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runawaymun · 1 year ago

Note

Trick or treat! What about a line or two from something that'll likely never see the light of day from the WIP folder?

Ohhhh this is a fun question!

Ok so with @the-commonplace-book's permission, I shall share quite a few chunks of a little story we wrote together for fun, mostly just to take a break from some of our more serious joint projects, which is the MGME trope, but make it a couple of kids and their shitty parents -- who are some longstanding OCs which have been knocking about for years from a different, really cool project that she's working on. Mostly this whole thing began with, "what if Torin and Finley met Elrond and he could maybe dad them a bit? Wouldn't that be fun?"

The first section includes Glorfindel rescuing the parents from some Trolls (classic) after they fall into Middle Earth, and then I'll just select chunks at random. We wound up dropping it because we got to a point where we got bored, but it was a really good time while it lasted and spawned a totally different (but similar) idea which we poke at every once in a while.

This could get quite long :D

Neil and Deidre had been bickering so loudly and incessantly, that they hadn’t heard the thud! thud! thud! approaching until it was just behind them. They spun around just in time to see an enormous grey monster reaching for them.

They scrambled to escape, but it had them in their clutches - one in each giant hand. It was as rank as it was ugly, and no matter how much they squirmed and screamed, it wouldn’t let them go.

It carried them a ways through the woods, to a camp just outside a cave, where another giant grey creature sat tending a fire proportionate to their size. They began to chat.

If they had spoken the local tongue they might have understood the conversation as:

“What do you have there, Art?”

“Oh just some tasty morsels for tonight’s stew! Caught them scrambling about the edge of the moor, I did.”

“That one’s got a good bit of fat on him.” The second troll said, poking Deirdre with a thick grimy finger.

Art yanked her back, sending Deirdre screeching anew. “Hands to yourself, Wildo. I found them. I’m cooking them up.”

“There’s plenty to share! With that one at least.”

“This one’s mine. You can have the skinny one.” He tossed Neil to Wildo, who fumbled the catch, much to Neil’s increasing distress.

Of course, Neil and Deirdre Brady couldn’t speak this language, and so they were left in a fright, with monstrous creatures tossing them about and speaking utter nonsense. Perhaps it was for the best. No one, of course, wants to know that they are about to be roasted alive for lunch.

Trolls were nothing to sniff at.

They raised such a horrid stink.

Glorfindel had been waiting just at the edge of the cave this lot was living in, having been drawn by the orange glow this side of the hill. A glow that bright in the middle of the night in the Trollshaws only meant one thing. And these trolls were too close to the main road not to be a nuisance to travelers.

He’d been waiting because he had only counted one troll at the fire and they generally never lived alone if they could help it. It would be better to bag them both at once.

He was handsomely rewarded when the troll’s companion returned with dinner.

A very loud dinner.

The screeching was warranted, but hard to listen to. Glorfindel winced. No time to waste!

He left Asfaloth where he was –there was no sense risking him with the trolls– and strode into the ring of light, Aurë flashing in his hands, and called out jovially:

“Ho, my friends! What a nice catch you have!”

Both trolls froze and turned to look at the intruder.

Glorfindel gave Aurë a whirl and then gripped the hilt with both hands. “Mind if I join you for dinner?”

Before either Art or Wildo could decide how to react (trolls were, of course, rather slow creatures), Glorfindel raised his voice in a battle Song which forced both to drop their prizes and clutch their ears in horror. He sprinted toward them, Singing, and cut Art down with one long slice to his belly. Wildo recovered quicker, and grabbed the wicked-looking knife from his belt– which was about the size of Aurë– and waved it wildly in Glorfindel’s direction with a terrified shout.

Glorfindel neatly sidestepped each cut, parried, and then stabbed Wildo straight in the knee.

The troll howled in pain and sank to his knees. Glorfindel took the opportunity to plunge Aurë straight into the beast’s eye, right up to the hilt.

It took a bit of a yank to get the sword out again, which was tiresome. He had to put a boot to the creature’s skull to get enough leverage.

Panting, he cleaned Aurë and sheathed it, then turned and held out a gloved hand, glowing with golden light, to the woman first.

“Right. I hope you are not terribly hurt. Nasty things, trolls.”

(and later, the twins find the two boys in the forest and, after discovering that they speak no recognizable language, bring them to Rivendell to see if Elrond can figure out how to communicate with them)

The twins led the boys up to the house. It was buzzing with activity this time of day, elves going to-and-from the healing halls or the kitchen, some Dunedain guests milling about. They passed a group of hunters heading out for the diurnal prey that would be out soon.

Elrohir would have liked to get the boys another meal before doing anything else, but it was best to figure out what language they were speaking first. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, then went out to the garden and passed Lindir, who greeted them with a bow.

“Ada’s in his study?” Elladan asked.

Lindir nodded. “I have just come from there.” His eyes fell to the boys with curiosity, and then flicked back up to the twins.

“Uh…we’ll explain later. We really have to talk to him,” Elladan said again, and said goodbye and continued on past the courtyard to knock on the door to his father’s study and then went inside.

Elrond was indeed there, bent over some letters with Erestor at his side. Both of them looked over and Elrond straightened. He probably meant inquire after the hunt, but paused at once when he saw the boys.

Before the inevitable could be asked, Elrohir cut in: “We found them at the edge of the trollshaws alone and lost. No sign of any adults. Um– and I have no idea what language they’re speaking.”

“He tried everything,” Elladan added. “They don’t speak common. Elrohir even tried Khuzdul and Haradi but they recognized nothing.”

Elrond held up a hand to still them both and slowly came over. The boys had dark hair and light eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he would think they were Elros’ kin. But if what Elladan and Elrohir said was true, then he couldn’t imagine how that could be.

“The trollshaws?” From behind him, Erestor was incredulous. “What were they doing in the trollshaws? That is a long way from any Mannish settlement in the area.”

“I imagine we shall find out if we talk to them,” Elrond said evenly. He wished to hear them speak, if only to take a stab at a language root. He sank down to their level (his height was hard to handle for some grown men, let alone two children), and then put a hand to his chest and introduced, “Elrond.” And gestured to the eldest.

Torin kept his feet firmly planted on the floor, despite the way this man’s presence made him want to cower. He was tall - taller than any man Torin had ever met. His grey eyes looked old beyond his years and when he knelt to Finley’s level with those careful, gentle motions and that disarming tone, a profound sense of unease and acute distrust churned in Torin’s gut.

“Torin. We’re just looking for a phone.” He held his hand to his ear, fingers extended to pantomime it, and searched the man’s face for any sign of understanding. “Phone? Cell? Ring ring?”

Finley shrunk behind his brother.

Elrond cocked his head. The gesture was completely unfamiliar. The language…he supposed he didn’t have enough information to discern a root, though if he had to guess it might be Rohirric in nature.

The three questions in quick succession were clearly an attempt at some sort of clarification. Synonyms. But unfortunately he hadn’t the faintest idea of what any of it meant.

He glanced up at the twins, who looked baffled, and then sat back on his haunches and decided on: “Well met, Torin. I am afraid I don’t know how to help you,” because regardless of whether or not they understood each other, he was still going to give him the respect of speaking to him. “But I promise I will do my best to find how.”

“You don’t know what they’re speaking?” Elladan was astounded.

“Unfortunately I do not. It is a puzzle,” Elrond replied back.

The only thing Torin understood out of all that was his name. It was swiftly become clear they either had no idea what a phone was, or simply didn’t have any here and were trying to explain that.

“Fuck,” he said, guessing that was as gibberish to them as anything else in English. If he hadn’t left his damn phone charging in his room they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Okay, uh, Plan B,” he said, not even bothering to whisper. They couldn’t understand what he was saying to his brother anyway. “We’re gonna get some more food and figure out where the hell we are, and then figure out the real Plan B.”

Finley nodded mutely.

Torin took out the little wrapped bread from earlier and held it up, pointing to it. “Food?”

At that, Elrond lit up into a warm smile. It was an easily understood question.

“That was going to be my next suggestion, in fact. Food,” he repeated the unfamiliar word. “Yes.”

The letters were entirely forgotten with his attention entirely diverted onto this new puzzle. Erestor let out a long-suffering sigh and gathered them up into a neat stack. Elrond stood and started for the door beckoning.

“I’ll go get them something,” Elladan said, heading down to the kitchen. “Terrace?”

Elrond hummed in assent, and started up the walkway to the third floor, Elrohir following behind.

Elrond led them back downstairs, all the way to the first floor of the library. He waved to Iûldis as they passed her desk on their way in. She paid him a polite nod of her head. Elrond led them through the rows of books until they came to the selection of maps. He took one down and rolled it out on the nearest table large enough to accommodate it, took a moment to orient himself, and then pointed to Rivendell.

“We’re here. Rivendell.” He then traced over the mountains to: “Dale,” then downward, “Rohan,” further south. “Gondor. Minas Tirith.” And finally, back over the mountains, being sure to trace slowly all the way west. “Bree.” Then, “Ered Luin.”

Torin may not have been a geography whiz, but he knew a map of world and knew this sure as hell wasn’t it.

“Are you fucking joking?” Torin shook his head. “You don’t even have a real map. That’s grand. Fantastic. Fuck!” He grabbed the map and threw it off the table like the useless piece of garbage it was.

Finley flinched and shrunk back, worrying at his sleeves, stiff with shoulder hunched up to his ears.

Torin pointed an angry finger at Elrond. “Tell us where the hell we are!”

“Riv–” Finley tried to say Rivendell. He’d picked up that much. Not that he knew where or what Rivendell was, but it was where they were. The word couldn’t form. It tangled up in his mouth. “Ri–” Rivendell. Rivendell. Rivendell. It was right there caught in his throat behind a lump of anxiety.

Elrond took the outburst in stride. He watched the map drift to the floor, and then returned his attention to Torin. Iûldis had crept over at the commotion and was leaning around to glare at them all disapprovingly from around the bookcase. He shot her an apologetic smile and bent to retrieve the map. Thankfully, it was not damaged.

He rolled it up and reshelved it.

“Rivendell,” he repeated, because the question was clear and Torin’s little brother’s answer was also predictable. “That is where you are. And if you dislike the map we can look at others, but I am not sure if they will be of any use to you.”

He had begun to radiate a gentle flow of calm through the floor, if only because he could feel how fast the little one’s heartbeat was. It also may help keep the surrounding books intact.

Torin couldn’t pinpoint how, but he got the sense Elrond was trying to calm him down and that only put him further on edge. “ Ireland. Europe. British Isles. Dublin. Any of that mean anything to you?!”

He couldn’t tell if this was an elaborate act of if they really were that disconnected from society. For concerning recent events, the cosmic phenomenon they experienced yesterday had nothing on the presence of these pointy-eared bastards.

Elladan and Elrohir decided to go upstairs and get some sleep. They had slept little on their hunt, especially the night before, and it was beginning to catch up with them. On their way in, though, they stopped to check on the boys.

“Torin screamed at Ada,” Elladan muttered with a laugh. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

Elrohir’s eyes grew wide. “He’s lucky Erestor wasn’t there. He would have put him over his knee. Ai, I can still remember the first and last time I ever did that.”

Erestor had never done anything of the sort, of course, but the scathing disapproval had hurt just as much. He’d been in the room at the time. Ada had simply taken it in stride, asked him if he was finished, and then sent him to study a corner of the nursery for three hours. The boredom had been another kind of pain.

(Glorfindel arrives with Neil and Deidre, and they go to "reunite" with the boys but uhhhhh it does not go well... partially due to the language barrier but also due to the shitty family dynamic which the elves have no way of knowing about)

Celebrían led the boys upstairs. Elrond and Glorfindel came in before they could make it all the way to the terrace, meeting them in the hall. They had to sorely bedraggled adults with them who, Celebrían guessed, looked quite a lot like both boys.

“Glorfindel! It’s good to see you back!” she shot him a bright smile.

