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sleepy-writes-stuff · 2 months

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DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

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Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

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(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

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andyevej · 7 days

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adaine speechwriter truthing

#if the elven oracle is writing your speeches #how can you lose #art #my art #fantasy high #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #d20 #adaine abernant #kristen applebees #the bad kids #fanart #digital art #keep feeling like ive forgotten how to draw lol #but what a start to the finale huh

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wren-kitchens · 27 days

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so shiver, but shiver with a friend

1034 words

the boat is creaking. that's not even remotely abnormal; the boat spends more time creaking than it does staying silent—gem built it so it would do that. sure, it took a lil' getting used to, but it didn’t take long for the rhythmic rocking and gentle creaking to become conducive to sleep, and now gem finds it far more difficult to sleep in silence. after all, silence means something is wrong—the engine rumbles if it's working, the waves splash against the sides of the boat if it's still afloat. a creaky boat means gem is still alive, and the boat is still running. but this isn’t your average ambient creaking. like she said, gem knows the noises of her little fishing boat like the back of her hand, and this is not a normal creak. this is a suspicious creak. and- sure, that might sound silly, but have you memorised every sound this boat can make? didn’t think so.

this fic exists for two reasons, which are stiff stiffyck's love for qpr elven duo (gem and scar) and also me overthinking scar's wheelchair worldbuilding in the hermitcraft world

this could be a lot better but alas I have been consumed by depression writers block, so honestly i'm just proud this ended up as a finished fic

btw this is one of my first times writing wheelchairs, and whilst it is fantasy so things are gonna be a little different, I would appreciate if someone could tell me if I did something wrong/insensitively!

the boat is creaking.

that's not even remotely abnormal; the boat spends more time creaking than it does staying silent—gem built it so it would do that. sure, it took a lil' getting used to, but it didn’t take long for the rhythmic rocking and gentle creaking to become conducive to sleep, and now gem finds it far more difficult to sleep in silence. after all, silence means something is wrong—the engine rumbles if it's working, the waves splash against the sides of the boat if it's still afloat. a creaky boat means gem is still alive, and the boat is still running.

but this isn’t your average ambient creaking. like she said, gem knows the noises of her little fishing boat like the back of her hand, and this is not a normal creak. this is a suspicious creak. and- sure, that might sound silly, but have you memorised every sound this boat can make? didn’t think so.

anyway, all of this to say that gem is pretty sure someone is on her boat at the middle of the night for what she deeply hopes are not nefarious reasons. although, she cannot think of any reason someone would be sneaking onto her boat at two in the morning—nefarious or otherwise. maybe it's grian trying to lag some things out of her chests? but why on earth he wouldn't do that in the day when she wasn't on board, gem has no clue.

there's a new noise now, one that suggests against the idea of nefarious deeds, but only confuses gem more: a kind of squeaking, like a rubber ring being taken off, or an air mattress being slept on. okay, that doesn’t rule anything out at all, and only serves to make everything far more complicated. who is bringing a rubber something onto her boat at 2am? what is happening here?

overtaken by an amounting curiosity to whatever the hell is actually going on, gem climbs out of bed and pads softly along the floorboards in her slippers to her door. she regrets not installing one of those peepholes, because now she actually has to engage with the something that's happening outside in order to investigate. gem is sure there isn’t anything especially dangerous that could be going on, but she pulls out her sword preemptively as she opens the door slowly to find-

to find..

well, she's not sure what she's found.

"gem!" says a cheery scar, who is. on her boat? how is he on her boat- he uses a wheelchair, and the boat is in the middle of the river.

except- no, hang on, his wheelchair seems to be completely lacking wheels, which gem would argue is the main point of a wheelchair. where the wheels should otherwise be, there are floatation devices—seemingly rubber, which explains the noises gem was hearing earlier—in patented hotguy colours, so she assumes that's intentional. okay, that's- that sure is something.

"you-" gem scrambles for any words to express how bizarre this situation is and fails miserably. "you’re on my boat." is all she manages. void, it is way too late (early?) to be trying to figure this out.

"I am on your boat!" scar says, looking rather proud of himself. it's kind of sweet, to be fair—even as it only adds to the crazy situation. "y’know, I didn't think i’d actually manage it. last time I tried, I sunk."

gem blinks, giving up on making sense of the situation now and letting herself just go with the bizarre. "yeah, I can imagine why scar." she gestures at the rubber wheels (they look a bit like wheels, anyway). "how did you get those?"

"cub helped me!" scar smiles, as if this was a normal conversation to be having. does he even realise how strange this situation is, or is this just normal for him now? "see- you know how my chair has an elytra mode?"

"uh huh."

"well, now it has a swimming mode!" scar says, and he clicks a button on the underside of the seat. within an instant, the floatation devices deflate, replaced swiftly by the regular wheels. "ta da!"

"that- I mean, that's very cool." gem says, and she means it, despite how unenthusiastic she knows she must sound. in her defence, it is the middle of the night. "I just- why are you here?"

something changes in scar's expression immediately, and gem panics a little until scar says meekly, "it- okay, well. now it sounds silly."

gem snorts. "because showing off your inflatable wheelchair at two in the morning is normal?" she tilts her head, and her voice is fond when she says, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

a smile tugs at the corners of scar's lips, and gem feels something warm in her chest to see it. "I know, I know." he hesitates for a second, before giving a huff of exasperation. "I wanted a hug." scar admits, glancing at the floor.

"wh- scar." gem finds herself beginning to smile. "do you really think I would ever turn down a hug from you?"

scars grin is almost shy as he opens his arms, and gem practically falls into them, burying her face in his jacket. man, she has missed hugs from scar; she loves the way they fit together so well, like pieces of a puzzle, perfectly matched to one another. there are very few places where gem feels entirely at home—she's been pretty much everywhere, so she knows what home feels like—and scar is closer to home than any place has ever felt to her.

before she knows it, scar has scooted forward just enough to unbalance her, and she lands on top of him. gem scoffs playfully as scar laughs to himself, holding her closer.

"I can't hug you properly if you’re stood up, y’know." scar mumbles into her hair.

gem rolls her eyes, fond as anything. "well, i’m not complaining." she's quiet for a moment, letting herself appreciate the moment—breathing it all in. "I love you." gem murmurs.

scar squeezes her, and gem can almost hear his smile when he says, "I love you too."

#hermitfic #wren writes #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #geminitay #hermitcraft #please don't tag as ship <3 #elven duo #hermitblr #I can’t figure out any more tags tell me if I need something else GKDHS

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eldrtchmn · 10 months

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🌑

#art #my art #oc #original character #elf #elven #dark art #dark fantasy #eldrtchmn #here they are!! one of my oldest oc #I love coming up with a story with my elves but I can't write so it's gonna stay there forever I'm afraid

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shadowtraveled · 1 month

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this is a largely meaningless observation but, based on the fleki uniform demonstration comic, mithrun seems to wear the default style of the canary uniform, probably because he has no desire to personalize it or preference for how to do so, etc. when he does seem to pick his own clothes, though, they don’t look super in-line with what we’re shown of elven clothing styles in his region: high collars look like they’re fairly popular with elves in general, but out of uniform he tends to be a lot more covered up than everyone else—long sleeves, long pants, boots rather than sandals, and he dresses that way both prior to getting eaten and after the events of the series. anyway it’s kind of cute that after everything that happened to him, someone cared enough to remember what his clothing preferences used to be.

