#old brother gil

[taibhsearachd]

Also, I need to let you guys know that I got maybe four hours of sleep last night, if that, so Mags was talking about how interesting Enkidu's color is. (It really is very striking, idk if it comes across in pictures but in reality he looks almost shimmery platinum.) And Mags had already called him fawn (because he did look fawn in the picture we saw before we picked him up), so my tired brain was just not processing what I know about dog genetics for a long time (btw, one of my older special interests; it's not active anymore, but I can explain almost anything about why your dog or cat is the color it is).

All of which is to say... we picked the boy up at 1pm. At 10:45pm, after a nap and some food, I suddenly announced, out of nowhere "HE'S NOT FAWN HE'S CREAM". Because suddenly my brain was functioning enough to remember how dog colors work. I'm a normal human being.

[find-the-path]

STILL thinking about this. so much. the Finweans (1st generation) fail SO much at every single one of their jobs.

Fingolfin swears to follow Feanor wherever he leads--- an exact mirror of the oath Feanor was supposed to swear as Throne Warden to Fingolfin!!!

finarfin as the song master whose job it is to inspire and stand beside his brothers, instead throwing in the trowel in the face of their huge argument!!!!

findis as a lore wain whose job it is to go out among the people and tell them their history and stories retreating to a different people and refusing to have anything to do with the noldor!!!!!

WHEN MAEDHROS CEDES THE CROWN TO FINGOLFIN, HE'S ABIDING BY THE TRADITIONAL RULES HIS FATHER SCORNED!!!!!!!!

Galaxy brained idea that maybe three people will get:

Feanor and Fingolfin with the Noldorin inheritance being identical to that of the Annieran rulers in the Wingfeather Saga, specifically the Throne Warden/High King set-up.

(For non-Wingfeather Saga fans: In Anniera, the crown prince/princess is the SECOND child of the high king/queen, and the eldest child becomes the Throne Warden, whose job is to protect his/her sibling from all harm/guide them in their rule. The Throne Warden is very much honored for their role, but it's made clear from birth that they will never rule.)

(For non-Silmarillion fans: Feanor is the eldest from Finwe's first wife, Miriel, and Fingolfin is his eldest son from his second wife. This is a race of immortals, so remarrying has been unheard-of before this. Feanor hates Fingolfin's guts, and after Finwe dies there's a bit of puzzlement of who actually is the king here?)

[kitcat22]

I love, Love, LOVE the idea that at any given time Caranthir is committing 13 forms of tax fraud and 12 forms of tax evasion, cause like it’s his own family members he’s meant to be paying taxes to.

If he starts doing it in Valinor, he’s ripping of dear old grandpa Finwe, who really truly his happy that his angstiest grandbaby has a hobby, its just that he wishes that hobby didn’t involve depriving his own government of funding. Caranthir doesn’t think he needs the money anyway.

If he’s doing it to the high kings of the Noldor in Beleriand, he’s doing it to his father, brothers, uncle and cousin who do actually really do need that money,what with the economy being in shambles and would be very grateful if Caranthir would empty his pockets out at the earliest convenience, thank you.

Gil Galad turns out to be Caranthir’s favourite high king soley because he just doesn’t expect him to pay taxes and thus doesn’t chase him up on it.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

On Galadriel’s Whitewashing by the Fandom

Allow me to rant. Because at this point I really have to ask this: what show have you all been watching? Many say that Sauron deceives the audience, but it was actually Galadriel who deceived you all, really.

In Season 1 and Season 2, we saw Galadriel using others left and right, for her own ends (including Halbrand, Míriel, Adar, etc.). Her character introduction in Season 1, was her beating the sh*t out of some kids over a paper boat. Then, we saw her treating her companions’ lives as if they meant nothing to her. This alone should tell you something, but no, you wanted to see the “feminist hero” that never was. She was acting like... Sauron, when he ditched the humans on the raft. 

Nah, you think?

Throughout Season 1, she was arrogant, high on herself and downright offensive to pretty much every character she came across. She was constantly acting as if she was better than everyone else, and others were beneath her, because of her delusions of grandeur. She disobeys Gil-galad over and over again because she doesn’t truly recognize his authority. He’s younger than her, and in her mind she’s the one who should be High Queen of the Noldor, because she’s the only surviving child of High King Finarfin. She lied and manipulated others to her own ends... like Sauron.

