you were. He looked at you dead in the eye, a mere centimetres from your face.

“Never, ever, do that again. —No promises.”

You laughed and squealed when he mumbled about “promises” and “worried sick” and you being the death of him one day. Quickly, in between two rants you pulled him to you and kissed him. He continued on for a good moment before he realised what had happened. He blushed furiously, the corner of his lips lifting. Soon, your lips found his, gently. He wanted to enjoy that kiss and all the others coming afterwards.

People around you, were sure to have something to talk about the next day.

On the other hand, you would choose to be nowhere else but right there in his arms.

All their words be damned.

[emmanuellececchi]

Writings list/ce que j'écris

Completed fanfiction / fanfics complétés:

Loki x Sif (Post Thor movie/Marvel) on AO3 in english :

Two of a kind

It has be elves...

FFXVI/FF16 on AO3 in english

Between a song and a book (Joshua x Reader)

A snowball fight (Joshua x Reader)

Autumn crocus in the meadows... (Joshua x Reader)

LOTR/AU Hallmark movie - in english

Crazy decorator Eomer meets surly electrician Gimli - Collab with @lucifers-legions: inspired by various discussion on tumblr, by Hallmark movies and many other things " helping a Scrooge rediscover his Christmas spirit, and revealing the true meaning of Christmas to those who may have lost sight of it along the way".

LOTR in english

A momentous Wedding : a collection of short stories, drabbles, prompt and so on. Independant chapters - more or less centered around Eowyn and Faramir's wedding (WIP - more chapters to come).

The white swan of Dol Amroth : a take on the romance between Eomer and Lothiriel. Short stories, multi-chapters and so on. Independant chapters (WIP - more chapters to come).

In dark time we sing : created for a fandom event. Who keeps the lore and knowledge alive in Rohan?

The end of Gimli son of Gloin : this is the story of what became of Gimli after the end of the war.

Absurd headcanon : LOTR and hobbit characters and cats

Faramir and Eowyn Christmas Story - Hallmark style : a very short one shot inspired by a profile pics I did.

Original Tale - inspired by LOTR and people of tumblr

The last tale of the Woodland

Published work

La petite boule de Noël/ The little Christmas Ball : Christmas tale on amazon (.fr, .com, .ca) en français et/and in english.

Books review (In case you're curious)

WIP/travail en cours:

Original work

The Dark Lady by the sea : medieval romance - First draft, worldbuilding and editing - currently at 179K word count.

An Alberta romance story : modern romance - being edited - currently at 50K word count - summary /excerpts

Les Princesses et le dragon (the Princesses and the dragon) : a funny tale for chidlren - 2254 word count - Being prepared for eBook publication (french only for the moment) - excerpt

Le voyage de Lily (Lily's journey) : 22 k word count - Written as a tale for children - editing needed.

Fanfiction

Two Idiots in Love: FF16 Fanfic - Joshua x reader - first edit finish, second soon.

Following a dream : Fanfic FFXVI Joshua x OC - Finished/editing (65 k words)

Lots of other ideas : LOTR, FF16, FF14.

List of Not-yet-written fics

Looking for a beta-reader (français/english)? Don't hesitate to ask. I love reading and if I have time, I'll do it gladly! Fantasy, SF, LOTR, FF16, original or fanfiction - Comments, suggestions, continuity, worldbuilding... Et je peux aussi pour les textes en français ;)

[amethystviolist]

holy shit you wrote so much since march??? that is so fucking impressive!! and hey, creating things for older fandoms is the best, it's always good to see people still keeping them alive. now when you give updates i will finally know whats it about :'D would you wanna give a summary of the fic's premise?

Thank you for the appreciation and the ask again! Yeah I went kinda crazy with it lol; I slowed down to a more normal rate again in May, thankfully.

And sure! It's not a terribly original premise I'm afraid, and I don't have a real blurb yet, but basically, the fic revolves around Bilbo being a dragon with a limited ability to shapeshift. I've read multiple dragon!Bilbo works (and enjoyed them!), but I wanted to do a pretty different take on dragons compared to canon Tolkien or other fanfics I've read.

A teaser might be something like: Five hundred year old former dragon Bilbo Baggins has successfully kept his private vow of peaceful hobbitish living for fifty years when Gandalf turns up with an inviting offer of adventure and less-than-inviting dwarvish company. Bilbo is forced to weigh his need to protect his new friends against his fear of discovery every step of the way to the mountain, and by the time he realizes some secrets are truly too big to keep, Bilbo will have to decide exactly how much a dragon is willing to sacrifice for the dwarves of Erebor.

So for the conception of the fic, Tolkien's dragons are of course based on medieval epics where they're no more than cunning, cruel, and greedy creatures, and while that simplicity can be a good narrative tool, I got interested in the Middle Earth creation of dragons and then what else they might be besides vehicles for plot or embodiments of evil.

From extant theories on their creation (I'm skipping a lot of details on that or we'll be here all day!), I got really into my own take on draconic culture in Middle Earth, and then really into exploring Bilbo's trauma from his draconic past and how he's handling it as a hobbit (spoiler: he's just avoiding it). His canon character arc takes a naive bachelor to worldly adventurer, but my fic starts him from a place of power already. Dragon!Bilbo knows evil intimately and so he's terrified of himself. His arc instead involves accepting all parts of himself and allowing himself to really live again, and of course there's a lot of secrets and lying and oh god feelings that he has to deal with along the way.

Anyway, at its emotional core, the mega fic is about identity and self-acceptance/forgiveness. At its plot core, it's about keeping a terrible secret from thirteen people you want to befriend and how that causes a lot of interesting problems. I've written all the way through canon events (which are definitely more guidelines than rules, considering the impacts of Bilbo's true heritage) and am now in the murky waters of post-canon. I've got an outline and am working through it now. Post-canon deals mainly with the aftermath of a major sacrifice during BotFA (no spoilers!), and then what to do with the One Ring.

If you've read this far, thank! If you're still interested, please enjoy a little early excerpt below.

“‘Bilbo Baggins’, is it?” a deep voice read out.

The hobbit by that name, a middle-aged and bronze-haired fellow with a green waistcoat and a pipe in his mouth, looked up from the book on his lap and startled quite violently. 

“Gandalf,” Bilbo gasped, barely saving the book before it fell to the ground. The wizard in question was standing by his front gate and frowning at Bilbo’s nicely-labeled mailbox, his brow tight with confusion.

