#and with the elves' whole thing about being able to see your soul through your eyes

[kirishism]

Maitimo and Maedhros study that turned into art progression im very satisfied with

#silmarillion #maedhros feanorion #maitimo #russandol #hes MY sad wet kinslayer #ive also been thinking about the 'eyes of a killer' concept #and with the elves' whole thing about being able to see your soul through your eyes #the feanorians were probably known for that look #my art

[autistichalsin]

So @dorky-malorky left a really good reply on this post I made earlier, and it was so good I had to reply- BUT my reply got way too long, so I'm making a new post. I'm going to quote their reply, and then add my own under.

So true, besties. As someone who was bullied pretty mercilessly all through grade school and right up until graduation, I see a lot of that same mask in Halsin. He puts up with so much and it's not because he's a sage wise old druid, it's because he has unresolved trauma!!! Man basically says Thaniel was his only friend growing up and that's why he became a druid. Imagine making a friend as a little kid and then finding out that no one else knows of him or can even see him. To all those people Thaniel may as well have been an imaginary playmate to a sad lonely boy. Then he grows up and loses pretty much everyone he cares about. He's cut off from Thaniel, he's cut off from his peers, and he puts so much of the blame on himself for that. Then he's thrust into a position of leadership where he, again, struggles to make connections. Sure some people at the grove are like 'sure wish Halsin was here' but then they all just go along with Khaga and the Rite of Thorns anyways instead of doing anything about it and they basically write him off as lost. In my view, Halsin has just been swallowing grief and disappointment his whole life and has been putting on the brave face because that's what people expect from him. Don't make waves, just keep on keeping on. Even with Tav and the tadpole crew he will keep swallowing that same shit beyond what a normal person would put up with because Halsin just wants to belong. He will take scraps if that's all he can get, and be thankful for it, when what he deserves is to be at the table with everyone else. And the heartbreaking thing is just how deeply he cares despite everything he's gone through. He could be bitter and angry like Astarion, but instead he suppresses and buries the hurt way down deep, and just keeps going, holding onto a hope that the future will be a better place. :(

And here is my response:

ALL OF THIS. There is a REASON so much of the fandom has independently come to the conclusion that Halsin is both autistic and a victim of bullying- realize it or not, the writers just put too many tell-tale behaviors in.

Your part about taking scraps just hits the nail on the head. He takes whatever the player gives, and he is still so damn nice- if he loses all of his approval towards the player (which is quite a feat since rescuing Thaniel and breaking the curse gets you 40-50 depending on choices made) he may be snippy in his greetings and in his point-n-click lines which are currently bugged, but he still never actually... really does anything about it.

And that he's able to still care after all of this- even setting aside headcanons, this is still a man who had few to no friends growing up, has been othered for his size and treated like his feelings don't matter, has lost everyone he loved, was made a sex slave for three years to one of the cruelest groups out there, with said slavery including seeing the bodies of other elves like him made into decorations, was forced to fight a huge battle and then faced a curse that killed so many friends of his that it would "take [him] a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends [he] lost" AND he had to kill the reanimated corpse of the previous Archdruid, a man he speaks admiringly of every time he mentions him, leaving him with survivor's guilt and pretty obvious PTSD, AND it took away his best/possibly only friend from childhood, he was forced into a leadership role he never wanted and in fact was actively miserable in, stressed to the point that he started thinking fondly of his past as a sex slave (with the implication being he romanticized it because he wanted not to have to be responsible for such hard decisions anymore) and with not a single soul to confide in who might tell him these thoughts weren't healthy, he spent years begging for help breaking the curse but even the Emerald Enclave was basically like "yeah you're on your own buddy", he fell into what was strongly implied to be alcoholism and had to swear it off entirely, his attempt to jump at the first chance he saw in 100 years to break the curse resulted in him being held captive again and tortured- by goblins, which got him mocked later- while his Grove was infiltrated, psyoped (seriously, too many people don't seem to know that Ketheric orchestrated the Shadow Druids infiltrating the Grove because he knew what a threat they/Halsin would be and wanted it neutralized) and turned against him by Kagha, requiring him to send in a new Archdruid while he left to try to solve the mindflayer crisis- and almost immediately discovering she was a better leader than he EVER was, which I'm sure left him with a feeling of not just inadequacy as he alluded to in his scenes, but also with a feeling he'd wasted all those 100 years trying to lead if he could have just handed it off to someone better all along, then after he finally breaks the curse that has been plaguing his homeland for 100 years he goes into the city, is promptly gut-punched with how much people, especially children, are suffering there, tries everything short of screaming to get people's attention that this is NOT OKAY and is promptly brushed off and dismissed at every turn, then finally goes to fight a Nether Brain to save the world, which he admits he had little faith he would survive- but he put on a brave face for the player (especially if romanced). And that's literally just the main canon path, not including things that can be done to him in darker branches, like his Grove being slaughtered and his attempt to avenge them all failing, or the Rite of Thorns succeeding and him losing his home forever, or him getting kidnapped by Orin, or, once that new update goes into place, him having casual sex with his friend/love interest (depending on the circumstances) and some prostitutes, opening up about his time as a sex slave, and then being promptly threatened to be sold back into slavery by the person he trusted. No, this stuff is literally just the main, good canon path.

I know people tend to say Halsin clearly worked through his traumas in a healthy way offscreen (this line gets used most with his time as a sex slave) but the lack of support system Halsin has, his inability to center his own needs, even to himself, for a single minute, his desperation to be validated for just a single moment, his idolization of the player if they break the curse even if they subsequently treat him badly, his emotions being so turbulent that he alludes to being unable to control his wildshape on two different occasions with both specifically being linked to turbulent emotions (one being intense arousal and excitement, the other being anger and fear when escaping the goblin camp at the player's side), all of which is incredibly unusual for any Druid let alone an Archdruid hailed as one of the most powerful around... none of this really?? points to that being true???

He doesn't act like he is a wise, zen old Druid, he acts like he's trying to be a wise, zen old Druid, and there is a huge difference.

#halsin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

[illarian-rambling]

Is there anything from your WIP that you want to talk about/give a more detailed explanation of but haven't had an opportunity to?

Probably the whole "in the beginning" sequence if I'm being honest. The base worldbuilding. So let's do it!

Before there was anything, there was nothing. There was darkness, silence, and the endless void. It couldn't have been called happy, this void, but perhaps it was content.

Then, a spark came into the universe. Now, we had something. There was light, sound, and chaos. There were stars and young planets and baby galaxies just beginning to glow.

In eons hence, these two forces would be called many names, but for simplicity's sake, we can call them End and Beginning. Each was a collection of minds, a colonial organism on a massive scale. For a while, there was balance between the two. The minds of Beginning resided in the stars and churned out planets, some of which harbored early, microbial life. The minds of End resided in the dark inbetween, and made sure Beginning didn't overstep its bounds. However, in time, End grew bitter. It didn't like this bright, noisy, chaotic universe. It wanted things to go back to how they were before.

And so it began to exterminate Beginning.

Stars bled out and died as the universe was plunged into war. Beginning tried to fight back, but it was a creative force, not a destructive one, and it was no match for End's gluttonous march. Billions upon billions of galaxies were destroyed, consumed by the nothing that was there first, until finally, there was only one lonely mind of Beginning left.

We can call this mind the Creator. While its brethren were being devoured, this single mind in its yellow star set to work creating sentient life. It split off two aspects of itself to do this; one to create the body, the other to forge the soul. The Illarians call these aspects Tsa and Ayu. The dwarves call them the Prime Twins. But either way, humans and dwarves were not the first people they created. First came the Araunians.

As End closed in above, chewing through the nearby stars and the more distant planets in the solar wheel, the Araunians split and morphed into the varied peoples that crowd Illaros today. Humans and goblins, sirens and selkies, and only one race of elves so far. All of these disparate people had one thing in common though; they had gods.

Through the power of their souls, divine sparks given to them by the Creator itself, the gods these peoples imagined sprang into reality. The Illarian, the Aderenon, the Nabafyrian ancestors, the Great Anglerfish, and many more. These were the children of mortality, grandchildren to the last mind of Beginning left living. This mind, the Creator, had only one message for the powerful new gods: "Get out there and fight that fucking thing!!"

The gods are not bound by the rules of creation and destruction, but instead can levy both equally. They rushed to fight End, to push it back from where it had besieged them and their makers, and they have been fighting for every moment since then. Through their efforts, the mortals of Illaros have been able to grow, develop, and evolve. The Creator has survived as the last of its kind. And though the universe is so terribly empty, it will never be nothing again, so long as the gods of Illaros defend all of something.

Without any true stars besides the sun though, what do the people of Illaros see in the night sky, you might ask? Well, they see what they think are stars---bright, white, untwinkling lights. In truth, these are the eyes of End, everwatching and everwaiting to devour the last bastion of life in all of the universe.

Thanks for the ask! I figured I'd brought End up enough that yall were owed a bit of an explanation. Hope this is interesting!

(As another side note: the words Illaros (the planet everyone lives on) and Illarian (the human gods) are so similar because they're both human words that stem from the same root. 'Illa' means horizon in Janazi (human language) and is an important concept to the seafaring people. A person from Illaros would be called Illari, though no such word exists on Illaros today, because they don't know about other planets yet, so why would they specify)

(Again, thanks for listening to me rant about worldbuilding)

(Have a bitchin day <3)

(Whoops here's my tag list @amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff)

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #author #writeblr

[sorcerous-caress]

Ok ok ok I'm very new to the human kink thing but I'm wondering if there's some kind of planar effect associated with it??? Like I can just imagine the idea of star elves and other eldarin who come from the feywild and spent their whole lives being so immersed in magic that if they ever encounter a non-spellcaster human for the first time it's just like wow. this mf has zero magic about them. I wonder if it's a strange sensation, like noise cancelling headphones, and that lack of magical energy might feel relieving or sexual for them. Idk if it's exactly dnd canon but I've always imagined magic aligned entities to be able to sense magic like a buzzing in the air, so a lack of that buzzing would be entirely wild for them. Either way, magical radio silence = sexual exploration for eldarin and I fully support it

(also I love love loveeeee your work and your dnd theories and fun inquiries have led me to learn so much more cool lore and it's shaped some of my interspecies interactions in-game as a DM so tysm for everything you do 💜💜)

Wait really? I inspired some of your moments as a dm? Omfg please tell me I'd love to listen if you're willing to share <33. Thank you so much for the praise!

Also I love your theory! I hold similar ideas, that concept is too cool to pass on.

I've seen one similar to its concept in a game called "Echos of the Fey"

So elves in this game, average elves not just eladrin, are all born with magic. Because all magic comes from the fey and all elves share a connection to it.

Humans can learn magic too by using the hammer method and seeing what sticks on the wall, but they can never connect to the fey.

And the fey is exactly like you described. It allows to elves to effortlessly connect to each other, feel and sense each other's presence before seeing each other. It allows parents to feel when their children die and allows lovers to sense when their elf partner is in danger.

Elves can share their emotions through the fey too, they don't need to use words or explain things. They can let the other person feel exactly what they're feeling.

It was described as a constant song, a different melody from each elf in the sanctuary they all lived in. Going on at all times. And sure one elf can supress their own song but they can't stop hearing others'.

You can also speak words into the other person's mind using the fey. If they give you permission to dive deeper into their soul, you can even tell if they're lying about something or being honest.

But again, all of this only applies if the two people are elves. Even sorcerer humans wouldn't be able to feel it or connect to the fey.

It's also why elves seem cold or detached to humans, they are so used to the fey and the immediate connection and trust it gives them in other elves, that they don't bother to learn how to properly express their emotions with words or facial expressions. As a society, their inner personal relationships are always reliant on the fey.

In that game, one elf does move to a human settlement and he describes it as radio silence. That sometimes when he's around so many elves, he wonders if his ideas are truly his own or simply from other elves through the fey.

That being near humans gives him more individuality, forces him to work hard to establish trust with someone rather then immediately earn it. To learn to express his emotions rather than assume the other person can feel them.

It is radio silence. There is no music except for the ones humans deliberately play with their instruments. Even then, anyone can misinterpret its meaning with no definitive answer.

In that game, there are no other races besides humans and elves. And no sub-races for elves, they're all high elves.

But that theory still holds up if we integrate it to dnd! With some adjustments. It explains why elves are so reclusive, why they prefer the company of other elves over other races, and why two elf strangers seem to almost click immediately.

The fey is a constant overstimulatation, like getting constant ads in a video. Some elves learn to tone it out while others are so fed up with it that they'd rather lose their own magic than stay connected to it.

Which is why those ones would move to human cities, would prefer the company of humans and find joy at how expressive they are, at the long trials each friendship has in order to earn their trust.

For once their mind is clear, no meddling fey making them feel other's emotions or hear their thoughts. Only their own thoughts in their brain, everything they feel is truly their own.

Except when another elf is nearby.

But again, each elf can choose to suppress their own presence in they fey, just not others'. So, I like to think that elves in human cities came to a collective agreement to supress their own presence in the fey to not bother each other, also to not make the humans feel left out.

Anyway, exposition over, time to talk about the actual kink.

So remember that dog drawing contest meme? This one?

Where, yes, the second drawing was so beautiful and amazing, but the first place one held an undeniable charm to it.

I think that's how eladrins and star elves view humans.

Ofwjofwjofjwks now hear me out!

They're so used to everyone around them brimming with magic, for other fey creatures' appearance to change drastically through the season, wearing the ocean waves aa a dress or growing a cherry blossom tree as hair.

Imagine a human in comparison, how simple and plain we would be, how utterly new and adorable in their views.

Simplicity has its merits, if done right then it can be as beautiful as complexity if not more.

A human, devoid of any magic and only wearing their own body and clothes as decoration, would be beyond this world for elves and eladrins, literally.

There is another game i played that had human wizards talking about the fey world and the dangers of it, i don't remember its name.

But the main reason why humans were told to avoid the fey world and never go there, is because their souls shine bright like a beacon amidst it.

Every person and creature in the fey world knows magic beyond our comprehension, and all of them know how to hide their souls and lock it. Like installing anitmalware and a firewall on a computer with proxy to prevent tracking.

Humans are the boomers who uninstall system 32.

Our souls are just up for grabs, literally on a silver plate for any fey who comes waltzing in and tricks us into some verbal contract. We have no magic to detect them or to prevent them.

Humans don't last in the fey realm, everyone wants them. Even the most talented wizards who live there, never stay for long or always take a break every now and then.

You are literally the lighthouse, siren and mist amidst the fey sea.

To an elf who is tried of the magical noise, you're like a comfort blanket. Warm and makes them ignore the world outside.

They're beyond infatuated with how much you steal all of their brain's attention, focus all of their scattered thoughts on you or the simplest of things.

How you express your joy with laughter, how you spent time cooking a meal, how tears collect down your face when you cry, how you tap your feet or click your tongue.

Primal life in its purest forms, the most bare form a soul could ever take.

You're the most simple shape, and for that, you are loved, adored for how much you hold. How easily you adapt, a white light containing a rainbow inside.

Humans fit anywhere and everywhere, even in places they're not supposed to. They still tried and will keep trying forever, that's why they keep stepping to the fey realm and keep attempting on befriending the elves or building houses there.

It's hard not to be blinded by their light, let it outshine everything else around them.

In a sexual context, I think elves and eladrins would be so used to magical sex or soul connections that with a human they get to experience having their soul grounded into earth.

The simplest touch of fingertips trailing up their skin, the silence except for the occasional gasps and groans of the human. For the first time their own moans are so clear to their pointy ears, they're forced to drown into their own emotions and melt into the bed.

And the humans seduction and pleasure somehow clicks with every single race, somehow surpasses so many cultural barriers. Experiencing pure pleasure with all the small awkwardness and discomforts, being acutely aware of the pillow under their head or the drumming of their heartbeat.

It's how humans don't need magic to thrive, have fun or give pleasure. How these things are second nature to them, you could strip them of all of their fancy science and magic and even then they'll still find a new way to climb up.

That's the human condition That's the human spirit, to care in the face of uncaring world. To love despite your own limitations, to be kind to something you can never understand.

