#elves with emotive ears >>>>>> anything

[worldsneverfilled]

Ear lengths of WoW elf art are close to what I imagine for Enilasor. They're maybe a touch longer than I'm thinking, but Enilasor's are definitely closer to those than what I see in most elf art or on hero forge.

[riddlemelater]

Ruin Me - T.N

masterlist | nav

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: Theo's struggling with the weight of his duty, lucky for him, you aren't ready to give up on him— No matter what he's done.

wordcount: 4.6k

warnings: Death Eater!Theo X fem!reader, mentions of blood/murder, alcohol use, smut, p in v, slight nipple play if you squint, mild pain kink, rough sex, emotional repression, implied trauma/war, established relationship.

a/n: My humblest apologies for not updating my Mattheo fic. I’ve just lost a very dear family member this week, and I'm struggling with the motivation to write. In the meantime, please accept this Theo draft that’s been gathering dust for months. Take care of yourselves, lovelies <3

The first indication that all was not well was the front door slamming shut with a resounding thud. One that echoed through the dark halls of his family's property and lingered in the air like a bad smell. The sheer force of it had the supporting walls trembling from the impact as it settled into place, as though it had shaken the very foundations on which the manor was built.

Then, it was the heavy drag of dragon-skin boots across the hardwood floors, careless and scuffing at every surface that dared get in their way. Loud, thudding footsteps that resounded through the corridors, causing you to bristle with anticipation. No doubt that Theo was trailing dirt, blood, and Merlin knows what else across the fitted carpets and polished halls. Even worse, you doubted he cared at all, too focused on whatever he'd been cajoled into doing tonight.

He often got like this after a mission, as if he’d lost all ability to think. His usual dry humour and composure replaced by a sort of tunnel vision focus, bordering on obsession. Whenever Theo was like this, he had no regard for anyone or anything— he was volatile, cold, unpredictable.

And there was nothing that could fix that. Not even you.

The poor elves would be appalled when they saw him, his blatant disregard for their strenuous upkeep of Nott Manor an unthinkable sin. You could picture them now, begrudgingly cleaning up the offending footprints while muttering sourly about the reckless heir they were bound to serve. You made a mental note to apologise profusely on his behalf in the morning, already thinking about what baked treats would best appease two scorned house-elves.

Before Theo’s return, all had been well - or, at least — as well as it could be when your boyfriend was in the presence of the Dark Lord.

The soft crackling of the fire in the far corner of the bedroom cast a flickering glow across the room, like the fleeting light of the setting sun on a summers evening. And as the flames burned out to embers you sat tight jawed, fidgety, and trying to distract yourself with one of the books that rested on Theo's bedside.

As one hand flicked through pages you weren't really reading, the other rested in the fur of the purring feline in your lap. The small creature, curled up and warm against your cool skin, soothed the restlessness you fought halfheartedly. You fell into a rhythm, stroking his fur in time with the gentle rise and fall of his tiny frame, biting at the dry skin of your bottom lip.

You hated when Theo was away.

He had been out for hours. So long in fact that you'd abandoned any hope of fulfilling your dinner plans, and instead settled into the plush - but empty - four poster bed. Armed with a book and the cat, who'd soon taken to sprawling out on Theo’s side of the mattress, and you waited apprehensively.

Time twisted in on itself — hours slipping by in a slow, aching crawl. You'd learned not to keep an eye on the clock nowadays, and so you continued to scratch behind the cat's ears, smiling as he purred every so often. You were almost envious of how ignorant the small animal was, sleeping soundly through the heavy thud of boots just down the hall, the footsteps heading to ruin what looked like a perfectly good nap wrapped up in Theo's expensive sheets.

Down the hall, the familiar sound of a cupboard opening, then a glass being firmly sat down on the table echoed through the corridors. Your mind's eye pictured Theo, reaching for one of the many bar cabinets, pouring a healthy glass of whiskey then dispersing of it in one, large gulp.

Not a good night, then. You thought absently and continued your pets, turning a page of the book propped up against the pillow, halfheartedly trying to feign interest. It was best not to pry on nights like this, he'd tell you in his own way once he was ready. Or maybe he wouldn't, and you'd just have to accept that there were some things best left unsaid. Some sins that were best left unconfessed.

You listened to the soft purr of the sleeping animal beside you and waited, anxious.

Eventually, Theo appeared—sullen, quiet. As expected, he said nothing, and so you said nothing either. You stole a glance at him and regretted it instantly: gaunt lines carved into his face, flecks of what you could only assume was blood scattered across his skin. The dark circles beneath his eyes had become a near-constant feature, and his hair stuck out in every direction, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it for hours.

He looked so different now from the fourteen-year-old boy you'd fallen in love with. Back then, his dark circles were from staying up too late in the library, his dishevelled hair from falling asleep on his notes while he tried to practice a particularly difficult spell. Now his late nights were filled with fear, spurred on not by academic success, but by dark magic and a burning mark on his left forearm.

Through your thick lashes, you watched his robes fall unceremoniously from his body, piling in a discarded heap by the ottoman. He kicked them away from his feet, and his boots clattered against the floor a moment later, with the same careless disregard for where they landed. You said nothing, only watched the dull expression on his face— lifeless and miserable— and waited for him to speak.

Theo sighed and huffed as though something was weighing heavily on his mind, yet he didn't speak, only stripped down to his boxers and disappeared into the en-suite. The shower began to run and your eyes flitted up to meet the ajar door he'd just slid behind, tentatively listening to his movements until he settled underneath the stream of water.

Definitely not a good night.

Wordlessly, you rose from the bed and lifted his robes, dropping them into the washing basket without taking a look at them - you didn't want to know what, or who, was staining them. On nights like this, it was best not to ask because you’d never like the answer, and Theo would struggle to meet your gaze.

The water still ran in the bathroom, falling harshly against the tiled floor as Theo scrubbed at his skin with fervour, a ritual neither of you had entirely come to terms with. Your teeth bit at the dry skin of your lips, the air thick with tension, and you returned his boots to the shoe rack, murmuring a quick cleaning spell and hiding them from sight. As if hiding the evidence he'd ever left the house might help him forget.

Whether that was for your benefit or Theo’s was unclear.

In the bathroom, Theo was muttering, not loud enough for you to make out details, but enough that you were aware of it. Whatever had happened tonight was playing on his mind. You knew it was bad, but Theo had come home in one piece - and that? Well, that was good enough for you.

Was it selfish of you? Perhaps. But Theo was alive, and really, that's all that mattered.

In recent years, you'd seen how ruthless Voldemort could be, you'd watched when the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory had appeared before the student body, pale and lifeless, whilst his father wailed at his side. When Harry Potter had fought him in the Department of Mysteries, you’d all seen the news coverage. You could still picture the Daily Prophet's front page announcing his return, clear as day. And when things had begun to change at Hogwarts, you'd only held onto Theo tighter, promised that no matter what, you were there for him.

A promise you would honour to the grave.

Theo was no stranger to the cruelty of the Dark Lord. His mother’s death had marked him, twisted him into something darker even as a child, but it was his father’s loyalty to the cause that had nearly destroyed him. You still remember the look on his face when he received that letter in your sixth year—that letter.

It was December. You’d just finished your winter exams. Theo had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the break, just to be with you, to escape whatever darkness called to him. But that evening, as he sat beside you on the couch, his fingers trembling as he hesitated, something in him was cracked open. He’d been terrified to show you what he’d received in the morning post—a letter that wasn’t just words on parchment, but a death warrant. A promise. One that sealed his future as a servant of the Dark Lord.

The moment he handed it to you, his eyes wide, he looked to you as if you might be his salvation — or his undoing. But before you could say a word, before you could reach for him, he crumpled the letter back in his hand and whispered, "I have to go."

And Theo went home for Christmas that year.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to get clean enough that his hushed murmurs had fallen quiet, and another ten until the water finally shut off entirely. You weren’t sure what version of Theo you’d get.

Some nights he’d come in without a word, he’d shower and scrub at his skin— scrub at that mark until he felt better— then he’d collapse into bed beside you, wrap his arms around your waist and tug you close, whisper sweet nothings into your ear till you fell asleep tangled up together. You wouldn’t speak, but you’d burrow closer, let his tight grip squeeze the breath from your lungs if it meant he could rest easier.

“Still here, then." He said flatly, his tone laced with a bitter sharpness. You looked up at him cautiously, studying him. "Thought maybe you'd have finally grown a spine and left."

The towel around his waist dropped, and he tugged on a fresh shirt and clean boxer shorts, not glancing at you once.

So it was that version of Theo tonight.

You said nothing, your fingers still stroking the cat lying beside you. The small creature stirred a little, then sat up quickly as Theo scoffed. Its eyes narrowed as it stretched out, as if limbering up for an attack— the sweet thing had always preferred you, much to Theo’s amusement, and clung to your side whenever he had the chance. Your gaze flitted from the cat to Theo, concern etched into your features.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity." He spat, instinctively tucking his left arm from sight, pulling a jumper over his head a moment later. You knew he hated when you saw his mark.

The cat sprang off the bed and scuttled out the door quickly, Theo's words clearly agitating the small beast. You frowned, watching the end of his bushy tail slipping out of sight, leaving the two of you alone.

"You scared him." You murmured softly, your eyes lingering on the slightly ajar door. Then, as if you'd drifted off briefly, your head turned back towards Theo, taking in the sight of him as he dried his hair with the towel, his dark locks tousled and damp from the shower

"Theo baby, I-" You tried, voice tender and careful. Using that word— that name that was only ever his— hoping it might jolt him out of his spiral. Comfort him, ground him.

But he flinched like the word burned him.

"Don't."

It came out like a snarl, cutting through your hesitant words. So unlike your Theo, it was almost unrecognisable. He spun sharply, eyes wide. Wild.

"Don't fucking 'baby' me." His voice was low and cruel. Mocking.

You bristled, swallowing back the sting. Fighting every instinct to physically recoil from his words. He didn’t mean it. You knew that, even if it hurt to hear. Your nails dug into your palms, crescents pressing deep into skin. Every breath felt brittle, like it might shatter in your throat. You wanted to move—reach for him—but your limbs felt like they’d been filled with lead. If you could just get to him, take his hand, press kisses to his bruised knuckles and red skin, maybe he’d see. Maybe then he’d realise you were in this for keeps.

Maybe if you just—

"I killed a boy with eyes the same shade as yours tonight."

He didn’t look for your reaction — didn’t need to. He could feel it in the silence. He didn't need to see your wide eyes or parted lips to know. He just started to pace, hands dug into his hair and tugging angrily, as if he could tear the image of their lifeless faces from his mind if he pulled hard enough.

You swallowed the lump beginning to form, crawling across the bed till you were sat at the edge. Waiting for the right moment to interrupt, but he was talking now, and he needed to talk about it. You needed him to talk.

“A kid. Younger than me.” He muttered, not looking at you, just pacing angrily. As if he were at war with himself. "I didn't flinch."

