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strawwritesfic · 2 years

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Legolas x Female!Elf!Reader: Adore

Summary: Gimli had better just get used to the fact that he’ll never understand Legolas completely.

Rating/Tags: All (Gimli & Legolas; post-Return of the King; Mirkwood Elven Guard!Reader; some lingering Dwarves vs. Elves tension; pipe smoking)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Adore

Good was finally ending one long, uncertain journey to start another with a certain end. Better was a journey of companionship and seeing sights one could not rest for on the first. Better yet was being an honored guest in your companion’s home where your kin had once been prisoners and little else. Still, Gimli felt, one could grow tired of elves–and dwarves could grow tired of them more quickly than anyone, warm welcome or no. Better than all the rest was quiet, stars peeking through the Mirkwood trees, and a chance to get at his pipe.

Legolas’s feast would continue on for many hours more. No one could celebrate like his people. For all Gimli knew, he could rest for the next night and day and wake to continued revelry. There would be time enough for him to return.

Gimli settled himself comfortably against the base a wide tree trunk to smoke at his leisure. He took his first breath in of sweet-smelling smoke and was in the process of blowing it in rings toward the leaves above his head when a slender figure stepped silently past him into the nearby clearing. Eyeing the figure's back, Gimli wondered if Legolas realized that he was there. The sound of singing continued in the distance behind them, but Legolas’s back was to the celebration, his head turned up to watch the sky.

Five minutes of that, and Gimli decided he had had more than enough. Patient dwarves might have been, but friends had no need to be patient with the sudden oddities of a friend. He cleared his throat.

“Do you plan to join me, or do you intend to stand there like an Ent for the rest of the night?” Gimli asked.

Legolas made no sign that he had heard.

Snorting, Gimli put his pipe back in his mouth. Now that he thought about it, this behavior of Legolas’s was nothing new. They had left Gimli’s family in high spirits, but as the road wound on toward Mirkwood, Legolas grew more and more introspective. The silent rides atop their horse had nearly driven Gimli to insanity, but he had hoped that coming home would lift his friend’s spirits. Clearly nothing had happened except to make Legolas seem less communicative than ever.

Gimli ran a hand down his beard. Perhaps going back to the food would not be so bad. It would save him sitting there worrying fruitlessly over Legolas.

Just as Gimli made to put out his pipe, Legolas turned, stepping again toward the feast. Then his eyes fell on Gimli. Gimli blinked once at him. Whatever Legolas was thinking about, he did not want to share it with him. The elf blinked back, and his lips pulled up into a vague smile. He changed direction and soon was close enough for Gimli to touch.

“I had not realized you had left the celebration already,” Legolas said.

Gimli only squinted in reply. Was Legolas so truly out of sorts that he had missed Gimli entirely? Had Gimli been more familiar with any elf other than this one, he might have spoken with one of those here of his concern. As it was, all he could assume was that this was normal behavior for an elf and that coming home had turned Legolas more normal somehow.

“Aye,” Gimli answered gruffly. “I had thought my greeting five minutes past would have been enough warning for you, but I suppose you might have got into a bit of that Elvish wine.”

To his great surprise, the wan smile on Legolas’ face faded further. His eyes turned again to the stars. “Forgive me, my friend. My thoughts are elsewhere.”

This did not entirely discount Gimli’s suggestion that Legolas was simply drunk. Really, though, that would not explain Legolas’s silence over the many miles. Wherever his thoughts were still, Gimli was not wanted.

“Blasted elf,” he grumbled, though there was some good-nature in his tone, for at least Legolas was sorry. Mirkwood had not reclaimed him so much that they were no longer friends. “How about you tell me where your thoughts have been for the past fortnight? Perhaps that will make me more inclined to forgive you.”

“The past fortnight?” Legolas repeated. Gimli was pleased to see that this had at least got Legolas’s attention back to present. Legolas blinked again, then he let out a small sigh. “My thoughts are ever elsewhere, I suppose.”

“That is not an answer, of which you are well aware.”

“I am.” Another sigh. Though Gimli would not admit it, his attention was piqued. In all their time of knowing each other, Legolas had never acted in such a manner. “I am sorry, Gimli. I have been worried about returning here for so long that I did not realize that you had noticed my concern.”

“Concern about what? Either tell me or do not. So long as I can rest this evening knowing you will be leaving this place with me in due time, so much the better.”

Legolas’s smile turned sad. He did not look away this time, yet Gimli felt somehow that Legolas was no longer looking at him but rather through him.

“What good does it do to dwell on that which will not be?” Legolas asked. “It only makes the absence that much more apparent, speaking of it more so to those who were otherwise ignorant of the absence to begin with.”

“The absence of what, pray tell?”

It rankled, Gimli realized, knowing that Legolas wanted to keep secrets even after all this time. There had been no holding back during their visit to Gimli’s family. Legolas had been treated just as a dwarf, a dwarf prince even. Gimli had been treated well by Legolas' family, too, but he hardly cared about the niceties of elves when there was only one elf he truly cared about remaining in Middle Earth.

“Spit it out, Legolas! Have we not been together long enough to speak frankly to one another?” he said.

“I do not mean to keep you in the dark. It is only that I received bad tidings from my father this night. I fear that coming home might have done me more harm than good. There is but one thing I hoped for on the way here, and now I know there is no chance of it happening.”

“You are more difficult to interrogate than an orc!” Gimli bemoaned. He threw up his hands in defeat. A long night of singing it was. “Keep your secrets, Legolas. I need them not. I only hope that you will be back to your old self by the time we make ready to leave.”

Legolas smiled a bit more sincerely at that. “I do not intend to speak in riddles, Gimli. It is only that–”

A snapping branch interrupted him.

