#the great elvenking

[sonjagiliola79]

Homeric Hymn to Ares

The King of The Woodland Realm

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

considering that thranduil knows intimately what it's like to take up a position of kingship following the abrupt, violent death of the previous ruler who was an elder member of his family, i wonder if he ever thought back to dior...

[beatx-mavie-archangelx]

there should've been at least a full view of Fíli's body in the funeral scene

"Fíli you didn't deserve any of this" we all say in unison

[ginger-and-all-things-spice]

Bby Thranduil

[vigilantegreen]

Imagine the elves of Mirkwood forming an alliance with the spiders and using them like horses because the thought of domesticated giant spiders makes me giggle.

[foedhrass]

The King of the Woodland Realm.

My Thranduil cosplay, after a design from Weta Workshop from the Hobbit BTS videos. The helmet I made after a design by John Howe.

[sotwk]

4th Day of Yule: “Four Calling Birds”

Prince Arvellas Thranduilion x Reader

Third Age 247

Men-i-Naugrim, Eryn Galen

At first, the cacophony of merry calling, booming laughter, pounding hooves, and exploding snowbanks unsettled you. You had served in the House of Thranduil all your life, just as your parents had, and you frequently saw the king's sons around the palace. You thought you knew those princes well--or at least as well as a scribe-in-residence would reasonably be expected to know the royals. This morning however, you realized you had been given a unique opportunity to see the princes in a different light, released from the confines of court protocol and formalities. 

Who would have thought those gentle-mannered, refined lords could be so… so… wild out in the…wild? 

“No no no!!! I said I was not ready! That was foul play!” Young Prince Gelir sputtered, shaking off the mound of snow that had been dumped over his head by the shovel-sized hands of Prince Turhir. He clutched the silver mane of his horse to maintain his position on its saddleless back, while pawing furiously at his wet face. “You sneak! You rotten--”

You diverted your eyes, which had gone wide at the outburst of coarse verbiage from the prince’s mouth. Most of the cursing was drowned out by the taunting howls and cackles of Princes Mirion and Turhir, which were even more shocking sounds coming from the noble elder sons of King Thranduil. Noro! Noro! The deep voices shouted, and in thundering gallops all three riders vanished yet again behind the trees further down the Forest Road. 

“What does that word mean?”

You turned to the littlest of the Thrandilions, Legolas, where he squirmed in his seat on the sleigh between you and Prince Arvellas. Thankfully, his brother, who had remained silent for most of the ride so far, spoke up to answer. 

“Nothing you need to learn or utter for a while yet.” Arvellas shook his head and smiled. “In fact, I would advise you to avoid repeating any new words you hear coming out of Gelir’s mouth--especially when he is yelling them.”

Legolas scrunched up his nose and nodded. “All right.” The elfling leapt back up on his feet, despite being asked to sit down only a few minutes ago. You and Arvellas exchanged glances, and he raised his shoulders in a resigned shrug. It was probably too much to expect of a five-year-old to sit still, anyway. 

Legolas had already pouted plenty over the fact that he had to ride in the sleigh instead of being allowed a steed of his own. You sympathized with his frustration at first-- until you witnessed the sort of risky play the princes liked to engage in. You adored horses, even though you did not ride or own one, but the princes’ giant Arrochs, taller than you by over two feet, wider than a bull elk and possessing unpredictable temperament, frightened you a little. The older princes seemed to wield full mastery over them, but even Gelir was just starting to learn, so you shared in the Queen’s reluctance to permit little Legolas to mount one just yet. 

“Look up there, your High--Legolas!” You pointed towards the naked boughs of a nearby tree, where a curious tree mouse scrambled across a high overhanging branch to watch their sleigh pass by. “That one is called a skyrunner.”

The elfling oohed and ahhed with loud appreciation, as he did at every creature you pointed out to him. Seeing the unbridled enthusiasm of a child enjoying new woodland discoveries made you so very glad you pushed aside your nervousness and accepted Arvellas’s invitation to join them on their winter ride down the Men-i-Naugrim.  