“What kind of person doesn’t flinch?” He scoffed, a bitter, breathless sound that didn’t quite reach a laugh. “I looked him in the eyes. Held my wand steady as he begged. Do you know how easy it was?”

You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, uncontrollable tears welling up and threatening to spill. He stopped pacing for a moment, just long enough to look at you— and Merlin, there was something fractured in his stare. Like he wanted you to see him as a monster, that cruel snarl on his face as if he wanted you to look away in shame.

“Like breathing. That easy.” He snapped his fingers and you flinched, your whole body jerking like a puppet on a string.

Theo's chest heaved, as though the act had knocked the wind out of him. His shoulders collapsed inward, jaw slack, fingers twitching faintly like they hadn’t gotten the message that the moment had passed.

His eyes fluttered shut, as if he couldn't bear to even look at you. His tongue ran across the inside of his cheek, and he exhaled a bitter sigh, one that was loaded with self-loathing and spite. Your heart broke for him.

"Theo, baby. You had no choice." You murmured weakly, pleading. It wasn't enough, but what else could you say— I'm sorry your father signed you up for a war you didn't want to be a part of?

"I killed someone tonight. Do you even get that?" He snapped incredulously, taking a step closer to you. And it was like that flicker of softness from just a moment ago had vanished, replaced by the hardened composure that had been drilled into him.

Your lip trembled, mouth opening and closing, useless, as you tried to speak. Tears pricked in your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared back at him, speechless.

"Dead. Gone. Just like that. Do you really think you understand how I feel at all?"

He took another step toward you, less than a meter from the edge of the bed where you sat. The same bed that you'd held him in as he cried, sobbed till his voice died out about the things he was terrified to have to do. Things he could now do, as easily as breathing, apparently.

You shook your head in quiet defeat. He scoffed once more.

"Exactly. So don't sit here with your little book and your— your fucking cat and act like everything is fine."

His voice raised louder, crueller, and you forced yourself to look away and exhale shakily. Theo hadn't taken his eyes off you since his outburst; he just stood and watched, chest heaving up and down in ragged breaths.

"Theo..." You said softly, rising from the mattress and reaching out to cup his cheek, holding his face in your much smaller hand like he was made of glass. "You didn’t have a choice. It's not your fault."

He opened his mouth, another argument on the tip of his tongue, and your head shook gently. He blinked, as if he was about to ignore you, but then he pressed his lips together and his eyes softened.

"It's not your fault, baby." You said again, stronger this time. Less like you were trying to convince him, and more like you were telling the truth. Your thumb stroking over his cheek in tender, repetitive swipes. He didn't flinch under your touch, but he didn't lean into it either. Just stared down at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

"You can't forget it, I know." You soothed, "But you don't need to deal with it on your own either. You can talk to me."

Theo's head shook just slightly. "You don't know what you're saying." He swallowed, his familiar blue eyes staring down at you.

"Yes, I do."

He shook his head again, firmer. "I can't. I'll only hurt you. I'll destroy everything good in you just by being with you."

Your hand slid down his cheek, skimmed down past the tender skin of his neck, and paused as it reached his chest. You could feel the quick, uneven thrum of his heart, pulsing in his chest like a trapped bird.

"Then ruin me." You murmured.

It came out soft, but sure—like you meant it. Like it wasn’t some reckless offer made out of pity or panic, but a choice. A deliberate invitation to be broken, that you’d do anything if it meant that he wouldn’t have to break alone.

Theo froze. His chest stopped its ragged rise and fall. His eyes dropped to where your hand pressed flat against his chest, to the place where you could feel the wild, desperate flutter of his heart. And then he looked back at you.

Your breath hitched as he surged forward, lips pressing against your own in a bruising kiss that made you stagger back a step. He was unrelenting, however, and his strong hands only wrapped around you, pulling you back to him.

One hand tangled in your hair, messy and desperate, pressing your head closer to his and chasing your lips hungrily. The other rested on the small of your back, his fingers grasping at your clothes like you'd slip away otherwise.

You let your fingers slide up his chest, over the taut muscles of his shoulders, feeling the harsh beat of his heart under your fingertips, mirroring the frantic rhythm in your own chest.

The kiss was heated, raw, and filled with unspoken words. Theo's grip tightened, the tips of his fingers digging in enough that you winced, and a quiet groan fell from your lips. His breath was hot against your skin as he pulled away just enough to press his forehead to yours. His hand drifted to your face, cupping it like you were the most precious thing on earth.

His eyes searched yours — torn, conflicted, filled with a mixture of guilt and something deeper. His lips parted as if he was going to say something, but he didn't. Instead, he closed the space between you once more, his kiss rough. Stripped of all restraint and filled only with desire.

His hands roamed again, pulling at your clothes with a sense of urgency that matched the frantic pulse of your heartbeat. There was no hesitation in how he moved, only the fierce need to feel something other than the heaviness inside him. To feel you, real and tangible, here with him.

Your back hit the mattress before you could even register moving, and Theo was climbing on top of you in an instant, caging you in between his arms. His lips found yours quickly, pressing desperate kisses across your lips, nose brushing against yours as he moved.

It didn’t feel like his usual tender kisses. It felt like there was something more, as if he was pouring all of the hurt and anger that had boiled up inside him into the kiss, and you were all too eager to take it.

Theo growled low in his throat as he tore his mouth from yours, only to bury it in the soft curve of your neck. His teeth sank into your skin, rough and unrelenting, leaving behind an angry, pulsing bruise.

“Theo—” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulder as a sharp ache bloomed beneath his bite. But he didn’t respond— didn’t even seem to hear you. He was lost, wholly consumed by the feel of your body, by the desperate need to drown in something that wasn’t blood or guilt.

Your spine arched instinctively, pressing closer as he ravaged your neck with hungry, possessive nips. His hands moved blindly, tugging at your clothes with a desperation that bordered on frantic— stripping you like he couldn’t bear even an inch of fabric between you.

“So fucking gorgeous…” he breathed against your skin, voice gravelly and low. His hand snaked down to grasp at your chest, kneading roughly at your tits.

Your head tilted back as a moan tore from your throat, and Theo groaned at the sound— low and wrecked— like it shattered something within him.

“Fuck— do that again,” he muttered, his mouth hot and desperate against your collarbone. His fingers grasping at your nipple and pinching, rolling it between his fingers.

You writhed underneath him, moaning softly, and Theo swore under his breath— something guttural and half-feral. Something that only made you want to moan louder, to give him that satisfaction.

“Drives me fucking mad…” he rasped, lips trailing down your chest. “You don’t even know.”

His mouth wrapped around your nipple without warning, sucking hard enough to make you jolt, his teeth grazing at the sensitive flesh just shy of too rough. His hand slipped between your thighs, forcing them apart with a bruising grip.

“All I think about—” he muttered into your skin, voice breaking. “All fucking day.”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own dark and glazed over with need. “You make it stop.” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your skin, “The only time I can breathe is when I’m inside you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his fingers slid underneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down with a rough urgency that made your breath catch. He didn’t wait for your permission, pressing two fingers against your heat, swearing under his breath as he felt how wet you already were.

“Fuck,” he muttered as if it hurt, “you’re soaked for me— always are, aren’t you?”

Your hips bucked into his touch and his eyes snapped up to meet yours, tearing away from between your thighs as if it pained him to look away. “You love this, don’t you?” He growled, “Letting me ruin you like this.”

He pressed inside quickly, thick fingers filling you, and your cry only encouraged him to work quicker, pushing in and out of you with ease.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, eyes mesmerised by the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. “Taking it so well, good girl.”

“T-Theo!” You gasped, eyes screwing shut as he continued his ministrations.

At the sound of your voice he smirked, dragging his thumb to your clit and drew small circles, working you open quickly. His mouth still panting against your throat, watching the way you writhed and moaned, “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”

Your thighs trembled as he pumped his fingers into you, whispering filthy words of praise as you whimpered and writhed beneath him. Each thrust felt precise and punishing, his palm grinding against your clit in the most delicious way.

Theo’s mouth was everywhere— biting at your throat, licking over bruises he’d just made, his tongue catching on your pulse point like he needed to taste how alive you were beneath him. Like that alone was enough to keep him grounded.

“God,” he rasped, pulling his hand back to strip the rest of his clothes from his body, barely breaking contact with your sensitive skin. “Gonna lose my fucking mind.” He groaned.

Your legs parted instinctively as he adjusted, and he caught your thighs in his palms, humming approvingly as you opened yourself up to him. His cock was rock hard, the tip glistening with pre cum as he lined himself up, then paused, his eyes meeting yours.

“This what you wanted?” He asked roughly, unable to stop himself from pressing forward just slightly. “Say it. Tell me.” He urged.

“Yes,” you panted, “Theo, please—”

He didn’t let you finish.

He pushed in with a hard thrust, one that knocked the air from your lungs as he buried himself to the hilt in one desperate motion. Your walls clenching around him, causing his body to shudder above you and a strangled sound breaking in his throat.

“Fuck, baby. So tight.” He gritted out, head falling against your shoulder as he started to move. “So perfect for me.”

Every thrust was hard, deliberate— like if he buried himself deep enough he could fuck the memories out of his head. You could feel it in the way his hands gripped your body, the way his rhythm faltered every time you gasped his name.

Your back arched as he drove into you, unrelenting, each thrust dragging little gasps from your throat. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, wet and filthy and desperate, and the broken moans he drew from you only matched the obscene sounds.

“Fuck, you feel—” he choked out, voice raw with need, “—so fucking good. Can’t think— can’t fucking breathe.”

His fingers bruised your hips, dragging you back onto him as if he needed you closer. His mouth finding yours in a kiss that was all heat, and teeth, and breathless groans. You whimpered into his mouth, nails clawing at his back and he only hissed through his teeth, the pain spurring him on.

“Theo— fuck— Theo,” you gasped, head tipping back as your body began to tremble beneath him, your orgasm fast approaching.

He snapped his hips harder, faster, his thrusts turning punishing as he chased both your pleasure and his own oblivion. His face burried in your neck, breath ragged and uneven as he panted against your skin.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned, biting down hard on your shoulder. “Gonna come inside you— fuck— can’t stop—can’t—”

You cried out as your orgasm hit, clenching around him like a vice, your whole body seizing from the sheer force of it. Your orgasm triggered Theo’s and he tipped over the edge just after you. His thrusts faltered as he spilled into you with a low, guttural sound, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself, still clutching onto you tightly.

You were still catching your breath when his body finally stilled, the frantic pace giving way to a trembling stillness as he collapsed on top of you. His hands, once gripping onto your hips harder enough to bruise, loosened quickly— like he was suddenly now aware of how lost in the moment he had been.

His forehead dropped once more, pushing against your shoulder as his damp curls brushed against your skin and he exhaled shakily. For a long moment he didn’t move, just breathed, shallow, broken breaths against your collarbone.