“My old friend, what in the names of the Valar are you still doing here?” Gandalf asked, sounding as genuinely surprised as Bilbo had ever heard him. 

“Ah.” Bilbo shifted a little on his nicely cushioned bench. “Well, you’ve been away for quite some time… I daresay I’ve changed quite a lot since we last met.”

“On that, we are agreed,” Gandalf replied, and stared at Bilbo as if trying to see through his very bones.

“Er, do come inside,” Bilbo invited him politely, and got to his feet. “I’ve got a kettle on, and some biscuits which aren’t too terribly burned.”

“A real achievement for one of your kind,” Gandalf chortled, until Bilbo shot him a glare. The wizard hurriedly quieted his amusement and let himself in the gate, following Bilbo up the grassy steps and through the green door that led to Bag End.

As soon as Bilbo closed the round door, he found himself unexpectedly nervous. He had nothing to fear from Gandalf, of course, but his situation was… inexplicably odd.

“So,” Bilbo began a little more hesitantly then he would have liked to admit, “What… brings you to the Shire?”

Gandalf fixed Bilbo with a disgruntled stare. “I was seeking you, of course! Imagine my surprise when I found your old caves deserted, your books and blankets all gone! I thought you’d been slain, and your treasures carried off, and yet somehow no one I asked knew anything about a-”

“Yes, yes, alright!” Bilbo interrupted with a suspicious glance out the nearest window. “I appreciate your concern, but not so loudly! I’m treated with enough suspicion as it is,” the hobbit grumbled, and motioned for Gandalf to follow him through the halls of Bag End until they reached the pantry, which was windowless and had two doors with sturdy locks. Bagginses of course protected their food well, as any respectable hobbit would, but Bilbo had also found that it was an excellent space for less-than-respectable happenings. 

Which he himself had no prior experience with, naturally.

“Olórin,” Bilbo breathed after he had lit a candle and closed both doors, sealing the wizard into the wide room. “My friend, it’s good to see you! I was going to send word, but I had no idea how a letter would reach you. You’re not called the Wandering Wizard for nothing, it seems,” Bilbo said with an amused smile.

“You could have left a note in the northern Blue Mountains!” Gandalf complained, shaking his head. “I had to fight my way through three dozen goblins before I found the levels where you used to reside.”

Bilbo gave him an unimpressed look, for only three dozen goblins were no match for one of the Istari at full strength, and they both knew it.

“It was an annoyance,” Gandalf amended at Bilbo’s expression. “And more importantly, it caused me no small amount of worry for your well-being.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to worry you. But you also could have come back sooner,” Bilbo said rather stiffly. He found himself compulsively organizing the jars of jam by size, until he realized he was acting a bit too much like Bungo and tried to stop fidgeting. “Belladonna and Bungo offered me their home and their name as my own, and Bag End is a much better place for reading than my old drafty caverns. It would have been ridiculous for me to refuse their kind offer.”

“And how are the dear Bagginses?” Gandalf asked, his eyes crinkling happily. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen them…” The wizard trailed off. His countenance sobered all too quickly as he saw that Bilbo’s expression had turned cold and stony, his hands stilling on the many jars of jam. “Oh. Oh, I see,” he murmured. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that, my friend. I know how much they meant to you.”

The pantry was unbearably silent for a time.

“We shared books,” Bilbo finally said very quietly, and Gandalf looked so shocked that Bilbo would have surely found it amusing under other circumstances.

“Indeed,” Gandalf finally managed, eyeing Bilbo with fresh concern. 

The room was once again silent, and Bilbo shook his head to clear it. “My loss is not the reason you’ve come, though,” he said after a long moment, glaring at an innocent wheel of cheese, for anger was better to keep moving on with than sorrow. But he forced himself to gentle his gaze somewhat to look back up at Gandalf. “Is this merely a social call, then?”

Gandalf’s lips quirked back up into a typically mysterious smile. “I’m afraid not. In fact, I came looking for you to share in an adventure.”

“Adventure?” Bilbo snorted loudly, and ignored the twin wisps of smoke that emerged from his nostrils. “Gandalf, please, I’m far too old for such nonsense. Surely you have many other - and far more pleasant! - options for traveling companions.”

“I’m not going on a walking holiday,” Gandalf corrected him with a huff, now looking rather put out. “I’m escorting a third party on a quest to reclaim their homeland, and your skill set would be most helpful on this dangerous journey.”

“My ‘skill set’?” Bilbo repeated incredulously. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? My ‘skills’ primarily consist of reading voraciously and offending the delicate sensibilities of my neighbors.”

The wizard fixed him with a piercing, knowing look. “We both know you’re more than a simple hobbit, my old friend.”

Bilbo scowled as fiercely as this face allowed, and crossed his arms in annoyance. “Maybe I don’t want to be more than a simple hobbit anymore,” he said sharply. “Has it ever occurred to you that I am safe and comfortable here, in this form, in this life? I’m Bilbo Baggins now. I’ve changed, Gandalf, and I don’t want to be… who I was. I’m nothing like that anymore, and have vowed to never be again.”

Gandalf’s blue eyes twinkled a little, and he nodded once. “Very well. Bilbo... I understand your feelings on the subject.” He pointed one gnarled finger at Bilbo, and added firmly, “But this will be very good for you.” With that cryptic pronouncement, Gandalf turned and unlocked one of the pantry doors, knocking his head on the low doorframe and cursing to himself as he hastily exited.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo exclaimed, his annoyance now tainted by his damn curiosity. “What do you mean? I will not be going with you on any sort of mad adventure, and I mean it! I couldn’t leave my hoard for that long as you should well know!” He ran after Gandalf, who was finding his way to the front door much too quickly.

“I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon,” Gandalf said instead of offering any kind of explanation. “Do try not to incinerate anyone while I’m away.”

“Pfft, incinerate anyone,” Bilbo scoffed. “You’re the only one in danger of that, Gandalf the Grey! Stop running away and tell me what you meant by that! Ah, you confounding-”

Bilbo tripped on the upturned edge of a rug (undoubtedly Gandalf’s fault, as so many things were) and tumbled most ungracefully to the floor. By the time the hobbit had regained his feet, the wizard was long gone, his gray-clad form hurrying down the path away from Bag End.

“Blasted, meddlesome wizards,” Bilbo muttered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

[If you've read this far, please let me know! I'll be wanting a beta reader probably at some point, or someone to bounce ideas off of would be lovely as well.]