But being in the presence of the Scholar Prince in this situation, even surrounded by his boisterous siblings, challenged your ability to wrestle away unwanted thoughts about him. It was easier to think of yourself as his mere colleague when you were busy working side-by-side in the libraries, with piles of texts to fill your mind. You reasoned that Arvellas had asked you to come for the benefit of your wildlife expertise; no had yet surpassed you in the number of pages written to document the native flora and fauna of Eryn Galen. 

And what a pleasure it was to travel through these woods with the princes! For no matter how loudly they hollered, how fiercely they threw snowballs at each other, or how savagely their horses charged in and out through the trees, the forest animals did not retreat from their chaos. In the many years you had dedicated to tracking the native beasts of this realm, you had never before seen so many different creatures and rare species all at once come out of hiding, drawn to the exuberant energy of the five Thranduilions. 

You were so enraptured by the number of singing birds that perched on the sleigh’s front bow, and the squirrels that scrambled onto the backs of the pulling horses, and the one cheeky fox that crept up a delighted Legolas’s lap for some pets, that you did not immediately notice that Arvellas’s eyes were not on the wondrous sight of the gathered animals.  His gaze, perpetually kind and soft, and blue as the sunny winter skies, had settled solely on you.  

When you looked up and your gaze finally crossed paths with his, a strange, completely unwilled squeak flew from your throat. Mortified with yourself, you scooted sideways on the cushioned bench to maximize the distance between you. Suddenly, his arm stretched out and his hand encased your fingers in a tender squeeze that sent a clear message. 

You found yourself leaning close to the prince, drawn to him just like the woodland creatures were, goosebumps rippling over your skin when he whispered your name. His hand left yours to reach for your face, and your eyelids fluttered in anticipation. 

“SNOW!!!” Legolas yelled happily, dropping back down in the center seat while you lurched away in time to avoid knocking heads. “It is snowing!”

At least the falling ice flakes kept the elfling completely oblivious! As you tried to gather your composure, the roar of laughter announced the return of the other princes. Three riders burst back out on the road ahead, but only Mirion drove his horse all the way up to the sleigh. 

“Come on, honeg,” the eldest prince said, and stretched out his hand to Legolas.  “I will take you for a turn.”

The elfling jumped up so hastily he almost toppled off the sleigh. “Truly??”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Arvellas tried to say, even as Mirion yanked their littlest brother onto the Arroch’s back, securing the child in the circle of his arms.

“This is his opportunity.” You did not miss the twinkle in the Crown Prince’s eyes, and certainly not the indiscreet wink he tossed at Arvellas.  “And what can be wiser than seizing hold of every opportunity?”

They galloped off to rejoin Turhir and Gelir, and their merry band launched into a raucous song that faded with them into the distance, leaving behind the sleigh in the silence of the falling snow. 

It took a very long minute before Arvellas finally broke that silence. “I apologize if this outing has not turned out to be quite what you expected,” he sighed.  

“No… I suppose it hasn’t.” You took a deep breath, and something in the smell of the fresh snow and the way it brushed your cheeks gave you courage. Or perhaps the princes’ attitude of reckless abandon had pulled you in, too.

You scooted back across the bench, even closer this time, and snuggled in when Arvellas moved his arm to welcome you and draw you against the warmth of his chest. “Because I never would have dared expect anything as wonderful or perfect as this.”

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi @minaturefics

[dhelglore]

"I name you elf-friend and blessed. May your shadow never grow less (or stealing would be too easy)! Farewell!”

The Elvenking, Thranduil 🍃

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Greenwood the Great

[coopsgirl]

Here's chapter 1 of my latest fic, The Shadow and the Sunrise. Ranyare, a member of the original eldar who awoke on the shores of Lake Cuiviénen, has survived into the Third Age and has lived hidden away from others in Fangorn Forest. Forced to come out of hiding, she meets the elves of Lothlórien and Greenwood. Much to her surprise, she and Thranduil become friends and together they will work through their pain and traumas to finally find peace and love.

I thought it would be fun to have a character that was one of the first of her kind still alive in the Third Age. Círdan is the oldest known elf in canon in Middle Earth but it seems like he was born to elves at Cuiviénen and was not one of the first generation to awaken fully grown on the shores of the lake. This will only be a few chapters and I hope everyone will enjoy it!

