#the fellowship of the awkward conversations?

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 12e

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

Major takeaways from this round of practice:

Yes, it's even more impressive in stone.

And even louder when not in a hole in the ground.

The ear protection they've come up with is probably good enough, at least for everyone besides the swan-twins.

Legolas somehow ends up trying to explain the history of explosives to the swan-twins. He has no idea what he's talking about.

A stick of Wizard's Clay will not explode if you drop it from thirty feet up. They aren't supposed to, but it was still nerve-wracking.

Nobody likes being under a rain of little rock fragments but there isn't really anything to be done about that.

They might want to leave the oxen farther away next time.

Estimated sticks of Wizard's Clay left behind to threaten the peace of Middle-earth (counting the 25 left in Emyn Arnen): 5495

Following Alphlîn and Alphsîr's continuing success in practice, Glorfindel is ready to sketch out a very rough battle strategy (which hopefully won't be needed since they still aren't 100% certain there's a Warden).

Alphlîn and Alphsîr will be attacking from the air, with power. (If they get grounded, they should change shape and run out of the way rather than try to take off where they are.)

Glorfindel, with Asfaloth, will be fighting with sword and power.

Maglor and Celeborn will also be ahorse. Maglor will be Singing and using the battle-harp. Celeborn has a bow of Lórien and a sword from Eregion.

Turgon and Celegorm will be on foot. (It would be possible to convince horses to bear them, probably, but the horses would be nervous and distracted and they aren't used to it anymore.) (Celegorm kind of wishes he had a warg for this.) Their weapons are dwarf-forged steel, and their own wills.

Whiterot has a crossbow and doesn't plan to get close. Sharlinnu isn't sure how well she'll be able to fight with the noise-generating Warden right there. She wants to, but she also doesn't want to get in the way — more discussion needed there.

That leaves the children Third-Age-born contingent, and here there is some disagreement.

Zuste, Zena, and Dyn readily agree that they are not up for demigod-fighting, either in capability or interest.

Khitwê and Risyind make it clear they are ready and willing to fight! Khitwê in particular would be happy to avenge his family's suffering on the Warden. (Risyind doesn't think it would make her feel any better than the Warden going down without her direct involvement.) But this isn't the kind of fight they're trained for, and even in areas they are trained for they are perfectly adequate, not outstanding. If Glorfindel says it's better for them to hang back they won't argue.

Legolas and Gimli — you don't want to make Legolas and Gimli think you're slighting their abilities, but they're not going to insist on pushing into a fight above their pay grade. They won't argue that this (hypothetical) fight isn't above their pay grade.

…So really the only disagreement is about Elladan and Elrohir.

This fight is above their pay grade, yes, but it's above all of their pay grades. It might have been within Glorfindel's right after he was sent back to Middle-earth, or Maglor's at the height of his power and skill before being ground down by time and grief for over six thousand years, and Turgon or Celegorm's before being ground down by being orcs for over six thousand years. It's not now.

Celeborn has over two Ages of experience more than his grandsons, and they have over two Ages of exhaustion less than him.

The best Glorfindel can extract from them is an agreement to hang back and stick to bows as much as possible.

******

Maglor finally gets up the nerve to approach Celegorm the day before they are expecting to arrive at the site of the Crucible.

"I know what I need to tell you," Celegorm says, before Maglor can ask. "It's just… Just don't interrupt, all right?"

What being an orc is, according to Celegorm:

Being bound by fetters on your soul.

Everything in you is warped to some purpose outside you.

Certainty that you are damned and there is nothing you can do about it.

Certainty that you can do as you're meant to willingly or you will be forced, and it will hurt.

Telling yourself it doesn't matter. Just do what you want — anything that brings a moment of relief —because nothing matters.

Hating yourself for everything you've done and every mistake you made to get into this situation.

Hating your fellow condemned for everything they do that's the same as you and everything they do differently.

Hating everyone not condemned for not being condemned.

Hating and hating and hating because it's warmer than despair alone.

It's all the worst days of living bound by the Oath of Fëanor, back to back, forever.

"I've said before it wasn't as different as it should have been," Celegorm concludes at last. "And that's true. But what I don't like to say is sometimes it wasn't different at all. Well, except elven hröar aren't as miserable, so being an orc is more physically painful unless something's gone really wrong, but— I know this has been easier on me because I've lived this already. At least this time I didn't do it to myself."

Maglor has to take some time to think about this.

It's coming together for him, though. He knows — he thinks he knows what he needs to say, now.

******

On a lighter note, Maglor has an idea about trying to get a better idea of Sharlinnu's noise — what if the orcs do some singing?

—This takes a while to explain as people are varying levels of informed about orcs' tone-deafness and well-established tradition of singing anyway. (Also the Hirnedhrim and the swan-twins have never heard of tone-deafness before.)

The orcs, meanwhile, are trying to pick a song.

Whiterot: "And then there were none", maybe?

[A ‘and then there were none’ backwards-counting song of elf-princes, some verses inspired by real events]

Celegorm: And then there was one!

Turgon: Two. And no, I don't think so.

Celegorm: I wish I was back in Goblin-town?

Turgon: If we must—

Sharlinnu: What about the Prince of Cats song?

[A prince of cats got his ass kicked by a girl and a dog, definitely not inspired by real events, honest, but also definitely not to be sung in Mordor]

Turgon: Definitely that one.

(Other noteworthy subjects of orc songs:

Fear Us We are doing a task [which isn’t very interesting and this at least livens it up] We are going to kill you and destroy everything you love and have fun doing it We’ve been marching a long time and it’s annoying The Sun is a bitch I Fear Nothing Except The Sea Which Is Fucking Terrifying My warg is the best warg, she’s eaten lots of babies Behold my gruesome trophies My body is the most fucked up and uncomfortable but I make it work There’s Something In These Caves (It’s A Dragon And Planning To Eat Us) These Orders Indicate Our Senior Leadership Has Shit For Brains Today Is A Terrible Day To Die But I Guess That’s What We’re Doing )

The orcs end up singing most of the day.

It does not sound very good, but it's nice to see them enthusiastic.

[acowardinmordor]

I want something Steddie to start here:

Eddie

I’m sorry. This is the last letter. I know you’d hate me if you found out who I really am, and I don’t want to see that. I don’t want you to know who you’ve been telling your secrets too. You wouldn’t want me to know them. You wouldn’t want to know me.

I’m so so sorry. Goodbye - X

He read it again and again when he got home, but Eddie couldn’t figure out what he’d done or what he’d said that made them end it. Sure, it was only letters, and Eddie didn’t know their name, or what they looked like. He didn’t even have a guess about who it was. A guy. That’s all he knew. But they’d been leaving letters in his locker since the second week of class. Two months in, when Eddie was losing his mind for having no way of replying, his secret writer told him he could leave a letter in a copy of the Hobbit in the school library. Since then, it was every other day, sending, then receiving. A slow motion conversation. It was his third go at his senior year, and the letters were one of the bright points.

The joy of a great campaign session could only stretch so far. His new sheepies were excellent, most of the worst assholes at school had graduated, and even if the teachers hated him, Eddie had taken the classes twice already. He knew what they wanted him to write in their homework.

Other than suffering through the freshmen talking about their beloved idol, Steve Harrington - despite the guy being a loser who was repeating his senior year - his life had been pretty great. The notes made everything a little bit brighter.

And now? Yesterday was sort of horrible, and he'd been excited to pick up the next note this afternoon. Mike caught the flu, and took down Jeff and Gareth. The session was already going to be a one shot, but down that many players, Eddie complained all week that they'd have to cancel entirely. Instead, Dustin dragged Harrington in with him. Horrible. The guy had never played before, and was so awkward and uncomfortable the entire time that it tanked the entire session. Eventually he called time. Ended the one shot without a conclusion. Pretty explicitly explained to Lucas and Dustin why.

Explained to Steve that he should have refused Dustin's demands. That he would never fit in with them. That he knew from the minute the guy walked in, that it was doomed. That there was a reason he hated jocks, and stayed away from them.

His bad mood was made worse by the way that Dustin and Lucas defended their idol, while Harrington himself picked up his things and silently left.

Eddie was so damn excited to pick up X's note, and see whether the guy had gotten the hobbits out of the Shire in Fellowship.

Instead.

[logans-mormon-blog]

Obligatory "bad mormons exist" disclaimer but I love us, I love mormons. Cheesy but sincere thought: I love the way we love each other. I love feeling embraced by a ward, I love feeling like the other ward members around me look forward to seeing me, that they make an effort to include me. I love the concerted effort we put towards sincerely fellowshipping. I love ward members who text me to check in or say hi. I love how enthusiastically one senior elder has been waiting for me to try his favorite ice cream place. I love leadership who are awkward but really trying to make conversation so you feel comfortable. When mormons fuck up, they fuck up bad, but when they get it right, it WORKS. Truly the dream at rhe heart of mormonism is a tight community of people socialistically trying to improve each other's lives and idk it just makes me feel really good to see it. There is so much good in us as a community. I just love mormons.

