mellowzoe

[mellowzoe]

blurb #? (teaser, except i just need some feedback if i should continue this)

Imagine this; a long time family friend of teachers—human teachers—that serves Oropher. When the reader; an educator that specializes in health and anatomy has to teach the prince about the matters of the intimate, physical body. What happens when the prince, a much older being than her with the mind of a horny teenager, makes it his personal goal to break her professionalism?

help, it's getting kinda hard to churn new exciting ideas at the moment, i hope i'm onto something, not ON something here

[mellowzoe]

if there's a chance of blurb #2 becoming a series I would be SO here for that

OMG. Genuinely didn't expect people to like it much, it was quite convoluted LMAO. Thank you!! I will get on it once my personal life fixes itself <3.

[mellowzoe]

blurb #2

Warnings: grammar, english is not my first language, might be ooc thrandy, and implied smut

WC: 0.9k words.

Dreamcatcher

As the Elvenking stands against time, each dawn a taunting gift—another day, another century, another era unchanging. His endless life, once a weapon against the tides of war, had become far too effective. How does an immortal king spend his every waking moment—other than look after his son and kingdom—when he has already seen and known everything? 

Apparently one dream can change such monotony. 

Well, if someone were to ask—if one could get an answer out of the king—his dreams have ceased. Much like these new experiences he should not find himself craving. A king is a king. A ruler is a ruler—as much as one can measure him of that. He’d thought that he had lost the ability in its entirety. As well as the ability to want anyone else after his wife’s death. 

The first dream starts with glimpses. A woman looking out of the balcony. Whose balcony?—he isn't so sure. And then he is pulled behind her. It became apparent much too fast that this woman, you—but he doesn't know that, not yet—were a human. This woman wears peculiar clothing. Is short, and definitely not as strong as even his weakest elves by any means—which by the way includes the rarest of toddlers. Back to the clothing, it was a piece of a shirt… cut? Cropped. In this weather? Gray, hanging loosely around her torso. And a pair of pants he had never seen the race of men wear. A weird blue color. Blue is a color of luxury, so does any color as vibrant as these pants. But this woman exudes no other indicators of luxe. He finds himself walking towards this woman. Only to get pulled back to reality as the sun assaults his eyes through the window. The window right by his balcony. And a window he remembers closing. With the curtains blocking any sight. He spends his day not thinking back. Or suppressing it. It’s in the back of his mind but he refuses, of course he does, it was but a dream! Maybe he was just too tired to close them yesterday, for no one would dare bother the king, not even known powerful beings would be so outright and blatant if last night was labeled an attack. It would be a laughable way to infiltrate his kingdom. His nights will be back to normal, that he was sure of. 

The second night, he remembers these facts; the woman is there again, wearing a blood red shirt (uncut) and a pair of black pants. Both fabrics are unfamiliar. Then she turns to face him. Normal. Normal looking. No features that stand out from the rest of the mortals he had seen thus far. And definitely plain compared to his elven people. Just a random human woman on his balcony that overlooks his kingdom. Wait—his balcony!? And he wakes. With the curtains drawn and windows open. And again, he wasn't as bothered to think of it for more than a couple minutes. The dreams should wane again. It must. Because he will not sacrifice more than fleeting thoughts to a woman his mind had concocted. Is it his loneliness? He dispels the thought the moment it even creeps from the depths of his consciousness.

The third night, he wasn't sure if he was getting bewitched or cursed or both. A horrendous sound is in the air. Now this really isn't familiar. Or even remotely familiar compared to any peculiar things he had gone through. It's upbeat, it's strange, it's morbid, it’s a little mellow and the strange woman seems to be nodding along with it rhythmically. 

“If you go I’m going too, ‘cause it was always you, alright,

Sitting next to him in his bed? A book in her hands. 

And if I’m turnin’ blue, please don’t save me, nothing left to lose without my baby,

One he can't seem to observe no matter how hard he tries to settle his eyes on it. Is she that oblivious of the king laying next to her? The song hits its chorus.

