awkwardkindatries

[awkwardkindatries]

I was randomly thinking about how I really should finish reading some books when a thought came to me. Erestor would be both the best and worst person to be in a book club with. He'll keep you on track to finishing a book, but also, maybe you don't pick up on things that he picks up on. He'll have very detailed essays on each chapter and may judge you for having only a couple of sentences on some chapters.

I love him. Yall know I do, but I don't know if I'd want to join a book club if he is in it. He'd probably be the one to start it. Maybe you join the book club while you have him join another club of your choice? Art club? Pottery? Maybe even fishing!

Erest-whore

Okay, but I feel like being in a book club with Erestor would be miserable. As someone with ADHD, My attention span wanders sometimes so it takes me longer to read things, and with a motherfucker like him over my shoulder? No thank you! The kind of motherfucker to book shame you and judge how long it takes to complete one page.

Catch me in a corner silently reading~

#erestor #sfw

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Welcome back! Missed you! Hope everything's been good for you.

I don't know if I should sign off as Erest-whore anymore lol

I'm gonna say you should keep the name, you earned it in my book~

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Nice to see you again!

It's wonderful to be back!

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Ask box is officially open again, so if anyone wants to spit silly and talk shit, let’s go~🖤

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First post in well.. forever.

I think I’m gonna reopen this blog, I think I’m ready again.

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It's me, Awkward, reblogging on the appropriate blog even though I might have inadvertently followed you with my personal blog😅. I'm alive and tired.. Mostly tired..

Okay, I am in a less than pleasant mood and I feel like I'm not handling it well. So, I need a distraction with my favorite boys.

No doubt the elves have different methods with dealing with your flare ups of emotions. Especially when they use sex as a distraction or punishment.

Gil Galad would gently talk you down, offering to use himself as an outlet for your frustrations. Now, you'd either aggressively pull his clothes off, pushing his fine robes off his shoulders to give you access to bite at his neck, leaving visible signs of your anger. Pushing him down to whatever flat surface is avaliable, you climb onto of him easing yourself onto his cock, roughly riding him.

Now on the other hand, if you wanted him to shower you with affection as he calms you down, he'd kiss you gently, threading his hands through your hair. Pulling you towards your bedroom, he'd shed both of your clothes along the way. Laying you down in the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off the sides, he lower himself to your sex. Pleasing you with his very skilled mouth. Your hands tug at his hair, chanting his name. Your anger long forgotten, lost to the ocean of pleasure that is Gil Galad's mouth.

Erestor does not stand for outbursts of anger from most people, least of all you. Though he may not know what has caused your anger, you slamming the door when you entered threw any empathy he have had out the window. He glared up at you from his favorite armchair, book laying on his crossed legs. Feeling the slightest bit of nervousness at his expression, you open the door only to gently shut it again. You apologize quietly, making your way to your room. Erestor commanded you to stay where you were, shutting to book closed, setting it on the end table. Stopping, your head tilted down, nervous for what is sure to come. Erestor tells you to turn around and face him. You do, as if you'd disobey him right now. Eyebrows furrowed and his usual deep frown, he tells you to remove your clothes and bend over his lap once you're bare before him. The promise of spanking you for disturbing his peaceful reading caused a shiver to run up your spine as you hurriedly disrobed.

(+Not sexy, just sad)

Maedhros is a bit iffy though. Pre angband, he is gentle and understanding. Soft dom or sub to the max, like Gil Galad. But after, it is unlikely your anger would lead to any form of intimacy. If you yelled or made loud sudden noises, he'd immediately want to either leave the room and put distance between you or shut down completely, dissociating.

Erest-whore

I'm in exactly the same mood, take comfort in solidarity?

Personally, I'm very much leaning into making them your distraction. Just venting your anger on their bodies as they just lay there and take it. A beautifully painted picture.

[awkwardkindatries]

Thoughts on Fingon

A/N: I've had so many thoughts about his character for the longest time and thanks to a friend for giving me a boost, I feel a bit more confident releasing my interpretation of his character. Some may appear repetitive, but eh. Please, these are my headcanons, you don't have to agree. If you don't, refrain from negative commentary. Thank you :)

‘Wise he was and skilled in voice and hand’, this part of Fingon’s description I noticed, tends to get overlooked a lot when characterising and building his persona.