[landoom]

For the fic writers askes: AEIOU please

Fic writer ask - feel free to ask me more!

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

That's a very hard question... I have more than 500 works posted on AO3 + fics written before that in French...

I have a very fond memory of a Feliciano Lopez/Marat Safin fic that I wrote with a dear friend during months like ten years ago.

For the most recent ones, I really enjoyed my Logandoscar polyamory "Love is an infinite resource "

Loves the pairing, the poly side of it and it was my longest fic ever (before "Red White and Williams Blue").

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

I mostly write fanfiction about male character in order not to really identify with them!

That being said, I quite feel like George would be the closest to me.

Especially in my dom/sub fic " I find my way back to a higher ground" because he struggle with letting go and loosing control and it's something I had to work on myself (went to a therapist rather than finding a dom, though lol)

I: How many fandoms have you written in?  Do you have a favorite?

Here is a little list :

Saint Seiya - Tennis RPF - Football RPF - 30 seconds to Mars RPF - The Hobbit Actor RPF - Merlin - Merlin Actor RPF - Formula 1 RPF

Merlin has been my longest fandom (as an active participant) and it keeps a special place in my heart as I spend so many great moments in that fandom and I'll always be impressed how alive it stayed even after the show ended.

F1 RPF is the only fandom I'm active in at the moment so... This is clearly my actual favourite!

O: What are your thoughts on people writing fanfic of your fanfic?

I'm honoured, of course!

I like to be notified about it but for me, fanfictions are created to be shared so I like that idea!

U: Is there a pairing you would like to write, but haven’t tried yet.

As a multi-shipper at hearts, I can always be tempted by some new parings!

At the moment, I have enough WIP's so I don't have concrete plans to write many new pairing.

I'd like to explore Logan/Lando and Logan/James a bit more (longer works).

I'm also tempted by Logan/George/Alex!

[delusionalmultifandomwriter]

Oakshields (fluff)

Fandom: The Hobbit

Requested?: Yes, in real life by my best friend (i love you!)

Oneshot: Thorin and Kili sharing a soft moment

Words: 849

Escaping death was soft as an eagel's wing. Literally. Kili held tight to the eagel's feathers as he tried not to fall to death. Fili sat in front of him and held the face into the wind. The night was dark around them, the fire was burning bright behind the company but the howling of the wargs disappeared in the distance just like the blazing fire.

Kili laughed brightly. He was alive! He wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him into a bone crushing hug. Fili turned his head to face him, Kili saw the deep worry in his eyes as he grabbed his hand and held it tight.

"Thorin." Fili whispered fearful. Kili looked around and then he saw him. Thorin's body was covered in bruises and cuts, hanging limb in the claws of one of the giant eagel's. "Thorin!" Kili yelled but the dwarf king didnt react. "Thorin! Thorin!"

The flight took long but not once did Thorin wake up. Kili dozed off against his brother's shoulder at some point during the night. In the morning, the eagel's landed on a high stone top. One by one did they drop off the dwarves as well as Bilbo and Gandalf. The eagel that held Thorin in his claws set him down on the floor with a gentleness that only a giant eagel could possess.

Kili reached up and patted the head of the eagel that carried him and his brother. He ran his hands through the absurdly soft feathers while Gandalf knelt down next to the dwarfking to heal his wounds. Thoring awakened gasping.

Kili ran over to him and pulled him in a bone crushing hug. He buried his nose in Thorin's coat as his uncle hugged him back, feeling his big hands on his back. Kili felt safe and sobbed into Thorin's neck.

The nightfall came quick, the company had slowed down a while ago because even though Thorin's wounds had been healed, his body was still weak, lacking strength to lead the way. Kili was trotting near him as Gandalf lead them through the forest, finally stopping when their path became too dark to continue.

"Gandalf, why can't the eagels fly us to the Mountain?" Kili asked, the questiong was bothering him all day. Gandalf chuckled knowingly. "The eagel's never fly towards the evil if it is avoidable." He said wisely. "Do they fear the dragon?" Kili continued to ask while Gandalf sat down on a fallen tree.

"No, my friend, a dragon does not attack animals. It is the gold they fear. The depths of the mines. The greediness of the people." Kili nodded silently. "Now, i believe Thorin would benefit from your presence." Gandalf vowed over to Thorin who was leaning against a tree, inspecting his sword.

Kili headed over and sat down next to him. He nudged Thorin with his shoulder as a greeting and Thorin put down his sword. "How are you?" Kili asked. Thorin contemplated the question for a moment. "Good. Living." He finally answered.

Kili rested his head on Thorin's shoulder, his hair tickling the dwarfking's neck. "You have always been a clingy one." Thorin said slightly annoyed but brushing Kili's hair out of the way. "Admit it, you like it." The young one said and smiled brightly at Thorin. He rolled his eyes but leaned back without complaining.

"Maybe a little. Your mother was way too soft with you and now you are all clingy." He grumbled. Kili nudged him angrily. "Sure but now we went out on adventure with our tough, not clingy uncle and we will return as men." He joked.

Thorin leaned away and slapped the back of Kili's head. "I only promised her to keep you alive, not to keep spoiling you." He grumbled but as he leaned back, Kili continued to snuggle up to him. "I wont get rid of you tonight, will i?" Thorin asked. "No way." Kili answered muffled into the fur of Thorin's coat.

"I was scared for you, laying there all lifeless." Kili whispered and looked up at Thorin. The dwarfking only shrugged in response, not wanting to think about it. "I fear the oakshield is gone?" Thorin said sternly with a slightly disappointed tone in his voice. "Kili nodded slowly. "What a shame. Stupid bird, it grapped my sword but couldn't take the shield with him." Thorin said monotonously. Kili burst out laughing.

"In defense of th eagel, it looks like a branch." He shut up as Thorin gave him a death glare. "Might as well be time to get you a real shield." Kili said smiling. "A shield worthy a king." Thorin huffed and rolled his eyes but smiled slightly towards his nephew.

"You have a lot to learn, young dwarf prince." Thorin nudged Kili. "A weapon is not worthy to you, you need to be worthy to the weapon." Kili smiled brightly and leaned his head on Thorin's shoulder. "Do you think that one day i will be worthy to have a branch too?" He asked jokingly. Thorin smiled at him.

"Maybe one day."