#sorry my head is full of him #dungeon meshi spoilers #just mentioned. just a bit #dungeon meshi #mithrun #he’s like a case study in the problems that would Of Course arise in a society with the standards and values we frequently see in elves #in fantasy which is very refreshing because again What is with fantasy writers writing their elven societies Like That and going no they can #be weird elitists they’re hot and they’re kind of right. and leaving it at that. i mean i know why that happens but. anyway #if elves are going to be elfing in that way it’s so much more interesting to see how that manifests and affects individuals within that #culture. this was a large part of essek’s appeal to me also lmfaondns and it is why i can’t stop giving my dnd characters elf ancestry. if #you’re going to make them be fucked up let me think about the consequences !!!! but anyway yeah no mithrun gets to be on my mind 24/7 #because he Is the consequences. and it’s very good but also i am so so sad

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spacebarbarianweird · 5 months

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Elven for Astarion fanfiction

I absolutely love the idea of Astarion using Elven words and phrases

Here are some useful phrases and words you can use for fics. I specifally chose what you might find useful, for more terms you can check the sources.

Source (wiki)

Source (dictionary)

Phrases

Ai armiel telere maenen hir. - You hold my heart forever.

Aillesel Seldarie - May the Seldarine Save Us.

Al Hond Ebrath, Uol Tath Shantar En Tath Lalala Ol Hond Ebrath – A True Friend, As The Trees And The Water Are True Friends.

Besthunit Nenle – ‘Hurry Up Slowly’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect)

Bwaelan Dro - "It's Good to be Alive", a religious hymn of celebration.

Chu Set – ‘Hold Calm/Calm Down’ (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Dilit – Be Quiet (Eastern Lythari Dialect).

Es'Caerta – Deeply Emotional Plea Ending A Prayer (like Amen).

Gys Sa Salen – Give Me a Drink/I Need A Drink.

Maethe - maybe.

Ikwe - Get back!

Iorwe - Step aside!

Oloth elgg ssussun - Darkness slays light.

Seldarine! – Gods! (Expression of Exasperation).

Uluvathae (pronounced: /ˈuːluːˈvɔːθeɪ/ Oo-loo-VAW-thay) - "[May your] fortune bring you joy". An informal greeting or parting used amongst individuals which enjoyed each other's company. Used amongst close friends, it was either seen as an insult, or as a warning that a third party was listening.

Words

aethen - "others", modern elven slang for non-elves.

alun - transgender.

amastacia - star flower.

ar - sun.

arael – heart.

aravae - great joy.

ardavanshee – Elven Juvenile Delinquent.

arivae – sunlight.

a’sum - daughter.

avae - joy.

avae’ess - joy bringer.

arkhlavae - lovemaking.

bhin - young human male (slang).

biir - "garbage", used as an insult against those of half-elven and human heritage.

calann - cup (one’s hands, to hold).

daoin – star.

damia - a term of endearment directed to sweethearts or children.

ebrath - friend.

essraul – enthusiastic Slaying.

e'sum – son.

etriel - noble female elf (in bloodline, character, or both).

evae - love, absence of malice.

filliken – open skirt (Prostitute).

hond ebrath - true friend(s)

immaea - familial love, loyalty to kin and family.

immeeira - act or demonstration of love (deed, testimonial or honour, not lovemaking).

ithlil - lily.

ivaebhin - boy filled with brightness.

kerym - blade (as in blade made of steel), sword.

liyan - homosexual male (slang).

lorkh - Savage Butchers who Lost Their Elven Nature Long Ago Through Such Behavior.

mor - darkness, the true death.

nanta - destiny.

nias – agreement.

nikym – dagger.

nor - love, passion.

N'Tel'Quess - "Not-people". A derogatory term elves use to describe non-elves.

o'si - mother.

o'su - father.

penaal - battlepoet (bard).

piir - treasure.

re - bear.

ru - dream.

rua - star.

saece - crossdresser.

savalir - murderer.

sha'Quessir - elf-friend.

Sildur - "at rest after changing". Referred to an animal, insect, or plant having reached maturity after passing through a life-cycle of changes. Was later borrowed by Common as a term for transgender individuals.

solicallor - warm light of the sun.

srendaen - beautiful, only applied to things of natural beauty not to people.

srinna - One Who Tests Limits and Establishes New Boundaries.

talibund - the veiled one. referring to the creature whose future is unclear and cannot be divined.

taran - gift.

Tel'Quessir - the collective name elves use for their race. translates into common to mean, "The People".

tham - to be close to.

thor - vow, promise.

vaarnar - evil entity or sentient being.

vaendaan-naes - reborn in life's bright struggles.

vaendin-thiil - fatigued by life's dark trials.

veluthe – beautiful.

vyshaan - power-mad (derogatory).

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #elven #elven language #forgotten realms #dnd #astarion fanfiction #fic writing

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recycledraccoon · 3 days

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Quick! I'm from the future!! I need your inkblade headcanons or scenarios or the universe will implode!

Ok ok, I can do this. I can answer this ask without going out of control. I can be normal about this, I can.

I don't have very many hardset headcanons, but more vibes that rise and fall like the tide. Oisin's fins/head-crest flare out ramrod straight and the spines turn as purple as his face if he's blushing hard enough. I will die on this hill. Oisin's non-verbal emotions are actually really easy to pick up on if he's too distracted to keep them tightly in control. A thick dragonborn tail lashing back and forth like an outlet for Emotions That Are Too Big can be really inconvenient in a highschool hallway. The rise and fall of his fins/head-crest are MUCH harder to hide however. Oisin also smells perpetually of petrichor, and it drives Adaine insane.

1. I think Oisin's crush started softly, and with indescribable longing, probably before he ever knew who she was. Freshman year, a Thursday Intro To Glyphs class. He doesn't know or talk to her at all, just a face in a class he has that he barely notices. So he's not falling for her quite yet.

I think he first fell in love in the way one does when you see a stranger sitting across from you on the public bus or train. The sunlight hit her hair and he couldn't take his eyes off suddenly. Maybe he saw her smiling and laughing with her friends, maybe she was rolling her eyes at them with her nose scrunched up just a little in faint judgement, maybe he can't even remember because while walking past in the hallway he had been so dumb-struck for a second he walked face first into an open locker door to Ivy's absolute confusion. (She does laugh at him mercilessly, even if he won't say why he walked into it.)

It's a moment of "I don't know you, you don't know me, but for one unfathomably long moment I wanted nothing more than to imagine a life lived that included basking near you and your smile every day until I die."

Unrealistic right? Just a passing stranger, this isn't a love story, it's an average Tuesday and Oisin has homework and an appointment with his party in the forest after school.

He gathers his bearings and moves on, and if his mind wanders back to the girl in the hall who had captivated him to lethal effect? Well it's a pleasant memory for him and he thinks that's allowed, right?

Except she's in his Glyph class two days later, he realizes, and suddenly that hallway moment of longing rushes back until his entire face is purple and he's trying not to stare at the occasionally stuttering but brilliant wizard girl two rows ahead in class.

1a. I think Oisin continued to take Glyph classes at first because he hoped she would too. Adaine doesn't, but Oisin continues because he is good at them and enjoys it and it's certainly easier to learn when he's not distracted in class 70% of the time.

2. As Oisin gets older, more and more of his dragonic nature becomes apparent. It's like a second puberty happening concurrently with normal puberty, which means it's a rollercoaster nightmare for him and the High Five Heroes/Rat Grinders.