Gimli’s hand went straight to the ax at his hip, but Legolas was even faster, his bow strung and arrow drawn before the sound came again, louder and faster. There were still elves close by, but this was closer, and not everything in Mirkwood could have been fixed by Frodo and Gollum’s deed.

Gimli could hear Legolas breathing in the dark; his own breath sounded too loud in his ears. They stood together like that for several minutes, ears straining as the snapping condensed into swift footsteps. A straggler rushing to the party?

No. Just when Gimli thought that danger might be upon them, a young woman burst into their clearing. She was so out of breath, so obviously exhausted, that it took him half a minute to realize that she was an elf. Thankfully, it took him less time to understand the look Legolas gave her–and therefore the whole of Legolas’s behavior this night and those before. The bow fell immediately to Legolas side, and there was something in his gaze that Gimli had never seen before.

“[Name],” Legolas breathed.

There were many odd things about this elf. Never had Gimli seen one so tired, not even Legolas after taking down an Oliphant. Stranger than this, however, was your reaction to Legolas. Your eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but at the same time, you lifted one hand to your mouth.

“Legolas?” you asked.

Legolas joined you in a single bound, leaving Gimli to stand on his own once more. This time, Gimli did not feel the faint burning of frustration in his veins. No, this time Gimli felt nothing but amused. He hid a smile in his beard as he leaned back against his tree. He had not been sent away, after all, and this was something he most certainly wanted to see.

“My father told me that you were away on patrol, too far away to get here in any short time,” Legolas said in a soft voice.

You stood just a little away, as though frozen to the spot. When Legolas continued to look at you expectantly, you looked down for one moment before looking back up at him.

“I was,” you admitted, then: “I am. They told me you were here, and I…ran.”

That much, Gimli felt, was obvious.

Perhaps Legolas did not feel it was so, because he lifted a hand to gently cup the side of your face. “You’re warm."

“I ran as swiftly as I could.”

Legolas let out a soft laugh.

Laugh? To think that all this time, Legolas was mooning over some woman in the forest. Gimli did not know whether to be annoyed or entertained. Both, he decided in short order--short enough order, in fact, that you and Legolas were still busy staring at each other in the dim starlight by the time Gimli had come to his conclusion.

“Does my father know you’re here?” Legolas asked.

“No, and there are so few of us left to look after the border. I should not have left, but–I had to see you.”

Legolas beamed.

What could Gimli do but clear his throat? Much more of this presentation and he was likely to fall ill. Thranduil would not take that kindly, he was sure.

The two of you practically leaped apart at Gimli’s interruption, though to both your credits, each of you recovered quickly enough. The familiar crease of the brow that appeared whenever Gimli first met an elf appeared on yours as well. This smoothed away as Legolas stepped over to him. Gimli suspected shock, as was common when anyone came to know if his and Legolas' companionship.

“[Name]," Legolas said, placing a light hand on Gimli's shoulder, "this is Gimli, son of Glóin. He is my closest friend, and it is to him that any thanks are owed for my safe return.”

Frowning, you looked first at Gimli, then slowly returned your gaze to Legolas’ face. Gimli expected it to stay there, but soon you were looking at him again. Then you inclined your head toward him. “Thank you, Gimli. For keeping him safe when I could not follow to do so.”

“My pleasure, Lady [Name], and it is a further pleasure to know of your existence.”

It was Gimli’s turn to grin. His doing so made Legolas smile as well. It was a nice change from the consistent frown he had worn of late. You simply threw Legolas an appraising look and came nearer to take his hand.

“He needs looking after, this one. I appreciate any help that you are willing to give,” Gimli added.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Legolas beat you to it. Unsurprisingly, his attention was elsewhere once more: “You said my father does not know that you are here,” he said, leaning closer to your face. “If you were to join us, he would know for sure. I would hate to subject you to his displeasure, and yet…”

Gimli could tell Legolas wanted to leave his welcoming party. Well, it was not as though Gimli could not sympathize. He hated to be left alone with Legolas’s friends and family, but this seemed a more important reason to run off.

With a shake of his head, Gimli waved you and Legolas toward the deeper recesses of the forest. “Go on. I shall make your excuses for you.”

There was the briefest return of Legolas’ smile. “Thank you, Gimli.”

You two did not wait for him to wave you away a second time. Gimli watched until you disappeared into the tree boughs across the way. As he turned back to the feast behind, it was with a considerable weight gone from his shoulders. Legolas would be fine. Furthermore, if–and Gimli certainly hoped it so–you joined them as they headed onward toward the sea, maybe you would prove better at conversation than Legolas had proved to be.

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cilil · 1 year

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Hi! I was hoping to request "Knotting" from the Spicy Bingo sheet with Mairon x reader please! I'm so feral for him

Author's Note: Sorry these are taking a while - last week was fairly stressful and I keep making them longer as originally intended. Oh well; thanks for the prompt and I hope you enjoy this one!♡

ೃ♡⁀➷ Spicy Bingo: Knotting + Mairon x reader ৎ୭

And there you are, on his bed, caught like a helpless deer in a werewolf's jaws. The hunter becoming a greater hunter's prey.

ৎ୭ Synopsis: You, a former Maia of Oromë, are tasked to take care of the werewolves in Tol-in-Gaurhoth together with Mairon; until your calm routine is unexpectedly interrupted when you experience your first heat.

ৎ୭ Featuring: female Maia!reader, 2nd person POV, heat, knotting, cunnilingus (female receiving), somewhat rough sex (but very much consensual), biting, bit of breeding kink

ৎ୭ Oneshot (~1.2k)

"My, my, what do we have here..."