--------

Same work on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55396789

[flowercrowngods]

🍓and 🎲for the tag game !!

thank you for the ask, mwah!! 🥰🌷

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

as a tiny kid i used to write a lot of original stuff but inspired heavily by whatever i‘d just read or watched. fannish explorations of characters and re-writes of canon started in primary school when i used to role play some imaginary harry potter scenes (i know :///) on the school yard — like same scene every time, and we were sooo many characters jumping around the scene to sell it :D once we got outing 4th grade i started writing the things instead of playing them out with my friend. (first real fic writing fandom was hobbit/lord of the rings, i think.)

and now here i am 🥰

🎲 ⇢ what stops you from writing more in your free time? 

oh there’s a series of things that stop me. it needs to be said that the way i write is not at all sustainable, so reason number one would be a need to re-charge. there’s a certain emotional heaviness sometimes that i need to genuinely recover from.

another reason is simply a lack of inspiration or motivation, or a lack of patience for a certain story/wip/idea. or an unwillingness for that amount of emotional vulnerability, or even a momentary inability for it.

see, writing takes so much energy for me, and i know yall come in claiming “dio you’re so talented” and i kiss yall on the nose. but it’s not talent, it’s skill and it’s proficiency and it’s really hard work, and if i want to keep a certain quality, i must allow myself the luxury of taking my time between one work and the next.

and unfortunately i’m also really fucking mentally ill and when you’re busy keeping yourself alive against your will, calling it “free time” is a bit of a stretch more often than any of us are willing to admit

🤍🌷 anyway, send me some asks

[its-atlass]

Hullo darling! Since you paid such a lovely visit to my ask box yesterday, I thought I would return the favour! 💛 What are you working on these days? Do you have many projects planned for this year? What are you most excited to be working on? ☺️ Tell me all the things, please!

Hi dear!

Thank you so much for your ask, I really appreciate it :)

Unfortunately I have been up to my neck with my university courses as of late, and as a result haven't been able to really get any writing done outside of it. I have, however, been slowly chipping away at crocheting a really cute Smaug plushy and a cardigan inspired by Noah Kahan's Stick Season album. I'd say those are what's keeping me sane right now 😅.

As for plans for this year, I'm really hoping to get the second act of Make It Out written and out to the masses, workshop my abandoned Halloween WIP, and HOPEFULLY start planning out another fic idea that's been eating me alive. I may also start to dabble in other fandom fic work, as I've gotten especially fond of the BBC Merlin show as well as obsessing over a new sequel series (The Magnus Protocol) to my favourite horror podcast (The Magnus Archives). Now, that isn't to say I'll be leaving the Hobbit fandom, but simply I'll be expanding my creative abilities :)

The one thing I'm most excited to be working on... Hmm, now that's a tough question. I'm (almost) always happy to be trucking away at MIO, but I think starting on something new will be exciting as well! I've already started the research for this au and I think it's gonna be really fun to try and navigate.

Thank you so much for your lovely questions and I hope you have a lovely weekend ahead of you 💜💜

[fantasyinallforms]

Trying to organize my ask notebook better since I've run out of space under general fandom asks and I would like to know what fandoms you are in so I can ask the correct people about the correct fandoms.

I think my main ones are Bagginshield/The Hobbit, Sherlock/Johnlock, Dragon Age Inquisition, {Pippin/Faramir Merry/Eowyn}/The Lord of the Rings and I dip my toes in a few that I currently can't remember but ones I don't engage in canon at all are Good Omens but only for Crowley/Azirapheal ship, Stranger Things but only for Steve/Eddie ship, The Witcher but only for Geralt/Jaskier things and Ladybug and Cat Noir but only for Adrinette .

Also do you like getting asks that are or include story ideas or snippets?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer within a certain amount of time or at all.

This blog is basically Bagginshield/ The Hobbit and The Tolkien Legendarium is everything to me. That is what keeps me alive on this planet. but I am also a big fan of

Good Omens (Aziracrow), Dragon Age (all games), Hazbin Hotel/ Hell of a Boss (Huskerdust and Ozzy/ Fizzy), Dungeon Meshi, and TTRPG's.

And yeah, I don't mind story ideas and snippets at all.

[exercise-of-trust]

(springboarding off this post: i started writing a tag essay and then a reblog essay and then partway through quoting a large section of the hobbit i began to genuinely feel bad about derailing a fun post into *gestures* this shit, but unfortunately my single brain cell decided this was the only thing we were gonna think about all day.)

i think... the original post is tapping in to an acute dissonance in property-law-intuitions between these groups, and i think the dwarves would definitely have been inclined to take the feanorians' side. but i don't think the dwarves, or at least the dwarves of the third age, would be *confused* about it - this is (allegedly) the whole issue at the heart of the nauglamir business. they've had to deal with it too. (allegedly because we only have the narrator's word for it, but whatever*)

ignoring all the extraneous description/assumptions about motives: the stated argument of the dwarves in claiming the nauglamir is that thingol has no personal claim or connection to it. the dwarves gave it to finrod, who has since died and whose kingdom is in ruins, and húrin found it there ("took it as a thief") and gave it to thingol. but it was never meant to be his! and this is a common argument in fandom today on why thingol has no right to the silmaril and should never have demanded it (and certainly should not have kept it upon receipt). the flow is exactly the same: this item has found itself in a contested state because the original owner isn't currently capable of retrieving it; someone else brings it to thingol, who considers himself entitled to keep it because it was abandoned (the nauglamir) or owed (the silmaril) (kind of**).

but all of that to say - the dwarves have been dealing with the same shit, with even more disastrous results, for nearly as long as the feanorians, and they're well aware of it. in fact the nauglamir incident is pretty clearly what's being referenced in 'flies and spiders' in the hobbit, in what's probably the most even-handed retelling: "in ancient days [the elves] had had wars with some of the dwarves, whom they accused of stealing their treasure. it is only fair to say that the dwarves gave a different account, and said that they only took what was their due, for the elf-king had bargained with them to shape his raw gold and silver, and had afterwards refused to give them their pay." a little further down: "all this was well known to every dwarf, though thorin's family had had nothing to do with the old quarrel".

so - to the dwarves, the fact that non-noldor (or non-feanorian noldor) have weird takes on stolen property isn't just an academic or theoretical issue - they're on the feanorians' side because it's their story too. (which really makes the period of collaboration in hollin, and its eventual fall, all the more tragic).

but legolas and gimli go to fangorn, and to the glittering caves, and after a long-ass time of the feanorians (and eol) being the main point of contact and alliance between elves and dwarves based on existing common ground and common interests - gimli and legolas have nothing in common at all. but they love each other and they go west together and they learn to understand each other anyway, and i'm extremely emo about it.