[live-laugh-legolas]

hii!! so your previous crush-post (xD) was so. cute! may I ask for some more romantic fluff and the Fellowship (and Faramir and Arwen, if it's okay?) proposing to the reader?

I added pictures of what the rings might look like because I have a Pinterest addiction and figured I could put it to use

How the fellowship proposes (+ Faramir & Arwen)

Aragorn:

-To be completely honest, I don’t see him being particularly traditional about it

-And by that I mean he doesn’t make a big thing of it and doesn’t do the whole kneeling thing

-I imagine him proposing just happens in a loving conversation that is pretty casual

-But honestly every conversation with him feels kinda intimate so it’s still very romantic

Legolas:

-He is restless

-He plans it to be thought out and to give a little speech

-But it just kinda comes out

-Not in an awkward or rushed way; but he is just so in love he can’t wait any longer

Gimli:

-Actually shitting himself

-I really think he would have planned to propose on multiple different occasions but got too scared and chickened out

-It’s not because he isn’t sure about it, or thinks you won’t say yes; he just wants it to be perfect

-He covers for his anxiety with a forced confidence that is frankly adorable

-Blushes profusely

Boromir:

-Very traditional

-I’m talking secluded paradise with rose petals and candles everywhere

-He spares no expense; no he’s not extra…he just wants to show how much he loves you…that’s it

-Down on one knee giving a honorable and sweet speech about how you are the best thing in his life and how he will spend eternity loving you

-Definitely gets a little emotional but for the most part he keeps it together (the same cannot be said for your wedding)

-He had Faramir help him find a ring because I refuse to believe Boromir knows anything about fashion, let alone jewelry

Frodo:

-He’s a bit restless, but in a giddy sort of way

-He’s just so excited about the idea of marrying you that he isn’t even thinking too much about the proposal

-He knows you will say yes

-I could also see him putting the ring somewhere you will find it; maybe on your pillow, and hide in the next room all giddy like a little kid as he waits for you to find it

-This is what my dad apparently did and I think it’s cute

Sam:

-Ok I know I said Gimli is shitting himself; but this guy is actually having the squirts

-But he’s nervous because he gets very down on himself at times and he worries you might say no

-Logically he knows you will be so excited because you have talked about marriage before; but he can’t help but worry

-Doesn’t take you anywhere too fancy; he keeps it kinda casual but romantic

-Maybe in the garden

Merry:

-He has had this planned for months

-He has one of his friends distract you for the day while he sets up a romantic picnic dinner

-Like a surprise party that you are kinda expecting because the person getting you out of the house is kinda sus

-But it’s so sweet and Merry is dresses so nicely

-Seriously a dapper little hobbit

-He has practiced some speeches to Pippin, but he doesn’t end up doing any of them

-Instead he opts for just a natural conversation that is sweet and to the point

-Big expensive gem

Pippin:

-He has been pretending to propose for a while

-Well not really pretending, but you know it’s not his official proposal

-That being said every “proposal” he does comes with some sort of offering; he once did it with your dinner plate

-All his fake proposals were to have some fun with it, but mainly to get over his nerves; he’s practicing

-Will continue to fake propose even after you are married just for the fun of it

-Likes to see people’s reactions (plus maybe get a free cake slice at a restaurant or something idk)

-I wanted to add a joke picture of a tiny with three plastic carrots but alas you are only allowed 10 pictures apparently so just imagine I did a funny thing

*Bonus Faramir

-He is just the sweetest and I love this man

-He seems like the type to propose pretty early on in a relationship

-Not because he’s rushing, but he just knows you are the one

-Surprisingly calm about it; or at least he appears that way

*Double bonus Arwen:

-She is probably the most confident of them all

-She is just so sure spoken

-She makes sure you both are dressed in your best clothes and will take you to a beautiful secluded place in Rivendell

-Idk why but I felt strongly that the gem would be blue

-(sorry hers is short, I wasn’t particularly inspired idk why)

——————————————————————-

Just a little reminder that Gandalf isn’t included because I don’t generally write him for romantic prompts unless specifically asked

[masivechaos]

TANGLED FEELINGS

legolas x fem! reader

Request: yes / no

Synopsis: One thing you liked about Legolas was the way he braided his hair, so when you asked him to braid yours, your feelings also end up tangled.

Warning/content: kissing, my English, poorly proofread

a.n.: 1.4k words- first time writing for legolas so it might be out of character, give me the time to find the best way to write him. i love the hair braiding trope and wanted to write my own version of it!

masterlist/ lord of the rings masterlist / navigation / taglist 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

Escorting Frodo to destroy the ring was a difficult task but you were willing to help. Whilst you were exhausted from the daily numerous hours of walking and fighting and being constantly on your guard, it was also an opportunity to meet new people. 

During the long moments of wandering, you were able to study every member of the fellowship. From Gimli’s regular mumbling to Sam’s awkward demarch when you were going through rocky mountains or even Pippin and Merry’s loud singing when it was time to rest. But what you cared the most about was Legolas.

As much as you tried to deny it for a long time, you had fallen for the elvish man. Your attention always ended up locked on him and one of the things you remarked the most was his hair. Of course, everybody would pay attention to his long blonde- almost white- locks but what stayed on your mind was the braids that kept his hair elegant even after a fight and the ability he had to so easily make them when they ended up undone due to the agitated day that just happened.

One calm evening, when everyone was resting on their own side, you approached the elf. You let yourself fall to the ground next to him without saying a word. Legolas turned his head and offered you a gentle smile that warmed your heart.

“How do you manage to do that?” you finally asked, breaking the silence lingering between the two of you.

Legolas raised an eyebrow, not expecting such a conversation starter “Manage to do what?”

“These,” you said as you pointed at his braids.

He let out a chuckle “Two thousand years of practice,” he laughed, leading to a laugh falling from your own lips.

“Could you braid mine?” you asked with such a smile he couldn’t decline even though you noted the surprised expression that crossed his face for a split second. You sat between Legolas’ legs, on a rock that was just sufficiently shorter than the one he was resting on.

You let his fingers brush your neck and ears as he gathered the hair he needed and you tried to stop the shivers from running down your spine. Enjoying this moment of proximity with the elf, you close your eyes, relaxing under his hands.

You didn’t know how much time it took him but it was definitely too short for you. “There you go,” he smiled warmly. You turned around to look at him and you couldn’t ignore the faint blush on his pale cheeks.

“How do I look?”

“Great. You look great.” And he had to stop himself from saying more.

Happy with your new hairstyle, you joined your two other comrades, Aragorn and Gimli since the other members of the fellowship were already taken by sleep.

They both shared a look when they saw you (and Legolas coming from behind you with a flustered face) with a smile on their lips. “What?” you asked confused. Aragorn let out a ‘nothing’ with an amused tone before taking a sip of his drink.

You furrowed your brows, not understanding their reactions but decided to ignore them and started to chat with your friends. The night was filled with laughter and for the first time in a while you felt like you could finally rest, however you couldn’t escape observing the glances shared between Aragorn and Gimli.

You took advantage of the moment when Legolas and Aragorn left you to survey the surrounding area, since a few suspicious sounds had been heard, to ask the Dwarf for some explanation.

“What is going on?” you asked and it came out a bit more exasperated than what you wanted.

Gimli laughed as he took a puff of his pipe “I should be the one askin’ ya” 

“Why?”

Gimli glanced at you with mischief in his eyes “Your hair…”

You smiled at this, remembering the feeling of Legolas' fingers tangled in your hair “Yes? Legolas braided it.”

“Do you know about braids?” 

Surprised by this question, you raised an eyebrow “No, that’s why he braided them”

Gimli shifted a little closer to you “One thing me and the pointy-eared elf have in common’s our culture ‘bout braids. For elves and dwarves, who braid your hair is important. It’s either your family or…” he trailed off with a smirk on his lips.

“Or?”

“The person you court.” Your smile faded and your eyes widened, Gimli laughed at your reaction “You don’t like him?” he said knowing very well your heart fancied the elven man. 

You thought about it. Of course you liked him. You loved him even, he was occupying every parcel of your brain. You had met him before forming the fellowship, crossing paths with him during some of his or your adventures. You wanted to impress him all the time, you wanted him to be proud of you, you would always try your best during fights or even when it came to making food when Sam wasn’t.

Suddenly, you were scared. What if you ruined it all? The last thing you wanted him to be was uncomfortable. Too many thoughts ran in your mind and you only escaped the grasp of your own mind when Gimli coughed.

