#dead elves

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Where did the dead elves go before orome discovered the elves?

Bc if they went to the halls of mandos, then Mandos probably would have been aware of their existence, but he wasn’t?

Therefore: the elves that died before orome discovered the elves either A: were waiting for mandos to notice them, either as ghosts or in a sort of celestial waiting room.

Or B: went to a different afterlife all together.

[bobombun]

So I started playing Lotr Online, the MMO game of Lord of the Rings, and it's been fun so far. Started off as an elf, and was popped into the middle of a dramatic fight I had zero context for. Bad guy stabs me with an evil sword, and screen goes black. I wake up, and my buddies are happy to see me awake. Sorry everyone, didn't mean to scare you. Hey btw, Elrond, how long was I conked out for?

Years? I was in pained coma for years?? I guess that's elves for you, huh

Oh damn, the era changed while I was asleep? What a timing, haha

Year three thousand and- wait. The era changed while I was asleep. And it is now the year three thousand and eighteen of this era.

...

I was in a coma for at least three thousand and then some years??

Elves, man.

Elves.

[queenstarlight2]

A plan is put in place, and two elves grow hungry

yandere Thranduil and Elrond (4.5K) (NON-CON)(Final chapter, but might pick it back up if people want me to) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 summery: Elrond puts sleeping herbs in your tea, and you meet Thranduil in his chambers alongside Elrond and outcomes ensue

Elrond's mind was a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions as he went about his morning routine. He couldn't seem to focus on anything but the thought of seeing Star for their late afternoon tea. He knew that he had agreed to drug her, and the guilt and unease of that knowledge tugged at his heart, but simultaneously, he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards her, the undeniable attraction that drew him like a moth to a flame.

As the hours ticked by, his anticipation and anxiety mounted, building to an almost unbearable level. The sun rose higher in the sky, painting Rivendell in golden light, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clear his mind of the thought of her face, her voice, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. The thought of seeing her again, of being close to her, was addictive, even as the guilt and doubt continued to eat away at him.

His mind seemed to be a constant battleground, his heart torn between the desire to be near her and the knowledge that he had agreed to do something terrible. He knew he shouldn't, knew that he was betraying her trust and breaking the ethics he held dear as a healer, but the pull was too strong. The thought of seeing her made his heart race.

The knock on the door came at exactly the appointed time, and Elrond's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then opened the door. Standing on the other side, looking beautiful and radiant in the late afternoon sun, was his soon-to-be beloved

Elrond ushered her inside, trying to keep his expression calm and composed. "Welcome," he said, his voice betraying nothing of the conflicted emotions that roiled within him. "Please, come in and have a seat."

As she walked into the room, Elrond couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was wearing a simple but elegant dress, the fabric flowing around her like liquid mercury. The sunlight caught in her hair, making it glow like a halo around her face. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and curiosity, and her lips were lifted in a small smile. She looked both innocent and mischievous, a combination that was both captivating and dangerous.

As she moved further into the room, Elrond felt his heart rate increase, and he had to force himself to remain calm. He motioned to a low table with a teapot, cups, and snacks already laid out. "Please, have a seat," he said again, his voice a little hoarse. "I have some tea prepared if you would like some."

Star looked around the room, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the cozy, homey atmosphere. "This is lovely," she said, her voice soft and pleasant. "Thank you for having me." She took a seat at the table, folding her hands in her lap, her expression polite and eager.

Elrond poured the tea, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His mind was a swirling cesspool of mixed emotions - excitement, fear, and guilt all vying for dominance. He tried to focus on the act of pouring the tea, but his thoughts kept darting to the sleeping herb he had mixed into Star's cup. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming uneven and shallow. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the thought of having her all to himself was too enticing to resist.

As Elrond handed her the cup of tea, she noticed the slight tremor in his hand and the way his gaze seemed to dart away from hers before fixing back on her face. Concern flickered in her eyes, and she tilted her head slightly, studying him intently. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and worry.

Elrond plastered a half-convincing smile on his face, trying to push aside the guilt and unease that warred within him. "Yes, everything is fine," he said, his voice a little too bright. "I'm just a little… distracted, is all."

Star's gaze remained on him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what might be bothering him. Her instincts were telling her that something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took a small sip of the tea, her eyes never leaving his face.

Elrond's heart was racing as he watched her take a sip of the tea. The sleeping herb he had mixed into it would take effect soon, and he knew that once she fell asleep, he would have her at his mercy. The thought both excited and terrified him, and he had to force himself to maintain his composure.

Elrond took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then sat down across from Star. He tried to maintain a casual, relaxed expression, but his heart was racing, and his palms were sweaty.

Elrond took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to focus on the moment. He knew he had to keep up the act, if only for a little longer. He fixed his gaze on Star, trying to look relaxed and charming, and forced his voice to come out steady and steady. "How is the tea? I hope it's to your liking."

Star took another small sip of the tea, her eyes still locked on Elrond's. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. "It's delicious, thank you," she said, her voice soft. "You are a master of all things, aren't you?"

Elrond's heart skipped a beat at her words, and he couldn't help but bask in the praise. Despite the situation, he was secretly pleased that she had noticed his skills. "I do try my best," he said, forcing a smile. "But there's always room for improvement, isn't there?"

Star smiled back, her eyes still searching his face for any hint of what was bothering him. She took another sip of the tea, her instincts still telling her something was amiss. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" she asked, her voice a little more serious.

Elrond's heart rate spiked at the question, and he had to force down the immediate instinct to say no. "Of course," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Ask me anything."

Star leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked on his. "You seem different today," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Something is bothering you. Can you tell me what it is?"

Elrond's heart constricted in his chest at her words. Her perception was unnerving, and his guilt spiked. But he couldn't tell her the truth, not now. "It's… nothing," he said, the lie sticking in his throat. "Just some work-related stress."