Every wizard who has ever lived in the fey realm speaks of it fondly, like an old friend. Despite the countless attempts on their life, despite the times they almost lost their mind. Humans see beauty in everything, dangerous or soft.

And they infect others with their softness, make the elves and eladrins addicted to their comfortable silence. So much that they wonder how did they ever live before in the constant noise and buzzing.

Humans are like a vacation you go to when the polluted cities start to drain your soul, they're the fresh water running rivers through the dandelions filled fields.

And so many long to live there, to abandon their apartments and start over there. But they're afraid to steal the humans' light from them, to infect them with their magic and poison the waters.

So only a few go down there at a time, for a vacation length to an eladrin is akin to a lifetime to a human.

#♡human kink #♡elf culture #dnd human kink

[adleryoung]

"Well," I replied. "I am glad to see that you made a full recovery. If you think your co-called coven of witches would make a good batch of followers then of course, I'm willing to meet them. At the very least I can steer them onto a devout path of Seeliness in the service of Fuma. If my followers are Seelie, won't that prove that I too am Seelie?"

"It was a rhetorical question," I blurted before either of the femmes could interrupt my train of thought. I turned and began musing aloud. "My only worry is that they will all be obsessed with wearing black and playing malicious pranks. I won't have time to tutor them all in the finer points of the art of being Seelie, but this could very well be the perfect way to put Rebecca's role as one of my apostles to the test. She can apply what she's learned about Seeliness and japery and teach them what she knows, become a teacher in her own right. Yes, yes, that's good. I should still have a meeting with them, if for no other reason than to impress and awe them with my elfly powers and ensure their loyalty. That could become a tedious chore, though. I have a lot to do. I should make them wait a while under Rebecca's coaching and maybe undergo a test of worthiness before being admitted into my presence. Yes, they will value my lessons more if they must earn them. I could use this as a way to refine my techniques for dealing with those who will come later, seeking an audience with me after hearing the legends my apostles will be spreading. But wait - would it be better to have them meet me first? Then I can tell them directly that Rebecca will be their teacher, thereby granting her a measure of authority. Perhaps the test of worthiness could be used later to be sure of their loyalty before they learn anything of - Waaaaaait a minute…"

I spun around and faced Rebecca. "Do that thing again with your fingers and the sparks."

She snapped her fingers and a cluster of tiny lights flickered in the air around her hand.

"It's a simple schoolyard glamer," I stated with some surprise. "You're missing the audible component - there should be a crackle or a tinkling of tiny bells - but this is nevertheless a piece of magick. How did you learn this? Your lessons haven't covered any magick yet."

"Sorry to contradict you, My Lord," Rebecca grinned, "but there was a section in Saint Reynard's book that covered pranks, and a number of those pranks made use of Fell Magicks."

"There's nothing Fell about Reynard's japes," I scolded. "We've been over this! You've got to rid yourself of your obsession with darkness. Just because your weird rabbit religion frowns on something does not necessarily mean it's evil. Wait, so this means that you were able to read the full Panoply of Japes. Did the book actually explain how those spells were performed? Even though it's basic stuff, still I assumed the reader would need prior knowledge of magick to make use of any of it. I don't even remember if finger sparks were covered in the Foxspell. It's a very simple thing to do, but… you said you could do that after recovering from your attack. Did you have to practice or did you suddenly have the talent?"

"Oh my Dark, uh, I mean Seelie Lord and Master!" Rebecca declared excitedly. "When I was in my fit, I dreamed that Reynard was talking to me. 'Hudalaleigh' he kept saying, and telling me I was a 'foine figure of a garl, bedad.' But in between all of that, he recited to me the full text of the Foxspell. Vernier says I was feverish and delirious the whole time."

"She was," Vernier interjected. "I feared she would not pull through."

"At one point," Rebecca continued, "I dreamed that the demon, er, I mean goddess Fuma appeared. I tried to pledge her my soul but she said 'twas not meet and she did not require it of me, but did I wish to learn the magick of the elves? I said yes, of course, and Reynard recited to me over and over the last section of the Foxspell."

"Where is the book, by the way?" I asked, nervously remembering what Angela had told me about Ash.

"Gone, My Lord," Rebecca admitted glumly. "After I came to my senses, I asked for it but it was nowhere to be found."

"Raccoon Monst - pardon, I mean Miss Burnside and I searched the stone circle for it," Vernier declared. "But we could find no trace."

"I assume it melted back into the mist from whence you conjured it. But all of its contents are safe up here!" Rebecca tapped her forehead. "I have an excellent memory! In my dream, Reynard told me the key to magick. When I awoke, I tried snapping my fingers to make lights, and got a faint glow from my fingertips. I've been practicing constantly for the past week -"

"She really has been snapping her fingers all the time," Vernier verified.

"And now I can make four or five little sparks!" Rebecca finished triumphantly, with another finger snap to illustrate her point.

#furry #elf #adventure #story #plot #cartoon #tboay

[entishramblings]

The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, ��(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey. 

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust

Legolas Tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @arandomfandomblog @moriamithril

#lord of the rings #lotr #the hobbit #legolas #aragorn #Legolas x reader #Legolas fic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas imagines #legolas one shots #legolas imagine #mirkwood #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Interview: Fane Lavellan

Thank you for the tag @dungeons-and-dragon-age! I’ve been eyeing up this meme for a while actually, so this was perfect timing! X3

This takes place Post-Trespasser, about a month or two after, in fact. Solas brought the idea forward, and of course, Fane refused. But after some coaxing, some explanation as to why, and the promise of a whole cake, Fane agreed to humor the request. 

*THERE BE BIG THINGS REGARDING FANE HERE* 

I got carried awaaaaaay! XD

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

“I can, but it’s a lengthy list,” He sighs, “...Those who are close to me, who see as but an elf, call me Fane. Those who wish to meet cobble, call me Lavellan or Herald. Those who are blinded by reverence call me ‘He Who Flew Above’. Denizens of the Fade refer to me as, ‘Devotion’ or ‘Tenacity’. However, my true name is..” He sighs again, “...Aterian. I rarely go by it, but the truth won’t be ignored. It never can be.”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“Male. Elvhen. Dragon.” He huffs through his nose, shifting his gaze off to the side, “That’s all I’ll say on that. As for orientation, I’m...emotionally driven. If you asked me to look at another and tell you what’s attractive about them I would say, ‘Nothing.’ I don’t know them, so I feel nothing for them.“ He shrugs, turning his gaze back, but brandishes a glare, “There’s only one person who defies that response, and that’s because he knows me, without and within. More than that, is none of your business.”

Where and when were you born?

He lifts a hand, massaging a temple, “The ‘where’ is simple; Elvhenan. Specifics are lost to me, however, so you’ll have to be content with that response.” He shifts his gaze downwards, slowly crossing his arms, “As to when?” He sighs heavily, “...I have no answer for that other than: I’m roughly the same age, if not older, as Solas. Does it matter, honestly? Numbers fall through the cracks after a specific threshold is crossed.” What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

He unravels a crossed arm and guides his hand downwards, tapping the pommel of a sword he has fastened to his waist, “Sword. I use either long swords, short swords, or great swords.” He raises an eyebrow as a question is forwarded, “Shields?” He sneers a bit. “I don’t use shields. They get in the way, and anyways,” He raises his hand once more, the expanse steadily beginning to glow blue and silver before a spectral coating of scales cover the entirety, “this is better than any shield. I prefer the front lines, the place I can make sure no one breaches, and the lingering memory of what I once was makes sure I can do just that.” He dispels the scales and shakes out his hand before returning it to his crossed counterpart, “It takes energy to maintain, but I’m getting better at holding it for longer.”  Lastly, are you happy?

He blinks before his entire expression softens, two toned eyes shining with primary gold as they shift downwards, “...If you had asked that of me over twelve years ago I would have spat in your face and said, ‘Happiness doesn’t exist in this world’. But now..” He trails off, casting a sidelong glance towards one of the fortress’s entryways; a familiar voice sounding, firm, but soft, as if reprimanding a child, “...I understand what happiness is, and it’s in every corner if you allow yourself to see it.” His eyes shift back, holding a far away look and voice coming forward in a murmur, “I only wish we all could be happy; together.”

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

His face holds a conflicted look, as if the memory is painful before speaking, “Complicated,” he says before beginning to tap a finger against his bicep, “I had a mother. She died when I was fifteen from a wasting disease, but she was the picture of serenity. Calm, guiding, measured. Hair like moonlight. Eyes like a clear autumn day. She was--” Unbranded features twist with a look of grief, eyes going dark as his voice drops, “...I’d rather not speak of her. It still hurts to. It hurts to speak of any of them,” His eyes narrow, grief stricken expression turning somewhat bitter, “...Especially those who throw all you did for them back into your face because they refused to listen when you needed them to most. Even so, I still wish for her happiness. Cullen better be treating her right,” That bitter turns outright malicious, dark eyes going darker��as another question is meekly asked, “Father? I have no father. I only had a monster that haunted my childhood, tore my token of devotion apart, and then stalked me in my dreams. So, no. I have nothing to say about that concept.”

Have you ever ran away from home?

He chuckles, “Many, many times,” He throws most of his weight into one side, tilting his head back as if thinking, counting, “I can’t even remember the amount of times I fled into the forests, to be honest. All I know is that it happened weekly, maybe even daily,” He brings his head back, snowy hair moving with the action to brush the tops of his cheekbones, “Why do you look so surprised?” he asks, snorting a bit at the meek response of, ‘Why so often?’, “Because I refused to endure being treated like a beast every hour of the day merely because I believed differently, or rather, not at all.” He sighs within the next moment, “...I wasn’t any better than the Dalish, though. I lashed out, I spat in their face, dragged their heritage through the dirt, inflicted harm from the smallest of things...” He squeezes his arms, eyes narrowing into a glare, but seeming to see through everything, “...The past repeats. An infernal spiral that will never slow.” Would you consider marriage or having children?

“Marriage? Children?” He blinks, pale visage suddenly going flush before he snarls, “Why do I need to answer those questions?!” The blush deepens and he responds despite his displeased expression, muttering and biting the inside of his cheek, “...Damned keen eyed elves. They know, don’t they? I swear if Abelas fucking ran that mouth of his, I’ll--” He sighs heavily, letting his head fall limp a bit in defeat, “...Yes. To both. The latter is already taken care of, as everyone situated in the Crossroads knows, but...” Pointed ears are now a deep shade of red, “...marriage is...on hold. War time isn’t an ideal summer wedding.” His voice drops, eyes shimmering as if he was before the person his heart yearned for, “...The sky deserves a venue better than a garden of death and deceit.” Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“There were those in the Inquisition who I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with,” he started before shaking his head, “but I didn’t hate anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own views and what they find important.” He scowls a bit, tapping his bicep once again with a finger, “...Even if they didn’t extend the same kindness to me in the beginning. ‘Do you believe in the Maker?’ ‘Do you believe you’re chosen?’ ‘You need to use the people’s faith. It gives them hope.’” He mocks before snorting harshly, “No. No, I don’t. Oh, that suddenly makes me trash? Ohhh. How terrible.” He scoffs. “Disgusting.” Which friend knows everything about you?

“Solas,” He says within a heart beat before clearing his throat, shifting his gaze away sheepishly, “He knows me without and within.” Emerald and gold blaze as the orbs go wide, the blush of roses coming back in full force, “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t mean--! Fuck! You better wipe that shit eating grin off your face, elf, or I swear I’ll do it for you!” He growls in frustation, throwing his hands in the air, “Why did I agree to this? What fucking dragon entertains an interview!? This is worst than the courts in Arlathan used to be! And that’s saying something!”

Asked by Fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

”I am literate. Sometimes to a fault, in fact,” He smiles a bit, “Poetry is my niche; a lingering memory of my mother. So, I speak cryptically at times,” He snorts, amused, “Although, I guess that isn’t much of a surprise since the Elvhen language is riddled in verse rather than practical application. Still, even some of the ancients left have a hard time deciphering my words,” He shrugs, smile turning into a smirk, “They never expected a dragon to be able to talk, I guess. Well, ta-dah.”  The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

A somber expression flits across his visage and eyes, “...That, eventually, I would hurt the one person I never wanted to.” The corner of his mouth twitches, holding both bitterness and grief; a painful duo, “...And retribution came just as swiftly, but it--” He sighs, shaking his head in defeat before muttering under his breath, “Observe and accept. Observe that what came to pass was uncontrollable, and accept that it had to happen for your path to continue, for your soul to be complete.” What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

His face blanks, mouth going into a hard line before a sigh exits through his nose slowly, “...That I don’t have tail.” He snarls, blank expression twisting in warning, “Laugh, elf. Do it.” He nods in the next second when no sounds of amusement come forth, expression going stoic once more, “That’s what I thought. You try living centuries in one form and then transitioning. See what happens.” Do you have mental health or physical issues?

He nods, sighing tiredly. “Like my names, I have a lot.” A hand motions to his body lazily, “My entire body is littered in scars, inflicted through crude experiments by an abomination that sought power like so many others,” He expression sours, jaw working back a forth, “They’ve calmed over the years, but the memories are not so kind.” He sighs, trying to calm himself and lifts his left hand; the Anchor glowing faintly and his eyes watch it, “I have an illness, or rather, sensitivity to any Fade born essence. That, too, has calmed and I’m grateful for that. As for my mind..” He trails off, grimacing a bit as if suddenly in pain, “...Visualize the Void, and there’s your answer. Black walls with crimson torches, seats empty, but somehow wanting for memories to take their seats. However, those occupants never come, burnt to ash by fury’s flame. That’s my mind in a nutshell.” What is your current main goal?

He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, “Mm, as of right now, I’m busy helping Solas unlock the eluvians that he couldn’t while I was away,” He flexes his marked hand, watching it with a look of determination in his eyes, “That’ll take time, but after, my people, my kin will have their skies back. I won’t let this power be squandered, and I won’t let the key that I’ve been entrusted with fall into the wrong hands.” His face hardens further, “For if that key rusts, the locks break and the sky will blacken as surely as the earth will redden.”

Choices

Drink or food?

“Drinks.” He says with ease, shrugging, “Food is comforting, especially sweets, but a glass of rum or ale, or a cup of chamomile tea really pounds the word ‘relaxation’ into my head.” Cats or dogs?

He smiles, warmth caressing its edges, “You’ve seen Nislean wandering about the halls, laying on the window sills and curling up in front of the fire,” He hums suddenly, crossing his arms again, “Which reminds me, I need to go out of the Crossroads for milk. I’ll be getting more than five bottles this time.” Optimist or pessimist?

“Depends on who you ask,” He shrugs, seeming unbothered, “I’m neither from a personal standpoint. I try to see the bright spots, but shadows can be very persistent.”   Sassy or sarcastic?

He snorts, “Ask Fen’harel,” his voice is light upon the title, playfully mocking in its deepness, “He knows all about that side. Although, he would label it, ‘insufferable’. I would call myself dryly sarcastic, though.”

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

He purses his lips, “Hmm. Not that I can recall,” he says slowly before his brows jumped and his eyes lit up with memory, “Oh! Wait. There was that one time where I was with Solas and Mythal in a...courtyard, I think?” He shrugs before shrugging, “Doesn’t matter. But, I tried to slip away, tail and all, and I...may have shattered one or two or three eluvians trying to get to the balcony.” He somewhat wistfully, smirking, “Elgar’nan got fucking stuck in a far off settlement for a week, though. Completely worth getting my horn chewed off by a wolf.” Broken a bone?

“Surprisingly, no.” He huffs in amusement, “Wonder of wonders, truthfully.” Received flowers?

“I have,” He scowls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust, “but I always throw them into the fire. Most are from suitors, those who don’t know what the fuck ‘taken’ means.” Ghosted someone?

His face tightens, completely deadpan, “...No?”, he says, voice raising in question a bit, “At least I don’t believe so. But, then again...oh.” He blanks further, “...Oh. I understand the term now. You mortals are forever twisting the languages, aren’t you? I can’t keep up, but the answer is still no.” Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“Maybe once or twice, but I don’t ‘laugh’ per say.” He huffs through his nose deliberately, “I do that; a puff of air. Some habits are never truly able to be broken. No matter the form.”