[saentorine]

The fuck is going on in Mirkwood? Did the Sindar do this or did Sauron?

monoculture forests are deeply unsettling in a way that is hard to explain to people who do not spend a lot of time looking at forests

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #2

Strange Candy

kinktober day two | aphrodisiac | 18+, cw: intoxicated sex (all consensual), female reader. both of them hella sassy, book-ish!thran because no angst in my house. this is very silly, just like the author. don't eat funny mushrooms you find in the forest! | wc 3,7k | want more kinktober? click here |

“Strange indeed.” Said the King thoughtfully. The group of hunters who'd led him to the newfound development traded a long look. Crouching down, the King's majesty eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead as he studied the newfound addition to his great Elven forest. “And the beasts have returned seemingly unharmed, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord. The bears had retreated into a den and so did the foxes, emerging approximately three days afterwards. All seemed in good health and very hungry.” The Silvan hunter replied.

“Then these must be harmless.” Deduced the King, taking out a thin blade to poke at a dense cluster of brightly coloured fungus.

At least, he guessed it was a fungus. Upending one cluster, he found no roots. The flesh of the mushroom was white and fragrant, pleasantly earthy and rich, with subtle floral undertones that made his mouth water slightly. The smell intensified tenfold upon cutting the mushroom down the middle. The King brought it closer to his nose, carefully scenting for any bitterness or rot.

“My Lord...” A concerned Feren piped up from his spot behind the King.

You offered the Captain a glance full of genuine compassion, without a doubt considering his job to be the most complicated and tedious in the whole of Thranduil's kingdom. Minding Greenwood's fiery monarch was not for the faint-hearted.

“Surely you are not thinking of putting it in your mouth?” You added a dash of sarcasm into your question, equally concerned.

You were sassed right back, eyeroll audible. “It is a mushroom, where else would I put it?” Thranduil straightened up, holding the newfound addition to the flora of the forest impaled on his knife. As soon as his eyes zeroed on you, you gulped. Thranduil gave you a nasty little grin. “What is the worst that could happen? I have the best healers of my realm at my disposal.”

Feren's fingers twitched, a tell-tale sign of his withering self-restraint. You sighed and contemplated the best time to begin backing away.

Thranduil simply raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. “Worry not, the Kingdom has forgotten of your and Feren's...” Elegant pause, Feren's sigh. “Accident.”

“'twas no accident,” you said defensively. “You gave us your Ada's moonshine to see if it was still good. On purpose.”

Thranduil shrugged as the mushroom was evenly divided into two parts with the help of his knife. A perfect picture of innocence, he held up the treat in his palm, grey eyes sparkling.

“I am NOT doing it, my Lord!” Exploded Feren, and gave into his urge to take a step back. He, more than anyone, knew how insistent Thranduil could get. A seven-thousand year old elf giving huge puppy eyes! And it worked! The Captain shielded his own face with his palm. “Throw me in the dungeons for a fortnight, I care not!”

Contrary to your expectations, Thranduil simply rolled his eyes, and swiftly stuck one part of the colourful fungus in his mouth. Everyone gasped, including you, but the old Elvenking remained completely unbothered.

“Hm,” he blinked after a second. “That is not bad.”

Waves of impending doom washed over you with each contemplative movement of Thranduil's jaws. Looking first to the left, and then to the right, you found no immediate means exit of the situation. It was you, the resident human, and the tree behind you, which your King had no problem with crowding you against. Not that he moved or anything. He was just... Large. And very handsome. And spectacular at rounding his shiny, bottomless eyes with great purpose.

“We must know if this fungus is harmful to Edain,” he said, honey-sweet. You hated that he was right. “According to hunters, there is an abundance of it, and, knowing how curious you Edain are...”

“Ugh!” You shook your head. “Just give me the mushroom. If I die, I will haunt your halls for all eternity.” Obediently and with no small worry, you snatched the piece and stuck it in your mouth, chewing quickly, not even taking note of the taste.