2a. Dragons have hoards, but not all dragons hoard the same things, even within their own subclasses. Still, Oisin has quite a few gems and jewels in his fledgling hoard, despite not knowing what he most wants to hoard, and if his favorite gem just so happens to be one that reminds him of the shade of blue in a particular elven girl's eyes then-

2b. Oisin also has a deep fondness for rain and storms. He always knows if it's incoming even if it's not in the forecast. Something primal in him connects to the raging skies, for good or ill. It makes him feel confident and powerful. He also considers it very romantic. Unfortunately, Adaine gets so cross with him anytime she hears him predict a storm coming, even if he's talking to literally anyone else. (Adaine thinks Oisin is a storm himself, and if she is not careful she will be like the last Oracle and have forgotten to stock up on water breathing spells and drown in him amidst the storm of his being.)

2c. Dragons also hold great respect for power and prowess. Physical fights for hierarchy, play, or even courtship are very normal. For all that they are sentient brilliant beings, Dragons are still wild, untameable, primal things. This lurks underneath all of them, good or evil. Some are just more adept at hiding it. For courtship, this comes into play as sizing the other up. Both sides are looking to find out whether or not the other has any worth as a long term partner who would need to help guard the nest. Protecting eggs and hoards from greedy adventurers is serious business. There are reasons there aren't many truly ancient dragons. Too large a discrepancy in strength can sometimes be a turn off for the stronger one, so the most successful courtships are usually of similarly strong dragons, or at least, ones that put up enough of a fight despite the gap.

c1. Oisin, seeing the great accomplishments and prowess of Adaine Abernant over the course of Freshman year, feels a deep stirring even before he's rage-starred. He wants to fight her so badly, to sling magic and bloody teeth until the raging beast inside is sated. Naturally this scares him at first, and Oisin REFUSES to seek Adaine out to talk because of it, because the teen boy part of himself wants something kind, soft and tender between them, while the dragon making itself known as he ages wants to prove itself strong to her.

Later, he will tell himself this urge was ENTIRELY because he'd been on the path towards being contaminated-then-consumed with rage and wanted the Bad Kids dead. Absolutely not because it's the first step in traditional dragon courtship. He just wants to prove himself to her. He wants to feel for himself the confirmation of her renowned battle prowess. This is all for purely rival-related reasons, he tells himself. He is, perhaps, a bit of a liar.

3. Adaine's crush, not just her thinking he's cute but her actual legitimate crush on him, actually starts when the Rat Grinders are being redeemed post-Junior Year.

Like, she hates his GUTS. He made her feel belittled and stupid during Junior year, and yes they kicked his and his friends asses, but also now they just have to deal with them still being around. (Yes this is how they made friends with Ragh too, but they're petty.)

Except...so now they have to spend time together, maybe in classes maybe because Lucy loves her friends despite everything but is also now a friend of The Bad Kids. The former Rat Grinders are CLEARLY trying so hard to be better and kinder, but still the parties are mingling and there is tension but its also so fucking funny.

So Adaine and Oisin's interactions is just a montage of them being assholes to each other. Oisin can be polite and respectable, funny even, with everyone BUT Adaine apparently. Bickering about wizard things, taunting cutting words, and Adaine repeatedly trying to punch his smug face whenever he gets too close while gloating if he's right about something.

3a. Adaine literally tells Aelwyn that while she wants and needs kindness, she does acknowledge that it's messed up that she wishes someone was a little mean to her sometimes. This rivalry with Oisin is NOT WHAT SHE MEANT!!!!!! (the monkey paw curls)

3b. The worst part, is no matter how much Adaine hates Oisin, is that it doesn't stop him from being attractive. Oh sure, she thinks he's an absolute asshole when he's sitting across from her in the library, but......

He's still absurdly tall, with large arms that are for more than just show. The conjuration tattoos are both practical and very pleasing to the eye, the almost electric blue of them a pleasing contrast to the softer blue shade of his scales.

The contradiction of those large round spectacles resting on his snout makes him look just dorky enough to go from being just another buff guy to being....well. Unfortunately, the glasses also do nothing to shield Adaine from the weight of his gaze.

When he looks at her with his full attention, behind those glasses are eyes of molten gold, and trained solely on her that gaze feels searing hot wherever it lands.

3c. Or perhaps, the worst part is she despises how he laughs. Sometimes, when she says something as clever as it is cutting, Oisin throws his head back just a little to laugh, bright and warm, all while his throat rumbles. It must be something draconic in nature, like a strong purr or distant rain clouds. It's much harder to get him to make that particular sound when he laughs, and the rumble feels unfairly like victory. Like she cracked the careful fascade he puts up to pretend like he's not a dragon.

The rumble also feels particularly reminiscent of butterflies in her stomach. (She elects to ignore this part.)

4. Oisin is a dragon, and he is a little obsessed with Adaine even if he doesn't dare to dream of going on an actual date with her after everything from the previous year. He cannot imagine a world where she would ever again believe him to be genuine in affection or intention towards romantic feelings. No instance of genuine fluster could ever be seen as anything but a clever ruse, he tells himself, he certainly wouldn't believe it if it was him.

But he's got her attention now, and he is possessive of that, of what he CAN get. Even if she hates his guts and pointblank threatens to kill him if he steps out of line-

Even if it's because she hates him, Oisin still has her eyes on him. Eyes like clear skies before the rolling storm, like they can pierce through everything he is and will ever be and know the truth of it.

Every conversation is like a battle, a verbal sparring that he TELLS himself is nothing at all like the courtship fights, but oh how sweet does it sound to his inner dragon. She could be cussing him out and he could feel like his heart would burst from his chest from the affection he feels, even as he riles her up further, until she slips into saccharine elven curses that he can practically taste on his forked tongue.

4a. Once he tosses back a clever jape in draconic at her. When she immediately starts in on him with the gutteral words of his native tongue, perfectly fluent but lilted ever so slightly like a refined melody, his tail accidentally knocks over a chair and his crest flares so strongly that he KNOWS his face must be more purple than a ripe plum. He's lost a battle and her laughter at the way he flees claiming he forgot something haunts him for days. He tries to get revenge by whispering things under his breath at her in Elvish, and her glare is divine, but it's so risky because she might just start talking to him draconic again and Oisin fears he could live a thousand years and still not be able to handle the sound of it when it falls from her lips.

a1. It's a lost cause. Adaine has a weakness now, and she wields it with all the precision she's developed on a battlefield. It's the cutest surest way to put him in his place, rile him up with the same burning fire that he seems so expert in stirring up in her. Oh he might try to argue back in draconic, or even throw a taunt out in Elvish, but he always stalks off first. (He makes the refined, posh but ancient language of Elvish sound like something Tracker would appreciate. He makes it sound ever so slightly wild, like something else is lurking behind all the refinery. Adaine is well practiced in steadying her breathing, and Oisin always cracks first.)

5. Everyone has seen these two bicker back and forth, and everyone knows trying to get them to stop or get between them means the two turn as a united front against whoever interrupted, and that's honestly worse.

5a. The Bad Kids and High Five Heroes/Rat Grinders have an ongoing bet amongst themselves on on if the two will snap and legitimately murder each other, or snap and start making out in the library. It's honestly way too elaborate of a betting system with odds changing all the time, but it is actually probably the most fun, non-tense bonding the two groups have together. They have also gone to GREAT LENGTHS to keep it secret from the two wizards, especially when one of them is the fucking ORACLE.

6. It's not all bickering and scathing words. Sometimes, when nobody else is around to see behind this precarious curtain...its soft and tender too.