When your ways of manipulation are more radical than Sauron’s.

Allow me to say this once more: “Rings of Power” has Tolkien experts to assist with the writings of the scripts. Christian doctrine and preaching is a huge deal on Tolkien’s work, and even if the show producers don’t see it or don’t recognize it, it’s still there because it’s inevitable, you can't work Tolkien without it.

What does this mean? Galadriel is not a hero. Pride and greed are not good traits in Tolkien lore. She’s not one of the “good guys”. Not yet, and she’ll only get worse before she gets better. She’s not a villain, either; she’s an anti-hero like Adar. Why do you all think Satan’s little helper Sauron got so interested in her, in the first place? 

When Sauron of all characters gives you the side-eye and tells you to chill and tone down your antagonistic behavior.

And was she deceived by Sauron or did she deceive herself? Because Elrond, as usual, is right, and that’s why he calls her out on her bullsh*t in Season 2: Galadriel wanted the lost king who could ride her to victory, to destroy Sauron and cover herself in glory, being worshipped by everyone on Middle-earth as its savior. She wanted to use Halbrand as a pawn in her big plan, and it’s mind blowing she actually fell in love with him. Does this ring any bells? It’s because it’s Sauron’s plan, too. They are alike. Everyone agrees, but doesn’t realize just how much.

You think they showed us these glorious shots of them for “good” reasons? This is the first of Mairon’s deceptions on Season 1, another step closer to evil and his old ways. This is them high on power and on themselves.

Gil-galad foresaw that Galadriel would bring back Sauron if her pursuit for him would to continue. That’s why he sent her back to Valinor, in the first place. Guess what? He was right. It was Galadriel’s actions that condemned Middle-earth to Sauron’s tyranny. In the legendarium, the Elves are also the ones to blame. And what consequences did she faced for this? Enduring Elrond in charge for two episodes until she went rogue? Or perhaps the Valar have already banished her, and the show failed to mention this. 

Preach it, brother!

Elrond was also the only character who could see through Sauron’s “rings of power” masterplan (must be that Melian’s Maia blood kicking in), until he was deceived himself, as well, and now he also thinks the rings are a good thing. Because these rings allowed the Elves to “cheat death” and stay where they don’t belong. “Rings of Power” made this point very clear in Season 1: the Southlanders don’t want the Elves on their lands, they are invaders.

In truth, all of these characters are not only Sauron’s accomplices, but are feeding off his power, but they are acting as if they are the “good guys” here, and they need to save Middle-earth from the new Dark Lord. No wonder the Valar told them to f*ck off, and only sent a few helpers who didn’t even dealt with Sauron directly, even though they (being Maiar themselves) had the power to do that.

Long story, short: for the love of Eru, stop whitewashing Galadriel’s character, or believing her to be some sort of “Virgin Mary” nonsense type of character. Or if you actually think her behavior is somehow heroic I don’t even know what to tell you, honestly. Because it’s not suppose to be. And if you were upset with her “toning down” in Season 2, oh boy, I might have bad news for you.

We should appreciate Galadriel’s character for what it is; an anti-hero seeking redemption. She f*cks up a lot, is flawed, and makes huge mistakes, and that’s what will make her character arc feel earned and compelling. In that way, she’s the opposite of Sauron; as he falls into evil, she raises up to good; the Lady of Light and the Dark Lord. This is actually refreshing in the midst of so many boring-ass one-dimensional female characters we see nowadays, an ideal of perfection no one can relate to.

[istaricelebelasse]

There is a horn. It is nothing special, made from the tusk of some beast that Aredhel barely even recalls felling.

There had been many such beasts on The Ice after all.

The horn had found its way into her luggage and over so many restless nights watching over little Idril she had made it.

It does not compare to those that The Hunt had used in Aman, bound as it is with scant strips of leather and metalwork repurposed from a necklace that she could not wear on The Ice.

But it is hers. And it is precious, in a strange way.

She does not take it when she leaves her brother’s city. It remains, untouched, in her rooms.

