WHOMST IS THIS OC BAKER BOY ELF I SEE YOU SPEAKING ABOUT!???! DO TELL!!
GAH YES I LOVE MY SOFT BAKER ELF BOY!!
He is one of my most favourite OC’s, because he is quite literally a cinnamon roll.
(him on the top left, not my art but my faceclaim, as found on Pinterest with no other link)
His name is “Oranor” (it means “Sunday” in Elvish—the day he was begetted on)
He’s from another one of my main stories, “Phony Matrimony”
Basically, he’s about the elven equivalent of 18 years old, and developed a strong childhood crush on Legolas after the war against Sauron, upon seeing him ride to Aragorn’s coronation atop a white steed (very swoon-worthy for a 6 year old gay-to-be)
When Legolas took over Ithilien, I headcanon he built his town in Emyn Arnen—a canon place which looks like the Shire, but more yellow.
(Emyn Arnen, Ithilien)
He’s a baker’s boy (originally born in mirkwood) who Legolas regularly orders from, and the story follows one big lie that Oranor accidentally orchestrated with his scheming older brother.
So, his parents perished in the war, so he and his brother are both taken in by their aunt, Bronwe.
His older brother, Remmirath (means “constellation”), is an...eccentric “El Dorado” type of fellow, always chasing one big adventure after another, or selling snake oil as “cures” to people—a total charlatan.
Remmi comes back one day to find his little brother heartbroken over Legolas being forced to choose a Sindar-blooded partner soon by Thranduil (Oranor himself is just a lowly silvan), and sees an opportunity to be set for life.
The brothers are both naturally brunette, but Remmi returns as a blonde, explaining that he found this “amazing flower” which can change your hair colour for a short amount of time (like polyjuice potion, but just for your hair), depending on which hued flower you pick.
After being coerced (Remmirath just wants his brother to marry a royal so he can mooch off of them both), Oranor agrees to take the flower and turn blonde, as to convince Legolas and Thranduil that he, “Alfirin” (his new alias, quite literally means “white flower”), is actually Glorfindel’s illegitimate son, making him of noble blood, and consequently allowed to marry Legolas.
Big antics ensue with a “suitor competition”, as Thranduil calls in potential elves for Legolas to court, and now Oranor, under the guise of the blonde “Alfirin” has to make Legolas fall in love with him.
However, Legolas has actually been in love with the simple baker’s boy all along, and isn’t interested in any of the suitors, until “Alfirin” starts to remind him of Oranor, who has mysteriously skipped town.
An extract of chapter 2 underneath the cut!
I’ll get around to posting the story eventually lol
Also don’t mind Legolas being a little bit scandalous, he’s doing it to piss his father off (and rightfully so, too)
Blowing a stray strand of his fringe out from his eyes, Oranor readied himself under his breath. Readjusting the crate underarm, he shifted his weight to one hip.
Muttering quietly to himself, the young elf further pushed the letter down behind the sticky buns. “You can do this, Oran. He will never know it’s you unless you reveal so to him. Don’t be a coward, for once in your life, don’t be just a little baker’s boy. All you have to do is—”
Halting his nervous tongue, Oranor heard voices on the other side of the door. They sounded heated and tense, clearly two males.
It was only with quite some strain on Oranor’s elven ears, that he recognised both Thranduil and Legolas’ voices.
The Elvenking was here, in Emyn Arnen?
Frightened out of his idea immediately, but still curious, Oranor pressed his ear flat against the wood, and listened closely.
“I ask this of you because I care about you, Legolas!”
“Ada, please! You only wish for me to court so you can have an heir begotten for you!”
“That is NOT true, and I resent your thoughts regarding so! Just study the list of names, Legolas. Some are male, too! I know you and your preferences.”
“My preference is to NOT get married right now! Especially to your presumptuous list! I’ll be sailing soon after Aragorn’s departure from our world, so what does it matter, Ada?”
“You will be lonely by yourself overseas! I want to ensure my son is spoken for before he goes.”
“Your son is speaking; you’re just not listening.”