“Shit— I’m sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to— fuck. I just… I didn’t know where else to put it.”

Your hand rose instinctively, fingers threading through his curls, massaging lightly.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured against his hair, “You’re allowed to let it out.”

He hummed absently, and his arms tightened around you. Clutching on like you were the only thing keeping him afloat. “I love you so much.” He mumbled in an exhausted voice.

“I love you too, Theo.” You replied, and you squeezed him tighter. “Get some sleep now, baby.”

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Ngl, obsessed with the idea that the questers know that legolas is, if not thousands of years, then centuries old, but it not regestering until he mentions having met their ancestor or a historical figure to them. It doesn’t help that legolas looks like a teenager.

Just like that scene with eowyn realizing aragorn is a legit grandpa but with legolas and the rest of the walkers instead.

Legolas: i never had the pleasure of having a conversation with the man, but from the brief glimpses of (insert boromir’s ancestor from 1000 years ago here) that i saw, he was an honorable man.

Boromir, bluescreening: yes, he was known as quite the chivalrous man. But for you to have met him you must be at least a thousand years old!

Legolas: *clicks tongue and doesn’t say anything with an amused smile*

Aragorn, who has gone through all these emotions already: older.

Gimli: Older?? Are you telling me that this beardless, pointy elf with a face of a teenager is, what? 2000?

Aragorn: more.

Gimli: MORE???

Merry: if he is close to 3000 years than he was probably born around the last war for the ring!

Legolas, enjoying this all immensely: i was old enough to fight in it actually.

Pippin: alright, so legolas is 3000 and a few centuries. That’s a lot older than i thought to be honest. He looked like the youngest elf in rivendale.

Legolas: i’m 4000, actually.

Gimli: GODDAMN IT! I knew we shouldn’t trust these babyfaced point ears! You can’t even tell their age!

Legolas: if it makes you feel better, other elves also have a hard time discerning the age of silvans. They’ve routinely thought of mine to be millenia younger that we actually are.

Boromir, having an existential crisis: what the fuck

[running-with-kn1ves]

An Elven Winter

CW: None! Arranged marriage, very cozy very comfy, winter nights, grossly affectionate moments

Synopsis: You’re late for dinner with your brawny elf husband, again. Is he going to scold you this time, and live up to his name as a heartless elf?

A/N: Your favorite boy Cirdan is back! Here's the OG piece I wrote with him if anybody wants some more comfort and cuteness.

Snowflakes whipped from the left across your face, illuminated by dampened yellow street lanterns with an icy blue tinge to their miniscule edges. The cold stuck to your eyelashes, to the tip of your nose, to the bottoms of your trudging boots. 

When was the last time it snowed this hard? Not in years, certainly. Not since you began to share your home with another warm body, waiting to welcome you home away from the chills seeping into the openings of your sleeves. You could see your home only two doors down now, the front bathed by hanging porch lights, a trellis covered with dead vines propped against the dark, unlit corner of the cabin. Everyday he’d water that thing, and everyday it’d continue to shrivel under the coldening wind.

Your face creases with concern for what your spouse's reaction may be once you make it home. He might fawn over every trickle of water that was once snow on your shoulders, fraught by the coldness of your fingertips in his palms. It wasn’t his worry that was exhausting, it was the fear of making him feel anything other than glowing warmth, of adoration for you.

Your feet slid over one another racing to the front doors in a jog. Another wave of guilt washed over you for the tenth time tonight for being, what was it now-- an hour late to dinner? How your lovely, saint of a husband worked endlessly to make your homestead full of comfort and homeliness-- and yet you couldn’t make it in time for a meal he had spent endlessly curating. You would beat yourself over the head if you had a moment to spare.

But there was nothing you could do to turn back the time, to slide any quicker on the glassy, frozen ground. Tripping to race up to the door, you fumbled over stone steps in impatience.

The delicately carved door handle was just as cold as the tip of your nose was, hardly putting up a fight as you pulled it toward you. The door opened with a breeze of thick comfort blowing against exposed skin unveiled on your body. Warmth and the smell of a working oven flooded to the points of your cheeks, the door’s creaky nature betraying you as it let the other resident of the house know of your return home. 

This would be the part where you shout “Honey, I’m home!”

But you’re given no time, no time at all. A crackling fire fills your ears, the sudden appearance of a dastardly large silhouette clouding your vision of the kitchen table, plates upon plates decorating a tablecloth you knew so well.

“It’s nine.” His voice relented, the emotion detected and yet hard to describe as you look up to read his face. 

His cheeks are tinted a slight red, as if he had been outside in the cold, waiting for you. 

“It is; I’m sorry, Cirdan. I really thought I'd get here sooner, we were trying to wait out the snow. And, well.. That didn’t really do much.”

His eyes were full of thought, expression in their hardened lids and watery irises. Being late for things seemed to be your specialty. It broke your heart into desperate pieces when you saw the look on his face-- hardly concerned with the cold food, but locked on to you to see what had gone wrong, if you were hurt, what he could do to fix it all. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just.. So glad you’re home.” He genuinely sounded relieved, a rough stutter you hadn’t heard in a long time, if not ever before. 

His body, so untraditional to what elves were expected to be, came forward to hold you just as gracefully as any normal, lean and tall version of the creature would. But he was all brawn-- a hard and heated rock that snug itself tight against you. A thick hand made its way into your hair to press the top of your head to his pointed nose. 

His taut inhale was shaky, white strands of hair much longer than your own crowding your view. 

“I was nearly about to go out there and find you myself. It’s no place for you to be, out there in the snow. Cold and alone.”

It sounded as if he had scared himself with anxiety-ridden thoughts about where you were in your tardiness. 

“I know.” You muffled against his chest, the wool of his sweater smelling like sweet potatoes and rosemary. 

If it were anyone else you’d be embarrassed to press your head deeper, to lean into the touch so clearly full of desire. But you knew no other way to make up for all that you had done. Your briefcase bag fell to the floor, crumpled and forgotten. 

The affection was so tender you nearly forgot about the sensation of frostbite clawing at your fingernails and the aching in your stomach. It resounded out in the room with an acidic gurgle, forcing your body to go rigid with a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. 

You could feel the soundless laugh Cirdan let out through the shake in his body-- his warm, scarred arms your safe space. Even the apron two sizes too small on him smelled of sweets. It  hugged him enough for you to feel the ridges underneath his sweater. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, gently releasing you from his stroking bear hug. 

“You have to ask?” You mumbled, still somewhat embarrassed by your show of weakness. You were supposed to be the strong one, carrying out the toughness of reality and endless meetings between the human and elven realm, while your unconventional elf husband finally had a chance in his brutality to rest, to be easy and let his heart and scars heal. But you were only human. 

“I kept it warm for you, wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

 Your chest ached at those words.

You were tempted to let out another ‘you don’t have to do that’ or ‘you should’ve just left it in the fridge’, but it would only serve to dishearten him even more. 

“Thank you,” Was all you could half-heartedly murmur, looking up to stare at him. 

His hair fell sloppy along his face, snowy locks hiding his grey, blinded eye. He had started letting it show in privacy, when scrubbing the stove oven or reading in his colossal wine-red chair, black specs you called his ‘old man glasses’ falling off his nose. You pushed the heavy strands behind his pointed ear, letting your hand slide down the curve of his jaw. 

Cirdan merely smiled longingly, crinkling at his eyes and gazing at you as if you were all the stars in the sky held in front of him. He leaned just slightly into your touch, its coldness offering a stark contrast to his warm, honey skin. 

“Go, sit by the fire. I’ll bring your dinner.”

You were again ready to protest, but an intensely soft fleece blanket was draped over your head, covering from your forehead to your calves. It was originally made for your husband, twice any human’s size and still long enough to cover his shoulders. Cirdan had turned to the loveseat beside him to grab it, leaving you to buckle under the weight of swarms of fabric as he moved toward the kitchen. Blindly, you made your way to the orange glow in the middle of the room, bright flames caressing freshly chopped oak.

The corners of your home closest to the outside world had a chilled air of ice, but within the middle was where the heat resided, beckoning you to the fireplace onto a small elk hide rug. 

Cirdan’s footsteps upon the soft kitchen floor came toward you, steam rising from the plate held in his hands. He seemed so relaxed, shoulders drooped and yet posture enviously perfect, an effect of having an elven spine and ruthless upbringing. His loose sweater was soft on his carved shoulders, reminding you of your shared cozy bed-- of his body radiating glowy warmth against you, rustling sheets tangled as you push deeper against the crook of his neck.

But your stomach was too insatiable for anything other than food right now, even warmth. The herby, peppery scent brought drool to your mouth, looking at the elf with wide eyes in hungry desperation. 

“It’s hot, let it cool off for a second.” Cirdan blows on the mouth-watering food as he hands the plate to you with a potholder on its lip, protecting you from the heat. He is quick to grab a pillow and place it in your lap, gently letting the plate rest.  “I kind of went overboard; something in me felt like cooking tonight... We can give the leftovers to the neighbors.”

“No!” You shout territorily, covering your plate as if he were ready to steal it from you. “It's mine to eat, I mean.” 

You don’t leave room for the conversation to continue, shoveling a forkful of well-seasoned vegetables in your mouth. The moment a green bean touches your tongue you realize your mistake. 

“Haw, hawt!” 

Your open mouth does a dance as you try to fan the heat, so eager to eat that you forgot to heed his warning. 

“I told you!” Cirdan exclaims, a laugh escaping him as he reaches for a glass of water on the table behind him. “I guess my intuition knew you’d try something like that.”

You take the glass with unheeded swiftness, letting lukewarm water settle in your fiery mouth. 

A hesitant swallow leaves your tongue numb and your hunger yet to be filled.

You reach for another bite, this time for a heap of buttery mash potatoes, soft and fluffy like the piles of snow outside yet starkly contrasted in their steamy heat. 

You know better now, blowing on the fork before taking a hesitant, small bite. 

Cirdan merely gives you a watchful, entertained grin. He doesn’t have the pompous smirk of most elves you’ve met with, but instead a full, close-lipped smile that reaches to his sharp eyes, his uncharacteristically full cheeks rising, his face slim and etched like the rest of his kind yet with more ruggedness and expression in it, remnants of a jagged past etched into his skin. 

“I’th really good.” You cover your full mouth, singing his praises with potato and sweet, savory bread in between. 

“I’m glad you like it,” The comment he passes hardly utters any attention to what you say, instead busy watching you consume like a ravenous animal. Cirdan brushes back hair that falls close to your plate, stroking just gently a thumb over your cheek. 

You swallow a few more bites before you feel the ache in your stomach subside. The intense way the elf keeps looking at you is not unforeign, but you still have yet to be comfortable with it. 

“Thank you for the food,” You wipe your mouth with your sleeve, hoping you weren’t too many levels of disheveled. “but, I have another favor to ask.”

“Hm?”

You witness in his eyes the willingness, eagerness to see what you desire. 

“Let me brush your hair?” 

