#elven naming practices

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Bby Legolas who absolute did not pay attention to when they were teaching about the history of the noldor/sindar elves, partially bc he was a silvan thx, and didn’t care much for these other elves who he probably wasn’t gonna interact with a lot anyways, partially bc after the 5th elf to share almost identical names with other elves of great renown, with the difference being, like, 1 letter, he just acknowledged that it wasn’t gonna happen.

Adult legolas, who’s trying really hard to seem like a functional elven being, franticly trying to remember who’s who whenever he’s visiting imlardis and one of the elves start talking about their history/ancestors: i took a calculated risk, but man am i bad at math.

Legolas: *mixing up pretty much the entire finweon line, bar elrond’s immediate family*

Legolas: I absolutely know what i’m talking about, no don’t look in my notebook-

Legolas: *learning that many elves from the first age had up to 3 names each* fuuuuuck, you couldn’t have sticked with 1 name like normal people??? Maybe 2, but 3? C’mon man. At this point it’s bullying.

Sm elf: *calling legolas “thranduilion”*

Legolas, has a last name he shares with his entire family: whomst the fuck

[recycledraccoon]

Minor thoughts on Oisin and how he seems primed to fuck over Adaine specifically. The flustered ping-pong balls that were a plan all along. The quoting her own words on the previous Elven Oracle back at her in regards to the storm.

I mean...imagine you're a skinny little dragonborn wizard, in a class with a cute elven girl. You don't talk to her, but one of your adventuring party members is pissing thinking that party is getting preferential treatment, so you KNOW about her. You watch from the corner of your eye or from a spot on the back of the class whenever she's actually there. Partway through the year she goes to jail, and when she comes back she and her adventuring party save the world from a dragon. (A dragon of whom your Grandmother had been fond. ((Also, coincidentally, the Vice Principal.))) One of them created a god.

(Your entire party is being groomed into rage by two of your teachers.)

You're in her class again. She is the Elven Oracle, already an accomplished adventurer. She and her friends are popular. She's very pretty. She does not know your name. She does not know who you are, just a skinny dragonborn a few seats back.

You go on your Sophomores Year Spring Break Adventure and don't bother to think about her party at all.

(You and your party are going to kill a god. Your teacher is going to ascend to godhood in their place and you and your party will have Made That Happen. You are angry and determined with each final blow you deal.)

You return from Spring Break angry and with a sore chest.

You find out the elven girl's party has resurrected a dead god and the live streamed the entire fight. They must think they're so much better than you and your party. You'll show them.

(Your friend refuses to change her faith. She cancels the paperwork. The rest of you kill her, confident she will make the right choice and join you again as a proper Champion for your new god. You help kill her. She does not get back up. You hide the body and none of you can say anything. You're so so angry.)

The world descended into darkness and you can do nothing. The sun finally breaks across the sky again right before Junior year. You and your party have made plans and are on the cusp of greatness. You've gained muscles to spare and ink on your scales in carefully selected runes, no longer just a skinny little dragonborn.

(You have a new cleric. He's not your friend. He's a haystack hick from that cult-church from Freshman year, and he's here because the god you're going to kill needs a Champion and he fits the bill, nothing more.)

The first day of school the plan starts to be put in motion. Immediately that party of kids is interfering, in your way. It rackles. You push on anyway, seething inside even as you act the part of being reasonable.

You go to a party at the houses of one of her friends. You've been practicing making spell runes on the inside of ping-pong balls. You're ready.

The pretty Elven girl in your class finally looks at you. She approaches you, gives you a drink, and chills it in your hand. She has to ask your name. You have shared certain wizarding classes with her since Freshman year, tho she was barely there. You have to tell her that.

You chat. She clearly gets flustered, calls you great, and flees back into the house. Your friend teases you for others to overhear. It's a convenient excuse to use your geometry and apply physics to miss every single shot and lay your trap. The drink isn't so perfectly chilled in your hand anymore.

(You talk to her. Play nice. She isn't smooth, but she smiled at you and maybe a part of you is vindictive in seeing her flustered. It's a shame she turned down the diamonds, as dragon madness would have been so poetic. You steal her summons to steal something from the house. She didn't know your name. Didn't remember you. You feel justified. Your anger burns cold like frostbite, like static in the air. You purposely don't wonder if that first miss was intentional or genuine.)

You see each other in class sometimes.

You plot and kill monsters the woods. You will win the battle. You will win the war.

Your parties have a standoff in the cafeteria. You play your part to diffuse the situation, your teacher has been harping on your friends to stop antagonizing the other party. You feel her mind touch yours gentle probing of intentions, her friends all around her as you lock eyes.

(The devil's honey your group gets from that bee girl all goes to your teacher. He is preparing himself to ascend to godhood, and he needs it for his prayers.)

She is searching for your intentions and feelings. You tell her only 'Sorry'. She believes you. You are not entirely sure why. She and her party will hopefully die during their Last Stand exam, and have no way to revive themselves in time, be trapped there until after elections.

Maybe she just wasn't perceptive enough to see the deception.

(You hate her and all her friends. You have had no devil's honey. She believes you. Briefly, you wonder if it was a lie at all.)

They catch you. They know. Your team goes to ground and waits out the remaining days 'til elections and the culmination of everything you've been working for.

It rains at the party, and you have no more masks. You are angry. She must never have been that good of an Oracle at all, and you take joy in mocking her with her own words from long ago.

She's nothing more than an elven girl in your class who was full of herself to remember your name.

(There is nothing left now to stop you from being as openly angry as you like.)

[keeksandgigz]

the love witch

modern!eddie munson x fem!witchy!reader

summary: Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend. Hell, he's not even sure how he was able to get you interested in him in the first place. Despite him not really believing in your witchy practices, he's incredibly supportive, but that doesn't come without his cheeky digs. He agrees to a tarot reading for shits and giggles. You don't like that he doesn't take it seriously.

cw: no y/n, reader's nickname is 'witchy' , talk of the occult, wiccan practices, description of r's clothing, but no body description, reader has female anatomy, oral (F receiving), face sitting, sub!Eddie, dom!Reader, choking, slight biting, dirty talk, honorifics, unprotected piv (pls don't do that), ending leans towards the whole witchy vibe

word count: 4.8k

this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker. 

Living in a small studio apartment in the Haight-Ashbury of San Francisco, which he got a damn good price on. 

He works at one of the many vintage record stores in the neighborhood, which pulsates with raw musical energy, almost as if he steps in the 70s every time he gets out of the front door of his apartment building.

Sometimes he just sits on his fire escape to fuck around with his guitar, inspired by the smells of incense coming from the crystal shops, the music coming from the vintage clothing stores and the pungent smell of lingering weed at all hours of the day.

And with the shaggy, long, brown curls, bullet belt and chains, his black cutoff band t- shirts and heavy lace up boots, he seems to fit right in- for the first time in his life. 

Next to his record store there is one of the many crystal shops on the high street, a tiny little nook he always walks by on the way to work and snickers to himself. There’s no way people believe in all that.

He stops doing that once he meets you. 

Eddie Munson is one lucky motherfucker because he crosses paths with you.

He meets you while he is on his lunch break, using those thirty minutes of peace to walk around and usually pick up some prerolls from the dispensary a couple buildings down, or he lingers in front of the guitar store on the other side of the street, ogling at a B.C. Rich or an Ibanez, spending his break in there, fucking around with a cool amp. 

He meets you on an off day. A day where he doesn't feel like walking around, so he just stands in front of his store smoking a cigarette. You're walking a longtime client out of the crystal shop next door. 

“Thank you for that dried lavender, Janice! I’ll set aside some of that incense for you when we get the shipment” he hears you say. He turns around, snickers at your words while Janice passes in front of him, disappearing in the Saturday afternoon crowd. 

“Something funny?” you ask. Your voice feels smooth like honey wine. He turns around, and suddenly he doesn't feel like snickering anymore.

You look so pretty, the kind of pretty that is almost otherworldly. Like you could’ve come up in his head while planning a DnD campaign. Purple bell sleeve top, a long, black, flowy skirt and lace- up boots. Dressed like his own elven high priestess. 

He realizes he’d been staring at you for a good silent minute. He nervously breaks eye contact to put out his cigarette on the sole of his Docs. 

“Sorry– heh, just don’t really believe in all that stuff” he says, shrugging. In doing that, his evidently too- short shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of the skin of his tummy, which doesn’t go unnoticed to you. 

You lean on the doorframe of the store “What’s your name again?” you ask, a feline smile creeping on your lips. 

He swallows “I um- haven’t told you my- It’s Edward- Eddie!” he corrects himself, you got him flustered “Nobody calls me Edward” he remarks. 

His stammer makes you smile, like he's a wounded puppy dog. 

“Alright Edward Eddie, see you around” and with that you disappear back into the store. 

It takes Eddie a week to learn your name, asking the owner of the crystal shop you work at with no luck, then running into Janice a week later, who kindly tells him your name and then raves about you for a good ten minutes. Quite the hypewoman. 

It takes Eddie another two weeks to ask you out on a date. You're wearing a long mauvish dress under a white cardigan when he sees you walk into the store. Your hair is pulled back from your face and he swears he sees stars in your eyes. 

You say yes and agree to meet at a coffee shop, and by the end of the day, he asks you for a second date. And then a third, and a fourth, and by the arrival of fall, Eddie Munson has a girlfriend.

Eddie Munson is obsessed with his girlfriend.

He even jokes with his friends that his witch girlfriend put a spell on him. Made him drink a love potion, because he can't justify him being so obsessed with you.

Another thing he can't justify is you actually liking him. Sometimes he still needs to pinch himself to make sure it's not all a joke.

A pretty girl that looks like she's straight out of his DnD fantasies is dating him? There's no way shit like that happens to Edward Munson.

Although his apartment is right above the record shop, which means sneaking away for a quickie whenever you guys have matched up work schedules, he loves your apartment.

Twenty minutes away from Haight- Ashbury, in Twin Peaks, there lies your apartment. In an old building from the sixties or seventies, you have it decorated with tapestries and sun- catchers and rugs and pillows and cushions. It's a joy for Eddie's senses.

And with dating you, came Circe, your black cat who seems to have taken an almost immediate liking to Eddie.

Your apartment always smells like incense and candles, a smell you bring with you wherever you go. A smell Eddie loves. There are plants hanging from the ceiling and a big purple couch in the living room.

Everything is antique, lucky finds from thrift stores or flea markets. The table, chairs. The bookcases that hold your witchy books and your crystals.

The first time he comes over he picks one up. A carnelian.

"So, these pretty rocks are supposed to... what?" he asks, toying with every bit and bob on your bookshelf.

"They're crystals, Eddie. And each different one has a purpose. That one you're holding is a carnelian" you say, pouring him a cup of loose- leaf herbal tea, and pointing at the crystal with your nose.

"Okay, and what's it do?" he asks, toying with the smooth surface and going to sit on the ground next to you. He blows on his tea and takes a sip. He isn't a tea enjoyer, but for you he could be.

"Well, a lot of things, but primarily carnelians help boost sexual energy-" you get interrupted by Eddie sputtering out his tea. Some of it lands on you, which causes you to let out a shriek.

The ridiculousness of the situation is both endearing and hilarious. The poor guy probably didn't expect you being so blunt about your use of crystals to aid your sex life.

A giggle escapes you while Eddie tinges a deep shade of crimson from the embarrassment. He shakily sets down the teacup and saucer.

"Shi-shit sorry, lemme help you clean it up" he says, scrambling for the napkins on the coffee table to clean his mess up.

"You got some on me, Eddie" you say as you move your hair from your face to let him clean up the spit- out tea from your cheek.

"Oh my god, sorry lemme get that" he repeats, flushed.

He's shaky in reaching for the napkin to wipe your skin, afraid that he might have ruined his shot at dating you just because he cannot keep his mouth shut.

"It's honestly not a big deal, Ed. It was just funny for the most part" you smile at him, reaching your hand to lay his head on your shoulder. He breathes again.

Once he's calmed down he continues his curious interview.

"So what, do you put it up your pussy or something?" The idea of it makes Eddie's blood run slightly hotter. You laugh.

He blushes at your reaction, feeling slightly embarrassed once he registers what he had just said.

A sheepish "sorry" escapes his lips.

"No, no it's fine" you chuckle "not exactly. You just kinda charge them and set intentions. Then you can take it with you on, like, a date, if you wanna hope for something more" you say. He becomes very aware of his hard- on when you say that.

There is a thick sense of expectation in the air once those words leave your mouth. It could be the thick incense smoke floating around the room, or it could be the way you're looking at him like you want to eat him whole. Your faces get closer.

"I brought one with me today, actually" you admit. And he has never taken his shirt off so fast in his life.

So every time you hang out, he carries a piece if carnelian in his pocket, in hopes to repeat what happened at your apartment.

With time, he learns to carry a rose quartz with him, too.

Soon after, you begin gifting him crystals and bracelets to carry with him. He likes his black tourmaline beaded bracelet the best.

"It's for protection" you had said. It's just very metal to him.

He never really believes in it, but it's sweet, seeing you show up to his apartment with little colorful rocks to put on his windowsill. You teach him how to recharge them and set intentions, but after the second or third time he just can't be bothered.

He quickly learns it's not just pretty rocks you're interested in. You're, like, a full- fledged witch. Hence, the nickname 'witchy' he'd given you.

You ask him for the time and place of his birth. He scrambles to text his uncle Wayne to ask if he remembers what time he's born.

After a couple days of searching, Wayne comes across Elizabeth Munson's old diary. Indianapolis, Indiana, December 21st, 1997 at 3:47 AM.

Eddie Munson has a birth chart.

Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Aries rising.

Whatever that means.

You try to explain it to him, but to no avail. He doesn't really care much for the stars. Except the ones in your eyes.

He swears he can see them twinkle every time you're laying on your brocade rug in the candle lit living room. He learns you don't really use your couch, rather, you just lay on the floor, among a pile of pillows.

Sometimes you're watching TV together. You're sat in between his legs, leaning against his chest, while Circe lays on your lap. And you look at his palms, tracing the fine lines and ridges of his calloused hands.

"You have lines on the top of your hand" you whisper, kissing his fingers.

He blows the cigarette smoke out the open window, careful not to make your house smell.

"Yeah, no shit. We all have 'em, witchy" he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

"No, look right here" you say, tracing the faint lines right where his callouses are "lines like this means you're gonna have a long life" you kiss that spot on his hand. Coarse, but warm.

"Thank fuck, imagine if i just got hit by a cable car tomorrow?" he chuckles, going back to watching TV.

You trace a deep line that goes across the palm of his hand, you smile to yourself.

"Whatcha smilin' about, witchy?" he says, eyes still glued on the TV.