Glorfindel’s smile that he gave her in return was radiant as ever. “It’s good to be back.”

Torin froze. His body went stiff and he planted his feet. No. No, no no.

There were their parents, tired, with muddy clothes and tired eyes. Relief washed over their faces at the sight of him, but Torin didn’t share the sentiment. He knew it was a lie.

“Torin!” His mum went to hug him and he shrugged her off. His dad placed a hand on his shoulder and he stiffened.

“We’ve been looking for you for over a day. We were worried sick.”

“Yeah I’ll bet you were,” Torin grumbled.

“Where’s your brother?” The concern carried a nearly imperceptible edge.

Torin looked to his side. Finley was gone. Fuck. His eyes turned to his dad’s with a sharp glare. “What do you care?”

Neil sighed, like dealing with a petulant child, and tried to ask after Finley. “The smaller one? Finley?” He indicated the height, hoping one of the strangers (and they truly were strange) could help.

No one knew what to make of the strange encounter. This was not how they had expected it to go. Torin did not look glad to see his parents. Elrond began to wonder if it had not been an accident that they had been separated.

So focused were they all on the conversation that it came as a terrible surprise when Torin’s father (whom Glorfindel had introduced as Neil) asked about Finley. Before Elrond could register what he meant, Celebrían frowned, looking around.

“He was just here–”

Ah. Finley was the little one. And he had gone missing in a matter of seconds. Elrond’s heart jumped. He craned his neck. Sure enough, Finley was nowhere in sight.

He shot Neil an apologetic smile and said, “I will look for him. Celebrían, could you have Lindir make up a room?”

A little shaken, Celebrían nodded. She couldn’t imagine how Finley had been so quiet, nor so quick, that no one had noticed him disappear.

Elrond set off. Glorfindel took it upon himself to introduce: “Lady Celebrían, this is Neil, and his fucking cunt Deidre.” He said it cheerily, gesturing between the two of them, looking very proud of himself for picking up on the word for spouse from all of their bickering.

Celebrían shot them a smile and touched her hand to her chest and inclined her head. “Well met. Celebrían,” she introduced herself.

Deirdre, however, squawked in offense and, before Neil could stop her, slapped Glorfindel. “How dare you!”

“Deirdre!” He reached her a moment too late.

“You heard what he called me!”

“You really think he knows what that means?”

“Well– Well then it’s your fault! He must have picked it up from you!”

Meanwhile, Torin burst into laughter the moment Glorfindel said it. “No, no.” He gave a thumbs up to Glorfindel and pointed to his mum, still laughing. “His fucking cunt.”

“WIFE! I’m his wife!” Deirdre screeched.

“Torin.” Neil shot him a warning glare, but then those eyes flicked around their company.

Torin, knowing his dad couldn’t do shit in public, just shrugged and gave him a shit-eating grin. “You said it first.”

Glorfindel was so surprised by this entire thing that he froze. Celebrían’s eyebrows rose. She put her hands on her hips, ready to lash out at Deidre despite her being a guest because they most certainly did not allow anyone to strike anyone in her house– but at Torin’s reaction and Deidre’s apparently correction, the situation became clear.

“Glorfindel– I think that doesn’t mean what you think it means,” she said slowly.

Glorfindel looked between Torin, Celebrían, Neil, and Deidre. “He called her that the whole time!”

“Maybe they don’t get along as well as you thought,” Celebrían said with a thin, albeit amused, smile.

Glorfindel blushed and ducked his head in Deidre’s direction. “I misunderstood. My deepest apologies.”

Deirdre huffed, but accepted what she hoped was an apology. “Does anyone here speak English?” she demanded.

“Nope,” Torin said. “No English. No phones. No maps. We’re fucking stranded with these weirdos in this godforsaken larping compound.”

(one last little snippet here, after Finley bolts to get away from his parents, Elrond goes off to find him).

Elrond set off from the group. When he turned the corner in the hall, he stopped, shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and blocked everything out to attune to the floor beneath his feet.

Sure enough, it was faint, but there was a tiny heartbeat some distance away, racing at breakneck speed.

He followed it down to the second floor, past the rows and rows of guest rooms, hardly saying hello to anyone as he passed them. It grew stronger and stronger until he came to his study. The corners of his mouth twitched. Silently, he slipped in and padded over. The source of the heartbeat came from behind his desk.

If Finley’s first reaction upon seeing his parents was to hide, that was a bad sign. Torin had, really, reacted no better. Elrond was in no hurry to return Finley to them at present. More than likely it was only out of anxiety that they would be angry with him for running off, or getting lost, or any number of things. But this was such a strong reaction that Elrond worried it might be something more than that.

He sank down to the floor to sit on the other side of his desk, resting his back against it and reclining.

“Finley, is it?”

He was glad that he finally knew the little one’s name. He kept his voice soft, hardly above a whisper, and began to radiate a gentle pool of calm, hoping that Finley might come out on his own.

Finley wasn’t sure how he got here, or where here even was. His arms wrapped around his knees, squeezing so, so tight; he felt he might crumble into a million little pieces if he let go. He couldn’t stop shaking, his head was spinning, his chest wound tight, and he could barely breathe.

I shouldn’t have run. I shouldn’t have run. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry.

The words filled his thoughts to the brim like swelling pressure against a frail dam. The door opened. His whimpers silenced and he pressed against the corner of the wood.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Go away. Please go away. Please don’t–

The footsteps stopped on the other side of the wood. A pause, then a voice. That wasn’t his dad. He felt like he should know who it was, but couldn’t remember through the screaming mess in his head. Whoever it was, he had a gentle voice. Finley felt the air come back into his lungs. Tears sprung from his eyes.

He opened his mouth, but not words would come out. They all tangled up in his clenching chest.

It was quiet for a long time, save only for the sound of Finley’s still-racing heart, his sniffling, and the little sounds of distress he was making every so often. Panic. Elrond’s chest twisted. He briefly considered going to fetch Torin, but that might mean alerting Finley’s parents that he had been found. He had no intention of doing so until Finley was calm and they had a chance to…

…what, talk? They couldn’t. Elrond bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated. He squashed the feeling as soon as it rose before it could bleed out of him.

Finley neither spoke nor came out from under the desk, though his heart did slow somewhat. Elrond fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully reached behind him to set it at the corner of the desk, within reach without forcing Finley to come out before he was ready.

After another long stretch, an idea occurred to him. It was risky– especially in the state Finley was in– but there was a chance they might be able to communicate.

Tentatively, with the upmost care to be gentle, Elrond reached out and brushed Finley’s whirring, anxious mind with his own.

‘I am not here to make you come out,’ he told him, hoping that at least something would be intelligible, ‘don’t fret.’

The voice, or… impression of a voice, was warm. It felt the same as the calming presence that had begun to ease his fear. Not banish it, but lessen it at least. What he imagining things? He figured he must be. His dad said his grandma used to hear things that weren’t there.

Whatever he was, a real or not, Finley’s thoughts tumbled back to him.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away. I just got really scared. I don’t know where I am or if Torin’s okay. He was probably so mad and it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have run away. I’m sorry.’

The response was remarkably clear, for all its rushing current of fear which choked the words. Elrond let out a relieved breath.

‘Torin is well. He is safe,’ he told him at once. ‘And to my knowledge no one is angry with you. Only worried.’

Finley buried his face in his knees and pulled them closer to his chest, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood. ‘No. No he’s angry. He’s really really angry and it’s my fault. It’s my fault because I ran away and now he’s gonna hurt Torin and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have run away or hid the rings or taken the rings or anything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!’

“I’m– I– I– I’m s–” the words stumbled weakly out of his mouth. “‘m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Elrond shifted, rounding the desk to settle down once more a fair distance away, within Finley’s line of sight, but neither blocking his exits nor forcing either of them to look directly at each other.

‘No one will hurt Torin in my house. I will not let them,’ he replied back, firm and steadfast, but still gentle and warm. ‘is it your father that scares you so much, tithen pen?’

Finley didn’t look up when he moved around the desk. He kept his face buried in his knees, but nodded, just a little.

‘He was really angry, ‘cause I took something I wasn’t supposed to and now we’re here and it’s my fault.’

Elrond tilted his head, still radiating that flow of calm and relieved beyond words that this was working.

‘predicaments so unfortunate and tangled as this are hardly ever any one person’s fault, let alone someone so small as you. And in any case I am certain you did not intend to cause harm. And a second I promise: I will not let anyone hurt your brother. Neither will I let anyone hurt you. No matter how angry they might be.’

Finley couldn’t say why he believed him, but he did. He was just one of those people who made you feel safe. Finley was scared to look up, because he wanted so badly for him to be real, but was so scared he wasn’t.

It took a few minutes to muster up the courage to lift his head and open his eyes.

There, sitting on the floor, was Elrond.

He was warm like summer and had a presence so much bigger than Finley’s dad, but so much kinder.

anyway, that's the gist! I know that's quite bit more than a "line or two" but this will likely never go up anywhere, since we don't plan on finishing it. It's a fun idea, but we wound up doing a similar thing with the same characters a little to the left, and we like that better.

#this is huge #but we wrote quite a bit of this before we got bored lol #the bradys in middle earth #(small cw for child abuse. nothing graphic. Only implied)#elrond #not my OCs but borrowed with permission!#also includes:#elladan #elrohir #erestor #lindir #and plenty of:#glorfindel #and also Celebrian #of course

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thebanneredmareinn · 1 year ago

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Skyrim asks!

1, 2 !

1. Which areas of Skyrim do they find most beautiful and most dangerous?

Anarian loves the Rift. He loves the trees and the autumn colors. It reminds him of his home in Valenwood. The wilds of the Pale and Winterhold, however, he finds more dangerous than is worth the effort more often than not. He hates the frigid winds and icy paths and don't even get him started on frost trolls.

2. Which cities do they prefer to stay in and why? Which cities to they avoid at all costs?

He enjoys Whiterun, but his favorite is Riften, though he is always certain to be aware of the whereabouts and contents of his coinpurse.

Besides Dawnstar and Winterhold, for the reasons mentioned above, he isn't a fan of Markarth. After adventuring all over the province, the last thing he wants to do when he gets home is hike up all those damned stairs. He'll only walk up 7,000 steps for the Greybeards, and even then he's gonna complain the whole time.

8. What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

The only thing Anarian enjoys about the frozen north is a hearty bowl of horker stew (sans veggies) or a thick bloody horker steak.

These were answered for my newest oc Anarian who is a Bosmeri merchant who was shipwrecked into Skyrim and he Does Not want to be there lol

(questions from this ask game i reblogged back in august lmao i answered them in my notes app and then forgot about them i'm sorry!!)

#asks #skyrim #anonymous #catgirl-niko

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delicatenightfury · 2 years ago

Text

Star of the Mountain: Chapter 1

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Thorin looked around at his company. They had chosen to rest for the evening by an abandoned, crumbling farmhouse. Gandalf had been opposed to the location and took off shortly after they started making camp. Thorin scowled at his stew. The wizard had suggested moving on and heading for the Hidden Valley. The very thought made Thorin’s blood boil. What help had elves been to Thorin and his people? In their times of need, the elves turned their backs. They refused to offer any sort of aid to their neighbors. Thorin’s hand gripped his spoon tighter, remembering the moment the elves turned away.

Suddenly, Fili came bursting through the treeline.

“Trolls!” he gasped. “They’ve got some of the ponies.”

“I thought you were supposed to be watching them!” Gloin said.

“We were! They managed to get past us.”

“Where are they now?” Thorin asked, getting to his feet and grabbing his sword.

“We sent Bilbo after them,” Fili replied. “Kili’s tailing him just in case.”

Thorin shot a look at his nephew as the other dwarves quickly gathered their weapons.

“You sent the halfling after trolls?”

Fili paused and a sheepish smile crossed his face.

“Yes?”

Thorin rolled his eyes at his nephew for his careless actions.