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @blueheaded @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course!)

#oc: fane lavellan #welcome to the future! :3 #where fane is more complete and content but suffering in different ways #no one said the path would be easy *shakes head sadly* #again. fane is...a ball of many things and his titles and names show that XD #*thinks about writing post-trepasser shenanigans* :3 #fane used to fuck off elgar'nan as a dragon so HARD #maybe why the god vengeance decided to personally attack him #HMMMM. #dragon age #male lavellan

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (4)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: a curse word if you squint, sassy Draco

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: a day late bc i got distracted watching game of thrones lmao i have adhd so i honestly should've known better than to have something so attention demanding in front of me :P

(gif cred)

Three more days.

Three more days until your brother and his girlfriend come to your Buffalo suburban home to spend Thanksgiving. You came home from work on a better day than the ones from the week before, only to walk inside and was almost convinced you entered the wrong house.

Your mother took the liberty of decorating your house while you were gone. The place looked like an IKEA catalogue. Green and cream colored throw pillows were on your black leather couch, your small dining table had a fall-themed centerpiece and a blood orange table cloth. New dining chairs, all of them matched, unlike the mismatched ones you had before. And that god-forsaken ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ wooden sign hung in your kitchen. That damn thing is leaving first thing in the morning.

“Ma, what the hell did you do to my house?” The more you looked, you groaned at what you saw. Your grandmother’s tapestry was no longer hanging at its original place, now hung hidden behind the tv. “Oh, don’t give me any grief about it. Y/B/N is coming and I don’t want the place looking like the Spirit store.”

You knew you couldn't really fight her on this. It would be more frustrating to have to argue and still not be able to put everything back to how it was until she left. Taking a deep breath, you walked yourself to your room to get changed into comfortable clothes and light some sage for your nerves.

Three more days.

—

One more week.

In a week's time, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were to come to New York to spend the month of December with Draco and to say he was excited was an understatement.

He was excited, nervous, and many other feelings that he was too stressed to name. The guest room was prepared for the two of them to share, all he had to do was figure out what to do with them while they were here. He had taken a week off and had no idea what to do. He still hadn’t gone around the city he lived in. He could always ask his friends at Saint Marie but for some reason, he was too shy to.

He could always ask Mrs. Charles for recommendations on what to do. She was a sweet muggle neighbor that he came to like as well as her husband. He could also ask you, but it’s been over a week since he spoke to you in your yards. From glimpses into your window, you seemed so exhausted. Not that he really cared, but he remembered that you would try to get along better and so far, all he’s done was give a nod towards your direction when he walked into his home as you were leaving yours.

His bedroom blinds were always closed now because he knew that if he were to see you doing your… whatever you do in your room just once, he’d change his mind about the whole thing. It still bothered him, but not as bad as it did when he first saw it.

Draco’s stomach growled as he sat on his couch, bringing him out of his thoughts and walked over to the kitchen. To his despair, his pantry, cabinets, and fridge were all empty. Guess I’ll have to grab something. He pondered on what he was in the mood for as he ran out the door. Draco figured he'd just figure it out as he drove around the streets downtown.

Since moving to America, he found so many new cuisines than he had ever imagined. He usually always ate at home, and if his family ever ate outside of home they usually went to the finest restaurants in France. Of course, they were all wizard-owned restaurants. But in New York, he’s been introduced to new things. For one, he had his first ever hamburger with Blaine. Ashley took him to a Chinese restaurant, and Ian bought Draco a traditional New York pizza.

Yes, all these things existed in London. Maybe not so much New York-style pizza, but there was pizza. Draco, however, never had the opportunity to try any of these foods. Lucius was extremely strict about eating out. It was never necessary considering he could afford the best quality foods to be made at home. When they did eat at restaurants in France, it was only because a higher official at the Ministry had invited them for a night out.

Around the streets, the bright lights of buildings and restaurants lit the streets as he drove around them. Draco turned into a street he hadn’t been into yet in hopes to find something else he could find to try. There were a couple places he hadn’t been into; a Greek restaurant, a Brazillian one, and a couple shops. There was one shop close to the end of the street. It was sandwiched between two boutiques and had a neon green and purple sign in the front. Soul Beads. In front of the building was a man with a weird sign in one hand and an even weirder thing that seemed to have made his voice louder in the other. Draco couldn’t make of the rubbish he was yelling into the thing from inside his car.

Draco pulled to the curb to walk around the street and check out the restaurants. A bell jingle caught his attention, turning around to see one person he didn’t really expect to see here. “Draco?” your face showed the same expression as his. He watched as you closed the door to Soul Beads and walked up to him. The weird man that stood in front of the store yelled out, “DON’T TALK TO HER, THIS BITCH HERE WORKS FOR THE DEVIL!”

“Do you know him?” Draco asks with a quirked eyebrow. The stranger kept yelling profanities at you but Draco saw how you couldn’t be bothered by it. “He does this every couple weeks. What brings you out here?” Your hands were stuffed tightly in your pockets for warmth.

“Do you own the street? Can I not be here?” he asked sarcastically. You faced him with a deadpan look as to ask him again without having to say the words to him. Or call him a smartass. Which he is. With a roll of his eyes, he continued, “I’m looking for something to eat but I’ve never been to these places before.”

“Ah,” you started, “Well I don’t know what kind of stuff you’re used to, but I suggest the Greek restaurant right across. Over-priced, but the best gyros you’ll ever have in Buffalo.”

“It’s yee-roh, not jahy-row.” Draco corrected. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated or confused after he said that. Probably both.

“You know Greek?” you asked.

“I studied it when I was a child. My tutor showed me the word once and hit my hand when I had mispronounced it. Learned the hard way to never do that again,” flashbacks to the older woman teaching him the language cursed his mind for a few seconds.

His stomach growled even louder now in the silence between them. Draco blushed in embarrassment, shifting around to look away so you wouldn’t see. You slightly chuckled and tapped his shoulder. “Come on, neighbor’s treat.” And you walked onto the busy street.

This bloody woman is crazy to be crossing a busy street he thought as he rushed to follow you across the street. He got scared as a car got too close and ran to the safety of the sidewalk. “You’re gonna get yourself bloody killed one of these days like that,” he scolded. “If you’re gonna live in New York, you’re gonna have to deal with annoying pedestrians and sometimes be an annoying pedestrian. Be glad you don’t live in Manhattan, they’re worse. A person could be hit by a car and he’d just get on up and keep walking.” you informed.

Draco would be lying to himself if he said that didn’t spook him a little. Sure, he’s seen a few students get hexed, some by him, but they’d never just dealt with it and continued walking in the halls. They’d either have to hope their friends knew the counter curse or they’d end up in the hospital wing and had Madam Pomfrey help them back to normal. These muggles really are just… strange.

The restaurant looked old and desperately needed a remodel but by Merlin, it smelled amazing. “Now, are you getting a yee-roh sandwich or are you getting something else?” you mocked his previous correction with a playful roll of your eyes. Draco looked at the menu but it didn’t matter as he didn’t know the first thing about Greek food. What the hell did my father force me to take lessons for? “Do you want me to just order for you?” you asked as he kept browsing for too long. There were only 12 things on the menu but it still confused him.

He held back a snarl as he agreed to your help. He stood aside as you ordered and waited until it sounded like you were done, then headed up to the window to pay. “Oh, you don’t have to. I insisted I would pay,” you tried to push his hand away and reach for your credit card but he proceeded to hand the money to the cashier. “It’s nothing.”

“Here or to-go?” the lady asked with a thick New York accent. The two of you just looked at each other waiting for someone to say something. “Do you want to just-”

“Eat it here?” He looked at the small space and saw only one unoccupied table by the window. One of two tables. No longer growling, his stomach was shaking nearly violently, indicating that he can’t wait any longer. It was a strange feeling to be starving. Never had he ever had to wait for food at Malfoy Manor nor at Hogwarts. Whether it was house elves or first years, someone always ran to get him food with a snap of his fingers. “Yeah, here’s fine.”

The lady handed your plates to you as he went to claim the small table before someone else did. He looked around the space with a slight disgusted look. It’s not that it was run by muggles, but just because the place looks so old and kind of dirty. Even the house elves at the Manor lived in better conditions. The corner he sat in made him feel slightly claustrophobic. How do they sit and enjoy anything like this?

You sat the food on the table and shook your jacket off on to the chair. Draco watched as you placed the plates as neatly in front of you both. He couldn’t help but notice the rings that covered most of your fingers. Some were simple silver bands, some bronze bands, and some looked like wire that had a wrapped, colorful rock in the center. They were mismatched but coordinated at the same time. If that made any actual sense.

You started some simple small-talk, “So, what brings you all the way out here?”

“I got a better job opportunity,” Draco responded. His voice sounded uninterested, and his eyes stared at the plate. It had three pieces of meat on a bed of white rice, a small salad and a little dipping bowl of some white sauce. He dipped the meat into the sauce and as he tasted it, he nearly groaned in content. The flavors danced around his mouth and he had to hold himself back from devouring the whole plate in a matter of seconds.

He could feel you staring at him but chose not to look up to see judgement in your eyes. Whether it was with amusement or not. The food was so good and he would most definitely order another one to-go on his way out for his lunch break tomorrow. I’m definitely bringing Blaise and Theo here.

“What kind of job do you do?” Draco stopped chewing his food and swallowed nervously. He should’ve expected this kind of question sooner or later, but here he was sitting in silence trying to figure out what to say. He couldn’t just tell you that he’s a Healer because then that would lead to more questions and that’d be more answers he couldn’t give you. “What, you don’t wanna tell me?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him as he continued his silence.

Finally, the word popped in his mind, “I’m a doctor.” Hopefully that ends that conversation.

“That’s cool, what kind of doctor are you?” Shit. There’s more than one kind?

“Uh, I work with people who come into the hospital with major injuries like a broken arm and such,” Draco stuttered.

“So, an emergency room doctor. You work in the ER then,” you concluded with a hand over your mouth as you chewed. “Y-yeah, that.” Draco tried not to sound suspicious. “What about you?”

You cleared your throat, drank some of your soda and pointed out the window, “You see that store over there? Soul Beads? That’s my store.” It was weird how coincidental it was that of all streets to drive into and of all people to run into, he ran into you coming out of your personally owned store. Looking back at you, he saw your face relax and smile at the building. “What do you sell? I’m assuming it’s not food seeing as you didn’t invite me in.”

Now it was time for you to stutter, “Oh, just candles and stuff. Nothing too flashy.” You poked at your food and took small bites of it. There was an awkward silence between you two for about ten minutes before you started the conversation before, “Assuming you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, will you just be working that day?” Draco didn’t know much about the holiday, only that he was getting paid more that day.

“Yeah, I’ll be at the hospital for the night. Probably until four in the morning.”

“Well that sucks. You’ll miss out on the greatest American tradition that is Black Friday,” you chuckled.

“What’s that?” Yet another thing Draco didn’t understand.

“Black Friday is when people fight to the death for a discount on things like appliances and tvs. It’s quite amusing to watch,” you slightly exaggerated. Keyword slightly. Draco had wide eyes as he heard the description. “I’m sorry, to the death?”

With that, you laughed so hard you placed one hand flat against your chest and the other held the table with a tight grip as if you were to fall from your seat. He then realized you actually didn’t mean to the literal death and mentally scolded himself for being so gullible. You continued laughing and he rolled his eyes before chuckling to himself. You leaned back up and wiped some tears underneath your eyes, “Oh my god, I needed that laugh.”

A shiver went up Draco’s spine once he caught a glimpse of your smile. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you smile at all. Before your little argument, you would smile towards him and all the other neighbors all the time. But this never happened before. He looked away from your eyes and tried to find anything else to look at. Tilting his head up, he saw an air conditioning unit. Oh, that’s why.

Small talk ended there with a clear of his throat and proposed to go home. Draco saw how you looked a little disappointed and forced a small, kind smile on your face, “Yeah, it’s getting kinda late and I don’t want to keep my mother waiting. God knows what she’s done to my house while I was gone.” He wasn’t going to keep pressing on the matter as he figured they still weren’t close enough for that. One dinner didn’t make them friends in his book. It wasn’t terrible, though. Maybe he would do it again.

Walking to their own cars, she said “See you around, neighbor,” and got into her car and drove off. He just nodded his head as he always did and drove off as well. They arrived home at the same time and walked inside without looking at each other, thinking that it would just be weird to keep saying goodbye.

—

It was finally Thanksgiving, and Y/B/N and Stephanie were going to be over around three in the afternoon. Your mother was more of a pain than usual, waking you up at six in the morning to do last minute cleaning, grocery shopping, and starting on roasting the ham. The loud argument over ham or turkey in the grocery store the week before lasted for an embarrassing two hours after your mother caved and let you pick the main entree for dinner.

Once you got an hour to yourself, you went to your closet in the hall and grabbed a small glass jar then walked to your backyard for some lavender. You walked to the kitchen for a stick of cinnamon, placed the items on the kitchen counter and walked quickly to your room for something small. Your eyes found a loose ribbon on the floor and grabbed it then went back to the kitchen.

You put all the items into the jar and browsed the kitchen for one more thing. There was a bouquet of flowers on the dining table that your mother bought. Perfect. You grabbed a couple flowers and took the petals to mix in the jar. Once you were done, you chanted to yourself three times:

“Goddess, please take the negativity out of this kitchen.

Replace it with positivity and love. So mote it be.”

You heard your mother waking up from her nap from the guest room and ran into the kitchen to hide the jar somewhere she couldn’t see it. The spell can’t exactly work if she sees something to nag about. She walks in the kitchen and sees you looking suspicious.

She looks at you with squinted eyes - mainly because she had just woken up - but said, “I’m not gonna ask what you’re up to. Can you make the potato salad? I like the way you make it better.” You silently agreed as you looked for the things in the fridge and grabbed a large bowl to mix it in. Your mother walks up to one of the cabinets to grab a pot to boil the potatoes with, only to find the thing you tried to hide. “What’s this, honey?”

You stammered over your words trying to find an explanation before she cut you off, “It’s pretty with all the things in there. You should keep it out.” She placed it beside a photo on the countertop and walked away to fill the pot with water. You were surprised she didn’t ask any further questions. You continued cooking and had a hopeful smile on your face. Maybe it won’t be so bad tonight.

The doorbell rang and you both looked at the clock on the wall. It read 1:55 and you looked at each other in confusion. “Y/B/N must be early,” your mother guessed and went to the door to let him in. The greeting was loud as she greeted him in. You could hear your little brother’s laugh with enthusiasm as he walked into your kitchen, “What’s up, big sis?”

You placed the utensils down and ran up to him with your arms up, “I’ve missed you too, baby brother.” He was much taller than you as he picked you up and hugged you tightly. You slightly swung your legs to give him the signal to let you go. He got his height from your dad, leaving you short thanks to your mother. Your brother had a big smile on his face and you reciprocated the smile. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other.

“Oh, lemme introduce you. Steph, c’mere!” He looked over his shoulder and called for the special guest. A beautiful woman with long, chocolate brown hair and doe blue eyes walked next to Y/B/N. “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Stephanie.” She held her hand out causing you to quickly wipe your hands on your apron. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Y/B/N has told me so much about you. I was so nervous to meet you,” Stephanie admitted with a slight blush on her cheeks. “I wonder what this dummy told you. I bet you I can tell you more embarrassing stories about him,” you jabbed his arm.

“That’s not fair, I didn’t say anything all that bad. You’ll hex me or some shit,” he had his hands up in defense.

“Y/B/N!” Your eyes widened and you laughed nervously, “Don’t listen to him, he’s an idiot.”

Stephanie looked back and forth at the two of you and finally settled on you, waving a hand, “Oh no, that’s okay. I practice, too.” Wait, what? It seemed your mother thought the same exact thing, only out loud. “Yeah, Stephanie also does the same thing you do. Crazy, right?”

Your mother stood shocked before them, not saying anything. Your brother had a smile that wasn’t exactly fitting the situation. Stephanie had a kind smile, and although you were visibly surprised that your little brother’s girlfriend was, of all things, also a Wiccan, you were laughing inside at your mother.

