#GIL: Announcements

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

📢 ANNOUNCEMENT: Regenerative Identity Mix-Up

Due to a recent clerical error in the Regeneration Registry (codebase last updated during the Morbius Uprising), several members of staff may now legally be each other. If you've found yourself responding to a name you don't recognise, giving lectures you don't remember writing, or suddenly knowing how to play the harp, you may be affected.

Please report to Records if:

You are legally two people.

You are currently engaged to yourself and did not arrange it.

In the meantime, try to only answer questions you are reasonably sure pertain to your current identity.

— Announcements by GIL

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |���️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[markantonys]

obsessed with that scene when gil-galad is just singing "🎵 o elven kind, we must abandon these shores 🎵" to the gathered elves. i think all public announcements should be made as songs.

[softquietsteadylove]

Hello love how are you?

I miss the actors au, so i have a promt for you if thats okay.

Thena and Gil are casted in an action/romance movie where their characters have a lot of tension and have to flirt a lot, so their tension in real life gets real high and they kinda start flitring with the other but they are just "friends".

As always thank you for your works 🩷🤍

"You ready?" he asked her, his weapon in hand.

She gave him a look over her shoulder, raising a finely plucked eyebrow. "Are you going to ask me that every time?"

He gave her look right back to her, though, both of them grinning at the exchange. "Well, I believe in words of assurance. Doesn't that help set the mood or something?"

She tested the doorknob, preparing to charge in with him. "Are you asking me as your partner or as a woman?"

He pressed his back to the wall with her. He wasn't nearly as entertained by it as she was. "I'm asking if you're sure about this."

She was surprised by his sudden hesitance. "You think we aren't there yet?"

"I mean dinner is one thing, but taking down this whole compound just us?"

"I knew you had commitment issues."

"You think everyone has commitment issues."

She rolled her eyes at him. "If you can't do this, then fine, I'll take care of it myself-"

He stopped her from going in alone, his hand holding hers back. He moved closer, even, his arm around her and his face nose to nose with hers. "You'll never have to take care of anything alone so long as I'm here. Whether you think we're there or not."

The clip faded out and the audience applauded obligingly. Some was politely directed by the teleprompters and some was genuine enthusiasm. The movie did seem fun and light, with well paced action, based on the snippet presented.

Gil and Thena laughed at the scene chosen, as if they hadn't already seen it countless times during their press tour.

"That was a clip from your latest--I'm already excited," the host of the show exclaimed, leaning back in her chair. "I feel like we haven't seen you guys take on anything this light in a while."

Gil and Thena shared a look. It was always funny for them to do press and receive notes on how their careers were going. Whether they were working on something together or apart, they were spending almost all their time together anyway.

"Well, Thena had her more serious biopic, which swept awards season," Gilgamesh began, openly inviting the audience to shower her with adulation. He clapped as well, chuckling as she ducked her head and played with her hair in a moment of shyness.

"You see why I can't do press with him all the time? I can't take it," she laughed in good nature, spreading her time between the host and the audience. "He's too much."

"It's so sweet how close you are, though," the host beamed, dancing the line between innocent commentary and probing at something more. "I feel like it's not always the case."

"We are lucky," Thena agreed, looking at Gil again with a full smile. Her makeup done for the show made her seem to glow under the lights, from the blush in her cheeks to the colour on her lips. "I can't imagine how insufferable it would be if I didn't like him."

"Well, it'd be pretty hard, if that clip was anything to go by!"

She was somewhat luring them into something--saying something, admitting something.

"Is it hard to get into a character like the ones in this film, or do you find it easier because you already get along so well?"

Thena met the eyes of their host. She was good at her job; the audience was ooh-ing and ah-ing at all the right times. She kept her smile even, though, resting her cheek in her hand. "Well, movies like this one often focus more on the action and the humour than the characters. But we're lucky our writers actually have quite a fun story buried within the scenes."

"It was nice to be able to really play around with the characters and how they interacted and that would, in turn, influence how we played a scene or how we would allude to something that would come into play further down the line," Gilgamesh answered. It was a very practised, media coach approved answer. It really didn't say all that much, but it sounded like he was saying a lot.

"Now, just tell me," the hostess got a devious smirk on her face. "Are you flirting like that the whole movie?"

Thena resisted the urge to roll her eyes, much like her character for the summer blockbuster. "Would you call that flirting?"

Gil laughed beside her, their eyes drawn together and away from the third party on stage with them. "I think that's just how they talk to each other."

"It's natural for them," Thena joined in his laughter. "They get up, go to work, see each other in the elevator-"

"She says 'fuck you', he says 'how hard'?" Gilgamesh joked, which had both he and Thena laughing, as well as the audience in stitches. He made a sheepish face to the camera, "sorry, sorry, forgot you'll have to bleep that."

Thena shrugged one shoulder, "it's not rated R, we can have one truly good profanity."

"Yeah, and you got it," he pointed out, recalling the exact scene in which her character gets the privilege of saying the coveted once-per-movie-F-bomb. "It's a big one, too."

She gave him a look before purring, "not as big as you, baby."

The audience laughed again. Gil and Thena both leaned in their seats, losing themselves in the mirth of it all. The hostess was banging on the table.

She wiped a tear from her eye, picking up her coffee mug only to tip it upside down. "It's okay, there's no coffee in here."

The audience continued to laugh.

"How did you even get any work done like this?"

"Is it really work if you do what you love?" Gilgamesh chuckled, trying to calm his laughter and appear at least somewhat professional. He tugged at the lapel of his suit jacket, although he didn't button it closed. He looked at Thena again. "Wouldn't you agree?"

She made a face; Sprite got her mischievous side from Thena, but neither would ever admit it. "I think they do each other all the time, yes."

The audience roared with laughter again. Thena attempted to hide her completely open laughter with a hand in front of her mouth. Under the cover of it, she whispered to him, "sorry, but that one was too good to pass up."

"Takes one to know one," he whispered back to her.

"Okay, okay, okay," the hostess held her hand up, signalling the audience to cool it and drawing her guests' attentions back to her. "Cool it, kids--leave some room for jesus, 'kay?"

Thena and Gil both chuckled, but they had indeed gravitated closer and closer through the course of their banter. Their thighs were touching.

"Thena," the two women traded grins and raised eyebrows. "First, I have to know where you get your eyebrows done, because you're putting me to shame."

She was funny, Thena conceded. She liked her delivery and her genuine charisma. "It's all my stylist team, I assure you."

"Second," she held up a finger. "Did you write your own dialogue for this movie or what?--you're killin' me, here. You know how hard it is to get your own network show? I'm supposed to be the funny one."

The audience applauded again, the energy in the room still high.

Gil joined in. "She's always been funny--I keep telling people."

"No one believes you," she shook her head at him. They were ignoring their host again and getting lost in the fun of trading little jokes. She toyed with some of her hair, winding it around her finger.

He shook his head, capturing the lock of hair for himself. "That's what happens when you're pretty and talented, people think the rest of your resume is fake."

"Is there anything you can't do?" the host asked, partly for the info and partly so as not to let her own show get away from her again.

"Plenty," Thena looked back at her again, although it had to be said that Gilgamesh was still toying with her hair. "Cooking is top of the list."

"That's okay," the host jumped on the opportunity to bring up more inside info. "I hear he's a master chef all his own."

"It's true."

"It is not."

"It most certainly is," Thena cut him off, tipping her head in his direction again. He tossed her hair over her shoulder but she didn't let it distract her. "He's an amazing home cook."

The host pouted, leaning her chin into her palm with her elbow on top of her desk. "I'm jealous."

Thena nodded at her. "We had a break during filming, while we were changing location and our crew was doing the real heavy lifting work. And the day we were back on set, Gilgamesh brought everyone a little bundle of cookies he had made."

"For everyone?!"

Thena nodded again, confirming the other woman's shock. "He baked at least three hundred cookies so he could give them to everyone in the cast and crew. They were in cute little bundles, tied with ribbon and everything."

"Okay," Gil huffed, blushing modestly.

"Look," Thena pointed at the screen, where the showrunners were pulling up a picture taken and posted on social media. "Isn't it cute?"

The hostess dropped her jaw in the audiences direction. They were being well fed this segment. "Okay, I didn't think there was anything you couldn't do, but now it's him too?!"

Thena raised both her brows at him and crossed her arms with a smirk. "No, there is absolutely nothing he cannot do."

He rolled his eyes, still playing up his bashfulness. He raised his arm up onto the back of the couch, somewhat around Thena's shoulders. His fingers toyed with the fluttery sleeve of her dress. "Except get you to stop, apparently."

"Okay," the hostess tapped the desk, signalling the closing of their time. She turned to the frontmost camera while the other two turned to cover her other angles. "We are gonna take a quick break, and when we come back, the lovebirds here will have some insider info on release dates and we'll even have some questions from our viewers!"

The cameras pulled out and the band played until sound was done rolling. Gil and Thena waved to the audience, as well as the 'audience' at home through the cameras.

"That was amazing, you guys are nailing it," their hostess addressed them openly as her team came scurrying in to retouch her hair and makeup in their brief commercial spot. "Keep up the fun, flirty vibes when we come back, okay?"

Gil and Thena looked at each other. The hostess was further engulfed in assistants and scrip producers and coffee gophers swarming her for their brief five minute window to do their jobs.

"Flirting?" Thena voiced aloud, to which Gil also shrugged. "I wouldn't call it that."

"No," he scoffed in agreement with her. "We're just making friendly conversation. And you're totally killing the audience--just admit you're funny."

She scoffed at him this time, her arms still crossed, him still playing with the sleeve of her dress. "I admit nothing. If anything, you are bringing it out in me. And she's quite humorous."

Gil just chuckled, adjusting himself to fully sit sideways on the couch, since this was the position he would be in for the rest of the interview anyway. He abandoned the dress sleeve and found her stray curl of blonde to play with again. "You're funnier."

And they said they weren't flirting.

[dailyfatefigures]

starting to think that after all the times i've said smthing along the lines of 'oh i don't rlly buy new figure releases anymore' the figure gods saw me and went 'figure blog thinks he's funny well we're abt to be hilarious' . srry to those whose wallets have been negatively affected

[daeluin]

ok now im angry at fob these aren't latam tour dates what the hell man fucking tour latam it's not HARD

[thenotoriousscuttlecliff]

Gil-galad: I have a very important announcement to make about the doomed fate of our race, which I shall deliver in the form of a song.

[morganas-pendragons]

To be Held | Gil-Galad

Summary: You are Gil-Galad's most trusted warrior. With the centuries of history between you two - and the multiple wars you have both survived before and during his rule - it is hard for you to ignore the obvious: You are his complement, his other half, the shield to his sword. You two work as a unit. Everyone in Lindon knows it.

So what happens when he comes close to losing half of that unit?

Set during S2 of ROP - loosely AU to episode 8 (we don't go into the courtyards of Eregion)

tag: @wild-typo-turtle @celebrimbormylove @pentaghasm

You are one of the earliest memories of his younger years as an ellon. The years where he'd been living in the Grey Havens under the watchful eye of the Shipmaster, a young Elf named Artanaro who had nothing left but himself and the clothes on his back.

You had become a soldier at a very early age, taking to the spear with a gracefulness and poise unlike any of your other comrades who served alongside you in the war. You were raised in the heat of battle. Armor was your skin. Your weapon, your hands.

He admired you deeply. Your training commander at the time had noticed that the two of you were the only ones to take to the spear, and so it came to pass that you were often paired together for spars.

For sparring, for the front, for training. The other Elves whispered about you and how formidable you were as a unit the fields of war.

“What will you call yours?”

You watched him turn the weapon over in his hands. Once, twice, three times, long fingers flexing as it spun for him to properly admire the craftsmanship of the spear that had just been granted to him.

“Aeglos,” The Elvish word rolled off his tongue with an awe that made you shiver. You knew as well as he did that he would be known for being Aeglo’s wielder, among what other accomplishments he took to throughout his years. “It has a number of meanings, Mellon. For this one, however, I think snow thorn is more than appropriate.”

It fits him.

You averted your gaze away from him, desperate to keep your composure as you peered down at the spear in your own hands. He had such a deeply penetrating gaze. That unnerved you. You had to be unflappable. Something such as affection or love could not dare to make you weak.

You would not risk weakness on the field. You would not risk having something to lose.

“I think I have its name,” You announced. “I’ll call it Telmnar.”

Ereinion tilted his head curiously. He was not familiar with that term. “And what does that translate to?”

“Fire of Heaven.”

As the years passed, you took to chaos and disorder. Ereinion Gil-Galad took to the art of ruling much, much later in life with a firm hand and a soft heart. He never lost his spirit. Neither did you.

On the field, the pair of you were a force to be reckoned with. One unit. That’s what Elrond had said the first time he’d seen the two of you fight in the sparring yards of Lindon.

Gil-Galad just hadn’t expected the paralyzing fear that came with nearly losing the other half of your unit.

He sees you fall from across the battlefield. There are so few of you left, so many Elven bodies that litter the grounds of a scorched battlefield that Gil-Galad is sure will be their ruin. Elrond is catatonic over the Dwarvish army. You are fueled by your fury, helm hiding the fire he knows lights your eyes as you spin Telmnar with all the grace of poise of a practiced soldier.

Despite the destruction, you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. That is why Ereinion is so shaken when he sees the blade pierce your side through the gaps in your armor. A roar echoes across the battlefield as you twist your body to dismember the offending orc, Telmnar faltering in your grasp as it impales the body at the same time you fall to the earth.

Everything seems to blur together after that. Elrond is the one to rush toward you once clarity reaches him once again, removing the chest piece of your armor to better ascertain the severity of your injuries.

"Ereinion," You whisper. "Tell Ereinion..."

Telmnar gleams out of the corner of your eye as a hand reaches down to remove the spear from the body before laying it down beside Aeglos. They really are beautiful blades: A perfect pair for the best unit that the Elven armies had ever seen.

“Tell him what?” Elrond asks. He wants to keep you awake for as long as possible before blood loss sends you into unconsciousness.