“The burglar’s not going to last long,” Dwalin muttered.

“Lead the way. Quickly!”

The dwarves followed Fili into the woods. They passed the remaining ponies on the way, who didn’t seem phased by the dwarves’ behavior. Soon, they heard several voices coming from beyond the trees. They slowed their pace so they wouldn’t be heard approaching. Thorin spotted Kili near the edge of the trees, sword in hand.

“He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful,” one of the trolls said in a gruff tone. “Not when he’s skinned and boned!”

“Perhaps there’s more Burglar-Hobbits around these parts,” said another troll. “Might be enough for a pie.”

“Grab him!”

“He’s too quick!”

Thorin looked at his nephew once again. Fili and Kili were wise enough not to meet their uncle’s narrowed eyes.

“He’s been spotted,” Bofur muttered.

“Gotcha!” one of the trolls said.

“He’s been caught,” Thorin grumbled. “Into positions. Now.”

“Are there any more of you little fellas ‘hiding where you shouldn’t?” the troll asked.

“Nope,” Bilbo replied.

“He’s lying.”

“No I’m not!”

“Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal!”

Suddenly, Kili shot into the small clearing, slicing the heel of one of the trolls. Thorin cursed under his breath at his nephew’s impulsive action.

“Drop him!” Kili shouted.

“You what?” a troll said.

“I said, drop him.”

The troll growled in response and threw Bilbo at Kili, who had to drop his sword in order to catch the halfling. Thorin nodded to Dwalin and let out a battle cry, rushing into the small clearing. The company followed, swords raised and ready for battle. They moved quickly. Due to their smaller size, the dwarves were able to move around easier, making it hard for the trolls to grab them. They all worked together, trading around which trolls they were fighting while also watching each others backs.

Thorin paused when he realized that the trolls had stepped back. He looked toward them and felt his frustration rise.

“Bilbo!” Kili shouted.

“No!” Thorin managed to stop his nephew from racing forward again.

The trolls had Bilbo by his arms and legs. The halfling was barely able to move with the way he was being held. The dwarves held their weapons ready, but Thorin had little faith this would turn out favorably.

“Lay down your arms,” one troll said, “or we’ll rip his off.”

Thorin glared at the trolls for a moment before his eyes drifted to Bilbo. With a small growl, Thorin stuck his sword into the ground. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn’t really have a choice. The company followed his lead and threw their weapons to the ground.

Before they really knew what was happening, half of the dwarves were put in sacks and the other half were tied to a spit over the large fire. They had been stripped of their weapons and their outer layers of clothing. Everyone was shouting insults to the trolls and struggling against their bonds. Thorin was one of the more quiet ones, knowing that their shouting wasn’t going to do much other than annoy the trolls. He tried to ignore what was going on around him in favor of devising a plan to get them out.

“Wait!” Everyone looked toward Bilbo. “You are making a terrible mistake.”

“You can’t reason with them. They’re half-wits!”

“Half-wits? What does that make us?”

Thorin watched as Bilbo managed to get himself to his feet and turned toward the trolls.

“I meant with the, uh, with the seasoning.”

“What about the seasoning?” one of the trolls growled.

“Well have you smelt them?” Bilbo asked. “You’re going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up.”

Several dwarves voice their thoughts at the halfling’s words. Some were curses in Khuzdul while others called him a traitor.

“What do you know about cooking dwarf?” a second troll asked.

“Shut up and let the flurgaburburrahobbit talk.”

Bilbo smiled slightly before continuing.

“Uh, the- the secret to cooking dwarf is, um-”

“Yes? Come on.”

“It’s, uh-”

“Tell us the secret.”

“Yes- yes, I’m telling you. The secret is…” The dwarves looked at their burglar, anxious to hear what was going to come from his mouth. “...to skin them first!”

This time, Thorin voiced his objection with everyone else. The dwarves struggled harder against their bindings, hoping to escape the trolls and Bilbo’s madness.

“What a load of rubbish!” the second troll exclaimed. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all.”

“‘e’s right!” the third troll said, grabbing Bombur and lifting him into the air. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy!”

“Not- not that one! He’s infected!”

“You what?”

“Yeah. He’s got worms in his… tubes.”

The troll that had grabbed Bombur immediately dropped him, much to the misfortune of Kili and Oin. Thorin couldn’t help but wince.

“In fact they all have them. They’re infested with parasites. It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”

The trolls exchanged looks while the dwarves started to shout at Bilbo again.

“Are all dwarves this dense?” a voice suddenly said from behind Thorin. Thorin’s head snapped back, searching for the source of the voice. He could have sworn he recognized it. He was about to speak when the person shushed him. “You lot are making this extremely difficult.”

“He’s going to get us killed,” Thorin hissed.

“He’s buying you time. Play along.”

Thorin looked back at the exasperated Bilbo before kicking Kili as hard as he could. The dwarves became silent for a brief moment, looking at Thorin. He kept his eyes on Bilbo with the slightest nod to make the dwarves understand.

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm,” Oin said.

“Mine are the biggest parasites,” Kili shouted. “I’ve got huge parasites!”

“We’re riddled.”

“Yes, I’m riddled.”

“Yes we are. Badly.”

The trolls exchanged looks before glaring back at Bilbo.

“What would you have us do, then? Let ‘em all go?”

“Well…”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

“Ferret?”

“Fools?”

“Well, you’re not that far off,” the voice behind Thorin said.

Suddenly, a figure leapt over the dwarves and attacked the trolls. The creatures shrieked in shock, trying to grab their attacker. Thorin tried to sit up to see better. One of the trolls squealed when the figure’s blade tore through its stomach. Just as another went to grab the assailant, a second figure dropped from the trees above, landing on its shoulders.

The troll cried out, reaching up to grab at the person. The newcomer pulled out a blade and stabbed it into the troll’s skull, twisting it with a sickening crunch. The two remaining trolls looked on in horror as the third fell dead to the ground. They looked quickly between the two mysterious figures, realizing that they were surrounded.

“Dawn will take you all!”

Gandalf appeared on top of a nearby rock, his voice booming over the area.

“Who’s that?” one troll muttered.

“No idea. Can we eat ‘im too?”

One of the figures chuckled and said, “I don’t think you’ll get the chance.”

Gandalf brought his staff down and the rock he was on split down the middle. Sunlight poured into the area, hitting the trolls. The creatures cried out in pain and tried to shield themselves. The company watched as their movements slowed and their bodies became encased in stone. Everyone stood frozen for a minute before the dwarves started cheering.

“Oh get your foot out of my back!” Dwalin grumbled from the spit.

Gandalf walked into the clearing and put out the fire. Thorin looked back at the two figures that had helped save them. One helped Gandalf with the dwarves on the spit while the other approached those on the ground.

“Well,” they said, pulling their hood off their head. “That was fun.”

“For you, maybe,” Oin said. “You weren’t the one about to be eaten!”

“Who are you, anyway?” Kili asked.

The woman smiled as she freed Bilbo from his sack.

“My name is Oreliell,” she said. “At your service.” She looked at the dwarf king and smirked slightly. “Good to see you again, Thorin.”

#the hobbit #tolkien #thorin oakenshield #thorin #king under the mountain #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin x oc #thorin x elf oc #thorin x elf #elf oc #the hobbit oc #fanfiction #the unexpected journey #here we go!#star of the mountain

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theblogofdurin · 4 years ago

Text

Cloaked in Green Chp.4: Ring of Barahir

word count:2,050 ( whoop look at me, new record )

a/n: there are a lot of exclamation marks in this, I had such a hard time trying to make sense of the fight scene with the trolls and everything. So if it makes no sense just imagine your own scenario if you will lol.

warning(s): sword-fighting, and shooting arrows..someone might've lost an eye

summary: L.D. takes on the trolls

Offical pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!OC

Read here Chapter 2, Chapter 3

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It was a recently uneventful dusk and L.D. was laid there on her bedroll until nightfall watching as Bombur used the last of the rabbit meat for supper. Everyone finishing or starting their nightly chores, close to sundown, she watched silently as Thorin sent Fili and Kili out to check on the ponies and her horse.

Shamelessly, she had kept an eye out on him throughout the rest of the evening, he seemed very stressed that Gandalf hadn’t returned yet. It was-his response to Gandalf suggestion was strange to her. Clearly the animosity between elves and dwarves is stronger on their side of the Misty Mountains… Elrond has always talked of the ‘tension’ with a slight eyeroll and scoff, however. Thorin and the others seemed to take it more…personal, and it was concerning to think about what they might think of her and her relations to elves, as a result.

“He’s been a long time.” Bilbo stated as he walked over to Bofur who was serving the stew.

“Who?” questioned Bofur as he handed a bowl over to Dwalin.

“Gandalf.” As there wasn’t anyone else that he could mean.

“He’s a wizard. He does as he chooses- Stop it! you had plenty.” Slapping Bombur’s hand as he reached for one of the bowls that was resting in his arm.

“Here, Bilbo do us a favor and take these to the lads.”

Nodding Bilbo took the bowls out of Bofur’s hands and turned to head where Fili and Kili were supposed to be tending to the horses. “Aye! This isn’t a bad stew Bombur” Gloin said through mouthfuls “I’ve had plenty worse.”

“Yeah” Nori sitting next to him piped up “Dori coulda cooked it!”

She had to roll over on her roll to hide her silent laughter and shoulder shake. Through everyone else’s laughter she was able to make out Dori’s faint but irritated.

“Hilarious.”

Again, she found her eyes drifting towards Thorin’s as he left out another deep breath. He was perched now on log, just on the edge of camp, sharpening his sword. The flame of the fire, putting that same hue of golden light, as it did 3 nights before. His head turned towards me, grunting as he jerked his head in the direction of the horses.

“L.D, can you go check to see if the hobbit got lost.”

Ignoring the shock that went through her as he said the nickname Gandalf and the others assigned. She realized that Bilbo has been away for a while, and with nothing better to do. She nodded and made her way towards the opening, where she last saw him disappear into. She was met with fallen trees and thrown brush, her heart jumped into her throat.

“No no no.” she muttered as she moved father in, drawing her sword out silently. Fili and Kili crouched down in some behind one of the fallen logs and she quickened her pace so she was standing behind them. Looking toward the direction they were, she was met with a horrid sight.

Three large mountain trolls were gathered around a fire, with Dwalin’s and Bifur’s ponies tied up behind them. She noticed a small shadow, confused before she realized it was Bilbo nervously sneaking up behind them, and trying to untie the rope and was wrapped around a post.

She didn’t notice that she hadn’t made my presence known to the two dwarfs till Fili turned around and let out a small gasp. Looking down at him, she watched as he quickly relaxed when he saw who it was .

Kili grinned. “Bilbo’s going to get our ponies back.” She just had to shake her head at them. How on earth did they expect a Hobbit? A Halfing? To fight three full grown trolls. She moved farther down the tree, jumping up onto one of the big oak trees that stretched across the troll’s camp site.

Once she felt like she was in a good position up on a branch, she looked back down just in time to watch the horror and stupidity began to unfold. Kili was running out into the clearing, his sword drawn.

“Drop him!” He demanded.

“Or you do what?” One of the trolls said, looking over at the small dwarf.

“I said drop him!”

Scoffing, the troll threw Bilbo at Kili knocking both of them down to the ground. As if it couldn’t get any worse, she watched as the rest of the company ran in and started slashing around at the trolls. She could see what Gandalf meant when he said that these men were experienced warriors. She could also see that none of these men have clearly fought a troll before, let alone three.

She just was about to help, when two of the trolls held Bilbo up by his arms and legs, each holding an arm and a leg.

“Drop your arms, or we rip him off!”

Glaring, Thorin dug his sword into the dirt. The other dwarves reluctantly followed, all grumbling under their breath. There wasn’t much for her to do as she watched the trolls tie up half the company in bags and the other half on the roasting spit.

