#come here you elvish hair lovers

[fleurdemiel-145]

Gil-Galad with a braid. Look. How CUTE

Benjamin Walker knows.

He fluffin' KNOWS.

Credit : screenshots of Gil Galad are from a video made my Dandexllions on Instagram

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

astarion ancunin hcs {pt. 1}

once he's comfortable with you, he adores non-sexual physical intimacy

playing with his hair will calm him down almost instantly

he's protective and possessive, so he'll keep a hand on you at all times, usually on your back

loves when you initiate any kind of physical contact

always asks to do something before he does, in either a sexual or nonsexual context

he's easily jealous and can sometimes get very possessive; for the first time in 200 years, he has someone who genuinely loves him and he hates the possibility that he might lose you

that possessiveness is obvious when he marks up your neck with bites and hickeys

if he feels like his place in your relationship is threatened in public, he will not hesitate to touch, hold, or kiss you in front of whomever is making a move on you; after some bearing of fangs, whoever it is usually scuttles off very quickly

he definitely feels very undeserving of you and your love and has his days when he's convinced you're going to leave him for someone better when you get the chance, or that he's keeping you from; that insecurity lasts for a very long time

constantly buries his own feelings, so you have to coax them out of him and teach him how to set boundaries and stand up for himself

astarion absolutely LOVES bathing together; he can be very vulnerable with you without sex being expected when you bathe together and it absolutely helps him regain some control and bodily autonomy

he loves gifting you things: jewelry, clothes, weapons, little knickknacks he sees that remind him of you

his elven ears are so sensitive and he absolutely will whine involuntarily when you brush your fingers over them (either on accident while you're touching his curls or on purpose)

speaking of which, astarion loves having his hair played with, it's a huge comfort to him (and another form of physical touch that isn't inherently sexual, so it's one of the ways to ease him back into being intimate and physical)

sexually, he's very switchy; some days he wants to be in control and giving you all the pleasure you deserve, but other days he's more than happy to let you take the lead and love on him

he loves staying up late to have deep talks and watch the sky (sun or moon and stars, it doesn't matter which to him)

cuddle this man. all the time. he's absolutely a cuddle bug. if you don't cuddle him while you go to sleep, he'll be very huffy, and you'll wake up to him curled up around you anyway

he also likes to be the little spoon sometimes, once he's comfortable with you seeing and being wrapped around his back

he will sew everything for you instead of teaching you to do it; he likes being useful in some little way for you (inspired by @aethes-bookshelf's post here because I saw it and went "you are absolutely right")

he commonly speaks to you in Elvish whether you understand it or not; it's absolutely a comfort to him, especially when you start picking up words and understanding some of what he says

contrary to the performances he puts on, astarion is a very gentle lover when he can finally be comfortable and genuine with you. he's quieter, softer, he takes the time to learn you and himself, he lets himself enjoy it; he learns to become a taker, not just a giver

he likes to hold you, however he can, and at the very least always be touching you. an arm around your waist or shoulders, a hand on the small of your back, holding your hand or twining your pinkies together. he can't be touching you, he's standing so close to you that he could be touching you if he moved a centimeter more

he likes to hug you randomly; one of his favorite ways to do it is to come up behind you while you're cooking or talking to someone or looking at yourself in the mirror to get ready so he can surprise you by putting his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder

astarion has a habit of kissing your neck whenever he can, sometimes it's a way to let you know he's hungry, other times when he wants to be intimate, other times just to remind you he loves you

on the same hand, he doesn't always say 'i love you' but instead makes it known through his behavior around you (and the fact that he's constantly looking at you like you are his whole world, because you are)

on the nights when you can't sleep, he reads to you until you drift off because he knows you find his voice soothing

he likes tucking his head into your neck and shoulder when the two of you sleep (which he finds out he actually likes doing every now and then)

the first thing astarion does when he wakes up is pepper you with little kisses on your shoulders, collarbones, cheeks, and forehead

when he's nervous and with people he's okay with knowing that, he'll reach for your hand and touch your fingers to calm down and ground himself. if you wear a ring or multiple rings, he'll play with those

astarion loves it when you call him by a nickname, either a shortened version of his name or a pet name. if he's fed recently and had enough blood, his cheeks will turn this adorable shade of pink when you call him "Star" or "my love" or something similar

how he wakes up from a nightmare changes constantly. the worse the nightmare, the worse his reaction when he wakes up. sometimes it's just a little gasp and his eyes flying open, sometimes it's a yelp and tears, sometimes he's crying before he even wakes up; but every time, his biggest comfort is to cling to you until the panic fades and then curl up in your lap (you've learned to light a candle or summon lights with magic when he wakes up from a nightmare; the shadows make him feel worse)

when you fall asleep outside of bed, he picks you up and carries you to bed and tucks you in—all without waking you

if you are injured at any point and there is no certainty that you'll pull through, he panics. he stays at your side the entire time, even if the smell of your blood is driving him mad, and holds your hand and talks to you, often begging you to wake up, to come back to him, to stay with him; more than once, you've woken up to find him with tears streaked down his face

every time you wake up from an injury and he realizes it, either because he's watching you or because you say hi to get his attention, he smothers you in kisses

once he's no longer starving, he likes to feed from you very slowly, to take his time and enjoy your taste; now that he's promised food, he doesn't feel the need to rush. feeding becomes very sensual, intimate, and personal for the two of you after that

he also loves leaving bites and drinking from you in places the others won't see; it makes him incredibly giddy to know that you let him bite you in places only he will ever see

if he's taller than you, he loves to kiss the crown of your head whenever he can

he will sew up your injuries whenever you need his help with it, even if the sight and smell of your blood makes him salivate

he loves touching your body to see how you react and lets you do the same to learn his own likes and dislikes

matching. outfits. he loves it, loves seeing people realize that you wear the same material and colors and realize what it means. he's very smug when people come to the realization that you're together

he frequently gives you his shirts to sleep in

if you are apart from him for any amount of time, expect to be tackled with a hug the minute you are reunited again

when you have the time, he likes to just lay in bed with you and relax together, half-asleep and cuddling and sometimes mumbling to each other pt. 2 coming soon

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Sweet Prince- Legolas x Reader

Summary: Smut with no plot with a submissive Legolas

Word count: 962

Your tongue runs across the curves and points of Legolas’ elvish ears, the elf below you squirming and moaning as he holds onto your hips for support.

Both of you are bare as you straddle his stomach. You had been teasing the poor thing for the past hour, pinching kissing, licking and sucking his ears, chest, neck and nipples, everywhere except where he needed you most.

“And here I thought you were a prince and a mighty elvish warrior, meant to be stronger than the race of man. Yet here you lay beneath a mortal woman, moaning and panting like a little whore.” You laugh at your lover, smirking down at his desperate but pouting face.

“No elf has come across a mortal as powerful as you, my love.” He breathlessly moans out as you lightly trace his nipples.

“Perhaps, or perhaps you’re just a sweet little prince who likes being toyed with.” You continue to torment him, your hand now around his throat, pushing his head back further into the pillows below.

Bending down, you push your face directly above him, your lips barely ghosting over his. With one hand around his throat, your other slinks through his beautiful long blonde hair, tugging it to pull his head back even further.

Looking down upon your love, pushing your knees into his biceps to hold him down.

Legolas is extremely strong and could easily push you off of him and be the dominant one tonight, but he chooses not to. He likes letting you have control, likes giving over his power to you and letting you torment him.

“Is that it, little prince? Does his highness like being used? Do you like when I torment you, sweet boy?” You ask him sweetly, your fingers leaving his hair and gently rubbing at the tips of his sensitive ears, as your grip on this throat tightens.

Legolas is so worked up that his cheeks are flushing red and you can tell he’s trying so hard not grind his hips.

“Please…” Was all he could simply say, his desperation obviously breaking him.

“Aaaaww, such a sweet pathetic little thing. What are you begging for, little prince?” You continue your tormenting words and rubbing of his ears.

“I need you! Please! Please look after me! I need to be inside you!” He desperately begged you.

His hips now began to move slightly, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open, as the tormenting pleasure was becoming too much.

“Such a sweet and desperate little thing you are.”

Slightly loosening your grip on his throat, you finally place a sweet kiss to his lips. Legolas went to chase the barely their kiss as you pull away. Smirking at the handsome elf, you push yourself away from his body, shuffling down to line your soaking pussy us with his desperate cock.

Taking his cock in hand, you finally give it a few long and slow strokes. At the first touch of your hand, Legolas screams out a loud and desperate moan.

Sounds of pleasure-filled gasps and groans follow as you bring your pussy to rub against his rock hard cock.

“Is this what you wanted, my sweet boy? Wanted my pussy so badly. You still want to be inside me or is this enough?” You ask him, cruelly feigning ignorance.

“No, no, noooo. Please I need to be inside you! Please, I need you to squeeze me! I need to feel you. Please!” He begged breathlessly, a desperate puff leaving his parted lips are your hips began to slow their torture.

“Well only because you begged so nicely.”

Smirking down at your lover, you place a hand on his chest as your other lines up his cock with your wet entrance. You keep eye contact with him as you gently sink down onto his cock.

If you thought he was loud when you touched him moments ago, you were proven wrong with the volume of the animalistic and desperate moans that leave his lips now. Sinking fully down onto his cock, his head is thrown back and eyes are closed as he mutters blessing in Sindarin.

Once you are properly seated, you waste no time in placing both of your hands upon his chest and begin a fast pace of grinding and bouncing on his cock.

Finally opening his eyes, Legolas looks up at you as if you were an ethereal blessing, as if he was a mere mortal and you were a beautiful goddess.

His hands begin at your thighs, gently moving up to your hips, stomach and finally landing on your breasts. Your hands leave his chest as they rest on top of his own.

Your movements become faster as you take one of Legolas’ hands and move it down to your clit. Legolas lets out a sweet moan at feeling you and at the way his movements make you moan even louder.

“I won’t last much longer, sweet prince. Cum with me.” You pant down at your prince, your skin becoming flushed as you feel a sweet tingle make its way across your body.

The tension is your lower stomach becomes tighter and tighter, the more Legolas plays with you and the faster your hips move.

“I’m almost there.” He pants out, his brows furrowing with pleasure.

“Cum with me, darling!” You shout as you feel that tension in you snap and you’re driven into a state of pure bliss and ecstasy.

Legolas wasn’t far behind you, his hands now holding tight on your hips as he thrusts into you with a loud growl.

As you both begin to come down from your highs, your collapse onto Legolas’ chest. He holds you close as you enjoy the warmth of each others bodies pressed together.

[anghraine]

thatinsufferableb-st-rd said:

@anghraine so i have read the books multiple times and am an avid fan of the movies. I enjoy both for what they are. I think the main difference is that Peter Jackson was very open about what they chose to cut and why from anything I've ever seen. They even have Sam give a nod to the book readers by saying "by rights we shouldn't even be here". No I'm not happy about what they did with Faramir and Glorfindel got jipped, and I would have lover to have seen Elronds sons but at the end of the day there were acknowledgments of what and why. Rings of Power to me has always come off as hiding from any criticism by using the shield of "well if you don't like it it's because you don't like POCs in it". To which I genuinely could not give a fuck less, like there are so many branches of elves that went different ways so that could make sense within what Tolkein established. But don't hide behind that when your writing is just "Sauron is evil. We know. And we know she knows. But we have to make it seem like she's the only one who Has A Clue so we must all try to shoo her off to make a plotline"

@lesbiansforboromir has already correctly and politely pointed out that you are doing the very thing we were criticizing in that post—intruding on ROP fan discussion to unfavorably contrast the show to the Peter Jackson films, while also applying a degree of scrutiny to ROP that the Jackson films are rarely subject to in a remotely comparable way and could not bear. Frankly, @lesbiansforboromir is nicer and more restrained than I am about this, but you chose to tag me as well, so I'll also respond.

We (lesbiansforboromir and I) were talking about being excited about costuming in S2 of ROP and disliking the fandom meltdowns over ROP's costuming looking (somewhat) different from the films' aesthetic. Since it had already come up in their discussion, I added that I'm not convinced by the anti-ROP contingent framing their seething hatred of the costuming and design as just caring so much about fidelity to Tolkien's vision. I pointed out that Tolkien fandom broadly cares far more about their preferred, film-influenced aesthetics than Tolkien's actual descriptions and gave some specific examples of this.

There's been a lot of talk, for instance, about how the universally long, flowing hair for Elves preferred by the fandom and used in the films is actually totally canon according to Tolkien even if it's rarely mentioned in LOTR proper. This is inaccurate. Galadriel's brother Aegnor is typically depicted in the fandom/film-preferred style rather than per Tolkien's description of his hair as "strong and stiff, rising upon his head like flames" (indeed, in general neither Aegnor nor anyone else is ever depicted this way, and this description rarely shows up in the lists of "no it's about ethics in adaptation" Tolkien hair quotes).

Tolkien repeatedly describes Elvish, peredhel, and Dúnadan women as wearing their hair bound up in braided coiffures with jeweled hair pieces/nets rather than loose and flowing à la the films and the fandom. Nobody cares, any more than they care about Tolkien's description of Arwen's clothing as soft, grey, and noticeably devoid of ornamentation apart from a belt and netted cap (i.e. the opposite of her highly elaborate film costuming and typically loose, unbound, uncovered hair in the films and most illustrations).