This is gonna be the most interesting Thanksgiving ever.

—

next chp

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#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy au #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x muggle!reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco x muggle!reader #draco x female reader

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

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#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #haldir of lorien #haldir #haldir x oc #haldir x ofc #haldir x own character #haldir x own female character #tolkien elves #lothlorien elves #haldir fic #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #haldir multi chapter work #lotr films #orophin #rumil #ofc x haldir #haldir of lorien x ofc #haldir of lothlorien

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Do you find Moonshadow culture becoming a little less... likeable? (but not less interesting) It seems like they hand out Ghostings like candy with no path to forgiveness and no belief in a person’s ability to change and reform themselves. The pressure and anxiety those elves must be feeling at all times has got to astronomical. What are your thoughts?

I have plenty of thoughts, as always! Less likeable than what, though, anon? Maybe you’ve missed most of my posts on Moonshadow society over the last year...

Moonshadow society is a disaster, poor thing. It’s a tightlaced corset, pretty but restrictive with long term consequences. It’s a queer neurodivergent elf who just wants to do their very best but all the rules that are supposed to help them out with that end up hurting them too and they don’t know how to stop or change and so yes they’re dancing gracefully in the moonlight and yes they express themselves through beauty but if you get close enough you can hear the constant pterodactyl screech of their soul too. (Did I extrapolate extra hard from “Runaan is the most Moonshadow of the Moonshadow elves”, maybe yes)

Moonshadow society is deeply flawed and it needs help, but it’s so big and pervasive that it may be impossible to change its course without severe consequences, just like last time (aka moving east across the border and becoming assassins that took out humans). The elves can only do so much to alter their own fates from inside their own society.

Some may leave and never return. Some get ghosted and want nothing more than to re-enter the fold because they still believe in its ideals, like Feathershawl. Some probably try to change things from the inside, whether subtly or obviously. And others embrace the rules with both arms and try to mold themselves into The Perfect Moonshadow Who Can Do No Wrong, in order to remain safe and to belong.

But that’s a spectrum you’re going to get when perfectionism is a big part of your cultural philosophy. Everything has to be Just So for so many aspects of these elves’ lives, and it’s Very Not Good for them. Yes, they’re pretty. But mandating prettiness is just as bad as mandating other aspects of personal choice and free will.

As for ghosting, I really don’t think Moonshadows just yeet those left and right with little care for the consequences. I do think they’re too harsh with their shunning! Shunning, giving up, turning their back in a relatively permanent way, that’s not a good solution. Learning and adapting are important, and knowing that you have time and room to practice and adjust is so important for mental health and stability in your society. Living in constant fear of minding the rules or getting even perceived to be doing something incorrectly is such a drain on your energy.

But I do think that the Moonshadows have strict rules for what deserves ghosting and what doesn’t, just as they do for other stuff. The details of Feathershawl’s ghosting are theirs to keep, and I assume any Narrator could flesh those out however they chose during a playtest, whether to make their situation more or less sympathetic for the players.

But my take is this: Moonshadow elves revere life very deeply, and they work constantly to serve each other and their whole community, as they hold themselves together and celebrate their continued existence on every level they can. When someone in a position of big responsibility for the health, well-being, and lives of so many Moonshadow citizens messes up in such a bad way that there’s a plague and lots of elves die--lose their precious lives, lose those connections with others, leave their families torn and distraught and unable to focus on their own duties due to heavy, soul-sucking grief--when one elf causes this level of arcanum-deep catastrophe, I can absolutely see why the other Moonshadow elders would be horrified and grief-stricken, and furious. It’s a very un-Moonshadow thing to have happen, especially with how hard they’re all trying to be so very Moonshadow all the time.

Feathershawl had a position that gave them authority over the food sources that kept a good number of the Forest’s elves fed and able to live their lives without privation. And they screwed that up somehow. They were trusted with a basic staple of everyday life--food--and they got it wrong in such a horrible way that there are a lot fewer Moonshadow elves as a result.

Moonshadow elves need each other’s support and presence as part of their communal network, and anything that tears at that fabric goes against everything that Moonshadow philosophy stands for. Feathershawl themself had literally dozens of family members, whose illusions were kept in their crystal. That’s a lot of family! If it’s common for Moonshadow elves to have that many family members, then a plague would probably touch every family multiple times and leave everyone multiply devastated. It’s just Bad All Around.

There’s probably a lot more to Rayla’s ghosting than we know, since we only learned of it from her POV and she’s not in the habit of sharing Moonshadow secrets with Callum just yet. Knowing that Moonshadow families are so thickly intertwined, and how heavily they rely on each other to help support and cheer each other through standing strong together and mutual services, it’s no big stretch to imagine that Rayla’s biggest crime in Moonshadow eyes wasn’t her supposed running away, it was that her actions cost the Silvergrove their assassin leader, one of their elders and one of the strongest moral guiding hands they had. Rayla cost the Silvergrove their most Moonshadow Moonshadow.

Without Runaan, the Silvergrove is probably reeling quite a bit, and Rayla’s failure is to blame, in their eyes. They’re all suffering, and they need to put the blame somewhere--other than themselves--so they can start to move forward again.

It’s far from ideal. It’s very shame and blame oriented. But it does hold to some internal logic that seems to bear out through the three ghostings we know of for sure so far.

Another things Moonshadows are very good at is quick action. The moment they think there’s been a “mistake”, they move to address it. Whatever feelings they have on the matter, they process it in half a second (if at all) and jump straight to rectification. You attack the Storm Spire? Lain’s gonna kick you down the stairs. You think the Silvergrove ghosted you unfairly? You literally run to Ethari for help. You see Rayla trying to stay on the mission? You grab her wrists so she can’t draw her weapons. You see your workshop doors open but no one’s there? You stop working and fetch a hammer in case you need to smash a vindictive ghost. You think your friends failed their duty and dishonored you? You take everyone you can to go uphold that honor, including a 15 year old girl. (Holy cats does that mean everyone on Runaan’s squad was family, oh god) Swift action is a reassertion of the rules, of what’s right, so no one forgets. That’s got to include ghosting for things that are really terrible.

What I do find interesting is that Eljaal, the homesick assassin who is afraid to return home, may not be worried about ghosting specifically? But it’s a little unclear. I think there is something else they fear, perhaps a lesser punishment? But still one they can’t yet bring themself to face, poor elf.

I do think Moonshadow society is very stressful on the mind, and all these elves have become very skilled at hiding, mitigating, and otherwise working around their stresses and traumas. The greatest illusion that Moonshadows play is the one that Everything Is Fine, because there is always more work to do, and they keep telling themselves that they’re the ones who must do it, for everyone elses’s sakes. Laziness and selfishness are probably the same thing to Moonshadows. Hmm, maybe that’s why Runaan lets his family drag him off to picnics on his birthday, so he doesn’t seem selfish for wanting alone time.

In very very long, anon, Moonshadows are a Mess tee emm, and they’ve been designed that way from the start: doing their best inside a flawed system. This is the heart of their imperfection. They will probably benefit from spending time with literally anyone else aside from just themselves. They really really need to get out more, or to let someone else in, because the strictest of their own traditions are actually ruining the life and beauty they work so hard to celebrate.

#asks #moonshadow elves #ghosting #moonshadow culture #rayla #runaan #ethari #feathershawl #eljaal #let them all rest

[liviusofpella]

a great combination of fluff, smut, and angst: NSFW(ish) ABC

pairing: Tyril x human!MC (Selene)

word count: 4600

warnings: NSFW 

an: nsfw alphabet template by this lovely soul with the slightest change

tag list: @brycesgirl @tyrils-star @lxdy-starfury @rysdumortain ​

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)Except for being exhausted, Selene is vulnerable, on full display for Tyril (quite literally), and a bit emotional. That’s actually when Tyril and her have the most personal, heart-to-heart conversations.“I met with Deryth today.”Tyril propped his head on his hand while lying on his side and looked down at his lover, carefully covering her naked body with duvet. His hand then rested on Selene’s hip where his fingers stroked the delicate skin.

Several weeks earlier, during a family dinner, Tyril’s father pointed out that ever since Selene and Tyril came back from Whitetower, he could sense a powerful, ancient energy from her. Adrina immediately agreed and encouraged Selene to meet with Undermount’s walking encyclopaedia/prophet/generally the one with no official title but the go-to lady when there’s any kind of trouble. Although Tyril made no remarks that evening, he agreed with his family. Ever since Selene their battle with the Shadow Court, since she wielded the Blade of Light and was able to open portals, he felt that something... unlocked. Something clicked into place.

“What did she say?”

“A lot of unsettling things, actually,” Selene bit her lip gently and turned to lie on her back. With her eyes set on the dark ceiling, she continued. “But also... nothing concrete. She said she’s been expecting me since I set foot in Undermount because she could feel my magic. She also admitted the same thing your father said.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her body to eventually rest flat on the blonde’s stomach, his finger outlining a faint scar on her abdomen.

“She confirmed that a war is coming, and I’m going to play a pivotal part in it but this time I might not... make it through.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What ar-“

“But it’s not anything I wouldn’t know for a few weeks now,” she interrupted. “I think... she just confirmed my worries. I could still play dumb when those were just my dreams but now... I don’t know, Tyril. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go through something like this again.”

“We’ll be right by your side, Selene,” he responded immediately, his gaze burning a hole in her face.

“I know, love,” she cupped his cheek in her palm and smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what worries me the most.”

  B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tyril’s an absolute boobies-guy. The amount of time this man has spent on one-on-one meetings with Selene’s cleavage would make him the greatest warrior in the history had he spent it on trainings. Even (or rather especially) when they’re already going to sleep, his hand finds its way under Selene’s shirt where it rests throughout the night.

As for Selene... she couldn’t have possibly picked her favourite part of him. She adores every. single. body part of this man.

Due to her constant reminders of how much she loves his body and all the differences between the two of them, Tyril’s outlook on himself changed. He didn’t exactly begin to look out for himself when there were blades involved as she asked him, but he did want to look good for her. And himself. But mostly for her, although she started working on improving his way of thinking.

However, she does have a soft spot for his muscular back covered with several very old scars. She loves giving him a proper massage after a long day and placing kisses from one shoulder blade to another. But what she loves the most is watching his back as it’s covered with long deep-blue, purple, half-noon shaped and sometimes bloody marks that her fingernails leave.

 C = Choking (basically an addition to Kink)

“I’m not sure about this, Selene,” he admitted, warring with himself whether to do what do asked and literally choke her or to simply refuse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. People do that, and they’re fine,” Tyril raised his brow, looking at her, all flushed, her hair a mess, a few finger-shaped bruises on her hips, and biting her kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve read that in a book.”

“Did you?”      

“Just trust me,” she chuckled, turning to lean against a drawer and swayed her hips invitingly against him, basically impaling herself with his cock for the fifth time this evening.

He still wasn’t sold on this idea but Selene was so sure this would work he was willing to give it a try. However, the second an obscene moan left her lips after a rather hard and smooth thrust, all his inhibitions were forgotten.

Selene guided his hand from her breast to her neck, forcing him to put some pressure there, and he happily obeyed. Selene was like clay in his hands, always happy to fulfil his every wish and always making sure he felt at least as good as her. That night, he wanted to fulfil one of her wishes, however strange it seemed to him.

He pinned her hips to the cold wood with his, fucking her mercilessly as his free hand worked on her bud, leaving her a moaning mess within seconds. Just as his lips busied themselves with her shoulder, guided by her reactions he put some real pressure on her throat, careful not to hurt her.

“This is the last time we are doing this,” he concluded a minute later, holding a panting and somewhat cheery Selene in his arms.

“You’re no fun.”

  D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tyril would never admit this out loud, especially to Selene, who’s known as one of the biggest gossip in the whole Morella and an even bigger tease, but for a rather short amount of time he was very jealous of Mal (actually, scratch that, he sometime still is), his light approach to life and his relationship with Selene. The way he could joke about everything and tease the hell out of her while Tyril himself was overcome with guilt and anger. When his sole mission was destroying every single piece of the Shadow Court, Mal would still find the strength to raise the group's spirits, cheer up and motivate them. The way he would make Selene laugh.

  E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, Tyril absolutely knows what he’s doing. He often leaves Selene breathless, red, and speechless because he’s that good.

Selene on the other hand... well, she knows a thing or two. She’s a great observer and a quick learner, but she doesn’t exactly have much experience. She happily takes everything Tyril’s willing to show her, though.

“So... I’ve found a book,” Selene stated, blushing a little. Tyril watched her curiously as they sat in a secluded part of the House Starfury’s garden, basking in the early afternoon sun.

“What book?”

Biting her lower lip, Selene began untying her dress, wanting her body to catch as many sun rays as she could until the sunset. She tossed the material aside and rested her head on Tyril’s lap. “Remember the one Mal was so interested in?”

“You mean the one he stole?”

“The one he borrowed,” she chuckled, raising a hand to cover her eyes from the sun. “For an indefinite amount of time.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I found a similar one.”

“Somehow I had a feeling this would happen one day,” the elf concluded, eyeing Selene’s slowly raising chest. “What about it?”

“Oh, please. You know what I mean.”

Of course, he did. But he also so happened to love teasing her.

“We need to work on your communications skills,” he commented, with a barely contained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chuckled. “I just thought that we could give it a try. Also, I have a feeling I am really going to enjoy watching you as you read it.”

“I already did.”

“No way,” she grinned and sat up to look at Tyril’s sun-kissed face. “When?”

“I have spent a lot of time in the library and that is all I am going to say on this matter,” Tyril admitted, smirking as his hand rested on the small of her back, his fingers gently stroking the hot skin. “If you are so eager, I believe we can start our little experiment early.”

  F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Against the window. Against the drawer. Against the door if they’re feeling risky. Honestly, even a boulder in the middle of the woods would do if it was big enough to lean Selene against it and fuck her from behind.

 G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Due to Selene being a massive tease, they usually share a laugh or two during their bedroom playtime. Though there was also that one time...

“I am not ticklish,” Selene assured, sliding her hands up and down his muscular back. Tyril smirked, a devilish plan already forming in his mind, and

“I am afraid I will have to check that.”

“I see you have a death wish, Lord Tyril,” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “And since we both know I’m a much better warrior...”

The elf chuckled and raised his head from between her legs to admire the purple chain of love bites along her stomach. Set on not begging just yet, Selene bit her lower lip and watched her lover delightedly until she realized what he had planned.

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

 H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Honestly, I find it really hard to believe that the elves grow hair anywhere except for their heads.... I mean, they don’t even grow beards....... Therefore, elf boy is smooth as a baby. Not that Selene minds. Nothing obstructs the view, right?

 I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Tyril knows that one way to make Selene aroused is dancing. She takes full advantage of how incredible a dancer Tyril is. She adores the fact that he’s willing to patiently teach her everything about his culture, which includes dancing.

“I actually practised this one,” Selene admitted, looking deep into the elf’s blue eyes. Tyril’s left hand slipped down just above her butt, pushing her towards him, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies.

“You have?”

“With your father,” she giggled, seeing the shadow of jealousy on her lover’s face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Colour me surprised and impressed, then,” he smiled. The hand that’s been resting on Tyril’s back moved up to the side of his neck to pull his face closer.

“Since I’ve mastered this dance, I think we can already proceed with our activities,” she whispered against his lips. “I already got a head start.”

“I can see that,” Tyril smirked as he realized the only thing covering Selene’s body was a thin, white nightgown and definitely no underwear.

  J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The first week without Selene by his side was tough but the second week? On the 9th day, Tyril seriously considered moving to Riverbend forever just so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone ever again. This being said, the vision of seeing her in a few months was... depressing.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to remember me by,” Selene smiled flirtatiously, making herself comfortable on his lap. Having freed his left hand of a book, she guided it to her waist and then higher, and higher until it reached his favourite plaything covered with a thin, lacy material.

Seeing that the strained smile fell of her face as she watched him carefully, Tyril sighed quietly. “I know.”