Cirdan’s lips part in an ‘o’, before returning to the usual gentle hardness of his face.

“That’s all? I thought you were ready for dessert.” 

The elf lets out a stifled laugh, deep and bouncing off the small cabin walls in pure delight.

You shoot a self-conscious gaze at him, lips half upturned in a hidden smile; you’re not sure whether to laugh or bashfully tell him nevermind.

“You know you don’t have to ask. I was waiting until you were done to clean myself up--” He turns to the side, opening a stool compartment stuffed with a myriad of little things from nail polish to old lighters. His gentle hands searched for a delicate hairbrush, elven in the intricacy of its design and dwarven in its robusticity. The curving vines against the brushes ivory skin along with its weighty hold made it a piece of craftsmanship worthy of generational pass-down. 

 He takes your plate fit for kings off of your lap, moving it to the floor closest to the fireplace. In this house, everytime you attempt to do something, it seems to be done at-hand immediately before you can think to move. 

Cirdan wordlessly hands you the brush, tender fire under his palm gliding over the icicles you called fingers.

You attempt to scoot behind him, blanket nearly falling from your shoulders to do so, but the elf catches you. 

“I’m not letting you freeze to death on my behalf first,” He grunts, grabbing your hands in a chokehold. “You're practically frozen my love.” 

The tendrils of his fingers wrapping over your own were akin to hot coils, oddly welcoming and conflicting to your body void of warm blood. 

“Your behalf? I’m the one who suggested the idea!” You shake your head in mild disbelief. “Besides, being near the fire is warming me up. I’ll be unfrozen soon.”

Your airy voice is sarcastic and not nearly as teeth-chattering as it once had been-- yet still, Cirdan huffed over your fingertips, letting out heavy breaths to warm the parts of you that were yet to be anything but icy. 

“You aren’t going to win this fight.” He looked up at you, a serious furrow of his brows, “I won’t lose you to such simplicities of frostbite, you’re too precious.”

Oof. Right in the heart. Everytime you see his resting brooding face like that your chest lurches in worry--- but then he’ll say something so sweet in sincerity that you want to collapse into a puddle.

You open and close your mouth like a gaping fish, unsure what to say to beat, or even match that. 

The elf deeply exhales once more against your trembling fingers, letting silence float between you with the sound of crackling flames flickering in between. 

With a final heavy breath against your knuckles, he straightens your fingers out, placing them over his heated cheeks. Even with the ridges of bone and scar on his face, he was squishy and pliant like a human. Your thumb brushed against the healed tissue leading from the bridge of his nose to his blinding eye, relishing in the slow blinks he gave. He looked… tired, and yet full of comforting bliss. You break the silence with an anxious swallow.

“I can't believe this.. you should be scolding me, making me eat cold leftovers in a dark room for being late, once again. Instead you're welcoming with open arms and a full stomach? I just don't get you; I don't know if I ever will.” 

You smile a little sadly, grateful and mystified.

“Maybe you won't understand it,” Cirdan moves his lips to your palm, nudging it with a kiss. “but it's what I'd want.”

You did understand that. All those nights he laid in the cold snow after throwing himself against battalions as a living shield, coming home to an even colder room, eating alone and wondering if anyone was thinking of him. If he meant anything more than a body to be used. He wouldn't let you feel that way, if he could help it.

You nuzzled so hard against his face it made you both scrunch up your noses. 

“Oh I just-- wish I could stick you in my pocket and never let you go-- never let you feel anything but warmth and softness and love again.”

Cirdan grinned, his expression practically basking in the adoration. 

“You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.” 

You kiss him rough, not caring if the temperature difference sparks you both, making your noses tingle with electricity and your lips buzz. With gentle encouragement your hands holding his face might lead elsewhere, but tonight you wanted to show him the chaste devotion, the love he deserved in any way you knew how. Cirdan was fervent with his kiss, though he still seemed concerned with your warmth as his hands searched blindly for the blanket slipping from your back. 

You roll your eyes, letting your lips fall away with a warm breath. You're quick to get back to what you want, the task at hand.

“We're getting off track-- will you let me brush your hair now? I promise I won't freeze you with my icicle fingers.”

You drum your fingers against the sides of his cheeks, watching as he reaches for the forgotten brush on the rug, slightly dazed. You leave the tepidness of his face to snatch it with playful ease, ushering him to turn around.

“All right, all right, my love,” He concedes with a sigh. “Whatever you desire.” 

You grasp the edges of his messy hair as he faces away from you, pulling out the slipping black elastic band to let the rest of it fall; It’s gently knotted at the tips, but the rest of it still holds a sleek shine created from fine, thick strands and patient washing. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you..” You mumble, holding a fistful of silvery white strands with a calm stroke of the brush. The rhythm lulls you into a peacefulness, listening to the flickers of fire in front of you, the gentle snowfall from outside your little world of warmth and coziness. The blanket falls to your elbows-- you don’t go to fix it, so enraptured with the task at hand. 

Cirdan begins to hum just the slightest, his eyes shut in a stoney, calm expression that you can see if you tip just slightly sideways. It was a solemnly elven tune, and yet it slowed your heart so simply that you felt a wash of nostalgia and ease run through you. 

You would trade anything to keep this December night going, to have the man in front of you, held in your arms forever. Cirdan’s warmth was inseparable from your own, your bodies impossibly close for comfort. 

[liltaireissocute]

Vax: sorry, freddie Percy: you will get yourself killed one day, you dumbass

Vax can make puppy eyes and Percy can forgive him anything (including death and possible workshop destruction) because he really loves him and who can be mad at someone who looks at you like THIS

(i'm a fan of a headcanon that elven ears are moving when elves and half-elves are emotional lol)

[khywren]

❛ pairing: Astarion/f!Tav; Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) ❛ word count: 4.8k ┊ ❛ rating: 18+ MDNI ❛ tags/cw: pegging, submissive Astarion, rough sex, handjobs, rimming

‣ preview: Ysera swallows thickly, her heart stuttering in her chest. Astarion's eyes blaze with curious delight as he pretends to wait patiently for her response. She bites her lip, eyes darting around the room as if someone somewhere might overhear her if she speaks too loudly. So she leans in close to Astarion's ear and sheepishly whispers it to him instead.

“I want to know how it feels to be inside you.”

AO3 ┊ series masterlist

Ysera sneezes loudly, stirring up a cloud of dust motes. The old wizard’s tower they've found themselves in has been empty of any real treasure – not unless they count the dust, which is more abundant than anything else here. She and Astarion have made it to the top with barely anything to show for it but wasted time.

Ysera sighs heavily as she reaches for a worn, leather-bound book in the middle of an oak table, staring curiously at the cover. It has no title, but the golden embossed design of two elves engaged in a display of passionate lovemaking tells her enough about its contents. She chances a glance over her shoulder to ensure Astarion isn't looking and peeks inside.

The first several pages chronicle the author's fascination with the subject of sexuality and the nature of physical and emotional attraction. There's a passage about the importance of indulging one's own desires, but she scrunches her face and stops reading when the author begins to describe his own exploits in great detail.

“Ugh. No thank you.”

Flipping through the rest of the pages, she sees a catalog of names and details of equally explicit acts, growing more and more flustered as her eyes scan the parchment. She's so absorbed in what she's doing that when Astarion suddenly claps a hand on her shoulder, she lets out a yelp of surprise.

“What have you got there, darling?”

“It's –” she begins, then shakes her head. She's not certain how to describe it – or if she even wants to. “It's weird.” Astarion leans over her shoulder and begins to read. He snorts as he spots a particularly racy entry, then another, and another still, turning page after page to confirm that, yes, this is indeed the entire book.

“You think whoever wrote this watched all these people get it on?” Astarion laughs snidely. “What a freak.”

Ysera mirrors his laugh. “To each their own, I suppose.” She tries to close the book but finds that it suddenly won't budge, almost as if phantom hands have pried it open. A faint magical aura envelopes the pages, which begin to turn of their own accord, faster and faster before they're both staring at a completely blank page near the back of the book.

Try as she might to drop the book, her body refuses to listen to her commands, and even Astarion is helpless to pry it from her hands before a blinding light manifests above the pages and engulfs them completely. The last thing she hears is the sound of her own scream as Astarion grips her tightly.

When she opens her eyes, Ysera expects to see anything but the large, lavish bedchamber they find themselves in. A massive four-poster bed sits against the far wall, the sunlight that spills through an adjacent window casting shadows on the duvet through the canopy. The room smells faintly of lavender and clean linens, adding to the eerie sense of calm that fills the space and makes it far more intimate, especially considering its size.

Astarion and Ysera exchange curious glances.

“Where in the hells are we?” Astarion says, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he scans the room for any signs of danger. They appear to be the only ones here, no obvious traps or intruders lying in wait.

Ysera shrugs, equally as baffled. “I think that book sucked us up,” she hypothesizes, scowling when Astarion snickers.

“Your words, darling, not mine.” 

He turns away to investigate. The only door in the room is sealed shut, no amount of force making it budge even slightly. There are no keyholes for him to pick the lock, and he gives up on that fruitless endeavor with a sigh as he turns back to see if Ysera has had any more luck.

She's standing beside the bed, gazing out the window and illuminated by a beam of buttery golden sunlight. Birdsong fills the air, and she glances at him over her shoulder.

“I wish you could see this,” she says softly. “Wherever this is, it's beautiful.”

Astarion approaches her anyway, unable to see much without stepping into the sun. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he arches his back, standing on his tiptoes to catch just the slightest glimpse of the canyon that sprawls out beneath whatever clifftop this place has been built upon. But he leans just a little too far forward, his stomach lurching as he tumbles forward unexpectedly.

Ysera calls out to him, rushing to catch him. But she's too late, and Astarion stumbles into the sunlight, flinching as the warmth of the sun's rays wash over him. He grits his teeth, anticipating the searing pain he expects to feel… only to be met with the warm caress he remembers fondly from his time spent in the sun before their tadpoles were destroyed.

Time stands still as Astarion glances at Ysera, his pale skin almost glittering in the light. He hears her gasp in shock.

“It must be enchanted,” she says. “This whole place is some sort of illusion.”

“It certainly feels real,” Astarion murmurs. He straightens and slips his cloak off his shoulders, basking in the magicked sunlight. Palms upturned, he lets the warmth seep into his bones, banishing the natural chill of his undead body. Ysera smiles at him fondly, her golden eyes sparkling.

“I wish we could stay,” she says glumly. She had almost forgotten how incredible he looks in the sun.

“Careful what you wish for,” Astarion says dourly. “I don't think this book is keen on letting us leave any time soon.”

Ysera frowns, holding a hand to her mouth in thought as her brow creases. “There has to be something we're missing,” she says. “You enjoy the sun, I'll keep looking.” 

“Gladly, darling,” Astarion hums happily, laying back on the bed and stretching out like a basking cat. His eyes drift closed as he listens to Ysera rifling through the rest of the room’s contents, searching for any hint that might help them.

