#Androg & Beleg

[maironsbigboobs]

@silmsmutweek day 2:

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” —Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) Andróg tries to deny his desire for the elf, but he cannot resist forever.

Yield

Andróg/Beleg, E, 6k, Choose not to Warn Additional Tags: Internalised Homophobia, Masturbation, Intercrural Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements (see ao3 for detailed warning)

The first time he felt it was the day the elf returned to Amon Rûdh.

The past few days had been bitterly cold and wet, no good for hunting or fighting, and while most of the men were pleased to be under a solid roof for once, it was cramped and tense - just today Neithan had settled three squabbles that might otherwise have come to bloodshed. In no mood for joining the rabble, Andróg had settled himself in a quieter corner, in the vain hope of ending the day without a headache. 

He would not get to enjoy the quiet for long.

He had come unannounced, striding past the watchmen at the door and into the hall, laden with supplies. His face was so stern, jaw so tight Andróg could see the clenching muscles even from his dark corner. That did not surprise him; no, given their last meeting, he did not expect the elf to look at any of them with love. His hair was damp from the rain, clinging to his forehead and temples in damp, frizzy strands - it amused Andróg to see something so imperfect on his otherwise flawless face.

 But when his gaze landed on Neithan, his expression changed; his frown giving way to a smile so bright it could have melted all the snow on the hill. Neithan froze and for a sweet moment, Andróg wondered if he would turn him away.

The room was still. But then Neithan stood, and clasped Beleg by the shoulder, and he smiled.

That was what did it. Something hot and sharp broiled in Andróg’s stomach. Neithan’s rare smile, how his face was suddenly as youthful and handsome as the spring. How the elf laughed as Neithan embraced him, and how they spoke in the elven tongue together as if they had not been parted for a moment. Jealousy, like a branding iron against his throat.

He turned his face away, sullen, sulking, as the elf took his seat at Neithan’s right hand, and began handing out his strange elvish gifts. That should be my seat. Was he not all but the second captain of these men, hardest and bravest and boldest? Why should the elf have any privilege, when Andróg had been the one here in the hard and dark days?

It was pleasing, if nothing else, to see that he was not alone in his contempt. The other men gave the elf a wide berth, and his gifts were passed around with nervous, untrusting hands. He did not blame them - who knew what witchcraft he had brought out of his hidden kingdom? Nothing from the elf’s hands was to be trusted - he had good reason to want to bring harm to them. Perhaps the frosty reception would make him leave - or better yet, would encourage Neithan to send him away. 

The gifts made their way back around to the elf, and he set them at his feet. Delight sparked in Andróg’s gut at his expression; his brow furrowed, his lips turned down in a frown, the brightness of his eyes replaced by a sharp flash of hurt. It brought to mind the memory of how he had looked, bound and bloody against the trunk of a tree. Andróg smiled; he cherished the memory, unashamed and unguilty, savouring how it had felt to bring a proud creature so low. A pity the lesson had not stuck in the elf’s mind.

Neithan squeezed his arm, and leaned in to whisper something softly in a slender ear. Andróg’s delight gave way to cold indignation. How dare this elf come here, after they had shown him they did not want him, and try and win their favour with gifts like a new stepfather? And then, he had the audacity to seek comfort from Neithan - who was their  captain,  their friend, their  brother-in-arms? What claim did the elf have to his kindness? He might have been his friend as a boy - or at least, that was what they had gathered from the little Neithan had said - but Neithan was a man now, an outlaw, not a child playing with wooden swords. Let the elf go back and steal away another child, and leave Neithan the man to his rightful kin. 

Beleg smiled then, a small smile touched by sadness. Whatever Neithan said to him made him shake his head, but then he took his hand and squeezed it. 

He’d had enough of this. Andróg stood quietly, turning away from the hall down one of the dark and twisting corridors of Amon Rûdh. The dwarf had made his home like a maze, but Andróg spent many hours exploring the tunnels, distrusting the dwarf not to have left any traps for them. He saw him now, slinking away from the hall with a thunderous expression. Ah. So he was not fond of Beleg either. That was a small point in Beleg’s favour; anything that displeased Mîm was good in Andróg’s reckoning. 

Eventually, he wandered back to his room. The halls of Amon Rûdh were not vast, but there were enough small side rooms and chambers for the men to sleep five or six a room, and it was warmer in close quarters than sleeping in the hall. Neithan alone had his own chamber, a sign of the dwarf’s favour, but often he slept among the rest of them anyway, and used the chamber when he sought a moment’s peace. None of them begrudged him that. Andróg wondered if he would let the elf sleep there. 

He’d seen the room. It had a bed, a low mattress that Neithan lined with an old cloak. He’d helped him break off the footboard, so he could lie more comfortably. He wondered if he would make the elf sleep on the floor (the thought delighted him) or invite him to share the bed (the image of the two of them pressed together - it was mostly certainly not delight that stabbed at his gut at that image, but it was not disgust either).

Andróg settled himself in his bedroll, a tangle of fabric and fur. He tried to close his eyes, but the memory of the elf’s last visit kept swimming to the front of his mind. He had always considered himself to have a sharp mind, but this memory was clearer than any, and he could almost taste the blood on his tongue, could almost smell the smoke in the air. He tried to think of anything else, as he lay there in the dark, but the same vision kept returning to him.

The elf was bound to the same ancient tree, but in this version of the memory, he was naked, bruised and bloody and heaving. Andróg imagined reaching out, turning the elf’s slumped head up to face him with the blade of his axe. In his mind’s eye he could see the sweat on the elf’s brow, his eyes dark as he hoarsely whispered a plea for mercy.

Oh, the mercy he would have given him, if they had been alone. Andróg hurriedly shoved a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers, relieving the ache in his loins by curling his fingers around his cock, stroking himself leisurely.

Beleg’s bloodied face - he imagined, then, that it was those infuriating lips around his cock and not his hand, eyes screwed shut as he tried to imagine the warm, velvet heat of the elf’s mouth, and the anger in his gaze, trapped between him and the tree.

The tension grew, a tightness in his gut he knew too well. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on the image in his mind; the elf, his scowling face, lips red and swollen as a girl’s.

He stopped, that sudden thought turning his mind dry. Was he really getting off to a man -elf though he was? The thought discomforted him, but his arousal had not faded. He stroked himself to an unsatisfying, guilty climax.