“No,” she protested immediately and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek while doing so. “Quit glooming. This is supposed to be a good memory.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Not now. Not ever. But they’ve had that conversations many times now, and it wasn’t fair to try to change her mind again as she was clearly set on seeing her brother and taking a well-deserved break from Undermount. Not that he would be able to convince her to stay. She’s too damn stubborn.

“It’s our last night together for some time, love,” she whispered. “Take what you need. Remember me like this.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her thigh, trying to imprint the feeling of her soft skin in his memory. Trying to remember her taste, her scent, everything about her. Because when it came to Selene, he was greedy. He wanted to know everything about this woman, to know her every thought, every worry. He wanted to be the only who knows her taste and makes her make such sounds.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he begged in between kisses as his warm hands explored her body anew.

“I’m yours, Tyril. Always.”

Remembering how hot her skin felt under his palms, those sweet sounds she would make, and the way she called herself his over and over and over again with no hesitation, he would relieve himself to get himself through the day.

  K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let’s be clear: Selene is the much more extreme one here. She has a choking kink which actually made Tyril consider a lifelong celibacy for a second just so he wouldn’t have to do it to her again. The fact that Tyril is much older also does the trick for her. And much taller.

 L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Literally. Except for Tyril’s family’s private chambers, there hasn’t been a surface the two of them hadn’t christened when they were alone.

 M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tyril would never admit it, but he finds it extremely hot when Selene turns into a sassy/bad-ass/protective mode. He’s caught himself on that the first time after she easily took out one of Imtura’s corrupted pirates. And then when she fought like a maniac with the corrupted Captain, already using magic as easily as she’d been doing that since the day she was born and swinging her sword like it was her hand.

Selene is actually a sucker for some romanticism.

She would usually come home much earlier than Tyril, which had its pros and cons. The good side was that she had time to think, to write to Kade, and to just unwind. One of the biggest cons was the fact that she had to wait many hours into the night waiting for her man after a long day and – let’s just say – she was very excited. She categorically refused to touch herself, therefore, she was sentenced for waiting, wriggling in a chair, doing some stupid breathing exercises.

It was a quarter after midnight when she felt his familiar hands embrace her from behind and his warm lips already leaving wet kisses on her bare shoulder up to her neck.

A gasp, followed by a surprised moan left her lips when Tyril’s lips started leaving red marks on its way and his hand quickly made it inside her panties. Scratch the romanticism. After a whole long day she didn’t actually need it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tyril would never do anything to physically hurt her even if she asked – the choking she once asked for was the only thing he agreed to do and he swore to never do it again.

  O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

To Selene’s delight, Tyril loves going down on her. For his own pleasure. He’s also become quite fond of getting quick blowjobs in the middle of the day. In the middle of the city. In a fairly secluded area. Or inconspicuous handjobs under the table during parties.  

Selene’s hand was stroking Tyril under the table, as they watched most of the guests dancing around the ballroom.

“Are you sure there’s no room that we could escape to for a minute?” Selene muttered, playfully stroking his tip with her thumb and watching him clench his jaw and take deep breaths.

“If there was such option, we would be there for the last few minutes already.”

She grinned hearing the struggle in his hushed voice and put more pressure on him, motivating him for a bit quicker finale this time as the song was slowly drawing to an end. The elf swallowed hard, watching as she reached for her champagne glass with her free hand. After she’s taken a small sip, she leaned over and kissed the red-cheeked man, drinking his quiet pants off his lips. Selene grinned through their kiss, feeling some wet, sticky substance in her palm.

“It’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it?”

Adrina smiled as she sat across her brother with an elegant elf by her side. Selene smiled back at the beautiful woman and took another sip of her champagne. “It is indeed.”

  P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Unless they’re short on time, they’re slow and sensual. Tyril takes his sweet time making sure not to skip any part of her body, driving her crazy at the same time. He pays special care to Selene’s scars, remembering how insecure they make her feel.

 Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often)

“We have about five minutes before Adrina comes in here,” Selene mumbled and bit her lip to muffle the moans that threatened to leave her mouth. Tyril’s lips worked tirelessly on her neck as his hips slammed into hers.

“That’s plenty of time,” he smirked, pulling her butt towards the edge of a counter he sat her on. Selene wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, making sure he stays right where he is. “Although if you’d like me to stop-“

“Don’t you dare.”

Tyril’s right hand slipped between her legs, his nimble fingers irritating her soft spot expertly, just as his lips caught hers to muffle her moans.

They froze immediately when a soft knocking on the door followed by Adrina’s sweet voice reverberated in the room. Panicked, Selene pushed Tyril and jumped off the furniture, hurriedly smoothing her hair and fixing her dress. Tyril did the same, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the terrified look on her face.

“Imagine if she opened the door,” Selene whispered, helping Tyril smooth his dishevelled hair.

“We wouldn’t scare her for lifetime, if that’s what you worry about,” he chuckled.

“It’s not her I worry about, it’s me! I could never look her in the face again!”

Tyril snorted and leaned over the balcony door nonchalantly, amusedly observing Selene as she opened the door and greeted his sister.

  R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Not at first, no. However, the farther they are in the relationship, the more Tyril begins to succumb to Selene’s ideas of quickies in public places and trying out some positions from the notorious book.

“It feels wrong, Selene.”

Selene looked up to see his flushed face, and took him out of her mouth for a second.

“Oh, so I can just walk out right now?”

The elf’s Adam apple moved slowly up and down as he swallowed and bit his lower lip. “I’d rather you don’t.”

“Then shut up.”

Tyril’s hand involuntarily slipped down to Selene’s hair, guiding her not-so-gently, and he quickly looked around the secluded library row to make sure they’re still alone.

He gripped the bookshelf with one hand just as he was almost there and glanced down on Selene who watched him intently with her beautiful blue eyes. With his chest heaving and tensed stomach muscles, Tyril grit his teeth not to make any noise when he came.

Selene grinned as she pulled his pants back up and stood up to place a tender kiss to the elf’s under jaw. “One could think you kind of liked it.”

Tyril brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind repeating this in the future.”

Chuckling, Selene stood on her tiptoes and kissed her man, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No bodily fluids exchange in my library, kids.”

  S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Tyril Starfury doesn’t go for rounds. Tyril Starfury goes for proper sessions, no matter the time of the day, although he has a soft spot for the morning shifts.

 T = Timid 

Tyril’s anything but timid. The fact that he was willing to fuck in front of the whole city of Whitetower? Yes, there we go. Over time, he doesn’t even pay much attention to hiding his feelings for Selene from his family. Or the elves of Undermount. *cough* handjobs during parties *cough*

Selene on the other hand learns to be more confident. Tyril quite quickly learned that the teasing is just... a ruse. But with time and endless assurance from her man of his love and devotion, she learns to ask for what she wants.

  U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Oh, Selene is the greatest teaser. There’s nothing in this world that makes her happier than watching Tyril flush because of her dirty comments, lose his composure, and get boners in the most inappropriate moments.  

She loves to distract him as he’s reading the council’s newest proposals by sitting half naked on his desk, sneakingly squeezing his butt as he’s talking with the heads of other houses during balls, and leaving juicy love bites on his neck before they go out to the town. In this way she gets to hear him moaning before noon, and she marks her territory, letting other women know he’s taken. Two birds, one stone, right?

 V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Tyril makes it his priority to get Selene as loud as humanly possible when they’re alone. Unless they’re in a public place for a stealthy quickie, then he does just enough to make her almost-as-loud-as-possible. He loves seeing her struggling to stay quiet, he loves teasing her like that, fully knowing she would rather chew off her own tongue than to let a moan escape her lips when they’re in public.

However, it cuts both ways, right? Selene is a mistress of drawing incomprehensible moans from her man, especially in the most inappropriate moments – like during dinner in a bar or in a library. Especially in the library, where they’ve earned a few warnings already.

“Selene, I swear, if we get a permanent ban from the librarian, I will send you back to Riverbend.”

“Feisty,” she chuckled, stroking his calf with her foot under the library table. “Do it more often.”

 W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“I’m starting to think you’re letting me win,” Selene panted, smirking at Tyril whom she had pressed against a wall, with the tip of her blade an inch away from his throat. Tyril raised his hands defiantly, smirking at her.

“I would never do such thing.”

“Then I believe I have surpassed my master.”

Selene lowered the blade slowly and let it fall to the ground when Tyril’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and picked her up to slam her against the wall. “You did indeed. Therefore, I believe I deserve a consolation prize.”

“We wouldn’t want you to go into pieces, would we?” she chuckled, pulling him close to crash her lips against his. They still had a few alone minutes left and like always they were more than willing to spend it a bit nicer than on pointing blades at each other.

Selene was also more than happy to use the fact that their trainings excited him to her advantage. “Are you certain you want to stay here? Someone will come-”

“Too bad for them, then.”

“I’m really liking this side of you,” she grinned and tangled a hand in his long hair as his lips sucked hard at the skin on her collarbone.

  X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A solid (and a bit scarred) six-pack and a thick, definitely-above-average package. If it was up the Selene, he would walk around Morella naked.

 “What about this one?” she asked, kissing a long, purplish scar under his ribcage.

“Kaya.”

“It’s been over a year,” her brows furrowed a bit. “It still hasn’t healed?”

“Magic wounds take longer to heal.”

Selene nodded, and watched his face while placing tiny, tender kisses along the scar. “You have quite the collection, I must admit.”

Tyril chuckled.

“This is the last one,” he pointed to a rather deep scar on his left hip. “No distressful story behind this one.”

“For once,” she grinned. “Is this the one Mal gave you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my favourite one.”

“It better be, I have it because of you,” he smirked, brushing the hair out of her face.

“You have it because you love me, and you wanted to defend my honour. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Touche.”

Placing a series of wet kisses down his abdomen, Selene wrapped her hand around him, already hard and waiting for her touch, drawing a surprised gasp from the elf. “Though I believe you deserve some acknowledgement for your courageous defence of my honour.”

 Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tyril is a young, handsome elf, who happens to be the love interest of many, and have a gorgeous woman by his side. Of course, he’s horny as hell. As much as he’s trying to hide it, Selene knows exactly what and how often he needs, as it happens to be her.

“Not again,” Selene giggled, feeling something hard on her thigh. She slid her thumb over Tyril’s kiss-swollen lips, admiring how soft they are. “I would like to come out of this room eventually.”

“I’m afraid this is not going to happen today,” he chuckled as Selene pushed him to lie on his back and straddled him, taking him all in.

The sun was slowly descending, and they haven’t left their bed ever since they woke up this morning.

Tyril marvelled at how the orange sun kissed her pale skin, how beautiful she looked blush-glazed cheeks, and even at how eager she was to go for another round even though the tiredness was evident on her face.

“Selene, no.”

“Come on,” she sighed as he took his hand away from her neck where she guided it. “We’ve talked about this.”

“And as far as I recall I told you I am not going to do this ever again.”

“Fine.”

  Z = Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

“I love you.”

A small smile crept up upon Tyril’s lips, and he subconsciously wrapped his arm around Selene’s body. He muttered something back, slowly drifting back to sleep. Knowing Tyril, Selene just assumed it was either “Love you too” or “I know.” A soft smile appeared on her lips as she felt his steady heartbeat on her back. Tyril would usually fall asleep first, hugging her so tight she sometimes had problems breathing.

Once she was certain Tyril had fallen asleep, she turned around to look at his peaceful face and was surprised to see a faint of a sleepy smile in the corners of his lips. “Don’t ever forget that,” she whispered, placing a featherlight kiss between his brows.

#tyril starfury #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #tyril x mc #tyril fic #the quintessence of my writing lmao smut fluff and angst(ish) #while writing this i might've motivated myself and i WILL be writing some additional fics with the use of those ideas #also i have no clue how tf the spacing in tumblr posts works so if there are weird looking space IM SORRY I TRIED MY BEST

[for7]

the christmas spirit | jimin

synopsis. christmas... did you ever wonder where it came from? 

☁︎ imagine park jimin having an uncanny experience on christmas years ago, with a little girl that looks just like his girlfriend...

pairing. jimin x reader genre. fantasy au + fluff word count. 3,5k

ah, christmas.

a celebration for millions of families from all over the world, during a particular day. a celebration filled with laughter, presents, love. who in this world didn’t know about christmas, its customs and magic? the answer was not astounding: no one. everyone knew christmas and knew what it represented, both religiously and culturally.

christmas was, for many, an important event. this simple date on the calendar triggered a frenzy in everyone, a frenzy that would always start months before the date. whether it was the decoration shops, the chocolatiers, the gardeners, they were all too busy to enjoy this period. a period that rhymed with joy but, above all, with benefit.

sell. sell. sell. christmas was all about it. the shopkeepers had only this word rolling from their tongues, they, who painted their shop fronts red and green, decorating them with poorly drawn snowflakes and glittering garlands that made the most innocent eyes dream.

all citizens throughout the world were overwhelmed, but no one was as occupied as a certain city.

christunix was a city so small and remote from all that it was not on any atlas, planisphere, nor globe. few really knew where it was and what it contained. the wanderers, black-hearted, could only see from the town the multicoloured lights filtered through a thick fog that seemed to come to life if you tried to cross it.

although almost unknown to all, kept intact by this magical gate, those lucky enough to know about it were very real. they were rare and were the men and women who had kept their child’s eyes despite their passage into the adult world. they were the ones who still managed to marvel at the little things that illuminated everyday life, in their routine coloured with a monotonous grey. they were the ones who had once stumbled upon an old grimoire called “the christmas story”.

if one day you ever had this work of inestimable value in your hands, through these yellowed and worn out pages, you would discover in golden inked words that the christmas tradition was born at the heart of this mysterious village as well as the white-bearded man that would become its allegory.

the first man, who would be called differently by children all over the world, had initially only been a toy manufacturer called klaus. of this man, the inhabitants of christunix did not know many things, all too young to have known him. only his faithful companion, an immortal but old elf — with a name far too long — could boast of having rubbed shoulders with him.

every sunday, he would gather the village’s children in his cottage and tell them stories of yesteryear about his companion. the first distribution of gifts, described as catastrophic, was one of the best known and adored tales for the children. this had happened several centuries before but, for the elf, it had happened a day before. just yesterday, he was helping his friend make toys, just yesterday he was riding in a flying sled to distribute billions of gifts to kind children from around the world.

ah… those days were as close as they were far away.

no one, not even the grimoire, knew how klaus had died. all the rumours, each crazier than the other, circulated in the village. some spoke of a sled accident, others of natural death. however, many thought it was the winter spirit that had enveloped him when his time had come, making him disappear from the face of the earth in a cloud of snow, leaving behind his workshop, his elves, and his knowledge.

a natural knowledge which mother nature had blessed him with, and the descendants of his lineage. an innate talent, the capacity to make from a simple piece of wood a functional toy able to let children’s eyes shine. scientists would talk about a hereditary gene; the inhabitants of the village would talk about a gift.

only the sons of the klaus clan could bear this blessing. for centuries, this was how the family worked. the siblings’ first son, the presumed heir, was to take part in a ceremony on the winter solstice day of his first year on earth. when the moon was at its highest point in the starry sky, empty of all visual pollution, and the snow fell in hundreds of flakes, the one charged with reigning over the world of christmas would place the heir on a sliced tree trunk. it was said that klaus himself had used the wood of this tree to make his first toy.

if the heir were to be a bearer of the gift, then, according to tradition, a white and red aurora borealis would appear in the sky, white dust would surround the newborn’s body as a sign of eternal protection from the winter spirit.

this rare event had only happened five times, and it was long hoped that the new heir would be the sixth. snomi was not the eldest of his family but he was the only boy, making him the worthy heir of the gift. all the inhabitants of the village had hoped for his birth, a blessing. without a boy, what would become of christmas?

when it was finally announced throughout the village that a boy had been born, the inhabitants had celebrated this news for a whole week.

you see, klaus’ fifth descendant had been unlucky about his offspring, some even spoke of a curse. five children, four daughters. the last one, the boy, was thus perceived as a miracle.

for the next three hundred and sixty-five days, all covered him with presents, endowed him as if he was their own child. the inhabitants of christunix were traditional people, attached to legends and customs. knowing that this child would one day be the one who would manage christmas triggered in them a sense of pride and need to protect him.

when the winter solstice finally arrived, the entire village climbed the blue mountain to reach the highest point of their land. all piled up around the sawn tree trunk. in the centre of this elated crowd, the child’s parents, both dressed in their traditional white and red coats, stood proudly. next to them, the old elf was alternating his gaze between the position of the moon and his gold-bed watch, old of a few centuries.