Tears prick the back of your eyes. You’ve spent centuries trying so hard to keep your weaknesses out of harms way, to bury that secret you have kept of growing affections for Gil-Galad so he too would not come to be a name among the list of those you’ve loved and lost.

“He was never my weakness,” You whisper. “He was always my strength.”

"We may have lost many today, sweet friend," Elrond's voice is the only thing keeping you awake as he works to staunch the flow of blood from your body. "But you will not be among them."

You think of Gil-Galad, of Celebrimbor and Arondir, of Galadriel. They will not be able to take Adar on their own. They will need all the men they can muster.

Your innate desire to protect those you love is what coaxes you to move amid Elrond's healing, but not before a firm hand presses you back down into the ground and cradles your head in its embrace. Your eyes slowly shift across the open expanse of sky above you until your gaze falls on the dark eyes of the High King of the Noldor.

“Don’t move.” He commands, firm but soft as his fingers flex around your shoulder. “We will work diligently. Rest.”

Relief washes over you as you raise your fingers to graze his cheek. All you can see is blood and dirt, none of that smooth pale skin you’ve grown so accustomed to over the years.

He’s murmuring something low in Quenya as his hand comes upon your wound, and your eyes roll back into your head as Gil-Galad’s healing begins to seal what damage has been done. Elrond stands beside in waiting for the administration of bandages and salves so it will heal well.

The fingers of his free hand card through your hair as you fall unconscious in Gil-Galad’s capable hands.

***

When you first wake, there is a song on the wind. You’re being carried on a stretcher through what appears to be a path through a valley with elves on either side of you.

Panic rushes through your body until you recognize the voice that the wind carries. Gil-Galad has known since you were young that music was one of your only means of coping as it often brought you such serenity. Especially if the music came from him, his lips, his soul.

“Be well, my friend.” It is Camnir’s voice you hear closest to you instead as his face comes into view at your feet. Why the cartographer is here, you remain unsure, but your exhaustion is softened by the sight of his young face. “The High King is nearby. You are safe. I will wake you once we arrive at our destination.”

Your windpipe feels as if it has been pressed upon and your mouth forced open to swallow handfuls of sand. Despite that discomfort, you swallow and ask, “Is he safe?”

Camnir nods. “Indeed. Be peaceful. We are nearly there.”

You fall asleep once again with Aeglos and Telmnar on your mind.

***

There is warmth the next time you wake.

You’re careful not to aggravate your wound as you slowly shift your weight and rub your hands over your eyes to adjust to the dim light of the tent. Night has fallen, as you can tell from the shadows outside, but you did not expect to find The High King fast asleep with his hand gently laying on top of yours.

You smile. Not many are privileged to see him like this. It reminds you of your younger years, when you and Ereinion were just getting to know one another during your time in the Grey Havens. The pair of you had been far more curious than Círdan had cared for. The Shipwright had never complained. He simply remained grateful that someone cared as much for his charge as you did.

Gil-Galad shifts as you slowly kick your legs off the cot and reach outward to card your fingers through his hair. “Ereinion,” You whisper. Dark eyes flutter open and widen as he realizes you are awake, and it takes all of his willpower not to ask you a million questions as you hold a hand up to silence him. “Are you okay?”

The crease between his brow deepens as you run your thumb along his jaw.

“I believe it should be me asking you that,” He replies quietly. “You gave me quite a scare. I do not think I have experienced fear such as that watching you fall since we were young.”

Your earnest expression crumples almost instantly. “Gil-Galad-“

“You told Elrond to tell me something,” Now fully awake, the High King of the Noldor shifts his seat so that he’s planted directly in front of you, hands hovering over your thighs as he settles into the natural part of your legs. “What was it?”

Your mind shifts back to the early days. The days before the wars had ruined you, had cost the lives of so many people you loved, when it was just you and Ereinion against the forces of darkness and those who tried to tear you down.

The perfect unit, they’d called you.

Ereinion holds his breath as your hand, shaking as it may be, extends towards him to cup his face. “Do you remember all those years ago when I told you that the likelihood of me taking a partner was slim because I was not willing to have a weakness that could distract me on the battlefield?” You ask. He nods, transfixed by your face as your fingers gently trace the line of his jaw. “I’ve had one for centuries now. I have just never breathed a word about it.”

Hope flickers behind those dark eyes. “Do not utter that which you do not wish to come to fruition, nin meld.”

“Why?”

You dip your head down, fingers tangling in dark hair as he tips his head up to hover mere inches above your mouth. Your heart pounds with anticipation as you both waver against the line that was drawn centuries ago: the line that will forever change the two of you once you dare to take that risk.

“Because once you do, you can’t take it back.” Gil-Galad utters so softly you almost don’t hear it.

“I could not take back my affections for you. I would not dare. You’ve had my heart since Círdan introduced us. You are my weakness… and you are my strength, my hope-“

His kiss is bruising as he closes the gap between the two of you, surging upward to stand to his feet and cup your face in his hands. He is so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to properly kiss him, but you don’t think you could ever quite tire of the fire behind which he kisses you.

“You are my salvation from this wretched life,” Ereinion whispers, relishing in the sweet sound of your whimper as he holds you there, helpless to do nothing but allow his mouth to trail across your jaw and down your neck. He is mindful to not aggravate your injury further lest Elrond have his hide for doing so. “And so I take that weakness willingly if it means I have the privilege to love you all my days.”

You smile sweetly at him and nod as his trail ends at your forehead before you part.

“You’re tired.” You point to the cot beside you that’s open. “Bring that over here.”

“I have to attend to duties elsewhere-“

You give him a pointed look. “Cleaning Aeglos and Telmnar can wait. There’s so many of us injured, and you cannot attend to your duties without having a few hours of sleep. You cannot function.”

He hesitates before acquiescing to your demand. Galadriel is being tended to by Elrond, Arondir is coordinating patrols, and the rest of Eregion’s survivors are taken care of at least for the night. He will sleep much more peacefully - and hopefully avoid nightmares about Celebrimbor - being able to feel your breathing under his fingers.

“Very well.”

When Elrond comes looking for his King, he is not surprised to find him with you, but he is surprised to find that Gil-Galad has indeed fallen asleep in the cot beside yours. You are sitting up in your own cot drinking the mint tea provided by the healers with a smug expression on your face as you meet his eyes.

Your other hand loosely cards through Ereinions hair as he moves himself closer to your leg, forehead pressed against your knee in sleep.

“Should I ask?” Elrond queries, laughing quietly under his breath as you playfully narrow your eyes.

“Keep walking, Peredhel. Nothing to see here.”

He will allow his King that respite for tonight. He deserves the comfort of being held by someone he loves.

[self-destructinganimal]

Has anyone talked about how unintentionally funny this scene is when the camera shows all of Lindon gathered to hear the King announce their impending departure from Middle Earth:

And there's Elrond on the dais with two guards right behind him:

As if Gil-galad was like: "You are important, and my herald and will be present for this announcement, but you also majorly defied me and cannot just get away with that publicly, so you're still going to stand right in the spotlight at my hand, but I'm gonna have two guards standing right behind you just in case and also to pretend at some semblance of discipline. "

Elrond is bruised and bitchy from surviving a plummet off the falls and still had to stay up to write the words for Gil-galad's speech, but he's not repentant at all, he still shouts "no" in front of everyone, once again publicly at odds with Gil-galad.

And imagine being one of the elves in the court watching all this? The absolute tea they must be spilling about the situation behind closed doors:

Add Galadriel to the mix and her being sent away only to pop back up with rumors of consorting with low men, straining relationships with Númenor, and causing natural disasters in the Southlands, so you would expect the King to be angry, but no he just up and lets her claim one of these uber-powerful rings:

The gossip has never been better.

You just know one of these veiled handmaidens is 100% leaking details to a tabloid.

[rocketbirdie]

i didn't realize you could purchase Pres. Shinra's old villa in Costa del Sol until recently and I'm at the end of my playthrough of the original ff7 so I'm LOADED and have nothing to spend it on.

So of course I had to go and drop 300k on the villa.

And Cloud being a homeowner, while funny, isn't the real joke here.

For one, he's VERY proud of owning it, and announces that it is HIS villa whenever you go to rest in it. Every time. "This is MY villa."

But the real kicker?

If you do rest in it, you hear a sort of water/bubbling sound and when the screen fades back in he's standing in front of the mirror and does a little pose.

...Did he just take a bubble bath?

AKDKSJSGFG I LOVE THAT

i never accrued nearly enough gil to buy out the villa since i wasn't as dedicated to The Grind but i do think it's hilarious that cloud just has his own private seaside resort all to himself. complete with a bubble bath

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

📢 Newly Discovered Matrix Archive Recording – Fascinating Archaeological Evidence

During routine archival maintenance, a truly bizarre audio file was uncovered deep within the Matrix archives. While its authenticity is unverified, the voices bear a striking resemblance to none other than Rassilon and Omega themselves.

For historical analysis, we present the transcription of this peculiar exchange:

📜 TRANSCRIPTION: (Recovered from deep within the Matrix. Context unknown.)

OMEGA: Baby, it seems we never, ever agree You like the movies, and I like TV RASSILON: I take things serious and you take 'em light OMEGA: I go to bed early RASSILON: And I party all night BOTH: Our friends are saying we ain't gonna last ... OMEGA: 'Cause I move slowly RASSILON: And baby, I'm fast! OMEGA: I like it quiet ... RASSILON: And I love to shout! BOTH: But when we get together, it just all works out

RASSILON: I take, two steps forward OMEGA: I take two steps back BOTH: We come together 'cause opposites attract And you know, it ain't fiction, just a natural fact We come together 'cause opposites attract

RASSILON: Baby, ain't it something how we lasted this long? OMEGA: You and me proving everyone wrong RASSILON: Don't think we'll ever get our differences patched OMEGA: Don't really matter 'cause we're perfectly matched

RASSILON: I take, two steps forward OMEGA: I take two steps back BOTH: We come together 'cause opposites attract And you know, it ain't fiction, just a natural fact We come together 'cause opposites attract

📢 Matrix Archivists' Official Statement:

'We don't know how or why this exists. We don't know what it means. We are choosing to look at it exactly once and never speak of it again.'

Announcements by GIL

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[earthlybeam]

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

↓

↓

↓

Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Versions are below.

Thranduil, being the proud and poised Elven King of Mirkwood, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𐂂 You grinning mischievously “I made us friendship bracelets!” Thranduil He raises a single, imperious brow, his expression hovering between amused indulgence and mild exasperation. “Bracelets? What purpose do these trinkets serve?” Before he can decline, the metallic click of the handcuffs echoes through the room. He freezes, staring down at his wrist, now bound to yours. His icy blue eyes narrow dangerously. “Is this some sort of mortal jest?” His voice is calm, but there’s a subtle, deadly edge to it. You beam at him. “Now we can really bond!”

𐂂 Thranduil exhales sharply, as though summoning every ounce of patience within him. He tugs lightly at the chain, his gaze flickering between the cuffs and your unapologetic grin. “You dare shackle the King of the Woodland Realm like a… prisoner?” As you shrug cheerfully, his lips press into a thin line, though a flicker of reluctant amusement dances in his eyes. “Fine. But you will remove these before the feast. If my court sees this, I will never hear the end of it.”

Another version

𐂂 You Grinning mischievously, you extend two shiny, interlinked metal cuffs toward Thranduil. “I made us something special—friendship bracelets!” you announce cheerfully. Before he can fully grasp your intent, you deftly clasp one cuff onto his wrist, the audible click resonating through the room. Without hesitation, you secure the other cuff onto your own wrist, binding the two of you together.

𐂂 Thranduil For a moment, the Elven King simply stares at his wrist, his expression frozen in shock. His usual graceful composure wavers as his piercing eyes shift from the unyielding metal band now encircling his wrist to the matching one on yours. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours, his brows arching high in disbelief. “You did… what?” he finally manages, his voice calm but laced with incredulity.

𐂂 When he gives the cuff a light tug, the movement pulls your arm forward, making it abundantly clear that neither of you can stray far from the other. His sharp features twist into a mixture of irritation and exasperation as he leans back in his chair, his hand lifting to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself,” he demands, his tone low and commanding, though there’s a flicker of something—perhaps amusement—beneath the sternness.

𐂂 You Smiling innocently, you lift your cuffed wrist with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s symbolic! You know, like how our lives are intertwined now. It’s a human tradition—or… well, maybe I improvised a little.” Thranduil He lets out a long, slow sigh, clearly summoning every ounce of his legendary patience. “Bracelets, you said,” he mutters under his breath. “This is hardly what I would describe as a bracelet. These are shackles fit for a dungeon!” His free hand gestures toward the cuffs as his lips press into a thin line, his irritation palpable.

𐂂 You Trying to stifle a laugh, you grin up at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually wear a regular friendship bracelet… but these? Now you don’t have a choice.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing, his keen eyes narrowing as he studies your face. Then, without warning, he gives the cuff on your wrist another firm tug, pulling you closer until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. “And what,” he says, his tone dropping to a dangerously low register, “do you intend to do when I need to address matters of state? Shall I drag you into my throne room before my council as my… ‘symbolic companion’?”

𐂂 Despite his stern words, the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying his inner struggle to keep a straight face. There’s something undeniably absurd—and, dare he admit it, endearing—about the entire situation. With a sigh of resignation, he leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

𐂂 “Very well,” he says, his voice softening as he casts a sidelong glance at you. “But if you think this means I will tolerate being hauled about on some wild human adventure, you are sorely mistaken.” His gaze lingers on the cuffs, then flicks back to you. “And pray, do not think this will go unpunished. I shall expect a full explanation… after you find the key.” The evening wears on, and though Thranduil maintains a carefully aloof air, his occasional glances and faint smiles betray his growing amusement. For all his bluster, he seems far more entertained than he would ever admit.

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You Burning your tongue on hot food despite claiming it’s “too hot.”