You squirm on the wolf pelt laid out on your fellow Maia's bed, nervously pressing your legs together as he scrutinises you. Sneaking into his room was a foolish idea, you knew it in advance, yet you were unable to help yourself; his smell is simply too enticing. It is in moments like these that you curse your nature as a Maia of beasts and hunting.

Your first master was Oromë and you used to hunt with his hounds until the fateful day Lord Melkor found you and promised you a stronger pack and all the prey you wanted in return for your service, an offer too good to refuse; and now you take care of his werewolves alongside Mairon, your superior. While he watches over the tower and surrounding area and spies on your enemies, you feed and train the wolves, often assuming their shape–which you led to your current predicament.

Not only have you grown accustomed to wolfish mannerisms, but certain parts of their nature have begun to affect your fána. A strange, heated sensation took hold of you a couple of days ago, soon followed by a sticky feeling between your legs and a deep, inexplicable yearning for relief. By the time you realised what was happening, it was already too late. You tried hiding in your chambers and taking care of yourself, but nothing worked; especially not after you found one of Mairon's forge gloves, brought to you by an especially affectionate werewolf, and caught a whiff of his scent.

Oh, his scent. One that immediately made your knees feel weak and feral thoughts consume your mind, one that kept beckoning you until you couldn't resist any longer–

And there you are, on his bed, caught like a helpless deer in a werewolf's jaws. The hunter becoming a greater hunter's prey.

Golden, cat-like eyes stare at you from the darkness as Mairon comes closer to investigate, and you see his nose twitch when he inhales your scent. A smirk appears on his lips.

"Oh you poor little thing..." he drawls and sits down on the bed next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. The small gesture alone causes you to let out a whine and lean into his touch.

"It seems like you are in heat," he observes, direct as always, and starts stroking your leg with an appreciative glint in his eyes.

"Y-you think so?" you ask; it's a possibility you have considered before, but attempted to deny.

"Well... let me see."

Mairon pushes the skirt of your dress up to your hips and spreads your legs with quick, efficient movements, finding your panties soaked with your juices. You avert your gaze in shame, but can't help watching him from the corner of your eye, only to realise–he's looking pleased?

"So needy," he purrs and inches closer to greedily inhale more of your sweet scent. His pupils dilate. "Do you want me to take care of you, my precious little wolf?"

You nod in response. Part of you wants to keep denying what is happening to you and return to your chambers, but every other sensation is eclipsed by your mounting need for your fellow Maia and what you know he can give to you.

Nimble hands pull down your panties, and you spread your legs instinctively, presenting your wet, glistening folds to him like a delicate rose given to a lover. Mairon wastes no time leaning forward to bury his face between your legs and you feel his warm, rough tongue caress your sensitive skin shortly after. Long nails dig into your thighs when he pushes them apart further, groaning softly as he tastes your essence.

You can sense how your heat is beginning to affect the other Maia as well and you are more than happy to offer yourself to him. His tongue pushes between your folds with increasing urgency, alternating between swirling around your swollen clit and eating you out as if he was enjoying a delicious meal. You can feel subtle shifts in his fána, elongating the pink muscle to reach deeper inside you and fill you completely.

You taste so good... you hear Mairon whispering in your mind and cry out in pleasure while rocking your hips against him.

"Please, my lord... take me, I need–" you whine and helplessly paw at his copper locks.

He raises his head, a wicked smile on his face, and slowly licks his wet lips clean.

"Demanding today, are we? You are truly fortunate that you smell so delicious..." Mairon croons and sits up, looming over you like a werewolf about to pounce on its prey. The flames in the fireplace behind him seem to flare up and bathe the outline of his fána in a fiery glow.

He is beautiful like this, majestic and imposing, causing another twinge of desire within your lower body.

"On all fours. And undress," Mairon commands. His countenance appears as calm as always, yet the darkening of his eyes betrays his own feral instincts threatening to take over.

You scramble to obey him, yet as soon as you are on your hands and knees, presenting your backside to him, he shoots forward with the precision of an experienced hunter and seizes your neck to push your face down into the sheets below. Your cry of surprise is followed by a loud moan when he swiftly frees his cock, pulling down his pants just enough to penetrate you with a single thrust.

Your mind becomes wonderfully blank. The world around you seems to dissolve into a blur of sounds and colours until all that remains is the blissful sensation between your legs, being filled with Mairon's cock and feeling him thrusting in and out of your helplessly dripping cunt. He fucks you with nigh animalistic ferocity, growling in your ear as he leans over you and bites the side of your neck and shoulder–marks that you will bear for a while, you realize despite the fog of lust clouding your mind, and the thought excites you.

You feel your mouth fall open, but you can't tell if you're begging for more or simply moaning into the silken sheets. Mairon's grip on you tightens and you feel something swelling at the base of his cock, eliciting more cries of pleasure from you. He's going to breed you like your fána craves so badly, provide you with his seed and his knot, and you let out a sob of relief, knowing your burning need will finally be satisfied.

Mairon buries himself inside you with one final thrust and holds you in place as his release washes over him. His knot ensures not a single drop of cum he spills is wasted, filling you to the brim. You whimper, exhausted after days of heat and being fucked with such vigor, and yearn to simply collapse on your fellow Maia's bed and rest, yet your fánar are still tied together.

Sensing your discomfort, Mairon wraps his arms around you and carefully lays you down on your side, following every movement so his knot doesn't hurt you.

"We will have to stay like this a while longer," he says and pulls you close.

All you can do is nod and a small smile appears on your lips. You don't mind the idea of falling asleep in his warm embrace, feeling his strong fána holding yours while you recover from your heat.