After a while, her footsteps become louder as she approaches him once more, and he exhales sharply when Ysera tosses a book onto his stomach. Astarion takes the book in his hands as he sits up, eyes drifting between it and Ysera as he waits for an explanation. 

“Don't you recognize it?” she asks, arms crossed. Astarion gives the book a closer inspection, realizing as soon as he opens it that it's an exact replica of the book they had found in the ruined tower.

“And?” he asks, lifting a brow. “I don't see how this is supposed to get us out of here.”

“Look at the last entry,” she tells him. Astarion does as he's told, flipping through the pages before something catches his eye. Sure enough, at the bottom of one of the pages, he reads the words aloud, scrawled in the same flowing script:

Astarion Ancunín and Ysera Whitlock:

There's nothing written below, and Astarion doesn't even have time to contemplate exactly how the book knows who they are or how their names have mysteriously appeared on the page before Ysera shifts on her feet and says, “You get it, don't you?”

Astarion stares up at her and shakes his head, waiting for her to continue.

“This book is like… some weird record of all those people's deepest desires, right? What if they were trapped here, just like us?” Her face grows red, and she stammers, “What if it wants us to, you know… add our own? That would explain this fancy room. The windows and doors are all sealed. I don't know how else we're supposed to get out.”

Astarion slams the book shut and tosses it on the bed beside him, huffing a wry laugh.

“Trapped in a lecherous old book… Wonderful. Now I've certainly seen everything.” He runs his hand through his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose, considering her suggestion. It does make sense, of course, once he looks past the bizarre notion of it all. It's not too far out of the realm of possibility, he supposes. He's seen his fair share of strange, enchanted tomes, but at least this one is mostly benign, provided Ysera's assumption is correct.

“All right,” he says, shrugging. They're stuck here anyway; might as well enjoy themselves in the meantime. “But there's just one problem, darling: we've done practically everything there is to do with one another.”

Ysera grows even redder, the blazing heat in her face spreading down her neck and beneath her robes. Astarion assumes she's simply remembering all the nights they've spent tangled up in one another, but it surprises him completely when she says instead: “Not everything. There's… there's something I'd still like to try, actually.” Her tail flicks two and fro behind her the way it always does when she's feeling anxious.

A wicked grin spreads across Astarion's face, and he eagerly gets to his feet and crosses the short distance between them. He leans close, purposely making Ysera squirm with embarrassment as he tries to guess exactly what it is she's thinking of.

She's adventurous enough in bed, to be sure, but she typically prefers more standard methods of lovemaking. Whatever this is must truly be something scandalous if it's getting her this worked up just thinking about it.

“Do tell,” he purrs, tipping her face up with a single elongated finger.

Ysera swallows thickly, her heart stuttering in her chest. Astarion's eyes blaze with curious delight as he pretends to wait patiently for her response. She bites her lip, eyes darting around the room as if someone somewhere might overhear her if she speaks too loudly. So she leans in close to Astarion's ear and sheepishly whispers it to him instead.

“I want to know how it feels to be inside you.”

Astarion's cock twitches immediately in response, already straining against his laces. Her suggestion ignites something primal deep inside him. He's been penetrated before, of course, but never by her. Never with a partner he actually wanted to be with. It hadn't crossed his mind before, but now he can't stop himself from thinking about it, about her pressed against his back as she thrusts inside him, being the one to hold him down as he writhes beneath her. Surrendering control to the person he trusts most of all. 

An exhilarating proposition, to say the least.

“My, my…” Astarion says slyly, “who knew you were harboring such wicked little fantasies all this time?” He smirks at her through his fangs, unable to conceal the hungry way his eyes rove over her body. Ysera seems to notice how eager her suggestion has made him, if the erratic racing of her heart is any indication.

There is, of course, one small caveat they've yet to address.

“I'm curious to know how you plan to accomplish that without a cock,” Astarion says as he tips his head to the side, studying her. “Not unless you've been very, very good at keeping that little secret to yourself all this time.”

Ysera laughs – almost confidently, none of her apparent nervousness lingering in her expression now that Astarion seems more than open to the idea of letting her fuck him.

“Oh, no,” she says, flashing him a smile as her lips quirk upward. “I have a spell for that.”

So she's been thinking about this for a while. Gods. His cock is almost painfully hard, and he wants nothing more than to rip his clothes off and let her ravish him.

Ysera elaborates further – much to Astarion's dismay, although he supposes he's curious to know exactly where she learned such a trick. He'd swear she was doing it on purpose just to torment him if he didn't know her any better.

“There's a spell for everything, if you know where to look. You know how I've been visiting Gale in Waterdeep, from time to time?” Her eyes narrow to match the mischievous grin that spreads across her face. In a hushed whisper, she says, “His private library has quite an array of books on all sorts of… interesting subjects.”

Astarion groans and finally pulls her into his arms, exceptionally tired of not being able to feel the curves of her body pressed against him. She feels his erection now, brows lifting as he bends down to kiss her firmly on the lips. He bites her lower lip with his blunted teeth and growls, “Remind me to thank that wizard the next time I see him.”

Within moments, the two of them have shed their clothing, tossing it into a pile behind them. They're both far too eager to deny themselves much longer, an unspoken understanding of their mutual desire for one another.

Astarion watches with rapt attention as Ysera casts her spell. The ease with which she speaks the incantation and the precise movements of her hands are enough of an indication that she's practiced this before, and he wonders just how far she's taken it. A faint aura glows between her legs, tracing the outline of the thick, heavy cock that soon materializes in its wake. It's clearly magicked, translucent and resembling one of her Mage Hand spells, but the way it bobs and sways as convincingly as his own makes his mouth water.

Astarion wets his lips and steps towards her.

“Does it –?” He tries. “I mean, can you feel it?”

“Mhmm,” Ysera hums pleasantly. “I only tried it out before to make sure the spell worked. I wanted to save the rest for you.”

Oh. By the gods, she spoils him.

His hand hovers over her cock, and he looks into her eyes. “Can I?” he rasps.

“Yes. Please.”

Ysera's breath catches when Astarion wraps his hand around her cock; it feels real enough, firm and slightly warm in his palm as he strokes it slowly, watching the way her face contorts as she holds back a moan. He clearly knows what he's doing, brushing his thumb over the slit on the upstroke, squeezing gently before he glides his hand back down to the base above her pubic bone where it molds to the shape of her body.

With its weight still in his palm, Astarion's fingers dip curiously beneath Ysera's legs, and he groans when he finds her wet and wanting, her slick folds dripping with arousal as the cock in his hand throbs and twitches.

“Hmm, what have we here?” He glides his fingers across her opening and teases her clit, using his spare hand to fist her cock and work her there as well.

“Astarion.” The effect he has on her is evident in the wanton way she moans and rocks her hips into his hand, electric pleasure singing through her veins. She doesn't know if she can come like this, how closely the spell imitates a real cock, but her legs begin to buckle and she doesn't know how much longer she can last if he keeps this up. 

She's used to him touching her, is familiar with how that feels, but this is something altogether unexpected. Her cunt clenches around nothing, arousal dripping obscenely down her thighs. Astarion reluctantly releases her, and she lets out a sigh, both out of relief and disappointment.

“I’m supposed to be the one pleasuring you, remember?” she pants breathlessly. She inclines her head towards the bed, still bathed in radiant sunlight. “Get on the bed. On your knees.” Astarion needs no further encouragement.

The plush mattress sinks beneath both of their bodies as Ysera makes herself comfortable behind Astarion, who's propped himself up on his hands and knees and lifted his hips towards her. His own cock hangs between his legs, hard and leaking. He looks remarkably handsome, swathed in the light, skin awash with warmth. 

If he's nervous, nothing in the way he looks at her suggests anything other than his eagerness to have her. His eyes are round and curious, lips curved in a small smile.

Before Astarion can ask if she's still certain about proceeding, Ysera places her hands on either side of his ass and delicately spreads him open. He arches his back beautifully, as if on instinct, breath hitching as she kneads his flesh between her palms and gives him a gentle smack with her hand. Astarion shakes his hips to taunt her, but he gets more than he bargained for when she nips him playfully, leaving the impression of her teeth in his skin.

“Why, you cheeky little –”

“I'm sorry, would you prefer my mouth somewhere else?” Ysera asks. “Perhaps this will be more to your liking.” 

She bends to flick her tongue against his hole, swirling it experimentally. Astarion groans wantonly at the first pass of her tongue, warm and wet as she laves it against his sensitive rim. Encouraged by his reaction, Ysera continues to tease him with alternating pressure, using the tip and the flat of her tongue to coax more breathy moans from him. She loves the way he convulses beneath her, completely at her mercy. 

It's not about having power over him, but the ability to make him gasp and plead for more as he forgets anything that isn't her, her, her. Nothing matters now but his pleasure.

“Ysera, darling,” he pants, fists bunched in the sheets. It feels good, better even than he had expected it would. Has she done this before? When she presses her tongue against the tight ring of muscle, his hips buck and he flutters open for her, teeth clenched as he begins to tremble. She uses the opportunity to slip her tongue inside, exploring and tasting him. A low groan rumbles in her throat as she feels his cock jump when she sweeps over a particularly sensitive place. She does it again, and Astarion trembles like brittle a leaf in the wind.

They both know they will be doing this again – often, if Astarion has any say in the matter.

“Please,” Astarion whimpers. His voice is small. Needy. Desperate in a way she's never heard him before. “I need you. Inside.”

Ysera releases him, gathering the arousal between her slick folds and spreading it over her cock, shuddering at the sensation that rips through her body. She adjusts herself behind Astarion, opening him to her once again as she presses the tip of her hard length against his rim and pushes forward. 

He's tighter than she expected, so she moves slowly, pulling out and pushing back in as she works him open with shallow thrusts. But she's slick enough, and whatever pain he feels is quickly overwhelmed by the pleasure and the newness of her inside of him. It's been far, far too long since he's been in this position. Astarion's walls clamp down around her cock and they both let out a strangled cry, but when Ysera stops moving Astarion begs her to continue.

“My love,” he struggles through gritted teeth. “Don't stop. I need more of you.” Ysera shushes him and slips a hand into his hair, stroking softly. 

“It's all right, Astarion. I'll take care of you. I promise.”

It takes a moment, but once she's fully seated inside him, Astarion exhales a long, drawn-out breath and flexes his fingers. “Ahhh, hold on,” he says, wiggling his hips to adjust around her. “Gods, you feel so good. So, so good. Remind me again why we waited so long to try this?”

“A mistake I am regretting with every passing second,” she admits, huffing a laugh. “You feel good, too.” It takes more effort than she would have initially thought to fight the urge to snap her hips forward and bury herself inside him with quick, needy thrusts. Is this what she feels like when he's inside her? Gods. It's no wonder he often struggles to hold himself back.