"You have a double heart line. Means you love a lot" you turn and give him a smile. One of those that make your eyes sparkle in the candlelight.

"If I have a double heart line, does that mean I love you more?" he asks, sickly sweet. He cringes at himself for swearing he wasn't going to be that guy, but when you look at him like he just hung the moon for you, he can allow himself to be disgustingly sappy.

You think about it, because he does have a point, but you don't want to make him win this two- month long game you've been playing, so instead you take his palm once more.

"Look, Ed" you say, pointing at a random prominent line "this line tells me you're an asshole" you laugh, as he pinches your sides and you try to squirm away, but his hands are holding you firmly while planting sloppy kisses everywhere he could reach.

Cheek, neck, shoulder. He inhales the curve between your neck and shoulder, and you swear your feel a bit of tongue poke out between his lips. Then he stops.

And you feel it. Deeply seated at the bottom of your back, pressing against the exposed skin between your shirt and pants.

Eddie loves the way you smell, intoxicated by the smell of lavender incense and some kind of berry perfume you wear.

He's convinced that perfume is actually just a pheromone concentrate, because he cannot stop the blood rushing to his dick everytime he catches a whiff of the sweet berries, nestled in the crook of your neck, behind your ear.

"And where's the line that tells me I'm gonna get a kiss?" Eddie asks, voice low and gravelly, a voice that fills you with need, makes your breath falter from your lungs, replacing it with water. But you kiss him nonetheless, and maybe him getting a kiss is written in the stars, after all.

He softly grabs your hair as he slips his tongue in your mouth. Honey- wine whimpers falling from your lips, as you try and get Circe off your lap and in literally any other room. The cat seems to be unbothered.

"Ed... she doesn't want to move" you whine, high pitched voice expressing annoyance, but also overwhelmed at how cute your cat is.

"She's the biggest cockblocker in history" he mutters annoyed, you laugh. A groan leaves his mouth.

"Leave her alone she's just a baby! Us having sex tonight just wasn't in the stars" you shrug, light and airy as you go back to leaning on his chest and petting Circe.

Fuck the stars. He huffs, accepting his fate

He waits for you outside of the shop when he's not working. Guitar case slung around his shoulders, so he can practice at yours, he picks you up and you take the train to your apartment.

"How was work today, witchy?" he asks, roping a hand around your shoulders and giving you a tender kiss on your head.

"Meh, a. bunch of wannabe Tiktok witches, a bunch of old ladies booking tarot readings and threatening to leave bad reviews because I told them their husband is cheating on them or something" you shrug getting on the bus "Janice came, though, she brought me some jasmine flowers so I can make love tea" you say, sitting down. He sits next to you.

You take out the small satchel of dried jasmine flowers, taking in the sweet scent of citrusy flowers.

"Love tea?" he asks "that what you give me when I come over to your apartment every time?" he dips his nose in the satchel, giving it a sniff.

"Yeah, you wish" you laugh "just peppermint tea. Don't want you accusing me I put a love spell on you" Eddie smiles and lays your head on his shoulder while you play with the tassels of your bag, letting you close your eyes for the twenty minutes of the train ride.

Once you're home he slings the guitar case off his shoulders and takes it out, sitting at the stools of your breakfast counter, while you empty the contents of your bag.

Herbs, oils and a new card deck.

"So, what do you need to do now?" he asks, pulling out his phone, looking for guitar tabs to practice on.

"'kay, so" you begin "I need to make tea blend, then putting stuff together for this new project I'm working on, and then break out this new deck I got from work" you say, lost in the mysticism of your to- do list.

Sometimes he finds it funny that the stuff you have to worry about is totally otherworldly to what he usually worries about.

He watches you break out the mortar and pestle while you measure a teaspoon of dried rosebuds, a teaspoon of dried lavender buds, a teaspoon of jasmine and a pinch of cinnamon. He mindlessly plays a couple chords from a song he heard at the record shop.

"What's the cinnamon for?" he asks, pointing at the jar.

"Spicing things up? Cinnamon is a spice, so could be. I'm trying out this new recipe" you say, grinding the flowers together.

"So what you're saying" he begins, looking up from his guitar "is that you're making sex tea" and the feline grin plastered on your face is enough to make you wanna smack him in the head.

"This is not sex tea, Edward" you interject sternly while pouring the contents of the mortar in a new jar.

You light an incense stick, a rose infused one, to set your intentions for this batch, then putting it to rest on your windowsill for the night.

"What are you doing, witchy?" he asks, following your gaze as you set down the jar.

"It's for the moon. Charges the tea" you say, nonchalantly "can you pass me that deck on the counter, please?" you sit on the carpet legs crossed, while Eddie reaches for the card deck and tosses it at you. You catch it.

He sets down his guitar against the counter to goes to stand in front of you as you take the tarot cards out of the deck and start shuffling them.

"What's that baby?" he asks, he swears he can never stop learning from you.

"My new tarot deck, I need to break it out. Want me to give you a reading?" you ask, hoping he'll say yes.

He truly thinks about it, because he doesn't believe in any of this stuff, but saying no to you and watching your eyes darken with sadness is something he doesn't want to put himself through.

He is a weak, weak man.

He shrugs. "Alright then" he says, sitting down on one of the cushy pink pillows on the floor of your apartment "gimme a reading, you little witch"

Your ringed hands shuffle the gold filigree cards.

"I'm gonna do a regular spread, 'kay? Just past, present, future" you look at him, and he swears he sees your eyes twinkling again in the light of the glass lamp on the side table.

You fan out the cards on the carpet and let him pick three cards.

He's reluctant about this, all he really wants is to cook dinner together and spend the evening with you.

You spread the three cards out and unveil the first one.

"Okay, so that's The Empress. Means you have a significant female figure in your life. It usually represents feminine beauty, abundance" you say, explaining it to him.

"You got some abundance, alright" he huffs a laugh, quickly silenced by a deathly stare. You didn't like it when he made fun of what you liked. You roll your eyes at him.

"Sorry, witchy. Keep going" he smiles, like he's about to crack another joke.

"Yeah, okay." you flip the middle card "what luck. You got the lovers" you say, unenthusiastically.

Eddie's eyes light up at the possibility of a joke "Is that the card that tells me I'm getting some sick pussy in the next five minutes?" he asks, his tone makes you want to throw the empty box of cards at his head.

"It looks like you're not taking it seriously, so what's the point" you go to stand up, but he stops you.

"Sorry, baby, please don't leave. I'm enjoying this, Sorry, I won't make any more jokes, I promise" he pleads, and a wicked idea sparks in your head. He sounds really pretty when he begs.

You let out an annoyed groan as you sit back down and you unveil the last card, his future.

Ace of wands. Sex really was in his cards tonight.

"What's that, baby?" he asks.

"Ace of wands. Looks like you're gonna get some 'sick pussy' after all, Munson. Lie down." You command.

He flushes red. "Huh?" you reach under your long skirt to remove your panties.

"I said lie down, I'm giving you what the cards said" you stare at him, expectation in your eyes as he lays down on the brocade carpet, unsure if he should feel afraid or like the luckiest motherfucker alive.

"Better put in the work, pretty boy" you say, crawling on top of him, he looks at you, eyes blown as you lift your skirt, climbing the length of his body. You reach a resting place right on top of his mouth.

It takes him a second to register that you're sitting on his face, and his tongue darts out of his open mouth, to shyly have a taste.

"C'mon now, Eddie, where is the passion? You seemed really passionate about cracking jokes earlier, didn't you?" you cooed, holding up your shirt to look at his eyes, twinkling and darkened as his tongue begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

He gets the hang of it as your hips begin to grind on his face, his tongue darting in and out of your hole as his nose bumps deliciously against your clit.

"Mmm fuck" you gasp as you raise your hips to let him breathe, but he just pulls you down harder. A gasp escapes your mouth as the sound of your moans and Eddie's slurping fills the room.

Even he hears it, because you can see his eyes roll to the back of his head as a resounding hum escapes his lips, vibrating against you, wet and sensitive.

A whine leaves your mouth as you begin to get more desperate, grabbing a handful of his hair, grinding your hips harder against his tongue.

"Doing so good for me, Ed." you say in a feeble attempt to keep the reins controlled, but his tongue works magic on you, making your brain turn to mush.

"There you go don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop" you command, and his tongue flicks against your clit, catching it between his teeth to begin to suck at it.

A mewl leaves your lips, feeling the familiar warmth in your belly begin to form as you pull harder on his hair, moans becoming more high pitched and strained as Eddie makes quick work of his tongue on you.

"'mgonna cum on your face, you want that?" you ask, a rhetorical question, because of course he wants you to gush all over him.

And so you do. You come with a silent scream, riding the orgasm out with the last few snaps of your hips, as your breathing stills and your vision goes white.

Eddie's also panting like a dog under you, aching in his pants for you to make him cum.

You get off his mouth, his chin coated with your fluids as he gathers them on his fingers and sticks them in his mouth. You can't help but mutter a "good boy" as you reach for the belt of his pants.

"Sit up" you command, as he goes to straighten his back and lean against your purple couch.

You take off his shirt "I'm gonna ride you, yeah?" he looks at you like you've just discovered that aliens are real.

"God, yes please, please" he says, looking up at you as you unzip your top off, and you swear his eyes grow bigger at the sight of your chest, your bra still on. A longing sigh leaves his mouth.

You unbutton his jeans and lower them to his mid thigh along with his boxers as his cock slaps against his tummy. He hisses at the feeling as he watches you align yourself on top of it.

"You want it, Ed?" you question, an aura of cool, calm control exuding from you.

He whines. "Please, I want it so bad. Please put it in" he begs, and you've never realized how pretty his voice sounded when begging. Whiny and high pitched, nasal, almost as if he were about to cry. A prayer for you to fulfill him, make him whole.

Like he is nothing without you.

Is that what it felt like for him to see you crying on his cock every night? A rush of power washes over you, as you motion to sink down on him, but quickly going back up.

He lets out a whiny cry, a bratty child without his candy.

"Uh- huh. Beg me to fuck you, Ed" you say. You swear you can feel him shiver, his cock jumping from underneath your skirt.

"F-fuck, please. Please fuck me. Please my love, my witch, my high priestess" he rambles, your hand creeps up his thick neck, wrapping around it "fuck mmm please, I'll do anything. I'll give you everything" a frenzied speech, his words speed up at the feeling of your nails scratching the skin of his neck.

He'd let you sacrifice him to the devil if you asked him.

Feeling his pulse point with your nails as you begin to squeeze the sides of it, a needy gasp escapes the pretty boy's mouth.

Flushed a pretty red, sweat clinging to the base of his neck and forehead, hair curling and sticking to his feverish skin as you begin to sink down on him.

Inch by inch, slowly feeling him fill you up, as a quiet "oh" escapes you once you've taken all of him.

His breath is quick and labored, quiet pleas rolling out of the sweetness of his tongue, where the taste of you lingers. The love potion you'd been administering him all along.

Eddie Munson is not a religious guy, but if he needs to pray to his goddess to get you to fuck him he'll do it.

But you start moving. A slow, feline movement of your back, almost as if you and Circe were the same creature, a shapeshifter from another world. A goddess, an empress of his body and mind. He was wrapped around your finger.

Your hands tighten around his neck as you grind yourself down on him, he whimpers.

"Mmmm, so big" you mutter against his ear, biting his lobe. And everything you do makes him whine and buck himself deeper inside you, hitting the spongy walls deep inside you, needing more of you. Needing you to swallow him whole.

And you comply, raising your hips and lowering them, bouncing yourself on him as if you were only using him to chase your own pleasure. The thought of it makes Eddie shiver and moan, a strangled sound coming out of his constricted throat.

He hopes your hand leaves a mark on his neck, so people know he's yours. So people know that the witch next door spelled him and he is now in love with her. He never wants to get away from her.

"You- you're so good" he whispers, hips rising and falling on his cock, head lolling as you feel yourself get close again.

"Yeah, baby? Thank me, then. Thank your goddess for making you feel so good" you command, and his hands travel through every inch of your body, feeling every ridge and crease and bump. Wanting to feel you, wanting to worship you.

"F-fuck, thank you, thank you, thank you." a prayer to his goddess, for making him feel so good. "Please more, I- I'm so-"

"You're close aren't you?" you coo, cradling the back of his head with your free hand. Making him look at you.

"'M so close, please let me let me let me please" he begins to chant, too far gone from the feeling of your nails digging on the sides of his neck, scratching his sweaty scalp, tongue tracing the outline of his lips as quick and labored breaths escape him.

"C'mon, cum for me" you whisper in his ear, letting go of his neck and latching your lips onto him, leaving a few purple bruises on his milky skin.

You feel him spill inside you with a whine, shivering, while you ride him for all he is, chasing your own release.

You follow him soon after, biting down on his shoulder. The taste of his sweaty skin lingering on your tongue.

You stay clung to him for a few minutes after, quiet and panting as he revels in the post- orgasmic feeling you've just given him.

"Never thought I would've been the submissive type" he huffs out with a laugh as you climb off of him.

"Well, you're welcome. Gonna go have a milk bath, be right back" you stand, reveling in the feeling of his spent spilling out of you.

He hears the shower turn on and as he's getting dressed, Circe comes to nuzzle on his lap.

He raises an eyebrow.

Where has she been the whole time? The rooms of your apartment were all open when you got back. She was probably just taking a nap in your bed.

He shrugs as he delivers a couple pets to her head.

Meanwhile in the bathroom, a spell book is suspended mid air as you look a spell to get rid of a hickey that Eddie had left on your neck.

mini taglist: @strangerstilinski, @stuckonthefiction, @elegantkoalapaper, @gravedigginbbydoll, @eddiesxangel, @reidsbtch, @bangaveragewhitewine, @chaoticharrington, @hideoutside, @monstxrteeth, @the-local-pendeja, @thornsnvultures, @strangerfreaks, @unverifiedmeatsuit, @strangerfreaks, @starlitlakes, @thebejeweledwatercat, @aphrogeneias, @chrrymunson, @amira0303, @paradise-summertime, @onegirlmanytales, @piecsesrising, @feralamdtiredrat, @m0llygunn , @angel-upon, @lavendermunson, @cowboylikemunson

[myceliumelium]

The Thrall Children of Himring

A continuation of this here, with the help of @apocalypso-36 with Elrond, and @animeandbooksarelife who created itty bitty beastie.

Correspondence between Lord Elrond of Imladris and Lady Idril of Dol Amroth

Scholar Idril, I am an attentive reader of your works, especially when my own name comes up in it. I am writing to you now to inform you of an error you made, in referring to my blessed late brother, King Elros Tar-Minyatur, and myself as the 'Thrall-Children' of Maedhros Feanorion. I strongly believe I speak for both myself and my beloved twin when I humbly beg you edit your works to instead refer to us as his 'foster children'. While the conditions were far from ideal, and there was no shortage of problems with our relationship, he and Maglor Feanorion took care of us to the best of their ability. Thank you for your consideration. Lord Elrond Peredhel, Herald of High King Gil-Galad, Bannerman of Lindon.