It watches as she slowly fades from a poison bestowed by her husband.

The horn is given to her son, yet he has no use for it. A love of hunting and the great outdoors was not anything she passed on to her only child.

It is gifted to another, to a child borne of his cousin, a more precious gift than perhaps his cousin realises.

(One of the few pieces he has of his mother. A wish and a warning and an apology all at once.)

Somehow it survives the Fall. Somehow it ends up in Sirion.

It does not burn in the destruction. Nor is it taken by the Sons of Feanor as they take their hostages.

It lies, abandoned on the floor, until the King comes (too late) to the aid of the city.

There are too few survivors, but they can ill afford to leave any supplies behind. And besides, Gil-Galad can recall his cousin placing a strange solemn honour upon the hunting horn.

It sits, unused, until the Sons of Earendil are returned to their king, whereupon it, aged and yet bearing a presence is returned to them.

There is little argument over which of them gets that piece of their father when it is time for them to separate. The elder twin takes it, as he took their foster father’s sword. The younger is content with a silver harp and the book of their mother’s herblore.

Elros takes it with him. A symbol of his House, and honour for his heir to bear.

Down it goes, down down down the generations until there is little but a drop of Numenorian blood left in its bearer.

It crosses oceans and continents and Ages of the World, survives battles and sieges and the falls of Great Cities and Great Kings until all that is left is a Steward upon his throne sending a son to find answers for a dream.

Finally, on the shores of a river, overlooked by statues of the Kings of Old, the horn is blown for the last time.

It is blown to summon aid, to draw attention, to allow those it’s bearer would protect the chance to escape.

It takes three arrows to take down the horn’s bearer, and the Falls of Rauros to finally grant the horn rest.

The Horn of Aredhel Maeglin Earendil Elros Numenor Gondor is no more.

[fadingplaidlibrary]

harvey headcanons

dr. harvard gregory mcclintock. what a man

our sweet boy was raised in a small town just east of stardew valley. his parents lived with his maternal grandmother, and regularly hosted a revolving door of cousins and extended family. he grew up in a very full house

he’s the third of four children. his older twin sisters, charlotte and eleanor, both live in zuzu city. charlotte is an executive chef and eleanor is a personal trainer. his younger brother robbie is a skydiving instructor who travels for work

he’s not really allergic to salmonberry or spice berry, he just grew up foraging and picking so many fresh berries in the summers as a kid that one day he got sick of them

he is mildly allergic to joja cola though, which he didn’t find out until he mentioned to a friend in college that he doesn’t like the spicy aftertaste of the drink (that beverage is… not supposed to be spicy)

he was a quiet kid growing up. he wore big green glasses, he had a lisp, and he was kinda gangly. he liked running and swimming, but was never particularly well-coordinated when it came to sports or dancing

he got his first growth spurts pretty early, but he was a late bloomer when it came to dating. he went on his first date in college, and he didn’t even realize it was a date until his lady friend kissed him on the lips when they got to her door

despite being a doctor, he’s entirely too squeamish to do any procedures on himself. no drawing blood, no sutures, not even finger pricks. he got a splinter in his foot once while he was down at the docks, and he had to look away while elliott removed it for him

he’s really good at skipping stones across the lake but he can’t do it if he knows anyone is watching him

besides his established fear of heights, he’s also scared of spiders, snakes, clowns, public speaking, and venus fly trap plants

speaking of plants, he’s killed every plant he ever had except one - a snake plant his sisters sent him to cheer him up while he was in med school. he nicknamed the plant bertha and it’s been with him ever since

he’s very careful about his grooming. nothing too elaborate, but he does wear sunscreen every day, flosses daily, gives himself regular manicures and pedicures, and irons his work clothes like his grandma taught him. and of course, he keeps his signature mustache neatly trimmed

he sleeps in whatever old sweats or gym shorts he can find in his drawers, but that man sleeps with a satin pillowcase to protect his curls and you cannot convince me otherwise. also, his grandma gifted him a heated blanket for the holidays one year and it’s his prized possession

he’s really close with his dad. his dad is a retired commercial pilot, and even though harvey couldn’t follow in his footsteps, they share other interests and hobbies. his dad is a real cheerleader for all four of his kids, but especially his little harvey-bear

sometimes when he has insomnia, he walks to the park next to the community center and lays on a bench to stargaze. one time, linus and gil even found him fast asleep there when they did their pre-dawn patrol sweep

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Crack fic where Maedhros and Maglor have no concept of half elven ages

__

"We can't take them back with us," Maedhros said.