Meanwhile, my fave Faramir's hair is nowhere near long enough in the films or most art to mingle with Éowyn's as Tolkien describes. It's usually also depicted as blond, reddish, or brown rather than black as in the book; in Tolkien's LOTR, all described Gondorians have dark or black hair, with the only difference in coloring being that some Gondorians are dark-skinned and some are pale. Again, almost nobody in the fandom cares about this when they're going on about costume design and casting to reflect Tolkien's vision, and male Gondorians are overwhelmingly depicted with short or shoulder-length hair in the films and in Tolkien illustrations.

Popular depictions of Gondor, including the Gondor of the films, very rarely reflect Tolkien's description of Gondor's aesthetic as similar to ancient Egypt, the Byzantine Empire, and the Roman Empire. Film Gondor has, at most, extremely vague allusions to Byzantine architecture amidst the general and deliberate westernization of Gondor's design—as just one example among many, Tolkien's explicitly Egyptian-based design for the royal crown of Gondor is converted to a generically western European-style crown in the films and overwhelmingly in the fandom.

I then pointed out that it's been very noticeable that ROP haters tend to have a powerful double standard wrt fidelity when it comes to the Jackson films. For over 20 years, most film fans have been constitutionally incapable of tolerating even slight criticism of the films without jumping in to defend their greatness and condescendingly explain the most basic elements of adaptation. (Yes, we know film is not the same medium as text, we know changes are part of adaptation to another medium, we all know that, we all know that a word-for-word adaptation would suck and never be made, this is not new information and does not make the PJ films' every choice a good one.) Yet most film LOTR fans who vocally despise ROP display none of the charity towards ROP that they demand for the films (demand even from someone like Christopher Tolkien, a dead man the entire fandom is deeply indebted to, whose dislike of the films still leads to regular attacks on his character from Jackson film stans).

This hypercritical yet hyperdefensive tendency in the fandom is neatly illustrated by the fact that you responded to a conversation about the double standards in evaluations of ROP's costuming vs the films' to go on about how ROP is objectively bad for reasons entirely unrelated to costuming, how you're totally not racist (something nobody was talking about), and to quote you directly, "Like the show was just Bad." Truly, an incisive critique. Meanwhile, your concessions with regard to the Jackson films are mainly about extremely minor and defensible omissions like removing Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond rather than the serious and fundamental problems that lesbiansforboromir and I have with them, or even the ways they do pretty much the exact same things you're lambasting ROP for.

I mean, if we're going to talk about action hero Elves in ROP vs the Jackson films, what about the action hero-ification of Legolas in the films? He was described by Tolkien himself as the Fellowship member who accomplished the least, so super badass battle-skateboarding Legolas hardly represents fidelity to Tolkien's vision. Why should that get a pass while film-stanning ROP haters seethe about ROP!Galadriel being too special, even though Tolkien described her as one of the most special Elves to ever live and specifically as remarkably athletic and insightful?

Meanwhile, film Gimli is reduced to comic relief, the only dwarves taken seriously are conventionally hot ones in The Hobbit films, and Frodo's expressions of strength and fortitude are consistently removed to glorify other characters. Film Gondorians were deliberately designed to seem like useless tin soldiers (which they are in the films, as well as whiter and blonder than Tolkien wrote them) rather than the physically imposing and highly effective fighting force of the book. ROP imagining Elvish rituals upon approaching Valinor that aren't based in Tolkien canon but don't directly conflict with it is absolutely trivial compared to the films' handling of Denethor and Faramir.

The point is not that you, personally, are not allowed to like the films or dislike ROP despite all this. Many people do love the films, including most of my followers. They do have their strengths, though they are extremely racist and few film fans will acknowledge this without soft-pedaling it in some way (esp, since you brought it up, given the context of the truly unhinged degree of racism that has accompanied much of the broader discourse around ROP).

The point is that film fans who hate ROP are constantly showing up in our conversations to be "well actually ROP is just objectively bad, unlike the films, because the show has failings that are also in the films but it's totally different there because of the contents of Peter Jackson's soul" or whatever. The point is the absolutely glaring and obnoxiously hypocritical double standard of defensiveness about the films and obsessive nitpicking of ROP that leads to ROP haters continually going on rants to ROP fans that are unwelcome, uninvited, and usually (as in this case) irrelevant to what was even being discussed.

[its-jaytothemee]

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 5

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,473; Chapter 5, Astarion POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. This was meant to be done over a longer period of time but now I'm probably going to end up dropping all of the chapters within 24 hours. Mostly because I at least wanted the chapter with the line that inspired the fic's title. Enjoy! :)

A memory came washing over Astarion, pulling him away from the Elfsong.

It was a particularly cold night in the shadow-cursed lands. They had rescued both Thaniel and Oliver, Halsin had just agreed to join their fight against the Absolute and join their camp indefinitely. Despite their victories, the shadows were still weighing heavy on their camp. They sat huddled around the campfire, silently eating some rations they obtained from Last Light.

Everyone was giving each other awkward looks, trying to decide whether to make conversation or not. Suddenly Wyll started whistling a tune familiar to all Baldurians, causing Karlach and Tav to smile fondly. His solo rendition of Bard Dance soon turned into a small chorus, which then turned into a little dance number.

Wyll stood up and started the familiar shuffle the tavern goers of Baldur’s Gate would use to dance to the lively tune. He was very quickly joined by Karlach. Her moves were less graceful than Wyll’s, but it was obvious that the dance was familiar to her. The clumsy moves earned some laughs from the group. As they continued though, both of their steps became more and more confident as they remembered the cadence.

Before he knew it, Tav was standing up to join the dance as well. Her steps shy at first, but gaining more confidence as Karlach and Wyll took her hands and spun her around them. Karlach shuffled over to Gale and pulled him to his feet, he laughed at the idea of dancing.

“I am really quite certain that I am not familiar with this dance.” He tried and failed to pull his arm from Karlach’s grasp.

“No worries, they’re easy enough even a wizard can learn them in one night!” Karlach laughed as she practically threw Gale into Tav.

Astarion watched them fondly, finding it hard to believe that he was sickeningly attracted to one of them. He laughed along with them as they tried to teach Gale the intricate steps, but a sudden feeling of sadness pulled him out of the moment. Had he not been turned by Cazador, he could have been out in taverns learning these moves, he may have even been able to meet Tav back in their home city. His time in the taverns didn’t exactly afford him the ability to learn the group dances in the establishments where he prowled. He was always so concerned with the efficiency of seducing a target that he was never able to enjoy any of it. While he was lost in thought, Tav had danced her way back over to his seat. She smiled at him and held out her hand.

“May I have this dance, handsome?” She was slightly out of breath and her cheeks were flushed. Her red hair was a little disheveled from all of the spinning. Her pointy elvish features perfectly highlighted by the firelight.

For a moment, he considered it. He briefly imagined himself dancing with his friends and his lover, laughing and learning a dance that was a staple of his home. His hand started to reach for hers, and then quickly snapped back to his side. He tried to cover the sudden movement with a laugh.

“Oh darling, I couldn’t.” He responded. “I’m having far too much fun watching you lunatics from here.”

“Come on! Surely you won’t let Gale steal the spotlight.” She fired back with a wink and a laugh.

“I…I can’t.” He looked away from her, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh…okay.” She responded, seeming dejected. But before returning to dance with their companions, she did give him a small peck on the cheek, causing him to blush slightly.

Most everyone in the camp went to bed with a smile on their face that night. Tav lingered by the fire, making sure there was plenty of wood to keep it going through the night. As Astarion moved to walk towards his tent, she called out to him.

“Astarion, wait!”

“Yes, darling?” He tried to put on his sweetest smile.

“I just wanted to say that…” she trailed off, “I’m really sorry if I put you on the spot earlier. I just got caught up in the moment and had hoped to share it with you.” She took his hand in hers and looked down to kick the dirt around at her feet.

“It’s not that.” He responded quietly. She looked back up at him expectedly. “I don’t know any of the common dances, or at least I don’t remember them. I may have known them before…” He took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Then let me help you remember. It’s just the two of us now.” She looked around camp to make sure they were alone and then held out her hand. He tentatively accepted, and she pulled herself close.

Tav draped her free hand over his shoulder, slowly caressing his neck. He placed his free hand around her waist, resting on her lower back. She started to slowly sway back and forth, resting her head on his shoulder. They danced together in silence for a while, the fire still burning hot behind them, until Astarion finally decided to speak up.

“Seeing the three of you dancing and laughing…” He said quietly, “All of you have been away from Baldur’s Gate for years and yet…” He sighed before continuing, “It all came back to you, like it was engrained in your very being.” Tav listened silently, still swaying with him and laying against him. He paused for a moment, trying to decide what he should share.

“It made me realize what I had been missing for the past two hundred years.” He finally admitted. Tav nuzzled her face into his neck.

“Well then,” she said after a few moments, “we’ll just have to spend the next two hundred years making up for it.” She smiled up at him before quickly adding, “If that’s something you would want.”

There it was, the words he had barely dared to dream of hearing from her. He held her even tighter against his body.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend it, my sweet.” He said, kissing her deeply. And he meant it, after spending so much of his life in utter despair, he truly couldn’t think of a better way to live than with this incredible woman by his side. He pressed his forehead against hers.

“Would you stay with me tonight?” He whispered.

“Tonight…and every night.” She replied.

They stood dancing by the fire for a long time before retiring to his tent. She took her usual place, laying on his chest, one hand tangled in his hair before drifting off into her meditation. He must have watched her for hours, adoring her beautiful and peaceful face. Her sweet offer still ringing in his ears. ‘Tonight…and every night.’

He blinked and suddenly Astarion was back in the Elfsong Tavern, sitting with Alfira, unable to speak or even breathe.

“If you don’t at least try to talk to her Astarion, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days.” Alfira said softly.

“I…” He didn’t know how to respond. She was right, of course. But all of his doubts came rushing back into his mind. He was terrified of how she felt about him now. Among the dread and negative thoughts though, a new feeling shone through…Hope.

What if she forgives you? What if she’s waiting for you? What if she really does love you? He thought on the questions for a moment. Was he ready to change for her though? Was he ready to commit to a life with her? He knew that he couldn’t go back to her unless he was absolutely sure that he was willing to put in the work to deserve Tav.

“I have to go, Alfira.” He said quickly, practically jumping up from his chair and throwing the few gold pieces from his pocket onto the table. As he turned to leave, he quickly walked back to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Alfira smiled in response and started lazily strumming her lute again, her eyes wandering back over to Lakrissa. Astarion had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, but he knew he had to see Tav one more time. If she rejected him, he would leave without another word, knowing that it was still a kinder fate than he deserved. But he had to know for sure. As he stepped out of the Elfsong, his pace quickened with each step until he was running. The sun was nearly set, but the streets were even more familiar in the dark. He knew they were returning to Rivington tonight, and that’s where he would be able to find her.

‘No more running away.’ He thought to himself. ‘It’s time to start living again.’

[aramblingjay]

The weave of your hands (part 4/6)

Tags: Aragorn/Legolas, friends to lovers, canon era, braiding Words: 12K (so far)

Aragorn stepped through the doorway and was greeted by the sight of a large wooden tub in a room that appeared untouched by the battle. Walls intact, floor clean, a pleasant floral smell in the air rather than the overwhelming stench of blood and bodies that lingered everywhere else. The tub was filled to the brim with steaming water—genuinely steaming, for he could see the tendrils curling into the cool air from the surface. It was the most beautiful sight he had laid eyes on in weeks. “You are a miracle, Lassë,” Aragorn said in Elvish, reverent; he meant it in more ways than one. Or: 5 times aragorn does legolas’s braids + 1 time it’s the other way around

previous parts

-

IV. Helm’s Deep

Heavy were his legs as Aragorn made his way through the decimated fortress, taking stock of the damage incurred. Crumbling stone and scattered bodies greeted him at every turn, a reminder that while the Orcs had been defeated, what had transpired here could not be described with a word so simple as victory. He did not look too closely at the fallen, knowing he would be haunted by this night just as well without seeing their mangled faces in his dreams. Such destruction, such death. Was this how they were doomed to fight this war—pyrrhic victory after pyrrhic victory, until even triumph was merely another loss?

He did not dare check if Haleth had survived the battle, or any of the others he had come to know during his time in Rohan. There was only one whose whereabouts he knew instinctively, and even that mainly because Legolas trailed him like a shadow as he made his initial rounds through Helm’s Deep. They did not exchange words, or even look at each other—Legolas remained far enough away that indeed Aragorn could not see him at all, but merely feeling his presence nearby was comfort enough.

Aragorn had much to say to him, now that the battle was done. But he had duties to attend to first.

It took hours. Théoden was the King, certainly, but there were too many tasks for one man to handle alone, even one so capable. Wounded to be ushered toward makeshift healer’s tents, where Aragorn would normally have devoted his energy if not for the wealth of other responsibilities calling for his attention; women and children to be reunited with their husbands and sons, both living and fallen; damage to be accounted for future restoration; burials to be planned; spirits, as always, to be lifted; accommodations to be found; rationed food to be distributed; and on and on it went, the price of victory.

He saw Legolas once, entirely by accident—kneeling beside the body of a fallen Elf with his head bowed in grief. Aragorn looked on for a beat, drawing a strange sort of strength just from the reminder that Legolas still lived and breathed to feel grief at all, before turning away. He did not think Legolas was aware of being watched, and did not wish to intrude on his private mourning.

Aragorn did not feel his presence for the rest of the day.