“I could be a lot meaner, Legolas. I am allowing you to choose whom you marry freely, so long as they’re from my list. There are many names on there! You will see—love will find you swiftly.”
There was a short silence on the other side of the door, and Oranor imagined it was his usually reserved lord taking a moment to roll his eyes at his father. Once those few seconds had passed, Thranduil spoke up again—sterner this time, too.
“I am not being unreasonable, Legolas. I only ask two things of you; that you see to yourself being betrothed in the next few months, and that they be of Sindar lineage. There are many to choose from. I won’t hear another word about it—you are still my subject and heir, therefore I have the right to ask this of you.”
Oranor gulped down the nerves that rose in his throat, and made quick moves to retrieve the letter. Hastily, for he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door (most likely Legolas seeking to leave his father’s presence in a furious state), Oranor began to rip the letter in two.
He was blushing madly in humiliation. Of course he could never court Legolas. Legolas was a prince, and Sindar at that. Oranor himself was just a lowly Silvan of bakery origins. It was simply not meant to be.
Perhaps it hadn’t moved past a childish crush after all.
Feeling the tips of his ears turning red, Oranor anxiously glanced between the letter he was tearing in half, as well as the door.
He knew he could not hide both himself and the crate in time, for the angered steps were upon him. Glancing all around, Oranor spun on his heel a few times, as he hastily thought of where to flee and stash the crate.
There was a pot of fern to his right, but before he could throw the crate inside and finish tearing the letter, the door to Legolas’ large reading room opened.
A roaring fireplace soon met Oranor with its warmth, as it fought to fend off the winter snow’s cold, just outside the large windows of light running along one side of the room.
Oranor, shorter than his lord by at least a head, was soon met face-to-face with Legolas. They blinked at each other in shock for a moment, before Thranduil spoke up again.
Oranor peeked over the prince’s soldier, and saw the king rise from the long couch before the fire to chase after his son.
“Legolas, do not be such a child, it is very unbecoming of you to storm away—”
Thranduil, too, was stunned to find someone there. If he didn’t possess all the class in the world, Thranduil perhaps would have been embarrassed over someone having heard his conversation.
Formally, Oranor bowed his head to both Thranduil and Legolas, and greeted them by their respective titles. At the same time, he tucked the one half of the letter he’d managed to rip into his winter cloak’s pocket—partially grateful the rest was hidden down the side of the buns.
At least most of it was unintelligible now.
“Your majesty.” He moved his eyes away from Thranduil’s, and nervously met Legolas’. “My lord.”
“My delivery?” Legolas repeated back, offering a mustered smile to the baker’s boy. He also gave a brief nod down at the buns in gesture.
“Yes, my lord,” Oranor meekly replied, shifting the crate under his arm again, so that he brought it forwards with both hands.
“Amazing timing,” Legolas sincerely commended. He took the order and practically drooled over the scent of cinnamon and icing.
Turning on his heel, and ignoring his unimpressed father, Legolas walked over to the table set before the fire. He placed the crate down promptly, planning on curling up with a good book later on and divulging himself in the treats.
The crate was slightly messy, and icing soon covered the lord’s fingers. Extracting a low, quiet whine from the back of Oranor’s throat, he watched as Legolas licked the icing from his fingers, one by one.
Thranduil caught this, and narrowed his eyes in Oranor’s direction. The younger elf noticed the king’s scrutiny quickly, and averted his eyes from the blonde, who seemed to be cleaning each finger very slowly, almost aware of his audience.
“Legolas,” Thranduil ordered, pausing the lord’s tongue as he looked at his father innocently with blinking eyes. “Pay the baker, and then we shall discuss your betrothal plans further.”
With one finger still in his mouth, Legolas flickered his eyes on over at Oranor. The brunette could’ve sworn he spotted mischief behind the blue, and the slightest of smirks upon his lips.
Oranor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing more than anything to run upstairs in the bakery to his bedroom. It’d been a blessing since his older brother had left on another adventure, for privacy was entirely his in the shared room and bunk beds, and his alone.
“Of course, Ada,” Legolas replied, popping his finger from his mouth. “I was just about to.”