𐂂 You taking a bite “This is too hot. Thranduil He watches you lift the steaming food to your mouth, his expression betraying mild concern. “Then why—” Before he finishes, you yelp and fan your mouth, visibly in pain. His piercing blue eyes widen slightly, though his lips press into a thin, disapproving line. He sets down his goblet deliberately, studying you as though you’ve just confirmed every suspicion he’s ever had about mortal impulsiveness. “You knew it was too hot, meleth nîn, yet you ate it anyway. What were you hoping to achieve?” His tone is cool, bordering on exasperated, but there’s a faint undertone of amusement he can’t quite suppress.

𐂂 You try to respond, only to wince and motion wildly for water. With a resigned sigh, he reaches for a goblet, handing it to you with his usual elegance. “Drink. Slowly, if that is within your capabilities.”

𐂂 As you gulp it down, he leans back, one brow arched. “Mortals truly lack self-preservation instincts. I shall have to monitor your meals now, lest you burn yourself into oblivion.” His smirk betrays his fondness.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal)

𐂂 You bursting into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your sides as you snort between hiccups.

𐂂 Thranduil He stops mid-sentence, his refined demeanor frozen in place as he stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination. His elegant brows draw together, and for a moment, he seems genuinely uncertain if you’re choking or… some kind of woodland creature mimicking laughter.

𐂂 “Are you… quite well?” he asks cautiously, his deep voice laced with incredulity. But your hiccups only intensify as you wheeze, your snorts breaking through like a startled piglet. His lips twitch as though caught between a frown and a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, his regal composure teetering. “I fail to see what could be so amusing as to warrant… this display.”

𐂂 You clutch his arm for support, tears streaming down your face as another snort escapes. His icy blue eyes narrow, and he leans back slightly, as if distancing himself from the chaos. “Are humans always this… undignified when amused? Or is this a unique trait of yours?” Still laughing, you manage to hiccup out a garbled apology, but it’s clear you’ve lost all control. Thranduil exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, though his lips curve into the faintest smirk. “If nothing else, meleth nîn, you have proven to be a source of endless… surprises.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𐂂 You pausing in the doorway, staring blankly around the room with a furrowed brow

𐂂 Thranduil He looks up from his desk, the faint flicker of a candle casting shadows across his regal face. His piercing gaze lands on you as you stand there, motionless and perplexed. “Well? Are you going to say something, or shall I simply guess the reason for this intrusion?”

𐂂 You frowning, scratching your head “I… forgot why I came in here.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing. He leans back in his chair, one perfectly arched brow rising higher than you thought possible. He steeples his fingers in front of him, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “You entered my chambers… and you don’t recall why?”

𐂂 You nervously laughing “Yeah, I guess I just forgot. It’ll come to me in a second!” His lips press into a thin line, and he releases a soft sigh, one that speaks of centuries of patience worn thin by mortal antics. “You are aware that I rule an entire kingdom, are you not? That my time is valuable?” he remarks dryly, though his voice carries an undertone of exasperated fondness.

𐂂 You grinning sheepishly “I’m sorry, I’ll just—uh—go.” As you turn to leave, he raises a hand, stopping you. “No. Stay.” He gestures to a nearby chair. “Sit there until you remember. Let us not risk you wandering aimlessly and forgetting your way back as well.”

𐂂 You obey, his sarcastic quip making you chuckle nervously. He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mortals,” he mutters softly, returning to his work. “Endlessly baffling. And yet, I find I do not mind nearly as much as I should.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𐂂 As you lie beside Thranduil in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the grand windows of his chambers, you let out a small, frustrated sigh. Carefully, you flip your pillow over, smoothing your hand across the “cool side” before settling your head against it with a satisfied sigh.

𐂂 Thranduil He notices immediately, his keen elven eyes watching every movement, even in the dim light. His brow furrows slightly as he props himself up on one elbow, his silver-blond hair spilling over his shoulder like liquid starlight. “What peculiar ritual is this?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur edged with curiosity.

𐂂 You glancing at him, a bit surprised “It’s… flipping the pillow to the cool side. It feels better. He blinks, his expression a perfect mixture of incredulity and faint amusement. “The cool side of the pillow?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the absurdity of the phrase. “And this… improves your comfort?” You nod earnestly, hugging the pillow closer. “Absolutely. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

𐂂 Thranduil’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening his composed facade. “Mortals,” he muses, leaning back against his own array of perfectly arranged pillows. “You are remarkable in your ability to find solace in the most trivial things.”

𐂂 You grinning playfully “Don’t tell me you’ve never done it.” He arches a brow, as if the suggestion alone is preposterous. “I have endured centuries of life, meleth nîn, with pillows precisely as they are. And I assure you, I have managed quite well without this… cooling ritual.”

𐂂 You teasing “You don’t know what you’re missing.” With an air of regal exasperation, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps not. But I find your mortal habits endlessly fascinating. If such a small thing brings you joy, I see no harm in it.” As you settle in, he lies back, watching you with a faint, affectionate smirk. “Though, if you attempt to flip my pillow, you will find my patience has limits.”

📜𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, lord of Riverdell being the proud and poised would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

✶ Elrond watches with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as you present the friendship bracelets, his elegant features softening into a rare, genuine smile. “Ah, how thoughtful, meleth nín,” he remarks in his usual, measured tone, admiring the delicate craftsmanship. The idea of bonding in such a simple, yet intimate way seems to resonate with him.

✶ But then, as you reach for the handcuffs, his brow furrows, and he instinctively steps back. “What is this?” His voice, usually calm, carries a hint of bewilderment. The concept is unfamiliar to him—metal handcuffs, a binding that holds his wrist captive to yours in a way that neither aligns with his elven customs nor his understanding of affection. His ancient mind, accustomed to more refined and deliberate forms of connection, pauses for a moment to process.

✶ As the handcuffs click shut, he glances at his bound wrist and then meets your gaze, his eyes soft yet filled with confusion and a flicker of amusement. “This is… certainly unexpected,” he murmurs, adjusting his posture to avoid discomfort. He shifts his focus, feeling the weight of the metal and the subtle tug between you. “I did not know that this was how you humans chose to express your affection,” he adds, his voice laced with a mix of bemusement and fondness. Yet, despite his hesitation, there’s a warmth in his expression as he gently takes your hand, his fingers delicately brushing against your skin. “I admit, this is a new experience for me. But, it seems I shall have to adjust to it, as I always do for you.”

✶ The notion of you choosing to bond him with such an odd but sincere gesture fills him with a surprising sense of tenderness, even if it is, by his standards, rather unconventional. He could never deny your earnestness or the bond you share, even if it comes in the form of metal handcuffs. With a faint, wry smile, Elrond allows himself to soften further, clearly amused. “Shall we walk like this, then?” He asks, his voice steady yet laced with affection, knowing full well this gesture is just another example of the delightful quirks that make your relationship uniquely yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

✶ Elrond sits beside you at the table, his demeanor calm and composed as always, yet there’s a slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he watches you eagerly reach for a steaming dish. You’ve made a meal together, and though Elrond typically prefers his food to be perfectly prepared, he appreciates the gesture you’ve made.

✶ You lift a spoonful to your lips, only to immediately flinch. “This is too hot,” you murmur, but despite your own words, you take a bite anyway. Elrond’s sharp eyes catch the slight wince on your face as you quickly pull away, feeling the burn on your tongue.

✶ His brow furrows, concern flickering behind his composed expression. “Meleth nín,” he begins, his voice tinged with both affection and mild reproach, “You knew it was too hot, yet you persisted?” His gaze softens, and his lips curve into a slight smile. “You should have waited, love. Such impulsiveness may not be wise, even for someone as remarkable as you.”

✶ He watches as you try to recover from the burn, unable to stifle the small chuckle that escapes him. The contrast between his measured patience and your impetuousness amuses him, though his worry for your well-being is apparent. Reaching for a napkin, he gently dabs at your lips with it, his touch tender and careful. “Let me care for you,” he offers quietly, his voice soothing.

✶ Elrond, always the one who considers every action with utmost deliberation, finds your momentary lapse in judgment endearing, and though he would never make such a rash decision himself, he cannot help but love the spontaneous, human nature that you display. “Next time,” he says softly, “allow me to help you, so you do not suffer such a simple burn.” He leans in closer, brushing his lips lightly across your forehead, a silent promise that he’ll always be there to care for you, in all your little quirks.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting.

✶ Elrond, ever the dignified and composed elf, is quietly enjoying a moment with you, his keen eyes studying your face as you recount a particularly amusing story. As the words tumble from your lips, the melody of your laughter fills the air, and Elrond finds himself enchanted by the sound—a light, melodic laugh, so full of life and warmth.

✶ But then, in an unexpected twist, your laughter becomes a bit too much for you to control. It starts as a simple chuckle, but before long, you let out a hiccup, followed by another, and then… a snort. Elrond’s eyes widen in surprise, his usually controlled expression giving way to a rare, genuine look of shock. He watches, almost frozen, as you hiccup again, and this time, the sound resembles a pig’s squeal, high-pitched and almost animalistic.

✶ He can hardly believe what he’s witnessing. His mind races for a moment, unsure of how to respond, his elven dignity momentarily shaken by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Yet, as you continue, each hiccup and snort seemingly more ridiculous than the last, a deep, melodious laugh escapes his lips—completely uncharacteristic of him. It’s low and rich, the sound flowing out naturally, filled with both amusement and affection.

✶ “Ah, meleth nín,” he says, his voice both amused and tender, his lips curling into a soft, affectionate smile. “I must admit, I have never known anyone so… charming in their displays of joy.” His voice is filled with adoration as he watches you, utterly captivated by your unrestrained laughter. “It is… an unexpected sound, but one that I find utterly endearing,” he adds, his gaze softening as he watches you struggle to control yourself.

✶ Elrond’s usual calm demeanor returns, though he can’t quite hide the amused sparkle in his eyes. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender. “You are quite a wonder, my love,” he says with a quiet, affectionate laugh. “I have seen many strange things in my long life, but none as delightful as this.” His voice is a perfect mixture of warmth and playfulness, the image of his centuries-old wisdom softened by the joy you bring into his world.

✶ Elrond, ever the one to maintain control in most situations, finds himself thoroughly enchanted by the vulnerability you display in this moment—your laughter, so unrestrained, so human, only deepening the bond between you both. “Shall we continue, my sweet troublemaker?” he asks, his tone filled with a soft, affectionate teasing as he watches you try to compose yourself. “I believe I shall need time to recover from such a display of… charm.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

✶ Elrond stands by the window, his gaze sweeping over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, his mind occupied with matters of great importance. The stillness of the moment is disrupted as you enter the room, your steps light yet purposeful. However, when you reach the center of the space, a sudden pause overtakes you.

✶ For a moment, you simply stand there, looking around the room as though you were searching for something. The air between you both is filled with a quiet tension as Elrond notices your confusion. His brow furrows slightly, his keen elven senses immediately catching the subtle shift in your demeanor. “Is something troubling you, meleth nín?” he inquires, his voice gentle yet filled with concern. His deep eyes, which have seen so much in the long years of his life, soften as he studies your expression. You stand there, still, seemingly unsure of why you entered the room in the first place.

✶ You blink, slowly processing, and then, with a soft sigh, you murmur, “I’ve forgotten why I came in here.” A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Elrond’s lips, and for a moment, he can’t help but feel a deep fondness for you. He steps toward you with quiet grace, his long, elegant strides never once faltering. His touch is light as he gently places a hand on your shoulder, an anchor in your moment of confusion.

✶ “It is not the first time,” he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. “Such things happen even to the most diligent of minds. Fear not, my heart. The memory will return, in time.” He watches as your face softens, a hint of amusement returning to your features. His smile deepens as he regards you—your quirks, your humanity, the way you so often forget, yet always seem to be so effortlessly yourself.

✶ “My love,” Elrond continues, his voice laced with a gentle teasing, “it is in these moments I am reminded of the beauty in your simplicity. A thousand years of wisdom may not protect one from forgetting the smallest of details. I, too, have had my share of such lapses in thought.”

✶ He steps closer, his presence enveloping you with calm and reassurance. “Perhaps you were simply drawn in by the peacefulness of this room. Or, mayhap, you were distracted by thoughts of us, as I often am.” His eyes twinkle with a soft affection as he regards you. “Whatever the reason, do not fret. You are in no way alone in this. I, too, have often found myself lost in my thoughts, only to be reminded by a gentle nudge from the world around me.”

✶ He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and full of affection. “Shall we sit for a while, then? If the reason for your visit escapes you, perhaps a moment of rest will bring it back to mind.” As you take a seat beside him, Elrond leans in just slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch delicate. “Do not worry, melethril nín. Sometimes, it is not the purpose of the visit that matters, but the quiet presence we share in these moments.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

✶ Elrond watches quietly from the corner of the room as you prepare for the evening. His long, jet black hair gleams softly in the gentle light of Rivendell’s hearth, his dark eyes following every movement you make with an intensity that betrays his usual calm demeanor. He’s no stranger to the simple acts of daily life—after all, he’s seen countless years pass in Rivendell, where the moments of peace are as precious as gold—but there’s something endearing in the way you go about these small routines.

✶ As you prepare to settle into the bed, he notices your particular attention to the pillow, your hands moving to flip it to the “cool side,” a habit that has become second nature to you. There’s a slight smile on his lips as he observes, his expression softening with fondness. The simple, human gesture is both quaint and deeply charming to him, reminding him of the beautiful uniqueness of your nature, so different from his own.

✶ He watches you with an air of quiet admiration as you finally lay down, the cool side of the pillow now beneath your head. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a mix of awe and tenderness in his eyes, before he slowly approaches the bed, as if drawn by an invisible force. “Elvish pillows, though soft, do not have the same… comfort,” Elrond muses, his voice low and smooth, with an underlying note of amusement. “I have often wondered about this particular custom of yours, meleth nín.”

✶ He stands at the edge of the bed, his tall form casting a long shadow across the room, his presence as steady and eternal as the stars themselves. There’s a warmth in his eyes now, a tenderness only visible to you as he regards you, the love he feels for you evident in every glance. “Do you find it truly so different from the way we do things?” he asks, taking a seat beside you with a grace only an elf could possess. “I confess, I am fascinated by these small rituals that make you… you.”