Was it wrong of him to lust after the elf? He would not lust after Ulrad or Algund or any of the others - and he was not even going to think about Neithan. He had never desired a man; oh, he knew what some of the others did in the dark, but he had never been invited and he did not care to be. So why did the elf arouse such... well, arousal in him?

He could pass a maid, Andróg thought, if he frowned less, though not a very pretty one. That was what he settled on: it was a desire for control and the lack of women in Amon Rûdh that kindled lust in him - not any true wanting for Beleg himself. He wanted to see him controlled and humiliated, not whisper sweet words in his ear and kiss him.  There was no tenderness in it, and that made it different, and that made it normal. 

Choosing to be convinced, Andróg rolled over, and eventually fell asleep.

***

Andróg’s body burned. The arrow had caught his thigh as he stood raining his own down on the Orcs, and for the first few moments he had not been too worried - it hurt, but he could still stand, and he had thought a broken leg was the worst he could expect. 

Then the burning had started. The poison had taken only minutes to take hold of him, turning his blood to flame. He collapsed, curling in on himself and crying out, trying to resist the pain, and he remembered little of the battle after that. Someone must have seen him, because he felt strong arms - several pairs, all rough and damp with battle-sweat - helped him up, carrying him inside. He could not have repeated what they said to him; all talk seemed distant and faint over the roar of his blood in his ears.

He was carried to a cool and dark sideroom - it smelt like old beer and root vegetables, and laid on the ground, a thin piece of fabric - someone’s too-small cloak? - the only thing between him and the stone floor. The noise of the world faded. Andróg groaned and fidgeted, sweat dripping into his eyes.

Was this death? Fear seized almost as fast as the poison had. He was afraid to die. Not many thoughts could bring Andróg to tears, but this, the prospect of an undignified, painful death, in this cold and dark room, terrified him. Would Andvír not even come and see him? Would Neithan? Why was he alone? Had his captain and his son both left him to die alone?

I will never see Dor-lómin again. He had not thought of it as much as he should have, in all his years in the wilds. Two decades, and then some, since he had seen those hills and plains. He had been Neithan’s age then, and twice as foolish. Maybe it was better to die while his memory of home was untarnished. What had become of it, in the wake of war?  What would become of him, after death? No timeless hall or endless merriment awaited men like him. Only sorrow and shadow.

Voices broke through his pain and despair. Neithan’s voice, quiet and low and worried. He turned his head towards the sound, but his vision was fogged, and he could only make out a tall, dark shape that must have been his captain, half-turned towards the door and carrying a lantern. Andróg reached out to him, but Neithan was lighting the torches on the wall, and talking in hushed tones to - oh, fuck.

The elf. Why, of all people to see him dying in indignity, did it have to be him? Did he take some kind of sick pleasure in it? Had he volunteered to take him out of his misery - all too eagerly, Andróg could imagine. 

“.... water.... gauze, cloth.” 

“We don’t have...”

“Find it.” 

Snatches of conversation reached him through the fog, and Andróg groaned as cool hands touched his burning skin. He twisted, thrashed, and he heard Neithan call out something. Then there were more hands, familiar ones, holding him still. 

Beleg’s voice drifted over him. There were worse sounds to hear before he died than those smooth tones, he supposed. 

“He will not survive it.” Neithan’s voice was softer than usual, and Andróg would swear later that he heard it crack. “Beleg.” He pleaded, saying something else, in a language Andróg did not understand. Andróg felt bile in the back of his throat. If Neithan was losing his composure, then surely he was completely doomed.

“Silence.” Beleg’s voice, hard now,  cut through the thick gloom of his mind, and it was so commanding that for a moment even Andróg’s whines fell silent. He heard a list of orders, heard the scurrying of feet around him, and then Beleg’s hands were on him. 

It was like something out of a story his grandfather might have told him; the elf seemed the single bright spot in Andróg’s dimmed vision, clear and sharp as glass, like one of the divine come down to save him. His hands were cool and gentle, but not as soft as Andróg had expected; the callouses felt familiar, like his own, borne of bowstrings and hunting knives. 

He could not tell what he was doing; only that bit by bit the pain lessened, the burning replaced by a duller, distant pain, and as it cleared the haze from him, he could focus more on the elf himself - the way his hair had been hastily tied, and was falling loose from the braid, the way talked without turning to look at the speaker, only his ears twitching in response to sound. It distracted him, as the wound was cleaned with some dreadful ointment, and bound. If he studied every line of the elf’s face, every crease and scar, he could block out the rest of the world. 

It was a coping mechanism. Nothing more - he was grateful to be saved, but he knew the elf would not have been grieved if he died, just as he would not shed a tear for the elf in turn. It was for Neithan he was saved. Once again it was Neithan - as he had saved them all from their own bitter selves, he saved him from death with but his words.

The elf stepped back, and placed his hand on Andróg’s forehead. His touch spread warmth through Andróg. Their eyes met, and Beleg withdrew his hand quickly, clearing his throat before he spoke to Neithan and Andvír. There was a strange look in his eye that made Andróg feel like retching. 

Oh, he was grateful to be saved. He would thank the elf as politely as he could manage, when he had the strength to speak, and then hope to never have to speak about this again. He just could not wrap his mind around it; why had he intervened? What did he get out of saving him? He did not need to worm his way further into Neithan’s good graces - the elf was already adored by him, it was obvious. He could have let him die, and Neithan would not have blamed him. Did he want something from Andróg? Did he just want to hold it over his head - oh, yes, that was the most likely option. This was his twisted revenge; to make it harder and harder for Andróg to hate him, to have a knife to twist in his gut whenever they quarrelled. It was just the kind of mind games an elf would want to play. Wretched creatures.

“He will live,” Beleg was talking again, his voice thick, like he had something stuck in his throat.  He was undoubtedly not thrilled with Andróg being alive. “I will need to...”

He closed his eyes, and before he could hear the rest of  Beleg’s words, exhaustion claimed him. 

He was in his own bed when he awoke. Andróg stretched and groaned. His mouth was dry as bone and when he pushed himself up to look for some water, every muscle in his body protested. Fortunately, someone had left a waterskin by his bed, and he drank greedily, wiping his mouth on his sleeve - his clean sleeve. Someone had changed his clothes.