*on the one hand it's no fun ignoring the text entirely when you're doing meta but also, on the other, the silm does have an in-universe writer with extremely obvious personal biases? so it becomes a matter of discretion when you want to ignore the parts that seem to be a result of unfounded prejudice or wild conjecture.

**in the most generous light i can see how the silmaril could be considered forfeit due to c&c's actions against beren and lúthien. that is THE MOST generous reading and i still have issues with it, namely a) thingol was explicitly hoping the feanorians would kill beren for him even if he made it out of angband alive, b) thingol... very much also did imprison lúthien for an extended period of time, c) iirc historically a weregild was a set price codified in law, or something agreed upon/voluntarily offered by the guilty party; you didn't just... take someone's stuff and say "weregild!" when they asked for it back. yes i know isildur and the ring, whatever, that is not generally how weregilds worked and isildur's claim appears to be invalid anyway (c.f. council of elrond; frodo says "then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!" when aragorn's descent is announced; aragorn responds "it does not belong to either of us"). this is a long tangent but in conclusion FUCK THINGOL

[emmanuellececchi]

The Last Tale of the Woodland

This story has been inspired by : a tag game, a song, a picture and someone who is very active in the Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit fandom. @sotwk I began writing it thinking about you and the story got out of hand. I also thank with all my heart @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras for her help, very beautiful suggestions and advices in editing this text.

So, here it is. For you, and others, to enjoy.

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

Once upon a time there was a king, wise and loving. He had reigned supreme over his people in the dark forest for eons. In his heart there was only care for those under his wings and all he had ever wanted was to protect his land and his people.

But as time passed, the time of the king also passed. More and more humans were coming. And the knowledge of the woodland dwindled in their memories, until no one remembered who it was who lived there. Humans became bold, forgot their fears and encroached more and more on the border of the dark forest.

If at first the king, as benevolent and understanding as he was, had let the humans come within the border of his land, soon it became evident he couldn’t tolerate more. The humans’ activities were like a sickness, eroding the strength of the wood. The king fought back, the forest fought back, mysterious and dangerous. Old tales began to be remembered and, for a time, the forest was saved.

But not long enough, not for the lifetime of the Woodland king. But still he fought, to preserve his land for his people, to find a way to keep them from disappearing into the nothingness of everyday life.

-----

Once upon a time, there was a little girl and her name was Ava. She looked at the world with eyes full of wonder and amazement. One day, her parents went on vacation to a cottage. The whole valley was filled with small houses, separated by groves. It was charming. But on the side of the mountain and creeping towards the entrance of the valley, there was a dark forest.

In the past, it had been bigger, filling the entirety of the valley and even spreading farther. But now, it had been cut down, tree by tree, slowly. The old tales had been forgotten but an unease was still felt around the entrance of the forest. People would get lost if they entered the wood, some spoke about whisperings heard at night. But even then, people forgot how to respect the wood. It made the little girl sad.

Ava’s cottage was not far from the edge. Her parents were not unduly afraid of the trees and the shadows among them. They would sit in their small garden and listen to the songs of the birds. They would speak of the past, telling the old stories to little Ava who was listening to them, eyes wide and mouth open. They talked to her about the inner beauty of the dark forest and they told her to see past her fear.

In them, the old tales were alive but not those of terror. They spoke instead about a king, protecting his land. They spoke about the right of the forest to exist and thrive. Ava fell in love with the forest, the twisted trees, the dark and shadows, the voice of the wind, the sheen of green. She was heartbroken when they left at the end of summer. Ava’s parents promised her that they would come back, a sweet smile on their faces.

Year after year, they came, and little Ava grew up. And always she loved the forest. But with time passing, the yearning of her heart grew, little by little, until one day, she decided to visit the forest and see and hear for herself. Her parents were old now. They would still tell her of the old stories but more often than once, they would fall asleep amidst the tale.

That night, Ava waited for them to sleep, lulled into their rest by the sweet sounds of the wind and the trees whispering. Then, Ava crept out of the cottage and walked towards the trees. Little Ava that wasn’t so little anymore walked through the darkness and into the trees. Branches and roots barred the way but it didn’t matter. The forest needed to protect itself and she understood that. And so, carefully, with love and kindness, she walked through. It was dark. But Ava wasn’t afraid. The light of the moon lit her way.

There was a phosphorescence on the branches, small fireflies were darting around. The light was all around her even if it was faint. She could barely see but it was alright. She used her hands, and it felt as if she was caressing ancient limbs. And it felt as if they were enjoying her soft touch. She began whispering sweet and soft words, as if she was soothing some old friend. How long since someone had come into this wood with only love in their heart?

Then, Ava stopped. There was a brighter light further down the path, and for the first time she became afraid. The sweet songs of the trees she understood, the smell of earth and rotten leaves she loved, but this light was too bright and she wondered what was in it. Still, she wanted to know, curious about the heart of the forest. And so, with a prayer to the woods, she went on.

But she didn’t get far, for he was suddenly there in front of her. As if born of thin air, evoked by the forest, the king of the Woodland was here. For who could it be but the King, older than even the oldest tree. Impossibly tall, hair long and light as the moon, a crown of twigs and holly around his brows. His eyes, as blue as the purest ice, were looking at her. There was no warmth in them, but no hate either

She bowed, as she could feel that he was the power palpitating through everything in this forest, from the deepest roots to the highest leaves. And she looked upon him and her heart opened like a flower knowing it would be ephemeral. For what mortal could stand and endure in his presence? To see him was to see perfection and die after. And she wouldn’t mind. And still, she felt sadness. For the wood was dying, and he would disappear and all beauty would leave this world and her heart was desperate beyond words.

“What are you doing here, little girl?” His voice was like the sound of the ocean, deep and powerful. Ava shivered. “The forest is beautiful. I am sad to see it disappearing.”

The king looked into her heart. Ava could feel his eyes on her innermost thoughts and feelings, and she wondered if she would be found wanting. She thought about her parents, alone in their cottage. They would be sad if something happened to her. But still, she would not flee the king.

“Your eyes have seen much already. Tell me, child of humans, why are you here?” Ava hesitated, as she thought she had answered this already.

“I wanted to see the heart of the forest.” It was the truth. The king nodded. “The heart is for no mortals to see. You will leave and never come back, for the next time would be the last.”

Ava felt sad but not unduly surprised. She nodded.