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @singleteapot

spicy bingo master post | my masterlist | tag list form

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definitelynotshouting · 9 months

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i've been prev tagged by like three separate people today, i am WINNING at the internet

#shouting speaks #personally i just love an excuse to be unhinged. me when i see scarian art and go bananas #yall should see the shit im saying in discord dms tho. atp i think it can legally be considered a cry for help #grian and scar in that cactus ring yeah yeah WELL IM THERE TOO . FUCKING HELP M E I CANT GET OUT #[insert obligatory /joke here]#txt

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mori-no-majou · 11 months

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‘nooo they can’t make an animated zelda movie! if they make a zelda movie it needs to be live action!’ biting you biting you biting you biting you biting you biting you BITING YOU BIT

#urusai majou #it's the videogame equivalent of 'lord of the rings would be better if it was more like game of thrones'#for the record though zelda is something I don't think could ever be adapted into a movie regardless of medium #and I'm saying that as someone who was genuinely charmed by the mario movie #I think the difference is that the mario games have a very consistent identity so like. there's a clear list of criteria there #just make it cute and colourful and not ashamed of what it is and you're golden #zelda on the other hand is a lot more personal. it's a story you're specifically supposed to insert yourself into #everyone has a different idea of who link is #it's telling that the internet can't even agree on whether or not link should have verbal dialogue. much less how he'd sound if he did #adapting it into a movie would naturally mean losing that in favour of one fixed canon version of link #which eiji aonuma has specifically said several times he doesn't want #so like. yeah somehow I'm not altogether sure there is anything to the rumours tbh #and as far as live action nintendo adaptations in general go. have you Looked at the art styles for any of these games #literally the only nintendo ips that wouldn't look straight up weird in live action are metroid and Maybe fire emblem #but again. only if it was shadow dragon or the tellius games #anything else and you'd run into the same issue of steamrolling players' choices with a fixed canon #uhg idk. ultimately it all boils down to the mentality currently floating around that live action movies are the zenith of art #and they're just. not #sometimes the ideal medium for a story is the one it was originally written in #and zelda is definitely one of those things tbh

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pillowenvelopchair · 9 months

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Grits teeth

#i cant believe i start to have motivation right as school starts too #yes im still obsessed #you do not percieve me #magdalene AGAIN bc i cant resist not drawing her #god damn it mags why is the guy u pledged allegience to so damn hard to draw #shaking my clenched fist #i might change everything knowing me honestly #btw theyre sunflowers… yes i know… its not very. obvious.#tbh i forgot what sunflowers looked like while drawing :p #bah whatever ill just change it up tmrw i need to sleep #insert death sfx #rogiers such a cutie patootie in that fic honestly but mags is my personal fav #STRENGTH BUILD STRENGTH BUILD!!!!#ok ill stop rambling niw #elden ring #magdalene #still waters run deep #wip #edit: just ended up doing it from grayscale instead of straught up coloring LOL

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isilrina · 3 months

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🌙👑 Isilrina - Unveiled 👑🌙

Happy Art Monday! This drawing serves as the second part of the Isilrina diptych, representing the concealed side of myself that remained hidden from the world until last year. "Masking," a coping mechanism prevalent among non-neurotypical individuals, becomes a means of self-protection in an unsupportive environment. Only a select few were privy to this concealed facet until now – trusted individuals with whom I could authentically be myself, free from societal expectations. It resulted in many burn-outs along the years until I finaly decided to put down the mask for good. Now I'm only showing this unveiled side of me when I meet new people so they know what to expect. Because I realized it isn't real friendship if people are only friends with your mask.

It took me a long time to realize that but I think I had to come to terms with not being able to be friend with everyone, before I understood this. And, looking back at it, in the end, it is a relief, because I also realized I had spend so many energy and years of my life trying to fit in other people's idea of friendships that didn't aligned with mine, and I can never get that time back either for myself or for the people I care for. In the end, I'm incredibly thankful for those who embraced and accepted me without judgment during this journey, and for those who helped me recognize and understand my ADHD.

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anneaelise · 1 year

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Free • Personal - Boxed Weekly

Free for all on elizenn.com ♡

Printable Planner inserts in 'Personal' size [ 95×171 mm // 4.75″x6.75″ ]

Boxed Week on 2 Pages with Essential lists & Notes Monday & Sunday start 🡓 https://elizenn.com/free-pl-boxed-wo2p/

Enjoy! ❀

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heartbreakfeelsogood · 1 year

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did you guys know that i love kell and they are my bestest friend >:)

#op #we’re having a silly goofy conversation and i’m just like wow <3 this is my person!!#insert spongebob and patrick best friend forever rings

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ribbonpinky-art · 12 hours

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sideyshowy bobby

#sideshow bob #robert terwilliger #simpsons fanart #my art #self insert #me #self insert shipping #thedorfmirrin #s/i and fandom blogs may interact lols #i knew he existed as a kid but its one of those situations where i instantly fall for a character many years later-#the moment i look at them again #like with maleficent and ursula :33 #so exactly 1 week ago #i met sideshow bob #how do i even begin?? i cant remember how it even happened- i was looking at someone's tumblr notes bc i like to look at comments sometimes #then i saw someone's username which i liked the ring of #then i saw more images of this guy #and now u know the rest #why is he so cute and funny #the dichotomy of a snooty thespian who loves to play up his villainy (because he cant do ANYTHING without going above and beyond to get the #attention of the whole world #while also having goofy clown tendencies #im head over heels for him #so is my partner mirrin (thanks to meeeee >x3 )#and hes a simpsons character. not at all in a bad way bc i do not ever judge anyone's f/o crushes-#it was just. SOOO unexpected for me bc i tend to not pay attention to that show for personal reasons #just goes to show that theres a character to love for everyone in every piece of media #also this guy made me appreciate the show and its art direction a lil more than before despite my harbored feelings #and some of its silliness like genuinely it can be so funny (when there isnt a fat joke thrown in every 5 seconds anyway..#so everyone winz