Andvír, most likely. And yet, his mind went to Beleg, and wandered. It was almost thrilling to imagine the elf undressing him - he would have been quick about it, Andróg imagined, efficient, detached. But he could almost feel the cool touch of his hands against his skin now, and he shivered. He imagined the elf’s long fingered hands, deftly unlacing the tie of his shirt, smoothly pushing it off his shoulders. Would he pause for a moment at the sight of Andróg’s bare chest, assessing his breathing, perhaps, or... or looking for more injuries? Then he would continue, neatly folding the shirt - the elf was so frustratingly neat - and then he would change his trousers, half the fabric already ruined from the arrow. He would take his time with it, of course he would, careful not to jostle the wound. So careful, so slow, as Andróg slept. Perhaps in a moment of weakness his hand would stray, and...

The sound of a door slamming further in the hill snapped him from his thoughts. What was he doing, laying here and daydreaming, like a child in the first flush of youth? He was too old for such indulgences, such foolishness. Beleg would not treat him so delicately; he was more likely to slap him across the face than anything else. 

Perhaps he should call out to him. He knew if he did, those sharp ears would hear, and he knew he would come to check on his patient. He did not need him, and yet he wanted to see his face, wanted to be alone with him, wanted to say so many things. Sorry. I don’t hate you. Thank you. 

This feeling was one he did not have a name for. Maybe he did, but it could not be that; he did not lust for the elf like he would lust for a woman. He could not - he cared little if the others among the band chose to entertain in such a way, but it was not natural and it was not him. It was the power over him that had so deeply affected him before, but he could not blame that now.

If he thought it enough times, maybe it would feel true.

He had seen how Beleg was with Neithan. How light and free his touches were, how he laughed so easily, how he was quick to usher Neithan somewhere private. Oh, it might not have been natural to Andróg, but was clear as day in Beleg, and envy bubbled in his stomach. 

He wondered if he was a game to the elf - perhaps he had cast some enchantment over him, to confuse his heart and his cock. This was his revenge, to make Andróg obsess over him, until he broke down and begged for his forgiveness and his attention. Well, he would not give in. And if he did, he would make the elf regret it. 

***

Before long, the seasons turned, and life came again to the hills and forests around Amon Rûdh. Summer was on her way, and with her, longer and brighter evenings. It was Andróg’s turn to sit at the watchpoint near the entrance to Amon Rûdh, and it promised to be a pleasantly warm night. Tucked against the wall, he sat with an unlit lantern at his feet and his axe across his lap. It was quite peaceful.

Not, though, for long. Lumbering out of the tunnels came Ulrad, as oafish and brutish as ever, and he sat beside him with a grunt.

“Evening, Andróg.”

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Ulrad. Shouldn’t you be inside?”

“Captain sent me to keep the two of you from killing each other.”

“Two?” His question was answered as he said it, as Beleg came up out of the tunnel. He did not look at Andróg, but sat himself in the adjacent corner, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “We never have two out here.”

Did Neithan not trust him?

Ulrad laughed, mischief bright in his eyes. Andróg resisted the temptation to punch him in the face for now. 

“New initiative. Better security. Who better to test it than you two, eh?” He laughed again, making himself comfortable. 

Andróg did not reply, instead watching Beleg. This evening he was wearing just a tunic, without a vest or cloak, and Andróg could see the muscles flexing as he folded his arms. His mouth felt dry. He looked back to the drastically less stimulating sight of Ulrad. 

“Right. Make yourself useful then, and keep your eyes on the trees.”

Ulrad was not silent for long. As the evening drew in, he could no longer keep his mouth shut, much to Andróg’s dismay.

“So, elf.” Few had taken to calling Beleg by name, and he had never voiced a complaint where any of them could hear. Andróg wondered if he preferred the lack of familiarity. 

“Yes?” Beleg turned away from the horizon to look at Ulrad - very firmly at Ulrad, and not Andróg. “What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking.” Never a good sign. “They say elves can tell if you’re wed from your face. Is that true?”

Beleg laughed. It was a good sound, rich and hearty. “Only of other elves.”

“So you wouldn’t know if I’ve a wife or not?”

“Ulrad, my friend.” Andróg’s chest tightened. Why did Ulrad get to be his friend? “One does not need to be an elf to see that you  are unwed.”

“Asshole.” He scowled, and Beleg only smiled. “Have you got one then?”

“A wife? No. There have been lovers, but I am not the type to settle down.”

“Huh.” Ulrad looked thoughtful, which made Andróg even more uneasy. “I didn’t think you elves were like that. Maybe you aren’t all as prude as we thought.”

Beleg shrugged. “Perhaps.”

For a few minutes, Ulrad was quiet again, leaning back against the stone wall. Andróg, foolishly, thought they might have some peace. He was, of course, wrong.

Ulrad pointed with his chin to Andróg. “What about him? Can you tell if he’s got a wife?”

Beleg’s sharp gaze turned to him, and Andróg was sure he could see into his mind, into his heart.

“I don’t know.” Beleg hedged, “He has a son...”

“You can have a son without being wed. Or don’t elves do that sort of thing?”

“Rarely. Only I meant that he has a rugged charm. A lady might like that.”

Andróg quickly looked back at the plains before them, so Beleg would not see him flush.

Ulrad snorted. “If you think that’s charm, you must be mad, elf.” He shook his head and stood. “I am not staying out here and listening to that. It might be catching.”

With that, he slipped back into the tunnel, leaving them alone. Andróg would interrogate him later; he suspected someone had put him up to sitting out here with them. It was not like Ulrad to volunteer.

He looked at Beleg again, wondering if he should say something. He could tell him to go inside, but if Neithan had commanded it then Beleg would be unmoved. 

While Andróg agonised over what to do, Beleg brought the silence.

“The land here is very fair.” Andróg rolled his eyes. Of course the damn elf wanted to talk about nature. “If you stand at the top of the hill, you can see the Taeglin flowing.”

“Perhaps you can. My eyes are not as keen.”

Beleg laughed. He was in a jovial mood today; Andróg usually found him dour in his presence. Andróg would secretly admit, if only to himself, that he liked the sound, and how the corners of Beleg’s eyes crinkled with it.

“You have sharp eyes for a man your age.” Beleg said, “I hear it usually fails as Men grow old.”