Star's eyes narrowed slightly, her intuition telling her that his answer was only partially truthful. "Are you sure that's all it is?" she asked, her voice quiet. "You can tell me the truth, you know. I won't judge you."

Elrond's mind raced as he tried to come up with a believable excuse. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Finally, he settled on a partial truth, mixed in with a lie. "You're right," he said, his voice quiet. "Something is weighing on my mind. It's just… I feel guilty for being attracted to you. My wife is in the Grey Havens, and I know it's wrong to feel this way."

Star's expression softened, and her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay," she said, her voice gentle. "We can't always control our feelings, no matter how much we want to. I understand how hard it must be for you."

Elrond couldn't help but feel relieved that Star had accepted his excuse. He had expected her to see through the half-truths and lies, but she had bought his story hook, line, and sinker. A part of him felt guilty for duping her, but the larger part was just thankful that he had managed to keep her in the dark about the sleeping herbs.

As the conversation went on

Star's eyelids began to droop, and she stifled a yawn. "I don't know about you," she said, her voice slightly slurred, "but I'm feeling oddly tired."

Elrond's heart raced as he saw the effect of the sleeping herbs taking hold of her. Her eyes were becoming glassy, and her head was drooping slightly. "Perhaps you're just tired from the day's activities," he suggested, feigning concern.

As the herbs continued to take effect, Star's mind began to become disjointed and unfocused. She looked up at Elrond, her eyelids drooping heavily, and tried to speak. "I… I need to go," she mumbled, her words slurring. "Thranduil is waiting…" She stopped to yawn and then looked back up at him with a smile. "Thank you for the tea… it was lovely… and you are too…"

Elrond felt a pang of guilt and regret as he heard her words, but he pushed it down, knowing that there was no going back now. "You're very welcome," he said, his voice gentle. "I'm glad you enjoyed the tea."

As the sleeping herbs continued to work their magic, Star stood up from the table, her movements unsteady. She wobbled a little, and Elrond reached out to steady her, his heart heavy with guilt. "Careful," he said, his voice still feigning concern. "You look like you need some support."

Star leaned on him a little, her eyes half closed. "Thank you," she mumbled. "I'm just… tired. So tired…" Elrond felt a pang of guilt as he saw the effects of the herbs on her. Her head was drooping, and she was barely able to keep her eyes open. But he kept a firm grip on her arm, guiding her to the door.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentler than he felt. "Let me walk you to Thranduil's chambers. You shouldn't be wandering around alone like this."

Star didn't protest, her mind too fuzzy to think straight. She simply nodded and let Elrond lead her out of the room and down the hallway. She stumbled a little, her footsteps heavy and erratic, but Elrond kept a steady grip on her arm, guiding her toward Thranduil's chambers.

As they walked, a few guards and servants passed by, eyeing the pair with curiosity. Elrond kept his expression composed, his mind racing with excuses in case they asked questions. But luckily, no one seemed to pay them much attention, and they made it to Thranduil's chambers without incident.

Elrond reached the door to Thranduil's chambers and paused for a moment, his hand hovering in the air. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come, and then knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened, revealing Thranduil standing on the other side. His eyes flicked from Elrond to Star, who was leaning heavily on Elrond's arm, her eyes half-lidded and her movements sluggish.

Thranduil's expression remained neutral, but Elrond could see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He knew what they had planned, and he was eager to get on with it. Thranduil nodded in greeting, his voice cool and controlled. "I see you brought her," he said.

Thanduil stepped aside and gestured for Elrond to bring Star inside. He watched with a mix of fascination and excitement as Elrond led Star into the room, her steps faltering and her eyes glazed over.

As Elrond guided Star into the room, Thranduil stepped closer to her, his eyes studying her face intently. He reached out and gently touched her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "How are you feeling, darling?" he asked. "Elrond and I were hoping we could take care of you tonight. Would you like that?"

Star's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Thanduil's voice, and she looked up at him with a confused, unfocused gaze. She didn't seem to fully understand what was being asked of her, but she nodded weakly, her head still foggy from the herbs. "Yes," she mumbled. "Yes, please… take care of me…"

Thanduil led the way to the bed, with Elrond following closely behind with Star still leaning heavily on him. They reached the bed, and with a quick gesture from Thanduil, Elrond gently laid Star down on the bed. She lay there, her eyes half-lidded and her body limp, as Thanduil and Elrond hovered over her. Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, silently communicating his plan.

Elrond nodded in understanding, his heart hammering in his chest. As much as he felt guilty about what he was doing, he knew there was no stopping now. With tentative movements, he reached for the buttons on Star's dress, his fingers shaking slightly as he began to undo them one by one.

Meanwhile, Thanduil stood near the bed, watching with growing excitement as Elrond undressed Star. His eyes glittered with a predatory gleam, and his breath came faster as more and more of her skin was slowly revealed. He reached out and gently ran his hand down her leg, his touch rough yet appreciative.

As they continued to undress Star, the mood in the room grew heated and charged. Thanduil and Elrond's touches grew increasingly intimate, their fingers roaming over her skin with a growing sense of possessiveness. Thanduil's hands slid up her leg, his touch becoming possessive as he spoke. "She's so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "She's ours now… ours to do with as we please."

Elrond watched as Thanduil touched her, a mix of guilt and arousal coursing through him. His own hands were on her body as well, roaming over her curves and caressing her skin. "She's so soft," he agreed, his voice thick with need. "So innocent.."

Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, and he smirked. "You're enjoying this more than you thought you would, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a little mocking. "You're not feeling guilty anymore, are you?"