My lord Elrond, I would like to start by profusely thanking you for taking a moment to correspond with a humble scholar, such as myself. As for the error you mentioned, it is no error at all, for I was referring to Maedhros’ apparent tendency to take in the children of escaped thralls or young escaped thralls themself, if they found themselves in need of shelter. I have only found two of these children ever referred to by name, the first named Ruinmir and the second only ever referred to as levain or little beast, but there is substantial evidence that they were not the only ones. Though I see now that my phrasing was confusing and I should reword for the sake of clarity. Though, now that you have opened dialogue, I find myself compelled yet again to ask if you would be willing to shed some light on certain details, as we seen the confusions that may come from working without the invaluable insight of people such as yourself. With admiration and hope of continued dialogue, Lady Idril of Dol Amroth

Excerpts of “On thralls and their lives in the north-east of Beleriand” by Saelgol of Lothlorien

“The greatest thrall communities were indeed centered on and concentrated around the fortress of Himring. Census data recovered from the ruins on Tol-Himling explicitly marks out it’s thrall populations, in a similar way to how they denote other elven cultures. Thralls are identified much the same way as the vanya, noldo and sinda populations. Though they enjoyed an additional measure of acceptance within Maedhros’s lands, does not mean they were considered a culture of their own right, rather than outcasts, living along the fringes of elven territories.” pp. 17

“Heavy policing of thrall communities was a common enough practice. Many lords feared that they were a threat to public order, “bringing back from angband barbaric practices and dark ghosts in their hearts”(Helcariel) such as bloodsport, a musical tradition named “night howling” by outside observers, and post-mortem cannibalism of their dead. These practices shook Exiles to their core, though Maedhros himself is said to have been disturbingly unbothered by it, which only added to his orcish reputation.”pp. 48

“Parentless children were a distressingly common sight amongst thralls. Often their caretakers had gone to great pains to smuggle them from the cursed land with no consideration for their own escape, or had been killed in the arduous trek. Others still were given mercy deaths at the hands of their brethren as they were too far gone to survive outside Angband. As a result, many children arrived alone into the care of thrall communities.” pp. 69

“Lord Maedhros was often noted to take in these children. Some of the very few written records we have from the hand of a thrall comes from a village chief, who wrote to Himring saying “We have two more mouths that we can feed, otorno. Two boys and a girl. The young boy and the young girl are desperately ill and we do not think they will survive, but the elder boy is healthy, he says his name is Ruinmir, and that the two younger are his little beasts.” And about a century later, we have records of an elf named Ruinmir Aldion, working in as a scout for Maedhros, and listed to have a dependant recorded as Levain, which I have verified is not a proper name but an epessë roughly translating to “Beastie.” By the accounts we have, the lord Maedhros fostered them both personally, though he never adopted either of them in earnest.” pp. 70

[room-surprise]

Chilchuck's foreign swear words in the Dungeon Meshi anime episode 11

Please take all of this with a grain of salt, since I only spent a couple of hours doing some superficial internet sleuthing. It's also possible that some of these might be from languages that aren't written in English characters and so I wasn't able to find information about them without doing a much deeper dive.

As far as I can tell:

REAL Ponza - Italian slang for deep fried calzone (euphemism for vagina) Poojam - Slang for a poop that won't flush. Also, a pooja is a ritual hindu prayer, so in this case, possibly a type of elven prayer turned into an insult, maybe with the implication that such rituals are stupid and useless? As useless as an elven ritual? Varo - Latin, stupid, dunce, lout. Monsanto - surname. Real world agriculture company known for cruel and unethical business practices, slang, to poison, to destroy. Maybe there's a Lord Monsanto in the DM world who did terrible deeds and now their name is a swear. Belcher - someone who belches.

INVENTED Toroldo - Toro (bull) + old = old bull (meaning someone is as useless as an old bull) or possibly Turoldo meaning thick (stupid) (turo comes from tyros meaning thickening, like cheese). Unerma - Unarmed, a euphemism for someone who is impotent? (un+erma, erma is Ladin for weapon or force, from Latin arma)

[lunastrophe]

BG3 Elven Lore 🌙 Astarion's Name

I stumbled across this popular theory that Astarion's name means Little Star - but personally, I prefer to derive his name from DnD version of elven language. I think that the result is much more interesting 🙂

Astarion - it looks somewhat similar to aasterinian (quicksilver, mercury as a metal), with the last syllable changed into a suffix -ion (noble).

So, Astarion's name could be connected to a definition of mercurial character - changeable, cool and willful at one moment, utterly fragile the next. Mercurial can also mean: animated, quick-witted, having the characteristics of eloquence, shrewdness, swiftness, and thievishness. Suits him!

Suffix -ion is commonly used as a term of respect to address the scions of noble elven families who are not entitled to "lord" or "lady" (based on A Treatise on Espruar). It could nicely point to Astarion's social status: noble, but not of the highest rank.

Child name - if you prefer the theory that Astarion's name is his child name (customarily given by elven parents to their children and used until the elf can be considered an adult) - "mercurial" could still fit. I can totally imagine Astarion as a hyperactive, hard-to-control, shrewd kid... prone to mood swings, maybe?

Ancunin - using D&D Elvish as a point of reference, Astarion's last name can be neatly split into an (hand) - cu (in) - nin (ritual).

So, "hand in ritual". In a foreboding sense, it could point to Astarion's role in Cazador's ritual - but it could also suggest, for example, that his elven ancestors were connected to some arcane rituals or religious practices in their community.

[rawrsatthetree]

Dark urge and Astarion hold a baby

GN!Durge!Tav x Astarion

Inspired by a fanart of Astarion holding a baby and an audio of Neil talking about babies as Star

Warings: well it's druge so descriptions of violence

As you and your party waded through the crowd of refugees a strange sound caught your attention. It sounded like crying but far too high pitched to be any person or child. The sound grated and scrapped at your mind and before your realized it, you had wandered off from your party in search of the source.

Among the crowd of broken families and lost souls you found an old elven woman cradling a squirming bundle in her arms. The thing wriggling about in her grasp was what had been making the terrible noise that had now quieted down into a pathetic whine.

You didn't notice how close you were lingering until the old woman spoke up. "Can I help you dear?" She questioned, her demeanor warm and friendly.

"Oh, um I was just um..." You were at a loss of words, your eyes fixed on the thing in her arms.

"Would you like to see him? Come closer, no need to be shy." She gave you a warm smile.

Hesitantly you shuffled forward to where you could see what it was she was holding, expecting some sort of animal or other strange creature.

"A baby?"

"Yes, a precious little thing, his name's Arthur." The woman rocked him in her arms.

The baby took a reprieve from it's fussing to turn and look at you. It stared at you blankly for a moment as you stared back before it broke into a smile and babbled at you.

"Would you look at that." The woman cooed, "he hasn't smiled once since he lost his mother to the Absolute's army."

The very sight made you mind ache and twist. Thoughts of all the horrible ways you could end the small innocent life flooded your skull. Perhaps you could simply smash it, the little ball of goo and viscera that it is. Or maybe it would be fun to squeeze its little neck until its doll like eyes popped out of its skull and its neck snapped.

Your vision started to blur, your pulse pounding, hands shaking. You tried to regain your sanity, remembering the mediation exercises you had practiced with Halsin. First ground yourself, breathe, what can you hear, what can you see.

Breathe in, you heard the footsteps on the crowd.

Breathe out, you felt the cool breeze.

Breathe in, you smelled smoke and farm animals.

Breathe out, you heard the chatter of the crowd around you.

Breathe in, you heard the old woman speak. "Would you like to hold him?"

Breathe out, you could see the baby still smiling up at you.

Your mind cleared as your vision came back into focus. The Urge had passed for now and relief washed over you. You answered the woman, "Can I? Are you sure its okay?" You asked mostly to her but partly to yourself.

"Of course dear, he seems quite fond of you and it would give my old arms a much needed rest." The woman held little Arthur out to you.

You stood there stiff as a board not sure how you were meant to take the baby.

"Have you never held a baby before?" She asked noticing your apprehension.

You shook your head 'no'. Even if you could remember you doubted you had ever held a baby in your past, at least in a way that it's limbs stayed intact.

"Here, hold your arms like mine, almost like your making a basket."

You followed her example as best you could. The woman shifted the baby into your arms with out warning.

"There just like that! Be sure to support his head, see you're a natural." She encouraged you as you panicked with the infant in your grasp.

After an awkward moment of adjusting to the warm squirmy little weight in your arms, Arthur calmed and snuggled into your chest. The innocent little thing feel asleep in your arms happy and at peace. You were over come with emotion, it felt so sick and wrong, it shouldn't have been possible for you to hold something so precious. Yet there your were holding a baby gently without any intent to harm it. The feeling of his little body in your arms filled your heart with a feeling you didn't quiet understand but it brought tears to your eyes all the same.

*************

Ever since that night he had you restrained, Astarion had tried his damnedest to keep an eye on you. It figured the moment he got distracted by some snide comment from Shadowheart, you had vanished. He hadn't even noticed until he went to turn to you for back up only to discover you were gone. Panic over came him as he frantically scanned the crowd for any sign of you. Either you had been abducted by one of your countless enemies or your urge had drawn your attention away from the party. Both outcomes filled him with dread.

Without even a word to the others he rushed though the crowd. He smelled the air for any hint of blood, yours or your victim's. Nothing, at least you weren't hurt or hadn't hurt anyone else yet. He only grew more worried as he moved though the refugees with no sign of you, surly you couldn't have gotten far.

Just when he was sure you had been kidnapped by some villain never to be seen again, he found you. There you were with your back to him standing with some old woman. Whatever relief he felt was quickly replace with concern as he noticed how you rocked and swayed.

"Darling, what are you doing?" He approached you cautiously hoping he wasn't to late to save you from the urge.

"Oh, is this your husband? What a handsome young man." The old crone greeted.

Astarion ignored the woman only focused on stopping you from what ever nightmarish act you were about to commit. Before he could reach out to you and pull you way, you turned around to him.

"Astarion look! I'm holding a baby!" You beamed at him. You moved closer and whispered so only he could hear you, "and I'm not hurting him."

You were a sight to behold grinning from ear to ear with dried tears staining you cheeks. Just as you said, there in you arms was a fat little lump of a baby curled up and completely intact.

He wasn't sure why but seeing you standing there with a baby cradled in you arms made his cold heart ache. He was relieved you were safe, proud that you had fought through your urge, deeply sad - although that was nothing new; but there was something else, a longing he didn't understand. Not wanting to dwell on the feeling he turned his attention to the baby.

"Just look at the little thing, so cute and helpless." He smiled fondly at the infant.

You noticed the way he looked at the baby with such softness, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Can my husband hold him for a bit?" You asked the woman, not realizing how naturally the word 'husband' had rolled off your tongue.

"What?" Astarion was taken aback, "No, I couldn't possibly." He looked to the woman hoping she would object.

The woman gave the two of you a knowing look before answering, "of course dear."

You turned back to him, your eyes shining, holding out the baby, "only if you want you Starlight."

Astarion caved under your loving gaze, he hated how easily you swayed his heart. "well alright give it here, you know I can't say no to that face."

His action did not reflect his words as he stood there froze just as you had, not sure how to take the baby. If he had ever held a baby it was centuries ago long before he had been turned and far to long ago to remember.

"Here Star, hold you arms like mine." You instructed him just as the old woman had done for you before gently passing the baby into his arms.

The aching longing tore a hole in his heart as he held the sleeping infant in his arms. You felt it too as you watched him, your love, cradling the baby as if it were the most precious thing in the world. You moved closer to him warping an arm around his waist, you cuddled into his side as he relaxed into you resting his head against yours. The two of you didn't need words to understand what the other was feeling. The baby, although a source of pain, was also a symbol of your hope. Hope you'd both find freedom, hope you'd survive this whole ordeal, hope you'd have a future.

"Astarion, I-" You were cut off by a familiar voice calling out over the crowd breaking your tender moment.

"There they are! Hey!" Shadowheart was waving at you as she approached with Lae'zel close behind her.

As if snapped out of a trance Astarion quickly handed the baby back to his caregiver and thanked her. He whipped misty eye before either of them could notice.

"What the hells are you two doing, we've been looking everywhere." Shadowheart scolded, examining you both with suspicion.

"Sorry, I had another episode," You lied. "Thankfully Astarion found me before I could hurt anyone."

"Enough doddling, we've wasted enough time searching for you." Lae'zel turned as if to leave with out you. Shadowheart simply rolled her eyes, turning to follow.

"Come my love, we don't want to be left behind." Astarion spoke to you softly as laced his fingers with yours, pulling you toward the party. You waved goodbye to baby Arthur and the woman before turning to continue you journey.

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her. 

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before. 

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human. 

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere. 

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s. 

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response. 

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought. 

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more. 

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

 All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove. 

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

~

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records. 

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion. 

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise. 

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks. 

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

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Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

[k1ttybones]

Suffocating

‣ pairing: Legolas x Maid/Healer!reader

‣ words: 1639

‣ content: basically childhood friends, unbalanced power dynamic, Legolas is a littleee jealous and petty (as in like… a lot), Legolas being too clingy and a little questionable, suggestive near the end, pleading men <3

──────────────────

‣ summary: Legolas had chosen you to be by his side from first glance. Even before he could wield a bow, he saw through your status and deemed your soul the same as his. However, his affection for you can be a bit… suffocating.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Legolas had claimed you before he even knew your name. Call it fate if you will, but something indescribable had seized him the moment you were presented to his father. Like a ripe fruit you had been plucked from your cozy orphanage and displayed in front of the king. At the time you were not sure why you were in this place, a grand castle decorated with exquisite, flourishing fauna and marble cleaned so well it glinted in the sunlight, yet the prince very well knew. A nobody you were— simply an Elven child of mixed blood who had been found abandoned in Mirkwood’s forests— yet your excellence had soon shown itself in your healing. With a few whispered prayers and hands delicately placed, a wound could vanish within minutes. This is why you were here.

Mirkwood was exceptionally skilled in archery, but what was gained in one area was lost in another. The kingdom had healers, like many, yet none that could heal a wound with their own hands. So it was a surprise that you, an unassuming child, had been blessed with the gift of life. It did not take a council to decide that your gift must be fostered and taken care of like the most delicate sprout.