“I am hardly old.” Andróg huffed. “I am barely forty.” Despite the lines of his face and the grey in his beard, he was not that old even for an outlaw; Algund was nearing sixty, and was still as bold as any of them. But it was a hard life out in the wilds, and two decades of it would grey any man. 

“Forgive me, I meant no offence. You are...” Beleg paused, “You are not a youth, I mean. Like Andvír. You are mature. I like that.”

Please just stop talking. Andróg grunted. “Right.”

“Right.”

Beleg shifted, stretching. It must be quite uncomfortable for him, in Amon Rûdh, given his height. Even some of the taller men among them found everything too small or too low. Andróg wondered if he fit in Neithan’s bed.

Beleg scooted closer to the entrance, halving the gap between them. 

“I met a Man in Brethil, once. He could hit a target at two hundred paces. Very impressive. Very strong, too. Once, we...”

Andróg stopped listening as Beleg continued to ramble. He was not interested in what a Man in Brethil could do at two hundred paces. He was thinking of Beleg’s touch again. He was very animated as he spoke. Had he always been so, and Andróg had never noticed? 

He found himself inching closer, watching the fluid movements of his arms and hands. He had powerful shoulders, like any archer, and Andróg knew Beleg could lift even more than his form suggested. Belthronding must have weighed almost as much as a man.

And yet, I could overpower him. I did it once. I could again. Mouth dry, he imagined it now, springing on Beleg while he talked, silencing him with a hand over his mouth. He could hold him down against the stone and have his way with him - in his fantasy the elf pleaded, struggled, but still opened his legs and moaned prettily while Andróg fucked him. 

“And another time,” Beleg was still talking. “We were alone in his house, and I wanted to bathe, so he - you are not listening.” Beleg closed the final gap between him, leaning close enough now that their knees were touching. 

“My mind ran away with me.”

Beleg’s eyebrow arched. He had handsome eyebrows, dark and thick, set above the cool grey of his eyes.  I have never looked at another man’s eyebrows before. What has he done to me?

“It is certainly a stimulating memory to recall.” Beleg agreed, with a smile twitching on the corner of his mouth. Andróg wasn’t sure what was so funny. “I am sure it is to hear, too. What did it make you think of?”

Shit. He struggled to think of something quickly. 

“Is it true, what you told Ulrad? You do not have a wife in Doriath?”

“Oh.” Beleg blinked. Andróg grimaced. That was not the question he should have asked.

“No wife.” He shook his head with a wry smile. “No husband.” The confidence in the statement reignited Andróg’s envy. It was easy for someone like Beleg to be unashamed.

“And no little bastards either. Though, not for lack of trying.” He winked at Andróg.

Andróg felt dizzy. The image in his mind then, of Beleg seducing and charming his way through endless admirers - it made his limbs heavy, and his cock harder than it had ever been in his life. He hoped Beleg could not tell.

“Oh.” 

He could muster no more words, and a heavy silence grew between them.

 Beleg’s hand rested on Andróg’s knee. Andróg looked up at him. The sun had well and truly set now, and the moonlight cast a faint glow across Beleg’s face - or was that part of him, an ancient elvish quality that Andróg had no name for?

Beleg did not look away. There was an expectant look in his eyes, as though he was waiting to see what Andróg would do. Frustration gnawed at him. Once again the elf played with his emotions like he was a toy. Why did he have to be the one to act?

He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to know what Beleg would do. He wanted. But he did not move, caught on an edge of doubt. If he was imagining this all... the very thought made him shudder. He could never be alone with the elf again. Beleg was so friendly with Neithan - maybe this was simply his way, and Andróg read too far into gestures of friendship, into a little teasing among allies. He was not like him. He did not know how men desired.

He turned away.

“It is a long night. We should not get distracted.”

He did not look at Beleg’s face again that evening.

***

“Victory!”

Neithan raised his sword high, and a cheer went up among the outlaws. An Orcish incursion on their lands had been swiftly routed, and though the battle had been rough, they had all come out with their lives. Andróg cheered with the rest of them, sweaty and exhilarated.

As the band limped back towards Amon Rûdh in high spirits, he caught sight of Beleg among the revellers. Andróg’s heart skipped. With blood smeared across his cheek, his shirt stained, and his hair pulled back, he had never looked so earthly, and so beautiful. 

Andróg made a resolution then. He needed to get him alone.

Inside Amon Rûdh, barrels of ale had been cracked open and there was much shouting and laughing as the men tended to their wounds and celebrated their victory. He saw Ulrad describing in great detail to Neithan how he had cleaved his foe’s skull. 

“Andróg,” Neithan clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into the conversation. “Where have you been? I thought we’d lost you among the orcs.”

Andróg laughed. “No, not me.”

“How fortunate,” Ulrad snorted, “Since we seem to have lost our elf, and we need someone to hunt our supper.”

“Lost him?”

Neithan rolled his eyes. “Aye. He disappeared to clean himself up, vain bastard.” 

Andróg feigned reluctance. “I would rather not, at least until I have had a drink. He is more tolerable drunk.”

“There.” There was a glint in Neithan’s eye as he shoved his tankard into Andróg’s hands. “Find him for me, then. Tell him to get himself back to celebrating.”

“Is that an order, Captain?”

Neithan shoved him towards the hallway. “Yes. Now go, and hurry back.”

Andróg down the drink in one gulp, and left the tankard on a stool, before winding his way through the now familiar halls of Amon Rûdh until he reached Neithan’s - and Beleg’s - room.

The door was wide open. He stepped into the room.

“There you are.”

Beleg did not jump, even caught half dressed. He grinned at Andróg and dropped his dirty tunic. “Is it a crime to want to be in clean clothes? Unlike our comrades, I prefer not to walk around covered in Orc... residue.” 

Andróg could not wait a moment longer. He crossed the room in a few strides and pressed his arm over Beleg’s chest. Pushing him back and pinning him against the wall. Beleg did not resist.

“You have driven me mad, elf.” The smug look on his face made Andróg scowl, and to rid him of it, he kissed him. 

Beleg kissed him back. Their lips met and fire flooded Andróg’s body, as he devoured those perfect, maddening lips that had haunted him since he first laid eyes on Beleg. In his dreams he had tasted sweet, but now he could taste the saltiness of his sweat and the faintest, bitter taste of beer. Beleg had been drinking already.

He pulled apart to catch his breath. The elf’s face was a sight; blushed and still bloodied. “You wretched creature. You have bewitched me. I must have you.”