Elrond felt a pang of shame at Thanduil's words, but he couldn't deny the truth in them. He was enjoying this, more than he had expected to. His hands continued to roam over Star's body, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of ownership and power over her. "No," he admitted, his voice a little huskier than before. "I'm not feeling guilty anymore. I want this just as much as you do."

As Thanduil's and Elrond's touches grew more insistent, Star's body began to respond. She let out a soft moan, her back arching slightly as Thanduil's hand roamed over her curves. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head rolled to the side, her hair spilling over the pillow. She was completely at their mercy, her body reacting to their touch despite the drugged state she was in.

Thanduil and Elrond glanced at each other, both surprised and pleased by the sound of her moan. They could feel her body responding to their touch, and it only heightened their desire for her even more. They continued to touch and caress her, their hands and fingers exploring every inch of her body, leaving no skin untouched. Every moan and whimper that escaped Star's lips was like gasoline on the fire of their desire. Thanduil's hands became more possessive, gripping her body with a rougher edge, while Elrond's touch remained a little more gentle but no less insistent.

As they continued to touch and explore her body, Thanduil's thoughts and desires took a darker turn. He suddenly leaned in close to Elrond, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Isn’t she beautiful?" he asked

With a nod, Elrond replied, "Indeed." His heart raced as he watched Thranduil's hands slide up Star's thighs, teasingly brushing against her sensitive flesh. Despite knowing this wasn't right, Elrond found himself unable to resist the allure of their shared obsession. Their actions were becoming increasingly intimate, fueled by lust and possession.

Feeling emboldened by Elrond's silence, Thranduil moved closer still until their bodies were pressed tightly together against her helpless form. His mouth hovered near her earlobe as he whispered words filled with dark promises into her ear. "You belong to us now," he purred menacingly, sending chills down her spine. At once, he slid his hand beneath her nightgown, tracing slow circles around her navel before dipping lower until his fingertips brushed against her damp folds. Meanwhile, Elrond trailed kisses along her neck, his arousal growing stronger by the second as he watched them together. This was wrong—so very wrong—but neither could deny the powerful pull drawing them deeper into depravity.

Unknowingly, Star slept through the entire encounter. Her mind was clouded by the tranquilizers mixed in with her drink earlier that evening - rendering her limbs heavy and numb, and stealing away what little resistance she might have put up otherwise. But even in sleep, she couldn't escape their clutches entirely. Thranduil's hand carefully slipped underneath her dress, finding its way between her legs where he continued to tease and stroke her already swollen clit without mercy. Meanwhile, Elrond moved closer still, pressing his hardening cock against her bare ass cheek which stirred something deep inside him - an urge to claim what was his whether awake or asleep.

Thranduil and Elrond locked eyes again. There was something feral burning bright in those depths that both frightened and excited the other man. Without breaking contact, Thranduil whispered hoarsely, "She belongs to us now… don't you think?" Elrond didn't hesitate to answer, his voice low and raspy with desire. "Yes," he breathed back, "We should never have denied ourselves this opportunity." There was a dangerous undertone to their conversation but also an undeniable thrill that danced along their spines. They were walking a fine line between sanity and madness, lust and violence – and they loved every second of it.

Thranduil slowly pulled away from Star, his hand trailing lightly across her stomach before reaching behind to release his thick cock from his trousers. It sprang free instantly, standing tall and proud against his pale skin. Without further ado, he positioned himself at her entrance, nudging her to open slowly with the tip of his erection. Her pussy was slick with anticipation, welcoming him inside with eager ease. As he pushed forward, feeling her walls stretching around him, Thranduil groaned deeply, losing himself in the sensation of finally being joined by her after a day of tormented longing. He thrust forward powerfully then retreated slowly, savoring every inch of her warmth surrounding him.

Moans of pure bliss escaped her lips as Thranduil's cock plunged deep inside her. Each thrust caused her to buck wildly against him, her body begging for more as it craved the feeling of fullness and belonging that came with being taken by these two powerful Elves. Elrond couldn't resist joining in, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking greedily while using his free hand to massage her other breast, sending waves of ecstasy rippling throughout her entire being. Thranduil's eyes rolled back in pleasure as he moved rhythmically within her sleeping form. He couldn't believe how tight she felt around him, even in her unconscious state.

Her soft moans filled the air, fueling his lust further. Meanwhile, Elrond watched them intently, his hands roaming over her body before sliding underneath her to cup her firm ass, helping Thranduil's thrusts go deeper. He could feel his release building up, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to the intense desire consuming him. "She fits us perfectly," Elrond managed to choke out between labored breaths. The thought of sharing Star sent a thrill through both of them, only heightening the sensations coursing through their bodies. Their combined pleasure echoed throughout the dimly lit chamber, each movement bringing them closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Unable to bear it any longer, Elrond decided to take his place alongside Thranduil. He knelt beside Star, positioning himself so that he faced Thranduil's chiseled abs, giving him an enticing view of the king thrusting into the girl. Gently nudging Thranduil aside, Elrond leaned over to press a hot kiss against her lips, slipping his tongue past her teeth when she parted them with a soft moan. Feeling Thranduil's cock slide out of her, he replaced it with his own, filling her. Their shared lover writhed in pleasure between them, caught in their intimate embrace. Elrond started moving rhythmically, matching Thranduil's pace as they took turns claiming her. They shared knowing looks, their lust-filled minds syncing perfectly. "She's ours now," Elrond growled possessively against Star's mouth before biting down lightly on her lower lip. The thrill of their illicit act only made him more eager to make her fully aware of what was happening once she woke up. Their plan was set in motion - nothing would ever be the same for her again.