Although your skill was doted on, you, however, were not. You were an elf of mixed blood— the classic story of a rebellious Elven man who had seduced a human woman before vanishing for The Undying Lands was not unique. The story between an elf and human royalty was one that was respectable, yet this was not yours.

Although your royal guidance was intended to help you grow in your healing abilities, it became increasingly obvious your current job was not to heal the innocent. Instead, you were frequently assigned the task of assisting the prince after his rebellious endeavors. From healing his scraped knee after he hurled himself off a tree to even pouring his tea, you were practically his maid at this point.

However, Legolas did not see it as this— you did a lot for him, yes, but he found himself frequently getting into trouble and calling upon your help purposefully, simply longing for your care and attention. He did not have many other young elves to involve himself with, and you were perfectly fine as company. He even admired you, in fact, especially as he watched you use your healing gift on him. You both were taught basic skills such as how to wield a bow and how to analyze Elvish texts, yet you were oftentimes dragged away for additional training in your healing. Times like these he wondered if he was too dependent on you.

And now the prince, far past his coming-of-age ceremony, still wondered the same as he scanned the halls for your presence. His boots could be heard clicking against the pristine floor from even a man on the other side of the castle as he paced the area. Elves from Rivendell had arrived to discuss matters on the group of dwarves headed to reclaim their home from Smaug, and you were nowhere to be seen. Embarrassed to make his affection for you so obvious, he excused his worry as simply making sure you were not late to greet the guests.

“Y/N! Y/N, where in Middle-Earth have you wandered off to now?” He shouted, perhaps to himself. The maids rushing down the hallway did not give him a mere glance. His worry for you was not only typical, but also a frequent point of gossip. He let out a loud sigh and turned, frustrated, finally giving up in his search. He would definitely receive a scolding from his father at this point. Perhaps it would be worth it if only to share the burden of being late between the two of you. He hurriedly retraced his trail to the entrance of the castle, hoping the guests would still be there, yet he abruptly stopped as laughter floated through the halls.

He peered around the wall and outside into the garden, which held the source of the sound, and scowled at the sight he saw. You and one of the Rivendell elves— pale-skinned with hair various shades of hickory, undoubtedly one of Elrond’s sons— sitting on a bench and chatting— No, flirting. It was obvious with the way he was leaning into you, your face lit with joy at the jokes he charismatically threw. The sight was enough to make Legolas seethe with jealousy.

“Y/N.”

The unexpected sound of your name prompts you to jump a bit before looking towards the blond elf. You smile at the familiar face. “Legolas! Where have you been? The guests are already seated.”

“Well, that I would not know. I have been looking for you since I noticed your absence,” Legolas makes his way towards the two of you, eyeing the dark-haired elf as if he were goblin trash. “I see you have acquainted yourself with one of our dear guests.”

You rub the back of your neck apologetically, oblivious to the stare-down happening between the two. “Ah, I apologize. I was at the entrance long before they arrived, although I should have noticed you beforehand to ease your worries.”

Legolas is the first to break the glare, quickly changing his expression to one more gentle, more suitable to one as pure of heart as you. He crouches down to provide you comfort. “Of course. My worry for you is natural, yet it’s nothing to burden yourself with. May I?” The Elven prince takes your hand and holds it firm before you can even respond, almost as if the other may rip you away.

“Yes, but—“ You begin to protest as you look back towards the Rivendell elf, but he is the one to speak next.

“No worries, it is time we all join each other in the dining hall.” He huffs, clearly defeated. It is the prince of the kingdom he is visiting, after all.

And with that, Legolas guides you with him to the dining hall. The other merely trails behind in surrender.

With the rest of the night, Legolas is strangely distant. As you make your rounds offering tea to each elf, Legolas holds his hand over his teacup without so much as a simple “No, thank you.” Instead of contributing to the council like a respectable prince, he stays oddly silent and tightens his jaw in what seems to be annoyance. After a considerable time of him being obviously troubled about something, you follow his incomprehensible glare across the lengthy table to the elf you were speaking to earlier. You observe from the sidelines, expecting his glare to waver, yet it lingers. The other elf just seems to uncomfortably avoid eye contact. Even Thranduil notices enough to make an occasional irritated side glance at his son.

You simply excuse it as a harmless quarrel between princes.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As the moon exudes her care across the darkened kingdom, Legolas can not seem to quiet his mind as he lays down to rest. His eyebrows tense and his chest tightens at the image of the Rivendell elf practically courting you, and you enjoying it. The thought of you being carried away back to Rivendell by this elf seemed none other than a nightmare. And perhaps it was still possible— the Rivendell group had settled for staying in the guest chambers tonight— perhaps he was making his way to your chamber at this moment. He would knock on your door, gently, as to not startle you, the way Legolas had done so many times before— you would answer, dressed in silk, hair ruffled by your pillowy sheets. In a heartbeat he would confess his attraction from the moment he saw you. You would fall into his arms and he would hold you, softly, as if the dream could break. You both would join lips in a passion, and soon enough you would be his.

And soon enough Legolas is making his way to your door— not too far of a journey, considering your chambers are right next to each other. He pauses for a moment, and two, before he gathers the courage to lightly knock on the wooden door. He awaits your presence, a burning inside his core threatening to swallow him whole. As he waits, his mind trails to his previous nightmare. Perhaps he is too late, he thinks, perhaps this is a mistake—

And soon enough you are there, in front of him, dressed in silk and your hair ruffled from your pillowy sheets. He stands there for a moment, silent and flustered.

“Well?” You sigh sleepily, rubbing your eyes at your interrupted slumber, “Are you alright?”

He sighs. With eagerness or longing you cannot tell. “Tell me you do not want him.” He bluntly states, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He grips both sides of your doorway, leaning towards you, keeping himself from joining you into an embrace. You can see his knuckles nearly turn white.

Your eyes are wide now, confused. “Who— sorry?”

“The Rivendell elf. You do not want him. He is an adventurer, he knows no home. He is not right for you, I assure you, he knows nothing about you. You are just a pretty face to him, but I— I…” He pauses, gasps for air as if he has almost drowned, and completely stops at a loss for words.

You stare at him a moment, his eyes wild and pleading. From the soft gazes he’s given you when teaching you how to correctly hold a bow to the seething glare you saw from him last night, this is unlike anything you’ve seen.

“Legolas…” you begin, but words cannot fathom what you want to say. Instead you lift your hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his pointed ear, gazing at him with newfound vulnerability. The back of your hand trails down his neck before resting on his chest. “He is not the one I want.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

ok dang it’s like 1 am now. anyway sorry for cutting it off so abruptly I was starting to cringe a little and I just couldn’t do it. also thinking about adding 2 more parts to this but idk if I’ll have the motivation 🤕

[sserpente]

My Pleasure

Excerpt from Gortash's Private Memoirs, No. 48:

Quite recently, I have been able to observe an interesting phenomenon. The new tadpoles, as per my last visit to Moonrise Towers, are forming a protective layer, a membrane, around themselves, a process resembling that of a human or an elven embryo. These rather soft “eggs” filled with brine allow the tadpole to grow without any external influences which in turn improves its quality for later use.

In order to fully embrace this potential, I have a theory that once put into practice, will be exceeding the effectiveness of the brine pools, enabling the production of more tadpoles directly in Baldur’s Gate—as soon as I’ve had it relocated to the city. And all I will need is a woman.

A/N: Okay, hear me out. This is the most depraved, most vile, most perverted, and filthiest thing I have ever written. I actually pondered for a couple of days whether I should post it or not but you know what? Fuck it. The Emperor inspired me. Somehow I really enjoyed writing it and I bet there’ll be at least one person out there who will enjoy reading it and that’s good enough for me. Please, for the love of the gods, HEED THE WARNINGS before proceeding and if you realise this story isn’t for you…don’t keep on reading, don’t traumatise yourself. And if anyone who worked on BG3 one way or another comes across this Imagine and wants to read it…please just don’t? :D

Words: 4435

Warnings: dub-con & non-con smut, abduction & captivity, angst

Additional NSFW warnings: tentacles, ovipositor (yeah that’s a thing I had to google it), eggs, bondage, forced orgasms, edging, mechanical sex device, CMNF, sexual submission, scientific experiment

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 48

The increased production of altered tadpoles is coming to fruition but I cannot help but ponder over how to guarantee success even quicker. Last night, I had a devilishly promising idea. The tadpoles thrive best in warm, dark, and wet environments, hence the brine pools in which they are birthed.

Quite recently, I have been able to observe an interesting phenomenon. The new tadpoles, as per my last visit to Moonrise Towers, are forming a protective layer, a membrane, around themselves, a process resembling that of a human or an elven embryo. These rather soft “eggs” filled with brine allow the tadpole to grow without any external influences which in turn improves its quality for later use.

In order to fully embrace this potential, I have a theory that once put into practice, will be exceeding the effectiveness of the brine pools, enabling the production of more tadpoles directly in Baldur’s Gate—as soon as I’ve had it relocated to the city. And all I will need is a woman.

The idea is to insert the tadpole eggs into the vaginal canal of an elven, a human, or a tiefling woman (or any person with a uterus) where they will remain until they are fully grown. If my theory is correct, the eggs will allow the host to easily expel them once they are ready. From there, the eggs will be placed back in a single remaining brine pool where they can hatch, ready for insertion into a citizen.

Your journey, unfortunate as it was, began innocently enough. You came to Baldur’s Gate seeking refuge after the army of the Absolute laid waste to your home. You had nothing left. No gold, no possessions, and nothing more than the clothes you were wearing on your body when you fled.

Baldur’s Gate was your only hope—until it wasn’t. Perhaps the alarm bells should have started ringing when after the eerie assessment of a Steel Watcher—the new guards of the city, so you learned—you were let through past poor and terrified families with children, only to be escorted directly to Wyrm’s Rock by a Fist.

Oblivious still, you obliged, thinking they would need you to register, to record your name. But your journey led you further until you found yourself in the dungeons of the fortress.

And then—darkness, as if someone had taken your memory and left you with nothing but pictorial crumbs and aching limbs.

“Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?” Lord Enver Gortash stepped into view after a heavy door fell shut behind him, a sly and cold smile on his lips.

“Please…please let me go.”

It was a game the two of you played. Gortash would show up, loom over you, and mock, tracking his progress—your progress—and you’d plead for him for mercy. The taste of humiliation had long gone stale. Your half-torn dress, the last one you’d owned, was in shreds, revealing your entire lower body and the most intimate parts of you to his calculated gaze.

“You know I cannot do that, my dear. Not when we are so close to success.”

You were his first, he’d said. That he’d seen you through the eyes of his Steel Watch. That you made the perfect test subject.

Lord Enver Gortash—the people’s hero, the city’s saviour…the ruthless tyrant in disguise.

Bound and helpless and at his mercy, he’d taken you captive and had you brought to a secret hideout underneath the Upper City. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks.

You didn’t know what his plan was. He’d never told you what it was that he wanted from you—what he wanted from your body. Only that not a single day passed on which you were not being violated. Not by him…but by whatever thing he’d tamed. A monster? Perhaps. You’d never seen its face, never even seen a real body—only its long phallic tentacles with a small opening boring themselves deep into your core, again and again, and again.

It was the same procedure every day. Of course, it was. This was your life now. Your body was a tool for whatever sick game Gortash was playing.

You heard them before you saw them. The slimy, slithering sounds of those things. The archduke raised his fist, a purple gemstone illuminating the dimly lit room he kept you in.

A whimper escaped your lips when the tentacles writhed around your thighs and your waist, holding you in place for the vile act they were about to perform on you. There was no pain, at least—the tentacle slipped inside you effortlessly, its shiny saliva, discharge, whatever it was, acting as an odourless lubricant. In, out, in, out. It wasn’t getting any pleasure from the act, nor was it trying to bestow it on you, this much you’d learned quickly. This was about something else entirely. The tentacle curled inside you as if to probe you, to explore you. You winced when it slid across your walls and pressed against your cervix for a moment. Then…it stilled until eventually, it released you and retreated back into the darkness.

Gortash sighed—disappointed by this outcome—he was every day. “A shame. There must be something I am missing.”

“Please…if you let me go, I swear I won’t tell a soul about this.”

Gortash chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t, my dear. But alas, I still need you.”

“Why me?” you whined. “What are you doing to me? What is this…this thing?”

“So many questions… Well, I suppose I can answer one of them at least. Why you? Because it was convenient. You are not Baldurian. Your absence from the city will go unnoticed. You are young, potent, durable…you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, my dear.”

“F-for what? Durable for what? For…for this?”

Gortash only chuckled in response. His dark eyes fell on the half-eaten stew from a few hours ago when one of his men you’d recognised as a Banite, reluctantly fed it to you.

“I’ll have something else brought down for you to eat. You’ll need your strength if our little experiment is to work.”

“N-No, fuck you! Please, don’t leave. Please, just…just stop, please, I’ll do anything, please!” You thrashed against your bonds, hot tears burning in your eyes.

Gortash smirked. “Such inappropriate language for a lady. I shall see you tomorrow, my dear.”

Your screams and curses ricocheted off the walls as he left, leaving you to your fate once again and to ponder over how travelling to Baldur’s Gate as an innocent refugee had turned your life into an utter nightmare.

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 49

It turns out that the brain was rejecting the girl for a very specific reason. I was missing a rather significant variable. Arousal. In order for a female to grow warm, wet, and receptive, in this case for the tadpole eggs, she too needs to be in a, let us say, welcoming state.

The tadpoles are used to a wet environment such as that—the vaginal canal will therefore have to replicate it if the brain is to deposit the eggs inside of her.

Now it is highly unlikely to get the test subject into such an aroused state without any external help and additional stimulation. The girl is terrified enough as is, even if I did command the brain to work her to climax and then keep her in a libidinous state, the attempt would prove fruitless.

Taking care of the matter myself is unthinkable, of course. I am Lord Enver Gortash, it is beneath me to lay a hand on a poor refugee girl to pleasure her of all things—even though I will admit that the thought has crossed my mind. My own needs have come rather short since the retrieval of the Crown and with the Urge gone, I have no one else to blow off some steam with every now and then.

Be that as it may, over the last week, I have created a contraption that will easily get the job done for me and simplify this little experiment immensely. In order for it to work, it is of idle importance to focus on the clitoral region. My contraption will stimulate the area with both suction and vibrations.

Connected directly to the brain, it can be powered for a long period of time, enabling me to keep the girl in a constant state of arousal without my interference.

And, on a personal note, the result will truly be a sight to behold.

Gortash did not return the next day, nor the day after. You remained sleepless most nights, dozing off every now and then during the day. Not that you were able to distinguish between day and night anyway. You counted the meals, however. Seven. Seven days went by without him continuing to torment you, and even though the suspense was killing you, the retreating soreness in your aching core, that reminder of those tentacles claiming your cunt for themselves, ebbing away slowly, was a welcome break.