Gnawing on the rope tie, Thorin took the rope between his teeth tugging ever so often but alas it only seemed to tighten the bag even more. Grunting out, he was immediately shushed.

“Do you hear that?” Ori suddenly spoke out, as a whistling melody had filled the air.

“What’s that noise?” Asked one of the trolls.

“I don’t know.” squeaked another one. Thorin was too occupied looking around to see which one said what. Just when it couldn’t get worse, he thought bitterly.

Soon, the whistle was being followed by the sound of scraping metal and bustling brushes. Thorin, who was slightly rested against one of the rock faces, shifted slightly till he was able to make out the shadowy figure in the L.D was leaning against one of the tree’s, his hood pulled tight over his eyes, whistling the melody like a wonderful flute as they moved their hand over the blade of their sword. Thorin felt a calm wave wash over him, hating it slightly. If anyone could help us..

“What are they doing!” Oin whispered shouted, apparently making out the same figure. “They can’t possibly take on three trolls by themselves!” He was also shushed by the others.

“I think he can handle it” Fili smiled up at the old dwarf. Thorin wanted to argue that no could possibly take on this many trolls at once, but the hobbit spoke first, “But what is he doing? He is just staying there.”

“Look who we have here boys” ruffed a troll, “The Green Cloak seems to have gotten lost.” Huh, it seems the green cloak is more well known than Thorin realized.

The Cloak merely looked back up at the troll, only showing their mouth, lips pursed together in a whistle. Their hands are still sliding against the length of the small blade. It was only then Thorin realized the scraping noise was because of the ring that was on L.D.’s left thumb.

“What are you doing here Ranger?” Growled the more aggressive troll

“Ranger?” Balin whispered, “Well, that would explain that.” Thorin kept his eyes closely on the trolls as he listened “He doesn’t look like a Ranger...”

The trolls seemed to have forgotten about the other dwarves on the spit for the three were all watching the strange behavior from L.D. He stopped whistling when one of the trolls made a move to grab out him.

Ducking quickly, L.D. sword slashed at the troll’s hand before disappearing back into the tree line.

“Arghh!” croaked the troll grabbing his hand, blood dripping from between his fingers. Spinning around sharply, he shireked “Where did he go!? ”

“Forget him! We need to get these dwarves done! Dawn is approaching and I don’t fancy turning to stone!” the one on the other end growled, moving to turn the spit again.

Before he could touch the wooden handle. An arrow from above shot through it, splintering into the wood. Jumping back the troll tripped over his feet and landed promptly on his butt. Laughing at him, the other trolls didn’t bother to help him up.

“I don’t know brother; I say the lad is properly doing a good job!’ Gloin snorted, the others were all laughing at the scene in front of them. Laughing as well Thorin looked up from where the arrow must have come, just barely able to make out the figure of L.D. standing on top of an outstretched tree limb. Shaking his head, Thorin felt a faint smile tug at his lips as he watched L.D. shoulders shaking, clearly laughing too.

"Stop laughing!” the troll on the ground exclaimed pointing up at L.D. “Get him!! Damn the Dwarves!”

“Let me!” The one in the middle started jumping up at the limb, causing the ground to vibrate violently in protest. Luckily L.D. was just out of reach of the troll, for he pulled out another arrow aiming it straight down towards the said troll. Releasing the arrow, it hit the troll straight in the eye.

“YA!” yelled Oin! The others also began cheering for the cloak, Thorin couldn’t help but yell with them. “YA!”

Whipping their head down at the rest of us, Thorin was just barely able to make out the wide smile that lifted their face, as he nocked another arrow. “URAHHH!” the troll cried, holding his eye.

“Come here you little rat!” the first troll shouted once more, pushing his way to stand underneath where L.D was perched. Before L.D could shoot another arrow, the troll jumped once hitting the limb and knocking the Green Cloak to the ground.

“Got ya” snarled the troll, grabbing L.D. by the back of his hood, dangling him from the air. Struggling against the hold, the green cloak kicked and pushed against the troll’s hold.

“Let Him Go!!” Kili yelled followed by other shouts and curses shouted by the rest of the company.

“Why don’t we just look and see who this ‘Green Cloak’ truly is.” Venom laced the troll’s voice as his other hand reached up to pinch the fabric of the hood.

“Flare for the dramatics much?” That voice couldn’t have come from…impossible. Thorin couldn’t think anymore clearly, as that voice was far to high for any man.

“That was a woman’s voice aye?” questioned Oin, as he gazed at the cloaked warrior. “Your ears didn’t fool ya this time.” Gloin croaked back.

Shocked, the troll froze for a second before glaring back the cloaks hand back ripped the hood back. Time stood still as he looked at the storming grey eyes…of a woman. Her deep brown hair fell down in long frenzy waves as they were forcibly untucked as the hood was removed.

“L.D. is a woman.” Thorin breathed in almost a whisper. Balin looked over at him, grinning widely at the vague glassover look in his eyes. “Dis is going to love this.” Balin chuckled lightly into his bag.

Hearing the name of their mother, both Fili and Kili heads shot towards the elder dwarf in clicked unison. Balin just winked and glanced at Thorin. Following his gaze, both brothers faces broke out into wide grins.

The troll stood frozen, just as flabbergasted, clearly not expecting a woman to be behind the mask of the hood. Shaking his head, he spoke gruffly at her.

“And what do you think you are doing?”

Merely just lifting a smirk to rest on her face she shrugged “Being a diversion.”

“Huh?” questioned the other, non-blinded troll. Confusion shifted off the trolls and using this to her advantage. L.D. shoved against the fist of the troll breaking from the grasp of it. Unsheathing her dagger, as she stuck the landing, stabbing the foot of the troll holding her. “WAA! She’s broke out!”

“Aye, she’s a fighting one.” Kili said a small unbelieving laugh leaving his lips with it. Fili nudged him, letting out a surprised laugh as well.

Thorin watched anxiously and proud as the mysterious woman continued slashing and stabbing at all the trolls’ feet with her sword. Efficiently tucking and ducking around their counterattacks and grabs. He felt taken back at how well she moved with her sword, her hair whipping around as she spun the trolls around the campsite.

“Wait, she is trapping herself!” shouted the hobbit just as Thorin heart leap to his throat as he watched as L.D. moved the Trolls closer and closer to the big rock that stood at the east side of the camp. Almost panicking now, he went to pull at the rope stings with my teeth again, however it still only tightened them farther.

“What is that”

“Who is that”

“Can we eat him too?”

The voices of the Trolls pulled his attention back up, to the three of them were staring up at the top of the rock (…well two of them staring). A tall figure stood on top of the stone, just above where L.D. had trapped herself. He thought his mind lost itself for a bit for he swore he saw her smile.

Finally, the other dark figure bellowed out a loud yell at over the clearing. “THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL”

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Tag list requests still open!!: @sweetfaytanner @lokigirlszendaya @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @emrfangirl @lathalea @hr-nm-grnd-zr @markosgirl @demigoddesofchimichangagod @imaginesfire @kaysteahouse

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"For this ring was like to twin serpents, whose eyes were emeralds, and their heads met beneath a crown of golden flowers, that the one upheld and the other devoured."

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faeriefics · 3 years ago

Text

The Last of the Light Fae - First Chapter.

Pairing: Fili x Female Faerie OC Shaeleign (Shay-lean)

Word Count: Approximately 3.2k.

Warnings: Mentions of troll filth, blood, the threat of violence, swearing.

Masterlist

Next Part

A/N: This is the first instalment of I don't know how many - I'm planning to have the second part feature Shae's perspective, and elaborate much more on her character, but I wanted to start from Fili's POV to allow for some context! I've made so many edits and touch-ups that at this point I need to post it before I chicken out! Any feedback or encouragement would be really appreciated!! If anyone would like to follow my posts for this series, let me know and I'd be very happy to open a taglist!

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“What smells worse, brother-mine, those flea-ridden sacks the trolls wrapped us in, or this hole in which they used to live?” Kili was in such good-humours that anyone would have been none-the-wiser to know they had narrowly avoided being spit-roasted or eaten alive. Whether it was courage or something resembling stupidity, Fili would not comment - admittedly, he was shaken enough to feel confident in his will to live, but not so disturbed as to be deterred from their quest. His brother had been kicking a rock against the cave’s entrance for a minute or so now, distracted, no doubt doing as he was; filling his lungs with as much fresh, unpolluted air as possible, bracing for the stench he could already smell leaking from the entrance.

“This cave stinks worse than that dreadful stew Uncle attempted last winter solstice - if he’d added hound shit and rotten flesh I imagine it’d be close to the smell down there.” Fili instantly regretted speaking so much, his next soft intake of breath having him forget he was facing that rotten, dark hole; leaving him near-gagging at the stench, much to Kili’s apparent amusement. The dark-haired dwarf laughed, as loud and glee-filled as one could only be when giggling at another’s expense, and in truth Fili nearly laughed when his brother made the same mistake as he, his laughing turning to spluttering gags.

“Plug yer noses, breathe through yer mouths, and quit yer fretting! Bloody spoilt wee princesses, not known a day of true hard work-” Gloin’s head came poking through the darkness, red-hair briefly illuminated in the pale yellow light of the morning. Fili felt a clever retort clinging to his tongue, one weighing whether looting a cave previously occupied by mountain trolls qualified as ‘hard work’ - he for one did not see the point. Perhaps he was more easily convinced away from such endeavours by the rumbling of his belly and the soreness of his eyes from a missed night’s sleep - but on the other hand, his pride reared its head at the description of ‘spoilt’ - he was certainly not coddled. Had Gloin ever met his mother? If he and Kili had been playful and carefree thus far, it was merely because they had needn’t fear their mother’s temper and her will of iron on this journey. As much as he cared for (and, admittedly between himself and Kee, missed) their mother, she, at times, seemed scarier than the tall tales of orcs, goblins and trolls told in their youth to keep young dwarflings quaking in their bedsheets.

As though to prove precisely how unspoilt he was, his feet marched ahead - fearlessly, he imagined. Though the image of him pinching his nose and breathing through his mouth was perhaps less regal to those outside himself. “Come, brother, unless you’re too fearful.” His voice honked, nasally from his pinched nostrils, before he chose to remove his fingers and attempt to adjust to the stench - noticing how Kili came bounding into the cave, eager to prove his courage - or, again, stupidity - Fili thought with a slight smirk.

The cave was remarkably unextraordinary in appearance. Great congealed mounds of hideous brown and maroon - piled high enough to make Fili idly wonder how the trolls physically managed to get their crap to touch the ceiling. The reek was terrible enough to make the air in the cave feel balmy, like a sweaty summer’s day, as opposed to the typical damp cold stone walls such as these held. The flies which buzzed and crawled along the walls, floors and rugged ceiling of the hole did nothing to dispel the feeling of heat, and decay, and death. Bones of various humanoid creatures and animals littered the floors, picked clean apart from the odd dangling piece of skin. Much to his disgust, the blonde-haired prince trod on what he could only assume, given the long hair and flabby pink skin, was a piece of human scalp - that was enough to turn even his steel-clad stomach. “Apparently there is a creature who keeps their quarters messier than even you, Kili. I shall have to inform our mother.” Fili jabbed, watching with mirth as his brother’s face turned into light-hearted offence.

Before Kili could retort, Thorin spoke up. “A troll cave is no laughing matter - think on what your fate could have been if luck had not been on our side.” With that, Fili’s mirth shrank, and a more serious eye upon the bones and waste and junk filling the space made him realise that they could just as easily have joined the ranks of these lost souls. Only Fili would not call it luck so much - rather a quick-thinking hobbit and a conveniently timed wizard - still, he felt it best not to correct his uncle if his current mood was any indication of how well that would be appreciated. Instead, the dwarven prince moved closer to their leader, watching with a keen eye as Thorin pulled a wrapped weapon covered in a sticky, thick layer of cobwebs, followed by another, from within what might have been a weapons display rack in another life. Now, it looked like metal so rusted that a touch might have disintegrated it, mangled and curled almost to beyond recognition.