As Elrond continued his relentless assault on Star's lips, his thoughts drifted toward the tantalizing idea of double penetration. He glanced up at Thranduil, whose own passion seemed insatiable. "Imagine taking her together," he breathed into Thranduil's ear. "Both our cocks inside her, filling her." The image sent a shockwave through him, causing his movements to become even more urgent. Thranduil paused mid-stroke, considering Elrond's words. His eyes narrowed as a wicked smirk played upon his lips. "Yes," he agreed, "That would truly mark her as ours." Their gazes locked, and for a moment, there was no one else in the room except for them and the beautiful, vulnerable creature trapped between them. They both knew it was wrong - but that only made it feel so much more right.

Lost in their depraved desires, Elrond and Thranduil couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have Star completely at their mercy – fully aware of their possession. In hushed whispers, Elrond suggested, "Once she's awake…" he trailed off, his eyes sparking with a dangerous hunger as he slid his cock out of her mouth and replaced it with Thranduil's, allowing him to taste her wetness. "We'll show her who she belongs to," Thranduil finished the thought, pulling out from her tight heat so that Elrond could enter her instead. The two elves shared an intense look, their arousal peaking at the thought of having her in every way possible. Elrond thrust into her, burying himself deep as they prepared for what was yet to come. "Double penetration," he said, a hint of malice lacing his tone as he glanced over at Thranduil, "We'll fill her so completely she won't know where one ends and the other begins." Thranduil's breath hitched, and he nodded eagerly, stroking himself as he watched Elrond take her. The anticipation of claiming her fully consumed them, making each movement inside her more urgent and demanding.

Thranduil's gaze remained locked onto Star's beautiful face, her features twisted in pleasure as Elrond claimed her beneath him. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy mixed with pure desire. As Elrond picked up speed, the bedrock beneath them seemed to vibrate in tandem with their movements. The sound of their combined efforts filled the room along with Star's increasing moans – and it was music to Thranduil's ears. His cock ached for release, but he held back, determined to make the most of this moment. He leaned over to kiss Elrond's neck, teeth scraping against his sensitive flesh before he asked hoarsely, "Do you think she'll enjoy it? When we both fill her up?" Elrond groaned in response, the mere suggestion driving him wild. Thranduil's fingers tightened around his shaft as he imagined the sensation of pushing into Star alongside Elrond, stretching her even further and hearing her beg for mercy. "She'll beg for more," Elrond finally managed to say, his voice strained with need. Thranduil smirked at the thought, his body shuddering in anticipation. Their wicked plan took shape in their minds as they continued pleasuring her, every thrust bringing them closer to the edge – and to the moment they'd been waiting for since she first arrived in their realm.

Thranduil's control snapped, and he moaned out his release, filling her already overflowing pussy with his seed. The sensation of their combined cum inside her was almost too much to bear – but it was only a taste of what was to come. As he slowed his movements, the evidence of their liaison started to seep out of her, painting her thighs with a mixture of their pleasure. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned down to kiss her deeply, leaving her lips swollen and glistening. Pulling away, he whispered, "Soon, little one, you'll feel us both taking you at once." His voice was filled with a dark promise that sent shivers down Elrond's spine. They would have her fully aware and begging for more – they would make her crave them like she'd never craved anything before. Their plan was set, and Thranduil knew that once it was complete, Star would never be able to leave their grasp. He couldn't wait for the day she woke up to find herself completely owned by them, her body bearing the marks of their passion and her soul forever entwined with their own.

As Elrond cleaned them up and prepared Star for her eventual awakening, Thranduil couldn't keep his eyes off her – the way their combined cum glistened on her skin, the soft moans that still escaped her lips even in slumber. They had done something unforgivable, claimed her without her consent – but they couldn't deny the thrill it gave them. Their hearts raced at the thought of continuing this illicit affair, of taking her together in a way that would bind her to them irrevocably. As they lay beside her, each lost in their depraved thoughts, they knew that their lives had changed forever. The moment she opened her eyes, their story would truly begin. They exchanged knowing looks, each silently promising the other that they would see this twisted tale through to its conclusion – no matter the cost. Their desire for her had consumed them, and there was no turning back now. They would have her – body, mind, and soul – and nothing would stand in their way.

[futurequibblerjournalist]

So I'm researching house elf names and it's noted that in canon Kreacher is the only house elf without a name ending in "y" and a reason for that is possibly that he was never actually named but that the Black family just called him Creature when calling for him and I just jvnfjbngj. I made it worse for myself too cause now I'm picturing Regulus being the reason it's spelled Kreacher instead of Creature because he was the first one to write it down but he didn't know how to spell it properly

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[theprettieststarfr]

The first time I read the Harry Potter books I was 7, and so I read them in Russian. Despite the HORRIBLY translated edition that I read (Maria Spivak), where Hagrid is Ogrid and Madam Hooch is Madam Samogoni, which directly translates to "Madam Moonshine".

But some names were unchanged, like Harry and James and Sirius etc, but what I wanna talk about is Regulus. He was still Regulus Arcturus Black.

Р.А.Б., read "R-A-B", same as in English.

The thing is, if not for the fullstops, it would be an another word that exists in Russian - раб, directly translating to "slave".

And I laughed at this when I was young, at the pun that this made. But now that I think about it, it makes sense

Regulus was sort of a slave in the Black household. In terms of ideals and beliefs that his parents imposed. He got sorted into Slytherin, he became a death eater, he obeyed his parents and in the words of Sirius was "a better son than him". Regulus also defended Kreacher from Voldemort, and Kreacher was also, essentially, a slave in the household.

So yeah, just something to think about

[eri-pl]

So, Sauron surrendered (well, tried to) to Eonwe after the war was over, right?

You know what also happened with Eonwe in this time period? M&M came to demand the Silmarils (and probably leave E&E there?).

Just imagine them bumping into each other, just in front of Eonwe's tent. Or face.

[pursuitseternal]

Hello my partner-in-crime!

Could I pretty please have Sauron x Reader with prompt number 7: "Can you feel how much I want you?"