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eggbunni · 8 months

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Almost done putting together all my inserts for my new rings planner and home management system! 🥰 I still haven’t figured out how to print on vellum without it bleeding everywhere. If anyone has tips or advice, I’m all ears. 🙏

#planning #planner inserts #rings planner #personal rings #planners #planner inspo #personal rings inserts #eggbunni

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strawwritesfic · 1 year

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Frodo Baggins x Female!Hobbit!Reader: Girl

Summary: Frodo doesn’t really mean it about turning Merry and Pippins into toads, but there are times he wonders if that wouldn’t make things a little easier on everyone else.

Rating/Tags: All (Movie canon; during canon; Fellowship of the Ring; A Long-Expected Party; Pippin & Merry; Pippin & Merry & Frodo; Frodo & Gandalf; Sam/Rosie; quarreling; love confession; birthday party; the Shire)

Challenge: “160 Collective Drabbles” challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Girl

Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party had been the talk of the whole Shire for almost the entire year that led up to it. Every hobbit in the town of Hobbiton—and many more from the outlying regions—was invited to the massive celebration. To the young Frodo Baggins wandering through the crowd, it seemed that each and every one of them had come. Plus some, he judged, as a line of his uncle’s well-wishers nearly crushed him in their eagerness to get to the buffet. He had seen nearly everyone he cared to, including Merry and Pippin and Rosie and Sam...save for the one person he had hoped to see most.

The weight in Frodo’s stomach grew heavier and heavier the longer his search for you went on. Could it be that you hadn’t come? Of all the hobbits to skip his coming of age party—and to add to that, he knew that it was his fault if you had! If only he had not said what he’d said just that very week. Then maybe, maybe—

“Frodo!”

He looked up to see Merry and Pippin waving at him from beside the band playing for the wide field of dancers between Frodo and his friends. Both grinned widely upon catching his eye. Unable to entirely hide his disappointment, Frodo morosely picked his careful way through the throng of party-goers to the pair. Neither of them stopped smiling.

“Why the long face, Frodo?” Merry asked.

“Are you still looking for [Name]?” added Pippin.

Frodo looked over his shoulder at the constantly-shifting dancers, half-expecting to see you there with some other neighborhood tween. He did not. Pippin’s grin widened as Frodo turned back to him and Merry.

“Never fear,” Pippin gave Frodo a hearty clap on the back, “for we have found your maiden fair.”

Frodo tried to protest this, but Merry overrode him: “A little bird told us precisely where you can find her.”

“Who was the little bird?” asked Frodo.

Merry shrugged carelessly and reached for a passing tray of ales. “Gandalf,” he answered, passing Pippin a drink of his own while the latter nodded sagely.

“You know, I rather think Gandalf suspects us of something, Merry.”

“I believe you are correct, Pippin. And that he believes sending us on this errand to help Frodo will keep us from any mischief.”

“A pity for Gandalf. Everyone has to be wrong from time to time, I suppose, even great wizards such as he.”

Both sniggered into their mugs. Frodo waited for them to get to the point. They didn’t. At last, unable to wait any longer, he said:

“Well? Where is she?”

Merry gave a slight start, as though he had forgotten that Frodo was even there. He pointed off towards the edge of the main tent.

“Her mother has her helping with the catering, or so [Name] claims.”

“So you’ve spoken to her?”

Pippin shook his head. “Threw a plate right at my nose when we tried. You’ll probably have better luck.”

“I doubt it,” Frodo murmured.

After gulping down the last of his ale, Merry made a shooing motion with his free hand. “Well, run along and find out, why don’t you? And if you see Gandalf along the way, tell him we passed along his message and were perfectly well-behaved for the duration of our conversation.”

Frodo knew that he ought to have been more concerned with his companions’ plans. If Gandalf desired to keep them occupied, it was probably for the best. A lot of planning had gone into this party. Merry and Pippin were more likely to ruin it with their particular brand of trouble than any of the other guests—and that included the horrible Sackville-Bagginses. On the other hand, Gandalf must have wanted Frodo to talk to you, if he’d gone out of his way to give him your whereabouts.

It hardly mattered. Before Frodo could breech the topic of whatever trouble the two were up to that evening, they had disappeared into the crowd. Oh, well. He hadn’t really wanted to tell them off anyway. His heart just wasn’t in it.

Relieved of this duty—though not without feeling some slight trepidation over what Merry and Pippin might have planned—he made his way in the direction indicated. This led him straight to a smaller tent set off from the rest of the festivities. Frodo joined the fast-moving line to the entrance and eventually came close enough to peek inside. A veritable hive of busy hobbits in uniform bustled endlessly before him.

None of them seemed to notice him slipping into the warm darkness after them. Everyone was far too busy with their assigned task. Here the party’s considerable amount of food was prepared, and none of the workers had time to rest. A constant stream of them carrying plates both empty and full moved in and out from the tent’s entrance flap. Heat from exertion and so many cooking fires pressed against Frodo’s skin until he was quite as pink in the face as those doing the baking. Of course, he found you at the very back, scowling over a steaming tub of water filled with dirty serving platters.

He was not surprised you were hiding among the cooks. Your mother was considered one of the top chefs in Hobbiton, and Bilbo had hired only the best for his eleventy-first birthday party. What did surprise Frodo was your expression. Rarely had he seen you appear so dour, and you hadn’t even spotted him yet.