As night fell many hours later, it was Éomer who found him deep in the bowels of the fortress. The few times he had caught glimpse of Éomer earlier, the Rohan rider had been tending to his men and their horses, marshaling the wounded in his ranks and retrieving the dead who lay strewn on the fields. Immensely grateful, Aragorn had left him to it; nobody would be better suited to the task. Now, it was Aragorn who was directing efforts to move the last of the fallen so they could be given a proper burial, when the felt the hairs stand up on his neck with the warning that someone approached.

He turned, and came to face an Éomer who, unlike himself, had shed his armor for clean clothes befitting his station.

“Rohan thanks you for your efforts,” Éomer began, with a tone of utmost sincerity. Their last meeting had not been an entirely civil one, but such was war—petty disputes withered in the light of a common enemy. “I have heard much of your endeavors during the battle and after.”

“I merely did what any would have done in my place. On the contrary, I believe it is to you that we all owe our gratitude.” None of them would be alive if not for the timely arrival of Éomer and his riders, that he knew.

“Let me offer a compromise, then, that it is the wisdom of Gandalf we should all thank.”

Aragorn smiled. He could see himself being great friends with Éomer someday, if fate remained kind to them both. “Accepted. Though I do not think you came to find me here to trade debts of gratitude.”

Éomer inclined his head, a sharp acknowledgment. “I bear a message from the King that we ride at dawn to Isengard. A small group only—the King, Gandalf, myself, yourself, and your companions.”

“I understand.”

It seemed this was the outcome of Théoden and Gandalf’s discussions, then. Aragorn did not mind, for Isengard was where, he dearly hoped, they would find Merry and Pippin again. He had not forgotten, though their mission had since been diverted, that he and Legolas and Gimli had initially set out across the plains of Rohan in pursuit of their friends.

“I am surprised you chose to come as a messenger,” Aragorn said when Éomer did not move from where he stood, as though his business was not yet complete. “Or is there a further matter?”

“Have you even taken a seat since the battle ended?” Éomer asked, abruptly.

Aragorn felt the surprise show on his face; he had not expected such a personal question. In response, he gestured behind himself toward a Rohan soldier who was, even at that moment, hoisting a fallen comrade onto his shoulders. “There is much to be done.”

“And many to do it. Every man who fought beside you on the walls has already been sent to a room or a tent to rest. You should do the same. My Rohirrim are fresher for not having faced the brunt of the battle, and more than capable of handling what tasks remain.”

His legs were weak. His spirit battered. Every muscle in his body ached more than he had ever thought possible. Rest sounded like bliss—but how could he? Men and Elves had given their lives so he could stand here now and feel tired; it would be the highest act of disservice not to ensure they and their families were appropriately honored. “I thank you for your concern. But if we are to ride at dawn, there is even less time than I expected to finish what needs to be done. Tired as I may be, I cannot abandon my efforts.”

“Why do you think I came in search of you? I did not fight through the night as you did, and I am certain you will be needed for what is to come next. Rest. You have done your part. I shall personally see to whatever else must be done for my people.”

He did not understand where this unexpected benevolence came from. “I—”

“Remember that in these walls, I outrank you.” The words were said in jest, but with an undercurrent of steel that promised Éomer would not hesitate to make good on his words. “You would do well to listen to me.”

Aragorn relented. In truth, he was exhausted, and grateful for the respite. “Very well. I thank you, my Lord Éomer.”

“Leave the titles, friend. From what I hear, it is I who may need to address you with honors soon enough.”

“You should not believe everything you hear, friend,” Aragorn said, moving toward the half-intact stairwell that was the only exit from this room. As he spoke, he could not help but think of the last man to call him friend instead of his name or his title, could not help but think of Boromir’s eyes as the light left them on the banks of the Anduin—his heart was not in the barb. “The future is as yet uncertain.”

But Éomer only smiled knowingly as he left.

Aragorn made it up the crumbling stairwell, already on his long list of locations that would need significant repair before Helm’s Deep could house any sort of contingent again, then ascended another that was so destroyed only every third step remained, before—

“You look absolutely terrible.”

Legolas’s voice was like nectar to the ears. Aragorn would have drawn him into an embrace immediately if he had thought such physical affection would be welcomed.

“And you are, as ever, a sight for sore eyes.”

While Legolas looked dirtier than Aragorn had ever seen him, even the near-magical ability of Elves to remain untouched by their environment no match for the rain and mud and filth of the battle they had endured, he remained unfailingly beautiful.

Had he thought of his lifelong friend in such terms before? Aragorn could not say, even though to do so now felt as natural as the breath in his body.

“Flatterer,” Legolas teased, but there was heat in his voice. “I see you were finally convinced to set aside your duties.”

And with that, the mystery of Éomer’s behavior appeared solved. “I see I have you to thank for sending such a convincing messenger.” He should have known from the start that Legolas would never have allowed him to work too far past exhaustion, no matter that the Elf should have held no sway in these lands. It seemed the men of Rohan were no more immune to Legolas’s charms that he himself.

“I admit to nothing,” Legolas said with a little smirk, which was better even than an admission. “I will say only that my Lord Éomer appeared himself very invested in your well-being. As am I.”

Aragorn met Legolas’s eyes, and saw in them an emotion he could not name but understood intimately. They teetered on a precipice. “I am gladdened to see you, mellon-nin.” There were other words he wanted to use. Friend did not seem sufficient for the way his heart leapt in his chest at every sight of long golden hair, or for the way it had lurched every time Legolas disappeared from view during the battle.

“Perhaps it will gladden you even more to learn that I have acquired, for the hero of Helm’s Deep, a warm bath.”

Legolas could have told him he had pulled the sun from the sky and hidden it in the palm of his hand, and Aragorn would not have been more impressed.

“How—you—I thought Gandalf the only Maiar on our side, but I see I’ve thought wrong.”

Legolas laughed.

Aragorn could not remember the last time he had heard Legolas laugh. The sound ran through him like liquid sunshine, fever-bright and warm.

“Lead the way.”

Legolas did not take his hand—would not, of course, for the very idea was preposterous. Aragorn could not explain why he even thought of it, only that he did. But he felt as though they were connected all the same, tethered by an invisible string that meant their feet marched in step. When Legolas turned he turned. When Legolas stopped he stopped. When Legolas told him with a sharp look to wait outside a particular door that, by some miracle, appeared one of the few still on its hinges, he stood in place and waited and not once felt as though he could do otherwise.

He had much to say. But perhaps his feet were saying it for him.

Legolas appeared through the door again, only his head poking through. His brow was furrowed strangely; Aragorn would have characterized it as nervousness on any other. “Ready.”

Aragorn stepped through the doorway and was greeted by the sight of a large wooden tub in a room that appeared untouched by the battle. Walls intact, floor clean, a pleasant floral smell in the air rather than the overwhelming stench of blood and bodies that lingered everywhere else. The tub was filled to the brim with steaming water—genuinely steaming, for he could see the tendrils curling into the cool air from the surface. It was the most beautiful sight he had laid eyes on in weeks.

“You are a miracle, Lassë,” Aragorn said in Elvish, reverent; he meant it in more ways than one.

Legolas looked away too fast for Aragorn to catch his expression. “Come, before it cools.”

Aragorn reached for the laces of his jerkin, then stopped. He had not—fully considered this part of the bathing process. The disrobing. He had been bare before others and seen others bare, certainly—Elves did not share the shame around nudity that seemed intrinsic to Men, and he had been a Ranger besides, camping beneath trees and bathing in rivers with no privacy to speak of. It wasn’t the act itself, therefore, but the company present to witness it—he had never been bare before Legolas, nor Legolas him, and the moment felt significant.

After a brief hesitation, however, Aragorn began pulling off his jerkin and mail. A hot bath was incentive enough to do just about anything.

When Aragorn had only his underthings left, he realized Legolas had not been following suit. In fact, Legolas remained faced away entirely, making a show of examining the shelves lining the walls.

“I did not think Elves shy in such matters,” Aragorn said lightly.

“No,” Legolas agreed, but still he did not turn or move.

Aragorn discarded his breeches and stepped into the tub. He could not stop the moan that fell from his lips at the warmth of the water, and sank blissfully to his knees, attempting to submerge as much of himself as he could manage. “Join me,” he called, still in Elvish. There would be no common tongue between them tonight. “While the water is warm.”

Finally, Legolas began to undress.

Aragorn did not look, but neither did he look away. Both actions came with implications he was not ready to face just yet. Instead he focused on scooping water over his face and neck and armpits, relishing the feeling of weeks’ worth of grime washing away, and what little he caught in the edges of his vision—acres of skin, a flash of corded muscle—was entirely unintentional.

Entirely.

He tracked the movements in his periphery as Legolas slipped into the tub with his characteristic elegance. Aragorn watched his face as he sank languidly into the water, tracing with his eyes the twists of the braid he himself had weaved into Legolas’s hair just the previous day, and looked no lower.

“How did you manage this?” Aragorn asked, after several minutes passed in which the only sound in the room was the both of them washing themselves as vigorously as they could. There was no telling when, or if, another opportunity such as this would present itself, for all that Aragorn still could not understand how Legolas had conjured this one. “I cannot imagine it was easy.”

“No. But many under this roof were eager to help when they heard who would benefit. Your actions have earned the support and trust of the people of Rohan.” Legolas’s head was tipped back against the edge of the tub, his eyes closed. He looked like an Elf basking in comfort, leisured and relaxed. But Aragorn could read the signs of tension in his body as well as any foliage in the forest, better even, and was not fooled.

The hero of Helm’s Deep, Legolas had called him earlier. He felt anything but. “I am nothing special. I did nothing special.” Indeed, he knew exactly what he had done—could count his supposed achievement in the bodies he had retrieved with his own hands, and in the blood that stained his skin so deep no amount of scrubbing in a bath would ever remove it. “So many are dead, Legolas. So much loss.”

Legolas sat upright, eyes opening. “But it was your efforts in marshaling the soldiers, defending the gates, and calling for the final charge that saved those who remain.” Legolas exhaled, long and unusually shaky. “And perhaps there would not have been so much loss if those you trusted were capable of carrying out your commands.”

It took Aragorn several seconds to cast his mind through the men who had fought by his side in an attempt to understand Legolas’s accusation, before coming to the realization that there was only one he would speak about in such a manner.

“You cannot possibly be referring to yourself,” he said. If he had the pick of every living creature in the world, there was still none other he would choose to stand at his side. And he could think of nothing Legolas had done during the battle to dishonor himself in such a way—indeed, he could only think of instances to the contrary.

“The flame-bearer. You called on me to bring him down, and I failed.”

With all that had happened since, he had forgotten entirely about that moment. “I called on you because there is no one else I trusted to attempt it. That you did not succeed means to me the task was not achievable.”

Legolas shook his head slowly, as though he could not accept that reasoning.

“Would you feel better that I shouldered the blame instead, for placing an impossible task at your feet?” Aragorn asked, pleased when Legolas leveled him with an absolutely withering look that proclaimed exactly what he thought of that idea. “I know your people have been fighting against the shadow for longer than I have been alive, so I do not presume to tell you the reality of war, Legolas. I ask only that you allow yourself the same grace you would so easily extend to me, or to any warrior under your command.”

“You trusted me, Estel.” Legolas’s voice cracked straight through the middle, and took Aragorn’s heart with it. “You trusted me. I failed you, and Men died. Elves died.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. Just as I know you pierced the flame-bearer with two arrows. I watched them fly myself—your aim was true.”

Legolas raised his shoulder in a way that said he, too, knew this to be fact. “But they did not stop him.”

“They did not, but he wore an armor I have never seen before. It is the fault of neither your arrows nor your aim that Saruman’s wickedness has turned him inventive.” If there were other archers equal to Legolas hidden in the trees of Mirkwood, Aragorn had yet to meet them. It was as he had said—if Legolas’s best efforts had not been enough, he did not believe there was an archer alive who could have done better.

Legolas inclined his head, not quite an acceptance but an acknowledgment. “We shall not resolve this tonight. But I thank you for your kindness. I shall think on your words.”

“When you do, think as well on this—never once have you failed me, Legolas. You have my eternal trust for I, too, shall be with you until the very end.” It felt right to echo back Legolas’s words from before the battle, here in the aftermath when much had changed but his belief in the bedrock of their friendship had not so much as wavered.

Legolas gave him a single, sharp nod in response. His eyes shone.

The bathwater was somehow, impossibly, still warm, and they settled after that into a somewhat comfortable silence. It seemed their pattern to exchange emotional words and retreat into the safety of silence thereafter, careful not to push too far past a boundary that Aragorn had only recently started to realize even existed. Normally, he did little to disturb or challenge this familiar pattern, but he was not the same man who had stood before Legolas and proudly vowed to die among the men.

He did not regret those words; indeed, he would swear by them still. But he had since felt Haldir’s blood on hands. In this very bathwater was likely the blood of Orcs and Elves and Men alike whose last moments had splattered across his skin like gruesome streaks of paint. He was increasingly aware of how easily the battle could have claimed himself or Legolas as well, and it strengthened his resolve as nothing had before that he could not go freely to his death with lingering regrets.

And so, he gathered his resolve and found his voice.

“I learned much from Haldir regarding the braiding customs of Elves,” he said carefully, cautious both at the weight of invoking Haldir’s name and the prospect of the conversation he was broaching.

“You found such time to speak in the midst of battle, did you?” Legolas asked after a moment, forcibly light.

“We spoke briefly before it began. It did not take long for him to tell me what I wished to know.” It would not have taken long for you to do the same, he stopped himself short of accusing, for he understood exactly why Legolas had not spoken. The same reason he himself had not voiced anything before now. Part fear, part resignation—what this might become could not ever be, not in their world, not with who they were.