"They're just children though, they won't survive on their own!"

"That's exactly the point!"

"What do you mean? I know children won't be much use in the fortress, but we can feed two spare mouths."

"They're far too young for us to be able to care for them."

"Come on, they look like they're at least twenty. I'm sure they know calculus and how to spin by now, even if they're not yet tall and strong enough for more."

"You haven't been keeping track of diplomatic news, or indeed of time at all. We sacked Doriath not three decades ago, and Elwing their mother was an infant then."

"Humans grow fast." Maglor shrugged. "She obviously grew enough to have children, and within a year or two."

"Gil-Galad mentioned that Elwing gave birth to twin boys in a letter only six years ago. And before you ask, I'm sure she didn't also have older children, these were very clearly the first heirs for the Iathrim."

"What? But - they're so tall!"

"Like you say, men grow fast. They grow unevenly though, without enough time to learn everything properly. Those boys may not even know their letters, or how to identify pewter from lead."

"At six years old, what do they even eat? Celebrimbor nursed until he was nearly eight!"

"They might be old enough to survive weaning, but I'm not sure, and we have no one breastfeeding in our camp at the moment, without anyone born since the Nirnaeth."

"I've heard of using cow's milk or sheep's milk to feed babies, rather than just making cheese. Do you think they'd tolerate it?"

"Maybe, but we can't be sure. It's better to leave them here with all the other people who's homes we destroyed; there were enough babies wailing during the battle someone can surely take in the princes."

"Perhaps, if anyone finds them in the next day. Most people fled the city, and I doubt they'll return before the fires die down."

"I'm not going to take in infants just to let them starve."

"Me neither! But I can ask them if they're weaned. They understand Sindarin, and talk, at least enough to call for their mother."

"A child that young will just say they eat nothing but honey and cake, if you let them choose their diet."

"If they know they like cake, that means they can eat solids, and I'll give them normal food."

"Fine. You can ask them, and if they're weaned they'll survive as well with us as any where else."

"And if they're not?"

"I send a couple scouts to follow the sounds of screaming children and deliver two more."

"Maedhros!"

"What? I can't bring their mother back, nor can my most imperious command make someone lactate."

"So you're giving up?"

"No, I already told you my plan." Maedhros sighed. "And I will send a few people to look for goats or ewes we can take with us. We already sacked the city; might as well loot it."

"You're convinced to make everything the most horrible possible."

"Excuse me for being pessimistic when our brothers just died for nothing."

"Fine, I'm going."

"Good."

[pinkkittysaw]

CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and  taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close. 

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed. 

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead. 

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him. 

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once  the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.  

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music. 

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

[sotwk]

apologies if you've answered this question before, but i was wondering about your take on Oropher? his role in Doriath, what his rule of Eryn Galen was like, how he was as a person, or anything you'd like to talk about!

Elvenking Oropher, Founder and Ruler of Eryn Galen 

25 SotWK AU Headcanon Facts

SotWK Fancast: Jason Isaacs as Oropher

Oropher’s grandfather was the brother of Elmo's wife, which makes Oropher and Celeborn second cousins. Oropher is therefore related to Elu Thingol, but not by blood.

Oropher was born in Y.T. 1345 in Doriath, soon after the completion of Menegroth.

Celeborn was born in the same Valian year as Oropher. Although 1 Valian year is ~10 Solar years (with Oropher being slightly older), this technically makes them “birthmates”.

Thus, Oropher and Celeborn grew up together and were very close friends from childhood to young adulthood.

Oropher had a younger sister named Ferinsil who had been in love with Celeborn her whole life. Unfortunately, Celeborn only ever saw her as a sister, despite Oropher’s attempts to encourage their match.