✶ His fingers brush lightly against your hair, and there is a deep, quiet reverence in his touch. The cool pillow, the little quirks of your routine—he cherishes these moments, knowing they are part of what makes you human, what makes you his.

✶ “If it pleases you,” Elrond continues, his voice soft but sincere, “I will see if I can find a way to make your pillow more… to your liking. I will take whatever steps I can to ensure your comfort, for that is my duty as your partner.” His eyes search yours for a moment, his hand resting on the pillow now beneath your head. “But perhaps it is not the pillow that brings comfort, but simply the presence of another to share the night with.”

✶ A quiet, affectionate smile spreads across his lips as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. “Rest now, melethril nín. You are safe here with me. And if you need to flip the pillow again… you need only ask.”

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad, being the proud and poised elven king of Lindon , would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

🜲 Gil-galad would stand still for a moment, his sharp gaze landing on the metal cuffs now binding you both together. His usual composure would falter for just a second, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His lips might twitch into a barely noticeable smile, though he quickly masked it, his regal demeanor reasserting itself.

🜲 “Well,” he begins in his smooth, steady voice, “this is certainly a creative gesture, my heart.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his tone, but also a touch of wariness. As a king, he’s accustomed to authority and independence, and the idea of being physically bound, even symbolically, might make him momentarily uncomfortable. He would gently touch the cuffs, his fingers brushing over the metal as though considering the weight of the gesture.

🜲 “You certainly know how to make your affections known,” he continues, his voice softening with tenderness. His noble nature keeps him from fully expressing the sudden warmth that fills his chest, but there’s a soft, almost playful look in his eyes now.

🜲 “You’ve captured me in more ways than one, it seems,” Gil-galad would add, his voice carrying a quiet affection. Despite his usual reserved nature, there’s a vulnerability in his words, showing how deeply he cherishes this bond. Though he stands as a High King, in this moment, he would be tethered to you in a way only love could achieve, silently affirming that, despite his reservations, he was yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet concern as you burn your tongue, even though you had just warned yourself of the heat. His sharp gaze softens in a rare moment of affection, though his expression remains composed, as is his nature. He immediately shifts into a protective stance, moving closer as you react to the burning sensation. His tone is gentle yet authoritative, a voice that’s both soothing and filled with care.

🜲 “Patience, my moonlight,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You must learn to heed your own words, for even the most steadfast may falter when it comes to something so simple as food.” He speaks not with reprimand but with quiet amusement, his wisdom guiding his response.

🜲 Gil-galad places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. “Shall I fetch something to cool it?” he offers, ever the considerate king, despite the situation’s triviality. He watches you closely, his gaze not critical but full of concern for your well-being.

🜲 Though this moment may seem small, to him, it’s a reminder of the care and responsibility he feels for those he holds dear. It’s in these small gestures, these fleeting exchanges, that his true affection for you is made evident. He doesn’t need grand displays; his love is shown in the subtle actions of attentiveness and understanding.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

🜲 Gil-galad stands motionless for a moment, his usually calm and composed demeanor faltering as he watches you laugh with such abandon that it quickly escalates into hiccups and snorting. The sounds are unexpected and unrefined, almost animalistic in their intensity. At first, he blinks in mild surprise, not accustomed to such unrestrained expressions of joy from anyone, let alone his beloved. His brow furrows ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to understand the source of this particular outburst.

🜲 But soon enough, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and his stern gaze softens with an affectionate warmth that rarely shows. His posture remains regal, but there’s a flicker of something else—an admiration for the raw, unfiltered joy you’re displaying. He never lets go of his dignified nature, but your laughter, full of life and free from restraint, melts something inside of him.

🜲 “You have a way of surprising me, my heart,” he says, his voice smooth and steady, but now tinged with an affectionate amusement. His usual solemnity is touched by a rare playfulness. As your hiccups continue, Gil-galad can’t help but chuckle softly, the sound low and quiet but genuine.

🜲 “You laugh with the sound of a creature most ungraceful, yet I cannot help but admire the joy you bring,” he continues, his voice warm but steady, his tone not mocking but filled with a sense of endearment. His gaze never wavers from you, taking in the beauty of the moment despite its messiness. The High King of the Noldor, usually a symbol of restraint, finds his heart lightened by your unpolished charm.

🜲 Reaching out with a gentleness that contrasts his usual command, he places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly. “Take a moment to breathe, my little flower,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet concern that reveals how much he cares for you in these small, personal moments. Even as you snort or hiccup, his presence is unwavering, calm, and steady. He doesn’t laugh at you, but rather with you, seeing in your laughter a vulnerability and joy that reminds him of what it means to be truly alive.

🜲 When you finally regain control, he would look at you with fondness and say, “No matter how unpolished, your laughter is a treasure to me.” His words are gentle, but they carry the weight of an everlasting love, as deep and sincere as his commitment to his people.

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet curiosity as you stand in the doorway of the room, momentarily frozen, eyes scanning the surroundings as though searching for something you cannot quite place. His sharp elven eyes observe your confusion with a subtle, amused glint, but his expression remains composed, ever the dignified ruler. He knows the feeling all too well—his long life has often required a great deal of focus, and he’s had moments where his mind wandered despite his best efforts.

🜲 For a fleeting second, he stands silently, studying you with a soft, unspoken affection. His voice, when it comes, is warm but gentle, tinged with a hint of mirth that he rarely allows himself to express. “It seems that even the wisest of us are sometimes led astray by the mind, my heart,” he says, his tone calm yet filled with understanding. His words are not mocking but reflect a genuine empathy, for Gil-galad, despite his regal nature, is not unfamiliar with moments of distraction and confusion.

🜲 He steps closer, his movements fluid and dignified, but his eyes betray a tenderness as they meet yours. “Shall I assist you in your search? Perhaps together, we may uncover what was so important that brought you here.” His words are light, though there is a deeper warmth in them that only someone close to him would notice.

🜲 He would never rush you or press you for an answer, but rather, he’d patiently stand by, offering his quiet presence to help you find your footing again. His role as a leader of Elves is never far from his mind, but in this moment, he chooses to focus on your small human struggle. There’s no sense of impatience in him, only a sense of calm encouragement. He might even gently place a hand on your shoulder, a subtle gesture of support, his gaze never wavering, as though he is ready to help you in whatever way you need.

🜲 “Do you often forget what brings you here, my little flower?” he would ask softly, his voice laced with affection and concern. The depth of his care for you is evident, even in the smallest of moments, showing that his love for you transcends any regal distance.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with a quiet fascination as you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, his sharp elven gaze observing the small, seemingly insignificant act with a kind of patient reverence. To him, such simple, human gestures hold a deep beauty. The night has fallen, and while his mind is often preoccupied with the burdens of kingship, in these moments, his attention is solely on you. His expression is serene, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he silently admires your ability to find comfort in small things.

🜲 As you settle into bed, he steps closer, his tall, commanding presence as regal as ever, though now softened by the warmth of intimacy. “I see you have found the secret of a peaceful rest,” he says, his voice smooth and calm, a hint of amusement coloring his words. “Such a simple thing, yet it speaks volumes of the care you take for yourself.” His tone carries an affection that contrasts with his usually serious nature, showing a side of him that only you are privy to.

🜲 Gil-galad would pause for a moment, watching the way you relax into the coolness of the pillow, his eyes softening. “In a world where so much is constant and unyielding, it is a comfort to know there are small, simple pleasures to be found,” he continues, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet reverence for the simple joys you bring into his life. He is a King who has borne countless burdens, but watching you find peace in such a small, human act makes him feel grounded in a way he rarely experiences.

🜲 When he finally joins you, his movements are graceful, measured, and yet filled with a quiet tenderness. Gil-galad would lie down beside you, his own pillow perhaps a bit colder than the one you had flipped, but his presence beside you is a warmth of its own. He would take a moment to simply enjoy the tranquility, allowing the weight of the day to slip away in the stillness of the night, only for a brief moment remembering how precious these quiet moments are with you.

🜲 With a final glance at your now-resting form, he might quietly whisper, “The coolness of the night is nothing compared to the warmth you bring to my heart.” His voice is a low murmur, barely more than a soft breath in the quiet of the room, but the depth of his affection is clear. Even in these simplest of moments, his love for you is quietly ever-present.

I’m working on the other characters like , lindir, haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, elladan, elrohir, Legolas, celeborn, erestor, glrofindel, círdan, adar 💚🍃

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #3

Strangelove

kinktober day three | restraints, bratting (if you squint, he's very polite) | cw: 18+, sub!Gil, service dom!gender neutral! Reader, inappropriate use of Elvish rope, mouthy princess gil, oral sex (m receiving), safe sane and consensual | word count 4,1k | author's note under the cut | click here for the full kinktober list |

“Now,” a majestic voice rolls over the room like thunder.

You cannot see its owner for that he is hidden behind several of his advisors but your mind paints a picture familiar and amusing.

Face scrunched in petulance, crown slightly askew, the High King bends down to bring his face closer to the dignitary. “I have spoken all there is to say on the matter. Do not make me repeat myself!” He straightens promptly, dark eyes flashing in flickering golden light, and addresses the expectant crowd. “I have exceeded my quota of patience for today! Take your leave! Ego!” The command comes off as harsh even for the King when he is in one of his moods, so he hurries to soften the blow. “We shall continue on the morrow.”

Golden robes billowing out behind him, High King Erenion Gil-Galad takes his leave without sparing a second glance towards the disappointed Elves. Some nod in understanding, knowing just how heavy-handed some of the advisories can get when vying for the King's favour. Some frown and rush off towards the main exit, muttering displeasures to themselves. You linger, letting the crowd disperse into smaller groups, and nimbly make your way towards the side exit, unnoticed amongst various discussions and arguments.

The narrow hallway greets you with a silence and a chill, this year's autumn exceptionally windswept and grey. Erenion's abandoned outer robe stands out like a sore thumb: carelessly thrown over a toreutic statue, it glistens with what little sunshine pierces through low-hanging clouds pregnant with rain and fog. You pick up the garment and fold it at the waist before throwing it over your shoulder, adjusting the pile of notes to your chest. Well-worn soles of your shoes make no noise as you near the King's private study.

The door stands open, no more than a hand's width, and most of your field of view inside the room is occupied by the broad back of your King. It is tense, hard at the nape and taut at the seams of his shirt. Often, you have privately wondered of the possible incident that may finally cause him to burst out of his clothing - once or twice, you were sure Lady Galadriel had come very close to causing Erenion to simply spontaneously combust.

Such he stood with his back turned to you. Pent up, hard-boiled and simply done. A mostly empty carafe of wine at his left hand, a drained glass in the right.

“More wine,” he said the moment you announced yourself with a light step and a creak of the door.

“Yes, my Lord,” you replied evenly, racking your brain for the probable location of the nearest servant. Erenion Gil-Galad was a fair king and a kind ellon but that did not stop all servants from clearing his path when he got into a particularly sullen mood. A sulking King was no good company to anybody.

You trotted over to the nearest chair to place his outer robes onto. He turned swiftly. You needn't raise your eyes to see him struggle to swallow whatever bitter remark had been curling on his tongue; even so hotly angered, stupid he was not. Erenion knew better than to bestow unjust abuse towards his most dutiful and loyal attendant.

He spoke your name and you nodded in acknowledgement before smoothing out his robes and placing your stack of parchment on a nearby table. Not engaging in chit-chat but simply offering a quiet, steady, ataractic presence to the disgruntled King. Soft swishing of the parchment as you rearranged it invited a soothing ubiquity into the cool room. You felt, not saw, your King's shoulders drop. The clink of an empty glass being put down followed suit.

“These noxious vultures!..” Came the predicted grumble. Erenion's footsteps, unusually heavy and resounding for an Elf, traced a path from that corner of the room towards his desk. “Arguing for the sake of it...” Some of the more passionate choice words got lost in the pull of drawers being opened and paper bags' crinkling.

You hid a secretive smile. The Royal Snack Shelf, having been restocked by yours truly, was doing splendid at its job. A whimsical, silly detail even, but nevertheless quintessential at easing the burden of your King's day-to-day routine. A mentor in your past had given you valuable lessons on sweetening the bitterness of all that is tedious and mundane and you had taken them all to heart.

Periodically interrupted by crunching, the King's mouth ejected a day's worth of vitriol into the world, onto you and onto nobody at large, as he paced the long, spacious office like a caged lion. With every sentence he seemed to deflate a little and you counted every tiny victory as you mindlessly sorted and re-aligned your pages. The ranting was a canonical event and you did not interfere.

“... Grach! What secret information do your scrolls contain that is more important than listening to your King?!” Erenion's exclamation was not loud, but his deep and rich voice made it sound petulant and harsh.

Ah. One of those nights.

You straightened your back, taking your sweet time to readjust the muscles of your spine that were beginning to cramp from your hunched position and rapidly evened the stack that had previously preoccupied all of your attention. The bottom of it connected with the table with a sharp, resound tap, and Erenion immediately froze in his tracks.

You turned around slowly, body coiled in perfect precision, a masterful image of picture-perfect regard. Wide-eyed, Erenion frowned, dark brows creasing over the bridge of his nose. Your voice was even when you spoke.

“I am your dutiful servant, my King.” Bowing at the neck and not at the back, you crossed your hands behind yourself, looking him directly in the eye. “It is my job to thoroughly inspect all that concerns you and see to your comforts, which includes your spiritual well-being. At the present moment, it is imperative I allow you to vent your frustration without risk of scrutiny and judgment.”

Erenion, ever the imperfect perfectionist, scoffed. A knee-jerk reaction you harboured no ill will towards, for that you knew it would serve to be so much more rewarding when he finally decided to yield. As the King's brow darkened further with peevishness, his body language spoke of unmistakable interest. A creature of greatness and great contrasts was your King, most exhilarating. Bittersweet, like sour cherry wine.

“You think you know me better than myself?”