He is a wise person, and may not have been the wisest like his fellow cousins or skilled in advanced magic like them, but Fingon was able to hold his ground when it came to academics and warfare. He wasn't all about athletic and lack wisdom and knowledge, he had brains (didn't use them rightly all the time lol).

Athletics was not the only aspect of Fingon’s life that he was skilled in, he was also articulate in academics. As the son of a prince, he would have outstanding scholars teaching him all topics throughout his adolescence.

Participating in court from a young age as he attended sessions with his father and engaging in small debates when he could. He was not the best or the most eloquent when it came to more advanced topics, but he was wise enough when challenging his opponents.

It wouldn’t be until his younger brother Turgon became of age and began attending court alongside him, he would take a step back to allow his brother to shine and show off his knowledge and enthusiasm. Fingon did become a little jealous of the trail of attention falling onto his brother more than him when he began showing more interest in politics.

But he did enjoy partaking in court, just not to the extent as his other family members.

Sports for him was a getaway/stress-reliever activity that he grew to enjoy and developed professionalism in certain areas. He excels well in horseback riding, ice skating (I like to believe Valinor had ice skating), archery, wrestling and other track and field events.

When it came to being skilled in hand in the warfare aspect, he was an extraordinarily proficient swordsman (he would have aided in training Maedhros after his recovery after all). Among his cousins, he would have ranked fourth (4th) or fifth (5th).

Following up with the previously mentioned quote, he was also his father’s commander during their time in Beleriand. As a commander, who later became the High King, he was somewhat of a strategist which leads to being a manipulator. Being skilled in hand and voice, especially the latter is primarily the reason why he can be charismatic and charming when he spoke to people.

Being able to easily influence persons to allow him to have his way (not in a conniving manner which he can do). He mostly used his voice to speak inspiration and strength into the hearts of people, lifting their spirits (a motivational speaker).

Then too, he may not of had the most political involvement in Beleriand or been the most outstanding commander under his father’s rule, but he was fairly decent even as a High King and wise. Being able to give orders on his own, plan and not always needing to rely on others.

He isn’t always the cheery, go-to sunshine prince charming or merry glittery prince, Fingon can also be a quiet and observant person who prefers to bask in his little world of troubles and be angst. Giving emotional support to others while humbly expressing his misery and trauma.

As much as he enjoys putting on the ‘people’s supportive and serotonin prince’ façade, there are days when he can barely hold himself together. He would quietly walk through the streets of Hithlum, mourning the loss of his brother, sister-in-law and other fallen comrades or find himself crying in the rain.

Furthermore, let's not forget that he was also a kinslayer. It may not be engraved into his blood or mind the way it would be for the Feanorians (allowing for murder to be a primary threat), but it does float around his conscience.

As much as he has regrettably apologised to himself and to his cousins, and viewed as one of the calmest of the kinslayers, he is still considered unpredictable. Being a friendly charming radiant prince still isn't enough for many, including himself, to forget what he is capable of.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @starborne0661 @floraroselaughter @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justjane @justellie17 @edensrose

[awkwardkindatries]

Reborn

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Anything For You

Bruz/Fem Reader (commission piece)

@a-million-sassy-bunnies

Fic tags: Sfw, fluff, drinking and public intoxication, one bed troup

Word count: 2,925

The frost of the air was suffocating, the type of feeling that burned the lungs in such a way that it swirled around the thick damp skin to chill one's depths. An immediate reaction that you’ve had to endure for the better part of a week. Hour by hour, second by second, every shiver racks through your nerves and deep into the chattered vibration of your teeth and the ricketing off-kilter tune of your bones. It’s an otherwise haunting description to ruminate on if it weren't for the constant heat source radiating beside you. The rays of sunshine breaking through your layers, and even though you physically got nothing, emotionally, the warmth from him seeped into your cheeks and chest.

Bruz has always been this way, at least to your knowledge.