On day eight, the tyrant returned. Your stomach churned when you heard him approach, the way his steps sounded long engrained in your brain.

“Good morning, my dear. I sure hope you haven’t missed me too much. My apologies for neglecting you. I had a couple of things to take care of—archduke duties, you understand.”

“No, please…please, just…”

“Hush now, my dear. Lest I’ll gag you. I believe I realised what my mistake was. The brain has no grounds for breeding if the host is not receptive. It’s kind of obvious once you think about it, really.”

Breeding? “The b-brain? What brain?”

His response never came. You watched him, terrified, as he raised his fist, his purple gemstone glowing yet again.

He spoke up when those loathsome tentacles wrapped around your thighs and your waist to hold you in place, their wet squelching noises sending ice-cold shivers up and down your spine.

“Oh gods…no, please no… s-stop…make it stop…you don’t have to do this, please!”

The archduke did not react—at least not in a way you’d like him to. Instead, he stepped forward, an eerie metal contraption with four metal claw arms and a small, suspicious-looking hole in his hands.

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. Today is going to be a lot more pleasurable for you than usual.” With that, and ignoring your weak protests, he latched the metal device onto your exposed cunt. The claw arms sprang into action and gripped you immediately, wrapping around the very crease where your thighs and your pubic bone met, the other two dug into your butt cheeks, clinging on to you, lodging the contraption in place. Gortash pressed it down on you further until the round opening enveloped your clit.

You froze. Was he going to hurt you? Torture you? Even without extensive biology lessons on human anatomy at school, it was common knowledge the clitoris had over eight thousand nerve endings. It was sensitive. The pain this little device could inflict…

He left you no time to ponder over it. It hummed to life, tightening around your cunt. But instead of pain, what rippled through you was…pleasure. A gentle suction increasing gradually, combined with soft pulsing vibrations pampering your sensitive bundle of nerves peacefully, having you grow more and more…aroused.

No. This was wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling this way, not here, not when…you gasped when Gortash placed his hand on your bare stomach, the metal claws of his jewellery caressing your skin almost gently.

“That’s it, my dear. Let it happen. You are going to enjoy this one way or another so there is no use fighting it.”

“W-Why are you doing this?” you breathed out.

“You’ll see soon enough. You are going to be part of something extraordinary, dear. You should be honoured.”

You didn’t feel honoured. But you did feel arousal. Your breathing quickened, your core growing warm, wet. It felt…good. And that, given your hopeless situation, was horrifying. You didn’t want this, not like this, not with this faceless beast violating your body, and not in front of him. He had no right to watch you during such an intimate moment and yet…when the suction on your clit increased once again, a moan escaped your lips. Whatever this device was, it had but one purpose—to force an orgasm from you.

Panting, you writhed against your bonds, the tentacles only tightening around you in response and the suction and the vibrations increasing as if the more you resisted, the more Gortash—and whatever this thing was—wanted you to relax into it.

The thick tentacle inside you moved with tenacity, probing and prodding where it didn’t belong. Only this time…this time your body couldn’t help but welcome it. You were lost. Lost in the pleasure, the bliss forced upon you. And the more time passed…the longer Gortash watched every single one of your desperate movements…the more any coherent thoughts left your mind until all there was left was an overwhelming desire…to come.

He was edging you, biding his time. His dark eyes were glued on your pussy as the thick tentacle disappeared inside you again and again and again. Squelching wet sounds echoed through the dimly lit room, riling you up even further. It was your own slickness this time producing these noises…and the more your arousal grew, the more you found yourself giving up all refusal.

You let your head fall back, unable to escape the invasive treatment any longer.

“That should suffice now. You’ve done well, my dear.” Gortash’s hand wandered down to your lower belly, the purple gemstone glowing. “Let us take this up a notch now, shall we?”

“N-n-no…”

Your weak protest fell on deaf ears. Without any forewarning, the pressure on your clit increased even more, the suction growing almost painful. You couldn’t have stopped it even if you had wanted to; the pleasure rippling through you like lightning in a thunderstorm conjured by the gods as you fell apart before him, your wet and aching walls clenching and contracting around the still moving tentacle inside you. You gave in, letting your orgasm consume you. The relief was so overwhelming you were on the verge of tears once the last waves of pleasure subsided and left you shaking in your bonds.

Gortash chuckled darkly. “Bravo…” he praised, his tone condescending, almost mocking.

But this wasn’t over yet, for it was then you felt something being released into your warmth, the tentacle still buried deep in your pussy pumping something into you. Gortash pressed his palm down on your lower belly as if to confirm what was happening.

Your eyes widened as it popped into you, the momentary pressure making you flinch.

“Good, good…keep going.” He wasn’t addressing you anymore. But there was something else you realised. Whatever these tentacles were, whatever they belonged to, they were pumping their eggs into you. Another one plopped in, then another, then another. You whimpered, fear digging its claws deep into your intestines, your heart pounding.

You counted five eggs until it finally stopped and the tentacle retreated. Trembling and with chattering teeth, you found Gortash’s satisfied expression.

“Very good…”

It was his words that finally triggered your full-blown panic, the shock of what had just happened sinking in. You couldn’t feel the eggs inside you anymore, they were small enough not to stretch you out painfully but knowing they were there in the first place…you gasped for air, fending off a panic attack. What if they hatched inside of you? What if whatever was growing inside you now would eventually bite and claw its way out, ripping you open?

“P-please, please, I beg you…get them out of me, please. Please do something, please, please, please…get them o-out of me…” Your words were drowned in sobs and tears, yet Gortash remained unfazed.

“There, there, there is nothing to worry about, my dear. The eggs won’t have to stay up there for too long. A couple of days, at most. Do not attempt to push them out before then,” he demanded—and the fear of what he might do to you if you disobeyed was somehow even greater than what the eggs inside you might do to you after what he already put you through.

“Am I going to die? Is this going to kill me?” you choked out.

“Of course not. Not if you behave. Rest now. I shall return to you soon, my dear. Don’t go anywhere.” He removed his hand from your lower belly and left with a malicious chuckle.

Gortash did not return for another five days, yet his contraption remained latched onto your body, unwillingly bestowing pleasure on you and keeping you in a constant state of arousal, edging you—but never allowing you to finish. To keep the eggs wet. To keep them warm and comfortable. Soon…soon…

Soon this would all be over and perhaps then the tyrannical archduke would let you go, surely. There were no thoughts remaining in your head other than your freedom and relief—sexual relief. Every cell of your body was on fire, and you were sure that the slightest touch, perhaps from a clawed hand, could toss you over the edge and have you coming for hours.

Thinking straight was not an option anymore. It was a luxury you couldn’t afford, not with your nerves turning into lava. You used to welcome the breaks in between—now, they were pure torture, a merciless reminder that Gortash held your pleasure in his hands—and he wasn’t even here.

Perhaps the fact you stopped eating by day three was what had him pay you another visit. Perhaps he merely thought that those disgusting eggs inside of you were ready to hatch. You didn’t feel any different down there. They didn’t grow in size, didn’t move, didn’t poke. But knowing they were there…

You took a deep breath when the door opened and you recognised his footsteps approaching, preparing to start the so-familiar game of begging.

“P-please…” But this time, it was different. You didn’t want to ask him to stop. You wanted him to end it. To finish it—to let you experience the relief he’d been withholding from you for the past five days.

“Please what, my dear? You’re doing quite well…though I am a little concerned you are refusing the food I had my servants bring down. This isn’t some sort of belated rebellion, is it?”

You fought hard to shake your head, tears of exhaustion burning in your eyes. You flinched when the metal contraption hummed to life yet again, vibrating and sucking and forcing you to the edge within seconds.

“P-please…I need to come…I can’t…I can’t…take it anymore. It’s t-too much…please…”

“Hmm…” It was gone before you could be sure but for a moment, you believed to spot genuine desire in his dark eyes. His gaze skimmed over your helpless and trembling body, over your hardened nipples poking through the ruined fabric of your dress, drenched in sweat, and over your exposed sex gushing with your juices. “I don’t see why not. I think we can take the next step. Come, my dear.”

His words alone would have been enough to make you oblige, yet as if on cue, the device’s efforts intensified too. You were barely able to process how fast it tossed you down an endless cliff of bliss and relief. Your orgasm was almost painful as pleasure as sweet as honey and as sharp as glass pulsed through you, making you see stars.

You could feel the eggs now. You were contracting around them, your body forcing them out.

“Very good,” Gortash purred. “Keep going. Push. Them. Out.”

And so you did. Eager to be rid of the foreign spawn resting inside of you. You took a deep breath, the intensity of your climax still clouding your senses, and pushed. At this point, you wouldn’t even have cared if you had peed yourself right in front of him. All you wanted was for this to be over and…more pleasure.

What?

The first two eggs popped out of you, covered in your slick juices and you propped yourself up as best as you could to catch a glimpse of them. Then you wished you hadn’t. They were almost see-through and milky, a tadpole-shaped creature swimming inside acidic-looking water. You were even more eager now to get them out of you, pushing even harder.

Another two eggs plopped out, followed quickly by the last one. You breathed out, relieved. Finally. They’re gone…they’re gone…

Gortash snapped his fingers and seemingly out of nowhere, a Banite hurried toward you to collect the eggs with thick leather gloves on. Where he took them, you didn’t even want to find out. You were glad they were out of sight. And then, at last, he removed the contraption and set it aside.

Your clit was numb—fuck, your entire pussy was numb, and yet…as his fingers brushed over your pelvis…you moaned.

“You have become part of a scientific breakthrough today, my dear. You should be proud.”

“I…I’m…I…”

“Hmm? What’s that? Gods, look at you, you’re a mess.” His eyes found your dripping sex, lingering there a little too long. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t shake your head. You didn’t deny it. Your walls were tingling, needy for something else to mould around. Because he was right. You did need more. And you hated your body for it.

“Beg me,” he demanded.

Your eyes widened in response.

“I…I…”

“Go ahead. Beg me. You want something from me, my dear.”

You swallowed. There wasn’t much of your pride left anyway. “P-please…”

“Please what?”

“Please…h-help me.”

Gortash tilted his head, clearly amused by your weak request—but he seemed satisfied.

You didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified when he opened his trousers and pulled out his cock. You had affected him. He was hard. Or perhaps it was the simple fact you were in such a submissive state that had gotten him so aroused.

He positioned himself between your legs, his red tip pressing against your slick entrance. There was no need to prepare you for this after all. One way or another…you had begged him for it.

Gortash pushed inside with but one long thrust, slipping inside you to the hilt. You whimpered when his pelvis, lined with curly black hair, brushed against your clit. It was no gentle lovemaking. It was pure, carnal fucking.

He withdrew almost entirely, his fingers digging into your thighs. The metal claws hurt like a bitch but you were so beyond any sensation aside from pleasure you barely registered it. When he plunged back in, you gasped for air, his steady and frantic rhythm eliciting moan after moan after moan.

This…was heavenly. His strokes were caressing your walls, hitting all those pleasurable spots times and times again until you turned into an all but whining mess on the brink of orgasm.

“I can feel you tightening around me…” he purred, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Go ahead. Come. Come.”

His words were like a trigger. Unable to resist, you threw your head back, clenching your fists. Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, pulling you into a restless sea of bliss. You contracted around him, your sex begging him for his seed.

Your eyes widened when he groaned and with one final thrust, buried himself as deep inside you as he could and stilled. You were not on birth control… you could only pray that Gortash had planned ahead for this.

His breathing calmed again, and so did yours. Eventually, after a few moments of surprisingly comfortable silence, he withdrew, sending a wet noise through the dimly lit room. He tucked his cock away as if none of this had just happened. When you looked up, you noticed the satisfied smirk in his eyes.

“Please don’t…put eggs in me again, please… I’ll do anything!” And you meant it. Perhaps it was your mushy brain malfunctioning as a result of being edged for so long. And now that Gortash himself had taken pleasure from you…he might feel something like empathy for you?

“Anything?” He smirked. But the tyrant ignored your pathetic request. “Do you feel better now, my dear?”

You nodded, unable to lie even if you had wanted to.

He chuckled and turned to leave. “Good. I’ll have someone sent down to get you out of these bonds.”

He’d let you go. It was over. You’d done it… Against all reason, you smiled, relief flushing your entire body.

Gortash’s Private Memoirs, No. 50

I spoke too harshly, perhaps. The tadpoles, just like I predicted, are doing fine, of course. They are stronger than ever and developed much quicker than even I anticipated. I will soon have some Black Gauntlets sent out to fetch some more subjects.

But this very first test subject…I found myself quite surprised I enjoyed holding her pleasure in my hands. After the insertion of the eggs, she turned into a helpless mess, completely defenceless. She practically begged me to fuck her. And I must admit, the sight of her slick sex did stir a fire in my loins. So I obliged. For I, Lord Enver Gortash, too have needs, do I not?

The girl did her job well. She was…as obedient as can be in her predicament. Such behaviour should be rewarded. Needless to say, she begged me to let her go after I had my fill of her. But I think I have a better idea. I have long been toying with the idea of getting myself a concubine to keep my bed warm at night. And after what I have put her through, she is way too terrified to cause me any trouble or pry into my business.

The plan will be as follows: Send the Banites in the Lower City and Rivington on a quest to find as many hosts as possible. Anyone with a uterus will do. They will focus on the poor and the few refugees that made it into the city, of course. These disappearances have to remain inconspicuous, after all.

Next, I will have the underground facility in the Upper City near the brain expanded and hire more servants (or slaves, whichever is at my disposal when the time comes) to take care of their well-being while they breed the eggs. As for the girl…she will be mine alone.

[yourplayersaidwhat]

OH MY GOD YOUR MY SON!

Context: I'm playing a bard [Rebka] who use to be an adventurer, and is well out of practice (thus why she started at level 1). She stopped being an adventurer when she became pregnant with a fellow party member's child. Flash forward to the current campaign, that party member of hers became her husband who cheated on her with a very powerful wizard who cursed their son [Justi]. 

I told the dm the only thing I for sure want is that her son is cursed to be a bird, and is just starting to realize that his mom is kind of cool (of course Justi was an angsty teen).  I have not informed my party about the bird being her son, nor do they know his name. They just know the bird is very important to my character.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DM: Alright, since [Player 1]'s character died last session you are all about to meet his new character. But first. Rebka, roll perception check as you wake up. 

Me: *Hisses* That's like a 10?

DM: Good enough because your character would lose her shit if she noticed her bird gone. Like he is now. 

Me: I'm immediately up and causing all sorts of chaos. Throwing things, waking others, destroying tents. 

DM: Roll athletics with advantage because momma bear panic. Everyone else, roll perception. 