You pretended to think about it. “In certain areas, yes.” Jerking your shoulder a little, you took small, short steps towards him, observing him for any changes. Although his face was now contorted in a kingly version of a pout, his chest remained open and shoulders lax.

Looking down on you, Erenion seemed almond amused. “And what is it that you think I presently require?”

“Temperance,” you crooned. The air between your bodies thickened. With your eyes, you traced the fluid lines of his arms covered by his form-fitting undershirt. The hills of his biceps tapered down to wide forearms and sturdy wrists; towards broad palms, adorned with multiple rings but calloused from practice of warcraft. Erenion Gil-Galad was a beautiful King, all smooth lines and luxuriance from the regal curl of his plush mouth down to his shaking fingertips. “You need a lesson in temperance, my King.”

“Is that so?” He inquired lowly. Amusement, intrigue and apprehension all mixed up in his voice, colouring it with hoarseness usually reserved for lovers of a capricious occasion. Erenion was not known for those, but then again, it was unbecoming of a Noldorin High King to voluntarily overturn control of his persona to an assistant, even if it was temporary.

But you were just so good at what you did. How could he not surrender? With a gentle touch and a sharp word, you beheld the King within your eye as if nothing else outside it existed at all. The usually reserved personal aide, you became anything he needed you to be behind closed doors, be it a punching bag filled with sharp nails that cut him right back at every snap or a firm palm, offering rich handfuls of well-earned praise.

There was no diplomatic school advanced enough to lecture anyone on how to handle a King, so you could say that it came naturally. And proof was in the (re)actions: the willingness of Him to acquiesce, the intensity with which you handled him and just how far you were willing to go.

Erenion Gil-Galad stepped back. Again, and then again, until he landed noisily in the nearest chair, his broad, tall body sagging into the comfort of soft upholstery. Like this, you were just about eye-level with each other, and you beheld him with genuine sympathy and utter devotion. He stared back, eyes wide, deep irises seamlessly blending into dark pupils.

A cursory sweep around the room while he was contemplating your expression revealed an unexpected treasure: a thick roll of elvish rope laid on a nearby chair, likely accidentally left behind by a commander rushing in to receive or confirm orders. You smiled and looked away, least your plans be ruined by Erenion's inherent reaction to do the opposite of what people wanted him to do.

Carefully, you raised your hands to rid him of the crown. It always had to go first - dutiful servant as you were, it was most cumbersome to be reminded of his higher status when doing something scandalous with the King's body. Not that the situation lacked appeal, as a concept, but the crown had a weight attached to it. You were set on freeing the King of his burdens, after all.

Erenion's eyelashes fluttered as you gently carded your fingers through long, thick chocolate hair. Tugging lightly at the roots and brushing over the shortened warrior's edges at his temples. Tracing his strong jawline to brush a teasing thumb over his lips just to withdraw before he licked it like a playful kitten. You caressed the sensitive leaf shape of his ear and were immediately rewarded with a pleased rumble coming from the depts of his chest. For now, Erenion was much content to sit back in his chair and hold the outside of his palm against your leg, but it would not last.

Not when your fingers made swift work of the laces on his shirt and freed him from it. As the fabric landed on a nearby ottoman, his large palms settled over your hips, possessively kneading the meat there.

“Impatient,” you chided with a gentle shake of your head, eliciting a displeased grumble from the King, followed up by his fingertips digging deeper into you, clinging to your bones. A tap on his nose caused his eyes to shoot open. Your smile only grew. “Impertinent.”

Opening his mouth, Erenion's eyes shot to his crown abandoned nearby and back at your face. He pursed his lips, and, in lieu of a response, leaned in to rub his cheek over your clothed chest. You stood still, letting him find his comfort, but did little else. Until the very moment Erenion withdrew, his famous kingly pout back on full display.

“Melmë.”

“Erenion.” You echoed, matching his tone. “Are we in a rush?”

“Yes!” He grumbled. Looked at the window, where the clouds had obscured stars and the moon, blanketing Lindon within an impenetrable darkness. Several candles illuminated the room and that was it: not a single torch was lit outside the window. Erenion sighed. “Well, no, alas...”

“We are not in a rush.” You placed your palms atop his own, squeezing them once: a wordless command to release you. He did so and you stroked his face, his eyes, which he closed. Placing a kiss on his forehead, you swiftly grabbed the rope and returned with it, unfurling the roll as Erenion grew visibly more restless from the lack of touch. He dared open his eyes and immediately gasped, aghast. “Temperance,” you reminded him.

“No!” He protested, but made no move to get up or otherwise interrupt your planned activity.

You were sure many would call you mad for enjoying this exact moment of your games: the feigned resistance. Erenion would gripe and groan and complain and inevitably ruin his trousers in the process and there was no sweeter reward for your troubles that could be. The more he objected, the higher he riled himself up. That final leap over the edge beckoned you both in the distance. Erenion fell apart beautifully and...

A sigh. “Yes,” you stressed, wrapping the rope around his chest and the back of the chair before weaving it swiftly and delicately over his forearms, effectively securing them to the armrests. The length of the rope allowed for a safe amount of movement and several pretty knots.

It should withstand a good deal of resistance; Erenion's awareness of his own size and strength and their comparison to yours put an upper limit on just how physical these games would get. Ever cognisant, Erenion would flat out refuse even the possibility of causing you pain with his body so certain workarounds had to implemented. And even then, you found yourself wistful, wishing nothing more than for your King to lose himself to simple, mindless pleasures.

When was Erenion Gil-Galad ever simple? Effectively prevented from seeking out touch, he sat poised and regal, chin pointed in defiance, as he watched you shed your outer robes and and miscellaneous clothing. His eyes roved over you hungrily, yearning, as you stood before him in nothing but your underthings. Veins of his hands thick with rushing blood, what little was south of his trousers anyway: obscured by his breeches, the outlined of his hard cock stood as tall and proud as him.

You sat astride it, reveling in the hiss that came from his lips as you pressed your weight atop it and stayed still. The line of his jaw was fascinating to explore: you enlisted your lips, your fingers to do so.

As you'd predicted, his patience was... Not there.

“Well?”

“Hm?” You rumbled at the root of his ear, hot breath ghosting over the lobe.

“What now?” Centuries at Court kept his voice steady; his body was the biggest traitor. Blood rushed, a siren's song to you, enticing to switch your attentions to the other side of his face. Tenderly and thoroughly, you lavished it with attention, attacking Erenion's erogenous zones with tempered precision. You were in no rush to reply. He could not wait to feel. “I am sat in my office, indisposed and restrained, for the sake of your amusement?” He spat.

“No,” you murmured. And immediately corrected yourself because lying to your king is wrong. “Well, yes. But you are restrained for your own sake, as well. Good things come to those who know how to wait.” You preached, finishing off with a quick bite at the ball of his shoulder. Your hands slid lower, palming his thick pectorals, flicking his nipples.

There wasn't much to do but feel and bestow sensation and Erenion knew that. And enjoyed it so, his length twitching against your leg as you alternated between hard and soft, fast and slow, biting and kissing. Periodically, you withdrew enough to observe the changes on his face: how it grew from annoyed to flat to quivering. He panted softly through parted lips, groaning upon coming in contact with your own sex.

The buck of his hips straightened you up atop his lap. “You are much too impatient, darling,” you whispered against his lips. “Rushing to start one thing before the last has even ended,” withdrawing from his cock, you kissed him gently, pulling away as soon as he leaned in to envelop your tongue with his hot mouth. A whine slipped out instead and you smiled, brushing your closed mouth over his, moist and spit-slick.

“Multitasking is a necessary skill!” He objected, the ‘for a King’ hanging heavy and unsaid.

In lieu of a response, you ran your hands through his crown-free hair and gathered it in a loose ponytail, arching his head back. He moaned, low and long, and you rewarded him with a kiss to his lips. He did not misbehave this time as you mouthed at each other, losing time and space where your lips connected. You heard the creaking of wood, felt the bulge of Erenion's muscles as his body released all of its pent up tension.

Slowly, you lowered yourself back down to sit over his cock. Swallowing his moan and a noise of your own, you felt sparks fly as a sloppy movement brushed over where you were most sensitive. It was a sobering action. There was very little time for pleasure while you were doing your job, or, rather, the pleasure came from granting your King such. Boldly, your tongue snuck into his mouth to coax out his own so you could suck on it with conviction.

Erenion moaned, back arching within confines of his restraints. A wet spot was steadily growing under you, the result of your combined desire. Your mouth slid off his, smearing spit over his cheek as you panted. To pretend to be unaffected would be pointless and foolish. A pair of dark eyes sparking with amusement met yours: he looked too smug for an Elf who was at the brink of coming undone.

Cheeks flushed and mouth wet, Erenion Gil-Galad gave you a little smirk.

You wished nothing more than to bite him. So you did. Teeth clashed as you initiated another kiss, taking full control of it this time. It was wet and messy, full of growling and fangs as you temporarily abandoned your gentleness. You fucked his mouth with yours until your tasted bloody meat, and only then you withdrew, observing the momentary change in his behaviour. He was surprised, conquered, staring at you with reverence.

Your game of tug of war continued. He pushed and you pulled: he arched his chest and you bit down on his nipple, pulling it taut and letting your teeth scrape the surrounding sensitive tissue until his gasps descended into whimpers and bitten-off, broken Quenya. You raked blunt nails over his sides as he shuddered with sensation somewhere between pleasure and pain. Very few knew their King was ticklish and even fewer had the skills to incorporate it into ardurous sensual torture. You could have given any experienced courtesan a run for their money with how you played the High King akin to an instrument.

Maglor's incredible and terrifying singing had nothing on the broken noises coming out of the hot wet mouth of your King. Erenion was no songbird, no, he was a lone wolf howling at the moon. You observed the results of your handiwork as he shook with desire. There was little else to do but marvel.

Erenion Gil-Galad was a vision. Arms and chest criss-crossed with angry red welts where the ropes had rubbed a webbed pattern into his skin, he sat flushed and panting. Mouth red, as if wine stained, and eyes lidded, moved in wordless pleas for release. The need was showcased at the apex of his thighs where he'd leaked right through his trousers. Brown fabric was stained nearly black all around his sizeable bulge.

It was when you found yourself kneeling before it that reality sharply hit you in the face. Here you were, a servant, kneeling at the feet of your King, and he could do little else than plead for your mercy. And there was nothing else you wished to see more than give it to him - to see his face fall slack and easy, to see his twitching fingers finally find rest. But it was not the point of this. One release just bought the two of you a little time until the next.

The only thing you truly had control over was the amount of time it passed between the two. Not when you gave it and not how you gave it, for all that Erenion had to do was dismiss your advances and you would go back to sorting his mail and compiling his daily schedule.

Distracted, you nuzzled into his crotch, and fiddled with his trousers. His erect cock greeted you with a throb; the King moaned and threw his head back, straining the ropes to a point you began to consider they would lose their magic at once and simply snap. No such thing happened even as you blew gently onto the heated head of his cock.

“Cruel!..” He mumbled in between curses in languages you did not even know. “I was patient!” He objected to your withdrawal from his cock with fervor.

You were simply adjusting yourself. Not that he saw it, nearly delirious with need.

“Patient on account of lacking other options,” you teased him mirthfully.

He chuckled, but that noise quickly turned into a moan as you stuck out your tongue to trace the thick, prominent vein curving along the underside of his cock. Taking care to avoid the sensitive head, you took some tablets to lavish the shaft with soft licks of tour tongue. The sweet-salty taste of him beckoned you, clear droplets sliding down his cock just so you could curl your tongue around the middle of it to catch as much of the nectar as you could.

You went downwards, popping each of his testicles into your mouth. A whine in a pitch very few had ever heard echoed in the room; the chair creaked, it's back legs lifting off the ground. You immediately withdrew, placing apologetic kisses all along his cock as you ascended towards the tip. Erenion had been patient indeed and was now firmly stood at the edge of total overstimulation.

Sensitive Elven bodies, used to hard wars and tender lovemaking, had a very fine line that separated pleasure and pain. It'd been a steep learning curve to learn how to pluck the strings of your King just right, but once you figured out how to get him in that sweet spot betwixt the two and never firmly on the side of either, your sessions became something beautiful.

You wrapped your lips around him - he shuddered - and hollowed out your cheeks, tonguing along the frenulum as you swallowed as much of your King as would fit in your mouth. What couldn't fit was taken up by your hand, working him with all your might, going in for the winning round with single-minded abandon.

Erenion bucked his hips wildly, adding to the cacophony of your coupling. Moans, sighs and wet squelching, the creak of the chair that surely was to be replaced come morning - it all faded into the background as you kept your eyes firmly on the face of your King. Contorted in sweet agony, he gasped for breath once, twice, before his brow turned lax and a torrent of bittersweet nectar flooded your mouth.

Kneeling in awe and reverence, you swallowed it all. Erenion's chest heaved, covered in a translucent sheen of cool sweat, and he remained moaning softly all throughout it, reacting only when his flaccid flesh slipped from your mouth. His mouth was open and eyes closed as you undid the knots, content to ignore your own discomfort until the moment to relieve it offered itself.

You rubbed his wrists, eyeing his face for any discomfort. There was none - Erenion remained as timelessly beautiful when disheveled as he was in his golden garb. The corners of his mouth turned up in a lazy, absent smile, he freed a wrist to pull you in. You mirrored his smile.

“Come,” he spoke, voice rough. Unsteadily, he stood up, and pulled you towards the hidden door leading to his chambers. “We are not finished yet.”

Pretending to be surprised, you chuffed softly at the lack of care he showed at his own state of undress. He truly cared not, for he was the King, and managing his reputation (and any missteps of his in that regard) was your responsibility as his personal attendant anyway.

Would he ever make it easy for you? No. But, perhaps, one day you might get him to beg...