“I- I do but he doesn’t. He only braided my hair because I asked him to…” you said with an ounce of disappointment. You didn’t think your feelings could be reciprocated, he was Legolas, a prince, cultured, brave and strong and you… you were you. Even at your best, you didn’t deserve him.

“Why d’ya think he did it, huh?” he said with a knowing smile before the elf and the dùnedain came back. “Aragorn, won’t ya come with me?” he asked as he got up. The interested quickly looked at you and understood, following Gimli. An awkward silence settled between you and Legolas. He could feel something was off with you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you finally said and received a confused look from Legolas.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know about the braids,” you swallowed, how much you wished he had done it with the intention of courting you. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated to do it and now that I know the meaning behind it, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Stupid, stupid me you thought. You regretted not knowing more about him, about the elves, about the other races than yours. But you hadn’t lived for two thousand years like him, how could you possibly know just as much?

To your surprise, Legolas’ lips extended into a smile “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I did it knowing very well what were my intentions,” he said so confidently you could only believe him.

“You…?” 

Legolas chuckled at your sudden shyness and hummed “Mmh, but you maybe want me to be a bit more clear with my feelings for you, I may be good with my words when it comes to you I’m unsure of what to say and nervous. And if I can’t express verbally how my heart feels around you, I can show you.”

Apprehensively, you nodded. Legolas slowly got closer to you, his nose bumped into yours and he chuckled “Sorry,” he whispered as his smile brightened. Your face mirrored his expression and, carefully, you brushed your lips against his. He kissed you and got lost in the feeling. He was finally yours, after weeks and weeks of observing you. Since he first saw you, he wanted you. And there, he could hold you, he could kiss you. 

When Legolas pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours. You let out a breath and looked at him shyly. All your doubts and fears were gone now “So… Can I braid your hair?”

“No,” he said and he chuckled when your eyes widened “You’re way too bad at it.” You giggled, relieved. Legolas kissed your lips once more “But I can teach you,” he whispered with a smile on the corner of his mouth.

Your ears turned warm and you hid your face in his chest “Please do.”

[spasmsofthought]

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[wordbunch]

the fellowship meeting their partner’s family

a/n: this brilliant idea was requested by @starlady66! I hope I did okay, let me know how it was 😄 and yes, of course I am including Faramir too. if you liked this fic, consider reblogging it so more people can potentially see it and enjoy 💕 it gives me motivation to write more!

ARAGORN:

is a little quiet at first, but not awkwardly quiet

remembers what you had told him about your family and then brings it up in conversation with the

very very respectful

offers to help with anything and everything, from cooking to cleaning or fixing something

your family thought he was initially just a little odd, but they warmed up to him very quickly

he’s invited to every family gathering right away, you insist that he doesn’t have to come if it’s too much, but he really wants to

💐

BOROMIR:

brings them flowers and a fancy drink at least

wants to bring even more gifts but you reassure him he’s already doing enough

he’s an absolute favorite among your younger siblings/cousins, they don’t want to let him go

and it warms your heart so much

he praises you in front of the family and makes you blush

they all liked him immediately and he was super charming and easygoing, you were the more nervous one

💐

FARAMIR:

not gonna lie, he IS stressed out, but you reassure him he’s perfect and has nothing to worry about

literally practices how he’ll introduce himself and all that

he manages to accidentally fumble something, but it’s a perfect ice-breaker because everybody is laughing

they love him instantly, even if he’s initially a bit quiet and awkward

he was going to bring them some little present, but he forgot

eventually gets so carried away talking and having some deep discussion that you almost fall asleep by his side

💐

FRODO:

simultaneously he’s a nervous wreck, but also knows that he generally makes a good impression on people

runs his hand through his hair a million times to make it look neater

offers to help with the food even though it’s not his strongest suit

asks a lot of questions after he gets comfortable, and listens with interest

accidentally takes a short nap after the meal and is SUPER embarrassed

but nobody takes it the wrong way, it just becomes an inside joke that runs forever

💐

GIMLI:

lots of gifts for everyone. EVERYONE.

you think it’s too much but he just really wants to make a great impression

you’re important to him, so, your family is too

they bonded so quickly that they almost forgot that you were also there (oops lmao)

lots of laughing, and they would be asking him to retell some fun adventures you had together

he compliments the food a lot and eventually they’d pack him some leftovers

💐

LEGOLAS:

you know the charming, charismatic elf that he is? well, you can forget about that, it seems

he feels extremely awkward, no idea why

regardless, your family likes him immediately, even if they do consider him a bit strange

you try to carry the conversation most of the time and he’s very grateful for it

eventually when he gets over himself, he will be very communicative and pleasant

your family asks him a bunch of questions; they’ve never had a guest like that before!

💐

MERRY:

charming and witty as ever, also brings flowers

fits in right away, as if he’s always been a part of the family

they all think he’s hilarious and can’t get enough of his stories

he wants to hear the stories about you when you were a small child (and will use the new information to poke fun at you for eternity)

compliments everyone and everything, loves all the food

also invited to all the family gatherings and events henceforth

💐

PIPPIN:

is nervous, but hides it decently well, or eases it through humor

really wanted to bring a little gift, but forgot

accidentally knocks something over or trips or something like that, but you all just have a laugh about it (he blushes)

he likes to talk about how great you are, so he will definitely comment on that in front of your family too

okay, maybe they did think he was a little too chaotic or immature, but he has a heart of gold and they know it!

you will overhear them commenting on the way he looks at you and how good he treats you

💐

SAM:

brings a half of his garden as a present: flowers, vegetables, you name it

maybe even he cooks/bakes something and then brings it over, then blushes at the compliments

they all love him immediately (who doesn’t!)

loves to listen to your family’s stories about you

offers to help with washing up

a younger sibling/relative of yours asks him something like “when are you going to marry [Y/N]?”

💐

everything taglist: @starlady66​ @lotrnonsense​ @lazyoswald​ @entishramblings​ @thesolarangel​ (ty all for wanting to be tagged and reading my stuff <3)

[a-s-levynn]

I'm terrified to post this. So watch me sprinting away into the distance after dropping this.

Open love letter to -in extension to the wider ST community on tumblr, but especially- to the fellowship of Sleep because without you, life would be much more lonely

My Friends,

It was today when it finally dawned on me that you gave me the most undescribably precious gift. Many of you probably going to relate to this to some degree because i am not unique in any sense but i had to get this out. And by just the sheer lenght probably not many of you will read it. But i still need to put this out there, even if i'm being obnoxious and probably sound overdramatic and maybe even cringy.

I struggle with a lot of things. Anxiety, self doubt, depression, paranoia, self destructive tendencies, self isolation and the list goes on to even darker places. All in all i have a suboptimal mental state to put it lightly. I feel inadequate in many ways. Especially with connecting to people.

To this day, i struggle every day, seeing my friends, you, talk on a daily basis, have inside jokes and wonderful conversations and whatnot and either i like it or not, thoughts intrude: "am i doing enough? Am i a good enough of a friend? Do i really have a place among these wonderful bright souls? Am i intruding? Am i inserting myself into spaces i do not have any right to be? Am i forcing myself into your circles?"

For the longest time, on most days the conclusion was no. I do not belong. You were just being nice to the pathetic little creature in the corner because by nature you are simply kind. But as the weeks went by i learned that you are also awkward people with your own stuggles and hardships which are far harder and more painful than mine. That you are choosing to be kind every day, in spite of what life threw at you. Because you know.

I started to see you also crave a particular type of companionship and you reach out with the same trembling hands, hoping that someone sees it and grabs it. That someone finally says: you are not alone. I am here. For you. With you.

And you did. You've seen a bunch of hands fumbling in the dark, desperate to hold onto something and went: yeah.. i think i'll grab all of them. Because we are coming from the same darkness. And if i can help pull you into the light than you might have the strenght to do the same for me, so we can all sit in the warmth of the fire. The fire we built together. A fire that is growing ever brighter and allowes us to see even more hands on the edges to be pulled and invited into the circle.

So we have. For a while sitting almost silently, showing the things we found along the way. Tentatively feeling out the boundries. Than we broke the silence. You even started to call me your friend at some point. I already considered you mine because i'm painfully lonely and just the gesture, that you included me among the hands you grabbed was enough for me to see you mine. But all in all, for some unknowable reason, we became friends.

The weeks turned into months and i felt a bit more comfortable to approach you on my own clumsy and awkward ways. Many of you know by now that Tiny Token was born because i was too afraid to send a happy birthday ask to someone. I still apologize regularly just for adding thoughts to posts even if i only do it in tags. I am afraid. Of so many thing.