6a. Sometimes, when Adaine is genuinely having a bad day and feels one wrong moment from truly snapping, she feels the magic of a conjured summon passing by whatever table or nook she stowed herself away to hide in. The smell of arcane-tinted petrichor lingers afterwards, and settled nearby is a warm drink that hadn't been there before. Sometimes its tea's she's fond of, sometimes a warm peppermint mocha from her favorite coffee place downtown. Against her better judgement, she is increasingly fond of the smell of rain. 6b. Sometimes, the rage feels like it never left Oisin's body. It burns him inside and out, and he's so exhausted fighting back these aftershocks. He is trying every day to make up for what he's done, but the feeling of unbridled rage haunts him. To indulge is to fail, fall off the wagon, and he will not falter, even if he squeezes his hands so tightly they bleed beneath his claws. A message cantrip blooms to life in his mind. Melodic, lilted draconic, giving not words of comfort, but familiar unafraid taunts. It's a challenge, he knows it, and somehow that makes it easier, rage giving way to fondness and the desire to prove himself. 6c. There are more late nights in libraries and sitting close at tables in out of the way restaurants working on difficult projects then either would ever let anyone know, not that they let anyone know of them at all. It's quiet honest conversations over dusty tomes and scattered papers. (They couldn't know how to make the most cutting of remarks if they knew nothing about each other, after all.) a1. Its Oisin, laying his head down in his arms over the library table, eyes watching her sitting next to him with hair falling in her face like it always does when shes bent forward focusing intently on her work. There are many, many times when Oisin does nothing but watch in silence. Sometimes, rarely, when its late and nobody will come by except to kick them out- He reaches a claw to gingerly tuck the silken gold hair behind the bright red ear of a girl who doesn't say anything about it, before he looks away entirely, trying to ignore the way he can feel his crest fluttering up and down as it seemingly contemplates flaring out.

a2. It's Adaine, rolling her eyes with no heat, as she steps into his personal space and is enveloped in the smell of petrichor. Calloused fingers lingering on rough scales as she ever so gently corrects a stance or spell casting motion that the unfairly tall dragonborn boy next to her had been working on perfecting.

The both know she doesn't have to be so close for this, that another demonstration from beside him would work just fine. He doesn't have to bend ever so slightly, dip his long draconian neck down so he can better hear her murmured words either, so close they can feel the heat of the others breath. He casts the spell perfectly, and Adaine steps back out to a respectable distance, and neither of them say anything about it.

7. Neither of them ever mention any of it. It feels taboo, like the triggering of a spell that will destroy both of them. The fighting, the bickering, the cutting words and sharp swords aimed at jugulars? That's easy, that's familiar and safe. It's what's supposed to happen between them, safe territory they can walk with eyes closed. It's the tenderness that's hard. It's the yearning and soft touches aborted at the last moment-

This is what would be their ruin, and the threat of it lingers above them, rolling clouds heavy with rain that just wont fall. Days, weeks, months pass by and they do not mention it.

8. Adaine, flush with Oracle-sure certainty, gestures for Oisin to slow down, to bend down low so she can tell him something. He protests, its about to rain any second and really Abernant, they're going to be late- Adaine kisses Oisin first, soft and sure as her hands cradle his scaled jaw, just as the dark clouds above them break open.

The kiss tastes like rain, and the loud, pleased rumble in her ears certainly isn't from the storm coming down on them.

#IM ABSOLUTELY NORMAL aslfjuhbalefjbna #this got TOO LONG #I WASNT SUPPOSED TO WRITE FIC WHEN ANSWERING THIS #anyway blah blah blah the poetic nature of the elven oracle falling in love with a storm dragon #gosh i'm gonna have to restructure this for ao3 uuuuuug #if anyone is trying to clock where I'm self projecting from my own previous crushes #You Don't See Anything Shut Up #adaine x oisin #inkblade #adaine abernant #oisin hakinvar #fhjy #fhjy fanfic #oisaine

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undercat-overdog · 6 months

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Ok, I said in this post that I wanted to talk about POV and what different characters would use for their species; I've been thinking about it for a while, because it's important to me to portray Elves as thinking of themselves as the default and I like having them think of mortals as different, as a way of worldbuilding and establishing POV. It's the same basic principle as why I think the War of the Elves and Sauron is a Númenórean name, not an Elvish one.

In brief: man and woman can and should be used to refer to Elves when writing from an elven POV.

I think about markedness a lot when I think about writing generally, and one of the concepts is that there are things that are unmarked, the standard, the default, the normal, the unexceptional. To an elf, the default species is elf, not human or dwarf or ent. I want to write from that POV - to an elf, humans are different, even alien. They're other. Elves are us, humans are them.

I, meanwhile, am writing in English, and man and woman are common words, the most "unmarked" words for the concepts; they're standard (e.g., woman sounds more normal than female human). Something like elf woman or female elf is more marked. Why would an elf use a more marked term to refer to their own race? Using she-elf or whatever for Elves but woman for humans uses more marked words (more uncommon, more specific, etc) for elves than it does for humans - but for elves, it should be the opposite! Elves are unmarked! Elves are default! Humans are different. If an elf is talking about someone, the default assumption would be that the someone is an elf, so if they're not an elf, it would be specified.

So when writing from the POV of an elven character, I would use woman for a female elf and mortal woman for a female human (if necessary to disambiguate). Man, meanwhile, means "Human" when it's capitalized and male when it's not. (Now, if I were writing from a human or dwarven pov, I would use elven woman, if necessary to specify that she's an elf.)

But, you say, what about using Elvish words? Well, first of all, I hate it. We're not writing in Quenya. English is great, and so are the other human languages people use to write fanfic. But that is a subjective matter of taste and you may disagree! Nothing wrong with that, de gustibus, etc.

More objectively, nér and nis are not words specific to Elves; nér means all males, so using it for specifically elf men and not human and dwarven men is incorrect (to quote Elfdict, "Nér can be used regardless of species and so is equally applicable to male Elves, Men, or Dwarves, but is unlikely to be used of male animals, for which the word [ᴹQ.] hanu is more applicable."") (Sindarin is a little more complicated, given the more complex out-of-universe changes, but it too has race-neutral terms for man and woman.)

Lastly, Tolkien himself uses man and woman to refer to non-human species. He calls Galadriel and Finduilas women, and Aredhel is "taller than a woman's wont." Earendil is a man (though he is not a Man) and Curufin is a horseman and there are lots and lots of kinsmen and kinswomen. Hobbits meanwhile, in Appendix F, have "women" and "man-children" (Tolkien is talking about how Hobbits name babies, thus the children part, but I like to think he's getting one more dig in at Pippin).

#meta #linguistics #writing #imo it's breaking pov to use 'man and woman' only for humans when writing from an elven or dwarven pov #the only time Man/Men means human is when it's capitalized #thanks to polu and aipi for examples of tolkien using 'man' and 'woman' to refer to non-humans #also man and women are great! i'm not going to abandon such useful words

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fistfuloflightning · 4 months

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”You said the Vala in black is a mourner?” Maeglin looked up from reading through a handful of Salgant’s harp scores. A conversation from when the Lord of the Harp had first befriended a grieving , freshly orphaned young elf. When Maeglin had first learned more of the Valar than the brief words Aredhel could spare in Eol’s absence.

“Nienna is the Weeper, yes. She comforts those who have died. It is why she was invoked at the funeral.” There were lots of things Maeglin did not know about Noldorin customs, much of which Aredhel had simply neglected to teach him. But Salgant did not ridicule him for his ignorance, instead treating his never ending questions with patience. Even now he stopped his hands to give Maeglin’s question his full attention. “Though she is not the one to call the fëa once it has left the hroa. It is the Doomsman of the Valar who does that. Though there are those who simply refuse the call.” Salgant dropped his attention to the lathe before him, the mask he was shaping. The scent of cut cedar warmed the air. “Those who might not heed the call to Mandos, those who wish to remain Houseless—to say nothing of those who wish not to leave this land for one they’ve never seen.”