On the other side of the cave, Bofur, Gloin and Nori were setting about burying a small chest of shimmering golden coins for safekeeping - “We’re makin’ a long-term deposit!” Gloin exclaimed, no doubt as a response to Dwalin’s stoic, almost unreadable expression. Fili would say his look was one bordering on exasperation, but one never could tell with Dwalin. Fili was far more interested in the blades - while Gandalf said they were Elven, a fact which had his uncle perturbed and hesitant, Fili could not help but admire the craftsmanship of one dagger in particular. Wiping it free of cobwebs with the back of his sleeve, admiring the silver curve of the hilt, he pulled the wrappings away and almost felt his eyes gleam at the sharp edge of the blade, the slight curve to it which promised a beautiful cut. At that moment, he decided he didn’t mind much if it was forged by elves. Surely, it would serve better tucked away for him to use; than left to rot in some stinking cave. It wasn’t like he lacked blades, mind - but what was one more? He still had plenty of hiding places in mind.

Thorin turned to leave, unsatisfied with staying for much longer, and truly, Fili did not fancy loitering about for much longer. But something, right in the very corner of his peripheral vision, glinted in the light his uncle’s torch cast when he moved. It was a split second, but that second was enough to fill him with curiosity. “Wait, just a moment - what is that?” Even he could hear the perplexed tone to his voice, his outstretched finger pointing into the darkness at the very back of the cave. Watching where he stepped, Fili relied on the torch of Thorin, hot on his heels, to guide his way. Right behind another tower of steaming substances, the very edge of the… thing, must have glinted in the light. But what was it, he wondered.

It was not unlike a crystal - but one so massive, so much larger than any he had ever seen, that surely it could not be possible. Large enough that their hobbit could have laid flat on his back and stretched his arms as far behind his head as possible, and only then would that have made the length of it. The width was equally as impressive, if Fili had to guess, it was about as wide as both of his arms if he attempted to wrap himself around it. It was a strange colour, too. He had never seen a crystal of light turquoise before, and to see the puzzled, awed expressions on the faces of the elder dwarves who were crowding around the corner (who, quite frankly, were far more knowledgeable on such matters than he) told him he wasn’t far wrong.

“I have never- not in all my years, not even in great Erebor, seen a gem of such magnitude… Such a thing can't come from the earth!” Balin stumbled over his words, more than taken aback, and though Fili felt… Frightened? To touch it, his legs moved forward as though he was bewitched. It was a feeling like jumping into a lake when one was unable to swim, knowing he could sink beneath the water like a rock, but desiring to feel the cold and the wet upon his skin all the same. Perhaps he was more shaken up from the troll incident than he thought, for perhaps he’d gone mad, but the prince swore the crystalised walls of the gem pulsed with energy? It radiated something. His hand fell upon it, and he shouldn’t have been surprised that nothing happened, but he was all the same. Slightly warm to the touch, his hand felt thick with dirt, dust and cobwebs upon the surface. Sweeping his hand across, casting a streak which revealed the gem was a thousand shades of blue, green and white. Fili stood, utterly transfixed, dumbstruck - and about to lean in closer to get a better look-

“Come away! Get back!” Suddenly, there was Gandalf, and his large arm was pushing against his chest and shoving him back - and had he not been half as strong as he was, he would have fallen right on his arse from the force of it, but thankfully he managed to catch himself before he fell - or crashed into the tower of solidified troll shit. The wizard touched the gem, before retracting his hand and muttering something even he could not hear, and he was closest. “-It cannot be… It is not possible.” Fili eventually caught some of Gandalf's quiet mumbles, the words then sending his eyes searching the equally confused glances of the company.

“Gandalf? What is this folly, what is that? A gem?” His uncle broke the silence after a near minute passed off only the wizard’s whispers. To which Gandalf the Grey, cryptically, placed his hand upon the streak his own had cleared moments ago. “This is no gem, Thorin Oakenshield, something far more... Exceptional. A fossil, undoubtedly, a creature long dead. But the casing is not natural. It has power to it - magic, magic beyond the likes I have seen.” Gandalf’s words struck a chord, erupting a chorus of muttering among the dwarves. When Fili thought of fossils, his mind was cast to shells and the tiny bones of extinct creatures embedded in rock. Or perhaps to the perfectly preserved giant dragonfly in amber, which he recalled the inn closest to his childhood home displayed above the bar. The crystal before them did not resemble either of those things, not to him. Those things had felt dead, so dead that they became objects of fascination - curiosities for one to ogle at. Whether it was magic, as Gandalf said, or something else, he felt his palm tingle at the memory of the warmth that surface had held.

Against his better senses, Fili removed his overcoat of furs - brandished it before him, and wiped it up and down the ‘fossil’ to clear it of debris, bracing a hand along the edge near the top as he removed the now filthy furs, taking a look within before Gandalf could even think to stop him. And what he saw beggared belief. It was female - that much was abundantly obvious by the ornate gown that may have been silver, white, or a light blue. It was hard to say for sure with the crystal being coloured cold; turning all to a wispy blob - bigger in some refractions and smaller in others, she appeared to float among her frozen world. But what she was, he could not say. Fili has never seen anything like her.

His first instinct would have been to call her elven with her lithe frame and light hair. But that hair, long and coiled, appeared even lighter than the white-blonde of some elves, even in the blue-light - he imagined it would look like unspoilt, crisp snow, like moonlight’s glow, free from her prison. That, and she was far shorter than the typical elf - taller than Bilbo, but shorter still than Balin. Her ears stretched into a finer, thinner tip than elves from what he could see; like a honey-toned short dagger. In truth, her complexion was so warm - like honey in a jar, or the sun-kissed maidens said to reside south where the light was warm and bronzing. Truly, she may have been the most beautiful maiden he had ever set eyes upon. He could well have mistaken her for Varda Elentari, the Queen of the Valar and Lady of the Stars - whom the elves were said to worship as a Goddess. Such was his surprise that the hand he had used upon the top of her diamond coffin to brace himself slipped, the sharp edge catching and slashing his palm clean open.

His blood dripped in fat, heavy droplets down the surface of light blue, his palm stung hot and angry and throbbing as he stumbled back. Assessing the damage, he turned his head towards the others; all of whom were staring, not at him, but at the mass before them. And looking himself, he felt his own eyes turn to the size of dinner plates. Mahal above. A crack, about the size of his hand, had bloomed from where he cut his hand - and down it went, breaking and splintering along the trail of his blood. It was as though it was not solid crystalised amber after all, but ice cracking under the heat of fresh blood. His pupils followed the crack with such anticipation when it reached the floor, creating the tiniest of drops against the floor, that he nearly flew out of his skin when the entire thing shattered. A million aquamarine diamonds crashed to the floor, clattering and bouncing, as the figure they had held within equally collapsed into a heap.

It was stupid - truly and utterly thick-skulled of him - to have shot forward to grab the dead maiden as he did. As if she could have been alive and felt pain from crashing to the floor - but, touching her, scooping her away from the crystal which crunched beneath his feet like broken glass, light as she was it was like lifting a sack of flour… it dawned him too late that her body was limp, flaccid - she had ought to have been stiff as a board, rigid and dead and forever frozen in the preserved pose she had held for who knew how many years. He should have dropped her then and there, he saw his uncle surge forward from where he and the company had been… Frozen? Perhaps too shocked to move, or unable to? And when he looked back down at the woman, her eyelids were not closed with those darker eyelashes curling off the top of her cheeks, but open. And they were gold, a mixture of yellow topaz and golden coins, and there was something cold, hard and sharp pressed against the thin skin at his neck.

She… Pulled the elven dagger from where it had sat at the side of his breeches and had pressed it right against his neck. What was wrong with him, that he was more impressed than concerned that after, what, a few thousand years? The first instinct of this woman was to steal his weapon and hold him hostage with it. “Càit a bheil mi? Cò th 'annad? Bruidhinn - no gearraidh mi thu fosgailte!” Fili did not understand a word she said, she spoke in a language likely far forgotten - but her voice, while aggressive and provoked, was akin to the twinkling of a harp; musical, light and accented, it was unlike any spoken word he had ever heard, and he was dumbstruck. Even more so when the members of his company surged forward, only to be stopped, as though an invisible barrier stood between them - with a glance down, he saw her free palm outstretched toward them.

“I- I cannot understand-” The others could not proceed, but all the same Gandalf called out, stunted and clumsy - attempting to converse with the woman - though even he, with his knowledge, seemed to struggle with speaking what was likely an ancient language. “A bheil thu a ’bruidhinn an teanga cumanta?” The woman cast a look towards the wizard, not relenting in her pressure upon his throat, before turning her fiery gaze back towards him.

“Where… Is this? What time? Who…” Her voice trailed into a whisper. Initially, Fili thought her grasp on the common tongue was poor, and she was unable to express what she meant to say, but then he saw it. The outstretched arm was trembling - which hardly astonished Fili. How anything could even be alive, let alone up and attempting to fight, moved far beyond anything he knew to be real. Whatever she was, she had to be weak - she had to be using everything she had to prevent the company from reaching him. Taking advantage of the weakness he had only speculated, he very suddenly dropped his arms, and from the shock that crossed her face, perhaps she had been too focused on offence and answers to think of what or who was keeping her aloft. Though the knife was now away from his throat, and her hand had fallen; the dwarf could not help wondering if he had done a wicked thing. The creature had collapsed, a single streak of red blood running from her left nostril - her mouth drowned of colour such that he wondered if she were dead.

Even as Kili ran towards him, likely seeing if his throat had been nicked by the dagger, he could only watch Gandalf swoop in on the woman. The wizard lifted her chest upwards, ear pressed to the top of her chest to listen for a heartbeat, as Thorin brandished his recently acquired weapon, no doubt as a precaution. “What is it?” His uncle spoke deep, as Gandalf turned his head, breathing out in what, without words, truly sounded like disbelief. “A faerie, and believe me, never did I think I would meet one in the flesh. They were wiped out in the First Age - ripped apart, or worse, enslaved, by dark forces - orcs and far worse. I have no doubt that she is the last of her kind - that she is even alive is a miracle.” Gandalf spoke reverently, even as he lifted the limp, apparent faerie, into his arms. “And what do you suggest we do with it? Whatever it may be, it threatened my kin, and you cannot suggest we allow it to accompany us.” Thorin sounded resolute, but Gandalf appeared even more so. “If the legends of her kind are to be trusted, you would not be wise to make a fae your foe - I suggest we wait. I can not, in good conscience, leave her to die. And should she attempt an attack of that kind again, well, she shall find me far more prepared.”

#fili durin #fili son of dis #fili x oc #fili imagine #fili fanfic #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fandom #fili the hobbit #fili the dwarf

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lathalea · 4 years ago

Text

Frerin and the Terror from the Deep Mines

I wrote this story as a big thank you for @naryaflame who requested Frerin, fluff, Erebor and a Dwarf-woman OC. If you've read my fic "Springtime at the Lonely Mountain", this story happens in the same AU, quite a few years before the events of the main fic. I hope you'll like it! :)

Relationships: Frerin & Dwarf Female OC

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Amad - mother Adad - father Sigin’adad - grandfather Sigin’amad - grandmother Irak’adad - uncle Durh'atam - troll-breath Fundanud - tiny elf

* * *

There were three things Frerin absolutely hated: porridge, turnips, and girls. Well, most of them, at least. Baby Dís was an exception. Besides, at this point, she was more of a wailing bundle of anger with chubby hands and feet than anything else.

Anyway, this day was the worst day of Frerin’s life. It all started with breakfast. Porridge, yuck. And what was worse, Amad made sure he ate it whole. Double yuck. Then, while he snuck into the kitchens to snatch some butter cookies, he overheard the Cook discussing the menu for today’s dinner. Turnip stew! Yu-u-u-ck! And if that wasn’t enough, it turned out he wouldn’t go for a pony ride with Adad because it was snowing too much. Stupid weather.