Beleg laughed. He laughed so hard tears sprang in his eyes. “Oh, you blind fool of a man. Bewitch you? If only! I have been trying to get you into my bed for months. If I could enchant you, you would already have had me half a hundred times.”

Andróg’s mind spun. “Ulrad.”

“Yes. He was helping me. He drew the short straw.”

“They knew?”

Beleg snorted. “I am not a subtle man.”

Assholes. He had no doubt they had found it amusing to watch Beleg make a fool of himself. Andróg would deal with them later. Now, though, he had finally had the elf where he wanted him, and he was not going to waste this chance. 

He tugged the drawing of Beleg’s trousers. “Off.”

Beleg did not need telling twice. 

Naked beneath Andróg, he was more beautiful than he had ever expected, and yet, not half as perfect. He was not untouched by the world; Andróg spied bruises and scars new and old, the faded ink of an old tattoo, a reddened groove at his hip where his arrow-belt had been too tight. He smoothed his fingers over it, and watch Beleg’s breath catch. 

“I want to see you.” Beleg complained, and the familiarity of his whining was a comfort. “It is only fair.”

“Later.” He could not, now, reveal himself in front of Beleg. It felt too much, too real - if he could still pretend that this was about conquering Beleg, not lust or, worse, some kind of true care, then it was easier. He did not want to think now, when he finally had the prize he was after.

Beleg must have sensed his ill-ease, because he was silent, save for the heavy rise and fall of his breathing. Andróg let his gaze drop. Beleg was hard already (how long had he imagined something like this, Andróg wondered), and Andróg smugly noted that elven cocks were no greater than a man’s; Beleg was slender and long, like the elf himself, hairless but for a neat patch of dark curls between his legs. Vain bastard indeed. 

Andróg did not touch him, instead “I, ah, I have never... not with a man.”

To his relief, there was no mocking. As bold as always, Beleg unlaced his trousers, and his calloused fingers were just as familiar around Andróg’s cock as he had pictured. Beleg stroked him once, twice, and then he tore his gaze from it to glance around the room.

“I have an idea. We need, hm.” Beleg frowned. “Pass me the wood oil.”

 Andróg handed it to him, and Beleg slicked his hands. Once again, he took Andróg’s cock in his hand, but now with his own, stroking both of them together. He groaned, his head falling back against the wall.

Andróg moaned, rocking his hips into Beleg’s hands. It was clumsy; Beleg’s hand was too slippery to grip well, but the slide of his cock against the elf’s was intoxicating. Andróg wanted more.

“This is how elves celebrate?” he mocked, and Beleg laughed breathlessly, his face flushed.

“Among other ways. Kiss me.”

“You are not giving the commands here.” He gave him half his desire, burying his face in the crook of his neck and sucking at the skin there until he was sure the elf would be sporting dark bruises come morning. Beleg quivered, and Andróg felt his cock twitch against his own.

“I need you.” Beleg pleaded, the sweetest sound in all Arda. 

Andróg was so hard he could hardly see. He took the oil from Beleg, splashing it haphazardly over Beleg’s legs, smoothing it over his skin - his thighs were as soft as a woman’s, and lacked even the finest hair. It fascinated him - he could have spent hours exploring the exact differences in their bodies, and testing all the ways in which Beleg might be just like a man. But he feared Neithan - or worse, Ulrad - would come looking for them if they did not return, and he was not prepared to have everyone knowing about this.

He pushed Beleg’s hand out of the way, guiding him to stand so Andróg could slide his cock between his legs. Beleg moaned.

Beleg’s thighs were smooth and slick, a soft heat around his cock. He was not sure how Beleg could enjoy this, with his cock slipping against Andróg’s stomach and lacking the sweet friction of their hands, but hearing no complaint he chased his own pleasure, holding Beleg against the wall and fucking his thighs. 

“Mhm, like that...”  Beleg’s breath was heavy against his ear, and Andróg groaned as he fell a flurry of sharp kisses along his jaw, only encouraging Andróg to rut harder against his elf. He felt Beleg’s hand between them now, as he stroked himself in tandem with Andróg’s thrusts.

Without warning, Beleg tensed, the firm muscles of his thighs tightening around Andróg’s cock almost unbearably, as he climaxed over his own hand and legs. The sight was breathtaking, Beleg’s face beautifully relaxed in bliss - there was the beauty of the ancient elves in him that Andróg had never seen before. He spilled moments later with a grunt, their seed mingling on Beleg’s skin.

Andróg let go of him, watching the elf slump against the wall. For a moment, Beleg was silent, and Andróg thought he might be regretting this - but then his eyes opened, and there was nothing but desire in them. 

“So you do know what to do.” he teased, “I thought you would be bolder. In my dreams you were.”

Andróg wanted to know about these dreams, but Beleg was already reaching for his discarded tunic. His hair was tangled and sweaty, sticking to his face, and after wiping his hands and thighs with it, he sighed. Elves were quickly sated, it seemed. 

“Go and enjoy yourself, Andróg.” He thought it might be the first time he had ever heard Beleg say his name. “I need to wash up before someone else comes looking for me. Save a drink for me.”

Andróg cleaned himself up with Beleg’s tunic, realising now that Beleg had definitely borne the brunt of their celebration. His thighs were sticky with oil and seed. He grinned. There was something magical about seeing an elf so dishevelled.

“Don’t be too long. We’ll drink it all without you.”

Beleg turned around, and grinned back at him. “Now, that is a threat. Begone.”

Andróg laughed all the way back to the hall.

[elronds-library]

Yield

by ohboromir (@maironsbigboobs)

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” —Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray (1890) Andróg tries to deny his desire for the elf, but he cannot resist forever.

Explicit, No Archive Warnings

Words: 6,382

[pxnxply]

WBB but it's just beleg and there's only one right answer----

He laughed.

"I don't think you know how to play the game, elf. But, well, we know how I would answer."