A surge of fear had Maeglin’s fingers almost tearing apart the parchment in his hands. He watched the older elf with wide eyes. Might not heed… “Will…will I be able to see Emel after she is reborn?”

But Salgant merely nodded as if there were no question as to Aredhel’s decisions. “I am sure of it. Should you die here—and I pray upon the grace of the Valar that you do not—you would also be called to the Halls of Mandos, where all the dead receive comfort and healing.”

Something tightened in Maeglin’s chest and he once more felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. He whipped his head away, ostensibly to examine the nearby masks Salgant had nearly finished for an upcoming festival, all tassels and gold and richly layered paints. “Is it…peaceful? In the Halls?”

Salgant gently set down the wooden mask he’d been shaping. He looked out the window at the plaza below, but Maeglin felt as if he was looking with those kind eyes at him. “I would imagine it is so. A place where you can lay your burden down. Where all pain and hurt is soothed away. At least, I would hope so.”

Maeglin remembered belatedly that Salgant’s brother died upon the Ice. Perhaps Salgant missed him just as much as Maeglin missed his mother. He dropped his watering gaze to the music scores in his lap.

A hand rested on the top of his head, patting softly. For a heartbreaking moment he could pretend it was Aredhel’s hand stroking his hair, as was her wont. But she was gone. And he wouldn’t see her unless the Ban was lifted and they could sail across to a world he’d never even dreamed of. She was so far away and Maeglin felt every inch of that distance.

So when Salgant pulled him into a hug, he went gratefully.

Snippet from an unpublished fic where Salgant adopts Maeglin

#I love me some found family #maeglin finally finds a father figure worth a damn and salgant just adds one more kid to his large family (by elven standards)#the silmarillion #maeglin #salgant #lords of gondolin #unapologetic maeglin apologist #found family #silm headcanons #tolkien art #my art #my writing

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chaoticspacefam · 1 year

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Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”. for an oc/pairing that you think would best suit the prompt - KH💙 (p.s. sorry for accidentally unfollowing you when trying to click on the 'ask' button 🤪)

(no worries and likewise I am SO SO SORRY that this took me two years to finish up I am horrified by that 😭🥺 I had a l o t of fun with this one even if it took me 5ever to transfer it from script to actual Prose so I hope it’s worth the wait and y’all enjoy!! <3) A/N:

This one is set just after > Kiss With A Fist < so if you’re new and/or you don’t remember the kiss they’re arguing about, it’s in that oneshot! :D

Strikhedonia - noun. The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”. This one came from the “obscure word/definition” ask game a while back. Sadly far back enough that I do not have the link but ANYWAY its finally here yaaas!! The alternative title for this one is “How much Unresolved Sexual Tension can I fit into one Oneshot?” and the answer, I am happy to report, is “Yes”. XD

Wai Tarar = the official title/rank term for the Ahaszaai royals’ personal bodyguards, each Ahaszaai has a minimum of one, but more commonly between 2-3 ESPECIALLY for the current ruling Emperor(ess) and/or their heir(ess) ;) It’s literally just High Sith for “Royal Protector” but it sounds so much more fancy in High Sith xP

Falling in love with your bodyguard is a little less scandalous when your father happens to think he Has Very Nice Genes, Actually, and This Could Work In Our Favour so "You know what, go ahead" XD in case anyone is wondering WHY Vastas doesn't care. Kissai's got Massassi blood in his line, and Grampy Ahaszaai thinks it'd be neat to get a little of that in the future grandkids 😉

No specific warnings for this one. Just two idiots very obviously in love, and - oh my god she’s done denying it? D’leah’s not playing hard to get anymore?? /lh XD You can also read on > AO3 < if you’d prefer the formatting there! :D

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D'leah had been rather surprised to catch the eye of her Wai Tarar across the sea of other Sith Lords and Darths, decked out to their nines in glitz and glamour in the manner she would have well expected of the High Sith families that associated with her father. Of course, it was not a problem that he had come, as her principle protector it was almost certainly…encouraged that Kissai attend in order to stand guard for the Ahaszaai line during the festivities, he would not be the only Wai Tarar in the crowd. But the Sith heiress simply couldn't shake the realization that Kissai was not in his red armour, this time, but rather a suit of the more formal kind. It couldn't be….that he was here for her, surely?

On an impulse, she caught his eye as she wove her way through the crowd and headed for the nearby balcony, the cool night breeze stirring her cheeks as she stepped out of the stuffy palace ballroom. Leaning against the balustrade, she exhaled softly and waited, listening to the lilting notes of the classical music that drifted towards her through the open balcony door. Before long, the sound of carefully measured footfalls reached the heiress' ears, and she calmly turned to face him. She had nothing to fear from this man, she knew that much.

"Dance with me, my Lord?" He inquired, eyes bright with hope as he held a hand out towards her. The heiress' gaze lingered on his outstretched palm for a fraction too long, before finally darting up to meet his, the tips of her jaw spurs trembling. He cleaned up remarkably well, for a commoner…

Somehow, the fact that he had waited until she had beckoned him outside, away from the prying eyes of every kriffing Sith aristocrat in the Empire, to ask for her hand at all only made it *worse* for her. Damn it, his sister's right. You've got it BAD, D'leah.

Besides, nobody would see them out here, so what harm would one dance do? If he cared half as much as she liked to pretend that he did, D'leah knew her father would never have let her leave the palace with her guard in tow - Emperor Ahaszaai had eyes everywhere, and someone watching out for her at all times.

So, the heiress slid her hand delicately into his, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards into a faint half smirk as she purred teasingly. "You have nice manners, for an Outskirter~"

The taller Pureblood scoffed softly as she stepped into his grasp, his fangs flashing in a grin. "Last I checked, my Lord, your father was quite enamoured with my manners."

D'leah raised a browstalk in surprise. "Enamoured", huh? He'd taken to using a lot of big words around her of late…he really was trying to impress her, she was sure of it.

"I can't imagine why he would think that." She smirked back at him, bringing her other hand to rest on his shoulder, though she did have to pivot onto her toes ever so slightly. He was so tall...

They fell into a steady and well-balanced set of steps in time with the tempo of the music from the ballroom, and Kissai guided her into a twirl, humming softly under his breath. "Hmm. You know what I think?"

D'leah made a curious, prompting noise in the back of her throat, her breath almost catching when he effortlessly caught her out of the spin and dipped her down in time with the swell of the music. His hand was warm against the small of her back, even through the fabric of her evening gown, "you like it." the taller Pureblood breathed, a hint of a query to his tone still.

Kissai was right, she knew he was. But the Sith heiress wasn't quite ready to admit it just yet. She wanted him to work for it. She chuckled as nonchalantly as she could manage, allowing him to pull her upright and sweep her into the next set of steps. "Well, I think you’re a fool who is wholly overconfident in himself~"

The taller Pureblood's fangs flashed in a grin, and without thinking about it, he retorted cheekily. "That makes two of us, then, doesn't it, my Lord?"

The realisation dawned on his face as D'leah's arm snapped taut with the next step she took, the heiress' eyes fixing on him as she hissed sharply.

"And you have grown over comfortable being so casual with me, Izreni." It should have been a warning, and on her first reflex D'leah had meant for it to be one, but when the words actually came out of her mouth they sounded far more like a returning quip than she had intended. The Wai Tarar scoffed, indignant, and raised a browstalk at her as he protested: "You kissed me. If you wished for me to leave you alone, my Lord, you've done a very poor job in telling me so."