Someone said slightly bratty sub gil x service dom reader? OK I said it. I am pretty sure this is gender neutral, but in case it isn't, point out gendered things/words to me. I didn't bother to proofread it because I got too horny while writing it. I don't like this as much as I wish I did but oh well.

a/n: the bigger sub/smaller dom is an actual issue if you get physical during your scenes. I've dommed men roughly the size of Ben (I'm 5'4 130?lbs) and there are scenes and things that we simply cannot do safely, unless the sub is at least somewhat restrained. Even further, taking into account that canonical gil-salad is 7+ft... Tie that elf down before you let him brat/overstim or you'll get flat out 💅yeeted💅 across all Lindon.

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

chapter five:

<last chapter> <next chapter>

➴ chapter warnings: none!

➴ word count: 3.9k

💌 from me to you: honestly, today was a lot! i broke my phone yesterday and had to buy a new one today (i’m now poor :,) and i deadass forgot my email and i lost all of my works AHAH (quinn’s voice: it’s funny but it’s not funny). thankfully, i had already saved all of TYPA chapters here on tumblr so they’re safe and well. anyways, enjoy! 🤎

౨ৎ

2024, APRIL.

lavieenrose

Vancouver, Canada

liked by madisoncarter, adrianalima, zayn and 528,012 other people

lavieenrose We are thrilled to announce our newest Flower, Madison Carter! Welcome to our garden, gorgeous! 🌹

View all 1,203 comments

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madisoncarter bellahadid <3

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imgmodels That’s our girl!!!

౨ৎ

“SO QUINN Hughes is your childhood best friend?” Victoria sounded amused.

You chuckle. “Something like that, yeah.”

“What a small world we live in!” She raised her arm, making prayer hands. “God, if you’re out there, make my dream of fucking Luke Hughes come true.”

“Oh my God, you’re the worst.” You joke, watching as she winks at you, going back to her rambling about how funny it was that you and the Hughes were familiar with each other.

It was the week before your first official fashion show in Vancouver, and things were extremely busy. Today you and the other models had to visit the hall where the show would happen so you could practice your walk and get familiar with the runway’s layout.

Victoria wasn’t a model per se, even if she was one of the most gorgeous women you have ever seen, but she still made sure to be there with you so you wouldn't be totally alone.

The other models were nice to you but you were still extremely shy, and it usually took you a while for you to get used to new people. Thankfully, Victoria could help you just fine.

“But like,” she raises her voice again, staring at you funny. “Should I tell Gil to send the Canucks some invitations?”

You raised your brow at her, ready to say no. After that night at your house, a week ago, you and Quinn were… different. Being one hundred percent honest, you were different with Quinn. He was still the same as always, texting every day and asking about how you and Bella were doing, since he was away— again— and couldn’t check on you in person.

And you thought it was sweet.

Awfully sweet.

Dangerously sweet.

After the thoughts you had while he sat on your couch that night, thick thighs spread cozily across your couch, dress shirt opened and hair falling perfectly on his face, you decided that being away from him was probably the best thing you could do for your relationship.

“I don’t think they’ll be interested in coming,” you lie, shrugging. “It’s not like they’re interested in lingeries.”

“Hum—”

“At least not in the way you want them to be!” You quickly added, not letting Victoria’s mind wander to horny places.

“I don’t know about that, Mads,” she clicks her tongue, watching as the crew move around you both, lunch break already about to end. “We could invite only the single ones. What do you think?”

You laugh and joke: “I think that’s a great idea.”

Obviously, it wasn’t. Nothing about Quinn seeing you in lingerie was a good idea, but who were you to crash Victoria’s dream? Besides, the Canucks would never actually go to a fashion show unless they were forced to, so you had nothing to worry about.

“Okay, Madison, I need you to walk up there again.” Rory, the casting director called you, and you promptly got out of your seat to do what he needed you to.

And just like that your thirty minute lunch break was over.

౨ৎ

“THIS IS the day you all have been waiting for, girls,” James yells, loud enough to be heard by all the fifty girls standing backstage. “I need you all to shine today!”

You could feel your hands sweaty and your heart beating faster than ever. Today was the fashion show you've been preparing for everyday ever since you moved to Canada and watching it all unfold in front of you was anything but not stressful.

This was the first fashion show you did in months and you knew people were expecting something big.

“Madison,” James calls you, and you immediately go to his side, excluded from the other girls. He looks at you with his fierce, cat eyes and you almost gulp. “Today’s your night. The majority of the people are here to see you, they’re here to see Madison Carter. Do you understand that?”

You nod, blinking fast. “I do.”

“Great,” he crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t say this in front of the other girls because I don’t want them to feel bad, but having you here is pure gold, and the press is ready to put any mistake in a headline. So, can you be my prettiest flower tonight, baby?”

You smile, feeling confident all of a sudden. You had to remind yourself that you were pretty, even if sometimes your brain liked to tell you otherwise. People were here to see you, they paid money to watch you walk down that stage, and you’d give them a show.

You’d prove to everyone that you were just that girl. Even your own family.

“I can, J.” You confirm, shaking your arms slightly.

“Then great. You know when you have to enter the stage, don’t you?” You nod again, of course you did. You all rehearsed this so many times that it would be hard for you not to know. James turns around and starts speaking loud again, trying to talk to all fifty girls at once. “RAYE is here tonight and even though your job is to walk, I want you all to interact with her and her songs. I want you all on time and I want you all on your best behavior.”

Celestial Allure was the name of tonight’s collection, all of you wearing different shades of white, pastel pink, blue and purple, not to mention the tiny golden details in your hair and heels. Your makeup consisted in white eyeshadow, heavy eyeliner and big, angelic lashes. You had little to no blush in your cheeks, the focus on representing a pale, unreal face. Your lips had a natural pinkish color and you had highlighter all over your collarbone and nose.

Your opening outfit couldn’t even be called an outfit; it was simply a white, twinkle strap lace corset with matching panties, heels that adored your legs and reminded you of something Barbie would wear, your hair was perfectly styled with waves falling down like a waterfall.

You took a deep breath, the first notes of Escapism echoing through the entire place, and you knew it was the time for your entrance.

After saying a quick prayer, you enter the stage, immediately putting on your work mindset, not letting any of the hundred eyes make you feel nervous. One step and then another, your body moved alongside the music’s beat, RAYE’s warm smile and powerful presence making you feel less nervous. You made sure that your body was moving like James and Rory had instructed, lightly and featherly.

The camera flashes didn’t hurt your eyes anymore, thankfully, because there were so many of them that even if the building had dim lighting, the stage looked as bright as the sun.

“A little context if you care to listen, I find myself in a shit position,” you mouthed the words, walking down the stage like you owned, because, in fact— you did. “The man that I love sat me down last night, and he told me that it's over, dumb decision.”

You waved to some of the cameras, smiling from ear to ear, genuinely happy.

Even if it was a hard world, the happiness you got from modeling and wearing beautiful, delicate pieces like the one you were wearing right now was unbeatable.

Outfit after outfit, walk after walk, you made it to the end of the show, letting your eyes get shiny with tears when James grabbed your hand and walked with you to the end of the stage, raising your arm and bowing with you. You smiled, watching as people clapped for you and shouted your name.

Backstage, you ran around hugging the other models, all of you so emotional and happy. Your favorite part about working with La Vie en Rose was that they prioritized girls who supported other girls, and not girls who tried to get on top by dragging other girls, something that happened daily in the fashion world.

Victoria also hugged you, taking pictures and handing you your outfit change so you could talk to the press.

“Madison, Madison,” your name was on every reporter’s mouth, flashes and cameras being shoved in your face. You smiled through the uncomfortable feeling of all of your actions and breathing being recorded and pointed to one of the interviewers there, letting her speak.

“You were absolutely divine today. How are you feeling?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” you smile, shaking your head. “This is the first show I’ve done in a while and I’m still getting back from the high.”

“The crowd’s reaction was amazing. Did you expect such a strong response?”

“No,” you laugh, sincerely. “I am used to my supporters in Los Angeles but knowing this many people would show up here in Vancouver? It’s insane. But I’m grateful anyway.”

“Speaking of moving to Vancouver, what can we expect from your Canadian side?”

“Everything. I’m always open to new opportunities and signing a contract with a brand as special to me as La Vie en Rose can mean a lot of good things.” You move to the next reporter, who was almost shoving the microphone down your throat.

“What can you say about the Canucks team being here? Do you know any of them personally?”

That caught you so off guard you had to hold back a gasp.

“What do you mean?” You ask carefully, trying your best to keep your smile from falling. “The… Canucks are here?”

“You didn’t know?” The reporter scoffs. “We have players like Quinn Hughes, Brock Boeser, Conor Garland and Elias Pettersson in the audience.”

“Oh,” you say, moving your head to the side, trying to see something past that sea of cameras. “Hum. I didn’t know they were here. I think it’s, hum, great and… yeah.”

“Time’s up, fellas!” Victoria shouts, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you to the side. “The other models are right there, ready for your questions. Thank you all, bye.”

“Thank you guys, have a good night,” you say before heading backstage. You turn your head to Victoria’s direction, eyes doubled in size. “Did you know the Canucks are here?”

“‘Course I did. I sent the invite.” She answers like it was nothing.

“You what?”

“Well, basically it wasn’t me, it was Gil, but I was the one who told him to invite them— and why are you so surprised anyway? We talked about this and you said it was a great idea!”

“I was joking, obviously,” you shout-whisper, walking around the room with Victoria beside you. “You’re crazy.”

“Well, now they’re here and we have to greet them.” She smiles, walking around people with a gorgeous smile plastered on her face. “Hi, good night.”

You had to set your apprehension aside and greet the other people there, so many designers, fashion students and artists congratulated you and asked for pictures. You were happy people were as pleased as you about you moving to Canada and even happier to see that you had so many supporters.

“Oh my God, there’s Quinn Hughes,” Victoria whispers beside you, making you snap your head in his direction.

And there he was. Wearing a gorgeous, dark blue suit, hair slicked back and hands in his pockets, standing there like Prince Charming himself. He was surrounded by three other men, who you could only imagine were his teammates, chatting quietly with one of them.

“Let’s go say hi.” Victoria grabs your hand and makes her way to their little chatting circle, Quinn noticing you before anyone else.

His eyes held a different kind of feeling that night, with him eyeing you up and down. His eyes discreetly trailed your body, the tiniest smile adorning his lips when his eyes met yours.

“Maddie.” He said your name with that raspy voice of his, making you shiver internally.

You smile shyly, watching as he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“Hi, Quinn,” you greet him back, face warm with all the attention. “Hum. Hi, guys,” you greet the other men, as six pairs of eyes stare back at you. “I’m Madison.”

They all give you a cheek kiss and a hug, broad bodies embracing yours like a giant blanket. They introduced themselves, and you were right; they were Quinn’s teammates.

“This is Victoria,” you introduce your friend, who eagerly hugs the players as well.

“Did you guys enjoy the show?” She asks and you watch as they all laugh and nod.

The one you remember being called Conor speaks first. “Honestly when we got the invitation I thought it was really random. But it was actually fire.”

“Yeah,” one of them, Pettersson, you think, agrees, putting his hands inside his pockets. “The girls are pretty. You’re pretty.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, smiling and thanking them.

“We were just going out for drinks at a bar just down the street, do you want to join?” One of them— you didn’t remember the name— asks, and before you could even think of what to say, Victoria jumps in front of you with her eager yes.

You looked at Quinn, watching as he stared right back at you, pointing to the entrance with his head.

You all walked out of the event hall together, photographers going crazy with the flashes and you knew that besides talking about your performance that night, people were also going to talk about your proximity with the Hughes and the Canucks.

The other players chatted with Victoria in front of you, while you and Quinn walked behind them, close enough that your naked shoulder touched his covered arm.

“Aren’t you cold?” He blurts out of nowhere, and you smile, shaking your head no.

“Not really. I’m still coming down from the high from earlier.”

“You were amazing, Mads,” he praises you, licking his lips. “Never seen you like that before. Just… stunning.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, not sure why Quinn’s compliment made you feel better than if it were anyone else’s. “Did you like it?” Even though Victoria had already asked them this question, you asked it again, because you wanted to know what Quinn had thought of it.

“Yes,” he winks, smirking at you. “Yes, I did.”

“Great.”

You continued to make small talk on your way to the bar, underestimating how crowded it would actually be. Thankfully, there were a lot of Canucks fans there, and a group of random people let you stay at their table in exchange for a picture with their captain, Quinn, which he promptly took.

“Do you want to drink anything?” The handsome brown-haired fella, Garland, you think, asked you, a few seconds after you sat down.

“Let her breathe first, idiot,” you heard Quinn mumble beside you, making you laugh.

“Maybe a Sex on the Beach?” You said simply, not really interested in Conor’s flirting. He’s hot, but he isn’t Quinn.

Maybe it’s time for you to stop thinking that you can actually have anything with Quinn, you thought, feeling yourself deflate just a little.

“Freaky,” Connor answered, before moving to the bar with the other guys.

“You won’t drink anything?” Victoria asked Quinn, since he was the man who stayed at the table.

He shrugs. “I’m driving.”

“Oh, we love a responsible king,” she nods to herself, giving you an approving smile. What she was approving was still a mystery.

Quinn eyes you, silently questioning you where you’d found that girl, and you only smiled, raising your shoulders.

The rest of the team took a while to come back, something about the bar being too crowded, but Conor handed your cocktail and winked at you.

“So, Madison,” he starts, sitting in front of you. “Are you single?”

Boeser whistled while Pettersson laughed out loud, hitting Conor’s shoulders.

“You’re very straightforward, aren’t you?” You retort, roiling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. “But, yes, I am. I’m not interested in anything serious at the moment, though.”

“One step forward for Conie here but at what cost?” Boeser shouts, clicking his beer on the table. You can hear Victoria laughing with Pettersson beside you, and you seriously want to pinch her cheeks.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Quinn speaks beside you, and suddenly all eyes are on him, yours included. He seems to realize what he had just said because his cheeks turn a very light shade of pink. “I mean, with a face like yours, I’d find it pretty hard to believe that any woman would be interested in you.”

“Fuck you, Cap,” Conor gives him the finger, sipping on his beer before winking at you. “Maddie here knows what’s good.”