“one more minute.”

the mother transferred the sleeping baby into the arms of her father, who advanced towards the tree trunk, snow screeching under each of his steps. he laid him on the wood, caressing with his huge thumb the delicate skin of his cheek. a tear of pride slipped down his cheek and landed in his beard, but no one noticed; all had their eyes turned on the sky.

“let the ceremony of the heir begin.”

the moment the old elf’s voice sounded, the moonlight aligned with the tree trunk, thus illuminating the baby’s face with a sky-blue hue. all the inhabitants began singing in an ancient language, a mixture of scandinavian and latin. with their words, they were invoking the winter spirit and the wandering soul of klaus, the only beings capable of awakening the gift sleeping within the heir’s heart.

when the last words of the traditional song rang out, the inhabitants waited for the aurora borealis to appear.

but it never came.

whispers rose in the ranks, cries echoed. what was going on? had the ceremony been performed correctly? was it a calendar error? a lot of questions demanding answers were shouted at the parents who remained frozen, disabused. a strong breeze rose in the air, running through everyone’s shivering bodies, making the baby cried.

the child did not possess the gift.

meanwhile, far away from all the chaos, in the easternmost house of the village, the screams echoed.

“put that down, sunmi! you’re going to f—” a thud, followed by crying. “fall… well… oh my god! y/n, leave that elf alone!” the oldest of the four daughters, iclyn, shouted.

hearing her first name, the youngest of the girls wobbled towards her father’s workshop while giggling. her immaculate white hair, button nose and always pink cheekbones gave her the appearance of a little angel. however, as many have said, appearances can sometimes be misleading. y/n, especially because of her age of no more than five years, was the most agitated of the fifth heir’s daughters. while the twins iclyn and lumi exuded the wisdom that came with being a descendant of klaus, the youngest perfectly symbolised the malice and carelessness of children.

still laughing, her eyes sparkling, the child entered her father’s huge workshop. toys filled gigantic shelves and the noise seemed to be a constant element in this real factory. the elves, though most of the time playful, were busy with their task.

making, painting and packing thousands of gifts was no mean feat.

“miss klaus, what are you doing here? you should be at the ceremony!”

juniper, one of her father’s closest elves, pulled her by the sleeve, wishing to bring her back to her house. this was without considering the stubbornness of the girl who planted her feet on the ground, making it difficult for the elf and his little arms to drag her back.

“don’t want to! it boring! not even cookies… cold…” she murmured, arms folded, a pout on her lips. “i want to see toys!”

“miss klaus, come back here!”

ignoring the elf’s words, the girl began to saunter in the wide aisles of the workshop. it was her favourite place in the village. to know that her father was organising all this was very impressive, especially for a four-year-old. her sparkling gaze observed the actions of the elves. she laughed when she saw one tangled in the gift paper. sometimes tiny ‘wow’ would escape her mouth at the sight of toys, all more beautiful than the other.

however, it was a very special object that caught her attention, awakening her childish curiosity.

a snowball, depicting a fireplace decorated with christmas stockings, was delicately placed on the desk where her father would imagine and design new toys. looking around her once, then twice, to see if no one was watching her, she walked silently towards the workbench too big for her. her wrinkled eyes, a sign of her intense thinking session, opened wide while a blissful smile was painted on her face.

she had an idea.

the child grabbed cardboard boxes, which would later be used to pack bicycles, and stacked them to create an almost-staircase. with difficulty—her little arms did not contain much strength—she hoisted herself to the top, nearly falling several times. when she was finally standing on the workbench, y/n took the snowball in her little pudgy hands.

“wow…”

she hadn’t even shaken it, but snowflakes were already falling on the chimney. on closer inspection, she saw that it was lighted. putting it down at its original location, the child’s curious pupils swept the office with her eyes. she realised that on it was placed a gigantic map of the world. in her head, the names of the cities she already knew jostled.

her father, and her grandfather before him, kept telling exciting stories about all the cities they would visit on december 25th. these tales would change over the years, and the cities were never twice the same.

rubbing her skull with her fist, the little girl tried to remember the name of a city her grandfather would always talk about.

se…

sea…

“seoul!”

the moment the name of the city was pronounced, the snowball began to turn on its own. faster and faster, until the chimney was gone, giving way to a blurry image. the doors of the workshop opened in a big crash, slamming against the walls. a thick cloud of snow dust entered the room, long and lively as a snake, and flew around the workbench as if it was looking for someone. all the elves who had turned to the entrance at the noise tried to close the doors, but nothing helped. many were already starting to agitate, to hide under the tables, terrified. however, the girl kept her gaze fixed on the snowball, which seemed to be illuminated in a red so gleaming that she had to close her eyes, dazzled.

the last thing she felt was something enveloping her, like a huge cold but comforting cloak.

it had now been an hour since the little boy’s parents had come to wish him a good night, but sleep did not seem to want to weigh down the young park jimin’s eyelids. no matter how many times he changed positions, morpheus didn’t want him in his arms.

and for good reason: jimin was excited. christmas was now only a few days away and he had already planned his ploy. you see, it was now two years ago, when he was three years old, that the boy had made his decision.

he would catch santa claus.

boys in his class kept saying that santa claus didn’t exist. he didn’t believe them nor the nonsense they were saying. he knew, santa claus existed. every year, on the night of the 24th to the 25th, he would try to stay awake so he could see santa claus and his hood. and he had seen him! he was sure of it! the boy had even seen the great gentleman eat the cookies and drink the glass of milk he had carefully prepared.

last year, though, he had not been fast enough; while the boy had just come down the last step of the stairs, ready to make his presence known, the bearded man had already disappeared in the chimney.

sighing at this memory, jimin rose from his bed, his brown hair dishevelled. fumbling his way along not to wake his parents and little sister, he went down the stairs to get himself something to drink. maybe it would help him sleep? he’d once seen his mom do that.

as he passed through the living room to reach the desired place, a strange vision made him rub his eyes with his fists to make sure what he saw was real.

a little girl who had just appeared in the hearth of his chimney looked at him with eyes as wide as his own.

“who are you?” he asked.

she was dressed strangely. on her snow-white hair, a red bobble hat had been laid without much attention, causing it to fall before her sparkling eyes. her clothes were similar to those that jimin had seen the elves wear in the christmas movies that were on tv. the only difference was that she was not dressed in green but in red.

the stranger blinked several times before shaking her head from right to left. she didn’t understand him.

great.

as he was about to mime his question again, the little girl’s attention turned away from him and settled on the christmas tree, lit in red and gold. moving gently towards it, she touched with her little fingers the decorations that seemed to sparkle to her touch. a childish laugh, which brought snowflakes to appear in the sky, resounded in the room as she pointed to a little santa claus in felt.

“pappa!”

“no, it’s santa claus!” jimin corrected her, unhappy to know that his hero was not known to the young woman.

“min pappa!”

“hey, no! don’t touch that!” he ran towards her and grabbed her arm to remove her as quickly as possible from a drawing she was about to touch. he had put it at the foot of the tree a few days ago.

on the sheet of paper was clumsily drawn a race car that jimin had forgotten to write on his letter to santa claus. He hoped that the old red man could create him one after seeing it. this race car was the gift that mattered the most to jimin, it was out of the question that he let this weird girl approach it.

“se på!” the girl said, pointing to the windows that had just opened. following her gaze, jimin gasped, his eyes now amazed.

a glittering, almost transparent hand made of snow had just appeared in the parks’ lounge. tt wandered around in the air for a few moments, stopping to tickle the girl’s chin with two fingers. the latter, after laughing, cheeks now red with happiness, showed to this magical apparition the drawing of the car. for a few moments, the girl and the hand had a silent conversation that ended with a bright smile from the child.

jimin, who had remained motionless until then, startled when the hand advanced towards him.

“miss Klaus! you’re in a fix, i can tell you! why did you run away like that?! and in korea into the bargain!”

a small man with sky blue skin and pointed ears appeared in turn in the chimney. jimin had no time to understand what was going on that the newcomer was already grabbing the girl’s arm and pulling her to the chimney where they both disappeared in a cloud of red and white glitter.

the hand, which had hidden as if it did not want to be seen by the elf, flew again towards jimin, who, terrified, began to tremble. they remained silent for a long time, before it magically disappeared, leaving behind snowflakes and a race car.

the little boy fainted.

the peaceful atmosphere in the living room had a soporific effect on the couple lying on the couch. the christmas film—full of clichés—that was displayed on the tv screen had long been forgotten, as were the two cups of hot chocolate that no longer gave off smoke. a few snowflakes fell on seoul but seeing them, all the inhabitants knew they would not be there the next day. they didn’t mind, even just seeing snow made them happy. it would always wrap the city with its delicate white coat no matter for how many hours, painting the landscape with the christmas spirit.

jimin struggled against sleep that seemed to approach him a little more with each caress in his hair. he was slumped against his girlfriend’s chest, enjoying this moment of serenity which was discordant from their exalted daily lives. the words they were saying were whispered so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded them.

“y/n?” a ‘yes, honey?’ was heard in response, urging him to continue while the caresses on his skull became softer. “did i ever tell you that you reminded me of someone i met as a kid?”

“oh, is that right?” the woman asked, her voice muffled by Jimin’s hair in which she had buried her face.

“yes. i think I was five or six at the time… or something like that. i was young enough to believe in santa claus, basically. anyway, one night i went to get a glass of water in the kitchen. i was so tired that i had a hallucination. it was as if i had seen a girl appear in my chimney and she had summoned this weird and magical hand that made me a car. weird, isn’t it? she had white hair just like you, though.”

“hmm…”

“maybe it was a prophetic dream, i knew you were going to be the love of my life.” he laughed at his girlfriend’s cringe expression. “i love you.”

slowly, she gave him a kiss on his cheek, saying these three little words back. her caresses continued until the man’s eyes closed. smiling, she grazed jimin’s cheek with her thumb, translating in this little gesture all the affection she had for him.

her eyes swept away the apartment they shared. on the walls and shelves were scattered memories, photos; all these things traced their history, which had been going on for a year now. in the entrance, on the small table where there was a bowl with keys, behind the pile of mail waiting to be read, was placed a snow globe representing a fireplace decorated with Christmas stockings.

suddenly, the windows of the living room opened, and even though the noise startled her, it did not disrupt jimin’s sleep who was now using her chest as a pillow. a trail of snow dust appeared in the living room, twirling for a few moments around the couple before it put a letter in the woman’s hand. she hurried to open it, reading its content, written in familiar handwriting.

miss y/n klaus,

how are you? personally, i can’t even sleep as your father keeps telling me how much he misses you. everyone here does. seeing each other a month per year is too little according to the villagers.

i know your life in seoul takes up a lot of your free time. however, according to christunix’s council, it was considered judicious for you to return to the village during the week. all you have to do is take your snowball, i won’t be wrong to assume you know how to use it.

without you, it’s a bit of a mess. even if the elves work hard and your drawings are precise, it’s always better when you’re on the field to check in real-time the work that has been done. your father has, as usual, high expectations even if he is no longer in the position. he keeps complaining. you must return as soon as possible or, i assure you, the old elf will get rid of him before you can say ‘christmas’.

after all, what would christunix be without the sixth heir?

p.s. your mother and siblings keep tormenting me for you to introduce them to that boy you talk about in your letters. if you feel like it, bring him back with you. maybe it’s time he finds out what his fiancée’s job is.

kind regards,

juniper.

#jimin fluff #park jimin #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts au #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #bts fantasy au #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fluff #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you #park jimin x y/n #bts #bts christmas #jimin christmas

[korkrunchcereal]

WoW Q and A

Elaborate on the Chains of Domination cinematic: Story of Anduin and Sylvanas/relationship with the jailer is foundational to Shadowlands. Anduin was dominated. Jailer needed someone like Anduin to be able to walk into Bastion and claim the key. Brief moment of Anduin gaining control in cinematic, so still in there. Chains of Domination will explain more.

When he (Anduin) walks past Uther, did Uther know what was happening or did he feel bad? Couple things going on. His hand touches his wound, made by a weapon of the maw. Uther recognized on some level that power, as well as stirring memories seeing this blonde, kingly figure. Confrontation with Sylvanas in the raid one of the biggest moments in WoW.

Moving from classic to BC while keeping a copy. Whats it going to look like for gold, items/banks. Am I going to see differences or is it two separate entities for all time? Logging in at pre patch will snap a copy of your character. There will be an option to move onto BC classic, or stay in vanilla classic. Can pay a fee and activate “clone” to put them on BC classic if you choose to stay Vanilla. Beta is around the corner. 

How will high population  numbers be handled in TBC classic? How will you handle bottlenecks, sharding, dailies etc. Recognize high population, want to make sure experience is enjoyable. Optimization improvements to help stabilize servers. Experience of rare material and multiple people going is part of the game. Willing to make targeted changes if there is particular problems. 

 Will there be more race/class combinations? Player agency and choice is major theme. Customization key, but also want to reinforce differences. Want to maintain a world that doesn’t have exact symmetry. Have gone back over the years to change things. For now, think they’ve gone about far enough. Nothing planned, but never say never.

 Surprise on Covenant armor? Based on heritage armor. Pure aesthetic, want to give players more and more options. Gameplay reasons to not tmog the entire range (warrior wearing cloth for example)

Workflow change during pandemic? Happened very suddenly. Team reached to each other to find comfort. The isolation found purpose for devs. Making Shadowlands/games help to reconnect friends and people.

Any plans to address faction imbalance? What happened to cause it? Something talked about a lot. Know there’s a very real problem, particularly high end. What caused the problem? Imbalanced in racials allowed to persist too long. At this point, don’t think racials are imbalanced. People staying Horde however due to social reasons now; compounded issue from all the way back from MoP etc. No real answer. Social issue requires social answer.

Have you ever seen a swing in either faction direction due to story elements? Across the game as a whole, faction balance is pretty good. Its raiding/high end PvE that the imbalances really emerge. Have seen faction switches/more cross faction alts in BfA for example. 

If I play BC, when I decide to play on main char and a classic era realm at 60, will I have to name change? You have your name in both places. Ensure people don’t park on names forever.

Any plans to connect more realms? Had to do survey across all populations in all realms. Essentially have to copy an entire realms database onto another. Not a flip a switch thing, lot of work. Have been able to address a large amount of the very low pop. realms. Had to pause for Shadowlands launch due to launch and Shadowlands had huge effects on server populations. Last time they connected realms was right before WoD, and realms had a LOT of queue problems. Watching and waiting for populations to go down before making the jump.

Never gonna have cross faction raids, dungeons etc? Not gonna say never. Essential to hold onto identity but...

Will our amount of Anima be increased later? Is it possible for sanctum upgrades to be account wide? Lot to collect. Hotfixed Anima drops so far. Looking for new sources of Anima for next patch. Over all looking at the costs. Cosmetics are generally account wide. Anima is designed to span the bulk of Shadowlands. 

Sire Denathrius is an eternal one and imprisoned. What will he do? Will we see him again? Best laid plans can adapt. During BfA, intended Bwonsamdi to be a one off. There, but no big deal. Once they heard the VA they went “we need more of this character”. Planned for Sire Denathrius to be there, you kill him w/e. Then heard the VA and went “this guys awesome we love him.” Changed plan to keep Sire Denathrius alive. Will find some other role for him to take. Watch fan feedback to see how community responds/gravitate to. He is in that sword, there may just be allies of him that would be interested in liberating him from the sword...

When will we see more Heritage Armor? As each one was released, got more and more excited from response/enhanced feel of the game. Working on further Heritage Armor. Some coming to near future updates, some more in the future.

Any plans to bring back the AH app? Not as you know it perse. It got turned into a lot of automation. Revamp removed app, then change of the AH. Meant to be more of a socialize thing then accumulation of gold by automated system. Recognize however convenience factor. Consider getting back into some form, but not like how it used to be.