Frerin threw his pillow across the room. It landed on his desk, making a few scrolls fall to the ground. His tutor told him to read a chapter from “Hammers, Chasms and Dwarven Steel. The Fate of Khazad-dûm”. Boooring. The thick tome waited for him on his desk, next to the pillow, mocking him. At least he had it a bit better than Thorin who was supposed to read “The History of the Decline and Fall of the First Elven Empire, volume one”. A whole book! And about elves, no less!

That was it. Frerin wasn’t going to spend a whole day in his room, reading about some very old and very boring kingdoms. Why read about some faraway mines when he could explore the mines of Erebor on his own? It was time for an adventure!

He left his room and snuck out of the royal wing using a secret corridor Thorin showed him once. He reached the oldest part of the mines and managed to get inside without anyone noticing. It wasn’t the first time he did this, and certainly not the last time. No one worked in the Old Mines anymore; the miners he asked about the reason behind it would stare at him for a few moments and then say something about depleted deposits and not wanting to dig too deep. Then they would offer to show him the New Mines instead. Once, he was even shown the place where the Arkenstone was found.

Today, Frerin decided, was a good day to explore that mysterious, half-collapsed tunnel that seemed to lead down towards the deepest parts of the Mountain. He always wanted to know whether it was true what some miners said, that there was an underground lake, as huge as the whole Mirkwood Forest. Others said they saw a red river of lava flowing in the darkness. Whatever the truth was, Frerin wanted to see it for himself.

He lit up his mining lamp, a gift from his sign’adad Thrór, and went into the tunnel. It was easy, at first, and he knew the way quite well. He walked and walked, and then he took a few turns, jumped over a heap of rubble or two… and then he realized he didn’t recognize this part of the Old Mines at all. Darn it! He kicked a stray pebble, sending it into darkness, the clacking disappearing in a distance. He should have turned left, not right, at the last crossing… or was it the one before it? He sighed. The shadows cast by the light of his lamp danced on the green-black walls of the abandoned tunnel. Silence surrounded him. Silence and darkness. Frerin took a closer look at the shadows. Was it his imagination or were they formed like tentacles of a great water monster, crawling towards him? He shook his head. Great water monsters existed only in books! He recalled a drawing he once saw. The monster had twelve tentacles and a maw filled with sharp teeth. He gulped, seeing the shadow tentacles on the wall creeping a bit closer towards him. They were not real tentacles! These were just shadows! Lifting the lamp over his head, he grinned, seeing the shadows disappear. He was an explorer, and he would explore this new part of the mines anyway! It wasn’t like he was afraid of the dark! Not at all! He wasn’t a baby! He was almost quarter battle-age!

He looked around and took a step ahead.

“Are you lost?” a voice echoed somewhere ahead. Frerin froze. No, this was not the voice of a monster. “Show yourself!” he exclaimed bravely. Whatever lurked in the shadows, he’d show them he wasn’t afraid! He heard pebbles clacking against each other, and then a few slow steps ahead. Something very small and very dirty appeared in front of his eyes.

“Hello,” the dirty little creature said, its face and clothes covered with coal dust.

“Hello,” Frerin replied. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún. And you?” the creature squeaked. “You’re a girl!” his eyes widened in surprise. “Of course I’m a girl!” she rested her fists on her hips. “Who do you think I was? A troll?”

“You’re too short for a troll!” Frerin protested. “And you’re too rude for a dwarf! You still haven’t told me your name!” Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún, stomped her little foot, raising a cloud of stone dust.

“I’m Frerin, son of Thráin,” he folded his arms on his chest, just like his irak’adad Fundin sometimes did. “And you’re as dirty as a war boar!” “Maybe I am, but at least I’m not a liar!” the girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re not prince Frerin! I saw him once from far away, and he wears a brown and golden tunic, and he has a small crown, and he rides a chestnut pony! You are not him!” “My pony is in the stable! And that crown is too big and keeps falling over my eyes!” Frerin gritted his teeth. What did that scrap of a girl know about being a prince!

That scrap of a girl tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, “Whatever. I still don’t believe you! A prince would do some princely stuff now and not walk around the mines with a mess of a hair!” she huffed. “Go away now, I’m busy.” “You go away, I’m much more busy!” he protested, raising his voice. His hair wasn’t a mess! He simply refused to braid it in the morning, and that girl had no right to scold him. He was a prince!

“Yeah? And what are you so busy with?!” she squeaked even louder than before, taking a step towards him. “I’m searching for the Skarr’s treasure room!” Frerin puffed up his chest. Skarr, the Terror from the Deep Mines of Erebor, was the monster he knew everything about. Amad, Adad and Sigin’amad Urtha would tell him tales of this legendary creature many heard of but no one lived to tell the tale. The miners would speak of the signs Skarr left in the mines and of the way he shook the ground, making some tunnels collapse if he was angry with the Dwarves. He was supposed to have big horns, sharp claws, and skin as hard as stone. They said that Skarr could travel through rock and become invisible, and that he would kidnap the pebbles who wouldn’t wash their hands before dinner, but Frerin wasn’t afraid. One of the legends said that somewhere deep under the Mountain, there was a chamber containing the biggest treasure in the whole Middle Earth, guarded by the monster, and Frerin intended to find that place. Maybe if he found it, he’d become famous and wouldn’t have to read those boring history books anymore? The miner who had found the Arkenstone was granted great riches by the king as a reward, and so he didn’t need to work any longer! Frerin wouldn’t mind not having to study any longer.

He looked triumphantly at the annoying little girl in front of him… and saw her throwing her head back in laughter. “Skarr’s treasure room? Everyone knows it’s a fairy tale for pebbles!” she giggled, her laughter echoing in the tunnel.

“It is not!” Frerin frowned and took a step towards her. “It is too!”

“It is not!” “It is too!”

“It is not!”

“It is too, you Durh'atam!” the girl, Dagrún, or whatever her name was, yelled. Frerin growled. She was calling him names! Where did such a small girl like her learn a swear word like this one?

“You are a Durh'atam yourself!” “No-o. I smell nice!”

“But you look like a mine rat!” he pointed at her dirty… everything.

“I don’t! Besides, it’s not my fault! I was searching for a hidden passage to...” suddenly, she covered her mouth with her hand.

This was getting interesting. “A hidden passage to where?” Frerin demanded.

“It’s a secret, and I won’t tell you!” the girl shook her head vigorously, making some of the grey stone dust fall from her hair. In the faint light of his lamp, Frerin noticed several copper-colored strands.

“Then I won’t show you my treasure map!” he said. Irak’adad Gróin, one of the best negotiators in Erebor, would have been proud of him. “What treasure map…?” there was a hint of curiosity in her voice. The girl’s eyes widened. They were as blue as the Lake. And big. But she was an annoying little creature anyway. Besides, she added, “You’re making it all up! You’re not a prince and there is no map!”

“Yeah? Then how do you explain this?” With a big grin, Frerin took out a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. Now she will feel embarrassed, and she will blush like all the other girls, and be amazed by his great finding.

She looked at him and blinked. Then she looked at the parchment in his hand, and blinked again “Let me see!” In a blink of an eye, she grabbed his map, tore it out from his hand, and unfolded it.

“Hey, be careful! It’s very old! I found it in my Sigin’adad’s library!” Frerin started.

“Alright, alright, give me more light, I want to see it all!” she stuck out her tongue from her mouth, clearly trying to decipher the drawings and runes. Frerin groaned. She was supposed to be impressed and not annoyed! But perhaps not everything was lost. Perhaps she will be amazed when she sees…

“Ye... Olde... Trea...sure… Map. Pro… per… ty... of Skarr,” she read slowly. Clearly, putting runes together was not her forte. Frerin smirked as she raised her head to look at him. “Seriously? A map belonging to Skarr? And leading to his treasure? Doesn’t he know where it is? Is he a bit forgetful, like my Great Granny?” Frerin fumed, allowing anger to take better of him. Which was good, especially since he didn’t really know how to reply to this vexing girl, but he didn’t intend to inform her of it. “Skarr isn't forgetful! He is a scary monster and eats little girls like you for breakfast!”

“I’m too fast for him!” she protested, stomping her foot again. “Besides, he eats only naughty pebbles, and I’m a nice young lady! Everyone says so!” “Nice young ladies wear nice dresses and smile!” “That’s what boring young ladies do! I’m an ex… expl… explorer!” Dagrún announced with pride in her squeaky voice. “You aren't! I’m an explorer, and I’ve been here first! It’s my tunnel!” he replied. “If you are an explorer, then tell me what is at the end of this tunnel,” the copper-haired girl narrowed her eyes and pointed into the darkness ahead of him. The darkness where those shadowy tentacles came from. Frerin gulped. “There’s…” he furrowed his brow, trying to think of something. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to realize that he was lost and had no clue what was waiting for them in that darkness at the end of the tunnel. “First you tell me about that secret passage!” Dagrún stared at him for a few moments in a very annoying way, and finally said, “And then you tell me about the tunnel?” He nodded in response. The girl looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper, “So, the secret passage should be somewhere here. And it should lead to the deep forges.” “The deep forges? But we’re not allowed there before reaching half battle-age!” Frerin exclaimed. He remembered his father strictly forbidding him to visit that place. Too dangerous, Adad said. But Thorin, who had already started his apprenticeship as a blacksmith, was there a few times already and he seemed fascinated by the place. The gigantic furnaces, the machinery, the shining new steel objects - Frerin wanted to see it all, too! “Well, if you’re a chicken,” the girl grimaced, “I’ll go to the deep forges alone!” “I’m not a chicken, you… you fundanud!” It was supposed to be an insult, no one liked to be compared to an elf, even a small one, but the girl... she just laughed. “I’m too fat for an elf! And they don’t have sideburns,” she flashed her surprisingly white teeth at him. Frerin groaned, “I’m not even sure you have sideburns, you’re so dirty!” “You can insult me as much as you want, but I know you’re afraid to go to the deep forges with me!”

Frerin swallowed. Searching for that secret passage probably meant going into the scary darkness ahead. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to disobey Adad. But he would never admit it to this little girl who stared at him intently. Somehow, he wanted to show her how brave he was. Even if she was too annoying for her own good. “I’d go there even now, but you don’t know where the secret passage is, fundanud!” “I will know soon enough! I just have to find the right tunnel! Look at the map, Durh'atam! See that red dot? And those walkways?” she pointed at the parchment. “It has to be somewhere nearby,” Frerin admitted reluctantly, focusing all of his attention. Why hadn't he noticed that red dot before?

“That’s why I asked you about the tunnel!” she rolled her eyes. “See here, if there’s a big statue at the end, we’re in the wrong place. But if there’s a crossing…” “Let’s go and check!” He took the parchment from Dagrún’s fingers and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Let’s go!” she agreed with a happy squeal. “You are not going anywhere,” a sonorous voice sounded in the tunnel.

The girl gasped and hid behind Frerin. He lifted his gaze and saw Drengi, one of the members of his Adad’s personal guard. Drat! He was in trouble. “H-hello, Drengi, what are you doing here?” Frerin smiled faintly.

“I’d like to ask you the same question, your highness. Your parents have been searching for you for hours!” the large guardsman replied, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “Your highness? So… you weren’t lying, were you, Durh'atam?” Dagrún pulled at Frerin’s tunic. “I wasn’t, fundanud,” he shook his head. “And who might you be?” the guardsman focused his attention on the girl who hid back behind Frerin

“I’m Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún,” she mumbled. “And Frerin was helping me find nice rocks for a school project!” “And I’m Drengi, son of Dygvi, at your service,” he made a small bow, making her giggle. “And do your parents know you are here, Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún?” She shook her head and lowered it shyly. If Frerin stood a bit further away, he wouldn’t have noticed the devilish sparks in her eyes, nor the wink she gave him.