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The Wrong Kind of Stardust (Legolas x Reader)
A/N: I’ve been thinking about Legolas a lot lately, and one thought that’s recently crossed my mind is “what if Legolas got high on crack?” and my brain ran with the rest. Sometimes you just gotta write about an elf on cocaine.
Synopsis: after taking Legolas, your partner, to visit your “Stardust” addict brother, things get a little chaotic.
Warnings: drug abuse, addiction, peer pressure, mentions of sex, a very crazy and over-the-top elf high on Stardust.
Dismounting your respective horses, both you and Legolas dropped to the pine needles below. You had finally arrived at your brother’s secluded cottage in the forest, away from the hustle and bustle of the cities.
“I can’t believe he actually managed to afford a place to live,” you scoffed, thinking of your brother.
He had suffered many years with addiction to “Stardust”—a white powder when once inhaled, made your body react faster and more impulsively than usual.
“Try to be optimistic,” Legolas soothed. He wrapped one arm around your shoulder and kissed your head. “Keep in mind how much you want your older brother at our wedding, and that’ll put things into perspective.”
“Yeah,” you sighed, supposing he was right. “This wouldn’t be the first time Franny lied about ‘being better’, though.”
“No,” Legolas agreed, walking you both forward towards the cottage, arm around your back. “But this is the first time he’s said so upon us getting married in a month.”
The grin he gave you was one brimming in lovesickness, as he studied your eyes.
You arched a brow up at him over his words, knowing exactly how elvish marriages were undertaken, and how you technically already were husband and wife.
Catching your expression, he cleared his throat sheepishly, and responded with, “Well…married formally, at least.”
You rolled your eyes away from him, but couldn’t fight the smile on your face. However, it soon ran away, as you both arrived at the closed front door.
You inhaled tightly, and spoke aloud. “Here we are, I suppose.”
Hearing the premature disappointment in your voice, Legolas looked down his side at you. Grabbing hold of both of your hands, he gazed into your eyes and reassured you.
“Hey,” he lulled, earning your full attention. “It’s all going to be fine, all right? You needn’t worry about your family embarrassing you in front of me, like you mentioned on the road. We’ve talked about this whole ‘prince and commoner’ thing at length. I wouldn’t have…married you if I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.”
Your heart melted and your knees turned to mush, as you smiled up at him—bursting with love.
He returned the look and brought one hand up to cup your cheek. Running a thumb along your cheekbone, he began tilting your head upwards.
Still feeling your stomach flutter after all these years, you eyed him in excitement, before steadily closing your lids.
Right before his lips could brush against yours, however, the door to your brother’s cottage slammed opened.
Jolting away from one another, you both looked at Francis in shock. He looked every bit like you, but taller.
A broad grin was on Francis’ face, as he eyed his sister up.
“Y/n!” he exclaimed, rushing forwards to tackle you into a hug. “I’m so glad you made it! Oh! I haven’t seen you in years! And to think that you’re now getting married! Speaking of which—”
He pulled back from squeezing you blue, to size up Legolas instead. He strutted forwards with a low, manly laugh, and gripped a suddenly rigid and wide-eyed Legolas tight on the shoulders.
“My future brother-in-law!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling the protesting elf into a bear hug. “An elf, AND a prince! I can’t believe how well my sister scored!”
Laughing nervously, Legolas awkwardly wrapped his arms around Francis, patting him on the back. The only person he’d ever truly been skin-to-skin intimate with was you. Everyone else got a closed fist to the chest, or a shoulder clasp.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Francis,” Legolas said, politely.
“Francis?” he exclaimed, pulling back and holding Legolas straight by the shoulders. “Who are you, my mother? Don’t be so formal, your highness! You can just call me ‘Franny’, like Y/n here does!”
He turned to you with a broad grin, and you returned it, though, in a lipped manner. Legolas offered a tight and confused grin back, unsure at the best of times on how to interact with humans. Francis was certainly the most bizarre one he’d met yet.
He almost regretted encouraging you to visit him, but the thought of your nearing wedding day ahead drove him forward, as well as one simple, repetitive thought.