“I'm ready,” Astarion says after a time, looking at her over his shoulder. He sounds as though he's about to start begging her for more again, and as much as she would love to hear it, neither of them are in the mood for teasing. Ysera pulls out of him almost completely before rolling her hips forward, and when she glides against his walls with little resistance there's nothing more holding her back.

Hands bracketed on his hips, Ysera surges forward, plunging into him with quick, rough thrusts. His ass bounces every time their bodies collide, and she pushes him into the mattress. Astarion immediately begins to whimper with need, face pressed into the sheets as he loses the will to hold himself up any longer. His arms go slack and he sinks down onto his stomach, balling his fists in the sheets as he gives himself over to pleasure.

“Yes,” he mumbles, voice slurred. “Yes, ‘Sera, yes, yes, feels so – oh …!”

She's never heard him so incoherent before, fuck-drunk, wonderfully pliant beneath her hands, and absolutely breathtaking. His mouth hangs open, revealing his fangs, his eyes straining as he struggles to look at her. There aren't enough words in any language to do justice to the brilliant shades of ruby and carmine she sees reflected there. Ysera commits the image to memory, determined to remember every single second she has him beneath her.

The sunlight is warm on Astarion's skin, but its heat pales in comparison to the raging inferno growing inside him, the way Ysera's hands leave a path of searing heat down the curve of his spine. Her hands linger on his hips when she reaches them again, struggling to hold onto his sweat-slicked body as she thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. She is both gentle and rough at the same time, reducing him to a babbling mess as he tries to tell her how wonderful she is. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows the words don't quite come out right, but she smiles at him anyway.

Ysera's muscles ache with a delicious soreness, and as it becomes increasingly difficult to hold him up, her thrusts begin to falter and her rhythm breaks.

“Astarion,” she pants, sweat beading on her forehead and dripping into the hollow of her throat. “I want… to see your face, want to see you when you come.”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, almost as if he was anticipating the question. “Anything, anything. Oh, please, make me come.”

Ysera pulls her cock out of him just as long as it takes to help him roll over onto his back, shoving a pillow beneath his hips to prop him up. He's much easier to manage this way, some of her waning strength returning as she takes in the sight of him: hair disheveled, mouth agape, and utterly ruined. His cock hangs heavy against his thigh, flushed pink and weeping.

Hooking her hands under his bent knees and pressing his legs back towards his chest, she wastes no time folding him in half and slipping back inside his slick hole, pounding into him with enough force to tear a keening whine from his throat. She watches the way his expression changes with each roll of her hips, his jaw falling slack before clenching again when she hits a particularly sensitive spot deep inside of him. Memorizing the angle, she does it again and again, coaxing a series of broken, strangled cries from his lips.

He tries so hard to speak, but the words fall through his brain like water through a sieve. Within seconds he can no longer recall what it was he was even going to say or why it was important in the first place. It feels so good to give himself to her like this, to let her dictate his pleasure. He doesn't need to think – he only needs to feel . And by the gods, does he feel. Every caress of her hands on his skin, every inch of her cock as she thrusts inside him; every sweet nothing she murmurs to encourage him – he's already madly in love with her, but if he could fall for her all over again this would be the moment.

Astarion’s mouth falls open with a guttural moan when she lets go of one of his legs to wrap a hand around his neglected cock, slick with so much precome that she finds an easy rhythm, pumping him in time with each of her punishing thrusts. She works him diligently closer to the edge, pride surging through her when she notices the telltale signs of his impending climax. His thighs quake and his hips jerk every so often, the promise of an earth-shattering orgasm so close on the horizon.

Astarion wrenches his eyes open to find Ysera leaning over him, her face almost close enough to kiss. His body feels too light and too heavy all at once, floating in some nebulous void. But he somehow manages to reach out to cup her cheek, his quiet moans of “ah, ah, ah…” tickling her skin as his cool breath ghosts across her face. He loses himself in her golden eyes, the way she looks at him enough to make his heart ache. If it still beat, it would be racing.

Hells, he swears it just might be.

“That's it,” Ysera encourages him, her voice wavering as his walls pulse and contract tightly around her cock. “You're close, aren't you?” Astarion breathes something that sounds like “yes,” and she bends down to kiss him. The kiss is slow and purposeful, tender where the rest of her is rough and primal. Her lips coax his mouth open and he kisses her back, whining in protest the moment she pulls away.

“You've been so good for me, Astarion,” she murmurs in his ear, borrowing the same words that have unraveled her on so many occasions. Watching the effect it has on him is intoxicating; how he whimpers and writhes, hips bucking as he fucks desperately into her hand.

“You can come now, it's okay. I've got you.”

Yes. Yes, he can, he can and he will, he just needs her to –

His vision goes blank as white-hot pleasure rips through his body and he comes harder than he ever has before, painting her hand and his stomach with thick ropes of white. The sheer force of his orgasm is too much for her to bear, her hips stuttering violently as her toes curl and she comes just as hard for him. The last thread of her concentration on the spell snaps like a taut bowstring and Astarion feels suddenly empty as her cock blinks out of existence, mourning the loss of her. Ysera tumbles forward and collapses onto his chest, panting heavily and breathing in the scent of him.

Astarion folds his arms around her with what strength he has left and holds her against his chest. His body is so warm, and she melts into his embrace. Neither of them have enough energy to speak. Ysera props herself up on an elbow after a while, the curtain of her hair falling over her shoulder as she looks down at him. She smiles fondly before rubbing her nose against his. Astarion sighs, satisfied and thoroughly pleased with the outcome of their little experiment.

What feels like several hours later, the bedchamber creaks and groans as the walls begin to shake, rousing them both from their sleep. Ysera lifts her head groggily, wincing as her limbs protest her sudden movements. The same blinding light that transported them here engulfs the room, and the next time they open their eyes they're standing inside the abandoned tower as if they'd been there all along, the book still clasped between Ysera's open hands.

Ysera flicks her gaze questioningly to Astarion, but the soreness of their muscles and the weary sort of exhaustion they both feel confirms that whatever happened was most certainly more than a very vivid hallucination. Beneath their names on the final page, the book has written for itself a rather detailed passage about their exploits, and Ysera closes it with as much force as she can muster before throwing it clear across the room. Her cheeks burn a bright pink. The only thing that had stopped her from ripping out the page was the thought that a book powerful enough to transport them to an alternate reality might not take too kindly to being defaced, and she's not keen on finding out what else it might be capable of.

“We should go before anything else happens,” she says in a clipped tone, spinning on her heel and marching towards the nearest exit. Astarion's hand shoots out to grab her by the wrist, and when he pulls her back and convinces her to look at him, she finds a wolfish grin has overtaken his face.

“Oh no,” he purrs, slipping his arms around her back and caging her against his body. “Not so fast. This little library of Gale's you mentioned before… does he know you've been browsing those sorts of books?”

Ysera blanches, and the way her heart skips a beat gives her away immediately. “I thought as much,” Astarion says conspiratorially. “I'll tell you what, my dear: show me the other little tricks you've learned, and I promise your secret stays with me.”

Even after she twists out of his arms and storms off down the stairs to hide her embarrassment, his laughter still rings in her ears.

[fanaroff]

Above the Nasty Burger Ch. 4

Ao3 Link Here << Previous Ch. Next Ch. >>

Danny didn't like it. 

Not the Obsession part, he loved that. He loved the freckles that looked like constellations. The way his pupils looked like vast galaxies if they were into for too long. The connection he could feel towards the planetary systems sitting outside of Earth’s atmosphere. He could feel the Earth.

But the changing. He didn't want it. It reminded Danny too much of a time he thought he'd left behind in that thermos Clockwork watched over. Sure, there were differences, but each time he caught a glimpse of the fangs and the skin, his mind would flash back to similar ones that belonged to a bigger, scarier him.

Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror wasn't doing him much good, he knew that, but he couldn't help but try to stare his reflection into submission, forcing it to go back to the way it was before. Glaring the blue-green skin away, the fangs he was still getting used to, the pointed ears, the reflective eyes. He looked... demonic (all he was missing were the horns and black sclera). His ears would twitch at sounds, move up and down with his emotions, he was like an Ancients-damned elf (not that there was anything wrong with said damned elves). Just... he'd like it a lot better if he didn't look as if a younger version of Dan had a love child with Legolas. And if he looked how he did before. 

Mainly that last bit.

He'd have to get used to it. 

Danny covered his face with his hands and let out a low groan. Ancients, Phantom will never be able to be seen in Amity again. Not looking like this, not when there were already so few that believed Danny was good. If he went out there looking basically like a stereotype for a demon, they'd attempt to exorcise him for sure. Or call the Guys in White. Or his parents. He wasn't sure which was worse. Probably all of them at once? His luck was like that. 

Fuck, he wouldn't be able to tell his parents he was Phantom either. If they asked him to prove it and he showed them this? It wouldn't end well for any of them. A lot of tears and an early retreat to the Ghost Zone would probably be the best outcome he could hope for. Could he even show Sam or Tucker this version of Phantom? What about Jazz? Definitely not Valerie, he was already on thin ice enough with her. 

Would Dani end up looking like him? 

Fuck, this was probably how Vlad felt when he first had his change. 

Danny's jaw chattered unbidden as his anxieties and fears whirled in his mind, bringing frost to his skin and rising into the warmer air with wispy vapors. He needed to calm down. He knew he needed to. But there was so much to get overwhelmed by. He clenched his hands across his arms and hunched in on himself. 

What was he going to do?

"Danny?" his mother's voice and gentle knock on the door startled Danny enough that he full-body flinched in surprise. He tried to catch his balance, yelped when he didn't, banged an elbow painfully on a corner of the sink, and yet his scared mind still had enough smarts to somehow transform back into his human form as his ass hit the tub. He winced. That... was a lot of noise. 

"Danny, are you okay?" The doorknob jiggled. 

"Ye-yeah! Just lost my balance." Danny called back. That was a bit too close. Thankfully  he'd locked the door beforehand but still... damn.

”Are you sure? You’ve been in there for a while and that was an awful amount of noise!” 

“I’m fine! I promise! Just uh… just had a stomach ache!” Danny winced as the lie came out. Sure he was in the bathroom and it would be a normally believable lie, but even that one sounded fake to his ears. 

His mom went quiet on the other side of the door. Maybe a bit too quiet for maybe a bit too long. He heard her sigh. It sounded tired. He knew the feeling.

“I- Danny, can we talk? Please?” She asked, sounding just as tired as her sigh.

Danny could feel his heart beat pick up at the question. He really didn’t want to talk with her right now. He really, really didn’t. Lists of excuses flew through his mind as he searched desperately for one he could use. 

None would work, though. He knew this. She’d already heard him on the other side of the door and there were literally no other ways out of the bathroom. Just the door his mother was currently standing in front of, blocking it and making it impossible for Danny to escape without being noticed. 

There wasn’t a choice. The only thing he could do was be thankful that he was not stuck in Ghost Speak.

He opened his mouth and closed it. Then he took a deep breath as he stood up from his collapsed heap.