Love you! ❤️😘

“𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊…”

First Age Sauron x f!Reader | Dead Dove | 3.7K

Summary: There is no hope in Angband, in the dungeons of the Dark Vala…. But there is the Servant. Sauron.

A master craftsman and artist, forever seeking perfection, obsessed with creating his own beauty, and yet a victim of torment by his master that twists his sense of creativity to something vile and precious only to him.

CW: Dead dove: Do Not Eat, graphic violence, torture porn, bondage, temperature play, forge sex, corruption, marking branding biting, mind breaking, mind control, body worship, First Age Sauron, if evil why (literally) hot

Ao3 link | Tolkien Masterlist

You can see your breath, hear your heart beating slower and slower with each passing hour. Languishing. A slow death. A painful death. A merciless one that meant to break you without hope.

There is no hope in Angband.

Even the floors here are ice. Not even prison rats scurry around your cell. Your pointed ears have long grown deaf to the noises of the dungeon, numb from the icy chill of this evil frozen North. The chains on your neck and wrists have long since frozen to your skin. Death will be a relief, you sigh, when once again you’ll see the shores of Valinor and find comfort in the Halls of Mandos.

That thought makes your heart warm just enough to last a few more beats. But then you hear them—footsteps—lighter than Orc, more graceful than Balrog… and your body stiffens as you hear that sound on the icy air.

Humming. Music. Means one thing. Ainur.

Please not the Dark Lord, you beg to divine forces too far away to hear you. Your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. But you hope not this time.

“Do not fear,” that voice croons from the shadows. His presence seems to instantly thaw your extremities, warmth seeping in where there had only been cold for so, so long. You see eyes and movement in the darkness, but from his stature and bearing, you know it’s not the Lord of Angband…

It is the Servant.

His gaze is sharp, eyes darting over your crumpled mess of a body nearly frozen to the floor. His hair is bright; reds like blood and oranges like flames hang in long waves down his back and shoulders. His voice seems to tickle right in your ear, even at this distance, even as he stalks closer towards the bars of your cell. “Do not fear, I’m here to free you.”

“Wh-what?” You croak, the truth of those words do not deceive you, no matter how much you long for them to be true.

Those lips twitch as with a wave of his hand, the iron door swings open, the groaning hinges echoing against stone. “Well,” he suddenly sounds sharp, exacting, “free you from your cell, Elf. You are by no means free, not in body or in will, nor will you ever be again.”

Reality smacks you, your chest constricting.

“The Dark Lord has no need of such a small, frail Elf like you,” he strides in, grasping your chin in fingers impossibly hot. His touch sears like the fires of the forge, the stink of brimstone and smoke fill your nose. “You’d make a weak, pathetic Orc.” Then he shoves you by your face back to the ground at his feet. Your manacled hands catch yourself just in time to keep your nose from smashing against stone.

“Fortunately, what is unfit to serve the Master is deemed worthy of his Servant,” that voice returns to such silken, lilting tones, and you look into his face. His bright brown eyes rake over you, assessing and evaluating your worth, as if you were a precious gem examined for the flaws in your cut.

Those eyes, the more you stare into them, the brighter they seem to shine, a mix of golden browns that bubble and simmer with flame. You see them, the ripples of his power that creep beneath this disguise of a mortal form. “Come,” he orders you, those frozen irons and chains melting from your skin to clatter on the floor around you. “There is much work to be done.”

His grip on your wrist tightens, and you realize with certainty that his skin is hot… flushed and searing you by touch alone. It would frighten you, if it wasn’t for the sense of reprieve it gives from the biting cold that has settled in your bones from your imprisonment. If anything, you draw your scantily clad body closer to his, seeking that thawing sensation…his black robes barely brush your flesh, The bared skin of your arms, even patches of your torso where your gown has shredded to rags with violence and time crave to be nearer.

It feels so… good. After so long in the cold alone, to feel another’s touch, it makes you melt. He guides you through the dark, and even though your jaw aches from that fleeting ferocity in your cell, you can’t help but wish for more warmth shared against your skin.

The memory should terrify you but… it doesn’t. Your mind only remembers how good those fingers felt, their warmth, their command…

And you crave more against your better judgment. You would call it hope, but there is no hope in Angband. No hope. Only craving. As if you know that the only thing that awaits you is fire and blissful burning.

Shadows deepen as you walk, those brown-orange eyes flicker at you beside him as you both ascend the darkened stairs. That scent of smoke and ashen stone that clings to his skin suffocates you. Your frail lungs burn with every inhale, and as you reach the ascent, you see why.

No ice prison, he’s brought you to a massive forge. Torches burn and flicker, but no light is brighter than the gaping maw of a furnace. Orange flame reflects in his eye as he scans you. Grip deathly tight on your wrist, he leads you with graceful movements… lithe and sinuous. Like a snake.

Like a predator stalking his prey.

The faintest of smiles turns his full lips, and he stops you beside a great metal anvil… wide and long and big enough for any great creation. You recall the tales of such things from those of your kind who had come from Valinor, from the workshops of Aulë himself, or of Fëanor and his descendants.

It is on this warm, dark metal that he effortlessly lifts you up to seat you. Its surface is roughened with divets and grooves, the scars of the Servant’s work spanning its face. That relaxing heat creeps through the skin of your ass and climbs your spine until you feel a smile stretch on your cracked lips.

His fingers wander their soothing touch over your collarbone, the slightest push guides you to lay back on the heated anvil. You stare into the ceiling, seeing only the gathering darkness offset by rippling steam and flickering light. His touch continues to dance on your chest, tracing the parts of you where starvation has prodded your bones towards the surface.