But all of that seemed to matter less and less as the world itself threatened to crumble beneath his feet.

“And what did Haldir teach you?” Still forcibly light, still giving nothing away.

“That Elves mate for life.”

“I did not think you needed Haldir to know such a thing.” Legolas would not look at him.

Aragorn could not look away. “And that among some Elvish people, such a bond is often offered, accepted, and shared through the weaving of braids.”

Legolas’s eyes snapped to his with a force that hit him as though it were a physical blow, and Aragorn knew Haldir had spoken true. Or rather, he had known ever since Haldir had uttered the words that this was what he’d been missing this whole time, what he had suspected but never dared to put into words, what Legolas had been skirting around without ever naming for fear of where it might lead. He had known from that moment, but this confirmed it beyond any chance of doubt.

Still he asked, needing to hear it from Legolas’s lips. “Is it true?”

Legolas held his gaze for several beats. The answer was clear in his eyes, but it wasn’t until he spoke, voice whisper-soft and thin, that something fundamental shifted in Aragorn’s stomach. “Yes.”

“Lassë.” The name, the nickname, came punched out from somewhere in his stomach he could not control. “By the Valar, Lassë.”

Whatever Legolas read in his face and his voice, it seemed to cause him immediate panic. “I never intended for—you were not to—it was meant for me,” he settled on, near pleading.

Aragorn’s heart constricted something painful in his chest. He had not expected such a reaction. “Legolas, I—”

Legolas continued as though he had not spoken, rattling frantically through the words with none of his characteristic eloquence. “In Imladris, when we first—it was meant as a token of gratitude for your kindness, nothing else. I never intended to ask more of you than that. But when you—in Lothlórien, when you—I could not say no, for here was all I had ever wished for laid like an offering at my feet. I am not so strong or so good that I could have resisted such temptation, and I thought—you seemed to enjoy the act of braiding, and I thought if you did not ever know what it could signify among my people, it could—for myself, it could be a small taste of what could not ever be. A shadow passing for the real thing. I beg that you forgive me my selfishness. I was craven, but I never meant to harm you.”

And the murky waters cleared. With only half the truth laid bare, he had mistakenly assumed Aragorn displeased by what Legolas had seemingly tricked him into doing—oh, his lovely, foolish Elf.

That could not stand.

“I have known you the whole of my life. And loved you ever since I was grown enough to understand such things.” Legolas’s expression was impossible to describe, shock and desperation and longing and joy and grief, and perhaps every other emotion he could think to name, all flashing across his face in rapid succession. Aragorn understood the tumult well, for he felt the same. “I suspected in Lórien, and even more so in the armory, that the braiding had a deeper meaning than hair and honor. I hoped, even, that it meant affection or bonds of friendship. But this—I never expected this.”

Legolas opened his mouth as if to speak—Aragorn knew before he did that it would be another apology, and raised his hand in interruption. “No, before you utter another word, hear me this. I am not angry. I am not disgusted. I would change nothing. I wish only that you had told me yourself.”

His heart pounded in his chest. For all they had just said, they stood bare before each other in a way that had nothing to do with the absence of their clothes—divested of all armor, stripped of every pretense, the vulnerable inner tangle of their hearts and souls offered plainly to the other. Defenseless against acceptance or destruction, whichever came forth.

“You speak truly?” Legolas asked finally. “You would want—this?”

“As true as I have ever spoken about anything in my life. I have long loved you, Legolas. First as a friend, and then, though I did not know it myself until recently, as much more.” He was not unaware that Legolas had not yet said, in plain words, how he felt, but did not pose the question.

A tear fell from Legolas’s eye as he answered it anyway. “To love you has been the greatest privilege of my immortal life.”

Yes, it felt fitting—he had always been the one prone to grand ideas and winding speeches, where Legolas could ever be counted on to cut to the heart of a matter with a single, poignant sentence.

Aragorn hesitated for the space of a breath, more to find the right words than because he lacked the conviction to say them. “I know not where this leads, but I do know that in this war against darkness, tomorrow is promised to none of us. Let us not deny ourselves any happiness that could be found today for fear of a tomorrow that we may never see.”

“Yes,” Legolas said, calm and plain, as though with that single word he had not just changed the course of both of their lives. And then he smiled, not the small Elvish smile Aragorn had grown so accustomed to seeing, but something wide and wild and free, a caged bird finding its wings. “Yes.”

Yes. Yes. Amidst all the sorrow of this day, of this journey, came a moment of such profound and shattering joy that Aragorn found himself trembling. Yes. He could only think of one remaining question, one remaining act, with which to seal this moment.

“Then I ask you, Legolas—will you allow me the honor of braiding your hair?” Now that he knew the full implications of what was being asked and offered, he could not stop the smile that threatened to split his face in two as he spoke the question.

“The honor would be mine,” Legolas replied, weighted, as though completing the words to an ancient ritual.

Joy blossomed in his chest like the first flower of spring. Aragorn thought of the night they had shared in the forest of Lórien, where he had asked Legolas the same request and wondered at the intensity of his response. He understood, now. Even then, long before he had begun to suspect the deeper meaning of these moments, Legolas had known. And offered it, and himself, gladly—with no expectation that Aragorn would ever come to know the truth, never mind reciprocate.

But much had changed. Never again would he allow Legolas to feel as though he stood alone.

“Come here, Lassë.” Aragorn gestured to his side of the tub, and a splutter of frantic, excited laughter burst from his throat. “For the love of Varda, come here right now!” For a moment, he felt young and impossibly naïve, a wide-eyed boy who had seen little of the horrors of the world chasing after a fool’s hope at love.

But then here was Legolas, with all his charm and wit and kindness, golden hair and long limbs and callouses on his hands like a mirror to Aragorn’s own—here was Legolas, his longtime friend and most trusted companion, whose braids he had weaved, who lingered ever in his awareness as though his very fëa could sense the other. Here was Legolas, and his fool’s hope seemed real hope at last.

Legolas floated across the tub, graceful as he was in all things. Aragorn trailed a hand from Legolas’s shoulder up until his cheek, resting it there lightly. He was permitted to do such a thing now. Not just permitted, but invited, for Legolas closed his eyes and let out a sigh that signaled deep contentment when Aragorn stroked his thumb lightly across the arch of the bone.

Aragorn reached for Legolas’s hair, and knew when he grasped the fine strands in his fingers that he had in fact gained hold of something far, far more precious as well.

[elvain]

MK'S FIC MASTERPOST (tolkien edition)

hi all! as i venture into a new world of fanfic, i thought i would make a new reference post. here is my tolkien-themed ao3. please note that all my fics are locked and restricted to AO3 users only.

Chaptered Fics:

At The Heart of Time - ongoing for 42 chapters, Not Canon Compliant, Reincarnation AU, BilboThorin + focus on Durin family relationships. The fifty-seventh time that Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, came back from the dead, he realized something. Something he had never thought or known or remembered or forgotten before. Regular updates.

Forged In Amber - ongoing for 28 chapters, Canon Divergent, Post-Battle of the Five Armies, FiliSigrid. Years after the slaying of Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies, Sigrid of Dale wakes up in a world she does not know or recognize. They tell her that Lake-town is gone, that there are Dwarves in the Mountain again, that her father is a King. But there is something they are not telling her. Something important.

Sweet Like Summer - completed at 10.2k, Canon Divergent, FrodoSam, Post-War of the Ring. As the Shire begins to blossom and come back to life, Frodo enlists the help of a Took and a Brandybuck, and embarks on a new quest: telling Samwise Gamgee how he really feels.

All Those Who Wander - completed at 14.2k, Canon Compliant, Boromir & Aragorn, Boromir & Faramir. After Boromir's death, the Fellowship continues to hold true. And so does he. (Written for LOTR20).

One-Shots:

Ends Of The Earth - completed at 4.1k words, Canon Compliant, Thangorodrim Rescue, Married Couple, FingonMaedhros. Fingon comes for Maedhros upon the peaks of Thangorodrim.

The Taste Of Ink - completed at 4.3k words, Canon Divergent, Post-BOTFA AU, Explicit Sexual Content, PWP, FiliSigrid. When Sigrid gets an Elvish rune inked upon her, Fíli must grapple with how he feels about it.

Mutual In Divine Love - completed at 4.1k words, Canon Divergent, Yearning, Getting Together, ArwenÉowyn. As Middle Earth is ravaged and changed forevermore, Arwen finds herself embroiled in a battle to decide the fates of all - not just her own. Little does she know, there is another woman upon the Pelennor who has chosen to do the same.

Ride Out In The Country - completed at 2.4k words, Canon Compliant, Fluff & Humour, ÉomerLothíriel. Firefoot has had enough of Éomer and Lothíriel's bickering. So, he does something about it.

silver streams / golden hearts - completed at 2.5k words, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, IdrilTuor. As the sea continues to call for Tuor of Gondolin, Idril Celebrindal calls him back.

Golden - completed at 4k words, Canon Divergent, Courting Rituals, BilboThorin. An insight into courting under the Mountain.

In The New Dawn - completed at 2.1k words, Canon Divergent, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Bathing, AragornÉomerImrahil. As dawn rises over Middle Earth, so must the King. But he is not alone.

My Lover's Eyes - completed at 2.6k, Canon Compliant, Bilbo & Frodo, Grief & Mourning, BilboThorin. Nobody really knew why Bilbo had taken Frodo in, in fact. But Bilbo did.

Between Two Lungs - completed at 2.7k words, Canon Compliant/Canon Non-Compliant, Hair Braiding, BilboThorin. On the road to recovery, Bilbo and Thorin discover a new path.

Just A Daydream Away - completed at 2.2k words, Canon Non-Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, FiliSigrid. Even a Princess needs some time alone to unwind and Sigrid knows exactly what she wants to do. Or rather, whom.

the kinslayer in the woods - completed at 4.5k words, Canon Compliant, Daeron & Maglor. In his exile, Maglor has become wholly accustomed to silence. One day, that silence is broken.

The Fall of Finrod Felagund (or: The Rebuilding of Finrod Felagund) - completed at 1.4k, Canon Non-Compliant, AmariëFinrod. There is an intimacy in putting your partner back together. Bit by bit, piece by piece. Proving that you know every inch of them, broken and whole.

the lonely mountain (or, the grief of gimli) - completed at 2.1k words, Canon Compliant, GimliLegolas. After their terrors in the Mines of Moria, Gimli takes time to grieve. Legolas finds him.

one year older, one year better - completed at 4.5k words, Canon Divergent, BilboThorin. Bilbo's first birthday in Erebor does not go the way he expected. Then again, things so rarely go the way Bilbo Baggins expects them to.

[tanoraqui]

Director's cut on any section of In Heart, please!

From the last scene of chapter 2:

Fëanor snorted. “You are such a Vanya. Though I suppose it’s more Olwë’s—oh."

“...Fëaná–mmr!”

Fëanor kept his hand slapped over his brother’s mouth. “Hush. I’ve– yes. Yes. Nolo, you Noldë!”

Fëanor isn’t even particularly malicious here, they’re basically getting along, and still he’s using “Vanya” as an insult—and a line later, with absolutely genuine enthusiasm and appreciation, using “Noldë”—my best attempt at gender-neutral ‘wise/knowledgeable person’, not necessarily “one of the Noldor” but probably interchangeable with “Noldo”—as the highest praise he can muster for someone who just had a genius idea.

He removed his hand, replaced it fiercely and briefly with his lips, then shook Fingolfin by the shoulders.

“My work in the sky! Nolofinwë, we can’t go through his front gates—there’s too much fire—and we can’t go around them—too many spies, too much cold, too much chance for ambush—and we can’t undermine the whole thing—every thrall we’ve questioned, corrupted and true, agrees that that earth is beyond poisoned. But above! When his fell monsters tried to sink the ships, we had no defenses, but when the Eagles dropped you, they had none, either! We’ll attack from the sky!”

“What– how?” Fingolfin asked, reeling from prophecy and Fëanor’s brilliance and violent shaking.

Zeugma! Also, lol at Fingolfin faintly stunned by a combination of the spiritual experience of prophecy, the emotional experience of Fëanor’s earnest praise and appreciation, and the physical experience of Fëanor literally shaking him very hard (with no intended harm whatsoever! Fëanor is just very energetic right now!)

Fëanor gave a savage grin.

“I’ve made excellent progress with explosives, hidden from the enemy in a vale in the southwestern Echoriad. We will rain fire.”

I seriously thought about ending the chapter there. I still think it might’ve been stronger. But I REALLY wanted to include the tiny one-scene subplot/reveal that this whole very intense, relationship- and strategy-changing conversation has been happening while Maedhros and Fingon are just obliviously necking below, and then their exasperated dads—tabling, for the moment, all their drama about that relationship—get to bond further over busting them.

Speaking of…

“Oh, thank erudition,” Fëanor said with feeling. “I thought you were tolerating this for some reason.”

My collection of Elvish curse words is really lacking in equivalents to “geez louise” and “thank goodness”, ie, phrases that are partial or entirely nonsense which serve as mild swears because they’re easy to rapidly verbally shift to when you actually started saying something more serious (“jesus christ” or “thank god”, there). “Sweet Erudition” is the best I’ve come up with, though it only makes sense with translation convention—but it’s so good! It’s a smooth extension of “Eru” AND it makes sense that Noldor in particular would invoke “the quality of having or showing great knowledge or learning; scholarship” as a concept!