We still don't talk daily. Yet we still call each other friend. We have actual plans now. I still stuggle with the though of not being enough. There are still days when i feel you just feeling pity towards me.

But lately there is an other thought there. Which makes me feel bad for thinking that way. A thought that's never been there before. "If i was truly bothersome or annoying or any way too unpleasent, you could simply walk away. This is the internet after all. You could just block me. You have the option to walk away but you are time and time again choosing not to. No matter how many days pass by with us not talking, you are there. I can count on you. I'm still hesitant to reach out and dump my superficial adversities on you. But i also see you keeping the door ajar, leaving the option there to be approached if anyone needs it. So it would be not just a disservice but an outright insult to you if i'd think you are just acting out of pity. But if you like me than.. there has to be something about me to actually to be worth knowing?"

And that is doing something that ten years worth of failed therapy could not. You made me question my self doubt. It is still there and will be for the rest of my life. But now there is a steady counter balance i never had this solidly in my life ever before.

I'm still afraid to ask even if anyone would be up for a talk, let alone a call because i have little to offer in conversations. I don't talk much by default and that is not a good base for conversations. I'm still terrified of overstaying my welcome. But i also know now that you probably wouldn't mind from time to time. Because you understand. Maybe one day i will get there. I don't know when but there is a hope i never truly had before.

This is something i will never be able to repay you. Thank you for understanding that we all have different levels of anxiety and fear and not holding it against one and other. I'm writing this to you with immens love and eternal gratitude i cannot truly express in any way that does it justice: Thank you for showing me hope. Thank you for being the way you are.

You gave me the biggest gift there is to give.

You gave me your friendship.

I love you.

Yours in friendship,

Levynn

[wheels-of-despair]

Under Pressure | Eric x You vs. The Apocalypse | Series Masterlist

Chapter Three: It's A Christmas Miracle Summary: Eric comes back for Christmas, and experiences all the joys that the most wonderful time of the year has to offer. Words: 3.8k

"Hey!" you beam as you open the door for the fiftieth time tonight. Finally, someone you're actually happy to see. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Thanks for inviting me," Eric says shyly, hesitating in the hallway at the sight of all the people milling around inside your apartment.

It's December 23rd, and you're having a Christmas party. Well, your husband is. Evan is leaving for a fellowship at a hospital on the other side of the country in January, and this is his last chance to get all his coworkers and friends together before they go off and spend the rest of the year with their families.

"You can come back tomorrow when everyone's gone if you're having second thoughts," you tease, and he finally steps inside. "Your room is doubling as the coat room at the moment, but I promise it'll be all yours again before the night's over."

Eric scans the room, looking intimidated and out of place. Turnout had been a tiny bit higher than you'd expected, but it was no reason to panic. If you can survive, so can he.

"You wanna go dump your stuff?" you prompt.

Eric nods and flees toward the bedroom. You follow slowly, waiting by the door for him. He drops his backpack and his coat, and stands there with his back to you and his face in his hands for a minute.

"Eric?" you ask quietly.

He whips around with wide eyes, not realizing you were watching. You step inside and close the door, leaning against it to provide another barrier between the two of you and the rest of your guests.

"Are you okay?"

"M'fine," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. "Just wasn't expecting so many people, is all."

"Neither were we," you smile. "But they're good people, for the most part."

"I don't know any of them," he says nervously.

"You didn't really think I was going to set you loose in a room full of strangers, did you?" He stares, so you keep talking. "I'll introduce you. Stick with me, babe. You'll be alright."

Eric nods, takes a deep breath, and walks toward you.

You catch him in a hug instead of opening the door.

"I really am glad you're here," you whisper. "To be honest, I don't know half of these people either. They're mostly your brother's doctor friends. If I hear one more joke involving a body part tonight, I'm going to fling myself off the roof."

Eric chuckles, and you let him go.

"Ready for this?"

He nods, and you leave the room together. You walk around the living room with him, introducing him to people in between conversations. He's polite, but so nervous. Before every handshake, he tries to subtly wipe his palm on his pants. Poor boy. After you make the rounds, you reward him with a visit to the snack table. You load up a plate of appetizers, glance around the room, and grab his sweater to pull him into his brother's bedroom.

"What are we doing?" he asks when the door is closed.

"Taking a break," you answer, sitting on the foot of the bed and surveying your snacks. "You earned it."

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"What are you sorry for?"

"Being so bloody awkward," Eric says pitifully, looking like he's about to cry.

"C'mere," you order, moving the plate of snacks further up the bed and patting the place next to you. His lip quivers, and he walks the few steps to you with an air of dread. What does he think you're going to do to him? When he sits, you wrap an arm around his back and rest your chin on his shoulder.

"I know this isn't your idea of fun," you say quietly. "It's not really mine either. But your brother wanted one last get-together before he goes, and I love him, so I will tolerate these nerds for a night. After that, it'll be just the three of us. Then we can relax."

"And you can stop baby-sitting me," he mumbles.

"Are you kidding me?" you ask, pulling away. "Sneaking away with a treasured confidante is the best part of any party."

You reach back and drag the plate of snacks closer to you.

"You've gotta try one of these sausage rolls," you order, holding a bite-sized bit of heaven between your fingers. Eric takes the treat from your hand and pops it into his mouth. He grins while he chews. "See?" you smile. "Best part of any party. We have snacks, we have comfy seats, and you haven't old one joke that's made me want to shove a grape up your nose."

Eric laughs and reaches for another appetizer.

You return to the party after you clear your snack plate, grateful to see that it's winding down. You resume hostess duties, never straying far from Eric. All three of you sigh in relief when the last straggler finally leaves. You perform a quick clean-up, and once the pile of dishes becomes a mountain, unanimously vote to go to bed and deal with the rest of the mess tomorrow.

On Christmas Eve, you wake in an empty bed to the sound of dishes clanking. You contemplate going back to sleep and letting Evan do all the work, as punishment for leaving you behind for his "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity", but your conscience gets the better of you. You don't bother getting dressed before following the noise, mildly surprised to find the brothers washing and drying together at the kitchen sink. They're not talking, but that's the closest you've ever seen them outside a one-second handshake.

You don't get to observe them for long.

"Oh, look! Sleeping Beauty has decided to join us! After the bulk of the work is done, of course. Wonderful timing as always, darling," your husband snarks.

"Thank you, thank you," you respond with a curtsy. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, we were waiting for you," Evan answers.

"Waiting for me to to cook for you?" you tease.

"You see what I have to live with?" Evan asks his brother indignantly. "Listen to her! Working my fingers to the bone in here, and this is how she talks to me. Unbelievable."

You raise an eyebrow and wait for an answer.

"Pancakes and sausages are fully cooked and in the bloody oven," he says with phony exasperation, throwing the dish rag into the sink dramatically. "Eric, would you please?"

Eric grins and grabs an oven mitt, pulling out a pile of pancakes and a stack of sausage links.

You cross the kitchen to get the plates and silverware, stopping to kiss your husband on the cheek.

"You could've woken me," you say quietly.

"S'alright," he smiles. "We had a good talk."

Your face splits into a grin. It's a Christmas miracle.

"Oh, go on," he says with a roll of his eyes, pushing you away playfully. You grab the plates and silverware and set the table with a little help from Eric while Evan gets the drinks. After an excellent breakfast, you spend the rest of the morning cleaning up the party debris. In the afternoon, when all the work is done, you reward yourselves with showers and relaxation.

You're lying on the roomy sectional under a fuzzy blanket, your head in Evan's lap while you watch an old Christmas movie, when his phone chirps. You feel your spirits sink before he even picks it up.

"Bloody hell," he complains, throwing his phone onto the couch with a thump. He picks it back up and reads the text again. "I have to get to the hospital," he sighs, patting your shoulder. "It shouldn't take too long."

You sit up to release him. Evan scrambles to the bedroom to change, then stops by to kiss your forehead on his way out. You stare at the door emotionlessly.

"It must be hard," Eric observes from the other side of the sofa, "loving someone who has to be away so much."

"I'm told that absence makes the heart grow fonder," you deadpan. Evan had joked about it after informing you that he would be leaving for a year. You still don't find it funny. "Do you want to finish this movie?"

"Not really," he admits, scrunching one eye.

"Me either," you smile, turning off the TV. "I only tolerate this one because Evan loves it. Why he loves it, I couldn't tell you."

Eric chuckles.

"I think…" you muse, racking your brain for a distraction, "I'm gonna make some Christmas cookies."

"Okay," Eric says quietly.

"Wanna join me?"

Eric nods. You stand and reach out your hands, which he takes, and pull him off the couch. The recipe book is located, the supplies are lined up on the table, and you get to work.