“I asked Frerin to come here with me… and then we got lost… Will you please take us home now, Master Drengi?”

And, of course, Drengi did as she asked. Frerin was speechless. He couldn’t believe that a pesky little thing like her could turn into the nicest little girl in the world so quickly. But then again, it looked like she came up with just the right excuse. Drengi didn’t scold him too much, speaking something along the lines of “think first, be chivalrous later”. That fundanud was pesky, yes, but perhaps she was a tiny bit clever, too.

Dagrún was returned to her parents first and as she said her goodbyes to Frerin, the annoying little girl giggled, showed him her tongue, and then signed in Iglishmêk when the grownups weren’t looking, “Tomorrow. Be at the entrance to the Old Mines. Same time. Take the map with you, Durh'atam.”

Maybe this day wasn’t that bad after all… and maybe she wasn’t that bad either. For an average girl. Although he had to correct himself. Dagrún, that annoying, vexing, and irritating fundanud, wasn't an average girl. She was the true Terror from the Deep Mines and Frerin, son of Thráin, was sure that even Skarr would run away from as far as he could. When it came to Frerin, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Don’t forget to let me know what you think about this story!

Read it? Like it? Reblog it!

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @justfollowtheroad @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia@bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell

#frerin #frerin fic #the line of durin #the hobbit #the hobbit fic #thorin #dwarf women #fanfiction #erebor #dwarves #dwarf oc

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lilithrebellion · 3 years ago

Note

I joined the DL fandom seven years ago, back then most of the fandom hated Yui; they called her a "slut", "useless", "stupid" and there were also many people who said that Yui "didn't deserve to have a harem". It was pretty nauseating to be in this fandom back then.

Then, several blogs popped up claiming that Yui didn't even exist and that she was just a "proxy/avatar"... There were also many OC blogs that avoided any material about Yui, (I once had a girl block me for sending her a question about Yui). They literally couldn't see her because they seemed to be jealous of her. It's because of all that ridiculous hatred that I started defending Yui, she became my favorite character and the Diaboys took a back seat. It always seemed very, VERY unfair to me how the fandom turned its back on the only innocent character in Diabolik Lovers and preferred to defend a bunch of abusive jerks; fortunately, things are very different now, now most of the fandom defends and loves Yui. There was justice for my sweet girl.

What a coincidence, it's been about 7 years for me too☺️

Although for the first three years after first watching it, I was trying to just forget I ever saw it and move on so I almost never looked at anything fandom related at all. Just tried to go back to life before while Lilith Rebellion constantly stewed in my head.

Way back then, even I was a little annoyed that Yui couldn't fight back, but the first analysis post for dl I saw was about how it wasn't realistic to expect her to be able to fight vampires. To which I immediately agreed and changed my perspective. From the start, I'd mostly hated the guys for hurting her anyway so it was easy to let go of. (And then my Must Protect Yui urges went out of control lol)

I guess that old mindset of "Yui is only the proxy" is why a lot of people still don't view her as a full character like with the trash. But she does have her own back story and personality. It's not like Pokemon where your avatar is a blank slate that you have total control over. Yui has her own lines and thoughts in the story outside the ones you can pick. And even the ones you can pick don't change what happens in the immediate scene (only the ending). It's an illusion of choice on the player's part. That's why I've always seen her as the POV character instead, like the protagonist of a novel.

Although if people want to thirst over the trash, I'd honestly prefer they use their own ocs/self inserts instead of Yui. Like ok they don't like her fine, at least they're leaving her out of thier kinks!

There's still improvement to be made if the anon troll harassment of any Yui-centric blog is an indication. If they can't accept there are people who like her instead, then we just have to scream our love louder until it's heard!

#ask

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roetrolls · 2 years ago

Note

👑🔫🖍💧☁️🌈💖 for Mallum

Yeehaw, my favorite stinker <3

(Meme)

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

Above all else, Mallum wants to be remembered as someone important. Not in a history-making way; he just wants people to care about who he was once he's gone.

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

I don't know how easily Mallum trusts, and honestly, I don't think he does either. He's always had a hard time making friends, but I think he wants to open up to people. He definitely trusts more easily than Zerkev is comfortable with.

He'll turn his back on someone at the drop of a hat. He's probably the pettiest troll I have, and if you slight him in any way, he'll stew in it and/or throw a big boy tantrum about it.

He would consider Drevin leaving him as someone backstabbing him, though I'm inclined to disagree.

And as for betraying someone else... Uh. The answer is largely a no! He's difficult to bond with, but once he feels close to someone, he's fiercely loyal. Even now, there's nothing you could say to him to make him stop protecting Drevin. He's bonded to that man for life.

🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?

See a therapist. Maybe with Zerkev.

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Since Drevin's left, I don't think he goes out as much. Which sucks for him, seeing as he's a major extrovert... But he's had that guy around for so long, he probably doesn't feel that safe without him.

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

Despite their differences, Mallum and Zerkev do love each other. It's just... A really fraught relationship. Still, there's a lot of tenderness in there. I think Zerkev's his favorite person to play strategy board games with, despite the fact that he almost always loses.

Which, if you don't know, means Mallum enjoying those games with him is a pretty major deal. He doesn't usually get into competitions he can't win.

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

"Save yourself some trouble and disappoint him now."

💖 SPARKLING HEART - are they a subtle or a showy lover?

Oh, girl. HELLA fucking showy. He will make his feelings known to everyone in a 10 mile radius.

#ask meme #emoji meme #an ask tag (happy chase?)#mallum pravus

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drunkdaisychains · 4 years ago

Text

Aera the Fair

full story updated regularly @

https://www.wattpad.com/story/258839356-aera-the-fair

Pairings: OCF/OCM, OC/Brynjolf

Warnings: Smut, killing, theft, fluff

Summery:Between the Butcher murders, lovers spats, and the war going one, it’s a wonder that there is any peace in Windhelm. Valun Stormcloak, son of Ulfric, has taken an interest in a fair maiden adopted into clan Shattersheild. But she has an incriminating secret. Can she keep her man, avenge her family, and keep her secret or will she be cast out of the city, never able to see her family again.

An excerpt from Chapter 4

"Stop! Assassin!" The Markarth guards chased her towards the city gates. She had successfully planted the incriminating letter on her target but was caught sneaking out of his room in the keep. She dodged and swerved people as she sprinted from the scene. She just needed the shadows of the night to conceal her. As she stepped briskly down the steps and away from the city she tried not to concentrate on the burning building in her legs. Farther and farther they carried her as she dipped and dodged arrows flying from the guards bows. She finally saw it, the shadows along the side of the road that she'd slip into. As quick as she appeared she vanished, not even an invisibility spell needed tho she did have that power. As she controlled her breathing she heard the crunching of dirt as guards flew past her.

"Damn. We lost her," one said after a moment of looking around. After another bit of sniffing the air they turned to return to their posts. She waited with a hand over her mouth until she couldn't hear them and her shoulders relaxed. She decided it was best to stick to the shadows the rest of her way back to the sanctuary. Forsworn had been attacking travellers for months and she knew they attacked in numbers. She was skilled but not against an army. Her journey was uneventful aside from the occasional wildlife, she made record time back to the sanctuary. Little did she know as she passed through the door, she would be met with aftermath. She was able to piece together the scene in moments and listened anxiously as the family discussed the moments that had just transpired.

Oh Cicero. You should have waited until I got back. Thought to herself as Astrid had furiously turned to her. Her objective was simple, she wanted her husband home and alive… and avenged.

"Take Shadowmere. You'll notice he's one of us," she suggested and Aera turned on her heel. She needed to get to her friend before that werewolf did and she needed to fix this. As she approached the black pond outside the sanctuary doors it began to boil. The sounds of galloping could be heard mixed with the bubbling and finally with a grand rear, Shadowmere appeared.

"That's showy, even for you," she giggled at the horse. Shadowmere was more apart of the brotherhood than Astrid but Aera was not about to let on that she knew it. The Dark steed had been fabled in the Brotherhood as he was Lucien Lachance's ride. Shadowmere was family quite literally and had always wondered why she was not the one to inherit him. For her surname was LaChance, she was always destined to be an assassin like her ancestor. She dropped the last name,in favour of her nickname given to her in Bruma, when she crossed over the border. She didn't know that it was the same as the Jarl in Solitude but to change it after would have been suspicious.

She mounted Shadowmere and kicked him in the direction of Dawnstar.

Upon arriving she was met with the scene of blood and a clearly injured Arnbjorn. She gave him a healing potion from her satchel and offered him Shadowmere.

"Oh don't worry about me. I'll make it back, just make sure that bastard regrets it." He muttered before stalking off.

"What is life's greatest illusion?" The ghostly voice belonging to the door asked.

"Innocence, my brother," she answered.

"Welcome home," as it opened toward her. The sanctuary was in rather nice shape for being abandoned. Desolate and home to only spiders but she could find comfort here if she had to. She summoned her ancestor to fight alongside her, greeting him as an old friend.

"Ah Listener, the Night Mother has told me of your devotion," he growled. She was in awe but had no time to be struck as a spectral assassin materialized from the wall. Cicero's voice could be heard taunting her. She hoped he hadn't turned on her as well. She sliced through spectral assassin after spectral assassin, nearly being run through by traps set or set on fire. The cold ruins of whatever tunneled into the sanctuary made her breathe freeze. She could hear a weird growl before Lucien jumped past her and began fending off the troll. Once she shook off her shock she too joined in the quarrel. Finally after a gruelling tour through the snow and cobwebs, she burst into the door where Cicero's voice was clearest she had heard since she stepped through the door. She sheathed her swords and rushed to his side. Her friend was in a bad way and could use a potion. She dug through her satchel and uncorked the small red vial handing it to him to drink.

"I won't kill you," she confirmed. Cicero had warned her that Astrid was a traitor and she had more reason to trust him than her. Lucien mumbled about a purification, much like the Cheydinhal she had begun at despite it being considered the Bravil chapter.

"You must leave Cicero here so Astrid believes I am dead!" He exclaimed.

"She'll have no choice but to believe me. I just hope she doesn't come check for herself," she said out loud.

"Go now! Go tell the traitor you killed Cicero," he said scooting closer to the fire. She nodded and turned on her heel to make the journey back.

While the journey back wasn't as bad now that she was on the best steed for an assassin to be paired with, she was worried about Cicero. When she wasn't worrying about his well being her mind wandered over to Valun. She would reminisce their tumble together and how he gave her what she couldn't find in Brynjolf or the sailors who would always propose to her. She had even considered Thrynn before he showed how belligerent he was on mead. They all had excitement and mystery. They would all be able to give her a fair life, but whether they wanted to or she wanted them to was up for debate. But with Valun she also received a comfort she had never had. It was easy to be with him and forget about her secrets with him. It was just when she would think of them again they would hit her like a ton of bricks and he would be right there kissing away her worries, trying to convince her to be his bride.

Thankfully Astrid not only believed her, but sent her on the next step for the grand scheme they had planned. She had to find the author of the popular cookbook "uncommon taste" and steal his identity. First she needed to go to Markarth to locate him. She used her travel time on Shadowmere to prepare her alibi and to make her travel decisions. She would prepare for the possibility of an extended time away while they dealt with the final mark. Killing the emperor was no small task and she wanted to ensure there was no way she would be compromised if she had to stay away longer. The chef in Markarth was easy to get the information from, and simply having the kitchens closed off already while he slept made it perfect to stuff a cloth in his mouth when she took his life. This job was far too easy, the cook, innkeeper, and even the bard at the inn almost jumped at the opportunity to tell someone the orc was in their basement room. Foolish of them to not be more discrete. Lugging the large Orsimer into the hiding place was the hardest part. It made her arms burn to pull herself up the ladder after. It was finally time to make history. She rode up to the Solitude gates, Jarrin root in her pocket. She had changed into fine clothes and a chef's hat so to look the part she was playing.