He stalked back to the edge of the balcony and looked straight down at the lovers embracing on the bench below. One was bright-haired, one dark with gold glimmers half-undone in their mutual passion. Both remained entirely too wrapped up in one another, body and soul, to notice observation.

“Maitimo Nelyafinwë!” Fëanor thundered.

Maedhros shrieked and leapt to his feet, sending Fingon sprawling on his back. Fingon landed on a pair of discarded outer robes, wine-red and cobalt-blue. Beside Fëanor, Fingon’s father snickered softly.

“Is this behavior befitting the Crown Prince of the Noldor?” Fëanor demanded harshly. “And are you aware, in all your linguistic studies, of the difference between a secluded courtyard and a private one?”

Fingolfin leaned over the railing and called, “And I hope you boys are using protection! Your mothers would kill us if you eloped, you know.”

“Yes, we– That is, we didn’t– This is a- a misunderstanding—”

Fingon grabbed Maedhros’s hand and dragged him away at a sprint before Maedhros could stutter his cunning way to explanation or excuse, proving that discretion was indeed the better part of valor.

/snicker

[edensrose]

FOXX! I am here to humbly but not really answer your calls for Thranduil requests while quenching my own desire for Thranduil fics and request either a fic or headcanon, whatever works bestest for you, of Thranduil with an s/o (probly human???) who generally wears more cover up-y clothes n then seeing them in something more extravagant n showy for the first time

Feel free to ignore this if you want to but also first make sure to take care of yourself 😌💜💜

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ thranduil ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. the elvenking's reaction when he sees you divert from your usual outfit choice

· ⊰ note. spoops you are a GODSEND, I can provide all the thranduil content you need I just need requests ✨

ʚ Thranduil has always spoilt you over the years, be it with clothing, jewellery or various other gifts. So you can bet he got you the finest of clothing that suited your preferred style

ʚ In the beginning, it did catch him off-guard a little, mostly due to the fact he was so accustomed to wearing more extravagant robes

ʚ It's not that it bothers him or anything, merely something he had to adjust to. Regardless, he doesn't force you into anything you may deem uncomfortable or against your taste. If anything, he'll simply add to your collection

ʚ A small part of him somewhat appreciates it — after all, you were beautiful in your own right. The last thing he needed was even more eyes ogling you. He can be quite the jealous elf

ʚ So one can imagine the sheer surprise when you decided to change things up during one of the elven celebrations

ʚ Your seamstress designed a gown of the utmost extravagance, one of silk that teased just a bit of skin. It took a little convincing but eventually, you dawned yourself in your new outfit and prepared for the night ahead

ʚ Thranduil had left you to your own devices in favour of sorting out a few more things for the celebration, giving you more than enough time to doll yourself up in every which-way that you deemed perfect

ʚ You were observing the new look in front of your mirror when the sound of wood creaking took your attention and caused you to turn around — Thranduil had returned to retrieve you in order for the night to begin, but that was the last thing on his mind now

ʚ You had never seen your lover stunned to such an extent. The second his sapphire eyes laid on you he was at a loss for words. You swore you even saw his lips part in the slightest, as if he was practically gaping

ʚ "Mîr Nín. . ." He exhales, barely above a whisper as he approaches you, eyes never once averting. You met him halfway, hooking your arms around his neck and jokingly reminding him that it's rude to stare

ʚ He tries to find the words to describe what he's thinking, and in doing so relies on his elvish tongue:

ʚ "Edhelvein. . ." The adoration in his eyes made you suck in a breath as he brushed some of your hair back before caressing your cheek and rubbing his thumb along the skin. "You are simply breathtaking, my starlight."

ʚ Thranduil leaned down to capture your lips, once, then again. And again, and again, all whilst murmuring just how gorgeous you looked and various other praises

ʚ It went on until you were weak in the knees and clinging to him for support, barely able to catch a breath of air —

ʚ Well, that was until a knock sounded from the door. Much to Thranduil's dismay, Feren had come to inform you that everyone was waiting for the two of you. Begrudgingly, the king released you and instead hooked one of his arms around your waist before leaving the room

ʚ Let's just say when you entered the main hall, you both had every head turning

[band--psycho]

Band Psychos 1.5k Followers Bingo Masterlist

Here’s the masterlist for my 1.5k follower bingo challenge (thank you all again for the constant support ~ I love you all💛)

I also just wanna say a huge thank you to all of the people on this list who are taking part in my challenge, every single one of you is such a talented writer (and friend) and I am so excited to read the stories you come up with! (If you’re not already, go and follow these amazing authors!)💛

@hotdamnhunnam

Jax Teller (Jacques Telière) x Reader-Anarchy At The Masquerade(Masquerade Ball AU)

(Smut-Orgasm Denial)

Raymond Smith x Reader-Professor Smith(College AU)

Charlie Hunnam x Reader-You’re Wet, You’re Naked / Part 2 / Part 3(Losing A Bet)

Charlie Hunnam x Reader-Dirty Little Liar(Smut-Impact Play)

(”Give me a chance”)

(Smut-Roleplay)

(Past Lives AU)

(Enemies to Lovers)

@mrsnegan

Negan x Virign!Reader-Dirty Little Secret (Character x Virgin!Reader)

Negan x Reader-Movie Night (Movie Quote)

Negan x Reader-Pitch Black Impala (Smut-Dom/sub)

Negan x Reader-Calm Before The Storm(Cookies)

(Fluff)

(Roadtrip)

(”You were right”)

(Hospital AU)

(”I’m fine”)

@xbreezymeadowsx

Chibs Telford x Reader-Cheeky Chibby (rosy cheeks)

Drew McIntyre x Reader-Kilts And Leather Jackets (Leather Jacket)

(Dinner Date)

(“You can’t do this”)

(First Argument)

(Tattoo Shop AU)

(Messy Hair)

(Smut-Breath-Play)

Jon Kilpatrick x Reader-Not Good Enough(New Character)

@talsiaa

Sirius x Remus-Tattoo Shop AU (Tattoo Shop AU)

(Follower Prompt)

(Forbidden Love)

(Character Death)

(First Kiss)

Surprise Gift)

(“Come back”)

(Phobia)

(”Wait”)

@little-diable

(Love Triangle)

(Past Lives AU)

(Soulmate AU)

(Smut-Car Sex)

(”You left me”)

(Character Death)

(Lovers To Enemies)

(Sunrise)

(Amnesia)

@gryffindors-weasley

Ron Weasley x Reader-Paperbacks And Love Letters (Bookstore AU)

(Pillow Fort)

(Comfort)

(Character x Sick!Reader)

(Broken Glasses)

(Fantasy AU)

(”How did we get here?”)

Draco Malfoy x Reader-With You(Insomnia)

(An Old Flame)

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

(Fluffy Jumpers)

(Roommate AU)

(”You’re an asshole)

(1920s AU)

(Angst)

(An Old Flame)

(Roadtrip)

(Smut-One Night Stand)

(First Love)

@darthwheezely

(Music Fic)

(First House)

(Headcanon)

(”You owe me”)

(Accidental Marriage)

(First Love)

(Smut-Virtual Sex)

(Alternate Ending)

(The Morning After)

@flanagirl-Bingo Masterlist

Shepard x Reader-Revelation(Being Lost / Found)

Michaelangelo x Reader-Come Fly With Me(Fluff)

Cicero x Reader-Cold Coffee(Coffee Shop AU)

Kipling x Reader-Banana Brain(Smut-Rough Sex)

Markus x Reader-Rides-On The Storm(Kidnapped)

Michael Mack x Reader-Line Of Fire(Fake Dating)

Chibs Telford x Reader-Discipline(Dialogue Prompt)

Duncan Reed x Reader-Temporary Wings(Unrequited Love)

McClellen x Reader-Eye Of The Tiger(Movie Day / Lazy Day)

@heloisedaphnebrightmore

Ben Barnes x Reader-The Thief (Follower Prompt)

(Touch Starved)

Ron Weasley  x Reader-Honest Mistake(Drunken Confession)

(Rain)

(First Anniversary)

(”Let’s just stay in bed”)

Ben Barnes x Reader-Hopelessly In Love(Short Black Dress)

(Insomnia)

(Proposal)

@abadamn

(Crossover)]

(A Summer Romance)

(Blanket)

(Fantasy AU)

(Sunset)

(Headcanon)

(First Date)

(Wedding AU)

(”I’m scared”)

@xacatalepsyx

(Moodboard)

(Royal AU)

(1920s AU)

(Secret Relationship)

(Sunset)

(Enemies To Lovers)

(Online Friends AU)

(”Don’t go)

(Love Triangle)

@leah-halliwell92

(Lovers To Enemies)

(Sunset)

(“You’re not as quiet as you think you are”)

(College AU)

(Alternate Ending)

(Smut-Car Sex)

(Dinner Date)

(Broken Glasses)

(Short Black Dress)

@theweasleyslut

(”Why didn’t you tell me”)

(Music Fic)

(Stargazing)

(Roommate AU)

(Fluff)

First Date)

(First Child)

(Moodboard)

(Smut-Breeding Kink)

@impala1967dwinchester

Dean Winchester x Reader-What’s Left Behind (Scars)

Sam Winchester x Reader-Disney(Movie Quote)

(First Pet)

(Rain)

(Late Night Adventure)

(Fluffy Jumpers)

(First Child)

(Moodboard)

(“Stay with me”)

@elvish-sky

Legolas x Reader-The Best Day (Beach)

(Movie Quote)

(Alternate Ending)

(Moodboard)

(Being Lost / Found)

(“You can’t do this”)

(Mutual Pining)

(Reunited)

(Crime / Mafia AU)

@goddessofdawns

Natasha Romanoff x Reader-Beautiful Loss (Character Death)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader-Sleepless Nights (Hot Chocolate)

Peter Parker x Reader-Don’t Go (Dialogue Prompt)

(Reunited)

(Mutual Pining)

(Royal AU)

(Unrequited Love)

Peter Parker x Reader-Revealed Secrets(Dialogue Prompt)

(The Morning After)

@smediumsmeatbae

(Flower Shop AU)

(Smut-Threesome)

(”Is that my t-shirt?”)

(Fake Dating)

(Cookies)

(Smut-Bondage / Restraints)

(Character x Virgin!Reader)

(Surprise Gift)

(Headcanon)

@outer-banks-bitches

Cisco Ramon x Reader-Early Mornings (Messy Hair)

(Bodyguard AU)

(Crossover)

(Enemies To Lovers)

(”I think I love you”)

(Losing A Bet)

(Hot Chocolate)

(Forbidden Lover)

(Love At First Sight)

@autumnleaves1991-blog

(Pillow Fort)

(Sunset)

(Smut)

(Past Lives AU)

(Friends To Lovers)

(Cookies)

(Amnesia)

(“You left me”)

(Crossover)

@may85

(Love Triangle)

(Music Fic) 

(Road Trip)

(Dinner Date)

(Smut-One Night Stand)

(Leather Jacket)

(”Is that my t-shirt?”)

(Alternate Ending)

(First Child)

[rakimaiirisa]

for the oc asks, for both arisa and asbjorn:

☀️ ❄️ 👀

♥ @reachfolk

☀️ What makes your OC genuinely happy? A person, an item, their hobby? Where is the place they’re happiest, or most at home? What is the happiest they’ve ever been?

Vilkas and creating new spells and enchantments make her genuinely happy! Vikas is the other half of her soul and seeing him or even just hearing his voice puts her into a great mood. As for her spell creations, feeling the way the magic courses through her and bends to her will to do form creations unheard of in the magical world makes her proud of her accomplishments .

She is happiest when she lying next to vilkas in their home, hand on his chest, feeling the pound of his heart and thankful that she blessed with a wonderful husband. The happiest she has ever been the day she gave birth to her children, Freja and Kodlak and watched their father break down into tears of joy as he cradled the children in each arm.

Asbjorn is genuinely happy to be with Farkas and the other companions which he considers to be his found family. Farkas is the love of his life and honestly, he couldn't picture himself with anyone else. The runner had finally found his home in his lover. Since he more of less moved into Farkas room, thats his happiest spot since his lover comes home and goes stright to his room to find him. The happiest day of his life ia the Farkas kneeled to him and presented him with a amulet of Mara and asked "Will you be my lifemate for eternity, my love?" Asbjorn, a man who wouldn't even cry out in pain when given the worst injuries in his life, broke into tears at his proposal and replied he was honored to become lifemates with the man who stole his heart.

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

Arisa will mope if she has to leave her family for a long time. Unfortunately, as the dragonborn, she often has to. I cant say she cries all day but her mood is down and it shows in her actions. She cheers herself up by using the recording spell she made and sends messages to her family. Her leaving and the sadness in the messages she sends makes Vilkas wish he could be with her but he comforts himself with the promise she always makes in her messages. That she will in any shape or form make her way home to him.

Asbjorn is sad whenever he has to leave Farkas behind. As a promise he made to Arisa, he accompanies her on most of her journeys. With Vilkas occupied with his children and guild matters, it falls on Farkas to train the recruits and so he often must stay behind. Its bothers Asbjorn to leave him but duties to the guild come first and he understands. He cheers himself up by sending loving messages to Farkas with the recording spells Arisa makes for him. Farkas is upset that he can't go most times but hearing the messages Asbjorn sends him will brighten his mood.