[vvanyar]

@thegreatstrongbow

Always a delight to find out that a silly guy is also a horny slut

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Sluttiest Tolkien Character: THE SEMIFINALS (Round 6)

Finwe vs Turin

art by @fil3t ; @redreyenotarget

Propaganda under the cut ↓

Finwe:

Listen...I wouldn't fuck him, but he's the only canonical elf who could reasonably be accused of sluttiness, LaCE compliant

The only elf to canonically have two spouses. Also, the dude had five kids when all the other Unbegotten Elves had 1-3 (Elwë & Luthien, Ingwë & Ingwion. Olwë had 3 kids). Also also, he basically let his kids do whatever they wanted, even withholding a scolding when Kid #1 pointed a sword at Kid #3. It seems like Finwë just had kids for the sake of Doing The Do with his wife and having a big family for no canonical reason.

Literally petitioned the Valar to change the law to allow him to marry again

#the gods literally rewrote elven law because of this guy's dick. cmon. #he couldn't keep it in his pants to save his (or miriel's) life

#he changed the history of the elves by not being able to leave his d in his pants #like he didn't have some special power or a world changing plan he just wanted to do the deed lmao

#channeling my inner valinorean aristocrat hearing of the noldor king's scandalous remarriage for the first time and voting finwe

#guys PLZ finwe was the first slut he invented it

#we gotta respect the OG #known mostly for fathering kids with multiple women?!

#i barely go here and dven I know finwe deserves this

Turin:

he’s got more hoes than names. almost everybody he meets immediately wants to fuck him. man or woman, elf or human, noldo or sinda, none are immune to joining his army of simps. elves don’t even care if he’s a doom magnet bc he’s just too irresistible to them. they’ll choose his hot human ass over wisdom any day. both a father and his daughter want him. elves see him and immediately forget about the laws and customs. WHO else is doing it like him?

#EVERYONE who met turin wanted him #wherever he went he got people fucked over because they were so Down Bad for him

#androg was not Like That over turin and beleg for turin not to win

#turin’s sluttiness has a body count both ways 

#turin’s so irresistible he banged his own sister #granted neither knew they were siblings #but dude had everyone ready to risk it all(and die horribly usually because of it) for him

every single elf Túrin meets either wants to adopt him or get in his pants. everyone who fucks him dies horribly, but #worthit. an engaged couple broke up because they both wanted a piece of that hot human ass. his dick caused the fall of a kingdom. literally so sexy he caused political turmoil. he died young but he made every slutty, slutty year count. he’s also pretty heavily queer coded, as close to bisexual as you can get in a story written in 1917. 

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 1

Andróg vs Fíriel of Gondor

Andróg:

A member of Túrin’s band of outlaws.

He's terrible! He's a murderer, he hates elves, he tortured Beleg and killed a dwarf. He chased a woman through the woods. BUT he's so ride or die for Turin that he thought Turin and Beleg were having a "tryst". In the end, despite everything, he has a change of heart and saves Beleg so that Beleg can save Turin, so really we have Androg to thank for Turin getting to Nargothrond. This might not be in his favour depending on your view of Turin I suppose.

Fíriel of Gondor:

The daughter of Ondoher, King of Gondor. She married Arvedui Last-king of Arthedain.

JUSTICE FOR THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN OF GONDOR. After her brothers died the crown was HERS by right. Fun fact: her marriage to Arvedui, the heir of the North-kingdom, united the sundered lines of Isildur and Anárion, giving Isildur’s heirs a much more solid claim to the throne of Gondor.

Round 1 masterpost

[thelien-art]

valentine request: túrin/beleg! or maybe túrin/beleg/andróg, if it so pleases you

I did want to add Androg but didn´t have the energi to come up with a design for him so you´ll have to do with just these two troublemakers.

[pxnxply]

"I find it hard to believe he ever called me agreeable." Andróg teased. Maybe Neithan's standards for agreeable were low. Beleg's hand on his elbow made him flush a little. "But I will take the compliment."

A smile broke out on Beleg's face, eyes closed he laughed. His hand rested over the inside of Androg's elbow. "Turin assured me you were much better than I thought. I didn't believe him." He looked up again. "But I find you even more agreeable than he'd promised."

[yee-your-last-haw]

Why I think beleg and turin being a canon couple is conjecture

1. The word "tryst" used

The more commonly know meaning of tryst is a secret meeting between lovers which does cause confusion when reading into their relationship but people ignore the second meaning of tryst either deliberately or out of ignorance.

The second meaning being "an appointed meeting or meeting place" which makes more sense. If the context was romantic it would make no sense why androg would be jealous.

2. Kissing beleg

We must first take in mind their relationship from start. Turin had seen beleg since childhood. He was closest to what turn can call an older brother or father figure who also later became his dearest friend. I saw the kiss at the time of death as purely platonic. Like a child kissing their parent/ or a brother kissing his dead brother

Even as friends it would make sense, turin is in extreme anguish he has just killed the only person he has been close to since childhood. Probably his mentor aswell. Hence he kisses his corpse as a last goodbye.

It baffles me that people view this as a sign that he was sexually and romantically attracted to beleg.

Some also argue that he gave his open mouth a kiss that is why it must be romantic in nature, as if a corpse is in any position to close it's mouth.

3. Tolkien's own view of friendship.

A common theme in all of Tolkien's work is extremely close and intense bond of friendship and brotherhood between men. This makes sense as he himself served in army during times of war. Soldiers develop intense and close friendships as they go through extremely traumatic times. Tolkien wrote these friendships based on actual bonds of friendship he had seen while in the army.

Even the friendship of Sam and frodo which is constantly under scrutiny was based on relationship between a Batman and the officer he was serving.

Carpenter’s Biography quotes Tolkien as saying, “My ‘Sam Gamgee’ is indeed a reflexion of the English soldier, of the privates and batmen I knew in the 1914 war, and recognized as so far superior to myself.” A batman, in military parlance, was a soldier who (as well as being required to fight) was tasked with looking after an officer’s kit, cooking, and cleaning. Tolkien’s phrasing in the letter sent to Minchin is different, and very interesting too: “My ‘Samwise’ is indeed (as you note) largely a reflexion of the English soldier—grafted on the village-boys of early days, the memory of the privates and my batmen that I knew in the 1914 War, and recognized as so far superior to myself"

As someone who had family members serve in army and have Batman as their servers I can attest to their incredible loyalty.

4. Projection from people.

Tolkien was a firm christian. Even though he had a student who wrote queer stories and read them I doubt he would include homosexuality in his works. He hated narnia for the way C.S lewis wrote allegory and christian allegory in this story.

His firm believes are clearly reflected in his stories.