“I did.” she nodded, squashing the urge to smirk as he blinked at her in utter surprise that she had admitted to it, like a gizka caught in the headlights. D’leah drew in another deep breath to keep her composure, shutting her eyes for a moment as she reminded him, her voice far more amused than scathing. “And if I saw fit I could kill you where you stand for speaking to me that way.” “I know.” the Wai Tarar answered in much the same tone. She wasn’t quite sure how, but somehow their back-and-forth had deviated from their standard back-and-forth banter to become simply exchanges of facts they were both well aware of already. The heiress was losing, and she knew it. She shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet as they twirled again, and as she returned to his hold, he smirked and asked. “Then why are you out here with me, and not in there with the other High-born brats, my Lord?”

The Ahaszaai heiress opened her eyes to meet his gaze once more, willing her heart to stop skipping violently against her ribcage when she did. “They bore me.” she admitted at length, stepping closer to Kissai as the tempo of the music that floated out from the ballroom behind them began to slow. “You, on the other hand…” She felt his grip on her tighten, not by much, but enough that D’leah took note of it, and hummed wordlessly in response. It took a moment for the taller Sith’s brain to catch up with the rest of his senses, but when it did she watched the spurs against his jaw flex in anticipation. His voice grew husky as he muttered. “Darindz artsisasi ki, ctarzari…”

D’leah let out a sultry chuckle in retort. “Nu sarjia j’us kaisijas oi…”

His gaze flicked from hers, to the door behind them, reflexive panic written on his features clear as day. “What would your father say?” he floundered, as if forgetting he had just moments ago used an entirely contradictory argument when their dance had started. The Ahaszaai High Lady could no longer contain her own laughter, throwing her head back to cackle aloud and feeling the tips of his claws curl against her spine as she did so. “Do you believe he’d let his heiress wander off with any old vagabond who asked her for her arm? He knows exactly where I am.” D’leah raised a prompting browstalk at him. “If he didn’t like you, Izreni, he would not allow you anywhere near me.” much less anything else. And she knew that Kissai knew that just as well as she did.

“I see…” the Wai Tarar’s jaw spurs trembled, but still he daren’t move, nor had his hands travelled any lower in spite of her offering him an invitation to do so on a silver platter. Kissai was waiting for her to come to him. His self control was admirable, and oh so attractive....

Deciding to indulge him for the second time, the heiress stretched up on her toes to brush her lips ever so gently against his as she cooed softly. “Or are you scared, Kissai~?”

She felt, rather than heard, his breath hitch, and after a moment to compose himself he managed to get out the words, low enough that only D’leah would hear them. “Such thoughts are hardly proper in polite company, princess.”

“Ah, of course.” she grinned, a purr rumbling in her throat as she stepped out of his arms to take the taller Pureblood’s hand into hers instead. D’leah did not miss the low chuff of disappointment that he made as she moved away from him, but nonetheless released his grip on her obediently. Ever the gentleman, this one. As if to answer the unspoken question, the Ahaszaai heiress tugged on his hand, holding his gaze as she backed toward the balcony door to head back inside. “Come, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out here.” To hell with it, doesn’t matter who sees us.

_______________________________________________________ High Sith translations: *canonically there is so little written about High Sith conlang that there aren't even proper contractions (like "I'm", "Don't" etc.) which is just...a huge oversight, to put it blankly. So I made my own contractions. At least it doesn’t sound like an unnecessarily and stupidly clunky language that way skhjslhdh

Darindz artsisasi ki, ctarzari… - Don’t (from Dari “do” + nindz “not”) tease me, princess..

Nu sarjia j’us kaisijas oi… - I thought you liked it...

That said, D’leah DOES on occasion not use contractions in Basic, particularly for things like “would not” (as in “would not allow you anywhere near me”) or “do not”. There’s no particular reason for this, she just decided it was a speech quirk of hers and keeps making me write it this way on occasion /lh 😜

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #elven's writing #subterfugeverse #swtor oc: d'leah ahaszaai #swtor oc: kissai ahaszaai #d'leah/kissai #d'leahssai #elven's sith pureblood headcanons #sith pureblood courtship headcanons #crawls out of the woodwork like a rabid rat with this oneshot clutched between my fingies #I FINISHED IT I DID IT GUYS FINALLY OMG #please enjoy i love these dorks so much #i feel like its relevant to mention i listened to Billy Joel's ''Uptown Girl'' on repeat while writing the last half of this :'D #askbox will be officially opened tomorrow afternoon when i get done with real life crap!!#i have a couple more asks to answer but imma draft and queue them tonight #so if you have any q's or are curious about my sith courtship ideas the askbox will soon be at ur disposal again :')#askbox prompts #kindredsembrace #SORRY AGAIN THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG AAAA #hope y'all enjoy it tho bc once i got time to work on it i had a blast writing this one :3

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hush-writes-preg · 7 months

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Spooky Season Day #24

Out of all of our captives, I think you're my favorite.

It might be because of the delicate elven looks that leave all of your kind looking fuckably feminine, even if you're technically male. Or it might be because of the defiant fire that's never left your eyes, even after months of captivity. Or maybe it's because that, no matter how much you protest or swear at us, none of the other elves scream so eagerly in the midst of taking a thick orc cock as you do. I've seen the way you look after a rough fuck, eyes glazed with pleasure and drool running down your chin, while our mingled cum trickles down the insides of your thighs.

Admit it. You like being reduced to nothing more than a breeding slave.

That's what you are, you know. A dirty, orc-loving, breeding bitch. No matter how much you might want to deny it, the massive belly hanging at your waist is proof enough-- packed full of our green-skinned spawn. I can't wait to see how big you'll get, until you're finally squatting and grunting in the middle of a birthing hut, pushing out our young.

But don't worry, little elf: my brothers and I will make sure to keep you knocked up for years to come.

(A Spooky Season story.)

#hush writes preg #pregnancy kink #nonhuman pregnancy #fantasy pregnancy #spooky season pregnancy #ftm pregnancy #male pregnancy #elven pregnancy #dubcon #degradation kink #orc pregnancy #monster fucking #monsterfucker #monster kink #orc breeding

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loveroped · 5 months

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a bit late for my secret Santa, it was interesting to try and come up with something for them!

@stiffyck hope you like it!

It is pretty short tho

wordcount: 1023

She crossed her arms, now wet from her hands up till her elbows, and huffed. “Rude,” she said, but her smile was peeking through the words. This has happened many times before, and she finds she's never annoyed at Scar more than once. Although she'll definitely need a new bag. “You have flowers in here!” He exclaims, holding up a small array of flowers she'd picked typed up with a small rope she found laying around her house. She opened her mouth to respond but before she could the flowers were shoved into her hands.

Gem sits herself down on the rocks and skims her eyes over the water. The waves crashed again the rocks in a gentle rhythm she's familiarized herself with.

She takes off her shoes and her socks and lays them next to her, before letting her feet dip in the water. It reached her ankles at lowest and her shins at highest. She rolls up her pant legs to meet her knees.

She glances over the water again, searching for something—something miniscule at most probably. There's not much she should expect. She spared the waters one more glimpse, to see if there was something out of the ordinary, something to catch her eye.

When she received nothing she frowned slightly, even if she wasn't really that upset. It felt similar to the first few times she found herself sitting here. She's not sure it's ever been different.

The gentle sound of the waves rings through her ears, a gentle song with the noise of the breeze. She leaned forward slightly and took a breath. The air tasted of salt and berries.

She whistled. Not a song, or a rhythm stuck in her head. A single note pulled out over time with no direct change in it. And it didn't sound the prettiest, compared to other stuff she's sung or hummed. Not compared to the songs on the radio—but it did the job. It didn't need to be pretty to call out to someone.

And it worked. It worked this once, it worked before, and it'll work the upcoming years after.