And that sharp face, that handsome face, smiles… so warmly. “The Dark Lord insists that we each are forged in the shadows, that what has once been bathed in the light is made anew in the dark. Morgoth’s way is to maim… to ruin and torture and kill the light of beings he drafts into his service…”

You see a flicker behind his eyes, a memory of his own past perhaps, you surmise. A recollection none too pleasant as it darkens his gaze and stiffens the corners of his smiling lips.

Then, he turns that smile down upon you, spread so perfectly on his anvil. “But such is not my way. I am no jailer or executioner. I am an artisan, a craftsman of greatest skill, and I shall make you anew, my treasure.”

His fingers trace your gaunt face, warming it, caressing the spots that have grown stiff and lined with fear. His voice is dulcet, sweet and singsong as he purrs down, and you want nothing more than to feel those full, smirking lips on your skin and taste the sweet promises that drip from his tongue. Before you even realize your need, before you can name your inner burning as desire, two words fall from your panting mouth. “My Lord…” you whisper.

And the Servant smiles. It’s radiant, a flash of brightness in his eye and a brilliance to his grin. But he tuts his tongue, chiding you for the youthful creation you are. “Tsk, none of that. I am no Dark Lord. I am called many things… Admirable, Abominable… Gorthaur… Sauron…”

His hands come to rest at the top of your throat, a slight pressure around your neck as his thumb traces your lower lip.

“But you, my treasure, you shall call me by one simple word…. Hîr.”

Master.

Your breath catches in your burning lungs, your tongue already noiselessly testing out the syllable as it dances at its tip.

His reddish brows arch, pleased at your submission as he can see every little twitch of your mouth.

“You are a rare beauty,” he whispers, “the undiluted blessing of the One shines in the skin of the Elves, their eyes still bright with the memory of the Two Trees…”

He peers into yours, almost wistful, as if he longs to catch a glimpse of that Starlight to capture for his own. Sauron lowers his mouth, hovering just out of reach of your own lips. The scent of his forge is so strong, you can taste it, you are lost in the wash of his singeing breath on your face. “Hîr,” you obediently rasp, arching off the anvil to catch his lips.

And he lets you, lips and tongue so overwhelmingly warm, there is no sensation in your body other than his mouth as he devours.

Wave after wave of his mouth on yours, you fail to sense the snaking of chains around your arms and legs until they have chinched themselves bitingly hard into your flesh. Then you panic, your heart thundering no longer from pure arousal, but that wild rhythm of racing fear. You tug at them, fight them, and with one last desperate plea, you beg for Manwë, Varda… Eru himself to hear you.

But there is no rescue, no whisper of a reply to your prayers.

There is only Sauron’s shimmering toothy smile in the dark as his eyes dance over your form… spread so perfectly for him to work with. “Do you know, my treasure, why I’ve loathed the beauty of the Elves? Eru chose to bless you, to gift your kind the wisdom and graces first given only to me, to my kind… and you squander them. You cannot fathom, cannot see the greater purpose such power could serve.”

He’s pacing between your body and his tools, spread so evenly and orderly beside him. A long iron brand in his grip, he sticks it in the opening of the furnace.

The hissing of metal heating makes you shiver. Makes your skin crawl.

Fingers pull away the rest of your rags, baring every bit of your taut skin to his flickering gaze. “You are beautiful, but it is shallow, it is false. And I, my treasure, will purify you. I’ll remake you in my image and likeness, a thing of incomparable radiance ....” You whine as his hands wrap their warmth around your breasts. “You now are a thing to be admired… as I once was,” he croons down at you, pulling your ass to the edge of the anvil, your chain impossibly tight around your arms, breaking you in their unyielding hold as your legs hang down precariously.

Those lips press searing kisses down your neck, over the places where your mortal heart is thundering. His eyes flash up at you, and in that moment, you swear you see the reflection of the furnace beside you. Or perhaps it is more… the power that lies barely concealed in this handsome, sensual form. Those full lips wrap around one nipple, then the other, an inferno drummed up at his call races through your veins.

It is agony, hot and wild, that courses in your flesh. Never would one of your kind be so… wanton. Lust feeds your form, every bit of your skin wants to be touched… and the more he caresses your breasts and trails his mouth lower over the hollow of your belly, the less you care if that contact is pleasure… or pain.

They are one under his command, your mind purrs to your reason. Every thought reduces to the mere sensation of his mouth, his hands that press now between your spread thighs. The moment his tongue touches you, parting your folds to taste you, an unholy sound tears from your lips. Flames pulse through your veins, every lick and swirl of his tongue draws ungodly ecstacy. You weep for the feeling, the overwhelming waves of pleasure he coaxes from your nearly-broken body as if he drew your very soul, your fëa, to the surface.

Words tumble from your lips, nonsensical and varied in language until it is one word over and over again. You rasp it, cry it, scream it as he brings you right to the edge of your climax… Hîr… Hîr… Master.

His laughter tickles your flesh and your mind all at once, the sensation of his presence in your skull and his tongue in your walls throws you into oblivion. Your climax slams into you, all fire and heat and tension as he withdraws from you in that moment of bliss. Your chain grows impossibly tighter as you convulse on the metal beneath you, and for a split second, you wonder where he has gone….

At first you think it’s the ice of your prison again that slices through the warm pool of pleasure in your belly. But then, you open your eyes… it is not ice but white hot fire on your skin as his brand marks your inner thigh. The hissing, the steam, the scent of charming flesh takes over your pleasure, stealing it from your body. And all the while, he smirks down from between your soaked thighs. Orange hair catches the glow of the brand as he lifts it, a satisfied glint in the flames of his own gaze.

Fear races down your nerves, every corner of your being screams at you to fight, to run and resist… the pain almost breaks through those tendrils of shadow that have woven into your senses. And now, as you inhale, you can smell it.