All his elves are built upon the image of good christian. They can only marry (romantic involvement) the opposite sex (no homosexuality). They can't have sex outside of marriage. Their sexual desires fade away after having children.

By this default beleg is definitely straight and turin is as well ( as he fell in love with nienor and if he was bisexual over the course of his whole journey he would have fallen in love with a man since he had more companion who were male and it would make sense but he didn't and only fall in love with a women and got her pregnant.)

They reason why fans especially western fans feel so confused at the immense platonic love between his characters is because their society is hyper sexual. Any form of deep affection especially between same genders must be seen as sexual/romantic.

As someone that isn't from the west and has seen such deep relationships between the same-sex, no these characters aren't sexually repressed or secret lovers. They love each other very much, just platonically that is all.

Another kind of audience is one that projects their own views over the actual text. These have either read too gay themed stories or are gay themselves. I would say take your personal bias away and see these texts in light of what tolkiens mindset was.

Extra: same issue with fingon and maedhros who are also family. I have seen so many close friendships and extreme bonds of platonic love between cousins who have also saved each other from life threatening situations and have never thought wow they must be secret lovers 🤦

Note: one more point is to note that platonic love is of greater scale in professor Tolkien's work than romantic love in most scenarios. Also elves formed great platonic friendships.

*A point written by someone in reddit

"Elf-friend" status isn't something that an Elf can award to a favored mortal, and that all Elves somehow recognize once one Elf has conferred it. Being an "elf-friend" is a psychological and spiritual state that some mortals attain, and once they do all Elves (and creatures of similar spiritual discernment) are able to recognize it.

In fact, being an "elf-friend" is a sign that a given mortal is in tune with the way Arda was supposed to be from the beginning. The estrangement of Elves and mortals only came about because of the Marring of Arda by Melkor. Had that not happened, all mortals would have had the benefit of living with and conversing with Elves, who would have been their helpers and teachers. That would have left a clear mark upon them - longer life, clearer intelligence, deeper spiritual existence - just as it did upon those few mortals who got the opportunity despite the Marring

It seems friendships between mortals and elves are very spiritual in nature. And beleg does provide guidance and counsel to turin almost akin to a spiritual guide and friend/parental figure.

[lace-noncompliance]

Androg is jealous of Turin and Beleg so obviously he needs to be spitroasted by them

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Elements of Morgoth’s Curse on Húrin’s Family

There’s a lot of things going on in the Narn i Hîn Húrin, so I wanted to lay out what I think are the different elements of Morgoth’s curse. There’s a lot of aspects, from the things he does directly (send forces to capture Amon Rudh, send Glaurung to Nargothrond), supernatural bad luck (Túrin killing Beleg), and things that I read as more subtle negative influences.

First, I think the curse broadly influences both Túrin and everyone around him to be on their worst behaviour. It can’t make anyone do anything, it can’t override free will, but it can encourage bad behaviour and bad decisions. We’ve got one statement directly pointing to this, from Mablung to Saeros when the latter deliberately antagonizes Túrin and gets a jug thrown at his face for his trouble: “I think that some shadow of the North has reached out to touch us tonight. Take heed, lest you do the will of Morgoth in your pride, and remember than you are of the Eldar.”

My inclination is to think that Mablung has percieved correctly here, amd that Morgoth is doing everything he can to get Túrin out of Doriath, where Morgoth’s power to harm him is limited. This influence encourages Saeros’ hostility, Túrin’s revenge, and Túrin’s hasty decision to leave Doriath and refuse to explain his actions.

There are a lot of things that I read this way - Túrin’s stubbornness, his preying on civilians and travellers during his early days with the outlaws, the outlaws’ striking cruelty towards Beleg, Androg’s behaviour, Mîm’s resentments and later betrayal, Túrin’s arrogance and hostility towards dissent in Nargothrond, and even Morwen and Nienor’s determination to leave Doriath and go with the scouting mission to Nargothrond are all things chosen by the characters themselves, but in the above context it’s easy to suspect a subtle temptation underlying them. And the cruelty of the influence on the family of Húrin, in particular, is that the influence is driving, I think, a tragedy specifically directed at operating through hamartia - a virtue that becomes a vice in excess - to turn courage into recklessness and stubborn determination into obstinance.

Once Túrin leaves Doriath, the curse begins to work in some more direct ways. One subtle implication of the Narn is that Morgoth is clouding Túrin’s good memories of Doriath so that he will not return.

Coming suddenly out of his thought he said to Beleg: “The elf-maiden whom you named: I owe her well for her timely witness; yet I cannot recall her. Why did she watch my ways?”

Then Beleg looked stragely at him. “Why indeed?” he said. “Túrin, have you lived always with your heart and half your mind far away? You walked with Nellas in the woods of Doriath, when you were a boy.”

“That was long ago,” said Túrin. “Or so my childhood now seems, and a mist is over it - save the memory of my father’s house in Dor-lómin. But why should I have walked with an elf-maiden?”

A third way, and probably the most dramatic one, in which the curse works is as a very powerful bad-luck charm. Túrin accidentally killing Beleg, Túrin finding Nienor unconscious and naked on the burial mound of Finduilas, and possibly even the love triangle between Finduilas, Gwindor, and Túrin.

These three elements of the curse can operate whether Morgoth knows where Túrin is or not (the Narn does mention Morgoth loses track of him from time to time, until Túrin’s determination for open war periodically reveals him again).

And then the fourth element is Morgoth acting directly - sending forces after Túrin on Amon Rudh, sending Glaurung to Nargothrond, having Glauring hypnotize first Túrin and then Nienor, sending Glaurung to Brethil. I almost wonder if Morgoth at this point infuses some part of his spirit into Glaurung; prior to this the dragon seems like a large and dangerous, but basically animal-like monster, whereas in the Narn he’s intelligent, manipulative, and malicious.

And there are others things where it’s hard to tell what aspect of the curse is at work, but connections seem more than coincidental. Saeros taunt Túrin about the women of Dor-lómin “running like beasts clad only in their hair”; Nienor, enchanted by Glaurung, runs, “flying like a deer among the trees with her hair streaming in the wind of her speed” and tears off her clothing. Saeros leaps to his death at a chasm of a river; so, later, does Nienor (at Caben-en-Aras, the Deer’s Leap). The wording, the recurrence if the word ‘deer’, indicates that Tolkien intended us to make this connection, but what does that mean?