“Don’t call her that,” Quinn hisses and both you and Victoria share a stare with each other.

Thankfully, Vic’s really good at changing topics and after five seconds she got all of the Canucks players talking with her at the same time. Garland seemed to have forgotten about you momentarily, and you were thankful for that.

You turned your head to the side, staring at Quinn who looked like he was having the worst time of his life. You frowned.

“What got you so upset?” You whisper, watching as he stops staring at his water bottle to stare at you.

“I’m not upset.”

“This little thing here…” you place your finger between his eyebrows, watching the furrow disappear underneath your finger. “…tells me a different story. Was it Conor?”

“Why would I be upset with him?” He taps his fingers on the table, once, twice.

“I know that you don’t like it when people call me Maddie.” You tell him, smiling softly. You would never confess it to him, but you didn’t like when people called you that too. Quinn had been the first person to call you that, to give you a nickname, and you wanted to keep that one between you both.

“He just can’t keep himself inside his pants,” He admits, and you smile even wider, finding the entire situation entirely funny. “It’s not funny, Madison.”

“It is to me,” you rest your chin on your hand. “Well, I know he won’t get inside my pants any time soon.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, and, finally, you watch his face transform into something that wasn’t a scowl or a frown. “Good.”

You gulp and pray to God that he doesn’t notice the way your thighs slowly close together, your body clearly desperate for something. Something that anyone else could give you, but you wanted it from the only person who was out of your league.

But perhaps God wasn’t listening to you like He usually did, because the way Quinn’s blue eyes turned into a grayish shade before he calmly placed his right hand on your left thigh told you a different truth.

Then he somehow inserted himself back in the conversation, leaving his hands on your thigh for the rest of the night, while you tried to keep up with what they were saying but failed miserably since all you could think was how his hands looked so big on you that maybe, just maybe, some of his other parts would be big too…

You sighed, forgetting for a few seconds that you were in public. Being around Quinn made your head work in the wrong way and trying to get back on the right path was tiring and exhausting.

“Are you not having fun?” You scared yourself with how close Quinn actually was, his lips almost touching your ear.

“‘M just tired,” you mumbled, feeling bad for interrupting Quinn’s conversation, even if the rest of the people at the table were still talking animatedly between themselves. “And I miss Bella.”

You hear his breathy laugh beside you. “I miss Bella too. Come on, let me take you home.”

“You don’t need to,” you say, shaking your head slowly. “I’ll call a cab.”

“You’re funny.” he says before opening his wallet and placing two hundred Canadian dollars on the table. “Madison and I are going home.”

“Uh, well… bye?” You say, uncertain of what you should do. It seemed rude to you to just leave like this, but you also knew Quinn wasn’t backing up now, and you were telling the truth when you told him you miss Bella. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“The pleasure was all ours, baby,” Conor says, winking at you. “Come see our next game. We’ll save you and Vicky a spot.” You tell him that you will, and then you smile politely, kissing Victoria’s cheek.

“Do you want me to take you home?” You ask, and she turns the cutest shade of red, eyes staring at Boeser for just a brief second before turning at you again. Oh. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” she winks, kissing you too. “Drive safe.”

You briefly hug the other players, wishing them a good night before you leave the bar with Quinn’s hand on your lower back, gently guiding you to his car. The drive to your house was quiet, with Quinn making tiny remarks here and there, but you were so close to saying fuck to all of your beliefs and kissing him that you realized that staying quiet was probably the best move.

It wasn’t like you thought Quinn wasn’t into you. You weren’t dumb, and you knew what the stares he gave you meant, but you also knew that what you had with him, your friendship, was precious and not something that happened to everyone.

Even if you’d just restarted seeing each other a short while ago, it was like you hadn’t stopped talking at all. He still took care of you like he did to young Madison years ago, and he still let you take care of him like you would’ve done if he’d stayed in your life when you grew up.

So risking it all just because you were horny? Not a chance.

“You’re so quiet,” he points out, making a U turn. “Do you miss Bella this much?”

You smile, resting your head on the window. “I do, yeah. But I’m also just tired. Today was a lot.”

“I was telling the truth when I said you were stunning, Maddie. You owned that stage. No one was looking at anyone else.”

“Oh, stop it, Quinn,” you tried to hide the fact that his compliments made you want to start running around while shouting his name. “It’s just my job.”

He raised his eyebrow at you, but didn't say anything else, what was probably for the better. If he complimented you again, you wouldn’t sure that you would be able to stay in your seat without climbing on his lap and begging him to fuck you.

Quinn parks in front of your apartment building and smiles at you, tired eyes shining like the moon that decorated the sky that night. “Want me to go upstairs with you?”

“No, no, it’s fine, I know you’re tired,” you bit your lip, fidgeting with your fingers. “Thank you for coming. And for the ride too.”

“I enjoyed tonight. We should… we should do this again.”

You smirk, playfully. “And invite Conor too?”

He groans, laughing softly.

“No, definitely no,” he shakes his head. “I know that dork already invited you but… if you want to come watch our next game, just give me a heads up. I’ll get tickets for you and your friend.”

“Only if we get to stay in that seat where we can watch the players beat each other up from up close.” You joke, watching as he laughs, wrapping his hand around his abs.

“Consider it done, M,” he blinks, an adorable smile adorning his face. “I’ll text you the details, alright?”

“Mhm,” you nod, removing your seatbelt and pushing your body forward, until you place a light kiss on his cheek, feeling his stubble softly scratch your lips. “Night, Quinn.”

“Bye, Mads.” he whispers, watching you leave the car and only driving away when he sees you enter your building.

You sigh out loud, trying to understand what the hell happened tonight.

౨ৎ

liked by vic_alonso, _quinnhughes, imgmodels and 828,023 other people

madisoncarter little dump from tonight. thank u all for coming 🌟 lavieenrose

View all 3,209 comments

raye this show was yours. Prettiest woman in the world. Xx

vic_alonso we look soooo good in that pic babe

vic_alonso also lowkey wanna kiss u again

user1 vic_alonso 📸🤨

madisoncarter @vic_alonso ‘m all urs baby

user2 why is my husband liking this when he doesn’t even know how to post a picture without Jack’s help pls I need answers

user3 oh both luke jack and quinn liked this we are cooked

maddiecarter_updates We don’t know if we want to be you or have you 🙂‍↕️ stunning as always, queen!

taglist: @hischierswhore @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @he6rtshaker @nope-i-am-done @nngkay 🤎

[stackslip]

Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) announced today that it has ceased operations of its rescue vessel, Geo Barents, which had been operational since June 2021. MSF is suspending all search and rescue efforts until further notice, with the intention of restarting again next year with a new ship. Italian laws and policies have made it impossible to continue with the current operational model. MSF will begin the process of evaluating different operational models to respond to the needs of migrants in this challenging environment. MSF reaffirms its solid commitment to people on the move, especially those taking the dangerous journey across the Central Mediterranean Sea, a route where over 31,000 people have died or gone missing since 2014. “MSF will be back as soon as possible to conduct search and rescue operations on one of the deadliest migration routes in the world,” said Juan Matias Gil, MSF search and rescue representative. “We will come back to bear witness and speak out against the violations committed against people on the move by EU members states, particularly by Italy, and the other actors in the area.”  (...) In the past two years, Geo Barents faced four sanctions by the Italian authorities, imposing a total of 160 days of detention in port. These punitive measures came under the Piantedosi Decree, a law that was introduced by the Italian government in the beginning of 2023 that limits the operations of non-governmental (NGO) rescue ships in the Mediterranean Sea and undermines the maritime historical humanitarian and legal duty to save lives at sea. This month, Italy further intensified the sanctions by making it easier and faster to confiscate humanitarian search and rescue vessels.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Time Will Tell - Chapter 1.26

My Time Will Tell Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

My Navigation and Masterlist

The Time Will Tell Glossary

Warnings: N/A really Word Count: 1,318

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The reaction was instant when you heard the crash. Everyone in the room with you from your place in the lobby ran up to the blocked front entrance to the building to sneak a peek through the gate.

A clanging noise is what brought your attention away from the wall you were glaring at as if you could see through it to where Jin-ok had walked in with a handful of pipes and other makeshift weapons. “Take these. We have to protect this place,” she told the three men all huddled up against the gate. You felt two pairs of small hands grip onto your clothes and didn’t even need to look down to see it was your two younger siblings. You wrapped your arms around them just as Jin-ok approached you and handed you your axe. “Take them somewhere safe and stay there. Protect them.”

You knew what she wasn’t saying because it’s what you were thinking as well. 

‘At all costs.’

So you grabbed Yeong-su’s hand while he grabbed Su-yeong’s and you tugged them over to the safest place you could think of.

It was only after an hour or so had passed, when the sun was starting to fade over the horizon and all the growls and howls and bangs had stopped, that you were found by Eun-yu when she came looking for you. After that, you immediately went off in search of Hyun-su only to find him sleeping against a filing cabinet in a secluded room. 

You watched as his chest rose and fell a few times just to give yourself some peace of mind before ultimately deciding to leave him alone for the night and get some sleep yourself after a quick shower.

You didn’t sleep for very long when Eun-yu somewhat drunkenly woke you up. 

“It’s story time! Don’t be a bum, come and hang out with us!” She whined and you laughed, reluctantly agreeing and listening to Gil-seop tell his scary story. You didn’t want to be rude to him or Eun-yu, but you were falling asleep more and more with each word. 

BANG!

The door to the daycare slammed open and you jolted awake with a yelp. Everyone had a similar reaction as they saw the unknown new man walk in and dash straight for the drained jar of Korean wine. He greedily ate scoop after scoop of the marinated berries at the bottom. Yi-kyung walked up behind him like a mother following her wandering child and sighed. 

“Who are you?” Mr. An demanded while holding up a metal pipe. 

“I think he’s a runaway soldier,” Yi-kyung explained her theory. 

The soldier pushed the jar away from him when he saw the mess it made on his hands and started mumbling incoherently before falling to his side and passing out. 

Everything seemed to blur as they took him into another room and everyone settled in for bed until you found yourself aimlessly wandering the dimly lit halls with a candle. Your side still hurt so it was more of just stumbling around while using the wall to help you, but you’d be damned if you woke someone up to help you have a midnight stroll. 

You’d be damned if the perfect person you could ask wasn’t sitting on the staircase you were walking straight towards. 

Hyun-su looked to be lost in his thoughts while staring at his wrist before you announced your presence with a small, “Hey.”

He looked up and his eyes widened at the sight of you. You stumbled over, using the rail of the stairs to help you as you ascended and sat a level above him, placing the candle you held between the two of you. “Hey,” he replied, a little too late for the conversation but you decided to ignore it in hopes of not embarrassing him. 

“You shouldn’t be alone without a buddy, you know,” you teased. “I’m walking around without a buddy because both my official and unofficial buddies are passed out, drunk, in the daycare.”

“Are you scared?” He asked you after a beat. 

You sighed, thinking about your answer before saying it. “I don’t think so. Not for myself, anyway. I’m more scared about what will happen to Yeong-su and Su-yeong, to be honest,” you shot him a non-committal smile. “Hopefully, when this is all over, they can go back to living a semi-normal life.”

“Do you… think there will be a time after this?” He questioned rather pessimistically with his head down. 

The silence went on for a while until you decided to break it with an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Hey, give me your phone.”

“Huh? What? Why?” He asked in return and you flashed him a cheeky smile. 

“Just do it. Just for a minute,” you insisted. He reached into his pocket and placed the unlocked phone in your extended hand. “Thank you,” you expressed as you searched around before settling on the Contacts app. “How about after all this…” You spoke as you typed, sounding a little distracted before finishing. “You give me a call and we can meet up, yeah?” You handed the phone back to him with a shy grin. 

He took it back, staring at you for a moment before he glanced down at the cracked screen. There, he saw your name with a heart emoji written into his contacts. He was stunned, just staring at the phone until you gasped, remembering something and snatching the phone back out of his hands. 

“Oh! I forgot to put a picture in! Hold on,” you insisted as you opened up the camera and held it up, fixing your hair and wiping a stray drop of blood from your cheek. Then, you scooted closer to Hyun-su, who had been stating his thoughts at you in bewilderment and awe and held the phone up to take a picture. “Say cheeseeee!” You took the photo, smiling brightly at the phone, but when you looked at it your smile turned into a frown. “Hyun-su! You weren’t even looking at the camera!” You complained, turning to look at him and finding him already looking at you. 

He sneaked a glance at the photo and couldn’t help the stuttering of his heart when he saw it. You looked just absolutely gorgeous with your smile. Sure, he wasn’t looking at the camera - instead looking at you with the smallest hint of a smile on his lips - but it was 100% worth it for that joyful look on your face in the photo and the adorable pout you sported as you looked at him in real life. “It’s perfect.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his soft tone and tried to huff it away as you started making it your contact photo. “I wish you would’ve looked at the camera though.”

He couldn’t help the warm feeling that grew in his chest, and he honestly didn’t really want to. When you handed the phone back to him, he spent a long moment just staring at the screen, admiring the way your smile was brighter than the phone itself. 

He only broke out of his trance when your pinkie suddenly interlocked with his. “What are you doing?”

Your lips shaped a shy smile and the sight tugged at his heartstrings. “You’re making a promise to me. Promise me you’ll call me when this has all cleared. Please.”

He couldn’t deny you when you sounded like that, so he minisculely tightened his grip around your pinkie. “I promise.”

He said it so softly you thought you would have fainted on the spot if his touch wasn’t grounding you. With your shy smile growing even shier, you pressed your thumbs together with a soft giggle and a whisper, “Promise.”

Neither of you truly knew what the feelings growing inside you between each other were, but neither of you wanted it to go away anytime soon.

[two-white-butterflies]

❀ - accustomed to destruction (IV)

Description: The story begins to reach an end. Thranduil and Adar march towards Eregion.

A Helen of Troy inspired fic where Annatar abducts Thranduil's wife.

Pairings: thranduil/reader, annatar/reader

Part Three |

CELEBRIMBOR 

When Echthrós mentioned the creation of more rings, Celebrimbor was delighted. 