“Yeah.”   

Saying it felt almost… final. 

Danny had to make an effort to calm his breathing and keep his posture loose while he stepped to the bathroom door and unlocked it. When he opened it, he got a fresh look at his mother. 

Maddie looked a little rough. The hood of her hazmat was lowered showing ginger hair that was greasy and sticking up in places. Her eyes had bags that almost rivaled Danny’s and her posture was slumped. Some parts of her hazmat were covered in black oil stains. She looked like she’d just come out of a week-long inventing binge and hadn’t had a chance to shower in a while. That may have been the original reason she came to the bathroom and Danny just happened to be having a little freak out inside of it that she could take advantage of. What timing.  Upon seeing Danny, his mother straightened up and looked him up and down critically before smiling softly. “There you are! It feels like I haven’t seen you properly in ages!” 

Danny had to refrain from mentioning that it HAS been ages. It was his fault for the most part, recently at least, but all with good reasons. Some of them being new inventions with the name “Fenton” in them. Some of them deadly. 

He could only manage a smile that felt as fake as his earlier lie. “Hi… Mom. Sorry, there’s been a lot going on.” That wasn’t a lie, but his mother looked at him skeptically.  Maddie's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him as if she were trying to see through the layers of his excuse. She probably was. Her head tilted and she stepped just a bit closer. She was a tall woman, but it suddenly struck Danny that he was eye to eye with her now. Just one more thing that changed. 

His mother smelled of old gadget grease and something faintly burning that clung to her hazmat. A familiar smell made stronger by Danny's biology.  "You've been acting different, Danny," Maddie said quietly. Her voice was soft with a thread of concern laced through it that sent a tightening through his chest. "Are you sure you're okay? We haven't... we haven't spoken one on one in a while... even longer for your dad it seems."  Danny's heart thrummed in his ears as she took another step forward, her eyes flitting between his and searching. "What's going on with you?" And wasn't that just the question he couldn't answer?  His tongue went dry in his mouth. He had to answer her, he had to give her something, didn't he? Breath hitching, he broke their gaze and turned his head slightly to the side, struggling for an excuse he hadn't already given her. "I'm- I'm just tired. School is tiring and everything is tiring and...." He trailed off, risking a peak at his mother. She looked concerned, if not more so than she was when she first opened the door. Eyebrows pinched and lips pursed just so. Then her concern deepened into skepticism.

"You've been more than just tired," She said matter-of-factly. "You've been avoiding all of us. Me, your dad, your sister. It even seems like you're avoiding Sam and Tucker. It's been a while since you even brought them over. What's going on? I know there's something bothering you. You can tell me. There is nothing I wouldn't do to help you."  And didn't that just try to bring tears to his eyes? Danny wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her about dying and coming back, the pain that was the accident. The pain that was his self-imposed duty to protect his family and Amity Park. The sleepless nights of being kept up by fights and fear and injuries he had to take care of himself. He wanted to tell her about Pariah Dark, the Ghost Zone, his trips through time, the timeline he went dark, and Ember being his friend. But most of all, he wanted to tell her about becoming the Ghost King. That soon, he wouldn't be able to speak with her like this again. That soon, he would have to leave all the living behind and close all the portals to the Infinite Realms. That soon, he would have to die. For good.  He wanted so bad. He couldn't risk it. There was more than just himself riding on his choices now.  So, Danny bottled up his wants and emotions and looked his mother directly in the eye. He forced a smile through his panic, through his want to throw himself into her arms and sob. "I'm fine." What a lie.  It felt too easy, dismissive. What could he possibly say? I got killed in your invention? I'm not human anymore? We'll never see each other again until you die? 

And if he did say something? What then? His parents already stated they would tear Phantom apart "molecule by molecule." No, he couldn't risk it.  Furthering his lie, Danny reached up to rub the back of his neck. His skin, once warm, was cold and clammy, even to himself at times. "I just need a little..." He almost said space and he could almost feel his newly discovered Obsession trying to wiggle into being the first chance it got. "time. I just need a little time." He dropped his hand. "I'm fine. I promise."  His mother stared at him a moment, the two left standing in silence with one closing up and one trying to will the other to just talk to her.  Finally, Maddie's shoulders slumped and she sighed. A hand went to pinch the bridge of her nose and she closed her eyes. "I'm not trying to pressure you, Danny. But you don't have to hide from me. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together."  Danny swallowed again, the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.  "I-" and then the word slipped out before he could stop it. "Maddie, I just-" Her eyes widened. His heart froze.  He'd just called his mother by her name. He never did that. He hadn't meant to call her that. Since when had she become "Maddie" to him?  His mother's expression faltered and her eyebrows knit together. Her face showed the hurt she was no doubt feeling and Danny panicked. "I mean Mom! Sorry-" He rubbed a hand down his face. "It's just I've been... thinking a lot. I just need more time. There's... there's more going on right now than I can word. Please, just- I just-" He could feel his lip trying to tremble at the onslaught of emotions. He dropped his hand again. "I'm sorry." Maddie blink, the surprise and hurt on her face fading back to concern. She took a half-step back, crossing her arms loosely. "It's-it's okay, Danny. But I want you to know you don't have to shut me out. I'm your mother. I'll always be here for you." The words stung. Not because they weren't true, but because he wasn't sure if he could even be a good son to her anymore. There was no way she would accept him as he is now- not with what he had become and the path he was about to take.  With a sigh, Maddie spoke. "I'm going to take a shower. Your father spilled some oil on me again and I feel gross because I let it sit for an hour before I could reach a stopping point in what we were working on. You can take all the time you need, but I'm still here okay?"  Danny nodded quickly, stomach churning with relief, and he stepped to the side to let her through into the bathroom. "Yeah. Yeah. I'll be fine." He stopped a moment, then asked almost shyly. "Can I ask what you're working on?" Maddie paused and looked at him. Their eyes met fleetingly and Danny froze. Her face was... there wasn't a word he could really put to it. Not suspicious but... there was something almost considering. Then she smiled. "I'll tell you later when we have a chance to talk again." And with that, the door closed and Danny was left standing in the hallway by himself. As the water turned on in the shower, he couldn't help but feel a little hurt. Even if he thought he had no right to. Normally, if he asked his parents about their inventions, there was nothing that would stop them from telling him about them. Nothing. There were many times he stood next to his grease-soaked (or other stuff) soaked parents and listened happily. Then, later bored. Then, because knowing their inventions kept him alive.  This was the first time, to his memory, one of his parents didn't immediately dive into talking about what they were working on. And that sent a thought niggling into his mind. Were they suspicious? More than Jazz had thought? Did they suspect there was more going on than teenage angst? The thought scared him. His chest tightened and dread creeped in. He hadn't convinced her he was fine, had he? Not this time.  Next time, it would only be harder. If there was a next time. 

Danny turned to head downstairs. The hallway felt longer than usual with the quiet weight of his thoughts pressing down on him with each step. It took a moment to realize, but he had been holding a breath. He'd almost forgotten how to breathe around the tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath and let it out.  Everything was different. Even more so now since his Obsession Trance. The sensation of his own transformation, the overwhelming hum of his cored. And now, his mind was spiraling, trying to reconcile everything that had happened. The lights of his house felt too bright, the air too still, and Danny just wanted to find a way out of his situation.  But there was no escape. There wouldn't be, ever. 

Danny turned the corner to the stairs and stopped when he spotted Jazz at the bottom. She was perched on the lowest step, one knee hugged to her chest, and was turned to look up at him. She was already staring at him with that, "I'm going to figure you out," expression and it made his stomach twist.  "Hey," She called quietly. Her voice was almost too calm. "Can we talk?" Danny stalled. He already just had a conversation he barely wiggled out of with his mother. He didn't want to have to do it again with his sister. But he owed her a small conversation, at the very least, for all the help she'd been with distracting their parents. He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't tell her anything just yet. Not yet. He wasn't ready. If he gave her an inch, she would take a mile. Jazz was smart- too smart. And he was too damn exhausted to keep up the charade.  Jazz raised an eyebrow when Danny didn't immediately answer. "I heard Mom corner you. Are you okay?"  Danny shrugged and made his way slowly down the stairs.  His sister continued, "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're freaking me out. And, you know, when you're freaking me out, it's serious."  He managed a half smile at that. "You're always freaking out."  Jazz sniffed and crossed her arms. "I'm always serious." Danny's half smile turned wry. "There are some things going on." He admitted and Jazz whipped her head to his face, obviously surprised he was actually telling her something more. "I can't tell you about it yet. There's..." He ran a hand through his bangs. "There's so much and it's easier to handle without anyone poking their noses into things." He tried to look apologetic, and he was, but it was harder to show that when he had to keep doing the things he was apologizing for. There was a moment of silent contemplation from Jazz as Danny took the final couple of stairs down to sit next to her on the final step.  "Do you ever think about the things we used to get up to as kids?" She finally asked.

Confused, Danny nodded. "Honestly? All the time. Things seemed so much easier then."  Jazz nodded and stuck her chin in a palm, elbow on her knee. "I keep thinking about the books I used to read to you. How much closer we felt then." She turned to him. "I practically raised you, didn't I?" Again, Danny nodded. She practically did. With their parents distracted by inventions and ghosts, it seemed that more days out of the week left Jazz and Danny to their own devices at an age that seemed too young for it.  Jazz smiled, a soft nostalgic expression lighting up her face. "We used to sneak up to the top of the Ops and fiddle with that old telescope, remember?  The mention of the past hit Danny harder than expected. His core pulsed, making his heart skip a beat, and a surge of Obsession flooded his senses. Danny froze in place. He could feel his core thrumming with an energy he would not be able to hold back. Not yet. The sensations were too new. Before he could stop her, Jazz continued.  "There was that one night all the clouds were gone, and the moon was so bright. It felt like it was glowing just for us. We actually saw a few stars, remember? You were so excited. You wouldn't let us go back inside- you demanded we stay out there for hours, just staring at the moon through the telescope." The energy hit him like a title wave. The memory of that night- the pure joy, the excitement in his chest, the way the night sky seemed to open up before him- it felt almost too real. It was nothing like the vast sky that connected him to his Obsession, but it was just as beautiful in its own way. 

Sparks of energy crackled in spots across Danny's face and before he could stop it, constellations bloomed across his cheeks. With a desperate, panicked and involuntary movement, he buried his face in his hands.  "It was cold, so you ended up getting a cold and- Danny?" Jazz's voice faltered, clearly started by his sudden movement. A hand gently grasped his shoulder. "Danny, are you okay? What's wrong?"  He could only shake his head through his hands, the weight of his emotions and the situation too much to put into words.