In FA 106, Oropher married Meluiel, the younger sister of Beleg Cúthalion and a trusted lady-in-waiting to Queen Melian.

Even in his youth, Oropher demonstrated the makings of a gifted politician. He was charming, diplomatic, eloquent, and had an easy way of making friends and gaining followers. In FA 25, just shy of 1,500 years old, Oropher was appointed the youngest member in the council of Thingol.

Oropher had a head for sums and trade, eventually leading to him being put in charge of the royal treasury.

Despite his significant rank and achievements, Oropher remained secretly envious of his friend Celeborn, who, in his status as a prince, was often shown special favor by the King and never seemed to have to work for his privileges.

Oropher did not like or trust the Noldor outsider, Galadriel, and his animosity towards her increased when it became evident that Celeborn loved her. Celeborn's love for Galadriel broke Ferinsil's heart and spirit, and Oropher never quite forgave his cousin for this.

Celeborn's decision to leave Doriath with Galadriel in FA 470, marked the end to the cousins’ friendship, as Oropher viewed this as abandonment of their people.

During the Sacking of Doriath by the Sons of Fëanor, Oropher went first to the rescue of his sister (whom he viewed as weaker and more defenseless), before his wife. Because Meluiel was killed without him at her side, this decision haunted Oropher forever and became a source of self-loathing.

Nonetheless, Oropher was one of the few surviving leaders of King Dior’s court who led the surviving refugees out of Doriath, and was remembered as a hero for it.

In the attacks, Oropher sustained a serious injury to his right leg that left him with a permanent limp even after it was healed. Eventually he started to use a staff to minimize the appearance of his limp. (The same staff Thranduil is seen with in movie promo pics.)

Oropher also witnessed and survived the Third Kinslaying at the Havens of Sirion, but had no significant involvement other than refusing to yield Elwing or the Silmaril.

Oropher’s first major falling out with Thranduil was over his son's decision to participate and fight in the War of Wrath, which he could not prevent. For years he lived in agonizing fear over losing his son, but thankfully Thranduil survived, and they were reunited and reconciled afterward.

After some centuries of living in Lindon (ruled by High King Gil-galad), Oropher and some other surviving families from Doriath, decided to seek a new home across the mountains.

Oropher immediately loved the great forests of Greenwood, as well as the native Silvan people. He was moved by their peaceful, simple lifestyle and pushed for assimilation wherein Silvan culture was upheld as dominant over Sindar.

Although there were a few Sindarin lords who put themselves forward as contenders for the role of King, Oropher was chosen by the overwhelming majority. This was due to his own popularity with the Silvans, and partly because of their admiration for his son, Thranduil.

Oropher was a much beloved and successful ruler of Eryn Galen throughout the Second Age, building the kingdom from the ground up with the help of well-chosen advisors. He was a conciliator who balanced the interests of the Sindar and Silvan sides, until the lines between the two groups grew indistinguishable.

War never touched the lands of Eryn Galen, from outside or within, during Oropher's reign. He had no intention of partaking in the War of the Last Alliance until Thranduil convinced him to do so.

Oropher actually respected Gil-galad and considered him a friend, despite carrying a general grudge and dislike for the Noldor. Although not in the inner circle, he held a position in the royal court as a representative of the Sindarin citizens in Lindon.

Oropher’s alleged refusal to take orders from Gil-galad and his generals, as recorded in historical accounts, was much more nuanced than just being a result of stubbornness and pride. (I would need a separate essay to explain this one.)

A lifelong courtier, Oropher was unapologetically fancy, and had high standards for his personal appearance. This did not mean he had to have luxurious clothing, but he believed that “cleanliness is next to godliness”. He was always polished and unwrinkled, and carried himself with refined manners and bearing. His hair was meticulously braided in the traditional style of the Iathrim and the House of Elmo. Thranduil's wilder, more uncouth ways when he was a child and a young prince, was a point of contention between them. But as Thranduil matured and especially when he ascended the throne himself, he emulated his father's grace and regality.

Alcohol (esp. wine) does not have an inebriating effect on Oropher. In fact, the more he drinks, the sharper his mind gets. He could effortlessly drink his own son under the table.