A moment it took, but no more than a minute. From a dark form underneath the waters that drew closer by the second, to a head popped up just before her legs.

Only above his nose was visible. He stared at her with a look that could almost seem threatening if seen by the wrong eyes, but Gem's been here many times before. It's curious, waiting. Gem stared back, putting on a gentle competition of who would break the contact, or who'd speak first. She smiled, even if she tried not to.

He blinked, once, twice.

“What do you have?” Scar says, and it startles Gem for a second, the insistence he drags in his voice, but it quickly turns into a laugh, one that leaves her giggling.

“Some people,” she starts, turning around to grab her bag behind her “would say hello first when seeing someone.”

She puts the bag in her lap, and giggles at the way it immediately catches Scar’s attention. He swims up even closer towards hair, getting more and more out of the water.

“I'm not people,” he says. And Gem can't exactly argue with that. She's not sure where merfolk fall on the spectrum of things that are defined as people or human or whatever the other options are.

He's staring at her bag, and Gem considers for a moment if she really wants her bag to get soaked again—and that she might have to buy a new one. And truly she could've just taken the stuff out of her bag, given it one by one, and kept her stuff dry.

But she didn't really have a chance, because by the time she fully thought about it the bag was taken from her hands in a swift movement. One that had her tumbling forward just slightly, gasping as she attempted to catch herself.

“Scar!” She yelled out when she finally caught her balance. And Scar glanced up at her once, rummaged through the bag, then looked up at her again, and smiled.

Although she'll definitely need a new bag.

“You have flowers in here!” He exclaims, holding up a small array of flowers she'd picked typed up with a small rope she found laying around her house.

She opened her mouth to respond but before she could the flowers were shoved into her hands.

She looked from the flowers, to Scar. He was staring at her with a determined look. Scar had a tendency to believe she could read his mind whenever he wanted to. And no matter how many times she told him she couldn't, he'd insist on it.

(“You humans gotta have something special.”)

But Gem was good at guessing, luckily. And Scar was very predictable.

“You want these in your hair?” “Yes.” “Can you say please?” “No.”

She sighed, and something fond coursed through her limbs. “Okay okay, turn around.”

And Scar did, laying his head in her lap like he's done a million times before, and Gem never could find it in herself to mind the cold sinking through the wet spot on her legs.

She absent-mindedly ran a hand through his hair. His hair was different from most humans she'd seen. It looked and felt more similar to seaweed, or perhaps tentacles, then it did hair. The texture never failed to surprise her, it was smooth, and slightly sticky.

But in her opinion it was way easier to work with than normal, or her own, hair. She quite liked doing it, if she was being honest.

“What's this?” Scar asks, holding up something small and purple. Gem squinted her eyes to look at it.

She picked it out of Scar’s hand, “It's a grape.” and threw it in her mouth.

Scar turned around, glaring at her. “You thief!” He said, pointing at her.

“Says the one that took my bag,” she mumbled, leaning back.

“There are more grapes in the bag, you'll survive!” She laughed, giving him a light shove.

He grumbled something unintelligible, before turning back around and laying back on her lap. Although slightly different than before, making a new wet spot on her legs.

She'd be cold walking home, she knows. She runs her hand through his hair—or whatever it was. The air smelled of salt, citrus, and grapes. She couldn't find herself to mind being soaked.

#roped rambles #gtws #geminitay #writing ropes #Gonna add more tags in a bit #mermaid scar #fluff #elven duo fluff #I think #tags are hard #elven duo

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whereserpentswalk · 4 months

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The last elf made it to the information age. She's doing her best, in a city mostly populated by humans, with a few hobgoblin and vampire enclaves. She's utterly alone in a way nobody from her race ever was before.

She's happy not to be a meusum exhibit like her brother was. But she wishes there was still something to fight for. Her ancestors fought battles, and made sacrifices to keep their people alive. But there is nothing she can do now, her species will be extinct the momment she dies.

She lives her life. Goes to a big college in the city. Every few months some important mage or journalist will contact her about her position. But useally she just lives the life of a normal person. She still sings the old songs, prays to the elven gods in her own way, knowing that if it ends for her it ends for the world.

Even though she has freinds there will always be a way that she's alone. Ways that nobody else can understand. Her experience alone is unique, her culture being held onto by such a small thread, the weight of a million years of history all resting on her shoulders until its time for her to finally fall.

Every spring flowers bloom in her hair. And she sings a song from pure instincts, what used to be a mating song. Her bodies waits for someone to sing it back, but her mind knows that there's nobody there.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #fantasy #writing #my worldbuilding #urban fantasy #my writing #elven #elves #elf #elf girl #fantasy race #extinction #genocide #short fiction #short story #flash fiction

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running-with-kn1ves · 6 months

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Soooo since you asked for comfy requests, my comfort character of yours is Cirdan, and I would love covering his scars with little kisses and telling him how handsome he is cause I know dude has to be insecure about that and he would combust on spot

I know its cliché but I enjoy simple pleasures

A/N: Naur I love the little(big) elf guy and the softness of this idea. I wish I did it more detailed justice but here's my drabble take. UGHH I LOVEd how sweet it was it makes me all gushy inside.

CW: None! Fluff and comfort all the way through buddy

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“You don’t have to be alone, you know.” Ice-tipped toes of yours brushed the wood panels lining the floor, an electric chill running down your back as the wind from the slightly ajar window perused inside. Your husband always liked it cold, but lately you couldn’t stand it. It was getting too cold outside. Maybe it was because you grew up in suffocatingly warm homes with seasons that hardly shifted, you didn’t have the ability to stand below freezing temperatures like elves did year-round.

Cirdan gently turned his head at your voice, softening his pursed brow as he saw you there shrinking into yourself, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. It didn’t help that all you had to wear were these thin cotton pajamas, white and hip-fitting to show the color of your skin underneath when put under the right light. It made him gaze at you, when all that illuminated the shared bedroom was muted-orange oil lamps and the shine of the moon decorating the floor in a thin silver. It was strange, to be stared at. There was a certain sadness in the elf’s eyes, but it seemed to morph into a relief when that greyish green bore into you, taking in all that you were, only to run back to your eyes and give the softest stare.

You walked to him as he gave a short, croaky hum. “Just cleaning these. Already finished up dinner.” He said simply, in that short way he always seemed to speak when he was down.

You looked over his shoulder to see what he concentrated so painfully on, peering at the delicate pair of battle sickles he hasn’t used since… well, before you got married.

You put a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, musing at the thin and thick pinkish-brown scars along his back.

“I don’t know how you can wear nothing in this weather.” You say with a shiver, sitting down on the spot directly behind the elf.

You practically heard him smile, head still down-turned to look at the sharp steel between the tan cloth he used to rub against them. Your fingers traced the scars you could touch, the long one crossing over his shoulder, the thick few stuck between the blades of his back, which seemed to twitch methodically under your touch.

“S’because you aren’t used to the cold. We sleep in the snow.” Cirdan hummed, “we” meaning his old elven clan.

He grabbed your hand all of a frightful sudden, placing it on the clean and untouched part of his neck not covered by starlight hair or scars. It was so soft and gentle, one of the few places Cirdan had yet to be wounded.

“Hm?” You let through closed lips, sitting on your knees to bring your face up close to his from behind. “Don’t want me touching your cuts?”

“Scars,” He corrected, like it was an ugly word. “Wouldn’t you rather feel something soft?”

He turned just slightly to look at you, eyes shifting to see your face only a nose touch away. Your hands rested on his warm shoulders, feeling them lift just slightly as his chest rose.