Thranduil's last experiment that involved you and Feren still fresh on your mind, you turned back towards the Halls before you'd even finished chewing. You'd rather be in the privacy of your rooms least intoxication has you do something embarrassing... Again. Thankfully, the King conceded, and after giving the hunters a command to gather more of this mystery fungus, the party set out back home.

It was Feren's turn to offer you fleeting looks of compassion. You quietly smiled back, not feeling anything out of sorts. The ride back was pleasantly uneventful. Not a creature was stirring: even the ever-present spiders were absent in their bothersome scuttling.

Too smug for his own good, Thranduil entered his halls with a spring in his step. “The haunting of halls of Greenwood has been postponed indefinitely, I see,” he said in passing as he shrugged off his outer travel robes. A maid immediately offered him a silver robe of heavy satin which he politely declined. “Nay. The discovery has warmed me plenty.”

You noticed that yes, the weather has turned rather warm indeed and bowed before departing back to your daily business. Mid-way through your chores, a thin, translucent sheen of sweat glistened on your brow as you silently cursed the Vala responsible for such unusually pleasant weather. The Halls had already began to prepare for a long winter with covering unnecessary exits and patching up drafty areas.

What wouldn't you give for a gulp of fresh, cold air! Chores forgotten, you hurried to the nearest balcony. There was one not frequently visited by Elves as it was hidden behind a clever alcove; stepping aside and squeezing through the narrow opening, you sighed happily and deeply as your clammy skin finally felt crisp late night air.

Your shoulders dropped as you exhaled, finally shaking off some of that uncomfortable heat. A tranquil scene of swaying treetops and budding stars over a darkening sky emphasized the calamity of your solitude.

“Hm.”

“My Lord,” you greeted without turning, familiar with the timbre of voice and soft swishing of expensive fabric coming from behind you.

Thranduil's profile appeared within your field of view as he posted up next to you and demurely placed a hand over the stone railing of the balcony. “I was unaware someone had found the secret entrance to my private balcony.”

“Oh,” you froze. “I apologize... I was simply...”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take no offense. Indeed, it was quite clever. Even keen Elven eyes miss the opening behind the alcove.” Sans outer robe and clad in a simple but rich ensemble of sateen shirt and velvet breeches, it became evident you'd caught the King in a private moment of relaxation. His brow, usually tinted with concern with kingdom, was pleasantly warm.

You swallowed, looking away. He was a beauty even among his own kin, and like this - relaxed and comfortable - bordered on irresistible. A flash of heat spread through your body at the realisation. It took no small effort to squash these thoughts and steer them towards some semblance of propriety.

“The Valar have blessed us with good weather this autumn, my Lord. I was doing my chores and nearly felt faint from the heat.” You said, noticing Thranduil's eyebrows rise. “And the construction of your halls is incredible! Not a single drafty corner.”

“Heated, you say?” He interrupted suddenly, turning to face you fully. Etiquette (whenever you remembered it) dictated you should, too, and you two faced each other. Thranduil radiated curiosity, eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks and the warmth crawling down the neckline of your clothes. “Strange.”

“What is, my Lord?”

“I have said the same thing to Galion but he gave me a very pointed look and gestured towards Lady Anariel, who had been complaining to her maid about not lighting a fire in a timely manner.”

You frowned, too. The Lady Anariel was as Northern as Elves come and was fairly tolerant of wintery weather. When others wore furs, she got by with an outer dress of wool and, perhaps, a pair of gloves.

“Do you feel... Strange, my Lord?” You had a slight suspicion. Just a teeny-tiny one, that boiled down to those Eru-forsaken mushrooms.

In response you received an impish sort of shrug. “Not necessarily so. Do you?”

Your face blanched. Aside from suddenly finding him irresistible and feeling a little hot under the collar, nothing was amiss. But the longer you lingered on those two thoughts, the stronger they became. It was as if you were an adolescent again: barely any impulse control and all feeling.

‘twas a delicate situation. You could speak to a healer, of course, or let the strange circumstance run it's course. If it even could do that. Thoughts growing jumbled by the second, you said the only clear thing on your mind.

“Those cursed mushrooms.”

Thranduil was unperturbed. “I do not believe they are cursed. Potent, yes, but not cursed.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “... You too?”