Thank you for the Ask, @toasterdrake! I've fallen shamefully behind in my development of Oropher's character, and your question gave me the nudge I needed to beef up my notes! <3 I appreciate you so much!

For more Thranduil/Silvan Elf/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

The fighting in Gaza continues, and the daily lists of soldiers killed are back. We knew they would be. Listening to their families, mourning their precious loved ones, lost forever, is a pain that's only transcended by the pain of listening to the families of those slaughtered on Oct 7. Every once in a while, I think of my darling friend and colleague, Berthe Badihi. She's a Holocaust survivor, and she gives her testimony to our visitors from time to time. Her grandson, Gil, was killed as a soldier in 2002. That's always the part of her testimony that's hardest to sit through, when she talks about how the pain wasn't over even after the Holocaust was, and she kept losing family. But then Berthe speaks about remembering the difference between how Jews died during the Holocaust, with no human dignity, and how her grandson did, and that this is a source of comfort. That he died a free man, with his dignity intact, protecting his family, his people and his country. On Oct 7, Jews were once again slaughtered in ways meant to rob us of our dignity. And that's why we're gonna keep fighting until Hamas is eliminated, no matter how much the death of our soldiers pains us.

The rocket fire into Israel continues, several people were injured today as well, and a school was hit, though thankfully it was empty at the time, so no one was hurt.

Today we salute Gal Gadot. It's been clear that for simply being an Israeli, who's willing to speak for her people, and despite expressing her wishes for the well being of people on both sides of the conflict, there's been (for years!) a campaign meant to demonize her. It's precisely because she's such a big star, that she has so much to lose. Yet, she spoke out loudly against the world's silence when it comes to the atrocities of Oct 7.

Israelis are aware of the rise in antisemitism on college campuses abroad, especially in the US, and we're following as more and more hateful and even violent incidents take place there, and as the congress will be hearing the heads of universities tomorrow. The truth remains that for years, these universities have been taking Qatari money, the government that has taken Hamas under its wing. IDK that there are any donations that these universities stand to lose, which can compete with Qatar's money, but losing their reputation, being called out on the way they've become hotbeds of antisemitism, of hatred, bigotry and violence, might force them to make a change. One can hope, right?

Speaking of money and terrorism, a new study suggests that Hamas made money off of the Oct 7 massacre (or people affiliated with it), by basically trying to bet on an Israeli economic collapse following the massive terror attack Hamas planned. I hope this crime, of making money out of advance knowledge about the imminent slaughter of innocent civilians, can be somehow prosecuted by law.

Speaking of prosecuted by law, Israel is holding a discussion today on how to put the Hamas terrorists who participated in the massacre, and were caught alive. It's not likely they'll go through a normal criminal court. Most people here assume we'll see something mroe akin to the special court which put Adolf Eichmann on trial in 1961.

This is 63 years old Clara Marman.

She was in Hamas captivity for 7.5 weeks. She's been freed during the hostage deal. She has not given any interviews, but I got to hear her daughter, who confirmed something that many speculated on. The daughter, Ma'ayan said explicitly, that the reason why her mother doesn't want to answer questions about how well she was treated by Hamas, is because she's still scared for her brother and partner, who are still held hostage in Gaza.

This is 39 years old Asaf Hamami, with his wife and their 3 kids.

Asaf was a colonel. On Oct 7, he ran straight into battle, and together with his soldiers, they saved kibbutz Nirim from a massacre and butchery, the likes of which we saw at the other kibbutzim. Asaf was considered missing, until the other day, the IDF confirmed that he was killed during that battle with Hamas, and his body was kidnapped to Gaza. The IDF was able to retrieve... enough of Asaf's body to allow for his funeral to be held, but the family understandably wants what Hamas is holding to be saved, and brought back to Israel. I'm going to emphasize again that he was a colonel. In Israel, some of the highest ranking officers still fight themselves. They don't send others to kill and die for them, they put their lives on the line to protect the civilian population. All of it. Jews, Christians, Muslims, Druze, Bedouins, everyone. While Hamas hides in their terror tunnels, leaving the civilians to be their human shields.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[eri-pl]

Death and taxes

So I was thinking about Erestor son of Caranthir and Haleth (as you do), and I realized it can work (as long as you assume they were an item. But it san work mortality-wise)

I'm sorry for all the ocasions I said it can't canonically work at all. I oversimplified.