Your time on the road together has proven this several times over, a genuine display of kindness with every conversation, each smile laced with connection. You should thank him for possibly being the only reason you’ve endured this trip, Though you know he’d never accept it. The will to keep walking had long since lost you, gone with the soles of your shoes and resting deep into the calloused pads of your feet. He made the time pass in such a way that making it to the inn felt ethereal, to soak up the flickering lights in the windows in the distance, the sounds of song and boisterous conversation resounding across the damp stone way a merestone's toss away. The building was old though objectively charming, its aged appearance offering up a coziness. The top half was comprised of worn-out wood, the exposure to the elements having made it fade a few shades lighter than its once upon a time, a glimmer from its fresh beginning peeking out from beneath the hidden underside against the structure. The cobbled bottom has definitely faced some erosion, sunken in and freckled with holes and mossy imperfections alike.

The heavy, embellished doors and brassy frozen knob felt like sanctuary as it gave. Having been rewarded for your persistence with warmth and pleasant atmosphere. From the boards on the floor to the beams along the ceiling, you were surrounded by stained, aged wood, rich in color and experience. You could smell the experiences of the past ingrained in the building, the spilled liquor soaked into the floor, the smoke of the lit fireplace singed from the corners of the stone cage along the ceiling about halfway across before falling short, for now.

The last underlying note vaguely reminded you of blood. Perhaps a brawl had broken out recently? A detail you’ll have to forgo for now as whatever remaining evidence is shrouded by the sea of filled chairs and wobbling bodies. The wake of pine sol would seem to be your only solace on the matter.

The deep pitch beside you pulls you from your moment of assessment as you turn to face your travel companion. “ A merry bunch, huh?” he asks, “sounds like we should join 'em” he finishes and gestures with a light nod of his head into the building. He sure didn’t have to tell you twice.

You make your way in, immediately marking all of the crucial aspects of the lobby. The majority of the area was consumed by tables, just about all of which were occupied. The bar was pushed back into the far right wall of the room, covered in the same deep lacquer of alcohol as the rest of the floor. Far ahead sits the reception desk, the receptionist looking awfully dreary compared to the rest of the lively room, the boisterous parties having returned from their tasks to settle in for the night and leaving her job virtually done.

Bruz makes his way to the bar, immediately bee-lining past all of the tables, even knocking over a sluggish man or two as he passes. Letting out a light chuckle, you let your eyes drift from the big orcish oaf and instead fixate on the bored, worn-out-looking woman in the distance. The next task seems simple enough in comparison to your last few weeks of travel, one you anticipate being over in no time. As you make your way through the crowd, you can make out snippets of conversation between all of the excited jumbled-up gibberish that permeates the potent open air. Comments on recent conquests, the good and the bad, playful mockings of one another, and even an occasional comment about the now most prominent man in the room, Bruz. This is to be expected. He tends to catch just about every eye wherever he goes, and you’ve long since grown used to it.

After several minutes of being bumped, pushed, and lightly splashed with just about every beverage the tavern has to offer, you finally make it to the receptionist counter, flustered and slightly out of breath. Regardless, you offer the middle-aged woman an awkward smile with just about all of the charisma you possibly have left to spare as you ever so casually lean forward against the worn wood. The woman is nonplussed by your presence, never hazarding a glance in your general direction. You stand there a moment longer as you take her in, giving her every opportunity to acknowledge you. Her head remains resting in her open palm and her elbow against the surface of the desk; her attention is still wholly focused on her book, eyes skimming quickly across the paper as it makes the bags under her eyes seem just a smidge lighter. Beside her is her guest book, looking awfully full as it makes a bit of anxiety rise in your stomach. Fuck you hope there's a room. You really didn't think you could make it another night of walking with your hopes deceptively high.

With a shaky tired hand, you quickly tap the bell on the edge of the counter. The ding is unsettlingly loud and promptly makes you twice as nervous as you watch the woman physically jolt in reaction to the sudden interruption. Quickly her eyes meet yours; a minor twitch can be seen in the corner of the lid as she takes you in. Suddenly you feel slightly more alone in contrast to the rest of the room as you try to find your voice. “H-Hi! My companion and I are looking for two rooms for the night. Would you happen to have anything available?” Your forced smile is feeling ever tighter as she continues to look you up and down blankly. Finally, without saying anything, she rolls her eyes over to look at the book that you found yourself scrutinizing moments ago. Flipping through a couple of pen-filled pages, she finally came to a stop, a singular line left empty.