“Then I will go back to my family. And I will share with them new stories of the wood to add to those they already told me.”

“You would share stories of the wood…?” His voice was far away and his eyes looked through her, as if she had become transparent. Then, taking something from the air, as if plucking a chord from an invisible harp, the king held out something in her direction.

Ava walked towards him and, after he nodded, took what he offered. It was a quill, made of a golden feather although she couldn’t place from which bird. The tip was of a silvery metal and it was light in her hand. She looked at this perfect object and then back at the king.

He said nothing but pointed out of the wood. She bowed and left. She didn’t turn back to see if he was still there. It wouldn’t be proper. Besides, she had a mission now.

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

Ava began writing out the tales her parents had told her, tales of love, of magic, but she also began searching for other tales, those even older. Of the forest fighting, of the nightmare living in the forest at night, of the voices heard luring the innocent towards their loss.  Year after year, Ava searched for more. Not just stories, but knowledge as well.

The Woodland, known by many names, had a rich tradition, a source and origin of so many beautiful legends. And she took note of every one of them, each bit of knowledge she committed to memory and then wrote them down. And, sometimes, she would dream. Dream of the King, who would share some of his own stories and, in the morning, she would write them down as well.

After a while, she finished her first book and published it. People around the forest got curious and began reading, and soon the forest became a source of interest. Ava felt worried. Did she bring the end of her beloved forest by her actions?  But the people that had loathed it began to feel respect and awe. And as a source of culture, protecting it became a priority for many who lived nearby.

During those years, Ava married and had children. She kept going back to the cottage with her parents, and when time had called them back, still she went. First alone, then with her partner and finally with her children.

Never did she go back into the green shadows, for the king had forbidden it. The next time she would enter, it would be her end, and she had a mission to accomplish first. Over time, her children had children. She finished and published a second book. To her surprise, and pleasure, the people got together to transform the forest into a sanctuary. It would be protected and left alone.

Seeing the barriers surrounding the entrance, the boards signaling to stay away, Ava had smiled a secret smile. But she said nothing. It wasn’t for her to reveal what was in it. And maybe a time would never come for it to be revealed. Still, to see the old trees protected and even people petitioning to allow the forest to expand and grow again, was a balm on her tired heart. She felt her mission had been successful in a way that hadn’t been intended. But she was happy, even as time was passing.

Then, one day, they went back to the cottage, Ava and some of her children, and one of her grandchildren. They weren’t really fond of her stories. Having heard them all their lives, they were bored and couldn’t care less. But the smallest one, her granddaughter, had the same look of awe and wonder when watching the whole world. And so Ava told her many stories, even some that nobody else knew.

But time was trickling through her fingers, as is the law for all mortals, and one night Ava knew it was time for her to finally go back to the wood. She prepared everything and left her quill to her granddaughter. But when she began walking along the path that hadn’t seemed to change in all those years, she heard the small pitter patter of feet. Her granddaughter was following her.

She smiled. It was alright. She stopped and waited for the child. And Ava brought her with her and showed her the beauty of the forest, the spider webs glistening in the moonlight, the fireflies, the phosphorescence and then… The bright light of the heart, where the King lived, forever and ever, away from the mortal world.

Ava felt tired. She smiled, as she knew it was the end. She sat and took her grandchild to her chest.

“Do not be afraid, for soon I’ll be away. This is the end of the journey for me but not for you. You’ll have many things to do in life. Keep your child eyes, my sweet little leaf.” Then she fell asleep and the child sat at her side and began crying.

“Dry your tears, child, for the one you love is not far away.” And the child looked up and found the King of the Woodland, as mesmerizing as her grandmother had told her, with his blue eyes and hair like the moonlight. He came close to her grandmother, caressing the white hair of the old lady, and smiled with something akin to love. Then, with a strange flick of his wrist, something glittery came out of the body.

Soon, there was a glistening shadow by the king’s side and the child recognised the outline of her grandmother, but younger than she had been in life. The shadow smiled and waved, blowing a kiss in her direction. Then, she bowed to the king and left in the direction of the light, of the heart.

“And you, child, what do you wish? For your grandmother gave me great love without asking anything in return, and so a boon I would offer to you.”

The child looked at this power, feeling her heart swell in a love that was greater than what she could have imagined. She shook her head. Then, in a small voice, she said, “I hope I could write as well as her.” The king smiled and nodded.

“Then your quill is waiting for you in your grandmother’s house. And child? Know this. For the service rendered to me and my people by your grandmother, I’ll grant you this. When the path becomes too heavy in your life? Think of me. I’ll come to you and whisper in your dreams of things of the past and beauty untold. And when the time comes, come back to me and here you’ll have a place, as long as the woods live.”

The child bowed and began walking back to the edge of the forest. She heard a sound, and she knew then that the king was behind her. When they went out, she heard another sound and here, the king lay her grandmother’s body. Then, he put his hand on her head, as if blessing her, and smiled one last time before leaving through the wood.

The child stayed long, while the sun was slowly painting the sky pink and purple. Her family came out in alarm. But her face was calm and serene. They said she had been shaken, that she was mourning.  Indeed she was. But she said nothing, for she knew her grandmother was where she had always wanted to be. And that, one day, she would also go there, leave this world and join the King of the Woodland, to sing and tell stories of the Elden time, forever and ever at his side.

[glassgulls]

Red Red Rose

Fandom: The Hobbit

Warning: None

Summary: An evening around the campfire with entertainment to bring home the truth that no matter who or where we are thoughts of home carry us onwards.

Word Count: 1,129

Comments: It's Burns Night so a shameless attempt to quote one if my favourite poems.

Despite the cold darkness creeping around you, your heart was warm and content.

The campfire you sitting by toasted your cold flesh gently while the stew you had finished filled you with sated glee. The company around you seemed in an equally cheerful mood despite the long trek today.

You sat crossed legged in rapt attention as the group of dwarves sat around you singing softly. Despite not understanding the words the melancholic lull of their voices wrapped around you causing you to shiver.

They must be singing of their home, the aching homesickness was something you could understand and relate to. After all, you were also far from home, a freak accident causing you to one moment be in the familiarity of your life in a modern technological world to the alien land of Middle Earth.

Though waking up here you were not going to curse your luck completely. The Shire had been strange but so welcoming you couldn't fault the kindness and generosity of your equally bewildered hosts. And now you had the continued friendship of your friend Bilbo, Gandalf and a new company of dwarves to keep your spirits up and hope alive that you would return home.