Baking cookies is supposed to be classic holiday fun, but Eric takes it a little too seriously. He checks each recipe repeatedly, terrified that he's going to get a measurement wrong. They're just cookies, you remind him. They're for personal consumption. Half of them will probably be gone before the night's over. Very low stakes. But he waves you off, determined to get everything right. It's sweet.

Just like the cookies he proudly pulls from the oven the second the timer dings. You sit at the table for tea while you wait for them to cool.

"How've you been?" you ask.

"Okay," he answers, eyes on his cup now that there are no distractions in place. You know the feeling. You take a drink while you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't.

"How's school?"

Worry clouds Eric's face, just like when you'd asked him at Thanksgiving.

"Hey," you say quietly. He looks up. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Eric shakes his head and focuses on his tea, then looks up at you like he wants to say something. You wait patiently.

"School is…" he licks his lips. "It's hard."

You wait a beat before prodding.

"Well, if you wanted the easy route, you should've become a doctor," you wink. He gives you a weak smile. "What's hard about it?"

"It's just… it's a lot," he answers slowly. "It's a lot of classes… and a lot of work… and everything's so different here. And I'm trying so hard, and it's still…" Eric looks to the ceiling, eyes filling with tears. "I'm going to fail at this, just like I've failed at everything else in my life. Everyone knows it."

"I don't."

Eric scoffs. "Surely you've heard about what a loser I am."

"You want to know what I think?" He eyes you warily. "I think you're trying your best, and that's very brave." Eric shakes his head, but you continue. "You came to a new country, all alone, and created a whole new life for yourself. If that's not brave, I don't know what is."

"I'm not brave," Eric protests. "I'm a bloody coward. I'm scared of everything. Every time I have to leave my room, I…" His tears spill. "It's so stupid." He crosses his arms and puts them on the table, hunching over to hide his face in them.

"It's okay to be scared," you say quietly. "Fear is what keeps you alive. You've heard of fight or flight?" Eric lifts his head to look at you, then nods. "You're fighting. You're scared, and everything is new, and school is hard, but you haven't packed up and run home. You're still fighting. And I'm so proud of you for that."

Eric covers his mouth, but the sob escapes anyway.

"Can I hug you?" you ask, on the verge of tears yourself.

His tear-filled eyes widen in shock. But he nods. It makes a new wave wash down his face.

You scoot your chair closer and lean in, and he buries his face in your neck. You hold him tight, rubbing his back in light circles. His tears soak into your sweater.

"You're gonna be alright," you tell him gently. "If you're struggling in school, we'll find you a tutor. If you're uncomfortable in the city, call me, and we'll explore together. You're gonna get through this. It's gonna be okay."

Eric lets you hold him until he calms down. When he pulls back and dries his eyes on his sleeves, you give him a smile.

"You ready to decorate some cookies?"

The conversation turns lighter while you decorate. Eric takes his time, sticking his tongue out adorably as he concentrates on making each cookie look perfect. The evening flies by.

"You made cookies without me?!" is the first thing your husband says when he gets home. You point to a plate containing several undecorated cookies, saved just for him, and he kisses the top of your head on his way to the sink to wash up. Evan decorates and fills you in on the hospital drama of the day while Eric helps you make dinner, which pairs nicely with easygoing conversation. After cleaning up the dinner dishes, you all settle back onto the couch for another movie before bed. A better one, this time. With cookies to munch on.

Christmas morning is nice. The three of you exchange gifts (Eric is quite happy with a new sweater and pair of tickets to that show people won't shut up about) and eat a light breakfast together. It's calm, and it's quiet, and it's just what all of you need.

And then Evan throws you out of the kitchen.

"Get a move on, no Yanks allowed, I'll not have you interfere with our proper English Christmas!"

"Pudding should not have raisins in it!" you call from the doorway.

"You leave my pudding alone!"

"What pudding? You're making FRUIT CAKE!"

"Silence, uncultured swine!"

You cackle and head back to the couch, reaching for the remote and leaving the Englishmen to their feast.

About an hour later, Eric joins you.

"Have you been thrown out, too?"

"My services were no longer required," he says seriously.

"Don't take offense," you smile. "He's very particular about Christmas dinner. I thought you were a great help on Thanksgiving. When we had REAL FOOD!"

"I didn't hear that, and I won't respond to it!" Evan yells from the kitchen, making you both laugh.

"This is almost over," you gesture to the movie on TV. "You get to pick the next one."

Eric looks through your Christmas options, most of which he's never heard of, and chooses It's A Wonderful Life. (After you assure him it's not a musical, like the one you gave up on yesterday.) You're almost asleep, cloaked in a warm blanket and enjoying the delightful smell of the Christmas dinner being cooked by your loving husband, when the sound of a sniffle makes your eyes fly open.

Eric's crying. He's so invested in the movie, he doesn't realize you've seen him. Tears stream down his red face, and he hugs his knees to his chest while he watches the plight of George Bailey. You rise slowly and quietly, grabbing a box of tissues from the end table and sitting next to him. He takes a few sheets and dries his face. You wrap an arm around him, and he leans into you. By the end of the movie, he's melted into your lap. One of your hands strokes his hair absentmindedly. You can feel the occasional teardrop soak through your jeans from where his head rests on your thigh.

"Should've picked a bloody musical," he gripes as the end credits roll.

You chuckle and tousle his curls.

"Can we do a happy one next?" he asks.

"You got it, babe," you smile as you stretch for the remote, not wanting to get up and disturb him. You select a lighthearted family comedy and resume stroking his hair.

You're both asleep when Evan comes in and announces that your Christmas feast is ready. The kitchen table looks like it belongs in a magazine. You are married to a miracle worker. You take your seats and eat together, keeping the conversation light and positive.

"It's not bad… for English fare," you tease when you finally put down your fork. Evan glares. "It was great, sweetheart. You did amazing, as always."

"Thank you," he grins.

"Yeah, it was really good," Eric echoes. Evan gives a bow, then gets up to grab dessert.

"So which dinner was better, Thanksgiving or Christmas?" you ask Eric, leaning forward with a devilish look in your eye.

"Do not answer that!" Evan barks.

You all laugh and eat your dessert, then start the clean-up process… again.

"It's almost time," Evan says mournfully, looking at the clock when the last dish goes in the drainer.

Fifteen minutes to go until the video call Evan has scheduled with his father and step-mother in England. You start stacking books on the coffee table to put the laptop on, and Evan rushes around to make sure everything in the background looks perfect. Eric looks on nervously.

"Why don't you just put the computer on the coffee table?" he asks, while you sit on the couch to test the camera height.

"Because last time Dad saw me from that angle, he asked when I was going in for chin fat reduction surgery," Evan seethes from the Christmas tree, where he's decided that an ornament has been placed a few centimeters away from its optimal location.

"It's a five-minute catch-up," you remind them, "it'll be over before you know it. Get her talking about her dogs, and all you have to do is smile and nod. Don't stress."

"Don't stress, yeah, thanks, all better now," Evan grumbles, dropping onto the couch next to you. You smack him with a pillow, which he then fluffs and sets aside carefully.

"C'mon," you urge Eric, who sits on your other side. You turn the camera on and make sure you're all in frame and lighted to your husband's approval.

"Is that bloody ornament still--" Evan growls and tries to get up, but you grab his sweater and stop him.

"Stop. Those ornaments are perfect. Sit your ass down."

He sighs and leans in front of you to check his appearance on the screen, taking a few seconds to straighten his sweater and smooth his perfectly fine hair. Eric sits quietly the whole time, like he's awaiting sentencing.

"Polite, happy, quick," you remind them. "Then you can be yourselves again."

"Eric, fix your hair," Evan orders.

"What's wrong with my--" You turn to him and smooth it down with your fingers before he can even finish his question.

"Okay, boss, how are we looking?" you ask.

"Dreadful," Evan mourns.

"Thanks," you smile sarcastically, lightly smacking his thigh. He grins, then looks at the clock and lets out a deep breath.

You can see his blood pressure spike when he presses the button that makes that old man and his child bride appear on the screen.

"Hi, Dad! Hi, Camille!"

"Is that Eric?" their father's fourth wife asks, leaning closer to her screen.

"Hi, Camille," he smiles.

"What are you doing there?!" she asks.

"I…" he looks to you for help.

"We thought we'd make it a family affair," you smile, reaching for his hand where the camera can't see. "Hi, Camille! How are the dogs?"

Camille rambles about her pure-bred ankle-biters for a few minutes, and then the old man - and sitting next to her, he does look hilariously old - decides to interrogate Eric about his grades. Eric stutters through a recap and is berated for not getting better marks. He passed, you want to scream! He's doing fine! But you sit quietly until Camille interrupts to hold one of her prized pups up to say hi. The girl grates on everyone's nerves, but her one-track mind makes for a great distraction from the old man's glare. The boys each have one of your hands in a death grip by the time the call ends.

