hot-dragon

It’s especially funny when you remember that Tundra have the memory of a goldfish, cause like.

Imagine being Icewarden, you just brewed up a hot batch of dragons, shiny and new and ready to serve Your Glory, you address them all, address your mass of fluffy children, and for now, they are your PRIDE, they are your JOY, they are going to do WONDERS, you give them your godly lecture on history and preservation and how to survive in the ice, you release them into the world-

And about a week later they’re all flailing about because they’ve forgotten the entire thing. Half of them don’t even remember who you are. One of them has swallowed eight rocks because they’ve forgotten what a plant is. You realize that somewhere down the line, you fucked up. You think about your brothers and sisters in their other lands, creating their wonderful children who can actually remember how to function in a society.

Eventually your children pull themselves together and make a habit of surviving, because habits are stronger than memories, but you’re already humiliated. Sure, you can keep addressing them en masse, but what’s the point? They’ll forget it in three days anyway. You go home to sulk. Flamecaller didn’t have this sort of trouble, and all she made were fat snakes that hum. 

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Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creators!

Requested By: Anonymous.

Based On: If you have the time could you write something for being Thranduil’s queen and you getting hurt by one of his guards and Thranduil getting very angry and protective. By the way I absolutely adored the thorin helping you with your hair one you wrote.

A/N: Of course I’ll write this for you, lovely! I hope that you enjoy what I’ve come up with. Thank you! I’m glad that you enjoyed it. Thanks for your request and request as many imagines as you would like. c: - Kat


Word count: 944 ( I think I overdid it slightly )

Warning’s: Some blood, protective Thranduil, angry Thranduil, pretty much Thranduil being a douche to the member of the guard that hurt you. Some fluff at the end. (Let me know if I forgot anything)

Disclaimer: I do not own Thranduil or Mirkwood, Tolkien does.


Your head swung to left with a rashness that stunned the Elven King. The armored elbow that belonged to one of the members of the Woodland Realms’ Guard, collided and crunched viciously into your jaw bone. You were simultaneously flung across the platform, a loud cry coming from your mouth, echoing throughout the kingdom, halted everything and everyone within it’s path.

The guard grew tense as he turned to you, finally restraining the prisoner that had riled up a riot of his own. Even the prisoner looked fearfully up at the King of Mirkwood.

Like an arrow, King Thranduil shot up from his throne and onto his feet, his sapphire orbs agape, astonishment flooding through them. He had never dreamed of the day that a member of his own guard would ever possess such ungainly body movements! It was a complete disgrace and the king’s blood was surely boiling.

Soon the king’s bewilderment vanished, revealing an untamed rage towards the solider. Though, his eyes flickered over momentarily to you, not missing the blood trickle from your nose and mouth, the bruise beneath your slender long fingers as you cradled the damaged half of your face. Nobody moved a muscle and nobody dared to breathe.

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