All his life, he's been lamenting over the sins of his father and brothers in their yearning for the Silmarils, but now he is finally given the chance of redemption by creating rings that would bring peace to Middle-earth. It was perfect, too perfect, but he could not deny his desires nonetheless. The forged called for him to create the rings. 

But now it all feels like an illusion. 

"You have a very strange ability, mellon." Celebrimbor followed after the smith, seeing him retreat into the halls after Celebrimbor's announcement. After forging the last elven ring, he no longer had the desire to forge. He no longer had the desire to follow Echthrós's advice of creating rings for dwarves and men alike, for he knew that King Gil-Galad would never agree to such, and the creation of more rings would be an unnecessary headache. 

Echthrós turns slightly to look at the elven-lord. The younger elf raises an eyebrow, as if urging Celebrimbor to continue further in his speech. "Sowing seeds in others' minds and then convincing them that the fruit is of their own thought." Celebrimbor probes, as Elrond's words echoed in the back of his mind. For months, he has been shoving these thoughts down, seeing Echthrós as nothing more than a kind smith, but the latter's insistence on creating rings made him feel uneasy. 

That, on top of Lady Danae's insistence on staying in her chambers.

"I apologize if I seem adamant about creating the rings for mankind. I do not mean to make you feel that way. I am grateful to you, my lord, for without you, my family would have starved, and we would have seen the great shores of Valinor sooner than intended." Echthrós bows his head, but his fists remain clenched in anger. 

Celebrimbor takes another step forward, carefully observing the elf's movements. "I suppose that my appreciation for mankind is out of the ordinary, but a few of them helped me during times of great need, and I have seen how easily they wilt against the darkness. Why must we only reserve salvation to our kind? What about them? What about their misery?" Echthrós continued, in a tone that would have had Celebrimbor believing him all those years ago. 

But the Lord of Eregion forcibly makes his heart harden. 

"I have found that much of the misery of men is their own making," Celebrimbor crossed his arms. He could not believe that Echthrós was campaigning to give mankind more power. "- give them a crumb and they'll eat the whole bread," he added to emphasize his point. Men have been proven to light the world on fire when given a simple match; what will they do when given Nine Rings? 

"My lord," Echthrós pleads. 

"We cannot give the rings to men; the risk of corruption is simply too great. The problems that you claim we shall solve will be minuscule compared to those that we will create." Celebrimbor explained to the best of his ability, watching as the other elf frowned in sadness. 

Echthrós takes a deep breath. "Yes, my lord, I understand." He admits while taking a step backward. "Men are capable of great frailty, but when the darkness falls, there are always some who rise forth and shine. Earendil, Tuor, Beren." Echthrós cited the names of Elrond's ancestors. 

Celebrimbor pauses, the other elf's words making him think for a second. "What exactly are you proposing?" the Lord pauses, but he already knows where Echthrós is getting at. 

"We find men that we can trust, the wisest, the kindest, the purest of all. We find nine ringbearers from nine mortal kingdoms." Echthrós continues while walking towards the balcony of the forges, overlooking the smiths working in unison - Celebrimbor follows after him. "We have already spoken about the nine rings, mellon. They cannot be." His gaze softens. 

"We have already accomplished great things, Echthrós. Let us not tempt failure by allowing our reach to exceed our grasp." Celebrimbor warned. He places a hand on the younger elf's shoulder.

"I am sorry, but my answer is still no. The Rings of Power are complete; the only thing we are left to do now is enjoy the fruits of our labor." Celebrimbor apologizes. Echthrós shrinks, his eyes watery with tears - his eyes that have always strangely reminded Celebrimbor of something familiar. "No, I am sorry." Echthrós forces a thin-lipped smile. 

Celebrimbor breathes a sigh of relief, seeing the elf take the news lightly. "You need not apologize," the Lord comforts, as a brother would his sibling. "Very well," Echthrós moved away, his shoulder bumping with Celebrimbor as he walked towards the stairs leading down to the forge, a light aura following after him as the torches flickered in the wind of his walk. 

"I shall make the nine myself," Echthrós professed in a harder tone. An unsettling feeling stirs at the bottom of Celebrimbor's chest. Had this all been a mistake? Was the creation of the rings truly his idea in the first place? Celebrimbor takes a deep breath, reaching to sit down in one of the klines beside the open window - he does not know if speaking against Echthrós shall prove to be beneficial or even morally right. 

To speak against Echthrós would mean speaking against the creation of the Nine Rings, which in extension would mean speaking against all the Rings of Power. Celebrimbor cannot speak against his greatest work, his greatest achievement - it cannot have any flaws. 

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DANAË

When Echthrós made mention of spending more time in the smithy, you had been delighted. 

You don't know the reason why, but spending time with your husband feels like a heavy boulder on your shoulders. You do not feel at rest in his presence, for each time you gaze upon his eyes, you see nothing but the sight of a muddied river, the harsh pull of a riptide that would not allow you to leave. The sight of him brings shivers down your spine, and you do not like it at the very least. So, when he said something about forging rings and spending time under Lord Celebrimbor's mentorship, you did not complain. 

"I have made it my duty to forge the Nine Rings," Echthrós explained while pouring himself a goblet of wine. You reclined on her chair, playing with the stray strands of your hair that were still wet from your previous bath. "I thought that Lord Celebrimbor did not desire to forge more rings. How did you convince him?" You raised an eyebrow, finding the turn of events to be quite peculiar. 

Echthrós sits on the chair opposite you, his gaze cold and indifferent. You have not left their shared chambers since the events of last week. Echthrós had to lie and say that you were feeling under the weather. It was rare for an elf to feel that way, but not impossible to the point that it would raise alarm.

Echthrós clenches his fists. 

Each day, you walk closer to revealing the truth. Each day, you are a step closer to remembering. It is only a matter of time before the truth reveals itself, and nothing is going his way; at least not in the way that he envisoned it all those years ago. "He believes the fault of the dwarven rings to be on his shoulders. Forging the Nine redeems him." He lies. 

"I do not think that it shall be wise to forge the Nine whilst the herald is around. He has been very vocal against the rings." You made an observation. "And how do you know that?" He rolls his eyes, sipping on his wine leisurely. 

"I heard them speaking," 

"It does not matter. He has left Eregion." He confirms, and your eyebrows merged in confusion. "What?" You ask, rather shocked.

A joyous smile is plastered on your husband's face. "The high-king has sent scouts to Greenwood, and there has been mention of the Uruks setting up camp near their kingdoms. The herald was needed in Lindon more." Echthrós explains, a smile still on his face. When he heard about Elrond staying in Eregion to find the Elven Princess, he had been a little concerned.

The herald was clever. He had only been in Eregion for a few days, but he was already able to realize that their presence was under suspicious circumstances. He already made the connection of Legolas having a Silvan name. And yes, Sauron had to read the herald's mind whilst he was sleeping. Truly, he did not know how he'd get out of Elrond's watchful gaze, not until the tides of fate decided to rock in his direction. So, with renewed confidence, he is able to straighten his back. 

"A turn of events proving beneficial to us," Echthrós reminds, seeing a forlorn expression on your face. "That is not a nice thing to say," you frowned. 

The elves of the Woodland Realm were probably in chaos right at this moment. Their defeat would mean the defeat of all elvenkind. 

"Do not begin with me, wife." He says in a scolding tone, as a man would scold a puppy. "The fact that imminent danger is waiting outside our doorsteps should be enough of a driving force to allow the creation of more rings. It is a good thing, a necessity." He emphasizes, as if he were forcing you to believe his opinions. You turn to meet his gaze, seeing his eyes pulsing with anger. 

Your eyebrows merged again, in half fear and sadness. 

"If you will excuse me, I am needed in the forge." He announces, while standing up to leave. 

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You continued gazing upon the open window, watching the other elves converse around the courtyard. "Nana!" Legolas says while placing a leaf on your lap. 

A smile painted your lips as you moved a stray strand of hair away from his face. "Where did you find this leaf, my love?" You asked while placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. 

"Elladan and Elrohir gave me." He answers. Legolas has always been fascinated with Eru Illuvatar's world, from the sweet apples that he feasted upon every morning to the fine rocks that he'd collect on the river shores with Lord Celebrimbor. The world is beautiful to his eyes, and the thought of not having seen it all brings him great sorrow. 

"Have you ever been to Lindon, nana?" He tilted his head, ever the curious child. "I have yet to visit," you reclined on your chair. Truthfully, you cannot remember the days before Eregion, no matter how hard you think; the only thing that you are greeted with is the sound of the abyss reverberating through your mind. As if a part of yourself is missing - that in your mind once stood a great library, now burnt to the ground. 

"Elladan said that we will like it there," he says while resting his head on your lap. "I don't wike it here," he confesses in a tone that reminds you of a whisper. It was the same tone that he uses to speak when he talks to other grown-up elves. You placed a hand on his scalp, gently combing through his blonde locks. "Why is that?" You inquired with a frown. 

Legolas takes a deep breath. He frowns while playing with the edges of the leaf. He could not find the right words to explain his discomfort. "Weird," he mumbles, remembering the word from all the times that the twins would call each other that name. You take a deep breath, not understanding how your son feels uncomfortable in a place that he has called his own. 

He was only a babe when you came here. Eregion is all he's ever known. 

Legolas turns around. He stares at your face as if trying to look for something. "Do you remember?" he inquires. "Remember what, my love?" You chuckled while adjusting his position on your lap so that he'd be comfortably lying on his back. "Um," Legolas struggles to find his words again. 

"Are you fine now, nana?" He asks. 

"I have always been well. You have no need to worry," you reassured him. 

He nods quietly, his attention drawn back to the leaf in his hands.

"Uh-huh," he hums, and you could only smile at the sight of his little face. He is so young, and yet in this moment, he appears to have all the world's problems with the way that he frowns. You giggle slightly while pressing a finger to his eyebrows, straightening them into a line. 

The leaf in your son's hand has begun to fracture at the edges, especially the edges where it was browning, but he did not seem to care. It is the way of things anyway, all living things wilt, and there is no good reason to hold onto things that are born to fade away. He kept tracing the outlines of the leaf's veins, his breathing was slow, his eyelids heavy, and fighting against sleep. 

A sign that your little elfling still has not outgrown his afternoon naps. "You have to sleep now," you announced while patting his leg in a repeated motion, one that you know helps your son sleep. 

Legolas yawns. 

A slow ringing began in your ears, its sound echoing in your eardrums. 

Your mouth goes dry. The light from the window becomes far too bright, and you are left with no choice but to close your eyes. 

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You open your eyes once more, and suddenly the entire world has changed. Suddenly, you are sitting in the middle of a green field, and his hand reaches out to wipe the tears that have been flowing down your face. Yes, him, your husband. "Why are you crying, lover?" Thranduil asks with a fond smile on his face. 

Your breath is momentarily stuck in your throat. 

His eyes, his blue eyes, the sight of an open vastless ocean. 

You reach for his arms, pulling him closer to your body. "Thranduil," your voice cracks from all the sadness that was beginning to crash against your figure. Memories begin to flood your brain as you bask in the sight of him. "What happened? Hey, there is no need for those tears," he chuckled nervously while bridging your lips together. 

You pull away from the kiss, continuing to soak in his features. "Thranduil," the only word that exits your mouth is his name. "You have to tell me," you pleaded through broken sobs. 

"What is it?" He inquires with a concerned look. 

"What's my name?" You pleaded for him to answer, but before he is able to open his mouth, a hand reaches for your body, pulling you away from all that you've ever known. 

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A gasp escapes your mouth as you open your eyes once more. 

Legolas sits up instantly, alarmed. "Nana?" 

He reaches to wipe the tears away from your eyes, and his face suddenly makes you remember another elf who bears his lips and his nose. "It is nothing," you wiped the other tears yourself, the memories from a few moments ago already beginning to spill out of your mind. You cannot collect the remnants of it - it evades you. 

"Like that, you are remembering," Legolas says in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it has happened a thousand times before. "You should not busy yourself with matters such as this. Now, come, you should already be sleeping by this time." You avoided his statement, leading him towards the bed with a distant look. 

There is something wrong with everything. You have been feeling it since the first time you stepped inside these halls, but these feelings of yours only strengthen that doubt. 

The facade that Sauron has built for you was beginning to wane. 

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THRANDUIL

He leaned over the map, staring at the sketch of the entire realm. In one of these parts his wife must be kept in hiding, and his child. His babe, whom he had not been given the luxury of meeting for the first time. His father had been reluctant to welcome the Uruks to their borders, but they reached an understanding, as long as the Uruks stayed far from elvish occupations and as long as they did not hurt the flora and fauna, they were free to stay. 

"My father says that the elves of Eregion are crafting rings that possess great power. I want to use those rings," he says. 

"Rings?" Adar repeated, the sound of it familiar on his mouth. "- and pray tell, what do those rings do?" Adar inquired, his mind beginning to untie the knots of the past.

"They are powerful, able to control nature and strengthen the bearer. I do not know the specifics; they came from my father's spies, but I assume that they grant you the same powers as a maia?" Thranduil shrugged. 

Adar went still. 

"You know something," Thranduil observes. 

"Sauron mentioned creating weapons of destruction that would allow him to gain dominion over the people of Middle-earth." Adar opens his mouth to speak, his mind already set on the fact that this pointy-eared prince's wife was probably in Eregion. 

Thranduil's heart began to thump furiously. All these years of yearning and fighting to reclaim his family. He feels them close. "They say that it was a smith named Echthrós who introduced the Rings of Power to the Lord Celebrimbor," he informs, both of their eyes widening in realization. 

"Echthrós," Adar repeats. 

The Elven Prince raises an eyebrow. "Does the name mean anything?" He asks with a pause. 

"It means enemy in an old dialect. He has been mocking us in plain sight." Adar's gaze sharpened. 

"To Eregion!" Thranduil shouted in command, half of the elves following after him while the other Uruks stared, waiting for their father's command. Adar nods, and they soon follow after.