Evan reaches out to close the laptop when it's over, and leans back against the couch with a groan of exhaustion. Eric looks miserable.

"I need a drink," Evan says suddenly, heading for the liquor cabinet.

"Make that two," you mumble, flexing your hands.

"Three?" Eric asks.

Evan brings the bottle back.

An hour later, the boys have deepened their bond by unloading on the awfulness of their father and his last several wives. Between the ranting and the alcohol, they've both unwound significantly.

You've got your head on Evan's shoulder, holding him around the middle, legs stretched out across the couch cushions and tangled together. He's got one arm around you and one holding a nearly empty liquor bottle. Eric faces you from the other end of the couch, his arms spread wide across the backrest. Their feet almost touch in the middle of the long sectional.

"What was your favorite Christmas ever?" you ask, looking up at Evan with all the love in your heart.

"I was around five, I think," he says, the story already on the tip of his tongue. "And all my older brothers were down with the flu. Guess something good came from them never letting me play with them after all. Anyway, on Christmas morning, it was just Mum and I. And Eric, but he was so small, I think he slept the whole time. But Mum watched me open my presents and gave me sweets. Just the two of us. And the rest of those bastards spent the day in bed."

You nuzzle your cheek into his chest. He doesn't talk about his mother much, but you know he misses her. He squeezes you with the arm he's got wrapped around you and takes another swig from the bottle.

"What about you, Eric?" you ask, turning your sleepy eyes to your brother-in-law.

Eric purses his lips and thinks for a moment, before answering: "This one."

You can't decide if that's more sweet or sad, but you know you have to hug him. Right now.

"Awwww," you coo. His face turns red immediately. You untangle yourself from Evan and crawl to his baby brother, not realizing how drunk you are until you nearly lose your balance on all fours. Eric watches you in surprise as you straddle his lap and pull him to you for a hug. "I'm so happy you're here with us," you say, squeezing him. "You deserve so much better, you both do, because you are sweet and wonderful and perfect and I love you so much, even if--"

"OKAY, I think it's time for the Little Drunkard Girl to go to bed," Evan laughs, pulling you off of Eric and hauling you to the bedroom.

The next day, you wake with a pounding head and a vow to never drink again.

Eric leaves that afternoon, after a lunch of leftovers, with a quick hug and another reminder to call if he needs anything. You'll see him again… wait, when's the next holiday?

[chronicallyaunline]

Legolas makes more sense if he’s autistic

I recently re-watched the Lord of the Rings movies and I couldn’t help noticing how strange some of Legolas’s behaviour is. So many of his lines are unconnected to a broader conversation, and when they’re directed at others they often feel at odds with the scene.

Alternative theories for why Legolas is weird:

Bad acting

Bad writing

That’s just how elves are

I’m going to disregard the meta analysis for now, but there is a decent body of evidence that elves do not behave the same way Legolas does. In fact, I think his weirdness is camouflaged by being the only elf in most scenes. The other characters and audience members are more likely to attribute his behaviour to being an elf than to him being whatever the Middle Earth equivalent of autistic is. All the elf characters love being aloof and saying cryptic bullshit, but this is something beyond that.

Some evidence:

Flat affect, issues with empathy

After Gandalf is believed to have died, the Fellowship is in Lothlorien where an elf choir sings a lament to Gandalf. Legolas tells the group that it’s for Gandalf, but then says he can’t tell them what is being said because the grief is too fresh for him. His facial expression and tone are extremely flat. He isn’t malicious and doesn’t seem to lie anywhere else in the series, which suggests that he really does feel so intensely sad that he can’t tell the others what is being said about Gandalf. The fact that he feels that level of emotion with an entirely straight face reads like autism. A few minutes after this scene we see Galadriel experience intense fear, and in some scenes Elrond is visibly angry, which suggests that low emotional affect isn’t a facet of the species. It’s unique to Legolas.

While it doesn’t make sense for him to be purposefully unkind, telling people that their friend is being eulogized in a language they don’t speak and then refusing to translate is an odd choice. Why tell them at all if he wasn’t going to tell them what was being said? It seems like he struggles to understand what the impact of that would be on others.

Poor interoception (understanding of one’s own emotions and body signals)

During a drinking competition Legolas appears slightly confused when he discovers that he’s experiencing symptoms of drunkenness. Legolas has been alive for centuries. It doesn’t seem plausible that he’s never had a large quantity of alcohol before. We don’t see other drunk elves in this series so intoxication could be highly unusual for them, but it still seems odd that Legolas would be surprised by a bodily experience (tingling fingers) being connected to drinking. He only identifies a “slight tingling” as a symptom, yet his movements and speech are slowed in a way that suggests that he is more affected than he realises. He has just failed to pick up on what is happening.

Unusual social behaviour

Aragorn shares a plan to help Frodo by diverting Sauron’s attention with an army. Legolas unhelpfully summarizes with, “a diversion.” He also smiles slightly after saying this, which makes it come across as genuine rather than sarcastic. Either he has wildly underestimated the intelligence of everyone else in the room, is voicing his interal monologue, or is making an awkward attempt to be part of the conversation. There is no evidence elsewhere of him considering the other characters stupid or of him voicing his thoughts aloud. This looks more like mirroring, trying to be part of the conversation by parroting back what someone else said. This statement adds nothing to the conversation except to get him involved, which may be the true goal.

When Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli first meet Eomer, Gimli says something rude to him and Eomer says that he would cut off Gimili’s head if it were further from the ground. Legolas responds by drawing an arrow and threatening Eomer, which takes a tense but calm interaction and escalates it into a stand off. There was nothing about Eomer’s behaviour to suggest that he was actually going to harm Gimili. It was more about trading aggressive banter than an actual threat to Gimli’s life. It’s Legolas who unnecessarily escalates the situation and causes the Rohirrim to draw their weapons. He isn’t dangerously impulsive elsewhere in the movies, which makes me think he didn’t understand the interaction. He took Eomer’s words as a genuine threat and reacted as though Gimli was already in danger, which doesn’t seem to have been the case.

Conclusion

I’m of the opinion that a neurotypical Legolas is kind of a bad character. It makes it difficult to get a sense of his internal life, what motivates him or why he responds the way he does. So much of what he does and says seems like the writers and actor just didn’t know what to do with him. That may be the case, but if we re-interpret his behaviour as elf autism, he’s a more interesting and sympathetic character. I think we are always meant to interpret him as having a different brain from humans, but even the oldest and wisest elves interact more “correctly” with others. I’m not suggesting that Legolas was written as intentionally autistic, but so much of what makes him an erratically-written neurotypical character makes him a plausibly written autistic character.

[littledemondani]

imagine jason beinn mean to yn in front of eddie, normally he wouldn’t care but it’s the fact he poked fun at yn for liking something nerdy

first of all, i'm so sorry this took me months to get out. fell into a bad depression, got writer's block, haven't been able to get back into the swing of things. not sure how i feel about it, but i love this idea so much i had to get it out.

warnings: fem!reader, jason and reader are in a relationship, cheating, slight angst (tho not entirely sure if it qualifies but whatever) jason is a dickhead, eddie being protective

word count: 1k

series masterlist

jason approached your at your locker to walk you to your math class. usually, you perk up when you see him, a smile so big it reaches your eyes as you throw your arms around him. but lately you haven't been as excited to see him. the past few days you've had your nose stuck in a book, reading it whenever you had free time. before class, at lunch, after you've finished your classwork, even the times jason has called you to tell you goodnight before bedtime.

he can't say he's particularly surprised at the fact you cut the world out when you read. it's a thing you've always done, even before the two of you took your relationship to the next level. but it is something that he wishes you could put down every once in a while. especially when he's around.

you don't pick your head up at the sound of his 'hey babe. ready to go?' you grab your backpack off of the ground, sling it over your shoulder, and walk off.

jason mumbles an, 'okay then' and speeds up a little to catch up with you. the silence is awkward, something jason isn't used to, and it makes him uneasy, his patience literally teetering on the edge.

"what are you reading?" he asks, hoping it engages some reaction out of you.

"the fellowship of the ring," you respond, eyes never leaving the page.

he has no idea what you're talking about. even though you've explained to him before, multiple times actually, that the lord of the rings series is your absolute favorite and you can reread it over and over without ever getting bored.

"is that some romance novel or something?" he inquires.

that causes you to slam the book closed, turning your head to look up at him with furrowed brows.

"what?" he scoffs, genuinely confused by your reaction.