He sighed. “I came out here in hopes of clearing my head from this fog of lust.” As you prepared to mutter- what, exactly? Apologies? - Thranduil's finger reached out for tour face to trace the curve of your jaw. “And in the process I found something much more exciting.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Such a simple gesture felt heavenly. Wherever his skin came in contact with yours, the heaviness receded briefly. Your breath caught in your chest as your heart picked up a hare's pace.

“Am I being propositioned?” You wished to say to yourself but in the fog, managed to sputter out loud.

“We could help each other out...” The King, unfurled to his full height and radiating heat equal to that you felt on the inside, grinned a crooked grin. It sat youthfully on his timeless features, just the right amount of flirtatious and reassuring.

You pretended to think about it. No, you really did, out of concern for your dignity. Throwing yourself onto the King was simply uncouth. Such was your next course of action, but the necessary amount of time had passed and the need, having been brought to the forefront or your mind, took hold of your sense. Slowly, you leaned into the touch and brought your hands to Thranduil's forearm, tilting his fingers to your mouth. Hot breath caused them to twitch.

“Does this answer your question?” You tilted your head, lips brushing against the multitude of rings he wore on his persona. It was most exhilarating to see his pupils widen and his mouth tremble.

Adam's apple bobbing, Thranduil swallowed. “No.” And smirked, the stunning bastard. “I need a clear, straightforward statement.”

You sighed, feigning annoyance. “I enthusiastically consent to having uncouth, untoward and potentially nasty things being done to my body by my Lord and King...”

You did not even get to finish. In a flash, Thranduil's hands had encircled your face and he bent himself over you, pushing your body into the balcony as he devoured your mouth with his. There was no grace and no finesse; something heavy and hard poking your stomach showed you just how much self-control your King had.

Seconds ago, you'd been having a perfectly normal conversation and now you found yourself airborne, having been unceremoniously picked up by the tall Elf and carried towards his chambers like the most coveted spoil of war while he devoured your mouth. You hummed into the kiss and responded with a groan, tearing the back lacing of your clothes clean off.

Your back connected with the mattress of his bed. Blinking at the rapid change of pace and scenery, you moaned out in frustration regarding your ruined clothes.

“I will commission more for you,” he said carelessly, throwing his own shirt Mordor knows where. His bare chest, chiseled with lithe muscle and pale as fresh milk, captivated your attention.

Previously having contended yourself with the occasional glance at the tiny window of bare skin where the sides of his robes met, you used your newfound opportunity to drink yourself full of Thranduil's fair skin. It felt as soft as it looked when he laid upon you, the weight of his body offering a delicious momentary reprieve from the tension building up in your muscles. Gossamer hair shielded you from the outside world as he leaned in towards your mouth again, this time capturing yours in a sensual dance of tongue and teeth.

A nimble hand took care of your bottoms, sliding inside your underwear as slick and cunning as a snake, to cup your mound. Thranduil groaned into the kiss, finding you soaked and willing, fingering the cleft of your lower lips with practiced gentle moves. The tenderness of it drove you crazy. Your need flared as a wall of standstill fire and you were surprised you did hadn't noticed it earlier. If the pulse in your cunt was anything to go by, you would come undone the very moment your King would finally allow you to feel full.

He was fairly content with sucking your soul out through your mouth and mapping the fat outer lips of your cunt. Never quite breaching and wholly avoiding your throbbing pearl, Thranduil simply basked in the amount of sticky juice your cunt was capable of producing.

The first loud moan of the night broke free if your lips and it was one of frustration.

Thranduil smiled into the kiss, your teeth clashing together. “What is it, mm?” He queried in-between wet pecks.

“I want to come.” You whined.

He chuckled. “And what's in it for me?”

Thankfully, your eyes were closed and he did not see your eyeroll. “You'll get to come, too?” Cringing at how lame it sounded, you were nonetheless powerless beneath him and overwhelmed from your desire.

“I prefer to play with my food.” He grinned a predator's smile, all shiny teeth and lidded eyes, but tugged down on your bottoms nonetheless. “Try harder.”