“Pardon me, Mister Frodo,” said a man at Frodo’s back, “but if you wouldn’t mind scooting out of the way, I’d be much obliged. We’re rather in a hurry.”

Frodo hastily crossed the aisle in which he’d been lingering. The man’s additional, “and a very happy birthday to you, sir,” was lost on him, for at that very moment your eyes flashed upward to catch him in the act of spying. You dropped the platter in your hands, but being pinned in by the hobbits washing plates on either side of you, you could make no escape. One of the washers left, only for Frodo to step into the empty space.

You crossed your arms across your chest, and shot him a look eerily reminiscent of your mother. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my party,” Frodo answered, “as well as Bilbo’s.”

Apparently this was the wrong answer, because you threw him a dirty look and bent to snatch your dropped plate from the sudsy water. “Then go enjoy your party,” you snarled, attacking a stuck on bit of potato with more vigor than Frodo thought necessary.

He inched closer, the better to stay out of the way of those continually coming to deposit dinnerware in need of washing. “I can’t,” he said. “I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

Your mother had explicitly freed you from catering duty for the party. She had done it as a favor to Frodo, an early birthday present, she had said. Why, then, did you seem so insistent on doing what wasn’t your job for the evening? Without bothering to look at him, you dropped your tray back into the tub, then reached over the resulting splash for a new plate.

“I’m sure Merry and Pippin would be more than happy to talk with you,” you said coldly.

“I don’t think I want involved with whatever they’re up to.”

“Bilbo, then.”

“He’s busy playing host.”

“Gandalf.”

“How would he keep an eye on Merry and Pippin?”

You threw your hands up in the air in frustration, and lost your grip on the plate. “Why not Sam?”

Frodo shuffled his feet. You were nearing the subject of your fight, whether you realized or not. “He and Rosie are dancing.”

Nose wrinkled, you rummaged through the water in search of your platter. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Frodo. Those are all the boys I know, and your only friends. After all, you told me yourself we can’t be friends, because I’m a girl.”

His wide blue eyes closed in shame. Frodo had said that. He hadn’t meant it. The whole thing had been badly bungled, and now he didn’t know how to un-bungle it, or if you’d even give him the chance to try.

“I didn’t mean it like that, [Name].”

You did not answer this time. Having retrieved your wet things, you made a silent, angry beeline for a rack of clean towels to dry them with. He followed as quickly as he could, given how many hobbits were inside such an enclosed area. He wished he wasn’t having this fight so publicly—not that anyone really had the time to eavesdrop.

“[Name], I didn’t,” he insisted as he caught up to you. “You’re a girl.”

“Oh, very astute observation,” you said semi-hysterically. Now the pitch of your voice was drawing attention. “What would I do without you? I already figured out I was a girl because, in case you haven’t noticed, we're no longer friends!”

Frodo took a deep breath. Like mother like daughter—though he supposed you were still a tween, with your own coming of age several months away still. Either way, he was terrified of your rage, but this might be the last chance he got to explain himself. Bracing himself, he lightly looped one hand around your wrist. You fell into an enraged silence at once.

“You’re a girl and my friend,” he said, before you had the opportunity to recollect yourself. “When I said I didn’t have any friends that were girls…well, I meant that you’re something more.”

“What?” you said after a moment of struggle.

Encouraged by your not making to run off again, Frodo slipped his hand from your wrist to your palm. “I didn’t mean that we weren’t friends. I was trying to ask you to dance with me. I just didn’t phrase it right.”

A strange noise like a cross between a giggle and a squeak escaped you. You still had not forced him to release you. “You wanted to dance? With me?”

The odd tone of your voice gave Frodo some doubts. You were not normally the kind of person to repeat others either. He offered you a hesitant nod.

“I didn’t mean to make you think you mean less to me than Sam and the rest. You don’t. You mean more. But,” he added when you remained as stiff as a statue in front of him, “if you want to just stay friends, I understand. So long as we’re still friends.”

Seconds went by as you continued to gape at him. His heart sank, and he let go of your hand at last. Yes, he understood you wanting to remain friends, but that didn’t mean he wasn't disappointed by this turn of events. Bilbo’s occasional asides about broken hearts made sense now. Frodo mashed his lips together for a long moment before he gathered his wits about him to take his leave.

“You’re busy," he said awkwardly as he backed away. "Bilbo will be looking for me. We’ll talk some other—”

“Of course I’ll dance with you!”

Frodo had barely got two steps toward the crowded tent exit when you practically tackled him in a hug. Twisting in your grip, he looked around to see your scowl had transformed into an enormous smile.

“You will?” he said. Bewildered as he was, his heart felt ten pounds lighter even as you shuffled off him to allow him room to stand.

“Yes! I—I like you as more than a friend, too. I’d love to dance with you. If,” you looked suddenly shy, “if you still want to after I was so mean.”

“You weren’t mean. I said the wrong thing. I got nervous.”

You smiled again, a little less brightly this time. “So…still more than friends?”

“More than friends,” he said. “But can you leave? Will your mother let you?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll serve me next if she catches me hiding from you in here.”

Just like that, you both were hand in hand again. Frodo squeezed yours firmly in his own. “Let’s go. I think I can get the band to play—”

KABOOM!

Everyone in the tent yelped and froze. Plates trembled. Frightened hobbits dropped their plates. You threw Frodo a knowing look.

“Pippin and Merry?” you asked.

“Pippin and Merry,” Frodo said wearily. “Let’s go see what sort of trouble they got in this time.”

“Then we dance?”

“Then we dance.”

The two of you ducked out of the food tent and headed for where Gandalf and a cluster of half-drunk hobbits—all grumbling over the fright they had received—were gathered.