👀 Describe your OC through the eyes of another person! (bonus + specify who)

As he glanced up, he noticed Vilkas, more grim-faced then usual, stalking towards the back door's of Jorrvaskr. Behind him strolled a tall slender dark haired female nord, dressed in well worn steel armor and with a elven etched golden sword at her belt. She looked strong and capable and Asbjorn instantly found himself admiring her. A half smile played on her lips as she casually adjusted the sword at her hip as she followed Vilkas. Asbjorn nudged Farkas, who looked up from his mead and followed his line of sight to the girl.

"Who's the nord girl? " Asbjorn asked and Farkas snorted and looked back down at his mead.

" Dunno, But take a closer look next time. Thats not a nord. Her ears and eyes are elvish. She's a half elf. My guess is she's here trying to be a new whelp for the companions."

The girl looked in their direction and shot a them a charming smile before disappearing out the door. Asbjorn made a mental note of the prettiness of those blue green eyes that flashed at him.

"She's very pretty." he said. Farkas raised an eyebrow at that and Asbjron grinned naughtily .

"But nothing compared to you, lover."

He dodged the playful jab that came his way and together they walked to the training yard to watch the newblood's test of entry. ☺❤ I had an entire description for Asbjorn written out but Tumblr messed it up and I couldn't bring myself to rewrite it again. im sorry 😔

[unloved-cadillac]

Secrets of the Forest

Something I came up with since I started reading Beren and Lúthien.

After being injured on field, Levi wakes up in a comfy cottage deep in the forest. He has never heard of people living in there because of the threat of Titans. But to Levi’s surprise, it’s not people, but Elves.

As the Titan ran towards Levi’s horse, Levi activated his gear and slayed the nape of the beast. But being caught up, another Titan comes from behind and slams Levi into a tree. Gears broken and swords broken, Levi was convinced this was the end. As the hand of the Titan moved to grab him, something slayed it. Levi’s eyes started to close and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness but not until he saw a glimpse of h/c hair.

=================================

Levi’s eyes start to open but were quickly closed as the light shone too brightly in his face. Am I dead? He wondered. He could feel his stomach, covered in bandages and a sweet aroma around him. He forcefully opens his eyes and sees that he is in a cottage. Dried hay as a roof and few funiture. He sees his coat and shirt neatly folded on a chair which pleased him a bit. At least whoever lived here knew how to keep tidy. Levi wakes up,still in pain and looks outside. His eyes widen at the scene.

It was a little stream with some people and children playing. There were roses and daffodils in bloom, which were odd since this wasn’t the season for them, each growing in different parts of the year.

“You shouldn’t be up. Your wounds aren’t healed yet.” A beautiful voice tells him. Levi turns to the source and his eyes widen. She was...beautiful. Like, abnormally beautiful. Her h/c hair was put up with a few curls falling from it. But it seemed familiar. She was dressed in a green and yellow robe, very long. So long it dragged while she walked. She had a jug in her hands. “What am I doing here?”, Levi asked. “Well, you were going to be eaten by a Titan. Luckily I killed it before it did. But before I could call out to you, you lost consciousness.”,the mystery woman tells him as she pours water into a bowl. “Please. Come and lay back down. Your back wounds are still raw and would not heal yet. You shouldn’t be up.” She pleads with him. Levi was still unconvinced. “Who are you?” She smiles. What a pain she thought. “I’m Y/n Randar.” She answered sweetly. Levi nods his head and makes his way back to the bed. He laid down and Y/n tended to his wounds. Her touch, was gentle. It did not seem like warrior hands. “So if you killed the Titan, doesn’t that make you some kind of soldier?” Levi asks her as she wraps his hand. “Yes. But I’m still in training. Just some basic things, really.” She replies. Levi watches her intently. Y/n lifts her head to catch him watching her. “It’s not nice to stare.” She tells him. He quickly looks away and she chuckles. “It’s also rude to not tell your savior your name. Or should I just call you Mr Grumpy?”, she jokes. Levi looks at her and scoffs. “Tch. Name’s Levi. Levi Ackerman.” He answers. “That’s a beautiful name, Levi. As much as I love it, I love Mr Grumpy more.” She laughs at him. It sounded like music. Levi takes another look at her. As she tucks her hair behind her ear, he notices it. A pointed ear. “Why are your ears pointed? And why are you living in a forest infested with Titans?” Levi asks seriously. Y/n widens her eyes at his seriousness. She clears her throat and smiles. “I’m an Elf. We have been living here for years, protecting the forest.” “An elf?,” Levi starts to say,”I didn’t know they existed. Erwin spoke about them but I thought he was full of shit.” “Your friend Erwin sounds educated. You should listen to him more.” Y/n says. Tch. “Ok,Mr Grumpy, I’m going to make some healing tea for you. Don’t move around too much, okay?” “I’m not going to answer to that name” Levi pouts. “Hahahaha oh, Levi. I’m teasing. Okay, L e v i?” She drags his name at the end which earns a glare from said man. She laughs and goes outside. Elves? What the fuck is going on?

A few days have passed and Levi could finally walk outside the cottage. Putting on a robe that was left for him by Y/n, he opens the door and steps outside. It was warm. Like the middle of the day. Many children were playing by the stream and many were picking flowers. Levi looks around and his eyes land on the woman that saved his life. Y/n was currently sitting down with a child on her lap while she was manipulating the flowers to make a flower crown. In the sunlight, her skin glowed. Her smile was as radiant as the sun and her eyes, golden. Just like the rays. Levi feels himself smile a bit but stops as soon as she sees him. Y/n smiles at him and lift the child and walks towards him. “Hello Mr Grumpy. How are you feeling?”, Y/n asks him. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that, brat”, Levi says and looks away. “Brat”, the little child mimicks his words earning a laugh from Y/n. “Oh my heavens. Lux learnt a new word.”, she catches her breath. “Is he your kid?”, Levi asks curiously. “No. He is my little nephew. He loves the outdoors. But his power is starting to show. Hydrokinesis.” “What’s that?” “The power to manipulate water.”, Y/n answers him. Levi merly nods. Y/n puts Lux down and he walks to his mom. “You do know that nobody knows you exist outside this forest.” Levi tells her. She giggles. “Yes. I know. We have kept it a secret for a long time. But those Titans. Oh how many Elvish lives were taken by them. My father being one of them. But not by an ordinary one. It was hairy. Like some kind of...ape? I don’t know. But what I do know is that he took my father and ripped him into pieces. Right in front of my eyes.”, Y/n explains to Levi, as she recalls the memory,voice filled with rage but face devoid of any emotion. Levi’s breath hitches. Zeke. “I know of whom you speak of. He killed Erwin too.” Levi says, earning a shocked look from Y/n. She didn’t know Erwin was dead. Levi spoke so highly of him. How he was a commander that came once in a lifetime and how he rescued Levi and his friends from “the underground.” “Oh Levi. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”, she tells him. “Don’t be. How could you? I never told you.” He says looking at the sun. She frowns and looks away too. It’s quiet but then Levi breaks the silence. “I’m gonna kill him. For you and me. That’s a promise.”, Levi tells her. She smiles. She knew he meant it. But she couldn’t help her next comment. “You should heal up first, Mr grumpy.” “Tch. Seriously? Still with that name? Are you ever going to give it up?” He asks a bit annoyed. “Never.”

Almost a week had passed, and Y/n and Levi make their way to a tree by the lake. Y/n and Levi had grown very close since that day. When she showed him the tree and the lake, he moved in to kiss her. Luckily for him, she returned with a smile. He knew she felt the same way he did. Those lingering touches she gave when she changed his bandages and applied her ointment on his wounds and the way she looked at him. It’s wasn’t the doctor-patient look anymore. It was that lover look. It was also the way he would catch her staring as he sat down where the kids were playing with his hair and putting flowers in it. It was like they had a little family together. Now, the young couple were sitting underneath their tree, with Levi’s head resting on Y/n’s lap while holding her left hand while her right brushed through his hair. He sighed and closed his eyes. Her touch was really magical, especially since it was just her. No magic involved. “I’m gonna have to leave soon”, Levi says softly as he slowly opens his eyes to look at her. “I know”, Y/n whispers as she leaves a kiss on his forehead. “I know”. “But I don’t want to. I want to stay here. With you. I feel at peace here.” Levi explains, voice filled with hope. “Levi..I want you to stay too. But we both know you can’t. You gave a promise to humanity. To Erwin. To me. They need you.”, Yn softly explains while his eyes close in understanding. “Yeah...I know. But I can dream, right?” Levi asks. She smiles. “Yes. Yes you can” she replies. “Let’s just stay here. For a few more minutes. I want to remember what it’s like to not have the weight of the world on my shoulders for while. Can we do that?” He asks as he opens his eyes. She looks down at his face and nods. And so they laid there and until the morning sun rose.

Goodbyes were never the best. Today, Levi was planning to leave. But before he left, he wanted to tell Y/n that he loved her. She needed to know, in case he never made it back from the battlefield. Levi put on his shirt and cravat and looks for his jacket. Surprisingly he couldn’t find it. He swore he saw it there yesterday. Levi puts on his broken gear anyway and makes his way out of the cottage. He looks around to find Y/n and when his eyes land on her, there it was. His Scouting Corps jacket, with the Wings of Freedom jacket big on the back. She looked more like an angel than Elf to him. Y/n was showing the little elves and friends it and they looked in amazement. Lux saw Levi and ran to him, hugging his legs. “Pwease Wevi. Don’t weave.”, the little elf tells Levi. He could feel his heart squish in cuteness. He looks at Y/n and she smiles. But he knew it was a sad one, because that smile didn’t reach her eyes. Levi looks down at Lux. “Don’t worry, Lux. I’ll be back.”, Levi tells him. “Pwomise?” Lux asks. Levi eyes widen a bit. He knew he couldn’t make that promise. He couldn’t even promise Y/n he would make it back. He didn’t know what to say but luckily Y/n stepped in. “Okay Lux. Go to your mom.” Lux let’s go of Levi and runs to his mom. “Nice jacket”, Levi tells her. “Oh. I just wanted to use it. It seems comfy.”, Y/n chuckles. She was about to take it off when he stopped her. “Leave it on. I’ll take it when I leave. You said you wanted to give me something?”, he asks her. “Oh yes. Come with me.” She takes his hand and leads him. They walk together to the stables. There was Levi’s horse, eating hay happily. “Hey, boy. You saved him too?”, Levi asks Y/n. She nods. “Of course. When you got knocked out your horse was around you somewhere. He is lucky no Titan didn’t eat him. Like his rider.” She teases. Levi smirks. “Yeah. Come on, boy. Let’s go.” He puts on his horses harness and Y/n takes him to the exit of the village. “Levi, listen to me now.”, Y/n tells him as they make their way to the exit,”Once you leave here, you can’t come back without an Elf accompanying you. It will be like this place never existed. But just because it isn’t there doesn’t mean I can’t see you.”, she explains to him. All he does is nod. He doesn’t want to speak to her just yet. He might not leave. He might just say fuck it and stay with her. He knew that was impossible though. So before they could leave , Levi turns to Y/n. “Y/n. I never thanked you for saving me. You brought me here and showed me a new world. Thank you. For everything.”,Levi tells her. Y/n smiles. “Oh that reminds me. I have something for you.” She says as she takes out a necklace from her neck. Y/n takes it and puts it around his neck. “What’s this?” He asks her. “Protection.”, she tells he. Y/n takes his hand in hers and looks up to him. She just wanted to memorize his face for a while longer. She doesn’t know when she might see it again. She runs her hands along his cheek. His blue eyes that shone grey. His onyx hair and his stone face. His lips. Her hand runs along his jaw, down to his neck. He catches her looking at his lips and he closes the gap between them. They melt together, savoring each other. This wasn’t an ordinary kiss. It was a goodbye kiss. None of them wanted to say it, but it was reality. Levi had to save humanity.

After a few minutes, they pull apart, the need for oxygen becoming too great. Levi rests his forehead on hers as the breath into each other. Now he had to tell her. “Y/n, I-“, he starts. “No.”,Y/n stops him as she puts her finger on his lips,”No. Don’t say it. Not now. Not when we might never see each other again. Come back. Come back and tell me those three words I desperately want to hear. But come back to me. Don’t make me miss you more than I already am.”, she whispers, afraid that if she spoke louder her tears with come crashing down. It was falling already and Levi carefully cups her cheek and wipes them away. “I will come back to you.”, Levi says sternly. She sniffs and looks at him, smiling. “You better.”

And just like that, he left. He walked through that gate and when he looked back, he couldn’t see her. As he rode and he could smell her scent on his jacket. That chain that she gave him close to his heart. Levi rode as fast as he could and luckily for him, it was early morning so no Titans were here. Levi made it back to base and everyone was so happy and relived. Humanity’s Strongest was back. “Levi! Oh my god. I thought I lost you too!”, Hange exclaims and hugs him. He hugs back, a rare thing for everyone to see. Hange pulls away. “Where have you been? You look like you were reborn.” Hange jokes. “Don’t worry about it. Now, where’s Zeke?”

[arofili]

#45, kidnap fam?

(Dear anon: I’m sorry.)

~

45. “How much of that did you hear?” Maglor asked quietly.

Elrond looked up at him, his eyes hard. “Enough.”

Maglor nodded, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “We sent you away for a reason.”

“Well, I am here.” Elrond sighed. “Atar...you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed hollowly. “You heard me. I tried. But Maedhros...he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. You know our curse, yonya. If we don’t try we will be consumed, turned to worse things. Like we did to you.”

“You made up for it,” Elrond said fiercely. “You must know that.”