One way (more canon):

Yes, non-Earendilian half-elves got the Gift of Men, but do they have limited lifespans? I don't think we have a proof for that. All canon ones die tragically (from Feanorians). Maybe they do not die from old age, but when they die (killed or something), they do go brrr out of Ea? It is technically possible.

(Yes, Elros worked in a different way, but he is a different thing. He is not this weird unresolved Man/Elf mix. He is Earendilian, he got to chose. )

So if they look like elves (and canonically elves and humans look very much the same), Erestor can be one. He works more or less like an elf until someone kills him. (Or he dies on this thing that makes the Elves fade, which he will because he cannot sail.)

(also Gil-"and where he dwelleth none can say"-Galad… Hmm…)

The other way (crack):

Caranthir has a kid with Haleth. The kid grows quickly, but doesn't grow old as fast as Men do, so when Caranthir dies, his son is an adult, but not old.

Caranthir dies and lands in Mandos and his two brothers do too, and Dior disses Celegorm and then goes brr, and Caranthir is like "what do you mean half-elves do that??? But. My son."

And Namo is like "yes, they do it, untill the exception happens".

And Caranthir starts asking, and arguing, and why would some get an exception, but some not. And it's not poor Erestor's fault that his father is a kinslayer and it is unfair in general… and Caranthir is the best lawyer to ever lawyer + has all the motivation of a desparate father and all the insufferableness of a five-year-old arguing that he deserves more screen time.

And finally Namo is like "oh Eru please throw him into the Everlasting Darkness do something, I can't handle it any longer", and long story shory, Erestor gets to be an elf, but nobody is allowed to talk about that.

Caranthir is as good as being insufferable as Luthien is at singing.

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Erestor | Second Age: Lindon

That country had of old been named Lindon by the Noldor, and this name it bore thereafter; and many of the Eldar still dwelt there, lingering, unwilling yet to forsake Beleriand where they had fought and laboured long. Gil-galad was their king, and with him was Elrond Half-elven, son of Eärendil the Mariner and brother of Elros first king of Númenor.

[koolkat9]

Gilbert should probably, technically be Ludwig’s father. From my brief research on early German history while trying to figure out when Ludwig would have been born (because I care more about that than Hima at this point 😤) Prussia played an important role pulling Germany into a united nation 👀. 

I can imagine Gil looking at a little Ludwig and being like “Shit I’m a father now aren’t I?” But the title holds such a heavy weight and Gilbert probably doesn’t feel ready for something like that so he tells Ludwig to call him “brother.” He of course covers the reasoning as “‘Father’ makes me sound like an old man. ‘Brother’ is a lot cooler.” When really he’s just so scared of being responsible for this little thing who will be looking to him for everything and the title of “father” makes all that feel much more real.

[bucket-barnes]

Things I learned about the sea three from Uma’s wicked book

Which I bought with my own money despite being in high school and very much not the target demographic

Uma:

- her love of sea ponies wasn’t just a fannon thing, she actually loves them and it’s adorable

- she’s had some pretty dark thoughts (for a kids movie franchise) while on the isle

- has saved Gil from drowning

-considers Harry the exception when it comes to proving of worth

Harry:

-His dad gave him both his original D2 jacket and hook

-his guyliner is very rarely actual eyeliner…it’s just soot he rubs on his eyes and occasionally old eyeliner from Auradon if he could get his hands on it

-very much values his father’s approval

-he got Uma a cracked crystal ball for her birthday

-once ate a ton of sour candy in one day and then couldn’t talk for a week

Gil:

- has a stepmother

-can sew and makes clothes for his brothers

- Ursula has beef with him

-didn’t know what grass was until he saw a photo of Auradon (that tracks, honestly)

Do with information what you will

[sunnyshinesunshine]

A Tolkien Fic Rec

let the gods look down on this and wonder by @dialux & rainforezt - Aredhel-centric, 22.5k, rated T (complete)

This post canon Valinor fic has everything. Aredhel being a flawed badass. Nolofinwean drama. Complex mother-daughter relationships. Come for female-focused Silm Fics, stay for Aredhel breaking Valinor while dealing with her family. Cannot recommend enough.