It was hard for Frodo to be too upset with Merry and Pippin after they’d help him get together with you. Gandalf had, too, however, so it could be that they were about to get what they deserved. It all depended on how much time this business took, and if Frodo at last got to have his long-awaited birthday dance.

On second thought, he hoped Gandalf turned them both into toads. It would be faster, Frodo thought, and after all, Gandalf could always turn them back...after you and Frodo had your dance.

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cloud9doll · 4 months

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try as i might i cannot understand the sarah j maas hype. white girls pls don’t take me out back & shoot me

#i read like 3 books of acotar #now tried throne of glass #i barely hit the 3rd chapter & im already irritated with inconsistencies #& the way she describes characters annoys me #her eyes could be described as blue or gray or even green depending on what she was wearing but they’re surrounded by a ring of gold #like okaaaay?#thats like a self insert fanfic description #not to mention her characters lack depth. lots of telling & not showing #lots of telling me a certain character is good but i haven’t actually seen anything that would support that idea #it’s just personal icks like i wanna enjoy these series too!!!! but I just cannot

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birdantlers · 8 months

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A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs

#artists on tumblr #Artistic #digital art #art history #anthropology #humanity #art discussion #art theory #skit yells

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theinquisitxor · 1 year

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I had a very interesting lotr dream last night:

In the dream I was the daughter of a Gondorian nobleman during the War of the Ring, set during an alternate battle of Pelennor fields. I was in a city with Gondor's army and peoples about to be besieged by the forces of Mordor (interestingly, there was no One Ring or any of the characters from lotr. We basically needed to defeat this army to stop the evil). Everyone in the city knew that we couldn't stand against the forces of evil for long, and we needed outside reinforcements.

The beacons had been lit but failed, and the army of mordor started to attack the city. I spoke with my father, and we agreed that I would sneak out of the city and ride towards Rohan, to plead to Theodan to muster the Rohirrim in a last effort to save my father and city. The dream ended with me on a horse galloping away from the city, having no idea if they would hold out long enough for me to come back with help.

It was definitely an interesting dream, and my mind did not shy away from the horror and gore that such a battle would inflict. I guess this comes from reading a lot of lotr fanfic, and fantasy books lol

#not me dreaming up a self-insert where I am a Gondorian noblewoman #set during the War of the Ring #lotr #personal

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soullessdianthus · 9 months

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𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐱 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠)

Summary: During the mission somewhere in Austria, König takes an interest in TF 141 medic. Little did he know, she's Lieutenants Riley's girlfriend.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

A/N: Possessive/Protective boyfriend Ghost? Yes, double and give to the next person. Also inserted Hank/Connor "lieutenant" reference, I just find it funny. Y/C ━ Your Codename (have fun, pick something babes) Poorly translated German ━ correct me if needed!

Warnings: nothing, reader is eastern european coded (we deserve more recognition as reader inserts ꃋᴖꃋ )

Word count: 1.8k

The tree line of the thick forest melted into the base of the rocky mountains. Your gaze traveled across its pointy shapes and up higher - there hadn’t been a single cloud on the sky that day, causing a slight heatwave.

You let your body slightly wag as the car passed over surface bumps on the earthen road. The dry lump grew in your throat as the dust hovered all over the convoy and all you could think of was a sip of cold, mineral water.

Soon, you reached the small town in Austria, secluded from the ring roads. The cars were parked near the surrounding forest at the entrance of the village. Lieutenant Riley's sight crossed with yours as he helped you get out of the truck.

He could be such a gentleman sometimes.

A handful of soldiers gathered near the vehicles - some of them wearing a KorTac patch on their shoulders, the other ones (from your unit) a Task Force 141 badge. But besides those sigils, none of them were wearing full battle gear.

There was no active fighting against the enemy at the moment. It was just a careful chase after the terrorists - following their footsteps, interviewing associates, gathering proof. Because at the end of the day, the military (or army related organization) cannot shed blood over a defamation.

But KorTac and TF 141? Quite an unusual partnership between the two groups, right?

━ Ghost, Y/C you’re goin’ with me ━ Captain Price announced, adjusting his hat as he closed the car’s doors behind him. ━ Gaz, you’ll stay here, is that clear?

Captain heard a firm ‘yes, sir’ from your teammate Kyle who was to stay at the parking spot. Meanwhile the KorTac colonel gave an order to his soldiers in German. “Such a tough language” you thought to yourself. Only two of his people went along the wood road with the rest of you.

The Colonel.

Exceptionally tall, Austrian man who served many years for his country. The one you found yourself in on the latest mission.

Each time you wanted to look at him while Colonel König was speaking, you had to chin up. And even though, a black hood with a red paint on it covered his whole face besides his cold, blue eyes. He was lowkey intimidating with his massive size, but just like your captain, the Austrian’s rough looks didn’t reflect his character. At least to you and your comrades he was quite nice.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same about his teammates.

You didn’t have to walk for long as the isolated, one floor house emerged behind a hill. By the quick peek at that building and the noises coming from the inside you knew, it felt like a warm home.

As you approached the building, you heard a child’s cry.

Price knocked at the front door and soon after a man with dark bags under his eyes opened them slightly. He was peeking through the crack.

━ Jakob Hausner? ━ The Captain asked with a playful smile under his mustache, his thumbs interlocked with the gear straps over his chest.

━ Ja, wie kann ich helfen? [ger.: Yes, how can I help?]

━ Can you ask him if he speaks english? ━ John looked over his shoulder towards König, asking for a favor.

━ Yes, I speak english ━ master of the house answered with a thick accent, before colonel could translate. ━ What do you want?