Do it for Y/n.
Do it for Y/n.
Do it for Y/n.
“Well, don’t be strangers now!” Francis pressed on, ushering you both inside. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Moonshine?”
“Tea is fine, Franny,” you said in an almost scolding tone, knowing he shouldn’t drink at all.
As you stepped inside of the home, you inspected every nook and cranny with your eyes—expecting bags of Stardust to be lying around.
However, to your surprise, there were none.
“Tea coming right up!” Franny declared, whisking away to the kitchen. “Please! Make yourselves at home down at the table!”
Legolas thanked him with a smile, and sat you down in a gentlemanly manner, before taking his seat next to you.
Looking around the room, and pleasantly surprised with your brother, you voiced so aloud.
“Wow, Franny, this place actually looks amazing! I’m quite proud of you—it seems as though you’ve really cleaned up your act this time, as opposed to the last occasion.”
“I’m completely clean, sister!” his voice came from the kitchen. You could also hear the whistling of a kettle and the rattling of drawers.
You smiled up at Legolas with excitement in your eyes, as you truly believed your brother. He returned your smile, and offered a brighter one as you spoke.
“I think he’s really done it…should we invite him now?”
“Absolutely,” he encouraged. “Do you want to go get the invitation out of the saddle-bags?”
Nodding resolutely, you stood to your feet. You placed a peck against his lips, before leaving out the door again.
“Make friends with him,” you said, before leaving with a happy skip in your step.
He waved you goodbye, before Francis’ voice caught his attention.
“Y/n! Hey, do you think—oh, where’d she go?”
Legolas looked over his shoulder to find Francis’ head sticking out of the entranceway into the kitchen, as he looked left and right for his sister.
“She’s just stepped outside for a moment,” Legolas answered, politely.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Francis dropped his act, and his expression.
The change in demeanour chased the smile away from Legolas’ face, as he parted his lips in shock up at the man.
“I beg your pardon?” Legolas asked, already on the “what did you just say about my wife?” boat.
“She can be a real nagger sometimes,” Francis explained. He dropped to his knees and pulled a wooden plank out from the floorboards. Underneath, a brown bag of white powder lay.
He fetched it quickly, and came to sit on the couch next to Legolas, but a few feet away. Francis then began pouring a handful out, where he next went onto inhaling some.
“What are you doing?!” Legolas nearly squealed, jumping to his feet, as if a snake was just placed next to him.
“Elevating myself. What’s it look like, elf?” Francis sassed, quirking a brow up at Legolas.
“Are you insane?” the angry side of Legolas emerged. “Y/n just left to retrieve your wedding invitation, and you’re betraying her trust?”
“Relax, would you?” Francis complained, inhaling more of the dust from his hand. “What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”
“Uh, I’m standing right here,” Legolas pointed out, gesturing to his body.
Looking his brother-in-law up and down, Francis replied, using a very monotonous voice. “Uh, yeah, I can see that. You’re a real stud of a stallion, so what?”
“No, that’s not what I—” Legolas went to defend himself. However, he bit his tongue and pressed both hands together in a praying motion. He brought said hands up to his face, and rested his forehead against them.
Closing his eyes, Legolas took a deep breath of his own.
“Wow, you look really stressed there, my friend,” Franny pointed out, holding the bag up next. “Would you like to try some?”
Jolted back into his senses, Legolas gaped down at the man for a minute in shock, before anger gave way again. “NO, FRANCIS! I WOULD NOT LIKE SOME OF YOUR DRUGS! Y/n will be devastated when she finds out you’re using again! And I encouraged her to give you another chance—I see why she was so against it now.”
The frown and glare of Legolas only deepened, as Franny rose to his feet, squaring up with the slightly taller elf.
“Hey, pal, you have no idea what I’m all about,” he growled, nodding his head in gesture of the elf. “And besides, who are you to judge? You’ve never even tried Stardust before!”
“Oh,” Legolas scoffed, rolling his eyes, “excuse me for having never done drugs before, what a horribly ignorant elf I am.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Francis urged, holding up a handful to Legolas’ nose. “C’mon, just a little sniff! You’ll feel a lot calmer soon, I promise!”