That became difficult as you were now bare; shivering in your King's arms, you cracked open a hazy eye to see him settle himself closer to your dripping center. It captivated him. Sliding two fingers along your lips, your eyes closed and head fell back as every nerve in your body came alight. Rewarded by a long moan, Thranduil gathered ample amount of moisture on his fingers and brushed over your quivering entrance.

Your back arched as he plunged them deeply within your aching cunt. The sticky noise it made was positively scandalous.

“I will-ah! forgive you for gathering the entire -ahh! King's guard to look at Feren and I!” You managed to form a quasi-coherent sentence through the moans and gasps spilling from your lips and were rather proud of yourself for it.

Thranduil's laugh echoed in the room as it did in his chest, a pleasant rumble vibrating through your core. “Whether Galion forgives you two for barking at him remains to be seen.”

Genuine amusement briefly overshadowed your shame at the situation of the past and at your own current neediness. The combination of emotion startled a laugh out of you, causing your core to clench around Thranduil's fingers and coat them in your wetness. He groaned low in his throat and rubbed your inner walls, reveling in the resulting moan. It did nothing to bring you closer to the peak.

“Sadist!” You accused and attempted to grind down on his hand, fisting the crumpled sheets.

“Slander!” He punctuated the rebuttal with an expert curl of his fingers. You arched. He smirked. “You should learn patience.”

There was no strength in your mind to formulate another witty comeback. Sensation, low and insistent, built up in the pit of your belly, an ache so sweet and tender you were sure it would be any second that you'd burst with it. Every pore on your skin open and receptive to touch, even the slide of silk sheets as your body bent with pleasure was overwhelming. You panted wetly through parted lips as a third finger joined in, the stretch of it making your eyes roll back into your head.

Thranduil would kill you. You were sure of it now. He would end you with a blinding smile and clever fingers never ceasing to move within you, the movement just shy of where you needed him most.

“Mercy!” You moaned. “Mercy, my King!”

You should have known his idea of it would be no less torturous than the ‘kindness’ that led you to your current place writhing atop his bed. Slowly, his tongue traced a path around your outer lips before dipping inside; it was hot and wet, like a summer storm, when it connected with your engorged clit and flicked it from root to tip. Electric feel of sensation pierced your body in a lightning bolt as your leg muscles seized. The King gave a pleased rumble and went for seconds and thirds, effortlessly holding your thighs open with one strong, long arm, palm digging into the soft meat.

Even the pain of it echoed with pleasure.

While the need within your loins kept steadily climbing with no end in sight, your King treated himself to a leisurely late night snack. His tongue delved in and out of your cunt, lapping up the waterfall of arousal. You would have been mortified, really, for the mess had you glued stuck to his face, your hips attempting to follow his mouth in circles.

Coupled with the digits slowly but surely stretching the entrance to your channel, brushing over the sensitive fornix, you knew the night would be long. Dark, but not cold. Hazy.

“Ngh!” You articulated through gritted teeth, feeling him pull away from a particularly sensitive spot in favour of sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh. Thranduil followed a path only he himself knew, marking your flesh with pulling, precise bites that left discoloured spot damp with spit. They pleasantly ached.

Over your stomach and at the underside of your bottom rib. The sides and bottoms of your breasts, all the way up at the root of your nipples. He took each one in into his mouth, suckling on it like a hungry babe, before releasing them with a wet pop just blow a gentle breath onto the pebbled nubs. Through parted lashes, you watched him, aptly fascinated by the lack of colour in his eyes, pupils blown wide and deep with lust.

You tasted your cunt on his tongue as he made way back up. Risking a glance downward, you saw Thranduil's cock hard, flushed and heavy, hanging out of his breeches. He hadn't bothered with removing them and that single detail had you nearly undone. How the King himself could not wait to he inside of you!

An understanding of his previous games had come too, for he was rather proportional everywhere. Just the slide of his weeping tip against your bruised thigh invoked a shudder in you, back arching. You presented yourself to your best ability, eyes shining with pleading as he rested his forehead against yours.