"you're really asking me that?" you deadpan. "i've told you before the lord of the rings is a fantasy novel. god, do you even listen to me when i talk about the things i like?"

jason is taken aback by your sudden change in attitude. though the slight concern he felt doesn't last very long and is replaced by anger and a need to lash out back at you to save his ego.

"i would if the stuff you were into wasn't so fucking weird," he counters, glaring at you in an attempt to make you seem small.

it works.

your resolve crumbles down. despite knowing deep down that jason felt this exact way, you never expected it to hurt as much as it does to hear him say it out loud. your eyes well with unshed tears, chest tightening and feeling as if it's closing in on itself, breaths growing a little heavier. your mind is blank, unable to come up with a response to give him.

"do you have any idea the type of crap the guys give me because of you?" he shouts, not caring that you're both in the middle of the hallway with a bunch of students scrambling to get to class on time. "they wonder what i'm even doing dating a girl like you. call you a freak. it's fucking embarrassing."

the tears stream down your face, staining your skin with black from your mascara. you can't even bother to look at him anymore, glancing down at your scuffed up converse.

a million emotions are hitting you all at once - anger, sadness, shame, disappointment are all at the forefront. you sniffle, rubbing the tears away with the wrist of your jacket.

"sorry," you say softly. "i'm sorry you can-."

"hey!" a voice from behind jason shouts. "i always knew you were a piece of shit, but picking on your girlfriend is a new low, carver. even for you."

eddie stares daggers at jason. he knows firsthand how cruel jason can be, having been on the receiving end of his bullying more times than he can count on both hands, but never did he think jason would turn that hatred onto you.

and he wasn't going to just stand by and let that happen.

"stay the fuck out of it, munson," jason warns through gritted teeth. "this doesn't concern you."

"see, that's where you're wrong," eddie counters, moving to step in between you and jason. "it absolutely does concern me. you think i'm gonna let you get away with treating her like that? what, because she has different interests than you? get the fuck over yourself."

"eddie," you plead, pulling on his jacket sleeve in order to get his attention. "it's okay, really, just drop it. please?"

curious eyes watch the situation unfolding before them, but neither of you seem to care or notice.

"i'm not gonna tell you again," jason seethes, stepping closer to eddie as he does so. "fuck off."

"or else what?" eddie smirks. "whatcha gonna do, carver? hit me?"

the final bell rings and that seems to snap jason back to the present. he scoffs a little, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulders. "nah," he responds, shaking his head. "you're not fucking worth it."

he walks off in the opposite direction of your class to head to his own, not so much as saying a word to you or even acknowledging your presence.

you let go of a shaky breath, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat.

"you okay?" eddie asks, making sure jason was completely gone before brushing his thumb along your cheek tenderly.

"you didn't have to do that," you say.

"'course i did," he replies, giving you a soft smile. "no one talks to my girl that way."

butterflies erupt in your stomach and you can't help but chuckle. "yeah, well, thanks."

"anytime," eddie winks at you.

he holds his arm out for you to grab hold of, which you happily do, and walks you the rest of the way to your class.

"i really thought you were gonna hit him," you say, glancing a look at his face.

"shit, i almost did," he confesses. "how awesome would that have been?"

"okay calm down," you giggle, waiting for him as he opens the classroom door for you.

"what? it would've been!"

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

Watching Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, Subspace Rhapsody

(spoilers for the musical episode)

I can't believe La'An and Kirk still haven't gotten that drink yet

(I mean obviously I can, La'An is so relatably awkward)

Have I mentioned how much I love Pelia? Because I do

Also her hair is gorgeous

I have dreamed of this exact scenario for all of my fandoms since I was little and it makes me so happy 😂(them all getting stuck singing)

(we all love a good dance break)

SPOCK IS SINGING

Holy shit, they're all so good at this

Oh I think this song about it being most peculiar is my absolute favorite song

THEY'RE ALL FANTASTIC SINGERS

Kirk: "Honestly I had assumed it was all something you rehearsed but then I sang too"

The crew members just looking at Una and Kirk as they sing😂

This must've been the absolute best thing to flim

Oh noooooo

La'An looks sad seeing the pair dancing 🥺

The flashback to her Kirk🥺😭

Ah yes, the classic Hollywood scene of a couple looking at each other under a white sheet with light somehow framing them perfectly

The Kirk brothers bickering 😂 the writers and actors were spot-on for siblings

OH NO

"Marie, I'm gonna call you back."

"Oh no, no you don't" the alarm in his eyes😂

Safe to say, it's not a private conversation 😂 I love that he fell to his knees and La'An immediately turned the thing off

THE WHOLE FLEET HAS IT?(the singing bug) AWESOME!

I mean, not for them

La'An looks like she's gonna be sick at the idea of working together with James🥺

Oh wow, they're floating(Una and La'An)

I kinda ship them

That's gotta hurt, Spock finding out about Christine's getting the fellowship by seeing her celebrating with others

Everyone dancing 😂

Damn, Christine saying if she has to leave Spock, she's not gonna fight it, ouch

Oh damn, La'An took a gamble telling Jim how she felt, and he just broke her heart a bit by being in another relationship

WHAT THE FUCK CAROL IS PREGNANT? POOR LA'AN

Also, I have no idea who tf Carol is

Spock is definitely in his emo/angst phase

Uhura's song is so damn heartbreaking 🥺😭

A grand finale of everyone singing? This will be fantastic 😂

Oh my god, it is fantastic

Pelia is freaking gorgeous and her singing with Spock and La'An makes me so happy

The doctor seeming to be posing while Christine spins is so funny and adorable to me😂

THIS IS SO GOOD

I have chills

THE KLINGONS?!!

I'm dead I was not expecting this one at all

Even the ships themselves are dancing

The way everyone looked at Uhura with dread when she started humming😂

I think this was probably my favorite episode of Strange New Worlds, if not my favorite Star Trek episode EVER!

20/10 would recommend watching

[too-destiny-panda]

Wyllvember Day 18: OTP

A/N: This prompt just gave me the excuse to talk about Wyll and my Tav lol. For those that have read my other ficlets for Wyllvember, this is the Tav I have in mind in all of them, if mentioned. I didn't give my Tav a name, because although I love her to pieces, I would rather not name drop an OC that I will likely never bring up again in a different context. Prompts are posted by @sagscrib, additionally tagging @commander-yinello WC: 782

Wyll never thought he would be able to settle down in peace, at least not since he had signed a pact with Mizora. He resigned himself to forever adventuring, forever roaming without proper home, and when he eventually died, to forever belonging to the blue devil. And although he desperately wished there was a way to change that, he came to terms with his seemingly unchangeable fate. Until he was thrown into the turbulent circumstance of having a parasite stuck to his brain. That’s when the first slivers of hope, of change began to appear.

They were subtle at first. Slight whispers of longing in his heart he attributed to fellowship, eyes following their leader's every movement, the curve of her face as she sat by the fire, that he attributed to curiosity. But the lingering touches when he helped her up, the unconscious smile when she chuckled at his stories, the fluttering of his heart when she shyly revealed a piece of her childhood, entrusting him with the memory. That was no coincidence. And so, he tried to spend more time with her. He would stay up later than usual to sit with her while on watch, to either whisper conversation or simply observe the human woman as she mended arrows or read. He couldn’t help but admire her warm eyes, the curve of her lips, the way her hands nimbly moved with practised ease as she busied themselves in the quiet of the night. That was when he first admitted to himself there may have been more to the ceaseless warmth in his chest than friendship.

When he asked the ranger to dance, her nervous smile and uncertain movements almost made him worry he overstepped despite their earlier kiss at the party, but as she accepted his hand after displaying dancing skills only taught to nobles, it was almost as if everything fell into place. He may not know more about her than the nickname, Tav, she called herself or the tidbits of their previous adventures she sometimes shared, but he knew right there and then as they looked into each other’s eyes that this was the person his heart longed for. This was the peace he dreamed about.

Later, right before they parted ways for the night, Tav pulled him closer to press one final, soft kiss to his lips, and whispered her name into the air as they parted, those golden brown eyes betraying vulnerability, and he almost couldn’t contain the waves of affection that came over him then.

Slowly, as their journey progressed, the mysterious ranger made an effort to stop being so mysterious, at least around him. Wyll felt incredibly giddy that she was dropping her walls because of him, for him. Of course, the others began learning about their leader more as well, but that was byproduct of traveling with others in such proximity. He didn’t mind. The blush that sometimes overtook those cheeks and the bashful lack of eye contact was his doing, after all. And eventually, during one of their evening cuddle sessions, he pieced together that she was the shy, socially awkward wallflower he danced with at one of the masquerades, her lovely giggles, breathtaking dancing and admissions about how sunflowers were one of their most beloved flowers leaving him with a strong enough impression that everyone else paled in comparison since that day. He made sure to ask Halsin to druidcraft him one later to give to her.