Player 2: 7

Player 3: 19

Player 4: 18

DM: Alright, [3] and [4] you see a teenaged boy standing, watching all of this chaos. [Player 1]?

Player 1: Alright, you see this half-elven teenager, about 16 or so. Dark brown hair, almost like emo cut. Bright green eyes and he's just watching this chaos unfold. His name is Justi--

Me: OH MY GOD IS HE MY SON! DM DID YOU UNCURSE MY BIRD?

Player 2: YOU HAVE A SON?

Player 3: YOUR BIRD WAS CURSED?

Player 4: YOUR BIRD WAS YOUR SON!?

Player 1: I'm actually as surprised as you. I wanted to play a cool warlock teen and DM said he had an idea. 

DM: I did.

Me: OH MY GOD WHY AM I'M ADVENTURING NOW!

Player 1: Obviously bonding time! Come on mom!

Me: The disrespect of these teenagers!

[lovestruckelf]

Hi, I stumbled upon your post that you wanted to write a one shot and I think I happen to have an idea. It’s Thranduil x reader one shot. Reader asks him for an archery class but the elven king himself didn’t practice for centuries. Thranduil agrees because he has a crush on reader, but is really nervous in the process. And during their one on one class he obviously tries to find out if the feelings are mutual. Please don’t limit yourself on how sweet or dirty it could be. TIA!

Thank you so much for your request and my first one shot! I adored your idea and it was so much fun to write. Gave me all the giddies. I hope I did it justice <3

Please enjoy x

JUST LET GO (ao3 link)

Grabbing your bow and quiver full of freshly made arrows, you venture out into the forest of Mirkwood to practice your skills. Being a warrior of Mirkwood, it is essential for you to stay on top of your game. Although you are a relatively young elf being almost two centuries old, you were still fast becoming one of Mirkwood’s finest even though you had not yet seen war. Your name was known among your peers and mentors for a reason, however, not for your skills with a bow. Your skills lay with the sword but this was not enough for you. Being the young, tenacious elf you are, you sought to be the best in all forms of defence and the Mirkwood elves were known for their skilled archers. Being a proud Woodland warrior, you would not tarnish that reputation. The goal of one day joining the King’s guard was a priority and you knew that being skilled and highly regarded in both the sword and the bow would better your chances.

As you walked through the halls with your weapon, you didn’t notice the King catch a glimpse of you walking by from within a nearby room. He was speaking with one of his advisors but when his eyes caught sight of your determined face with the beautiful shade of your hair that was uniquely yours, his attention was elsewhere. The King had first taken notice of you when he was observing a training lesson from his private balcony which overlooked the kingdom. The way you moved with such poise and elegance, taking down your opponents as if it were child’s play. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you were dancing around with the sword. Being the swordsman he was, Thranduil decided to take it upon himself to conduct a few of your group training sessions. These were rare and no one knew it but it was just an excuse to learn more about you. The first time he had challenged you in front of your peers rendered him speechless. Your swords would clash and the looks you gave him with that cheeky little smirk each time you blocked his attacks made the usually composed and strong ellon weak at the knees.

Thranduil looked back to his adviser and quickly excused himself, intrigued about where you could be heading with such determination in your stride. He decided to follow you from a distance, curious that you carried your bow and quiver. With your eyes forward, you reached the entrance to the palace and walked through the gate towards the dense forest. You found the perfect spot to practice your shooting and set yourself up, removing your quiver from your back and placing it on the ground leaning it up against a boulder. Closing your eyes, you took in the gentle musical tones of the forest around you, tuning yourself into the surroundings. Loading the bow with an arrow, you opened your eyes and marked a dead leaf hanging from the branch of a nearby tree. A perfect target for practice. Raising the bow up and pulling the string back to your cheek, you squinted your eyes to lock onto your target and held your breath as you gently released the arrow.

Missed.

Taking a breath, you tell yourself that you’re warming up as you load another arrow into your bow, and once again take aim at the dead leaf. You squint your eyes again focusing your vision, holding your breath to steady your hand, and fire the arrow across the way towards the leaf.

Another miss.

Being the perfectionist you are, you feel a slight sense of frustration building up inside you. You were an elf! You should be naturally skilled with the bow. The prince makes it look so easy. You take a deep breath, pushing down the frustration and focus on the leaf once more. Analysing how it moves on the gentle breeze. You weren’t aware, however, of a pair of stormy blue and silver eyes watching you from a small distance. They watched your every move; the way your chest stilled when you held your breath, the squint of your eyes just before you released an arrow, how tall and proud you stood with the bow pulled taut. You were a vision of perfection, and you didn’t know it, but you were the beginning of the King’s undoing. Thranduil watched as you loaded a bow for the third time and released an arrow towards the leaf. The projectile just skimmed past the side of it and you released a sigh of defeat. “How does the prince do this?!” you exclaimed, without realising there were ears to hear you.

An involuntary chuckle escaped the King's lips and the sound made you load another arrow and pull it taut as you snapped your body around to search for where the sound came from. Using your acute elven eyesight, you searched in between the trees and through the long grass but could not see any sign of disturbance. That’s when a slow movement caught your eyes from behind a tree and you pulled the bowstring taut against your face one more time. “Whoever you are, I would advise you to reveal yourself.” Your breath is controlled and your hands steady. Movement could be seen as the tall ellon took a step from behind the tree and faced you with his hands up as a sign of peace.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle. Although, judging by your aim I do not have much reason to worry about being injured”, Thranduil said with a small smirk. You immediately put the bow down, gently loosening your grip on the string and the arrow fell to the ground. You bow your head low and begin apologising. “My King, please forgive me! I did not realize who it was when I aimed my weapon at you!”

Thranduil lets his hand fall back to his sides as he gently smirks at you. “Worry not, no harm was done and like I said, I’m not sure I was at any real risk to begin with.” You bring your face up to look upon your King’s and see his smirk. You thought to yourself, “Is he… teasing me?”. Surely not, he was the King! He was always strictly business. “My Lord, I fear you would be correct. Still, it can’t hurt to at least look threatening to a potential attacker.”

Thranduil nods his head, eyes never leaving yours. “No, I suppose you’re right. And you did do just that. You looked extremely… powerful.” Your eyes stare at Thranduil’s across the way and you’re a little stunned. Did the King of Mirkwood just give you a compliment? You’re unsure how to respond so you bend down to pick up your arrow from the ground and load your bow again. “Excuse me, my Lord, I must continue practicing my skills. As you have unfortunately witnessed, they are lacking.”

Thranduil did not take his eyes off you as he watched you bend over to retrieve your arrow. He started to feel uncomfortable as his thoughts wandered, imagining you in that position in front of him. He quickly shook his head of the thoughts before you turned back around to face him, not wanting you to see the look in his eyes. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you.” Thranduil gestured for you to continue with a motion of his hand. You got the distinct impression that Thranduil was not going to leave and you turn your head over your shoulder slightly. “Is it your wish to stay and observe, my Lord?” you asked nervously. “In fact it is. Would you mind?” The King responded, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “If it is my King’s wish then I would not deny you but perhaps I should take advantage of this situation a little.” You replied with the confidence to momentarily wind Thranduil in surprise. Thranduil stood tall and froze for a second at your words before speaking. “T… take advantage, you say? What were you thinking?” his mind going to places he could not speak of.

Surely your elvish ears had deceived you but you swore you heard the great King of Mirkwood stutter. “Well, you are a formidable warrior, my Lord. Your experience with weaponry rivals all others within the realm and you have challenged me in training with our abilities of the sword. Will you not now offer your mentorship to assist me with refining my skills with the bow?” Thranduil stood there taking in your innocent request, shaking off the images his mind conjured up when you mentioned taking advantage of the situation. He chuckled to himself at how foolish he could have been to believe you might have suggested a different activity. “Ah, I fear that I would not be able to teach you anything more than what your mentor has shared, my Lady. As you know, my skills lay with the sword, and I have not picked up a bow in many many hundreds of years, so I will be a little… rusty. My son would be a far better teacher.”

Feeling disappointed by his response, you decided to press the request. “Yes, my Lord. Legolas is certainly skilled with the bow, however, he is not here,” You say as you move your head around indicating the lack of the prince’s presence. “And you are. Come, show me the skills of the Elvenking. You cannot perform any worse than myself.”. You hold the bow out in front of you indicating that the King should take it. Thranduil looked from your eyes, to the bow and back up to your eyes while swallowing. It was a challenge, and he could not back down from it. “Very well, just do not expect much,” he said as he took the bow.

As his hand came down to grab the weapon, Thranduil accidentally brushed the top of yours which gripped it tightly. Electricity shot from both your hands and you both looked into each other's eyes for but a moment. Your breath hitched in your chest as did his and you saw his pupils dilate minutely. You looked away as you began to feel a little warm and handed him an arrow. Thranduil swallowed hard and took the arrow from you, loading it into the bow. “Where were you aiming before you caught me?” he asked teasingly. You looked up at him and gave him a small smile in return, “The low-hanging dead leaf just above the river” He looked in the direction you pointed and saw the leaf in question. Raising the bow and taking aim, he took only a second to lock onto the target before releasing the arrow. The leaf was shot from the branch and the arrow landed in a log on the opposite side of the river.

You stand there with your mouth slightly open, “What was that you said about being… rusty, was it?” Thranduil stood tall, a little proud with himself, hoping you would be impressed. “It was an inanimate object, hardly a challenge” he teased. You scoff, “Oh thank you very much!” you reply a little offended by his statement. It was an inanimate object that you had failed to hit. Realising how you may have taken his meaning, Thranduil turned to look at you, “My Lady, no offence was intended. You just lack the practice. Come stand here and I’ll guide your hand.” He suggested as he motioned for you to stand in front of him.

You hesitated for a moment, realising how close you would be standing to your King. The idea both excited you and made you a little uncomfortable. Sensing your unease, Thranduil held out a hand and looked at you, “Come, I do not bite... unless it is your wish”. Your eyes shot up to his and you noticed his mischievous little smirk. Blood began rushing to your face from the forwardness of his words and you weren’t sure how to respond. You began fumbling with words that tried to form, “My L… Lord. I… would never…” but you were quickly cut off by Thranduil chuckling but still holding out his hand. “My Lady, I tease. Please take my hand and let’s refine these skills of yours”.

Taking a deep breath and with your mind reeling, you slowly reach out your hand which was slightly trembling and placed it within his own. When he felt the warmth of your palm in his, Thranduil gently closed his fingers around it as though he was grasping the most delicate flower. The same electricity that was briefly felt before was now ignited and both of your senses came alive. You both looked from your joined hands to the other’s face and took in the moment, the silence being broken by Thranduil’s words, “Shall we?” he asked as his blue-silver eyes bore into yours. “Please” you responded but the word came out as more of a whisper as you were too lost in the moment.

Gently, Thranduil pulled you in front of him and handed you the bow with an arrow for you to load it with. He instructed you to aim it next to his arrow that was still lodged in the log across the river. Bringing the bow string up to your face as you pulled it taut you felt Thranduil’s breath on your ear as he brought his lips down to the side of your face. “May I?” he asked, seeking permission to place his hand on your arms. Too scared to speak for fear of fumbling the words, you just nodded your head while you kept your breathing in check. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of his body behind yours as his arms came around your form, enveloping you within his long limbs as his hands gently grasped your wrists which were on the bow and the string. “Breath” he whispered in your ear as he felt your body tense under his touch. “I believe I see the issue. Do you usually hold your breath before you fire an arrow?”

Again, worried to speak from fear of embarrassment you just nodded your head. “That's what is holding you back, my Lady.” Thranduil’s right hand that was grasping your right wrist, which was in place pulling the bowstring taut, suddenly relaxed its grip as he slowly slid his palm along your forearm trying to relax your body. He was taking in the moment as much as you were and he felt his heart flutter as his hand roamed your skin. You let out a sigh not from becoming relaxed, but from the deep sensations that were building within you from his touch. Thranduil heard your exhale and kept his voice low and soft while he spoke in your ear, “That’s it,” he whispered, “Let go, feel the earth around you. Allow the sensations to pour into your mind” You briefly closed your eyes as the sensations were becoming too much to handle but not the ones of which he spoke. Ever so carefully, he brought his right hand over the top of yours which was controlling the arrow while his left remained holding your left wrist. Gently, he moved the bow slightly as his face was almost resting on the side of yours, intending on seeing exactly what you see. “There. Are you ready?” he whispered again. Nodding your head once more, Thranduil smiled slightly and almost undid you with his next command, “Then let go.”.

You found yourself letting go in more ways than one. Yes, you released the arrow but as it flew across the way, you also felt your self-control letting go and realised that the King had you so worked up that you would do anything he desired. As fast as this realisation hit you, the arrow landed perfectly next to Thranduil’s. The King had yet to release you as he watched the arrow fly, he remained in place as it landed where it was intended. Even when it hit the target, he did not move his face or arms. “There, you see? You just need to breathe and let go”. Still holding the bow and being held by Thranduil, you slowly turned your head over your shoulder to look at him. He noticed your breathing had increased and he swallowed a little, feeling nervous, and looking down at your lips then back up at your eyes. “Yes, like that” he whispered, his lips centimetres away from yours, “Breathe.” He was telling you just as much as he was telling himself. “Just…” he moved closer, “…like…”, he closed the gap further as he looked for any hesitation in your eyes, “…that…” and when he saw none, he closed the space between you and placed his lips tenderly on yours. You felt your entire body react to the feel of his lips on yours and your eyes fluttered shut.

Thranduil was feeling the effects as deeply as you were. This outcome had not been his intent, it was not his goal when he followed you out here but he was savouring each second. How many times had he imagined you this close to him, his arms around you as he caressed your neck with his lips. How many nights had he laid in bed, seeing you next to him in his mind, touching you in ways to show you his true feelings. Here you were, right now with a beating heart allowing him to kiss you. Thranduil’s grips on your wrists loosened you realised that they were they only reason the bow you held was still upright. As soon as the support vanished, your arms fell to your sides, and you involuntarily dropped the bow to the forest floor. You felt one of Thranduil’s hands come to the side of your waist and gently turn your body so you were facing him, the other hand he brought up to your face, holding it as he deepened the kiss.

Without thinking, your body naturally responded to the King’s touch, also bringing your hands up to rest on his with one hand on his hard chest feeling his rapid heartbeat and the other grabbing his forearm that was holding your cheek. As the kiss intensified, Thranduil reluctantly broke away and gazed down into your eyes. “My Lady…” he began while trying to catch his breath, “My… apologies. I do not know what came over me.” Shaking your head in protest, you begin to speak, “My Lord, please. No apology is necessary. It was rather… lovely” you said sheepishly as you felt your face turn red. Thranduil looked upon you intently before continuing, bringing his hand down so both were now resting on your waist, “You are not… upset with me?” You look back at Thranduil with a look of utter confusion on your face. “Upset with you? My Lord, what reason could I be possibly be upset with you over?”. You bring your hands to rest on his forearms which were gently holding you.