Thranduil held himself above you, weight on his elbows, as his cock nosed at your sopping entrance. Immediately, it tried to suck him in, coaxing his lips to bend into a smirk. Such proximity was putting your sensibility directly into negatives. With a wild look mirrored in his own darkened pupils, you petulantly stuck out your bottom lip and panted with all the sarcasm that you could muster:

“we'll get to the good part... About tomorrow?” You wished to add more, something about him being old, but that remark and many more drowned in the absolute extasy flooding your body as he slid into your cunt in one single smooth stroke. “Aah...” Left your lips instead, and with it, any remaining oxygen departed from your lungs as well.

“Mouthy,” Thranduil remarked, sounding unfairly put together for someone who's mouth was as slippery as wet stone and cheeks brighter than a ripe beetroot.

You forgave him then and there. In awe, you watched him give you another one of his impish grins and nudge at that spot deeply within you. And he did it all over again, plush mouth releasing the sweetest, quietest of moans as he did so. Time got lost in the tug of war tour cunt played with his cock; like this, your release was imminent and fast approaching.

You grabbed Thranduil's arms, rubbed his shoulders as your legs wound up around his narrow waist while he contentedly and systematically unraveled you apart with rapid, smooth snaps of his hips. For a while, there was nothing in the room but the two of you and the lewd noises of damp skin slapping against skin. Clutching harder, you felt yourself tighten around his girth. Each measured stroke abused your engorged clit, heavy sac adding extra sensation on your perineum.

A low, feral groan joined the thrilling cacophony of sex. Thranduil fucked you through your first orgasm with gritted teeth, barely slowing with the new resistance of your cunt attempting to milk him for his worth. Hair hanging over your faces like a curtain, he claimed your lips in a searing kiss as you whimpered with overstimulation. Evenly, his thrusts became shallow, grinding.

Having become a acquainted with your bearings somewhat, you made a confused noise. The King just grinned. His palm connected firmly with the side of your hip as you squealed. He withdrew.

“Present yourself to your King.” He ordered, both smug and slightly breathless, helping you along onto all fours.

You chuffed into the damp bedding and obeyed, arching your back at a sinful curve. Within seconds, you were once again blissfully full.

a/n: I am way too horny of a person to write anything LACE compliant. Or is that my commitment issues talking? Anyway, ELVES FUCK SEVERELY! At least this October. mwah 💋

I once ate like 12 grams of cubensis and was a cat for 3 hours, so Feren barking at Galion with the help of some 3k+ year old mushroom infused moonshine isn't that far-fetched.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Please King Thranduil, who falls in love with Lord Elrond's captain of the guard. She thinks she offended him in some way by the way he looks at her.

A Glance Misunderstood

Word count: 782

Pairing: king Thranduil x guard!reader

________________________________________________________

The great halls of the Woodland Realm were silent, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. King Thranduil, the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, sat upon his throne, his sharp gaze fixed on the flames. He was lost in thought, a rare occurrence for one as sharp and present as he. His mind was occupied by a vision that had been haunting him for weeks—one of beauty, elegance, and unparalleled skill.

Her name was Y/N, the captain of Lord Elrond’s guard. She had come to Mirkwood as part of a diplomatic envoy, tasked with ensuring the safety of the Elven emissaries. She was a formidable warrior, and her strategies in battle were nothing short of brilliant. But it wasn’t just her prowess in combat that had captivated the Elvenking. There was something else, something deeper.

Thranduil had always prided himself on his ability to remain detached, to view all things through the lens of logic and reason. Yet, when Y/N was near, he found his usual composure wavering. His gaze would linger on her, his thoughts would drift, and a feeling he had not known for centuries stirred within him.

But Y/N, unaware of the king’s growing affection, had misinterpreted his attentions. Every time she caught him staring, his eyes intense and unreadable, she believed she had done something to offend him. Perhaps her manner was too blunt, or her strategies too bold for his liking. The thought troubled her deeply, for she held the Elvenking in the highest regard.

One evening, after a long day of strategizing with Thranduil and his advisors, Y/N lingered in the great hall, hoping to understand what she had done wrong. The king’s gaze had been particularly piercing that day, and she could not bear the thought of leaving Mirkwood with his disapproval.

“Your Majesty,” she began hesitantly, approaching the throne. Thranduil turned his gaze to her, his blue eyes once again unreadable.

“Captain Y/N,” he acknowledged, his voice smooth as silk. “What troubles you?”