They became the subject of everyone’s teasing as well, because even though they did their best to not engage in anything lovey-dovey outside of camp, the looks, and smiles, as well as protectiveness in battle could only be described as devotion. Of  course, while in camp there were no such restrictions, and although Tav was more comfortable with being affectionate in private, she didn’t stop him from holding her close while eating or from holding her hand as they talked. According to Astarion, the pair almost make him starve himself from the pure amount of ‘tooth-rotting fluff his palate is subjected to’. And although the elf was prone to dramatics, the Blade supposes his description wasn't entirely inaccurate.

But that didn’t bother him. Because when they finally had a tavern floor all to themselves, the sweet nothings they whispered, the soft touches they bestowed upon him, the praise about his very being that rolled of their tongue almost mindlessly during one of his rougher nights was something Wyll Ravengard would cherish for the rest of his existence, whatever that may be. Because now, his peaceful fate was holding him in their arms and stroking his back absentmindedly and that was all he could ask for.

[carolina-swifthoof]

Earthmother's Blessings

Today was a remarkable day, one that reminded me of the Earthmother’s boundless generosity and the interconnectedness of our lives.

I ventured into the city early this morning with the intention of acquiring some much-needed supplies for our tribal grounds. As I walked through the bustling streets, my attention was drawn to a humble bull seated near a post, meticulously whittling a small totem. Intrigued, I approached him and learned that he was crafting a totem of protection for a friend. This sight stirred a memory within me of a totem that had been a source of strength during my own difficult times.

Feeling a sudden impulse, as if guided by a whisper from the Earthmother herself, I retrieved the totem from my satchel and handed it to the bull. His name, I soon discovered, was Quoko Sun-Forest. He accepted my gift with profound gratitude, and we spent some time in conversation. I shared stories of my tribe and the fellowship we hold dear. To my surprise, Quoko revealed that he was without a tribe.

I didn't want him to make a hasty decision, so I suggested that he walk with us for a while and experience the fellowship of our tribe. It was at this moment that a fellow tribesman and Quoko's Pandaren friend, Barbatos, arrived. Introductions were made all around, and we soon found ourselves immersed in discussions about the joys of the Earthmother and the deep respect we Shu’halo have for her.

Quoko and Barbatos seemed receptive to our ways, though I made sure to caution them against joining us without true understanding and conviction. Chor echoed my sentiments, reinforcing the importance of thoughtful consideration before committing to our tribe.

The conversation flowed easily and warmly, with nary an awkward moment until we neared the end of our time together. Quoko mentioned something about bringing members of the Alliance into our fold. While this did not trouble me personally, I could see that it struck a nerve with Kueya and Chorwador. The scars of past conflicts run deep, but I have made my peace, understanding that the true enemy was the Legion.

As the sun began to set, we parted ways with promises to meet again. I walked back to our tribal grounds with a heart full of gratitude. Today, I witnessed the Earthmother’s hand at work, bringing together strangers and weaving new bonds of friendship and understanding. I feel hopeful for what lies ahead, and I am reminded that in every encounter, there is an opportunity to grow and to heal.

May the Earthmother continue to guide us all.

Carolina Swifthoof

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Re-reading The Fellowship of the Ring for the First Time in Fifteen Years

Ok, you guys...these hobbits have me kicking my feet and absolutely adoring them in this chapter. Honestly, I'm really starting to come around to understanding why people think that the movies did the characterization of the hobbits dirty. I still love the movies, but I am increasingly loving this book and the relationships between our hobbits. Literally, why did nobody tell me that Merry is HELLA competent and probably should actually be running this mission??? Let's talk "A Conspiracy Unmasked."

So for like most of the last chapter, Frodo was over here panicking about how he's going to tell his friends that he's leaving and feeling guilty about making them help him move for fakesies, and I totally get where he's coming from. Moving sucks, and they did a ton for him.

So my face probably about mirrored Frodo's when Merry interrupts Frodo's suuuuuuuuuuuuuper awkward attempts to come clean and just goes,

...you are miserable, because you don't know how to say goodbye. You meant to leave the Shire, of course. But danger has come on you sooner than you expected, and now you are making up your mind to go at once. And you don't want to. We are very sorry for you.

SOMEBODY PUT THIS HOBBIT IN CHARGE. Especially after he comes clean about running the little spy ring with Sam and Pippin. The literal "Bro, you're not nearly as good at keeping secrets as you think you are, we've known about the ring for literal decades" reveal was SO ON POINT, especially for a group of longtime friends. Thinking you can pull one over on your friends and them just going, "Congrats, you're the last to know" is one of my favorite things.

I also love that Merry is fully prepared to just be absolutely blunt about this. Frodo is...philosophical, introspective, and deeply worried about maintaining group dynamics, harmony, and safety. Conversely, Merry has an intrinsic trust in those group dynamics and leans on them to make sure that everyone knows where Frodo is so he doesn't give them the slip. Merry's reveal of Sam as the master spy was also sheer gold:

"Where is he?" said Frodo, looking round, as if he expected a masked and sinister figure to come out of a cupboard. "Step forward, Sam!" said Merry; and Sam stood up with a face scarlet up to the ears. "Here's our collector of information! And he collected a lot, I can tell you, before he was finally caught. After which, I may say, he seemed to regard himself as on parole, and dried up."

Merry was running a successful spy ring that neither Bilbo NOR APPARENTLY GANDALF noticed in the freaking Shire, the small-town gossip central of Middle Earth. He moved Frodo with less fuss than any move I've ever experienced--he even had baths and dinner ready to go!!!--and he was fully up to speed on the Ring and the scope of what the mission at this point is. All of this while wrangling Sam and Pippin to make sure that Frodo didn't disappear on them. Seriously, I'm just deeply impressed by Meriadoc Brandybuck, and if this is indicative of the Brandybucks in general, then the rest of the Shire needs to stop disparaging them.

I also cannot believe that we are STILL on the freaking Sackville-Bagginses, but APPARENTLY they are just the worst, because without them being so awful that Bilbo was more than happy to use the One Ring to disappear just to avoid passing them on the road, Merry would never have seen that little disappearing trick. And if he had never seen that trick, then he wouldn't have known to set up his little spy ring and keep that close an eye on Frodo. Literally, I need to know who the Sackville-Bagginses were to Tolkien, because there is some serious beef there beyond narrative usefulness.

OOH ALSO: Crack theory time, because this chapter specifically says that Bucklanders "were not very different from the other hobbits of the four farthings. Except in one point: they were fond of boats, and some of them could swim." WERE SMEAGOL AND DEAGOL BRANDYBUCKS??? I have no further evidence to back this up, but like...I enjoy the thought that there might be an extremely distant familial relationship between Frodo and Gollum.

I'm also feeling a lot of sympathy for Frodo at the end of this chapter. Not being able to sleep because of stress and achy legs sucks, and then to have a vaguely ominous dream sucks, and it definitely does not set his ass up for a strong start in the morning, which I think he's going to need, because they're getting out the door early the next morning.

We'll pick up with our hobbits next time, and finally see if we can't actually get out of the Shire without a direct encounter with the Black Riders. (I know, they make it to Weathertop before they get nailed, and there's a close call at the Prancing Pony, but I only know that from the movies, I don't remember if they have any other close calls around those events.)

[sabakos]

This was the night the insane asylum burned down. Heinrich and I got in the car and went to watch. There were other men at the scene with their adolescent boys. Evidently fathers and sons seek fellowship at such events. Fires help draw them closer, provide a conversational wedge. There is equipment to appraise, the technique of firemen to discuss and criticize. The manliness of firefighting--the virility of fires, one might say--suits the kind of laconic dialogue that fathers and sons can undertake without awkwardness or embarrassment. The fathers and sons crowded the sidewalk, pointing at one or another part of the half gutted structure. Windows blew out. We watched another chimney slip through the roof, a few loose bricks tumbling to the lawn. Soon there was a smell of acrid matter. It could have been insulation burning--polystyrene sheathing for pipes and wires-- or one or more of a dozen other substances. A sharp and bitter stink filled the air, overpowering the odor of smoke and charred stone. It changed the mood of the people on the sidewalk. Some put hankies to their faces, others left abruptly in disgust. Whatever caused the odor, I sensed that it made people feel betrayed. An ancient, spacious and terrible drama was being compromised by something unnatural, some small and nasty intrusion. Our eyes began to burn. The crowd broke up. It was as though we'd been forced to recognize the existence of a second kind of death. One was real, the other synthetic. The odor drove us away but beneath it and far worse was the sense that death came two ways, sometimes at once, and how death entered your mouth and nose, how death smelled, could somehow make a difference to your soul.

Don DeLillo, White Noise