Will there be more new character customization options for Shadowlands? None in Shadowlands. Tend to be fairly big projects. Release them when it’ll be very good for players. Lot of work to juggle. Felt like they got good feedback and support from it. Want to invest going forward when it makes sense.

What are actual requirements for flying in Shadowlands? Where can we fly? Can we fly across the realms? Shadowlands pathfinder no rep grind. Just requires completing full covenant campaign (9.0 and 9.1). Cannot fly from zone to zone. Once unlocked, alts will be able to fly freely. 

In the BC classic, will there be class tuning that would make it notably different than 2007? Broadly no. Want to keep the authentic behavior of final patch, like classic had. Seal of blood

Is there work being done on new Torghast Anima Powers for later patches? Spec specific, when can we see? WIll be done through all patches/future patches. new powers etc. As for powers working outside Torghast, keep OP nature of them inside Torghast.

Difference between passage of time in Shadowlands and in Azeroth? Salanar the Horseman in DK order hall said he was in the veil for what felt like days and it was between WoTLK and Legion. Meet characters for whom time doesn’t seem to have meaning. What is time a construct of? Order. On Azeroth, understand the passage of time because of influence of titans/order. Outside of the influence of order, time loses meaning. A lot more fluid. Shadowlands about eternities. Can have it perceived differently by different characters even going through same thing.

Bringing back 10-man content, either as different difficulty or different instances for smaller groups to tackle. All raid basically is/can be 10 man. These days its the 5 player mega dungeons that fill the role. In BC, ZA and Kara filled that niche of the smaller group doing the BIG, raid like content. Fulfills the spirit of 10 man content.

Will summoning stones be available at launch of BC or come later? Will have them at launch.

What’s Bolvar up to and where is his story going? Will he have a major role to play? One of the fun parts of Shadowlands was getting Bolvar back into the mix. We saw him be pivotal in Torghast and getting into Shadowlands. Saw there was a price to pay for visions with Torghast. He will be front and center in Chains of Domination. Good rallying figure.  

In BC, how will pvp titles be handled without battlegroups? Originally, reward was made for the best player in each battlegroup due to technical reasons. Now that they have better technology, fair way is % based, though still want to keep it small amount. 

In Stormwind, Darnassus refugees mention going back once the smoke clears. Does this mean Teldrassil can grow back and become habitable again? The damage was pretty definitive/lot of lives lost. Don’t want to reverse on a whim. The story of the souls of the Night Elves however is not yet done, nor is Tyrande’s story going into Chains of Domination and beyond.

Will fresh classic servers be added in addition to TBC servers? For the timeline of BC classic, no new classic servers. Eyes on it however for the future. Will discuss once BC launches.

How do you get the Wandering Ancient Mount? Got to have Shadowlands. Will be in 9.0.5 patch update next month (March). 

#Blizzcon #Blizzcon 2021 #World of Warcraft

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Bagginshield Bingo- Soulmate/Ones

First entry for the game! I headcannon Bilbo to be about 14-15 in this in human terms. Remember, if I don’t get any asks, I will choose the next one for tomorrow! I hope you guys enjoy.

Title: The Souls of the Feet

Summary: Hobbits have soulmates and while Bilbo always tried to avoid finding his, it seems that his soulmate found him instead. 

Amongst the scholars and philosophers of Middle Earth, the oldest and, most likely, well worn debate stems from the location of a being’s soul. Depending on which race is being asked, the answer differs greatly. Take the men for example, hardy and hopeful, and they believe that the answer lies in the gut. After all, ‘gut instinct’ must arise from somewhere, and surely food must power both the body and the soul. 

However, if the question is posed to an elf, immortal and elegant, they would argue that the soul must rest in the chest along with the heart and the lungs. All necessary for sustaining life in this world. Loud scoffs would come from the dwarrows, secret and proud, who know that the forging of one's craft is the most soulful experience one can have, and that would be in the large hands Mahal gifted them with.

All are logical arguments and definitely merit consideration. Still, all wrong in the eyes of a hobbit. The poor, simplistic creatures believe the soul resides in their feet. As if their claim was not peculiar enough, they state it as an absolute certainty. The Big Folk just smile and indulge the hobbits with a pat on their head, and it’s this level of cynicism that keeps them from knowing the secret truth of the Shire.

Yavanna, in all her wisdom, granted hobbits the ability of knowing their soul mates. With the feet that touch the earth blessed by the Green Lady, to be touched on the foot ties a string of fate between those two souls. Always feeling, always knowing, exactly where to find their soulmate so long as their feet still walk the earth.

Because of this, the care and attention to their feet was almost sacred. To touch another’s foot with ill intention was seen as downright criminal in the Shire.

Now, accidents happen and it is by the will of Yavanna whether those people pursue a romantic relationship or just remain touched by fate. Bilbo Baggins, a young hobbit of twenty-six, was not about to take the chance. 

He kept mostly to himself and away from the other tweens. More interested in chasing imaginary elves and fairies in the woods as a child, he now took walking holidays across the whole of the Shire spending his free time reading his books and his maps from the treetops. He never saw a problem with his self-instilled isolation. His parents fretted, and his father especially questioned how he was to find his soulmate if he kept to himself? However, Bilbo figured his soulmate would find him when the time was right. 

It was on one such day that Bilbo was lazing in a low branch over the river. Turned facing the trunk, his head was cradled by the leaves and berries. His right foot bent up at the knee, while his left swung freely below. Lost in the inked words of heroes and magic, Bilbo was completely oblivious to his surroundings. So when something brushed against his hanging foot, he sat up nearly dropping his book.

“Excuse me.” A voice called up as the person reached up and grabbed Bilbo’s foot to gain his attention.

Bilbo released a loud shriek as he jumped to his feet backing away. His foot! Someone touched his foot! In such distress, he seemed to have completely forgotten that he was in a tree, and there was really no place for him to go but down. His stomach flew to his throat as he was completely weightless for a small moment. Then he was plunged into the Brandywine.

If there had ever been Stoor blood in his genealogy, it had died out long ago as Bilbo sunk like a rock beneath the current. His lungs and nose burned as he wildly kicked and flailed hoping in vain to reach the surface. His head broke through for only a moment, and he gulped in air while he could.

“HOLD ON!”

Bilbo barely heard the roaring voice before he was plunged back below. His chest ached with desperation, and he was so tempted just to open his mouth and be done with it. Then he collided with something solid. His limbs instinctively wrapped tight in the hope of salvation even as his eyes refused to open.

Honestly, Bilbo wasn’t sure how he got onto the banks. One moment, he was fighting against the rushing waters, and the next he was on his hands and knees. Spluttering, coughing, hacking as water and snot ran down his face. His limbs shook as the fear wore off enough for the exhaustion of his journey to seep in.

“Are you alright?”

There was a warm hand on his back that made Bilbo look up. Blue. He was drowning once more. Numbly words tumbled from his mouth.

“My foot.”

A soft frown touched the being’s face, and Bilbo was able to break away from his eyes long enough to take in the sharp nose, short dark beard, long soft locks to match, and the large hands that were common among Aule’s children. A dwarf? The dwarf looked down at his foot, and Bilbo was now consciously aware of the deep throb resonating through his sole. The dwarf reached down taking his foot in hand, and Bilbo released a gasp.

Sweet Yavanna, he didn’t know that one could feel waves of pure bliss in this way. It was as if the sun had been gone without him even knowing, and he finally was feeling its warmth for the first time. His body went limp, and he turned his head so he could get a good look at his soulmate. His soulmate. He wanted to be annoyed by his method of contact, but he was too mesmerized by the beautiful creature to care about the accidental touching.

He was large. From his broad shoulders to his mannish hands down to his sculpted chest that his wet tunic clung desperately. Wet tunic? Bilbo grinned brightly as he realized it was the dwarf that saved him from the river. His brave, handsome, kind soulmate. If Bilbo weren’t still technically a minor, he would propose right here on the spot.

“Did that hurt?” The dwarf questioned raising an eyebrow.

“Hurt?” Bilbo laughed. “It felt incredible. Here, let me.”

He sat up and reached over for the dwarf’s feet only to stop short at the sight of the dark squared monstrosities hiding his soulmate’s feet. His confusion must have been written on his face because the dwarf spoke up once more.

“You...want me to remove my boots?”

“Yes.” Bilbo nodded, his brow still furrowed.

The dwarf hesitated, but under Bilbo’s putout expression, slowly complied with the request. Bilbo’s jaw dropped aghast to see another layer of wool underneath the dreaded leather beasts. His plight seemed to amuse the dark haired dwarf as he huffed a laugh before removing the woolen socks as well.

Bilbo laughed in incredulous delight. They were so dainty and smooth! He reached out towards one only to hesitate and look up for the dwarf’s permission. His blue eyes tore straight through him as if trying to discern his every possible intention before finally giving a small curious nod.

Bilbo’s touch was revenant, and his heart immediately ached. There was so much pain in his dwarf’s poor soul. The pain of loss brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes. However, there was also a fluttering of hope. It was beautiful and noble and built on limitless dreams of glory and a far off calling of home. Yes, Bilbo’s dwarf was a good one indeed. 

He began to rub the foot exactly as his mother told him in order to soothe the pain. Thorin tensed for a moment before letting go with a sigh. Bilbo smiled, happy to do this one small thing for his sweet soulmate. He didn’t know if it was normal to be this attached, but he couldn’t help himself. He continued to rub until contentment settled into the dwarf’s bones.

“What did you do?” He asked softly when Bilbo finally, reluctantly released him.

“I merely dulled the pain and reminded your soul of better times.” Bilbo answered.

“I didn’t even know I had such aches; long has been my journey.”

“It was the least I could do. I mean...you did save my life.” Bilbo ducked his head shyly.

A large hand reached up and ruffled his curls.

“It was the least I could do, Little One. After all, it was my fault you fell in the first place.”

Bilbo was nearly vibrating with the attention until he caught the dwarf’s pet name.

“Little?! I am practically an adult.” He complained.

The dwarf snorted as he proceeded to cover his feet once more. Something else that caused Bilbo displeasure.

“My nephews would say much the same.”

“You have nephews?” Bilbo jumped eager to know more of his soulmate. “How old are they?”

“Let’s see...the younger one just turned...fifty-two, I believe. Which would make the eldest fifty-seven.”

Bilbo blinked owlishly at the dwarf wondering at the purpose behind this jest, but he did nothing to deny it as he laced his boots back up. As it settled around him, Bilbo came to the realization that the dwarf was being one hundred percent serious. Just how old was his soulmate?!

“And what about you? I would imagine on the frontside of fifty. Forty-seven? Forty-eight?”

“Twenty-six.” Bilbo murmured still reeling from the apparent longevity of dwarves.

The dark haired dwarf’s jaw dropped as his face paled. 

“Twenty...by Mahal! We need to get you back to your parents right away!” 

Bilbo’s face turned crimson as the implication that he was but a young faunt, but then the dwarf took his hand in his, and Bilbo stayed his tongue as he found he enjoyed the sensation. It was incredible to him that dwarves’ hands were so large when their feet were so cute and small. Exactly opposite of a hobbit. It was like Yavanna and Aule planned for them to compliment each other. Bilbo took advantage of the situation and laced their fingers together as he swung the limbs back and forth. The dwarf, Bilbo still had not learned his name, allowed him with an indulgent smile. Wait. Bilbo still did not know his name.

“What’s your name?” He asked immediately seeking the blue orbs for answers.

“I am Thorin, son of Thrain. How about you, Little One?”

Bilbo clearly was not about to lose that nickname anytime soon.

“Bilbo Baggins.” He responded.

“Bilbo.” Thorin repeated fondly.

Bilbo repressed the urge to shiver at how his name sounded in Thorin’s velvety voice. Trying to distract himself from his desire to press closer, Bilbo began to prattle on, telling Thorin all about his home and the Shire in general. He talked about his desires for adventure and his cosy smial. He talked for so long, wanting to share every detail of himself with Thorin that he wasn’t even aware they were home until he walked straight into the gate.

“I suppose this is where I leave you, Little One.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. Leave? Why would Thorin leave?

“I must return to my home now.” Thorin explained in amusement.

Bilbo ducked his head not realizing he had asked his questions aloud.

“Will you come back?” He begged already hating the distance between them.

“I may.” Thorin smirked.

Bilbo’s grin split his face as he leaned up and placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Thorin watched completely bewildered.

“Good. Because I have chosen you.”

“Chosen me for what?”

“To be mine.” Bilbo answered honestly.

The dwarf looked confused but still managed to draw a small smile to his face.

“Farewell, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I’ll be waiting! Thorin, son of Thrain!” Bilbo declared waving enthusiastically to the dwarf as he departed down the hill.

Bilbo was able to feel every step he took further and further away from him. It was like a tug on the very soul of his feet. Uncomfortable and strained. It made Bilbo want to run down after the dwarf, and never let him go. However, he could wait. He would become of age soon enough, and then he would chase off into the wilderness after that dwarf. He just didn’t know the wait would be longer than he would ever know. Long enough for him to all but forget about the insistent tug that demanded his attention away from the Shire. However, Bilbo was quickly reminded when for the first time in twenty-five years, the tug eased in its pull indicating his dwarf was finally coming back for him. Now if only he could get this pesky wizard to leave him alone so he could prepare...

#bagginshield bingo #bagginshield #thilbo #ones/soulmates #get it...'soul of the foot' #:D #the nose kiss...literally one of my favorite parts

[watarigarasu]

October 23rd – Monster

13 Days of Spooky Writing Event

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Word count: 1,896

Warnings: Big sad, much emotion.

Author’s note: I really love Thranduil, okay?

During many years of your lone journey through the Middle Earth, you have heard many words describing the King of Mirkwood. Some of them revealed the hidden fear of the Elvenking, some included fascination and some said that he did not even exist in the first place, that he was a made up story for children, just like his whole kingdom. However, there was one term you could not so quickly forget, the one engraved in your memory for some peculiar reason—the one you repeated to yourself while crossing the borders of Mirkwood, wary of what you might encounter.

The rumour that the Elvenking was a heartless monster.

You were familiar with the infamous stories on how he paid no mind to those in need, how little did their lives mean to him, how his egoistic nature caused him to fight for what he believed was right only, how selfish was his attitude and how he considered his kin as above everyone else. Perhaps you would eventually believe in them all if you did not know better than to listen every rumour you hear along the way. Words spread faster than a diseases, every next one changed a little by the mouth they were spoken from and so, you wondered how much of a truth they actually contained.

Contrary to what you imagined to see, the Elvenking did not resemble any kind of monster in the slightest. His grace and pride was undeniable, his beauty outstanding and his voice deeply serene. The weight of his gaze upon you seemed to be enough to crash you to the ground but instead of that, you were invited to the feast as a guest. A storyteller, the one who could share the most recent news about the world outside of the kingdom.

He did not act like a monster when he shared his people’s food and wine with you, neither did he act like one when he was listening to you talking, lazy sight carefully picking out every single detail of your appearance. Firen was the only way he addressed you endlessly, no matter how many opportunities you took to remind him your real name.

You have lost the track of time soon after arriving to Mirkwood, all days melting together like one, the kingdom surrounding you so magical that you forgot about all the evil creeping outside. There was no flesh eating creatures under the magnificent roof with countless waterfalls flowing down the halls. There was no fear between the ancient pages of the books you were eventually allowed to look at. There was no tears during the evening feasts in the forests. There was no pain in dancing all night long in the pale starlight.

There was only calmness filling your soul, the steady rhythm of your beating heart and the utter peace of your soul where apparently nothing bad could reach you. Walking in a dream, you found yourself falling in love with the world you did not belong to and to your surprising notice, you could experience all of it simply because the Elvenking—Thranduil, as you learned—allowed you to.

Simply because his heart was not as cold as the rumours claimed it to be.

“Tell me about your ancestors, firen,” he ordered on one particularly warm day, when the first, vivid green leaves were poking their tips out from the thin branches. It was an early morning, the fog still not fading in the sunlight and it was an accident that you stumbled upon each other—the Elvenking attending his usual morning stroll and you, still not going to sleep after a truly interesting lecture you managed to find in the library, written in a language you understood.