“I wish I did.” Maglor looked up into the sky, where Gil-Estel shone bright and damning. “Your father has one Silmaril. Your real father, I mean. Your other fathers...we must have the other two.”

“Atar,” Elrond blurted out, “I came to ask you to come to Valinor with me.”

Maglor stilled. “You’re going to Valinor?”

“If you will come with me, yes.”

“And Elros? What about him?” Maglor looked up at him again, something undefinable glittering in his eyes. “Where is he? He didn’t come with you.”

“Where’s Maedhros?” Elrond asked. He grimaced. “Elros is...busy. Like Atya.”

“Your atya is drowning his sorrows and preparing for a Fourth Kinslaying.” Maglor clenched his fist. “I certainly hope Elros is not.”

“We were offered a choice,” Elrond said, looking at his feet. “Of which kindred we shall be counted as. They said—the Valar said that if we chose mortality, they would give us a land, a blessed land, to the West. Not the Blessed Land,” he added hastily, “not Valinor. But we could take what remains of the Edain and find a new place to live.”

“Beleriand is certainly not habitable anymore.” Maglor nodded, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. “And if you chose Elvendom...?”

“We could go West, to the Uttermost West, and live in bliss in Aman.” Elrond’s voice was tinged with longing. “Like you, when you grew up.”

“There is a reason we are here now,” Maglor reminded him.

“And you want to stay?” Elrond demanded.

Maglor laughed bitterly. “I have no choice, unlike you.”

“If you forsake this madness, convince Atya—”

“Maedhros will not be convinced. You heard, Elrond. He has been a captive once; he would kill himself before he faces such a fate again.”

“The Valar are not like Morgoth!” Elrond protested. “They would not—”

“Let me remind you which of us was raised in the Blessed Realm,” Maglor said flatly. “This choice of yours, it was offered by Námo, was it not?”

“...Yes. And Manwë.”

“Námo the Doomsayer. Námo who cursed all Noldor who followed my father. Námo who holds my father, and all my brothers save Maedhros, in his keeping even now!” Maglor’s voice grew heated. “No, Elrond. This choice—it is not just. You are peredhil; why must you decide which kindred is better? You are both.”

“I chose Elvendom,” Elrond snapped.

Relief washed over Maglor, dispersing a fear he had not realized he held. Good. He may be damned, but at least his sons would be safe, and live eternal. Aman was not so bad a place, after all. He wanted to go back, wanted to join the peredhil and see his mother again, even at the cost of the Valar’s judgement—he was so tempted by Elrond’s offer.

But Maedhros would not go, not even if asked by Elrond, and Maglor would not abandon Maedhros. Not again.

“Then go,” Maglor rasped. “You and Elros—you have not wronged the Valar as we have. Go with them to Valinor, and live in peace. You will be happy there.”

“I can’t,” Elrond whispered, a single tear streaming down his face. “I can’t go alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Maglor said. “Even without us...your parents will be there, your real parents. And you will always have Elros.” As much as this conversation hurt, he longed to see Elros again, wished he had come with Elrond.

“I have already lost him!” Elrond wailed, falling into Maglor’s arms. “He—he chose mortality!”

Maglor held him tight, cradling his son like he had when he was a child, though he neared adulthood now. Numb shock overcame him: how could Elros do this? How could he abandon Elrond? Did he not know the pain his fathers had endured for their brothers’ sake, the soul-rending torment of Ambarussa sundered from one another this long age, how utterly this could destroy them both?

Mortality. He would take that kingdom offered by the Valar, lead the Edain, and for what? A life lived in the blink of an elvish eye? The promise of...something, beyond the boundaries of Arda? His grandmother Lúthien’s legacy, to doom his family like she doomed hers? Thingol had not outlived his daughter; would Maglor survive this loss? Daeron, her brother, Maglor’s onetime-lover, had lost himself in his grief; would Elrond be able to endure the long ages of Arda alone?

“It’s selfish,” Elrond wept, “he chose first! We’ve been living with the Edain, when Gil-galad is too busy to mind us, and they’re good folk, they love us, they love him, and he told me how much he wants to know what is beyond Arda. He says he feels his mortality in his blood, that no matter how we study, elves will never know! He was so studious, I was the wild one, you know this, and he’s—he’s pursuing knowledge, just like you taught us, knowledge over glory and eternity, and I told him it was a worthy choice, a good one, and then I chose Elvendom.”

Maglor had no words to comfort him, still reeling with shock and horror. “He...he will die?” he rasped. “And we will lose him forever?”

“I could have followed him, gone with him,” Elrond sobbed. “But I am a coward. I want peace and light and the easy way out. But now I will be alone, and Eärendil will sail the skies and Elwing sits in her white tower doing nothing but mourn and you and Atya are going to get yourselves killed or worse chasing the fucking Silmarils!”

Elrond tore himself away from Maglor, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking. Maglor could scarcely stand to look at him: he was so young, and already faced with so much pain. Such were the children born in Beleriand. And so much of that pain was Maglor’s own fault.

“Please, Atar,” Elrond begged. “Please listen to Eonwë. Come to Valinor with me, I will plead for you, and you and Atya can be freed of your Oath and I can have a family there. Please.”

“We cannot,” rumbled a new voice, and Maglor jumped. Maedhros walked out of the shadows, his red hair, once so burning bright, dark and matted with sweat and blood.

“Atya, please—”

“You should not have come, Elrond.” Maedhros used to be so beautiful, once. It broke Maglor’s heart to see him like this. Even after Angband, he had been beautiful, for he shone with purpose and love. Now...even with Maglor here, even with Elrond here, that was all gone. Only the Oath kept him living, Maglor knew.

“Where will I go?” Elrond cried. “Without you, without Elros—what will I do?”

“Gil-galad will not give up his kingship for Valinor,” Maedhros intoned, his voice flat. “Go with him to the east. Celebrimbor is going with him; he wrote inviting us to join him, if we would but forsake the Oath.”

Maglor had not known that. He flashed a look to Maedhros, asking without words if he had been planning on sharing that information. But Maedhros didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge him.

“Gil-galad... Gil is your brother,” Maglor said softly. “You know that, right?”

Elrond looked between them. “He is Fingon’s son, not yours.”

Maglor bit his lip until it bled. It was low, dirty of him to use Fingon against Maedhros at a time like this, but if it would convince him...

Maedhros blanched, turning pale white beneath the web of scars across his face. “This is cruel of you, Makalaurë,” he rasped, still not turning to look at him. “I thought better of you.”

“You—” Elrond broke off. Maglor saw him calculating in his mind; truly, it was not that difficult to figure out, though Fingon was never spoken of in Maedhros’ earshot, and thus he had been forced to learn of his deeds thirdhand. “You and him—and Gil-galad—oh.”

“He will want a herald. I heard his was slain in the last battle.” Maedhros was back to monotone. “Go east with him.” He shook his head. “Elrond, I...”

“Atya?”

Maedhros looked on the verge of saying something heartfelt. Maglor gripped Elrond’s wrist, hoping, yearning for some spark of the brother he loved to flicker back to life.

But Maedhros’ eyes only darkened. “I wish I could choose to unmake myself as Elros has,” he said. “It would be easier.” Without another word he retreated, leaving Elrond and Maglor staring dumbfounded after him.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Maglor said tiredly, but his words did not even fool himself.

“I understand now,” Elrond murmured. “I...you’re right, Atar, I should not have come.”

“Elrond...” Maglor wiped at his eyes. “I am sorry. Truly. For everything we have done to you. You—oh, child, you deserve better than the lot you have been dealt.”

“I have plenty of time left to make something better out of it.” His words were dull. “Gil-galad will take me, but...he cannot replace Elros. He doesn’t even know me as his brother.”

“He will. He will love you, Elrond. Who couldn’t?”

Elrond looked at him, the full force of his betrayal shining through his tears. “I can think of a few people,” he whispered.

If Maglor’s heart had not already been shattered into countless pieces, it would have broken then.

“Goodbye, yonya,” he mustered, and Elrond gave him one last embrace.

He could not bring himself to wish his son joy. It would only serve as a last reminder of all they both had lost.

[magneticmage]

More fic drabbles;

Rune watched the golden fire dance across Wyll's fingertips, "Pretty. But you do know most tieflings are fire-resistant, right?"

The warlock chuckled, cupping his lover's cheek with his hand and drawing him closer, "Hurting you is the last thing I'd want to do right now."

Rune smiled and closed his eyes, leaning forward as he savored the precious moments of anticipation before a kiss.

Instead, he got hit in the head with an empty mug.

Growling and turning away from the enchanting man before him, the tiefling druid growled at his twin sister, Lucine, from where she sat beside Shadowheart. She rolled her eyes at him, "Get a room! You've got the coin for it and I don't want to watch you two play lovers all night."

His brow twitched as he saw Shadowheart's lips quirk to keep from smiling. Then he grinned and waved a hand towards his sister. The vines that sprouted from between the tavern's wooden plank flooring beneath her quickly bound the two women together. Above their protests, he chuckled and wrapped an arm around Wyll's shoulders, "Sister, dearest, you really should find a playmate of your own. And I'm sure our lovely fellow cleric, Shadowheart here, would be more than happy to oblige you this fine evening. Now, come, Wyll, we have lots of ale to drink and things to do!"

As the two wandered off, the vines were quickly cut with a sharp sword. Lucine swore like a sailor as it nicked her fingers, "Careful! I need those!"

"Debatable," responded Roan. The human fighter sheathed his longsword and waved a hand in dismissal, "Now, stop, causing a scene and get some rest. Faenerys says we're leaving in the morning."

"Oh? And where is our lovely elven wizard at this time of night?" Gayle questioned from where he leaned against the surprisingly broad shoulders of Sable, their resident drow warlock. The mute man simply nodded his head in agreement, fingers dancing through the air to echo the question.

Roan sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy auburn locks, fingers curling into a fist and tugging at them irritable, "She said something about going out for a swim. Apparently, she wasn't comfortable here in the inn for whatever reason."

Lucine giggled, "Oh, no, Astarion's gone off as well. Such a shame if he were to catch her, isn't it?"

Roan scowled, "That's not funny, Lucy."

The tiefling cleric shrugged and stretched her arms as she brushed the last of the leaves from her hair, "It's very funny, actually. Because we all know Astarion is very good at sucking things, faces especially. And hers just so happens to be his favorite, it seems."

"Still can't believe they get along," Roan sighed, "Then again, I'm sure that could be said for the rest of us, as well."

Lucine shrugged, "Yes, well, brood later, I think Lae'zel wants your undivided attention, my friend."

There was the faintest brush of pink to his cheeks as the warrior turned around to stammer out a polite, if somewhat awkward, greeting towards the githyanki woman. She handed him a drink and motioned him off for some privacy.

It did not take long before the last two couples also headed off for their own evening's privacy. Left alone at the table at last, Lyran sighed and downed the last of their drink. They would never understand why people danced around their attractions like these people did, then again they had never experienced such a thing and had no desire to. The only things they wanted in life was to remove these damned tadpoles and then return to Baldur's Gate to continue living their life of crime and increase their hoard of shiny valuable objects. And yet at every turn, fate-and their companions-seemed to delay their plans again and again. It wasn’t enough to quite drive the half-elf mad, but it certainly came close several times, especially lately.

Still, at least it was quieter now.

The sound of a lute string snapping made them whip their head around with a menacing glare and a dagger flashing in their hand.

Saga gave the rogue an apologetic smile in the only way the halfling bard could to not get their face punctured. Then again, she was also the only one who could get away with cooling the grumpy temper Lyran often held about them. She held out her lute, "Would you mind re-stringing this for me, Lyra? Then I'll play that elvish lullaby you like."

"It's Lyran, today." They replied and moved closer to let her feel the coarse leather of their tunic, different from the soft silk of their feminine days and the layers of fur during their in-between days. "See?"

"Right," The halfling woman nodded, her dark curls bobbing about her eyes. The scars across them was still as red and disfiguring as it had been since they had barely escaped from that hellish prison. "Sorry, this is the first time I've touched you today."

"It's fine." They assured her, brushing aside some curls to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, "You don't quite have the same benefits as everyone else to tell which I'm feeling that day. And you're usually much to polite to ask."

"Usually, I stick to Lyre, but I heard someone mention something about a half-elven woman in blue and white silks earlier, so I assumed...."

"They were talking about some else, little Muse." Lyran handed back the lute, "Here you are. If I fall asleep-"

"You always do."

"Yes, but if I fall asleep, wake me in an hour, so my back's not killing me in the morning." They informed her, settling down comfortably with their head in her lap and bundled warmly in their cloak.

"Of course, Lyran." Saga promised, "I always do."

The magical melody had them in a fast and dreamless sleep in moments.

[finrad]

Unrequited Love - Kili x Reader

I'm not really a Kili person so this might not be my best work but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

You were sitting alone nearby a dinner table when you saw many dwarves walk in with Mithrandir, Lord Elrond, and Lindir. It was very sudden. Then you realized that you had never seen any of them in person. They looked cheerful and like good folk. Whenever you were younger, you were told to avoid dwarves, as they were greedy, but it seemed that they might be lying or exaggerating.

Watching them sit, you smiled when you saw one of the most handsome person that you have ever laid your eyes on. He had also noticed you, now with a flirty smile on his face. He wasn't the only one looking at you. Lindir was also watching you, with a slightly concerned expression.

Lindir wasn't in love with you, and you knew this for certain, but he could be making that face for a reason. He tried to be understanding, but he was starting to think that you were falling for this dwarf that you just met. It was a little odd to him.