Death. Ashen and purifying. You see him, eyes ringed in flame and breath blackened like smoke… your heart could burst from your need to resist…

Until you feel his hands on your skin again, that warmth somehow driving the dread back into the recesses of your mind.

That teasing touch traces the prongs of his mark, three of them, ugly and deformed, a perversion of the pronged crown that rests on the Dark Lord, the Dark Vala’s head.

Your body shakes with the shock of pain, even as he presses his lips to kiss that angry flesh. “Ninya,” he whispers against it. Mine.

The pain intensifies as he removes his touch, the euphoria of your climax dulling to leave you with only the searing agony he’s caused in its wake. “Mine, and like me, you shall be remade from admirable to abominable… and I will always possess you.”

The sound of liquid swirls in glass, the soft tapping of a brush against its rim… he stands over you, eyes roaming your bared form and lingering on the places he deems most worthy… or is it unworthy?

“The light of the Valar still shines too brightly on your skin, so soft almost like pearls of the Sea… it too shall have to be remade,” he rasps. The black bottle in his hand coming closer, the wooden brush wiping the excess fluid before he brings it to your legs.

The bite of acid eats at your skin, burning you, tearing you inside out. That music in his voice invades your mind, warping the pain into a warm sort of pleasure. Every drip of acid on your flesh as he paints higher and higher… your thighs, your belly… it shifts into that hot coil of need roiling behind your navel.

He doesn’t slather you, he’s not destroying you… it’s painstaking and exact the way he draws into your skin, making it burn and hiss and bubble anew. Remaking. Whirls and swirls and swipes in the precise places his critical eye deems worthy.

It’s agony… blissful agony… Every scream from your throat breaks into a moan. The perversion of your pain into bliss brings a drugged sort of grin to your face. The grin of a fool.

He sets the brush back inside the bottle, his hand tracing the rises and valleys of your face, your sharpened cheekbones, the hollows of your cheeks. His fingers dance on your wincing face, warm and burning, a herald of the pain you know he’s about to inflict. Your heart will surely explode, and your death might just be the final offering you make… But then, he cups your cheek, fingers laced in the mess of your long and knotted hair.

“Don’t be afraid, my treasure. You are being oh so brave… oh so valiant as you are remade.” His kiss instantly numbs your pain and slows your heart, the torture of resistance in your mind instantly silenced. That coil of need flames anew as his hand wanders back over your mound, dipping that addictive touch into your slick.

You gasp, eyes rolled back, spine arching off the anvil’s metal. Then you look into his face, the abyss of fire and darkness behind his eyes sucks you inside, lost to anything but the sensations of his fingers that tease you and torture you in a different way. A more pleasing way.

His fingers slide so easily, playing you like an instrument in his grasp. Your moans are the melody of his composing, the bucking of your hips keeps a steady rhythm, one perfectly timed to the thrust of his fingers. His mouth on yours once more, the biting of his teeth on your lips, the growls of his own pleasure in his throat form a counterpoint so intoxicating, there is nothing left but the music of him finger fucking you.

All that pain that is bound in your nerves and coiled in your belly bursts… white hot and violent as you come. Then, you scream until your voice cracks, until your vocal chords are fried from the force and volume he demands from your spent form.

“Good, my treasure…” he rasps against your lips as they fall silent. “Ninya… you’ve done so well,” he purrs into your pointed ear as the world grows dark to your vision, as your body gives in and falls unconscious. Those little praises bring a twisted smile to your face as you drift into oblivion. “When you wake, you’ll be mine alone, mine forever… the most beautiful abomination I have yet crafted…”

And the final sensation to pierce through the veil of your slumber is the sting of acid on your forehead and cheek… the flicker of pain plunging you completely into the darkness at long last.

There is no hope in Angband… There is also no time. Only darkness and craving. Hunger and satisfaction.

Pain. And pleasure.

It’s a lesson you are taught nightly, at least you assume it’s nightly… whenever it is that Sauron returns to his chambers where you are kept sequestered away. The chains from his forge are gone, replaced with elegant links of gold and gem-entrusted trappings that hang on your frame. Your hands fiddle with them, where they drape down your arms in layers, where they sweep over your bare skin to your middle.

You’ve long forgotten the feeling of clothes. There is only the bed and your elegant chains, the heat of his touch and the sting of his biting teeth and burning brand and lashing whips.

You wish that your memories would dim… that the burden of your elven heritage would forsake you as easily as that fair, starkissed body you once called your own. Tears prick your eyes, your own fingers steadily tracing your once soft skin, touch dancing over blade scars and the rough ridges of his burning… the brands of his possession forever glaring at you from your thighs, not unlike those ghostly flickering eyes that haunt you each day… whether Sauron visits you or not.

“Mairaza…” the whisper brushes your mind before it settles in your ear. “My precious…” you’ve learned his new tongue… this speech he’s created for his servants, for you.

The warmth of his body seeps into you from behind, that scent of fire, of ash and smoke and forge excites you now… it conjures that swirl of damp heat in your cunt. Already you grit your teeth, craving in excess, hungering for more. The thin chains of gold and jewels clink and jingle as those calloused hands caress your body. He lingers over his marks, the scars of his pleasure-pain that have molded you into his own creation.

“Can you feel it, Mairaza, can you feel how much I want you?”

You clench around nothingness, hoping beyond hope that he fills you soon and grants you release this time.

Soft words of his own invented tongue purr inside your brain, praising your scars, the healed-over bubbles of flesh from that day he claimed you…

Sauron turns you, your attention lost in the bottomless depth of his eyes as those magical fingers caress the scars that curve in serpentine shapes over your cheeks. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasps. “Can you feel how much I want you, body and soul?” his lips whisper against your own. “Can you feel how much you are mine, Ninya?”

The words do not come to you outloud; they flood your very being, racing to your awareness down the tether that binds you to him.