Pulling your knees up to your chest you rested your chin on them and smiled wanly as they finished. Giving a soft couple of claps to show your appreciation and enjoyment at their song.

Kili immediately preened at your attention causing Fili to nudge his shoulder to grin at him. Even Thorin looked more peaceful this evening with the accompaniment of song and companions. He sat on a log next to Dwalin watching the firelight flicker.

"That was really wonderful." You say beaming at them.

"Yes," agreed Bilbo, smiling as he blew smoke from his pipe. "A rare treat indeed." The Hobbit finished.

"Who should continue the entertainment next?" Bofur asked, glancing between you and Bilbo. A knot of anxiety sat in your stomach.

"Not me!" You reply quickly raising your hands in defence. "I can't sing to save my life." You laugh nervously.

"You don't have to sing." Kili teased leaning forward smirking.

"Yes, a story?" Fili agreed tugging on one of his moustache braids.

You bit your bottom lip and drew your knees closer to your chest. The warmth of the fire now seems to match the embarrassed heat in your cheeks.

"I'm not much of a storyteller either." You explain slowly. The familiar feeling of dread of being made to perform in front of an audience.

Unconsciously you start to fiddle with the sleeve of your tunic. Eyes flicking up you see the expectant look and kindly smiles aimed at you.

Racking your mind you think of standing up in front of your class and having to read aloud.

"You have such a lovely voice." Your teacher had coaxed, an older woman with warm eyes and knitted cardigans that always looked homemade.

You blink as a long forgotten memory of her class is suddenly in your mind's eye and a fond smile hits you. As Dwalin speaks up to the others to not pressure you, you glance up at them.

"How about a short poem?" You venture and the rest of the company halts their conversation. All eyes swivel back to you and even Gandalf looks up with a raised brow.

"A short poem would very much hit the spot I dare say." The wizard with a warm smile after a heartbeat of stillness.

You nod at him and then wait a moment for the others to settle around you again. The heat in your cheeks reaches your ears and you can't even make eye contact with the group around you.

"Well when I was younger we recited poems to celebrate our national bard's birthday," your voice quavers slightly. "It's been a few years so I apologise if I stumble over his words." you try to preface it in with your insecurities.

"I'm sure it will be wonderful." Bilbo nods encouragingly at you.

"O my Luve is like a red, red rose

Closing your eyes you see your teachers smile again. The scrap of paper in your hands that shook as you trembled in front of your class.

Opening your mouth you can see the words in your mind's eye, muscle memory of reciting it over and over in your childhood bedroom to perfect it.

That’s newly sprung in June;"

"O my Luve is like the melody

You start, the shake in your voice steadying as you take deep breaths.

That’s sweetly played in tune."

"So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

The words burn in your chest as you continue to keep your eyes closed.

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry."

"Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

A sad smile tugs at your lips as your voice rises and falls in a simple melody along with the words. The yearning cry of a poet's words tugging at you even from another world.

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run."

"And fare thee weel, my only luve!

Opening your eyes you watch the fire light flicker and crackle with your words. The night air drinking your voice as you sing, you're sure completely off key, but not caring in your bubble of bittersweet lost love.

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

Though it were ten thousand mile."

There's a heartbeat of silence and the wave of nervous anxiety hits you in the stomach again. Chewing you lip you open your mouth to apologise for your poor performance but Thorin has already returned from his contemplative reverie and is giving you a rare smile full of warmth and wistfulness that reaches his eyes.

As you let the last words roll off your tongue you let them hang in the air. Finally glancing up you see the others group you on rapt fascination. There's a mixture of sad smiles and far off stares as they seem lost in memories.

He gives a quiet huff of a sigh and nods his head.

"I think I speak for us all that you have done his words proud." Thorin states with nods and quiet hums of acknowledgement from the others. Relieved tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you duck your head down and nod a thanks in return.

Perhaps your home world was not so different after all. Thanks to the words of a poet you don't feel such an alien here after all.

For a moment you don't feel so far from home anymore and you wipe the hot tears burning your eyes.

[am0o5]

Trying to organize my ask notebook better since I've run out of space under general fandom asks and I would like to know what fandoms you are in so I can ask the correct people about the correct fandoms.

I think my main ones are Bagginshield/The Hobbit, Sherlock/Johnlock, Dragon Age Inquisition, {Pippin/Faramir Merry/Eowyn}/The Lord of the Rings and I dip my toes in a few that I currently can't remember but ones I don't engage in canon at all are Good Omens but only for Crowley/Azirapheal ship, Stranger Things but only for Steve/Eddie ship, The Witcher but only for Geralt/Jaskier things and Ladybug and Cat Noir but only for Adrinette .

Also do you like getting asks that are or include story ideas or snippets?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer within a certain amount of time or at all.

The way this question made my johnlock phase reawaken 😂 ehmm I also am a heavy Crowley and azirapheal shipper but other than that my tumblr is 99% Tolkien based, mostly bagginshield tho ngl

Also these asks are pretty much the only thing keeping my page alive and I always get excited to see what new question I’m getting so I’m definitely happy to receive anything you wanna ask, though my answers aren’t the most interesting 🤷‍♀️

[dianakc]

The quest for peace

Fandom: The Hobbit

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

All he’d wanted was some peace. Well, he had it now.

He had to laugh; it was ironic really. He'd fought many battles, demons both real and internal, and even conquered Azog the Defiler. Yet the thing that was going to kill him, quite peacefully, was snow. Thorin lay prone, half covered in a deep drift at the base of a crevasse where he had landed when the ground beneath him had given way. During his lifetime he had been wounded many times and he was confident that his injuries were not mortal, however, he suspected his leg was broken and possibly some ribs. He couldn’t get up, and even if he could, there was no chance of reaching civilization; he must resign himself to his fate. No one knew where he was, would miss him or come looking. He was so cold, beyond shivering and could no longer feel his hands or feet. Thorin could barely keep his eyes open as sleep forced itself upon him. The blizzard had reduced to soft flakes now that settled gently on him as dusk fell on both Middle Earth and his life. Was it true that when you died a light guided you to the next world? He could make out a flickering light in the distance and, as he could fight it no longer, his eyelids finally slipped closed.