It seems to easy to claim that Morgoth had it all planned out from the start, from Saeros to Nienor; there are far too many twists and turns in Túrin’s story for it to seem plausible that Morgoth could orchestrate it that precisely, from start to finish. He’s got to be playing things by ear and adapting to circumstances at least a bit. But the Saeros parallel could suggest Morgoth had the general endgame (Túrin and Nienor marrying each other unknowingly) in mind from the start, and was waiting for the right moment when the family were in geographical proximity and outside the protection of Doriath.

EDIT: On the “painful dramatic ironies” front, I forgot to mention Túrin loving Finduilas ‘as a sister’ because she reminds him of the women of the House of Hador, and then falling in love with his actual sister in part because she connects with his memories of / guilt about Finduilas.

[maironsbigboobs]

This fic is just Androg insisting he's not gay while thinking gay thoughts meanwhile Beleg in the background is trying really hard to figure out if he's gay or if it's a bit

[ofthevanyar]

Amarie/Androg

How did they first meet? Amarië got kidnapped and held for ransom.

Who felt romantic feelings first? Probably Amarië tbh

Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Androg did. Amarië didn’t, she elf married him after their third date.

Who initiated their feelings first? That’s a matter of opinion. Amarië thinks she did because of the Aforementioned elf marriage

Who said “I love you” first? Amarie. Androg had done something done and she had to yell at him.

Who gets jealous easily? Both lmao. Amarië aggressively pretends to not be jealous.

Who is more protective? Amarië. She knows she’s stronger than him.

Who remembers the little things? Amarie.

Who talks about their feelings more? They have never communicated their feelings once.

Who uses the cheesier pickup lines? Androg.

What does a first date look like for them? Hunting? Skinning an animal? Idk.

What do they like to do together? Just chill I think. She weaves and he sharpens his sword or smth. Idk.

Which one gets angry the most, leaving the other to calm them down? Both I think. But they don’t talk about it, they just ignore each other.

Do they like PDA? No.

What are their big spoon / little spoon arrangements? Amarië likes to use Androg’s misogyny against him to try to be the little spoon.

Does one like the cuddle more than the other? Androg I think. Amarie doesn’t mind.

Who hogs the blankets? Amarië she hates the cold after the Helacarxë

Who’s more likely to initiate sex? 50/50 I think. Androg has the mortal libido but Amarië has the elf stamina.

Who’s the kinkiest? I don’t think either is very kinky.

Who is the top and bottom in their sex life? Are they interchangeable? It’s interchange I think.

Who likes giving and who likes receiving oral? She’ll give oral if it encourages him to bathe.

Can they last more than one round? High elf Amarië can

Which one is a morning person? Amarie lol

Do either of them like to cook? Sometimes. She doesn’t care to do it over a campfire.

If they get married, who proposes first? Neither. Amarië elf married him.

What kind of wedding do they have? Shotgun.

Does anyone object to their relationship? Beleg (post torture.)

Do they have any kids? Andvir and Lehte.

Do they have any pets? Amarië keeps songbirds in Valinor.

@thegreatstrongbow

[pxnxply]

A letter was tucked under the edge of Androg's blanket. Not so much a letter as a scrap of paper. Often Beleg had asked for help in composing messages in the past, but this time he'd done it all himself.

Androg,

♡

B

He did not need to read to understand this message. He traced the letters of his own name, and then, very tenderly, the carefully drawn heart, the little signature at the bottom. His face felt very warm and he held the scrap of paper to his chest for a moment, smiling. He had never gotten a love letter before...

[absolutelynotclassicusernam-blog]

Update: if it is not canon that Turin (I don’t know how to do the accent on my computer, I’m sorry) and Beleg are lovers, it is at least canon that Androg thinks they are and is jealous.

“But if Turin was glad [of Beleg’s return], not so was Androg, nor some others of his company. It seemed to them that there had been a tryst between Beleg and their captain, which he had kept secret from them; and Androg watched them jealously as the two sat apart in speech together.”

(Disclaimers: 1) It is possible that Tolkien knew some platonic meaning of the word “tryst” that I do not. But as far as I know, and as far as Google has confirmed, that is a word with romantic meaning.

2) Of course, Turin has many other wonderful and appreciable qualities, as enumerated above, and it is not necessary for him to be gay for us to love him. But since I am gay, and many other tumblrites are queer in some way or other, I mention it. Also, I just enjoy the opportunity to talk about the word “tryst”.)

My fellow Tolkienites (and tumblrites in general),

I started reading “The Children of Húrin” today, and I would like to invite you all to join me in love for Túrin Turambar. Those of you who already love him, please come and find me. Those who do not, I recommend reading “The Children of Húrin”.

I am not finished with the story yet, but thus far Túrin appears to have everything necessary to be a big hit on this website.

If you like a sad man, he is that.

If you like a rebel fighting against fate, he is that.

He is probably queer. Thus far no sexuality of any kind has been made explicit, but he sure does have a very special man in his life, Beleg.

He canonically says, “You will respect women or you will respect my sword*,” and proceeds to carry out this threat on more than one occasion.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

*I’m paraphrasing in order to perfectly fit his words into tumblr meme format, but that is pretty much what he says.

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Sluttiest Tolkien Character: Round 5

Adar vs Turin

art by @redreyenotarget

Propaganda under the cut ↓

Adar:

His name is literally Daddy and we know why ;) His whole deal is looking gorgeous and traumatized and falling in love with his worst enemies (Sauron to Galadriel to Elrond and on and on.) Besides, who doesn't love a man (Uruk) covered in black blood? Adar could get it, in both Joseph Mawle and Sam Hazeldine forms, but we admire Hazeldine for committing so fully to the "single dad newly divorced and ready to FUCK" version of the character in season 2. And who doesn't love a devoted father?

god just look at him. that man gets pegged

Turin:

he’s got more hoes than names. almost everybody he meets immediately wants to fuck him. man or woman, elf or human, noldo or sinda, none are immune to joining his army of simps. elves don’t even care if he’s a doom magnet bc he’s just too irresistible to them. they’ll choose his hot human ass over wisdom any day. both a father and his daughter want him. elves see him and immediately forget about the laws and customs. WHO else is doing it like him?

#EVERYONE who met turin wanted him #wherever he went he got people fucked over because they were so Down Bad for him

#androg was not Like That over turin and beleg for turin not to win