“Well, that seems like tough luck, hun. We’ve only got one left.” She says, looking back at you with half the patience that you currently have. Biting your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin to wear at it. With a quick glance behind you, you capture the sight of Bruz leaning against the bar, a large mug in his hand as he retells a tale to the barkeep. The poor man behind the bar is visibly sweating and offering the big guy a forced smile as Bruz continues to lean over the bar to stay in the man's line of sight. It reminds you of a puppy demanding the attention of the last person who it made eye contact with.

With a soft snort, you take the room, sure that the big guy probably won't mind at all, but more than anything, you’re relieved that this “conversation” that you’ve been having is over. With the ordeal over, you shuffle your way back over to the bar as you eagerly await whatever foaming drink Bruz seems to be sloshing around in his cup and just about everywhere else.

The next couple of hours go by much faster than you thought they would have, especially when, in comparison to what you had initially planned to encompass your evening, and by that, you mean sleep. Endless dead-brained sleep, you felt like you earned it for the utter shit show that you’ve endured; however, the longer you stared at the orc next to you, the more you felt like you had a couple more beats of energy to will away the urge to sleep. The time was spent talking about your travels, Exaggerating your stories more and more to near unimaginable feats, and with every drink you had, the giddier you got telling these outlandish tall tales together. The surrounding bodies have long since stopped listening. That was alright, though; the stories exchanged have long since lost their purpose for others and instead for each other.

The laughter had turned to slurs, and the bodies had slowly started to fade away into the distance as they trickled into the confines of their rooms, and it was about time that you began to agree with them. You could feel the heat of your face as you smiled back at the man you arrived with as he mimicked it with a concerned one of his own. He asked you a question. You just know it; however, the only thing you could make out in between the dazed state was the last word, “Room.” “Room?” you thought. Oh right! That key has got to be on you somewhere. With numb-tipped fingers, you began to fish around the pocket of your trousers, meandering about the fabric until you hit something solid. Curling your fingers around the cold metal, you pull it from the confines of your pocket before then presenting your prize with a gleeful laugh.

He mimics your game of playing champion and carefully takes the key from your hand, kindly thanking his tiny friend for sharing her spoils with him; how grateful he is to the little squish that is his human. He stands, offering you his hand to help you up from the worn-out stool. Immediately you accept, placing your smaller hand inside his much larger one, the pads of your fingers grazing his. The texture is a sharp contrast to your own, very thick and calloused from war and the orcish lifestyle that he's had to live out. For a moment, you contemplate dragging your thumb along the exposed bit of his hand, an innocent interaction that was interrupted by the feeling of his other hand gripped tightly to your calf. Your breath catches in your chest as you suddenly find your feet not on the ground where you had left them. Instead, You’re suspended in the air, held safely against the broad plush expanse of Bruz’s as he rattles away about how small you are in his arms, how worried he’d be of your little human legs stumbled and fell down the stairs on the way to the room, but that’d it’d all be alright because “Your good ol’ pal Bruz has got ya in great hands.”.

It all feels so natural to you, being here, with him, held so close to his chest in the gentle sway of his walk. As your head rests against his chest, your breath begins to slow, eased to peace to swell in tandem with the deep beating of his own heart. Your eyes feel heavy, the weight of the liquor beginning to pool in the back of your head and swirl around into quiet reassurances and blind trust in your wonderfully clumsy silly friend. You soon find yourself dozing off in the warm comfort of his arms, a night of restful sleep with fuzzy-headed empty black dreams. The thick, inky type that sticks to the cognizant facets of your mind and leaves it absolutely muddled in the murky buzz of a brimming headache.

You feel the sharp pain begin to brim behind your eyes; the profound irritation is splintering across your head, weaving intricate patterns of cracking earth across your skull. You can practically see the tremors shake the rubble into your field of vision, convinced that the back of your eyelids are somehow the setting of a cave-in, basking in the wake of your tunnel vision. With a groan, you crack open your eyes to the barest you can manage; the bright light almost immediately blinds you and exacerbates the start of your headache into something far more horrific. The wave of nausea feels like impending doom as pressure creeps up your abdomen and clings viciously to the back of your throat as the lurking acid pricks against your uvula.