Juno was trudging back to her cabin on the edge of the woods, pulling a sledge laden with branches that she had collected. She’d been out longer than planned as it was so much harder to find fuel in the snow, and the sun was now going down. Holding up her lantern, through the half light, she saw a dark heap protruding from a snow drift in the distance at the base of a great fissure in the mountain. She decided to investigate this last potential source of wood before she gave up for the day and retreated to the warmth of home. As she got closer, Juno realised that it was the body of a man. Kneeling quickly and sinking six inches into the powdery snow, she shook him, “Hello, hello. Can you hear me?” Thorin's eyelids twitched. He’s alive. Juno knew she was his only hope as he would surely freeze to death out here. She would have to try to get him to safety. She tipped the wood from her sledge and pulled it up alongside the body. Using her gloved hands as tools she dug him out of the drift and crossed his left arm over his body. She struggled to heave his left leg which wore an enormous boot across his right. Then she pushed his left side until he rolled over landing mostly onto the sledge. She tied him on as best she could and started dragging the sledge with all her might.

It took twenty minutes to get home and she was exhausted. Despite the cold she was sweating with the exertion of hauling this heavy load. Once at the cabin she lit the lanterns that created a soft welcoming glow, and dragged the sledge with the body attached into the cabin. Come…on…you…great…lump. She tugged him off the sledge and onto the floor where he landed with a soft thud and a groan emitted from him. Well at least he’s still alive. She then set about lighting the fire; she needed to warm him as soon as she could. His lips had a bluish tint and his face was unnaturally pale.

Juno removed her coat, hat and boots that were soaking wet and freezing from the snow. The cabin was quickly warming up and a cosy orange glow was cast onto the room from the fire. She set a kettle of water on to heat before turning to give her attention to the man. She looked down at the body that was taking up almost half of the floor space. How on earth will I get his wet things off? Cut them off? The man had a large bag slung around his body. She removed this first and then struggled with his coat and gloves. The coat was leather with an animal pelt collar and she realised she couldn’t have cut through it even if she tried. She pushed and pulled until she could get one arm out which made removing the rest of the coat considerably easier. Under the coat he wore several layers with the uppermost damp and cold but not wet through so she left them alone. Next she tackled the huge, heavy boots that were constructed from animal hide and metal with leather strapping fastened with buckles. She undid the fastenings and grasped the right boot in her hands, and with her feet planted on either side of his leg she pulled, causing her to land on her bottom with it in her hands when it eventually came off. She was startled at the weight of the boot. She wondered how he managed to walk anywhere with his heavy boots and coat weighing him down. At least he would not blow away in a storm! She started on the left boot but found moving this caused more moaning from the man. It appeared to be causing him considerable pain. Well, pain or not, it would need to come off and perhaps better while he was unconscious. She tried to be more gentle and managed to remove the boot causing as little discomfort to the man as possible. She gently took off his thick woollen socks which revealed the left ankle to be dark purple and swelling even as she watched it. This was clearly the cause of his pain and to her untrained eye she guessed it could be broken so she immobilised it with some strips of material used as bandages and bound the ankle firmly.

Juno assessed the man laid out on her floor. From the size of his hands and feet and the runes in his hair she thought that perhaps he was a dwarf and not of man after all. He was tall for a dwarf with long dark wavy hair that fell beyond his shoulders. He had long black eyelashes and a short dark beard that was neatly trimmed and both sparkled with tiny icicles that were beginning to melt. His hair and beard were highlighted with silver grey streaks giving him a manly, distinguished appearance. He was broad and muscled as though he was familiar with strenuous work or perhaps a warrior. But the most striking thing about this dwarf was that he was beautiful and, with his deathly pallor, resembled a marble sculpture of some ancient heroic figure. She shook herself out of her daydreaming and, getting back to practical matters, gathered all but one of her home made woollen blankets and covered the stranger to warm him.

Juno opened the dwarf’s bag and found the contents to be all wet from the snow. It contained clothes, two knives, a parcel of what looked like dried meat and a canteen for water. She spread out his wet clothes over the furniture with hers to dry, having to step over the sleeping dwarf to move about in the cabin. As soon as the water was heated from the fire, she set about preparing some tea and sweetened his with honey to help revive him.

Gradually the dwarf was thawing. His lips and fingers were no longer blue and his face was pink from the fire. The tea was ready to drink and Juno felt it would do him good to warm him from the inside as well so she tried again to wake him, “Hello, hello?”

The dwarf’s eyelashes fluttered and opened to reveal a pair of sapphire blue eyes of such clarity that Juno was momentarily mesmerised. Thorin gradually came to, his eyes slowly focusing and becoming accustomed to the light. He looked up to see Juno with a glow from the fire illuminating her pale hair. An angel? Am I in the next world?

“Hello, my name is Juno. I believe you have been injured in an accident in the snow. You are in my cabin. You are quite safe,” she said to reassure him. “Can you sit up to have a warm drink?”

Thorin smiled ruefully. It appeared he had dodged death again. He was like a cat with nine lives but had lost count on how many he was up to. He struggled to sit and a searing pain coursed through the left side of his chest and ankle as he tried to get up. He slumped back to the floor. The girl, no woman, Juno , lifted and supported his head. She held the cup of hot tea to his lips and he tentatively took a sip then more; he was so thirsty.

When the dwarf had finished his drink Juno sat on the floor cross legged beside him and sipped her tea. “Can you tell me who you are? How did you come to become injured? Did you fall?”

“Thorin,” he whispered hoarsely. “I was trekking when the blizzard hit. I couldn’t see where I was going and think I walked into a ravine,” he said drowsily. He looked her in the eyes solemnly, “I thought I was going to die.”

“Now, now,” she said softly but briskly, distracting him by lifting his right hand and rubbing it to get the circulation going, “all will be well.” Juno smiled at the dwarf, “I have never met a Thorin. Tell me, what is it like to be named after a king?” At the look of surprise on Thorin’s face she said, “I am named after a goddess,” and laughed shyly. “I always feel that I would be a disappointment to my namesake. Perhaps sharing the name of a king is also a weight to bear?”

“I have thought of my name as a burden I suppose. But perhaps it is my duty and not my name….” he muttered, gradually falling asleep again.

Juno decided it best to leave the dwarf to rest and go to bed herself. She banked up the fire to keep him warm throughout the night and tucked him in; she put out the lanterns and retired to her bedroom. She would have a visitor for some time it seemed. Whilst Thorin had craved solitude, Juno was thankful that she would have some company for a little while even if it was only because he had no alternative. She felt a little guilty that this poor dwarf’s misfortune brought some relief to the crushing loneliness she had endured over the last six months.