“About my family?” you wondered. “With all due respect, I’m not sure if I can interest you with this kind of story, My Lord. They are no royalty.”

“If I wanted to listen about royalty, I would simply take a look upon the letters my father left me.” His voice was haughty yet soft, like a fresh rime. “I was wondering what kind of people could beget a woman willing to travel alone through the foreign lands.”

“Are you thinking about lunatics or heroes?”

He did not smile at your little joke, but something in his expression changed. Perhaps your words did amuse him, which might be the reason why he apparently enjoyed your company, or maybe it was just the small bullfinch sitting on a nearby branch which caught his attention.

“I suppose we are to find out about that,” he barely whispered, not taking his gaze off the bird.

And so, you started talking, carefully choosing what to say next so you would not bore him with this not so exciting story. Living for as long as all Elves did, you would be surprised if he thought of any part of your speech as even remotely interesting. He has seen it all and much more, already, he has witnessed war, loss and love, he had an adult son and once a wife also. Your history, no matter how much could it mean to you, would soon be nothing but a blink of an eye for him, just as fleeting the seasons were.

You were a whisper on the wind, made to be heard by his ear and eventually fade out.

“Give me your hand.” The command caused you to stop talking in a middle of the sentence and look at the Elvenking confused. A quick motion of his arm caused an expensive robes to move gracefully before he showed what he expected from you. “Like that.”

You did as you were told, slowly outstretching your arm and only then noticing how the bullfinch tilted its head to the right and jumped few times on the branch before opening wings and swiftly landing at Thranduil’s open palm. It was a breath-taking view to observe, the trust of the small creature completely unexpected. You stood in the same position, listening as the Elvenking started talking, while gently stroking the bird’s head with his index finger.

“There is beauty in simplicity, something a race of Men often tends to forget about. Ironically, since they are the ones who should cherish it the most, the gentle passing of time. I find your admiration to save as many moments as possible as equally pointless and fascinating. To know that one day your whole existence will turn into ashes brings out the most primal instincts—but only the wise can focus on the beauty of a fleeting moment. A single memory.”

Slowly, he reached to you and you held your breath when the bird cautiously jumped from his hand onto yours, it’s tiny feet gently tickling your skin and the smile appearing on your lips.

“Not many of the race of Men can find a beauty in evanescence.” Thranduil continued, watching you staring at the bullfinch as if it was the first time in your whole life that you experienced such a moment. “It is a rare ability among those who do not feel the impact of time and even rarer in those who are the most prone to it.”

The bird on your hand with its adorably red belly was fascinating enough that you did not notice the way the Elvenking looked at you, aware that he was going to savour this single image in his memory for many, many thousands of years in the future.

Thranduil was not a monster, although he understood why many were ready to address him as such. He was aware of his doings, of his regrets and faults but he also knew how much does it take to carry the weight of the necessity. Men were foolish, easily led by their own emotions which changed as quickly as the wind, and it was their doom they always brought upon themselves. Perspective makes history look different, the deeds appearing in a light nobody would expect them to centuries ago and it was the ability their kind lacked.

How could they possibly understand what was wise and what not, if they never truly lived to face the consequences of their own actions? If they had no idea what would their descendants have to endure?

The human he decided to invite to his kingdom was no less blind than the rest of her kind, nevertheless he found her presence and stories amusing. It was different; her point of view, the news she brought from the lands far on the east, and he found himself roaming through the halls of his kingdom with head full of the images of her face and the sound of her voice. She talked about the beauty of the lake she stayed by one night in a way which made him feel like a fool. As if it was him, who was blind for this whole time and could not see the world in the same way she did.

Ironically, it was his eyes which were used to seeing more, looking through darkness and illusions.

There was a reflection of the setting sun in her eyes when she spoke about it, a picture so clear that he could almost touch it, as if he was witnessing it for the first time in his whole life. There was a melody in her tone when she was repeating the legends she heard along the way and for some reason he grew fond of it, the excitement being something he has forgotten long ago. There were not many things which could still surprise him, after all, there was nothing to look for, nothing to long for.

Except, perhaps, for the gentle softness of her lips when he imagined how would they feel against his. Would it be different and refreshing, just like her stories were? Would he still be able to enjoy it? Would the kiss bring out new palette of unnecessary emotions from her fragile heart?

He was never a monster, he told himself. The real monsters were out there, in the world, ready to slay the weaker, the ones of her kind. He would be selfish if he did not offer his help to those in need, if he did not provide the food supplies and wine for people from the Laketown who needed it the most after the terrifying dragon attack. The great serpent was the worst monster walking upon this lands and suddenly Thranduil felt grudge for everyone who dared to compare him to the vicious beast.

The Elvenking was never heartless, not in the moment when he was trying to protect his people from the mindless slaughter the Dwarves suffered in Erebor dozens of years ago, nor when he was ready to fight until his last breath to reclaim the gems of his wife—the last physical memory of her that he could still own. But especially not when he was kneeling on the cold, hard ground on the battlefield, holding the body of the human storyteller to his chest and listening to the silence where once her heartbeat was, the echo of a sword slicing the air where he was supposed to stand still loud in his mind, just like her desperate scream and a pitiful attempt to shield him.

Thranduil was never a monster but he knew better than anyone that he was, instead, a fool.

#13daysofspookywritingevent #13 days of spooky writing event #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit

[entishramblings]

The Rings and Jewels Upon Your Ears - Sensitive Elf Ears [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: hey guys! here is another one shot about our favorite blue eyed elf that I wrote while procrastinating my fanfic because writers block!!! So enjoy this short fic about sensitive elf ears bc I am, and always will be, a slut for elf ear fics oop. Also if you do not have earrings I’m so sorry this was just an idea!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: Girl falls into middle earth and the elves of Mirkwood are confused about her earrings; most find it distasteful, but Legolas is fascinated!

Word Count: 2,246

Warnings: heated kissing (nothing further)

*all elvish was looked up online from numerous sources so please dont hate if it is not entirely correct*

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N)‘s stomach dropped and queasiness overtook her as she plummeted through the cold air. She tried to grasp onto something—anything—to stop her from plunging to her death. But no matter how much she reached outward, the only thing she held in her hands was dewy water and moisture—for the only thing to grasp was dark gloomy clouds. (Y/N)’s limps felt limp as freezing rain collected on her skin, soaking her to the bone; Her wet hair whipped around her face like an over-sized mop in a miniature tornado, inviting the thick strands to get stuck in her mouth. Her whole body was numb from the cutting cold as she spun downward. To make matter worse, she was 89% sure she had lost a shoe as her one foot felt significantly colder.

(Y/N) didn’t think the circumstance could possibly get more terrifying as her heart was already struck with paralyzing fear; but alas, it was just her luck. A brilliant bolt of light shuttered from the sky, zapping through the air right next to her. She was sure she could feel the electricity rushing through her blood as the thin hairs on her arm stood up.

This was it. This was how she would go out.

Suddenly, pain erupted up her spine. She felt her nerves become overloaded with intense agony that extended through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut.

It was over. She had hit the ground. She had met her end.

But when (Y/N) opened her eyes, she saw grey stone high above her.

She groaned loudly as she pulled her body into sitting position. Her back ached slightly but the pain was not anywhere near as severe as her shock. How was she not dead....or was this death? Her curious eyes wandered in examination of her surroundings. She was in a large dark corridor that had big archways and extravagantly carved doors scattered amongst the sides in an orderly pattern. The air felt eerie and sinister as she stumbled over the abandoned, smooth, stone floor. Anxiety crept into her soul.

So this what was the invitation of death felt like.

Alone, soaking wet, missing a shoe, and shrouded with fear.

How lovely.

(Y/N) was pulled from her thoughts as chaos surrounded her and grabbed her upper arms. This chaos was tall, long haired, strikingly gorgeous, and many in number. These strange people encircled her and bound her wrists while hollering words in a language she didn’t understand.

Her head spun, what was going on? was this the afterlife? if so, it was quite weird.....

She was in a daze as they dragged her through hallway after hallway; taking so many twists and turns she would never be able to find her way back—not that going to that spot again would help anything. Where ever she was, there was no escape.

(Y/N) was brought forth in front of a long blonde haired man highly decorated in silk and jewels. He sat upon a winding wooden throne and an elaborate crown made of branches and berries rested upon his head. In one word, any individual would describe him as: regal.

The peculiar people pushed her to her knees as he spoke. Words flowed from his mouth with a smooth, deep, and intimidating tone; but those words meant nothing to her as they were completely foreign to her brain.

Silence feel between them as they looked upon her, waiting. Waiting for what?!

He spoke again, anger and irritation tumbling from his lips.

Suddenly her head was grasped by warm hands and roughly tilted upwards and to the side. Her eyes met those of another that were strikingly blue. She gasped, from the shock and the slight pain that radiated through her neck. Another hand that did not belong to the man above her pulled her locks from her face. They all looked at her ear intently. Weird kink?

The one who freed her ear from the sopping mess she called hair spoke, “Est a- an elleth, ach nad othren est lheweg (she is a female elf, but something strange is upon her ear).”

Whatever he said, it was the cause of her head being viciously tilted once again.

The King hollered at her a second time, his displeasure and irritability obvious.

(Y/N) attempted to pull from the blue eyed man’s grasp but failed exceptionally, for his grip was taught.

More harsh words were thrown at her and the hold upon her squeezed tighter—initiating pain.

A slight whimper escaped her lips. The blue eyes above her seemed regretful and their owner drew his eyebrows together in concern and confusion.

(Y/N) looked up at him, her gaze meeting his.

“Please...” she whispered ever so quietly; she wasn’t even sure he could have heard her.

Instantaneously, his hands fell from their hold and the blue pooled with intrigued perplexity.

He spoke, his voice was powerful and commanding. “She speaks the common tongue.”

She felt the eyes of those around her pouring into her soul with confusion and the yearn for answers.

“What is the point of and elf who doesn’t understand Sindarian?” The regal figure spoke.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “An elf?”

The King rolled his eyes, “Yes that is what you are, is it not? The tips of ears do not lie. Now speak quickly who sent you and how did you gain entrance?”

She looked about her dumbfounded as her gaze searched all the individuals ears—all pointy. Elves? When it dawned on her that she hadn’t answered the question, she spoke, “Sent me? I don’t even know where I am!”

Silence fell between every individual in the room and the tension lingered; she felt the agitation seeped into her skin as a shiver rippled through her body.

The King tilted his head slightly as he examined her. Only then did she realize just how unusual they really were. Their clothing was bizarre—old fashioned—and they were loaded with weapons; but no guns were in sight, they held bows in their callused hands and knives were strapped upon them. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought she fell into the past. But that would be impossible. However, one thing was certain: she couldn’t be dead.

“What did you do to your ear?” The King questioned.

She frowned, suddenly remembering her immediate reality, “You—you mean my earrings?”

“Yes, the rings and jewels upon your ears.”

(Y/N) was taken aback. What a strange question. She had a large amount of earrings; at least 8 or 9 on each side, placed differently on each ear. Did he not know of piercings? How big was the rock that these people lived under?

She chose her words carefully, by the way he spoke she figured he would not understand her normal slang. “They are for decoration—for beauty.”

He spoke again but his tone laced with disgust, “Why would you desecrate yourself in such a way?”

(Y/N) was filled with confusion. This was a normal custom where she was from. Quite rude for him to insult her in such a way.

When she offered no response the King turned to the man....or elf shall she say....that had held her taught. “Legolas, lock her in the dungeons.”

(Y/N) felt a lump in her throat. Dungeons....that could never be good.

The blonde elf pulled her up gently and led her away with other guards pursuing them closely. More winding halls and steep stairs became her only sight as she was ushered along.

......

The metal bars slammed in her face as she felt numb misery confine her soul. Was this to be her life now?

As the elves filtered out, one stayed behind. Legolas, she recalled his name. He was quite tall, but alas, they all were tall to (Y/N) for she had always been considered small. His face was proportional and structured as the shadows from the torches danced upon his form. His jaw line was sharp and defined while he stood before her with confidence. He definitely had a position of authority, she thought. Furthermore, His dark eyebrows were a contrast to his sleek blonde hair that was held back by three simple braids; but it did not look unfitting, rather it was quite suitable. His light pink lips were pulled into a line as his blue orbs gazed upon her. She could see him pondering the circumstances.

He spoke lightly, no animosity upon his tone. “You are not from here, are you?”

(Y/N) nodded. Her world felt so far away and the hopes of returning faded into the shadows as despair stretched across the corners of her mind.

......

Many months had past of (Y/N) living in a cell. Within this time, she had become quite friendly with Legolas—who she had found out was the son of the King. However, the blue eyed elf was nothing like his father. For starters, on the first night she arrived he brought her fresh clothing and a towel to dry her soaked self. Legolas was kind and patient. When she threw the fabrics back at him—screaming and hollering to be released—he did not lash out; she had a suspicion any other would. Looking back, (Y/N) realized that he must have suspected her entire world was turned upside down. I mean how often do you find out you had a species change and were transported to a different sphere of reality?

The Elven Prince came to visit her often and they would have long conversations. She told him of where she came from and he taught her of the new world she now lived in. He tutored her in the language of the elves—Sindarin—and spoke of their ways. They were creatures of intense, impressive, and impeccable skill who lived immortal lives. She could feel her senses heightening and improving as the day’s went on and her muscles began to strengthen. It took long for (Y/N) to wrap her head around her new reality; and how she became of it, she knew not.

It was evening when Legolas came to visit her once again. She smirked at him from behind the bars, “What do you have to bring me this time?”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lip. He held up a large, dark green book and slipped it through the metal shafts. “The history of Middle Earth. Teach yourself wisely.”

She grinned, “Thank you, Legolas.”

He turned to leave for he had other duties that his father insisted upon, but he hesitated. Legolas rotated his body to look at (Y/N) once more. His gaze lingered upon her exposed ears as her hair was tied back in a tight braid.

He spoke softly, “Did it hurt?”

Her brows knitted together, “Did what hurt?”

“Your ears—the jewelry.”

She shook her head, “No not really? Why do you ask?”

He took a couple steps towards her and a slight chuckled escaped his mouth, “An elf’s ears are very....sensitive.”

She tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment as he eliminated the space between himself and the bars.

“May I?”

(Y/N) took a step closer, so she too was against the thick metal rods. She could feel his hot breath upon her face as he looked down at her; She was sure he could hear her heart pounding for elves could pick up any sound—she could hear his. Legolas raised a hand through the bars and gently cupped one side of her face. He lightly touched the tip of her ear and trailed his finger down. (Y/N) gasped as the sensation shuttered throughout her entire being. She could see his blue eyes shift to her lips before locking back with her eyes once again. (Y/N) lifted her hand through the bars, her expression begging to commit the same action.

“(Y/N), you know not what you will do to me.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. She did not heed his warning one bit; she grazed her finger along the edge of his ear.

Without warning both his hands flew through the bars; one wrapping around her waist and the other clutching her face. He forcefully yanked her body into his and smashed his lips against hers, both their faces pressing against the cold metal. The taste of mint and honey melded in her mouth as their lips moved in a gently rhythm, dancing against each other. (Y/N) snaked her arms up his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath his tunic, until she wrapped them around his neck—tangling her hands in his soft hair. She felt a heat rise from her stomach to her chest as she hungrily moved her mouth with his. When Legolas’s teeth tugged on her bottom lip, nearly all her thoughts silenced and her desire for him grew. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance; they battled for dominance.

Suddenly, the warmth was torn from her. Legolas pulled his head back and turned his face from her, but his hands would not move from their grasp. (Y/N)’s swollen lips parted as doubt flooded her, had she done something wrong?

His voice was one of a growl, “Look what you do to me.” His breathing was heavy and his chest was rising and falling. He turned his attention back to her, “You allow me to divulge in my impulses.”

(Y/N) smirked, “Is that such a bad thing?”

Legolas leaned his forehead against hers and he gave her a lopsided grin, “Never.”

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