Thranduil took a deep breath before responding. “I suppose this whole situation could be looked upon poorly. Me following you out here all alone, having you stand so close to me, moving you within my arms and finally… placing my lips upon yours. I assure you, this was not my intent but the way you looked at me just now, and have looked at me in the past, I could not stay myself any longer.” The honesty of his words made your heart skip a beat and it took you a moment to think of the right words. “My King, please, be at ease. The fault is as much mine as it is yours. I assure you, I do not look poorly upon the moment we find ourselves in”.

The King searched your eyes for any sign of falsehood but found none. All he saw was the same yearning he had been feeling for many many lonely months. “You do not mind then?” he asked quietly, hoping to hear the answer he desperately needed to hear. His heart jumps a little when he sees you begin to smile up at him and he felt you place a hand on the side of his face, “My Lord, to kiss you after seeing it happen in my sleep for so long, it’s my greatest dream to come to reality.” Your words went straight through to Thranduil’s heart and he continued to look at you with his mouth slightly open. “You’ve thought about me?” he asked slightly taken aback. You nod, trying to control your breathing as the confession is realised. “I have”.

Thranduil could control himself no longer and he brought his lips back down onto yours, crushing them with a need that had lived within him for many months. The second kiss took the breath from you but you cared not as you brought one hand up to the side of his face and placed the other around the back of his head bringing him in closer to you. He responded to the urgency of your hands by bringing one of his own to the back of your head, mirroring your actions and placing the other on the middle of your back to bring your bodies as close as possible. A little moan accidentally left your throat, and this fuelled the King’s desire even more but in the same second, he pulled away from the kiss and placed his forehead against yours, panting. “No.”

The word cut through you as you thought you had disappointed him in some way. Bringing your hands down to rest on his chest you whispered the word back to him. “No?”. Thranduil opened his eyes, keeping his forehead on yours and bringing his hands back down to your waist. “No. Not like this.” His meaning still lost on you as you looked into his eyes. “Did I do something wrong, my Lord?” Thranduil moved his face away from yours slightly to get a better look at your features. “Wrong? My Lady, quite the opposite. You have captured my heart and my mind. You’re all I’ve been able to think about during my quiet moments away from the politics. Do you not know the true reason why I lead your training group when I’m able? It’s for you, to be close to you. Y/N, you are the only thing that is right in my mind.”

As you look into Thranduil’s eyes and listen to his confession, you feel overwhelming emotions rip through you as, unbeknownst to the King, you desired him just the same. To have your feelings and emotions validated after all this time was too much for you to comprehend in this moment and you look away from him as you try to sort out all the thoughts racing through your mind. Softly grabbing your chin between his thumb and index finger, Thranduil tilts your head up to look at him. You saw his eyes and there was nothing but love and concern in them. “Y/N, what is it? Is this too much?” You shake your head and smile tenderly. “No, my Lord. This… this is perfect. It’s what I’ve desired for so long. I just never thought my feelings would be reciprocated.”

Thranduil returned the smile and cupped your face before placing a kiss on your forehead. “I had no idea you felt the same as I. All this time. This is a gift from the Valar.” You nod in agreement and take in the sensation of his lips on your forehead. Then you ask you a question that you're hesitant to know the answer to, “Then why, my Lord, did you stop your actions just now? If what you have confessed to me is true and our desires are the same, why stop?” Thranduil smiled down at you and kissed the tip of your nose before answering, “Because, you are worth more than a simple stolen kiss within my forest. Do you have plans this evening?” You shake your head no. “Good, keep your evening open for I wish to invite you to dine with me. I wish to learn more about you and then, if you will allow it, perhaps we could explore each other’s lips further.” Thranduil suggested, his thumb gently caressing your bottom lip as he whispered the words.

The mention of exploring each other's lips was the final straw for you and you swore that if you weren't being held in place by Thranduil's hands on either side of your face then your knees would have given way from under you. You licked your lips at the thought and spoke "Just us?". A wide smile appeared on Thranduil's face as he tilted his head slightly and brought his lips as close as possible to yours without touching. He whispered his response while looking into your eyes, "Just us. Will you join me?" Feeling his warm breath on your lips, hearing his velvety smooth and deep voice while feeling his eyes bore into yours, you breathed out "I will join you, my Lord". You had barely finished the sentence before Thranduil sensually placed his lips on yours once more and lingered there. He didn't intensify the kiss but just merely moulded his mouth to yours and held the position while his thumbs lovingly stroked your cheeks.

Breaking the kiss, Thranduil moved his face away from yours and looked at you intently. "So perfect." You blushed but couldn't look away from him. Was this really happening? "I will send an attendant to accompany you to my quarters this evening when the sun is at it's lowest. I look forward to getting better acquainted, my Lady", and with that, Thranduil brought the top of your hand to his lips and placed soft kiss on it, his eyes never leaving yours. "Until then, my Lord". Thranduil went to turn to walk away but halted. "I do have one request, however" he began. Your nerves instantly rose as he was the King and he could make any request he wished. "Yes, my Lord?" you respond with a shaky breath. He turned to face you fully before making his request, "You are to call me Thranduil from now on". You were stunned by the request. How could you even think about not using his title? He was the King! "Yes, my Lord". Thranduil raised his eyebrows and smirked. Picking up on the facial expression, you quickly corrected yourself, "Yes... Thranduil".

Thranduil didn't respond directly but instead dropped his eyebrows and smirked wider at you. "Until tonight, my Lady" as he turned and made his way back to the palace.

You stood there as you watched him walk away trying to decide if this was reality or just one of your many vivid dreams you had of the Elvenking. Looking down at your quiver and then back at the two arrows still lodged within the log across the river, this was no dream and you felt like an adolescent with a crush again. Noting the position of the sun, you quickly picked up your bow and quiver and made for your chambers. This night was going to be one you'd remember for the rest of your days.

[thatlittlered]

rings of power men | terms of endearment

warning(s): not even spoilers really, gn!reader

author's note: these are mostly based on my other post about tropes I am convinced these men are written for

enjoy

-.-.-

Elrond

my love, my beloved, meleth nîn, my lovely, my precious love, light of my life, my beauty, my flower, my stars and sky and many, many more

You couldn't possibly get this man to call you by name once you make your feelings clear to one another. He is a poet after all.

Gil-galad

my beloved, my dear, my darling, melethrinen/melethronen

I think that even after you are wed, Gil-galad would refrain from referring to you by your given titles, unless in public. Expressing himself in such a tender and vulnerable manner does not come easily for him, but he will genuinely try for you.

Celebrimbor

guren vell (my sweet heart), precious one, dear, my Lady/Lord

The Elven-smith has never spoken loving words before so it might take a while, but once he is assured you return his feelings, he too is surprised by how easily they roll off his tongue. He won't specify this, but when he calls you by title it is because he pictures you ruling Eregion by his side.

Arondir

guren gîn (my heart)

He is a man of few words and tends to express his affection through actions instead. Simple as it is, it overflows with emotion each time it's spoken.

Elendil

my Queen/King, my dear heart, darling, melda (beloved, dear)

For the most part, he will still refer to you by title, even in your most private moments where keen ears are nowhere to be found. It is a title of reverence by now, especially when he calls you his. You might hold his heart in your hand, but he too, is the keeper of yours.

Valandil

wife/husband

Valandil knew who he was from a very young age the two of you would be together forever since the moment you met. The rest was details. It matters little whether you are betrothed, or married or anything else; you are his and he is yours.

Isildur

love

It is not a common occurrence. It's far more common for him to whisper your name with honey practically dripping from his mouth when he is calling out for you. He does however love and need being called all sorts of sweet names and that is mostly the reason why he cannot come up with any of his own. His mind goes blank.

bonus:

Adar

enda óma (heart of my heart)

He is a man who is very protective of all he deems his and you are no different. Your size, your strength, your fighting capabilities matter not, he will always view you as a beautiful, fragile thing he's come to care for and will do anything to guard from harm.

[celebrimbormylove]

Sounds Beyond the Night

Hi, this is my first fic here and I think the rest of my works will continue to be about Celebrimbor as I am hopelessly in love with him. Anyways, enjoy!!! Let me know what you think of it!!!

Thank you @morganas-pendragons for being my sounding board <3

~ Kez

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“A sound so beautiful, it could make your heart race. Do you think such a thing exists?”

His words echoed in your mind while you were practicing an old piece of music. As a young elf, you enjoyed playing the flute whenever you had free time. This, unfortunately, stopped when you became old enough to truly immerse yourself in your studies, but your love for it never faded. It was the only thing that helped you clear your mind and yet, here you are. Unable to focus on your playing because of him.

 The great Elven master smith, Celebrimbor, was floating around your mind, effortlessly. You could spend your days thinking about him and it wouldn’t even bother you. Except for the fact that he barely knew of you. You had spoken once, and he had asked you a question that left you to feel beyond confused. Oh, how you wished to be closer to him. It seemed to be an impossible feat, as you were practically in two separate worlds. But still, your heart yearned for him.

“Did you forget how to play?”

The playful words from your dear friend, Elrond, snapped you out of your thoughts. You were so deep into your own mind that you didn’t see him approach, nor did you hear him call your name earlier. 

“I am perfectly fine, thank you very much.” You stood up and dusted some stray leaves off of your dress. Elrond seemed to always be there right when you needed him the most. While you could usually tell him anything, you found yourself unable to share the contents of your heart. Elrond looked up to Celebrimbor, and you feared that your feelings would make him uncomfortable.

“Yes of course, staring blankly into the distance is no doubt how you play the flute. Something is on your mind, is it not? Tell me.” He crossed his arms and attempted to give you a stern look, but it came off more as a look of concern. He always knew when you weren’t fully yourself.

“I cannot tell you.”  You avoided his gaze, as you knew it would break you. He frowned and turned slightly away from you, thinking of ways to get you to talk.

“Very well. I will let it go for now, seeing as I need your help.”  

“What do you need?”

“Follow me.”  Without even giving you a chance to respond, he started making his way down from the hill you stationed yourself at. You quickly grabbed your belongings and followed him, curiosity flowing through you as you did so.

“I need you to- oh hurry up would you.”  He was walking quickly and you had so many things to carry, hardly a fair thing for him to ask of you at that moment. “I am walking as fast as I can, now tell me what you need.”  You had managed to catch up to him, so you could converse without having to shout.

“I have to ask Lord Celebrimbor for a favour, and I need you there for moral support.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Admiring him from afar was one thing but now, your dear friend was asking you to be in the same vicinity as the man who could cause you to forget how to breathe. 

Noticing you had stopped, Elrond turned around with a confused look on his face. “Y/N? What is bothering you?”

You took a deep breath and tried to regain your composure. “Elrond, I have spoken to Lord Celebrimbor once. I do not believe I will be of any help.”

Elrond laughed and gently grabbed your arm. “Come Y/N. I know what it is that stops you. This is both for me and you. Trust me.”

You could not find the words to argue with him so you allowed yourself to be pulled along, towards the tower where Lord Celebrimbor was. The closer you got to it, the more nervous you became. Elrond, seeing this, gave you a comforting smile as he opened the doors and ushered you inside.

“Lord Celebrimbor, might I speak with you for a moment?”

Elrond’s voice rang throughout the room and the Elven smith walked out from behind a pillar to greet him.

“Ah, Elrond! How good it is to see you! And you have brought Y/N!”

He…knew your name? You had only spoken to him once, and you had not mentioned your name. So how on earth did he know it?

“It is a pleasure to see you again, my lord.” You bowed your head, which was both out of respect and to avoid his eyes.

Elrond began telling Celebrimbor about his project, which left you to casually wander through the room. There were many scrolls, both stacked neatly and tossed around, and a wide variety of tools could be found in every corner of the room. It was amazing how the line between chaos and order was so clear.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

You spun around quickly and stared blankly at Elrond. Apparently, his conversation had included you at some point. “So sorry, what do you need me to do?” You made your way over to the two, still avoiding Celebrimbor’s eyes.

“I need you to keep Lord Celebrimbor company while he works on this project for me. I fear it may bore him at some point.”

Upon hearing this, you decided to finally look at Celebrimbor, who was smiling fondly at you. As you stared into his eyes, you could see his brilliance shining through them. You wondered why you had avoided his gaze for so long, when his eyes were the most captivating thing you had ever seen. 

“Would that be alright with you, Y/N?” Elrond, while waiting for your answer, gave you a small smirk as he knew exactly how you felt. He had known for quite some time now, but wanted to give you the chance to tell him yourself. Seeing as you never did, he decided to take things into his own hands.

“Yes, of course.” 

“Wonderful! I will return in a week or so to check in on the progress.” Elrond bowed once more and left. Which meant that you and Celebrimbor were now alone. In his forge. It then dawned on you that you had no idea how to keep him from getting bored. In fact, you weren’t even sure if he ever got bored. He loved his work, that was clear to everyone.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I do not know how Elrond wished for me to help you. I doubt you find your work boring, no matter what it is you are making.” 

Celebrimbor had already begun working, so he did not look at you as he spoke.

“Elrond tells me you are quite talented with a flute. Perhaps you could play something?”

Ah, your flute. The flute that you promised yourself you wouldn’t play for others until you were confident enough in your abilities again. Elrond knew of this promise, and it seemed as though he had thought of a way to make you break it.

“Very well. Though I should mention, I have not played in the company of others in many years.”  You thought it was best to mention this now, in case you made mistakes or forgot parts of the pieces you were about to play.

He did not reply, though he was waiting for you to begin. You stood in the middle of the room, where you previously assessed was the best spot for acoustics, and began playing the piece you knew best. You closed your eyes, thinking back to the time when you first learned it. You were told that it was a story. A story about the stars, how they shined so warmly and yet, were so cold. How they reflected in the still waters of the night, almost close enough to touch. A song of love and yearning. 

The sound of gems falling onto the ground caused you to stop mid-song. You opened your eyes and quickly looked to where Celebrimbor was working. He was sitting now, his head in his hands and the gems he was previously inspecting, scattered across the floor.

“My lord? Are you alright?”

You placed your flute on a nearby table and quickly rushed to his side. Fear crossed your mind, as you knelt down beside him, gently pulling his hands away from his face. What you did not expect was to meet his eyes, beautiful as ever, yet filled with tears. 

“It was you? All this time?”

“What do you mean?” You stared up at him, confusion written across your face. As far as you knew, you had never played for him before.