“No!” Legolas rejected, swatting his hands. “Get that stuff away from me, Francis!”
“C’mon!” Francis drew out, trying to put it underneath Legolas’ dodging nose. “Just a little bit of Stardust won’t hurt you!”
“No, but it’ll hurt Y/n!” he protested, trying to move away from the adamant man.
“Just a little!” he urged again, chasing Legolas, as the elf was backed into a corner.
“I SAID NO!”
“Okay, you know what?” Francis rolled his eyes, now fully having the elf cornered. “Here!”
With one big puff of air, the entire handful of Stardust blew into Legolas’ face, entering his system almost immediately.
Legolas rapidly blinked his eyes open and shut, as he tried to get rid of the dust. The white powder danced between the man and elf in an equal amount, getting both high very quickly.
As the dust fluttered down to the floor, looking as though a bag of flour had just exploded, Legolas stared at his brother-in-law in shock.
“You…” he attempted to say, before he felt the pumping of his heart increase.
“Oh, yes, my friend,” Francis grinned, nodding his head. “You’re in for a good time…”
Outside, you had finally found the wedding invitation in your saddle-bag, now heading back on over towards the cottage.
You barely had time to announce your presence again, for the first thing you saw upon re-entering was your brother and husband kneeled on the floor, speaking fast and brooming up…flour?
“I feel like everything’s gonna work out, you know? Because I’m like clockwork!” your brother said, all in one go, to Legolas, as they quickly broomed everything up. “Look how fast I’m cleaning this mess up! Clockwork! I’m moving super-fast! Look at me go!”
Legolas nodded vehemently, and raised one finger to speak over the top of your brother, as they both continued vigorously cleaning the floor.
“Y-You know what’s funny? Can I speak? You know what’s funny?” he began, quick as a whip. “I feel like I should be panicking right now, and I am a little bit, but in a very, very good way—like a good kind of panic, because I feel like I want to die right now, but I also feel very, very good—”
“Hey!” you called, staring at them in confusion. “What on earth are you guys doing?”
“Y/n!” Legolas gasped, shooting to his feet.
Jumping over the couch in a way that made your eyes go wide, Legolas was instantly stood before you.
“I feel amazing!” he revealed, grabbing a chunk of blonde hair either side of his head, and pulling outwards. “LOOK HOW LONG MY HAIR IS! It’s growing out of my head right now—can you believe that? Isn’t that sort of disgusting? Ew, I’ve just made myself feel uncomfortable in my own body—”
Legolas gasped brightly, and met your eyes again. This was where you saw how dilated they were.
“CAN I BORROW YOUR BODY INSTEAD?” he asked, suddenly grabbing your waist. “THAT’S A BRILLIANT IDEA! And I know how to go inside, too, so it’ll all feel much better soon—”
“Are you high on…Stardust?!” you exclaimed, removing his hands from your waist.
Legolas blinked down at you rapidly for a few seconds, before slowly answering.
“I can’t believe it,” you seethed. Pushing past Legolas, you glared down at your laughing brother. “You’re absolutely deplorable, Francis! Don’t even THINK about showing up to the wedding!”
You tore up his invitation, and threw it down onto the ground below. You next began shoving a reluctant Legolas out of the house.
Fortunately, once he felt the pine needles on his feet (he was barefoot, for some reason), he gasped loudly and took off running.
“LOOK HOW GREEN IT IS!” he exclaimed. “HAVE YOU EVER NOTICED HOW GREEN IT IS? THE COLOURS ARE BURSTING RIGHT NOW ALL AROUND ME. I feel as though it’s sort of designed in my honour, you know? As in, nature really understands—SQUIRREL—what my name means.”
You rubbed your temples with a grinding of your teeth, as you watched your husband sprint off to climb a tree, where he beckoned you to join.
Growling, you spoke lowly under your breath.
“This is going to be a long ride home…”
Hearing a strangled yelp, you noticed that Legolas had already fallen out of the tree. You sighed, and began walking over—already knowing your words to be true.
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