Birds of a feather, we should stick together-”

And then the next scene shifts. And the woman is no longer next to him. She is on top of him. Staring, eyes wide, straddling his hips, her hands curled and hovering just a little in front of her chest—as if she was just thrown in the scene much like him. She wears a loose nightgown? “It’s a button-up.” She speaks. Didn't sing, not a hum either. And it's normal. Totally. He is totally not taken aback. Totally not pulled in. Definitely not a soft voice. The moonlight is kissing her skin, supple, but her little hairs stand from the cold. The king doesn't feel remotely cold. In fact, from where you sit, it is exceptionally warm. He notices late—now that's new—that horrendous sound is gone. He contemplates—uh since when?—where his hands should place themselves. And then he's awake. With his bedsheets messier than usual, windows closed, curtains closed, and something between his thighs greeting him. He spends the whole day taking breaks randomly for him to do some rationalizing. The first hour didn't go so very well without a little touching. 

Lately, the king can't control his dreams. Once upon a time—a time when he could, frequently—he considered dreams to be dreams only if they were controllable. Lucid. Only in his nightmares does he consider the lack of control a characteristic that defines the word. So, he must be having nightmares. Because the fourth consecutive night you appeared, his clothes were nowhere to be found, as well as yours. His lips you claim, his skin you explore, never resting on the same spot for longer than a second. And Eru, he might not be dreaming after all, because he wakes up with his sheets wet and warm. 

Okay, please tell me if you want a oneshot (there's also the possibility of a whole ahh fic) with some detailed boomshakalaka. It might take some time though.

[mellowzoe]

blurb #1: Warnings: none, probably grammar, and an ooc king?

Aftertaste

You’ve been hired as a painter for the Elvenking. How it came to be was not something you were particularly interested in ruminating on. It just came to be. It is now the way it is. 

So here you sit, in front of the regal king, as a condition. A compromise that doesn’t seem much of a… compromise in light of his ever burgeoning ego. You had fed that. You had fed his ego. More than the Elvenking would even care to admit. How long has it been? You. You, sitting there with fuzzy ear covers. Something about your sight a tad improved with the negotiation of your hearing? 

You’ve been tracing his features for hours. With your eyes. Your eyes of a common color. A common trait of common men. If he had known better, he would guess you’d fall asleep the next minute. Were you not tired sitting? One leg crossed over another would cause common men to feel numb—after hours. Has it been hours?

Then you decided to speak; “I made a mistake, I shall fix it now.”

You bowed your head. But you didn’t even wait for his dismissal. Bold. But not enough that he’d cut your head clean off your shoulders. You were there to paint a portrait for him. Not entertain him. 

So he watches your back as you make your retreat. It was as if you were walking out after a conquest. 

The painting arrived without much commotion. He swears it looks just like him. It is him. But not even his elven artists could capture his visage. It was like looking at a copy of him. There was no liberal addition as an artist. It was just him. Hyperrealistic. Is that a word? He would muse after minutes of staring at his own image. 

AND THEN THERE’S MODERN F!ARTIST READER LIKE:

“WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK HE’S SO PRETTY.” 

“MY LEGS ARE NUMB BUT WE BALL.”

“HOLYSHIT I ALREADY FOUND MY ERROR BUT I CAN’T LOOK AWAY.” 

“DO I LOOK LIKE I’M DROOLING OVER HIM CAUSE I AM.”

And you think you look flirty but really you look bored as fuck with a rbf.

All while listening to her collection of songs that arrived with her. Don’t ask how, she doesn’t know either but she’s thankful she can rot in middle earth with her gadgets and modern contraptions.

English is not my first language so I apologize if there is messy syntax everywhere. All interactions are appreciated, we all thirst for Thrandy <3

[mellowzoe]

Paced

I AM DOOMED. You know you're doomed when you go from simping for a character to simping for the actor AKA I went from Thranduil to now watching Pushing Daisies because I ran out of BTS, interviews and scenes to watch related to the damn Elvenking. I need help.

[mellowzoe]

tension

look, at first i legitimately doubted the shippers, but as i watch the trilogy... what the fuccccccc is that tension!? i'm not complaining but the fact that smaug taunted bilbo that thorin basically used him just as a means to an end and he amounts to nothing- i- atp i feel like i'm watching a breakup scene between boyfriends 😭😭

pspsps. "the hobbit" aka bilbo baggins' first love with heavy plot points to distract the homophobes

[mellowzoe]

lmfaooo, yeah, zoro got me first, BUT LUFFY GOT ME IN A CHOKEHOLD