Gripping the sheets around your body, you give a sharp jerk against them in an attempt to rip them from your body before you have the chance to ruin them. Your head makes it just over the edge of the bed before your first bout of dry heaving. Thankfully, nothing comes up, and your ability to choke down the next one rewards you with a burn in the meat of your throat and the state of your pride. The longer your head hangs in shame, dulled eyes dripped in drinkers regret, stare hard at the ornate area rug just out of reach of the bed frame.

“That's odd.” you think, “when had you made it to a room? Was this even your room?” flicking your eyes across up towards the door, you can see the key still lingering snugly in the keyhole, the wooden keychain dangling from the middle ring. In the middle of the keychain, you can plainly make out the black-painted numbers of the room you had booked last night.

Well, you suppose that answers one question at least, but that only blossoms several more in its wake. For instance, where the hell is Bruz? A surge of panic rakes up the length of your spine, and you're immediately dripped through by a tremendous cold sweat. You sit up with a start, Searching the room in a panic, only to be met with relief immediately.

At the end of the bed rests Bruz; he seems to have made his body comfortable on the floor while his head is cradled between the middle of his folded arms atop the comforter. He looks so deeply unaware of the surroundings in the room, of you being awake, or the almost immediate reaction you had to the mix of your own existence and the consequences of your actions. You take a moment just to watch him, to watch the eyes behind his closed lids flicker to life with whatever glorious scene of victory might be playing behind them. In the midst of his dream, a slight noise leaves him, followed by a slight jerk of his body. Then, subconsciously, he rakes out for you as his massive hand waves through the wrinkled quilt in search of you. He quickly finds your foot on top of all of the fabric, gently bringing his fingers to cover the expanse of your ankle. His massive size dwarfs the frame beneath you, and it’s moments like this that you can really take in his size and appreciate him for some of the most important features about him. In a way, he reminds you of a guard dog, resting at the end of the bed, closest to the entryway, as he waits patiently for anything to breach the door with all of the audacity and none of the common sense.

Gently wiggling your foot, you begin to softly rock against the hand on your leg as you lightly jostle your friend awake. A deep groan leaves him, and you swear you could feel it vibrate the entirety of the bed. With a couple of slow blinks, his head rises as he begins to look around the room, barely eyes trying to make sense of the current state of time. As he turns his head suddenly, he gives himself a much-needed crack in the neck, followed by a hefty sound of appreciation. You let out a soft chuckle as you watched. It sure did seem like the thing to hit the spot. His eyes look up to meet yours, and you can see his imaginary tail begin to wag.

“Well, good mornin’ Squish!” He says; already, his voice is a couple of octaves too high, but regardless let him continue on.

“Morning Bruz,” You greet back, “did you actually manage to get any rest down there?” You ask.

With an eager nod, he responds, “Sure did. You know us great orc lords can sleep anywhere! Practically indestructible we are!”. His enthusiasm is utterly infectious as you can't help the bright smile that breaks across your features; you sure did know.

“Thanks for bringing me to the room, big guy. I'm sure if I had tried by myself last night, I might not have gotten this far.” You're almost a little embarrassed to bring it up, just a little ashamed at having to have your friend bring youtube to the room like an incapacitated baby.

Nonetheless, he smiles. It’s so bright it’s practically blinding. Bringing his hand just a smidge tighter around your leg, he gives a squish of reassurance as he maintains eye contact.

“S’ alright little squish, I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Your chest squeezes ever tighter, and the prickling in your throat all but vanishes at the rise of the cotton drought around your tongue. Leaning forward, you place both of your hands on top of his singular hand, barely even a comparison in size.

With an assuring squeeze, you say,

“ Me too, big guy, Me too.”

#bruz #lord of the rings #lotr #sfw #fluff #orcs #middle earth #commisionwork

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the hobbit movies but its a don bluth film

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But everyone loves murder minstrel!

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still on my silmarillion kick and back on my ‘recreating napoleon paintings’ kick here’s the whole Formenos crew probably right after taking the Oath

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It's been too long (it has been like 2 days) since I posted anything with Legolas and Thranduil so have Thran and his silly little son again hehe >:)

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Thranduil was the parent who dressed Legolas in little baby robes so he always matched Ada

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the reason turin was speechless after beleg died is because he was shocked by how bad that joke was, trust me guys i was gwindor’s lamp

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I certainly hadn't anticipated a tie, but it did at least help me decide.

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why they so cute..😩

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