“Nope.” You respond, nudging against Cirdan’s temple as you nuzzled into his hair and flattened ear rim. “I’d rather feel you. Wanna memorize every scar and stitch.”

Your hands slide to his back, feeling the ridges of indents in his skin as they fall. “Mmh, its fun to touch them; you don’t feel like anyone else.”

You soak in the warm that pulses from his body, a different heat from the sharp sheets and iced floor. He smelled akin to the grassy scent that whaffed in from the window, a slight musk about him that came from his body glazing over with its natural smell after a bath had rubbed it off not long ago. Oh how you loved it, loved how flesh-like it was, reminding you that there was a living, breathing person by your side, his heart beating through his back and his body altering at every new spot you claimed with your fingers.

Cirdan stopped from cleaning the sickle blades, shoulders hunched as his elbows rested on his knees. He was silent, moping a little over how much you stared, a nagging thought making him want to put his shirt back on.

You snaked your arms around to the front of his chest, giving the best reach of a back hug that you could, bringing your legs to wrap around his warm flank. Your cold feel seemed to make him jolt as you clung onto him like a baby to its mama, burying your face against the deep indent of his shoulder.

“But, wouldn’t you rather--”

“Shh.” You hushed, fingers brushing over the invisible scars from his chest that you could only memorize by touch. “If you keep worrying I’m going to have to kiss each and every scratch on you.”

You pressed noisy smooches to the teensy bits on his shoulder, running your way to his bicep and armpit, showing no sign of stopping.

“Alright alright,” He tittered, putting a hand over one of yours that cupped his chest.

Your fingers rubbed over each single change in flesh, feeling the softer ridges of his nipples, running to the dip of his chest, caressing the deep uneven ‘X’ scar against his collar bone.

“Don’t ever try to change them for me, pretty boy.” You mumbled to his ear, playfully kissing from its tip down to his cheek. “I want your scars and your bits and pieces just how they are. I want all of it.”

You rested your smooshed face against his sharp jaw, letting it dig into your cheek as you kept your nose nearly nestled under his chin.

Cirdan was still, an arm grabbing one of the thighs that wrapped around him, the other entertwining his fingers with the hands that held the fat of his chest. He feared if he moved, the moment would break, that you would suddenly pull away and be gone forever. He wanted desperately to push you deeper against him, to make it so you were both smothered with his warmth, that he enveloped every part of your body to keep it safe. There would be no piece of you undiscovered, and you would fill in the gaps of him that were missing.

“What do you do to me…” He mumbles, hoping you’ll lift your head as he turns his. You do, curious. But he looks partially down, a faded eye following his good one as silver-toned lashes made his honey-soaked eyes look like they were covered with snow.

Cirdan doesn’t let the time slip away from him, pressing his warmed lips against yours with an inward tilt. His nose fits snuggly against the side of yours, forehead pushing forward as you lean into him. The elf drops the sickles to the floor, aside from his bare feet.

He wraps the fullness of his hand around your thigh, trying to smush it deeper against his skin. But the break away from your mouth is too long for him, he moves in again. The longing in his chest he feels, when he senses that desperation to kiss you, a genuine ache of withdrawal when he doesn’t feel that cold cheek against his or the dampened warmth of your tongue.

But you avoid his lips, slipping away the hand of yours that he held to his chest. You rested it to his temple, thumb against his cheek. As cirdan moved in expecting your lips, he found your chin instead, your own mouth covering the usually hidden eye he kept away. You wished he had the confidence to leave it visible; baby steps.

The warm wet poke of a tongue darted between fleshy lips against your chin and jaw, your own mouth opening just slightly. You felt the warm cavern of his eye, eyelashes touching your upper lip as your open mouth pressed a deep kiss to his blind eye, Cirdan freezing as you moved. You lingered there for a moment, pausing to give another gently pressing kiss to the scarred skin below his eye.

You moved away, a bit nervous from how Cirdan’s body was suddenly so stiff. But the moment you moved away, he melted. His shoulders slumped looking up at you with slightly parted lips. He was at your mercy, anything you told him or commanded of him, he’d do without a thought of conscience or hesitation.

There was a gentle drugged look in his gaze, desperate for any little affection you would so graciously bestow upon him.

“So beautiful…” You hummed, looking into the droopy pool of smoke-green he stared back with.

If it was possible, the elf sinked even further into your touch, letting your hands hold his firm cheeks as you planted small kiss after kiss onto the bridge of his nose, to the corner of his stilled lips. But he could not take staying still for so much longer, diving for your moving mouth as you were about to kiss the other side. But he caught you in a smooth mouth to mouth, opened lips begging you to come to him.

You followed, letting your jaw go slack, allowing cirdan’s mouth to fit snuggly against yours, like a puzzle piece of warm air breathing into you.

Your fingers tangled into the elf’s hair that seemed to surround him, listening to the needy groans that left his adored mouth as both his hands held your thighs around his flank, flexing his fingers into your skin like a cat, wanting you deeper, closer. But for now, he’d settle for this, letting you agonizingly sweeten him up with each syrupy kiss and touch that was like a buzzing pleasure, making his heart lurch with desire.

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maironsbigboobs · 8 months

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re: elf servants

I think generally there are servants in royal/noble households simply for practical reasons and they generally fall into 2 categories: specialised servants (think, stewards and messengers and scribes, masters of horses or kennels, that kind of thing) and servants who help with the upkeep of the household (cleaning, repairs, cooking and also the apprentices and assistants of specialised servants)

specialised servants are probably quite prestigious roles and fields of industry in their own right, and they are considered full members of a household, and probably are closely linked to the person they serve - it's as much a political and social statement to be Finwe's chief scribe as it is an economic one

but the second category are more associated with the house than the family living in it - for example, Finwe's palace in Tirion would function both as a home and a diplomatic and administrative centre, it would be impossible for him to rule and keep up with chores himself. But Fingolfin's personal home would probably not have any full-time servants - when there more people than usual to feed or house then professionals might be hired, but for the most part I imagine the day to day is done by the family (made possible by the fact elves sleep and eat less than humans)

IRL domestic service (at least in the 18th century) often functioned as a kind of prep stage for adult life (for women in particular, but gender is probably not as big a factor for elves) and I could definitely see this in Valinor - domestic servants being 80% elves between 50-100 who haven't chosen an apprenticeship or similar in another field who are earning extra money to set up their own households, getting experience outside of the family, meeting others in their own ae cohort, learning independence etc. It's a job that comes with the offer of room and board + the wages a king/prince/lord can provide. Not glamorous, but not terrible.

The other 20% is made up of professional servants - experienced elves who are genuinely like the work and are contracted workers as much as a builder or gardener might be. Some of them might be independent and others part of businesses set up by other elves who are really into cooking/cleaning etc.

In Beleriand the situation (for the exiles at least) is probably very different, though I think there would be attempts to adapt the system - but there aren't as many households that need servants and there aren't as many young elves.

#i confess i very much enjoy making ocs who are bg characters and servants are perfect for this #made my own post because i could not fit this in the tags LMAO #also the amount of labour needed to run a pre industrial household is HUGE #but elves generally get around this by having a population that is 90% adult and having magic #and having the time for anyone to become vastly skilled in their field in a lifetime #so things like food and clothing production is almost always communal and in the hands of elves who are REALLY into that specific area #the magic being relevant here because elf magic preserves - elven clothes won't wear out elf food doesn't go off etc #(or at least not as easily as human food/clothes)#i prefer to write elf societies that only visually mirror human ones - to an outsider it looks like a hierarchy of lord and servants #but the dynamic is very different #but that is just my preference #silm meta #not really a meta i just need to be able to find this post on my blog lol #long post #this is one of my fave topics hence the rambling

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