The writ worked to allow her access and soon she was in the kitchen with the regular castle dour cook stirring away at the base of a potage le magnifique. She took some creative liberties while cooking before placing the Jarrin root into the stew and watching it dissolve quickly. The cook picked up the pot and carried it painstakingly slowly into the dining room where the Emperor sat with nobles from all over Skyrim. She placed herself on the side of the table closest to the door for a quick escape. When his face landed in his bowl she was already turned around and sprinting to the door. Unfortunately that's where she would be stopped by Commander Maro, angry and vengeful.

"As of right now your sanctuary is being put to the sword," he growled, the words were like fire in her ears. Her last home, destroyed by the Empire. She must have looked as crazy mad as Cicero did because there was an unsure look in Maro's eyes as she ran up to him with her swords drawn. Immediately she used both blades to slice his head off, as if he were softened butter. It rolled down off his neck and to his guards feet as she sheathed the bloody blades and sprinted down the tower steps. She dodged soldiers left and right knowing she had to get to the sanctuary as fast as she could. She used the city walls the same way she had when she killed the Vicci girl at her own wedding. The walls were able to limit her exposure to flying arrows and pursuing guards, her lungs burned as she pushed to keep going as fast as she could.

She burst through the gate doors before they could lock them and took a running start at Shadowmere, who seemed to know exactly what to do as he began trotting in the other direction before launching into a sprint before she was properly seated.

"We have to go home Shadowmere, they need us," she said to the steed as she fumbled with a stirrup to give relief from the bouncing. Her eyes watered both from the worry and from the wind. When she made it up to the sanctuary she could see the horses and soldiers waiting. Shadowmere charged them, rearing and attacking them as Aera hopped off. She spun with her blades out, cutting through the skin exposed from where the armour couldn't protect. She whirled around ensuring no one but her and Shadowmere would survive this fight. Finally as the soldiers lay in pools of their own blood she turned to the door and rushed in.

Fire, oil that was used to cause the fire, and bodies were everywhere. She stabbed the two soldiers who advanced on her almost as if they were an afterthought and rushed deeper into the burning hall to find survivors. Veezara and Festus' bodies were burned and almost unrecognizable. Gabriella and her spider were nowhere to be found and Arnbjorn was a werewolf, attacking a group of soldiers at once before succumbing to his injuries too. She rushed to the dining hall to find Nazir fighting more of the assailants and she immediately joined in.

"You're alive!" Nazir yelled over slashing and clashing.

"Can't say the same for everyone else," she yelled back clearly distraught. The last soldier was run through with a final slash of her sword and she was able to turn to the blood splattered Alik'r. They both launched into a search for survivors until she heard the ghostly voice calling to her. She was in the night mother's room and she was requesting her to step into the coffin. Aera was hesitant but obliged as she is the chosen listener. She closed her eyes trying to block out the heinous trauma that had just occurred.

"Sleep…" the voice soothed.

#skyrim fanfiction #bryjolf #The Elder Scrolls #fanfiction #romance #action #the dark brotherhood #Assassin #cicero

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grabthemhorns-old · 5 years ago

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CURIOSITY STRIKES 🔥💕🌙

Ahhh!! Thank you for asking about my girl :3

🔥 If your OC known for having temper tantrums? If not, what gets them really angry? What makes their blood BOIL? Is there anyway to calm them down or are they unstoppable? What are they like when they’re angry? Do they take it out on their loved ones? Ivy isn’t really one for having tantrums. She’s grumpy, sure, but her anger manifests in a more cool and cold way, and she’ll stew in her anger. She’ll be passive aggressive if the mood takes her. But often, she’s like this because she doesn’t want you to know how angry you’ve made her or how upset she is. She might snap viciously, or make your coffee really loudly and angrily, she might ‘forget’ to put your clothes in with hers for a wash, or eat the last muffin without asking. Petty things.

Eventually things will come to a head and it’ll explode into an argument with whoever she has a problem with (if it is someone). And it’s usually needed because it’s cathartic, as Ivy is really bad at repressing her emotions.

If it’s something - say someone’s tried to shit talk sex workers (she’s a cam girl), or she’s gotten an unnecessary troll comment on a DevilTube video (she likes to do fun covers of video game and movie music with her violin and cello), she lets LOOSE. She isn’t afraid to voice her opinion on things that are less direct to her - trolls, and issues that affect something she’s involved in for example - so she can be quite vocal and active about issues and things like that, that make her rage. But when it gets a bit too personal, she’ll revert back to her cold and cool way, pushing down those emotions.

If you want to bring Ivy out of one of her angry moods, buy her her favourite pastry. Also, brushing her hair is very calming for her.

💕 How is your OC like with physical affection? What are their boundaries? Do they enjoy being touched or is that a no-go? Is there any reason behind this?

Ivy loves physical affection, and she likes you to instigate it, as she loves to feel adored and loved and wanted and needed. It’s also because she struggles to sometimes show her feelings, although this becomes a little easier for her through time. Sexual things are much easier for her to give than say, gently holding hands, intimate cuddles and just, gentle intimacy in general. She’ll jump into bed with you, but get dressed quickly afterwards to avoid the cuddling. She enjoys receiving the above types of affection, but giving it back can be difficult sometimes. Give her time.

She grew up with her aunt, her parents dying when she was young, so she always kind of felt an outsider to her aunt’s family. It was a large family and she had five children alongside Ivy. Ivy was a very observant child and grew to be a very observant person, and she knew she never received as much affection as her aunt’s own children - barely any at all. Nor did she give as much back. It’s part of what shaped her attitude to affection. She’s starved for it, and not really sure how to give back.

Her favourite places to be touched are between her thighs, her hands, neck and gods, play with her hair. She especially loves feeling Belphie’s tail around or against her thigh and neck :3

🌙 If your OC could have one wish come true what would it be and why? Would there be consequences to this wish or would they regret it once they get what they want? What would they give in return for this wish to come true?

Some might think it’d be to see her parents again, or for them to come back from the dead. Sometimes she wonders after finding out her bloodline, if they’re in the Celestial Realm as angels. Or just, there. But she feels so little attachment to them as she was so young when they died, and her aunt spoke little of them as she was growing up. She feels guilty at times for not feeling more, but to Ivy, family is what you make it, not necessarily your blood.

So her one wish would be, after finding her found family, to become immortal and spend the rest of time with Belphie and her Devildom family - Purgatory Halls included. Ivy is selfish. She wants more and more of what she can’t have, and she feels time is slipping away, despite still being young. The thought of growing old alongside Belphie while he stays young and strong, and outlives her, only to move on and find someone new - it consumes her sometimes. She’s finally happy. And she won’t let go.

Mortals can’t quite always grasp the vastness of immortality, the unending time, with everything laid before you. It’d be an impulsive decision for Ivy, and she’d tunnel vision for sure, seeing only what she wanted. She wouldn’t ask - what would happen if we grow apart; can I really ask him to commit to me forever; in all his thousands of years, he hasn’t found someone he wanted to be with forever; does Belphie love her because she’s so fleeting and mortal. It’s mortal thoughts. She’s too scared to think past her own selfishness. Maybe she could wish for Belphie to be mortal instead...?

#obey me MC #oc: ivy #desdi writes #ask desdi #thank you #demonboysandlotsoftoys

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designatedloveinterest · 5 years ago

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Witcher/Mass Effect crossover, Ciri x Asari OC, wip

This felt like a relatively safe place.

Farmland stretched as far as the eye could see. The few buildings were a little odd - uniformly square, with rounded corners and stilts perched over the crops like lookouts. Even the people she could spy from a distance seemed familiarly dressed - enough that she wouldn’t have to steal their laundry to fit in as a local foreigner.

Piling her hair high on her head, she strode towards a particularly sumptuous looking farm, hoping the rows of greenery with tiny white flowers were edible.

Ciri had become comfortable too early, it seemed. Still, the blue girl wasn’t the oddest looking being she’d encountered on her travels. For the most part, Lady Blue looked human - except for the thick, muscular tentacles in place of hair. And the blue skin. And the purple markings. But still. Close enough.

She had stolen a trinket from the Aen Elle before her flight, a homely but useful pendant that acted as a somewhat limited “universal” translator. The “universal” bit was grossly overstated, but you could generally make a start with it, and get by with charm and pointing. Ciri hallooed the blue lady.

Please accept gold as a currency, she muttered to herself as the blue girl registered her presence. To Ciri’s amazement, the girl lifted her arm and pressed some buttons on a cumbersome glove of unknown material. A horrible whistling noise filled the air, causing both of them to flinch suddenly, but the blue girl took a couple of steps back and stretched her arm out to her left.

“You-I help can?”

It took a couple of seconds for Ciri to work out that at least one of their devices was working. She wouldn’t chance it, and made a spooning gesture from hand to mouth. “Can I buy some food?”

“Merchants-we sell only. People not. Work-you can?”

Great. Of all the destinations in time and space, she picked one apparently ruled by rock trolls. Still, if she guessed right, the girl was offering work in exchange for, hopefully, a meal. Or multiple meals. Ciri had long ceased to be too proud for manual labour.

“Work I can. Sword swish-a-swash. Foop-foop.” She drew her sword and swung it in a hopefully comical and non-threatening way.

The girl frowned. “Weapon-good no. Tools give you.” She waved Ciri over to one of the buildings and gave her gloves, shears and a bucket. Long story short, The Lady of Time and Space spent a full afternoon carefully snipping pea-like plants into the bucket, emptying it into a cart at the end of each row, and managing to only eat about a third of her haul. It seemed like no matter how far into the future she portaled, food crops were still mostly gathered by humans with traditional tools.

The other workers were a strange mix of humans, a few blue women (but no blue men), a dreadfully thin and tall creature with a pigeon chest and catlike features, and a couple of people in masks whom Ciri thought might be devils or fauns. They seemed friendly enough, though, and attempted to include her in their chat on the ride back to the farmhouse. As one might expect, most of the workers had different native languages and Ciri was about as disadvantaged as any of them. Fart jokes got them through any miscommunication, not least because the cat and the fauns apparently did not fart, and found the humans and blue women extremely funny indeed.

Stew is stew pretty much everywhere that vertebrates have a digestive system, though here the cat and the fauns sat at the end of the communal table drinking out of packages. The workers tried to explain it to her, but both her amulet and the glove crapped out and it wasn’t important anyway. The stew was very, very good.

Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months of harvesting, planting, trading, a bit of mild smuggling to break up the monotony. Up at dawn, work until lunchtime, sit around for as long as you could get away with, chewing and chatting…. More work, maybe even finishing early if you’d completed the harvest, then dinner, a long hot bath with a book, a glass of wine and lots of fragrant bubbles. The food was excellent, the people were friendly and the blue lady, named Illora, was very keen to demonstrate the commonalities in anatomy between her people and Ciri’s.

“How did you end up here?” asked Ciri, placing her glass on the edge of the tub and sliding down in the hot water. Above her, Illora swooshed water over Ciri’s long, white hair.

“I was a commando on Cyone, did a few tours of the Milky Way. Then I left the military and became a merc for a while, go here, guard this ship, kill this guy, you know how it is.” Ciri knew exactly how it was. She tipped her head back, enjoying Illora’s gentle hands carding through her hair. “Were you sent here as a merc then?”

“No.” Illora snuck a drink from Ciri’s glass. “I was on an escort mission and it went badly. I jumped ship and fucked off to the furthest place in the galaxy, and that is here. Eden Prime.”

“The name Eden Prime is human mythology. You’re an Asari?” Ciri had a most amusing view up Illora’s nose.

“It’s true, Eden Prime is a human colony. But when the harvest calls, you answer.” Illora’s strong fingers pressed into Ciri’s scalp, and the human shuddered keenly. A little more pressing and a little more splashing, and the harvest could fuck off indefinitely.

#femslash #ciri #mass effect #the witcher #wip #crossover fic #f/f #wlw

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