A Boy, A Girl, And a Dog: The Leithian Script posted to Ao3 by GammaCavy (originally by Philosopher At Large) - Lúthien/Beren, 593k, rated G (complete)

A retelling of the Lúthien and Beren in script form based vaguely on Ol’ Will Shakes. I rarely read true canon compliant works, but this is worth every heart wrenching second. It’s funny, poignant, and deserves to be produced as an actual production. I would pay money to see it.

Aurë entuluva - series by @theheirofashandfire - multi pairing mainly Fingon/Maedhros, 589.5k over 17 installments, rated G-M (ongoing)

THIS. This is The Silm Fix-It. Begins with A Thread Unraveled, a Nirnaeth Arnoediad Ground-Hog day style fix-it centered on Maedhros, then expands. The author does a great job with the politics and the fallout of the Nirnaeth being a success and how that changes the rest of the events of the Silm. I especially love her characterizations of Melian, Finduilas, Turgon, and all the Brothers Fëanor.

The Last Spring by clothonono on ao3 - Finwëan fam + background Fingon/Maedhros, 26.2k, rated G (complete)

This right here is how I imagine the Family Finwë pre-canon. Fëanor brings his children to visit Tirion for the first time. The tension between the children of Finwë is delicious. The characterization of Fëanor is delicious. The foreboding ending, also delicious. This could be an entire six course meal if it was edible. Also baby Galadriel is amazing and terrifying.

As a Star Upon a Hill by @mynameisjessejk - Lúthien/Beren & Fingon/Maedhros, 11.9k, rated T (complete)

A fix-it au where Celegorm and Curufin decide to not be assholes, Beren and Lúthien steal all three Silmarils, and everyone agrees that dads kinda suck. Borderline crack, but such a feel good fic ugh it makes me happy.

Light Touched by whovianhiddlestoner on ao3 - kidnap + peredhel fams, 48.9k, rated T (complete)

Another (relatively) lighthearted fic where everyone who touches the Silmarils get to be Eldritch and Elrond has a lot of family reunions. Mainly set in the third age, ending in Valinor. Beautiful language all around, and also Maedhros’ hair is on fire. Which is awesome.

The Iron Ring by lulumiche on ao3 - Glorfindel/Maeglin, 39.2k, rated M (ongoing)

Post-canon in Valinor. Maeglin was actually in love with Glorfindel, which no one but Idril knows. Come for the discussions of homophobie in elf society, stay for some of the realest feeling characterizations I have ever read. Seriously, I don’t really like Maglor as Lindir but I ate it up here. Also lots of interesting magic.

The Silver Rule by SpaceWall on ao3 - Celebrían/Elrond/Gil-galad, 70.4k, rated T (complete)

More post-canon Valinor shenanigans. This time, Celebrían argues law, makes friends, and wants her husband back. I love breaking Valinor, and I especially love when Tolkien women do it. And let’s be honest, the Statute of Finwë and Míriel is utter balogney.

I Do; I Will by @littlewhitemouseagain - Fingon/Maedhros, 22.8k, rated M (complete)

The one in which everyone is on their worst behavior and the sons of Fëanor challenge Fingon to duels over his crown. I cannot emphasize enough how this is The Fingon Fic. His flaws are exposed and addressed in such a way that I’ve never seen before. The insights into the Fëanorians, especially Mae, are also really super poignant. This deserves so much attention.

Across The Table by Tuginda on ao3 - Gimli/Legolas & Glorfindel/Erestor, 9.5k, rated G (complete)

A conversation between two couples at Aragorn and Arwen’s wedding. Beautiful, sweet, and containing one of my favorite things: crotchety old Fëanorian Erestor. Somehow feels like both a conversation about dwarves and elves, and a lovely tribute to the Noldor.

+ 1

of drowning men by bimmyou on ao3 - Isildur/Valandil, 26.5k, rated E (complete)

The best Rings of Power fic I’ve read so far. Nails all of Isildur’s character flaws and gives such an incredible depth to Valandil.