He wasn’t trusting at all, well, how could he? You were all strangers at his doorsteps, two of your partners wearing scary looking masks. But it all had a purpose - they were supposed to look… intimidating, yes?

A loud wailing made their ears hurt, it was that damn baby again. Jakob sighed loudly, his shoulder collapsing as he opened the doors a little bit more.

━ We just want to talk about the company you were working for. ━ Price continued talking.

━ About them again? ━ Mr. Hausner frowned his eyebrows and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Poor man was exhausted apparently. ━ Okay, okay, ja, come in.

The man let you all inside, however König told his soldiers to have a look outside the plot - to make sure it’s safe here and you’re not being watched. Poor Jakob wasn’t even fully aware (because of his state) that he let in a group of military people inside of his home.

As soon as you crossed the hallway into the dining room with a big, wooden table, you noticed a struggling toddler in a children’s chair. The girl was crying, her face red from the tantrum.

━ I’m sorry, it’s just my daughter, she… she doesn’t want to eat her–. Lina, bitte. [ger.: Lina, please.]

Being a parent. Must be tough, huh?

Not when you were forced to babysit your siblings or cousins since you were a teenager.

━ She’s not hungry. ━ You noticed the way the little girl pushed her plate away and how she tried to climb out of the seat. Christ, that man really had to be exhausted. ━ Can I?

You took a few slow and calm steps towards the sitting child - a warm smile painted over your face. Even your boyfriend Ghost was slightly… surprised? Seeing you drop the apathetic shell, then becoming more warm and gentle towards the little girl.

━ She’s our medic ━ your Captain explained to the worried father ━ let her take the kid and we’ll have a talk. In peace.

Mr. Hausner let you take care of his unsettled daughter, so they could have a conversation about his former employers. You took the girl out of her chair and placed her over your left hip, pushing it outward.

━ Come, Lina ━ you addressed the girl by her name, even though she probably couldn’t understand what you were saying ━ let’s leave the stinky men alone, ja?

You left the dining room and entered the seemingly endless garden behind the house. Since you took that girl in your hands she already began to calm down, perhaps a woman's touch was all she needed?

“Where was your mother? Was she at work working a long shift? Did something happen to her? Did the bad men–” your thoughts seemed to take a rather pessimistic route, so you had to quickly change it.

You didn’t know much German. Well, you didn’t know any at all.

Fuck.

But at that moment you were thanking the heavens that your father watched movies about Hans Kloss or war on a regular basis. You were happy that your father was taught some phrases and somewhere in your subconsciousness he passed them to you.

You sat on the wooden bench somewhere in the garden not far from the building. Then, you placed the child on your lap and began talking to her - mostly in your mother tongue. Then you added some words in German that you knew, like:

━ Schau, schmetterling! [ger.: Look, a butterfly!]

Soon you grew more comfortable around the girl named Lina, even though there was a language barrier. Without your knowledge, your legs began to bounce her, pretending she was riding a horse.

If anyone would point that out later, you would certainly deny it. You, getting soft for a child? No, no, no.

You were so occupied with entertaining her that you didn’t even notice a looming, black figure in the corner of your eye. Watching the scene from somewhere nearby.

König was standing just next to the doors, leaving against the white plaster on the outside walls. He listened to your attempts to speak German, finding it… adorable?

Never did he meet a woman in his profession so empathetic and gentle. Especially the one who managed to catch his attention. Let’s be honest, most of them were cold blood murderers and he was a colonel - he couldn’t let himself have such a luxury of having a family.

Until now.

His imagination began to play a nasty and stupid trick on him - just because he saw you speaking German with a kid. What if it was you to take care of his children? Were your hands usually this delicate? Would you care for him as much?

The tall soldier was intrigued by you and his dreamy stare exposed him for it.

━ Don’t even think about it. ━ Ghost voice snapped him back to the reality. The British soldier emerged from the building the same way the colonel did after the conversation came to an end with Mr. Hausner.

Simon Riley wasn’t a fool. He noticed all the little peaks at his girlfriend other soldiers usually would take, she was in fact a pretty thing. So it didn’t take much to notice that the tall guy from KorTac took a liking of you. Too much liking in Ghost’s opinion.

━ Verzeihung [ger.: Excuse me] ━ König apologized, flustered slightly by obviousness of the situation. He instantly understood the reference. ━ didn’t know she was… taken.

━ Yeah ━ British lieutenant scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark irises didn’t even dare to stare at him. His eyes were on you ━ she’s very much taken.

There was a dead silence between the two of them - for a short moment, before Ghost gave you a heads up.

━ Y/C, we’re moving.

The rough and firm tone of Ghost’s voice made you snap back into reality. You were in the middle of something, right? Yet, you almost jumped on that little bench painted in floral patterns.

━ Coming, lieutenant. ━ You declared quickly, before putting the little girl over your hip again and heading inside of her home.

Ghost was a few steps ahead and so you had to pass the massive figure of König to go inside again. You pressed the child’s head into your cleavage as she was a little scared of colonel’s hood.

Well, you would be too, if you saw his cold stare in the middle of the night from under that veil, right?

━ Don’t worry, he just looks scary. He won’t bite. Isn’t that right, sir? ━ You sent him a polite smile as you tried to comfort the petrified girl. Your hand caressing her golden locks.

But he was speechless at the moment. He couldn’t form a simple sentence. A fucking grown ass man. “So fucking pathetic”, he thought to himself. Your lips twisting into a wide smile for him. It wouldn’t be easy for him to erase that sight from his memory. König would have trouble falling asleep that night, thinking of you.

A/N: ♪ Two big guys and they grab on my thighs ♪

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