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “I fear I may have offended you in some way, my lord. You have often looked upon me with such… intensity. If I have done anything to displease you, I beg your forgiveness.”

Thranduil’s expression softened, a rare sight for those who knew him. He rose from his throne, descending the few steps to stand before her. He was tall, imposing, and yet, in that moment, there was a gentleness about him that caught Y/N off guard.

“You have not offended me, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warmth that was almost foreign to her ears. “If my gaze has lingered upon you, it is not out of displeasure, but rather… admiration.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by his words. “Admiration, my lord?”

Thranduil nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “You are a remarkable warrior, Captain. Your strategies in battle are unparalleled, your leadership is exemplary. But more than that… you possess a beauty and elegance that is rare, even among our kind. It is not often that I find myself so captivated.”

Her breath caught in her throat. The Elvenking, known for his aloofness and indifference, was confessing his admiration for her? It was almost too much to believe.

“I had thought…” she began, but her voice faltered. “I had thought you were displeased with me.”

A small, almost amused smile tugged at the corners of Thranduil’s lips. “Displeased? No, Y/N. Quite the opposite. You have stirred something within me that I thought long dormant. You have not offended me, my dear captain. You have enchanted me.”

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her chest, her earlier fears dissipating like morning mist. “My lord,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I did not know…”

Thranduil took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift her chin, so she would meet his gaze. “There is much we do not know about each other, Y/N. But I would like to change that. If you are willing.”

Her heart raced, and she felt the weight of his words settle over her like a warm blanket. There was no command in his voice, only a quiet hope, a desire to know her better, not as a captain, but as a woman. As someone he cared for.

“I am willing, my lord,” she replied, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within her.

Thranduil’s smile deepened, and for a brief moment, the great Elvenking looked almost boyish, as if a great burden had been lifted from him. “Then let us begin, Y/N. There is much I wish to learn about you, and much I wish to share.”

[ginger-and-all-things-spice]

The first king of greenwood and his vigorous spring or Thranduil and his Ada

[coopsgirl]

Book Thranduil seems very much like a pacifist. It's Bard who is ready to fight the dwarves after Laketown is destroyed and multiple times Thranduil talks him down in favor of diplomacy. He only agrees to fight when all diplomatic efforts fail and he does so to help the people of Laketown who are his friends.

FYI, the part in the movie with Thranduil not helping when Smaug first attacks Erebor and then later being willing to risk his soldier's lives for a necklace are NOT canon.

I'm going to be controversial and say this: Thranduil was not in the wrong for not helping the dwarves.

He was protecting his people first and foremost. That should be a leader's #1 priority. Die mad about it.

[velvet4510]

I will forever believe that Thranduil in the books had the same motive for reclaiming Erebor’s white gems that he had in the movies - they belonged to his wife. Either they were the last memory of his wife in Middle-earth besides Legolas if she was dead or had sailed, or he wanted to get them for her or have them returned to her if she was still around at the time.

I think it’s very possible because, remember, The Hobbit was written entirely by Bilbo, a guy who never really knew Thranduil very well, even though they got along. This is what Bilbo has to say about Thranduil:

"if the elf-king had a weakness it was for treasure, especially for silver and white gems; and though his hoard was rich, was eager for more, since he had not yet as great a treasure as other elf-lords of old."

It’s easy to see why Bilbo would mistakenly assume Thranduil had some kind of greed upon seeing him try to enter Erebor, especially while closely witnessing Thorin’s lowest point.

If Thranduil had a much deeper and more understandable motive, Bilbo had absolutely no way of knowing this. All Bilbo knew for certain, even in retrospect, was that white gems reminded him of Thingol’s desire for the Silmaril, which he undoubtedly knew about from his “Translations from the Elvish.” Therefore, he painted an incomplete portrait of the Elvenking in his memoir.

Not that he didn’t like Thranduil; he obviously did. He’s the guy who named him “Elf-friend,” after all. But they weren’t close to the point where Bilbo could learn the real reason why Thranduil wanted gems from Erebor.

I think Lee Pace, master actor that he is, found in Thranduil what Bilbo Baggins could not.