He took your hands into his own, staring so deeply into your eyes, you felt as though he could see through your soul. “In the quiet hours of the night, I often find myself strolling through the city, trying to relax my mind. Though lately, I have heard the sweetest sounds, flowing through the night sky and towards the stars. I have heard a sound that I believed to have been blessed by the Valar themselves.”

You were at a loss for words. To hear the man you loved and admired speak so highly of your playing, it made your heart weak. You could no longer stay upright, so you decided to lay down flat on the ground.

“I have seen many beautiful things in my life, yet none compare to this sight before me.”  He couldn’t help but to admire you, as the gems that were once scattered meaninglessly were now surrounding you, like a halo of jewels. He felt as though he had seen the universe in this one moment. Nothing would ever compare to you, to your pure, raw beauty. 

There was no way for you to hide your face from him, as you began to blush from his words. He was staring down at you as though you were his best work. His most prized piece. His every word made your head spin.

“I wish I could see this for the rest of my years.”

“You can. If it is what you truly wish for.”  When you finally spoke, it was no more than a whisper. His eyes widened at your words, and he slowly slid off of his chair, kneeling down beside you.

“You would stay with me?” His voice was soft and gentle, like a summer night’s breeze.

You sat up so you could face him properly. Never in your life would you have imagined yourself in this situation. You face, mere centimeters away from his, as he poured his heart out to you. 

“I would stay with you, until the very end.”  You leaned in closer to him, closing your eyes as you rested your forehead against his. “My love for you would be the very blood rushing through your veins. It would be the air in your lungs. No power in this world, nor any other, could possibly take me away from you.”

You could feel his body relax as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you as though he was afraid of losing you. He pulled his face away from yours briefly, to bask in your beauty once more, before he gently held your face in his hands and kissed you.

If the Valar had ever decided to bless him, it was at this moment. Where he felt as though the universe had shifted and stars had aligned. He had many accomplishments in his life, but none of them ever made him feel the way he did now. 

In the middle of the room, where you were safe in each other’s embrace, the world seemed to be at peace, even if it was only for a moment. For he had you, until the end of his days.

[morganas-pendragons]

To be Held | Gil-Galad

Summary: You are Gil-Galad's most trusted warrior. With the centuries of history between you two - and the multiple wars you have both survived before and during his rule - it is hard for you to ignore the obvious: You are his complement, his other half, the shield to his sword. You two work as a unit. Everyone in Lindon knows it.

So what happens when he comes close to losing half of that unit?

Set during S2 of ROP - loosely AU to episode 8 (we don't go into the courtyards of Eregion)

tag: @wild-typo-turtle @celebrimbormylove @pentaghasm

You are one of the earliest memories of his younger years as an ellon. The years where he'd been living in the Grey Havens under the watchful eye of the Shipmaster, a young Elf named Artanaro who had nothing left but himself and the clothes on his back.

You had become a soldier at a very early age, taking to the spear with a gracefulness and poise unlike any of your other comrades who served alongside you in the war. You were raised in the heat of battle. Armor was your skin. Your weapon, your hands.

He admired you deeply. Your training commander at the time had noticed that the two of you were the only ones to take to the spear, and so it came to pass that you were often paired together for spars.

For sparring, for the front, for training. The other Elves whispered about you and how formidable you were as a unit the fields of war.

“What will you call yours?”

You watched him turn the weapon over in his hands. Once, twice, three times, long fingers flexing as it spun for him to properly admire the craftsmanship of the spear that had just been granted to him.

“Aeglos,” The Elvish word rolled off his tongue with an awe that made you shiver. You knew as well as he did that he would be known for being Aeglo’s wielder, among what other accomplishments he took to throughout his years. “It has a number of meanings, Mellon. For this one, however, I think snow thorn is more than appropriate.”

It fits him.

You averted your gaze away from him, desperate to keep your composure as you peered down at the spear in your own hands. He had such a deeply penetrating gaze. That unnerved you. You had to be unflappable. Something such as affection or love could not dare to make you weak.

You would not risk weakness on the field. You would not risk having something to lose.

“I think I have its name,” You announced. “I’ll call it Telmnar.”

Ereinion tilted his head curiously. He was not familiar with that term. “And what does that translate to?”

“Fire of Heaven.”

As the years passed, you took to chaos and disorder. Ereinion Gil-Galad took to the art of ruling much, much later in life with a firm hand and a soft heart. He never lost his spirit. Neither did you.

On the field, the pair of you were a force to be reckoned with. One unit. That’s what Elrond had said the first time he’d seen the two of you fight in the sparring yards of Lindon.

Gil-Galad just hadn’t expected the paralyzing fear that came with nearly losing the other half of your unit.

He sees you fall from across the battlefield. There are so few of you left, so many Elven bodies that litter the grounds of a scorched battlefield that Gil-Galad is sure will be their ruin. Elrond is catatonic over the Dwarvish army. You are fueled by your fury, helm hiding the fire he knows lights your eyes as you spin Telmnar with all the grace of poise of a practiced soldier.

Despite the destruction, you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. That is why Ereinion is so shaken when he sees the blade pierce your side through the gaps in your armor. A roar echoes across the battlefield as you twist your body to dismember the offending orc, Telmnar faltering in your grasp as it impales the body at the same time you fall to the earth.

Everything seems to blur together after that. Elrond is the one to rush toward you once clarity reaches him once again, removing the chest piece of your armor to better ascertain the severity of your injuries.

"Ereinion," You whisper. "Tell Ereinion..."

Telmnar gleams out of the corner of your eye as a hand reaches down to remove the spear from the body before laying it down beside Aeglos. They really are beautiful blades: A perfect pair for the best unit that the Elven armies had ever seen.

“Tell him what?” Elrond asks. He wants to keep you awake for as long as possible before blood loss sends you into unconsciousness.

Tears prick the back of your eyes. You’ve spent centuries trying so hard to keep your weaknesses out of harms way, to bury that secret you have kept of growing affections for Gil-Galad so he too would not come to be a name among the list of those you’ve loved and lost.

“He was never my weakness,” You whisper. “He was always my strength.”

"We may have lost many today, sweet friend," Elrond's voice is the only thing keeping you awake as he works to staunch the flow of blood from your body. "But you will not be among them."

You think of Gil-Galad, of Celebrimbor and Arondir, of Galadriel. They will not be able to take Adar on their own. They will need all the men they can muster.

Your innate desire to protect those you love is what coaxes you to move amid Elrond's healing, but not before a firm hand presses you back down into the ground and cradles your head in its embrace. Your eyes slowly shift across the open expanse of sky above you until your gaze falls on the dark eyes of the High King of the Noldor.

“Don’t move.” He commands, firm but soft as his fingers flex around your shoulder. “We will work diligently. Rest.”

Relief washes over you as you raise your fingers to graze his cheek. All you can see is blood and dirt, none of that smooth pale skin you’ve grown so accustomed to over the years.

He’s murmuring something low in Quenya as his hand comes upon your wound, and your eyes roll back into your head as Gil-Galad’s healing begins to seal what damage has been done. Elrond stands beside in waiting for the administration of bandages and salves so it will heal well.

The fingers of his free hand card through your hair as you fall unconscious in Gil-Galad’s capable hands.

***

When you first wake, there is a song on the wind. You’re being carried on a stretcher through what appears to be a path through a valley with elves on either side of you.

Panic rushes through your body until you recognize the voice that the wind carries. Gil-Galad has known since you were young that music was one of your only means of coping as it often brought you such serenity. Especially if the music came from him, his lips, his soul.

“Be well, my friend.” It is Camnir’s voice you hear closest to you instead as his face comes into view at your feet. Why the cartographer is here, you remain unsure, but your exhaustion is softened by the sight of his young face. “The High King is nearby. You are safe. I will wake you once we arrive at our destination.”

Your windpipe feels as if it has been pressed upon and your mouth forced open to swallow handfuls of sand. Despite that discomfort, you swallow and ask, “Is he safe?”

Camnir nods. “Indeed. Be peaceful. We are nearly there.”

You fall asleep once again with Aeglos and Telmnar on your mind.

***

There is warmth the next time you wake.

You’re careful not to aggravate your wound as you slowly shift your weight and rub your hands over your eyes to adjust to the dim light of the tent. Night has fallen, as you can tell from the shadows outside, but you did not expect to find The High King fast asleep with his hand gently laying on top of yours.

You smile. Not many are privileged to see him like this. It reminds you of your younger years, when you and Ereinion were just getting to know one another during your time in the Grey Havens. The pair of you had been far more curious than Círdan had cared for. The Shipwright had never complained. He simply remained grateful that someone cared as much for his charge as you did.

Gil-Galad shifts as you slowly kick your legs off the cot and reach outward to card your fingers through his hair. “Ereinion,” You whisper. Dark eyes flutter open and widen as he realizes you are awake, and it takes all of his willpower not to ask you a million questions as you hold a hand up to silence him. “Are you okay?”

The crease between his brow deepens as you run your thumb along his jaw.

“I believe it should be me asking you that,” He replies quietly. “You gave me quite a scare. I do not think I have experienced fear such as that watching you fall since we were young.”

Your earnest expression crumples almost instantly. “Gil-Galad-“

“You told Elrond to tell me something,” Now fully awake, the High King of the Noldor shifts his seat so that he’s planted directly in front of you, hands hovering over your thighs as he settles into the natural part of your legs. “What was it?”

Your mind shifts back to the early days. The days before the wars had ruined you, had cost the lives of so many people you loved, when it was just you and Ereinion against the forces of darkness and those who tried to tear you down.

The perfect unit, they’d called you.

Ereinion holds his breath as your hand, shaking as it may be, extends towards him to cup his face. “Do you remember all those years ago when I told you that the likelihood of me taking a partner was slim because I was not willing to have a weakness that could distract me on the battlefield?” You ask. He nods, transfixed by your face as your fingers gently trace the line of his jaw. “I’ve had one for centuries now. I have just never breathed a word about it.”

Hope flickers behind those dark eyes. “Do not utter that which you do not wish to come to fruition, nin meld.”

“Why?”

You dip your head down, fingers tangling in dark hair as he tips his head up to hover mere inches above your mouth. Your heart pounds with anticipation as you both waver against the line that was drawn centuries ago: the line that will forever change the two of you once you dare to take that risk.

“Because once you do, you can’t take it back.” Gil-Galad utters so softly you almost don’t hear it.

“I could not take back my affections for you. I would not dare. You’ve had my heart since Círdan introduced us. You are my weakness… and you are my strength, my hope-“

His kiss is bruising as he closes the gap between the two of you, surging upward to stand to his feet and cup your face in his hands. He is so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to properly kiss him, but you don’t think you could ever quite tire of the fire behind which he kisses you.

“You are my salvation from this wretched life,” Ereinion whispers, relishing in the sweet sound of your whimper as he holds you there, helpless to do nothing but allow his mouth to trail across your jaw and down your neck. He is mindful to not aggravate your injury further lest Elrond have his hide for doing so. “And so I take that weakness willingly if it means I have the privilege to love you all my days.”

You smile sweetly at him and nod as his trail ends at your forehead before you part.

“You’re tired.” You point to the cot beside you that’s open. “Bring that over here.”

“I have to attend to duties elsewhere-“

You give him a pointed look. “Cleaning Aeglos and Telmnar can wait. There’s so many of us injured, and you cannot attend to your duties without having a few hours of sleep. You cannot function.”

He hesitates before acquiescing to your demand. Galadriel is being tended to by Elrond, Arondir is coordinating patrols, and the rest of Eregion’s survivors are taken care of at least for the night. He will sleep much more peacefully - and hopefully avoid nightmares about Celebrimbor - being able to feel your breathing under his fingers.

“Very well.”

When Elrond comes looking for his King, he is not surprised to find him with you, but he is surprised to find that Gil-Galad has indeed fallen asleep in the cot beside yours. You are sitting up in your own cot drinking the mint tea provided by the healers with a smug expression on your face as you meet his eyes.

Your other hand loosely cards through Ereinions hair as he moves himself closer to your leg, forehead pressed against your knee in sleep.

“Should I ask?” Elrond queries, laughing quietly under his breath as you playfully narrow your eyes.

“Keep walking, Peredhel. Nothing to see here.”

He will allow his King that respite for tonight. He deserves the comfort of being held by someone he loves.

[tobylix-blog]

Beautiful — Elrond x Reader

Content & Warnings: drabble

Word count: 0.5k

Summary: Eavesdropping during the council of Elrond does not go unnoticed

A/N: nothing much, just me sublimating my crush on Elrond in writing

You press into the cold marble of a column, holding in breath every time another voice sounds. Lord Elrond of Rivendell has summoned a council to discuss the matter of the Ring. You weren't invited. So naturally you should eavesdrop, right?

It's difficult to keep a good eye on everyone while hiding behind the pillar, but your spot is perfect for observing Elrond himself. How he greets the guests, how he smooths out his garb after sitting down, how his circlet glimmers in the sunlight. Merry, Pippin and Sam have a better view on the others, but you can't complain.

It might be due to the fact that you've never seen elves before, but the elven lord caught your eye from the first day. You couldn't place what it was. Maybe, his wise words or long luscious hair, or his bright eyes, or calm demeanor, or his tall built, finer than those of human scholars. The best you could say was that everything felt right about him. And now here you are, watching him hold the secret council.

Elrond is no king, but he feels like one. Regal are his posture and manners as he brings forth the matter. Although, you know that learning more about the Ring problem was the primary reason for sneaking around Rivendell like thieves, you can't help but gape at the lord of this place. Imladris — that's what they call it in their tongue — you remind yourself. They're so different, that elvish folk, speaking another language, living as long as the sky stays blue, not eating meat. They're indeed different. Some even say weird, but you prefer unusual, peculiar or even otherworldly.

After all, those who say that elves are weirdos have probably never met them. Because how else would they still be able to call them all these unpleasant names, when elves are such perfect creatures, eye pleasing, strong and smart beyond measure. All this characteristics merge into one word that rolls off your tongue without notice.

"Beautiful."

You say it in Quenya out of habit. Nobody around you ever understood your mumbling when it was in Quenya, an old language, practically a dead one. So you soon got used to voicing the nagging thoughts in it, knowing full well no one would pay it any attention.

Well, until those bright eyes of the elven lord turned to you at the sound of it. And a few more heads turned your way as well. You couldn't see them all from your place behind the pillar, but the shuffling was enough to give away the common motion.

They heard you. And they understood it perfectly well. Damn elvish ears.

Under no less perceptive elvish eyes your skin heats up with the speed of tobacco in the pipe. Before you manage to retreat behind the column, your face is bright crimson against the white marble.

When you finally hide away from the glances, Elrond's voice reaches you, "Perhaps, I ought to decide the fate of the trespasser before returning their compliment."