Elves don't instantly find someone worthy of being their lover instantly. It usually takes time for these feelings to form. And, elves have never fallen for dwarves. Men, yes. But dwarves? There is no account of such a thing happening.

Despite that, you were feeling something different for this dwarf. A feeling that made you want to hold him and care for him. You needed to talk to that dwarf. But maybe now wasn't the time. The two of you needed to have a chat in private.

As the dwarves ate, they sang proudly, and you found their songs lovely. They weren't like the soft songs of the elves, no. Those songs were happy and full of life. Secretly, you sang with the dwarves, enjoying their music. Some of the elves around you made surprised faces hearing the dwarves.

After the dinner, you were joyful, and felt so young. Maybe among the dwarves is where you are happiest. Singing and cheering with the dwarves was not the only thing that lifted your spirits. You noticed that dwarf you had began to develop feelings for was looking at you, with a smile.

For some reason, each time that he glanced at you, you just felt alive. You had never believed in love at first sight, but it seemed that you were having a case of it. You couldn't be too sure, though. This feeling that just won't go away could be something else.

Tonight, the sky was midnight blue and there were stars shining in the sky high above. A field of grass was nearby, and you noticed that the dwarf that you were beginning to fall for was sitting alone. So, you sat next to him and introduced yourself.

You told him your name, and then asked him what his was. He plainly responded, "Kili." Right now, you were  nervous and was trying to remain calm.

"Well, Kili, I remember seeing you while you and the other dwarves were eating." you said. After sighing softly, you continued. "And you made my heart sing. This is unusual for an elf like me to do, but I want to be with you, even though we have only met."

"But we have to bond first, don't we?" Kili asked, his hand over yours, which was on the grass. You nodded. "Let me start then. I have an older brother, and we, along with the other dwarves, are going on a quest to reclaim our home."

Kili continued to speak about himself until it seemed that he didn't have anything left to say. Then, it was your turn to describe the life that you lived as an elf in Imladris. You described how you couldn't fit in that much. Your life was long and crazy, meaning that it took you a long time to tell Kili about your life. By the time you finished, the sun was rising.

A voice called out from the distance, but you and Kili ignored it. The two of you were gazing at each other, and you were longing for a gentle kiss. You knew that Kili had to leave in a few days, so you wanted to appreciate those days before you could quite possibly never see Kili again.

"May I?" asked Kili, staring at your lips with a flirty look in his eyes. You nodded, and then the two of you leaned closer and almost kissed passionately until you heard an angry voice shout.

"KILI!? KISSING AN ELF?" the voice yelled. Kili nervously turned around, go reveal a dwarf with dark hair. "You're not supposed to fall in love with anyone, let alone an elf. That one could possibly betray us, just like the elves did to us before. Come with me."

"But Thorin–" Kili tried to argue but the dwarf, who seemed to be named Thorin, did not allow him to speak. The younger dwarf looked back at you with disappointment and walked away with the dwarf. You were upset, but then moved on and went home.

At home, you saw your father and greeted him. "Where have you been?" he questioned. "I haven't seen you all night."

"I was talking to a dwarf." you admitted. Please say that your father would be fine with you speaking to a dwarf. Most elves did not really like dwarves, and vice versa. Therefore, there was a chance that your father would be very unhappy about what you said.

He then gasped. "A dwarf? Why?" You tried your best to hold back some tears that were coming in. "Don't tell me that you are falling for him! There are many appealing elves." You nodded, deciding that you should be proud that you were falling for a dwarf, and not a prude elf.

"I feel a connection with him, and nothing shall stop me." you argued. "You cannot control my love life. So I will continue to see him, no matter what silly excuse you come up with."

The two of you argued for most of the day, and your energy was drained by the time you were finished. However, you were still going to find Kili tonight. When your father isn't looking, you planned to sneak out of your home and look for Kili in the night.

And so your time came. You had noticed that your father had gone somewhere, so you got out of your house and found Kili, sitting on a field of grass, much like the one where the two of you sat on last night. This became a nightly thing, until the day that Kili had to leave.

On the night before that day, you had realized your true feelings for Kili. You loved him, even though your father didn't accept it. Even though some of the dwarves that Kili came to Imladris with didn't accept it. It didn't matter if the whole world didn't accept it; you still love him.

So on that night, you decided that it was time to confess. Kili needs to know how you truly feel now. Or else you'll never have the chance to tell him. Who knows what could happen to him while he tries to get his home back with his fellow dwarves.

"Kili, I need to tell you something." you began, your voice a little shaky. "It's been only a few days since we had first met, but I have to say that I love you, and I will miss you dearly once you leave."

The dwarf murmured your name. He then grabbed your hands. "I love you, too, and I promise that I will see you once again. Remain hopeful, and I will come back to you. We will reunite, and find a place to live and stay in love for the rest of our lives." he promised. A wave of hope flooded over you and you felt happy.

You and Kili leaned in close, and then kissed. The kiss was soft, and you never wanted to stop. It made you feel alive and bubbly. All of your worries were away from your head, and you were only focused on Kili.

*Time skip brought to you by this emoji: 🅱️*

It had been so long since you have last seen Kili. That one night where you two kissed seemed to be a long gone memory. A memory that you wanted to relive.

Today, you sat by a tree, with a book in your hands. As you read from the pages of the book, you had remembered the faint memories that you had holding hands with Kili in the night, without a single soul knowing what you were doing. You really missed those old days.

Soon, through your peripheral vision, you noticed three figures walking into Imladris. Two of them were short, and one of them was tall. As they came closer, you found out that it was Mithrandir with Kili and another person that seemed familiar, and he wasn't a dwarf.

"Kili!" you said, putting your hand on your heart and extended your arm. This was an elvish embrace. At this moment, you were happy and full of excitement. "Hello Mithrandir. And hello to you, stranger. May I have a private conversation with Kili?" The other two nodded, and walked off.

You sat down with Kili to talk to him. It had been so long since you two have spoken. And you wondered why he came without the other dwarves.

"Kili, I thought you left to reclaim your home. Why aren't you there?" you asked.

"Well, we had to fight in a large battle to get my home back. And while I fought, I remembered you. I realized that I promised to return to you, so here I am." Kili answered. "I love you, and the barriers that have been put between us by our kin will not stop us."

[crowleyellestair]

This feels like the smallest request ever but I have a mighty need for a Geralt (or Jaskier I'm not picky lol) x elf!reader. Maybe something angsty, she gets attacked or threatened and it gets to her more than usual. I dunno really, you're writing is absolutely amazing so I'm sure whatever you come up with will be perfect!

AN/// Sorry this took so long!! I have been swamped with work and life. As a college kid, you gotta make bank as much as possible. Here it is, angst, and I hope you enjoy <3 I hope it is perfect for you : ) I thank you from the bottom of my heart for those kind words : )

   The streets of Novigrad weren’t safe, but the two had decided to galivant through them anyways. It was late, though they thought themselves cautious by traveling through the main roads. Jaskier and Y/n had decided to go out, the She-elf needing to find an anniversary gift for her witcher.

Geralt had met her in his trip to Dol Blathanna, Y/n being his and the bard’s escort out once they had finished their first meeting with Filavandrel. It had been decades ago, the elf starting her travels with them once the witcher had made his way too close to Brokilon looking for work. Elves lead long lives, Geralt sharing a foot of that length with his own unnaturally long span. Elves find love within their own kind, as most others can’t match that time, or they are raised in racist or northern homes. The White Wolf had been dragged unconscious into her life, and sacrificed his neck to worm into her heart. She hadn’t been a Squirrel, but she was a fighter. She was an intermediate guard of the Silver Towers keeper, Filavandrel needing larger guard numbers despite his protests. Y/n had travelled to the forest on mission by the makeshift King to deliver a message to the Dryad Queen. She had recognized the emotion filled grunts, and now she was happy. Well, as happy as she could be in a world where people would spit on herself and her lover just because they exist.

A simple token was all she had wanted, now bigots had her and the bard pinned. Two men had taken each side of Jaskier, continuing their firm grip despite him trying to kick his legs out. He squirmed as much as he could, being a non-violent man putting him at a major disadvantage. Y/n was thrown into an alleyway, three men ducking in behind her. One had taken her satchel, Geralt’s gift and knife in there. One was laughably short for a human, but the other two seemed as though they frequented the fight clubs around the city. Luckily, she couldn’t see any gang indicator, but despite her training, she seemed at a disadvantage as well. The shorter man approached, the elf easily dispatching him.

She slid out of his charging path her hands ghosting the back of his head before placing pressure, and running his head into the wall with all of her strength. Jaskier cheered for her, seemingly just watching along with the two men that held him.

“You lot are messing with the wrong elf! Her ears aren’t the only things that are sharp!” Everyone in the alleyway seemed to stop and turn to look at the man, who rolled his eyes. “It’s not my best, I’ll admit. The point I was trying to show is that she is an amazing fighter, and one should be cautious when approaching.” His tone was smooth and eerie until his chopped end, when the man on his right twisted his arm back painfully to bend him, the only things in his field of vision being the dirt and his legs. The man leaned in, spitting as his voice dripped venom.

“Look a’ faerie here, traipsin’ with ‘e Elf! Lookin’ all high an’ mighty, tryina fit to their ‘higher standards of livin’.” His tone changed to mocking once he started to talk about the stereotype of elves finding themselves higher than man. While it is a true conspiracy, Y/n wasn’t one for superiority. Lives were lives, and she simply wanted to lead hers in peace. The two men on Y/n both started at the elf once more, and hands connected with forearms and faces. She was distracted for a moment when she heard the pained laugh of her good friend.

“Well, it’s certainly better than your company. Have you ever heard of this heavenly thing known as a bath?” The man to his left dropped his arm and kicked his legs out from under him, the other arm that was still being held behind his back stretching painfully as it was still held high. A tight groan left him, and her eyes snapped to him. Rage filled her as the two men started to kick at the bard. She saw red, running at the wall, using leverage to kick off and hit her assailants. It took a moment to take out both, but she soon found her way to the men beating her bard. Y/n quickly brought the first man’s head to her knee, his whole body going into shock as his nose went inward due to the force of the kneeing. The other made his way to her, though she ducked under his arms, kicking out his knee as he passed her. The elf quickly stood, bringing a forceful kick to his eye as he looked back. All the attackers laid on the ground groping one bleeding part or the other.

“Jaskier?! Jaskier, please, speak to me. Are you okay?” Pain and fear enveloped her as she kneeled next to him. Her hand went to brush his hair out of his face as he sat back on his feet. He panted and straightened out his jacket, giving her a tired wink.

“Of course. They got what they deserved and you, my feisty, elvish friend, were marvelous.” Y/n wanted to crack a smile, but guilt clawed at her. She knew how to deal with situations like this, easily making it out unscathed alone. Even with Geralt, things would be okay, knowing that there was light. Geralt was used to being under the microscope as well, but not Jaskier. While he has had a taste just like he had now, he didn’t deserve it. He was a ball of joy- a delight to be around. Simply through association, he was cast out by certain people of his own ilk. Y/n had simply wanted a second opinion on a gift, and in doing so, Jaskier twitched at every breath. It was certain he had bruised ribs, and she tried to help him up as slowly and as gently as possible. The elf grabbed his lute and their bags, throwing them over one shoulder as she threw his arm over her other, helping him back to the inn.

After she had gotten him settled in a hot bath and set up healing ointments, she let herself sit. Geralt had hovered, but didn’t make a sound. Jaskier had breathlessly retold the tale to him, making the elf out as more heroic than the situation had actually brought her to be. The air settled, though it was a tense aura this filled the space. Y/n plopped onto the bed, head in her hands as the witcher shifted in front of her. They sat that way for a couple of breaths before he bent down to one knee in front of her. Both of her hands dropped though one slowed to cover her mouth, her eyes closed.

“I am one thing, but they hurt Jaskier. Simply by walking with me they attacked him.” Geralt’s hand reached out, cupping the back of her knee, his thumb brushing circles over the cap. “I asked him to go. I should have known not to bring him in the open here.”

“You shouldn’t be tied to the inn, either.” His tone was soft, matching her whispers.

“I could have thought it through better! I could have brought cloaks or used glamour-.”

“You don’t need to hide anything.”

“Are you sure? Because not doing so got our friend hurt.” Geralt gave a sigh, matching her gaze when her eyes fluttered open. His other hand came up to her hair, brushing down until it landed at the back of her neck.

“People are cruel.” She simply raised a brow at his statement, but he leaned in. His eyes bore into hers, trying to get a point across. His tone was stern, yet light. “Jaskier is safe.”

“What about next time, Geralt?”

“I can’t tell the future. Though, I know he will be fine in the end. He always will be. We can’t get rid of him, but he knows the risks others bring to our lives. It’s not your fault most humans can’t live with us, and he isn’t going to leave because of them.” Y/n conceded, nodding at his words. She knew people would never stop hating her kind, Jaskier would never leave, and she would never not feel guilty despite being proud of who she is. Y/n would never not be proud, and she shouldn’t have to be painful. Most wouldn’t find the witcher’s words comforting, but she did. He understood completely, and his sympathy was real. She knew she wouldn’t have to go through this world alone this far north, having her lover and friend by her side. “We have each other, and we will protect the man.”

A small smile was shown to him, his statement affirming her thoughts. She wasn’t alone, Geralt always ready to be by her side, no matter what faced them. He brought her head down to his shoulder and help her tight, wishing her peace, and swearing to take down anyone that dared to take her smile away.