That taste of his mouth swallows you whole, and there is nothing left of hope and peace. All that remains is the fire of lust and the darkness of desire. You cannot escape, nor would you seek to anymore. No lies or deception are required any longer, for you feel his want and crave his attentions…

He is always in your mind, his marks always on your body… his greatest creation. For now.

A gift to @myfavouritelunatic for her ask, for @marimosalad for betaing and inspired by @ogyscrypt and his masterpiece of a nsfw audio you should totally check out… Link on Reddit

[blackstarregulus79]

one Jegulus raising harry thing i never see is when harry come home with a s.p.e.w badge and explaining about Hermione and how obsessed she is with house elf rights right then.

Regulus then joining the club when she visits for the summer and they spend the whole day drinking tea and talking about elf rights.

harry was so embarrassed about it to.

james thought it was cute and joined as well.

they both promoted the movement at their professional quidditch games (because in my head they both became quidditch players) and it expanding beyond any of there wildest dreams.

they did respect that some house elves liked what they did but they also pointed out that not all were treated right.

so it became more about treating the elves fairly then freeing them. (mostly due to regulus's involvement)

but Hermione was always leading and running everything until she graduated Hogwarts and worked at there new foundation full time.

harry and Ron would sometimes volunteer (and Regulus would drag draco along using his god father card)

and james and reg worked there part time when they weren't playing quidditch.

can some one plz turn this into a full length fic i need to read this

[hamletphase]

IT'S FINALLY DONE...... SILMARILLION FAMILY TREES!

this was mostly for my own reference, but i spent a really long time on them, so i thought i'd share it. and here's a google drive folder with all the files, because the quality is shot to hell here. i hope the names are at least a little legible.

[w-stachu]

✨️ S. P. E. W. headcanon ✨️

Hermione came up with the idea of founding Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare after finding an old diary in the library.

In this diary were many ways to free the house elves from the abusive families and some drawings of happily living elves. She also found a photo of several young wizards, some of the faces seemed familiar to her.

She had no idea that this diary belonged to Sirius' little brother. During his last year at Hogwarts he hid it well in the library.

Regulus loved watching her actions from the afterlife ^^

[cinnamonsikwate]

i'm really curious about what marcille's mother's deal is. seems like she's not too big on the rest of elven society. here's what we know about her so far:

mage at a human royal court (adventurer's bible)

courtship with marcille's father donato lasted 17 years (adventurer's bible)

specialty is roast pork, which was also donato's favorite (chapter 81)

had a cheerful personality up until the point donato got too sick to eat his favorite food. her extreme emotional reaction to this left a lasting impression on marcille (chapter 81)

remarried to a gnome and moved away from the city at some point after donato died (adventurer's bible)

several portraits of her appear in marcille's nightmare (chapter 42); this is the second time we see marcille dream of her (chapter 3)

preferred non-elven food and didn't introduce marcille to any traditional elven dishes (chapter 74)

from the canaries' reactions in chapter 74, it appears elven society looks down on elves who go to live among and work for short-lived races. they seemed especially put off that she would have a mixed-blood child. when they're talking about the lyrikmumare to get marcille to trip up, marcille envisions her mother saying that the food "here" (i.e., the northern continent) tastes so much better. so the picture we're getting here is of an elf who has removed herself from elven culture, but the question is, did she do it willingly or was she forced to?

keeping her other actions in mind, i'm leaning more towards the former. the most intriguing thing for me is that she eventually married a gnome, despite elves and gnomes having infamously waged war against each other over differences in the practice of magic and presently tending to discriminate against the other on sight. (one thing's for sure — marcille's mother is winning the idgaf war!)

marcille never talks about her gnome stepfather though, and it's unclear what she thinks of her mother's remarriage. the timing of the remarriage is also a mystery. donato married marcille's mother when he was 32 (after having courted her for 17 years) and died at 82, meaning they were married for 50 years. marcille is also currently 50 years old, but we know she wasn't born immediately after the marriage: in chapter 81, donato's doppelganger says marcille was born when he'd started "getting on in years." based on marcille's memories of him and the established fact that the average tall-man lifespan is 60 years, i'd hazard that he was in his 50s then. this gives him 30 years or less with marcille — definitely less than 35, which we know is the age at which she left for the magic academy.

we don't know if marcille's mother remarries before or after marcille leaves (if before, than that's definitely a shockingly short time), but it's interesting that she chose to marry someone from a long-lived race this time. maybe this is her way of ensuring she spares herself another heartbreak? or maybe she *is* still heartbroken and is trying to cover it up.

but. i can't help but kind of agree with chilchuck in chapter 81, that marcille's parents are not blameless for marcille becoming the dungeon lord. since it's apparently well-documented, they surely must have known — as well-educated people — that mixed-blood children face not just discrimination but also mental anguish that comes with their unstable aging (not to mention the sterility). so the way they raised marcille feels frankly irresponsible 😭

anyway. i'd love to get spin-off content where post-adventure marcille and her mother meet again. i feel like there's a lot of unresolved issues there (that can of course be hashed out over a good meal).

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

“More dangerous and Less wise”

Yeah, ok, if we ignore the fact that it is a banger of a line and description, tell me again which elven race commited 4 massacres for jewelry?

Which races were ready to kill for it?

And which race’s king said that he would not ever fight a war for gold and jewels?

That’s what i thought.

[perenians]

oh merrill...

[yellowraincoat]

There’s this one tumblr post I can’t find for the life of me that’s like “there had to be one fast and loose Vulcan who agreed to basically make out with a human when they made first contact bc handshakes are intimate in Vulcan culture, I want the story of that fast and loose Vulcan.”

Anyway, Elliot Schafer core. It’s his only diplomatic strategy

[artist-rat]

new warden :) 🌟⚔️ Kai Tabris