"Hey- what's... Danny? Are you- are you glowing?"  Shit.  Danny's head snapped up, eyes widening as he stared at the glowing lights that were slowly creeping across his hands. He could feel them traveling over the rest of his body too. The panic set in harder as he turned to Jazz. His sister's mouth was hanging open as she stared, eyes tracking the lights making their way up his neck to his ear. They two of them were frozen, locked in the moment, the air suddenly so much thicker with tension. "Danny, what-" She started. Then her expression shifted. Her eyes narrowed and realization flashed across her face. "I was talking about the stars from before and you lit up like them. Did you... Danny, did you find your Obsession!?" He could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. Jazz cracked a wide, beaming grin and she lunged to throw her arms around him in an excited hug. "It's space isn't it?" She cried.  "Yeah." Danny managed to say. His voice was barely more than a whisper. Jazz back slightly to search his face with a puzzled frown. She was no doubt trying to figure out why he wasn't reacting with the same level of excitement. She blinked, clearly confused.  "You're in your human form." She said then, her voice trailing off. She gasped. "Danny you're��human. The stars! While you're human!? But-"  Her words faltered again and her expression softened, almost pitying, as she looked at him with a gentleness he wasn't sure he deserved. "Oh, Danny..." And that was it.  The dam inside him broke. His lips trembled, his face crumpling as the flood of emotions overwhelmed him. In the next moment, he couldn't hold it back anymore. His body shook and Danny burst into tears.

<< Previous Ch. Next Ch. >> >>A longer post to try and make up for how long it's been since I updated this fic! The last time I did, my mom passed shortly after and I lost a lost of motivation for a lot of the fics I was working on at the time. But I've recently gotten a spark back for this one! If you'd like to be tagged for future updates, please let me know in the replies so I can start implementing tags! Hope you enjoyed!

[earthlybeam]

The elves reacting to the different types of kisses (forehead, cheek, jaw, wrist elven ear, nose, shoulder, lips...)

Lindir version below. (For the three who’s requested Elrond I am currently writing that so don’t worry 😉)

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Forehead kiss

Lindir’s fingers brushed lightly across the strings of his lute, lost in the soft, meandering melody he had been playing for what felt like hours. The room was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds outside the window. His mind was in a peaceful place, the music flowing freely, when suddenly, he felt the unexpected sensation of warmth on his forehead. The softest of touches—your lips, delicate and tender, pressing a kiss against his skin.

He froze for just a moment, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up in surprise, his wide eyes meeting yours. The soft contact sent a wave of warmth washing over him, a heat that was not just physical but deeply emotional, settling in his chest. His pulse quickened, and his breath became shallow as the tender gesture lingered in his thoughts.

His lips quivered, the tremble barely perceptible, as he glanced upward at you, his pale cheeks turning a soft pink. The faint sound of the lute was forgotten as his hand, once strumming effortlessly, fell still. The kiss had shaken him in the most unexpected and delightful way. “Such a simple gesture,” he thought, but as he lowered his gaze, the depth of the meaning behind it seemed almost too much for his heart to bear.

He gently placed the lute aside, the faint smile that tugged at his lips betraying his bashfulness. He was usually so composed, so in control of his emotions—his voice often bold, his playing effortlessly confident. But now, in the quiet aftermath of that kiss, he found himself disarmed.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers tugging nervously at the hem of his tunic, trying to hide the flush that colored his cheeks. “I do not deserve such sweetness,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though the mere act of speaking might break the spell of tenderness that had enveloped him. But in that moment, he felt utterly cherished, as though all of his troubles and insecurities had been temporarily forgotten in the warmth of your affection.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Cheek kiss

The soft hum of Lindir’s song was interrupted by the gentle pressure of your lips pressing against his cheek. The suddenness of the kiss took him completely by surprise, and he froze in place, his fingers faltering on the strings of his lute. A soft, startled gasp escaped his lips as he blinked, stunned by the sensation.

The warmth of your kiss lingered on his skin, and a delicate blush spread across his cheeks. The feeling was like the first rays of sunlight on a cool morning, unexpected but so deeply welcome. He couldn’t help but reach up, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched the spot where your lips had just been. His heart was beating too fast, and his mind raced in a quiet frenzy. “Why did you have to do that?” he thought, though the question wasn’t one of discomfort. It was the exact opposite: it was one of surprise and vulnerability.

Lindir’s heart was not something he easily gave away, but your touch, so gentle and so unexpected, had cracked something open within him. His cheeks flushed even deeper, and he turned his head slightly to look at you, his gaze half-lidded, unsure of how to respond. His usual confidence was nowhere to be found, leaving him with nothing but the soft beat of his heart and the warmth still blooming from your kiss.

A feeling of vulnerability swept over him, more profound than anything he had felt before. He was usually so poised, so in control of his emotions, but in this moment, he felt like a young elf again, unsure and tender. He glanced down, his fingers now tracing the curve of his cheek where your lips had left their mark. There were no words to express what he felt; he simply could not fathom the depth of such a small act.

When he met your eyes again, his expression was softer than usual, the walls he so carefully built around himself beginning to crumble. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips against your cheek in return, his kiss gentle and tentative, but full of a love that had no need for words. His touch was his thank you, a silent acknowledgment of the affection you had so freely offered him. In that simple, tender exchange, Lindir found a quiet peace, knowing he had a love so pure, so selfless, it could bring him to the edges of vulnerability without fear.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jawline kiss

Lindir had been playing a soft melody on his lute, the notes flowing gracefully from his fingertips, when you suddenly leaned in and kissed him gently on the jawline. The touch was so tender, yet it hit him with a surprising intensity. The warmth of your lips on his skin seemed to send an electric current straight through his body, causing him to freeze in place for a brief moment. His body stiffened, and a soft gasp escaped his lips, his breath catching in his chest.

The feeling was so overwhelming that he felt as if time had stopped for a fleeting second. A shiver ran down his spine, and his pulse quickened with a fierce intensity that caught him completely off guard. His heart raced, his breath coming in shallow bursts as the sensation of your lips lingered against him. His hand, which had been resting by his side, immediately tightened around yours, pulling you closer, as though trying to steady himself in the face of the unexpected surge of emotions.

Lindir’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson, the warmth spreading across his pale cheeks and creeping down to his neck. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the inner turmoil he was experiencing. He had never expected such a simple gesture to affect him so deeply, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.

“Why do you always manage to make me feel like this?” His voice was low, thick with the emotion he couldn’t fully hide. His words came out softly, filled with awe and something else—vulnerability. He couldn’t help but feel exposed, his heart laid bare by such a simple act of affection. His embarrassment deepened as he realized just how much he had been affected by the kiss, but there was also an undeniable warmth spreading inside him.

Desperate to regain some composure, Lindir leaned in hesitantly, pressing his lips against your cheek in return. His kiss was soft, almost shy, an unspoken thank you for the affection you had shown him. The warmth of your skin against his lips felt comforting, even though his heart was still racing. As he pulled back, his chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, his voice barely a whisper as he chuckled nervously, “I don’t know why you do this to me.” The laughter was a nervous attempt to deflect the intensity of the emotions swirling within him, but there was no hiding the deep affection in his eyes.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Wrist kiss

Lindir had been lost in his own thoughts, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on the back of your hand. His mind wandered, but the quiet, intimate moment was broken when you lifted his wrist gently to your lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation of your warm lips against his delicate skin sent a shock of awareness through him, and he immediately blinked, his eyes widening with surprise. His breath hitched as his pulse quickened, a soft flush creeping up his neck and across his chest.

For a moment, he was frozen, unsure of how to respond to such a quiet, tender gesture. It was such an intimate touch, one that seemed to speak volumes without uttering a single word. His heart swelled in his chest, a mixture of surprise and overwhelming affection filling him. His gaze met yours, wide and a little uncertain, as if he were trying to fully comprehend the depth of what had just happened. His lips parted slightly, as though he had something to say, but the words wouldn’t come. “So much affection in such a small place,” he thought, the simple act making him feel deeply loved and cherished.

Despite the warmth flooding through him, a subtle awkwardness settled over Lindir. His usual confidence, especially when it came to his music and his words, seemed to falter in the face of such intimate affection. He found himself struggling to understand how to properly respond. The feeling of your lips still lingered on his wrist, sending soft tremors through his body, and his heart fluttered in his chest, a bit of uncertainty clouding his usually calm demeanor.

He turned his gaze downward, his fingers tracing the spot where your lips had been. For a moment, he lingered in the tenderness of the moment, his chest tightening with emotion. Unable to resist the pull of his feelings, he slowly brought his own hand to your wrist, his lips brushing gently against the delicate skin there. His kiss was soft and slow, an intimate return of the affection you had shown him. There was something incredibly grounding in the gesture, a silent exchange of love that didn’t need words.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes met yours, soft and full of warmth, the uncertainty that had clouded him moments before now replaced by a deep, quiet affection. He didn’t need to say anything—the kiss he had returned spoke everything he needed to express. Still, a small part of him felt shy, as though he wasn’t quite sure how to fully embrace the vulnerability of such an intimate moment. But despite the slight awkwardness, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart full, as he met your gaze once more.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Lips kiss

Lindir had been walking down the corridor of Rivendell, his thoughts focused on the tasks at hand as the duties of being Lord Elrond’s aide often kept him busy. He held a scroll in his hand, his steps measured and composed as he made his way toward the council hall. The stone walls of the Elven refuge echoed softly with his footsteps, but he wasn’t entirely alone. As he rounded a corner, his gaze was momentarily captured by you standing just ahead.

You had been waiting for him, perhaps knowing he would pass this way, your presence like a quiet whisper in the air. His heart gave an unexpected leap as your eyes met, a gentle smile curving your lips, and for a moment, time seemed to still around him. The responsibilities of his position, the scrolls of duty that weighed in his hand, seemed to melt away as your gaze softened, and your presence surrounded him with a sense of warmth and belonging.

Before Lindir could find the words to greet you, you moved toward him. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened just slightly in surprise, the familiar fluttering of his heart quickening as you stood before him, so close that he could almost feel the warmth of your presence in every fiber of his being.

Without a word, you closed the space between you, your hand rising gently to cup his cheek, and then your lips, soft and tender, brushed against his. The kiss started as a delicate whisper—a brush of affection so light that it almost seemed like a dream. Lindir’s eyes fluttered shut as the warmth of your touch spread through him, his breath hitching for just a moment before he found himself caught in the softness of your kiss.

His lips, initially shy, barely touched yours as he struggled to gather his thoughts, his hands hesitating at his sides before finally moving to cradle yours gently. One of his hands rested on your waist, feeling the delicate curves of your body as his fingers trembled slightly. The kiss was tender, an unspoken exchange of love that he hadn’t known he needed, yet somehow had always longed for.

But as you kissed him more firmly, as if urging him to allow himself to melt into the moment, Lindir’s breath caught again. His heart raced, and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, the warmth of your lips against his causing him to momentarily lose himself in the sensation. His pulse quickened as he leaned into you, surrendering to the connection between you both. He felt his breath grow shallow, his body responding to you in a way that felt both foreign and utterly natural.

Lindir’s hands moved from their tentative place on your waist to hold you more firmly, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss. His gentle nature gave way to something more earnest, the tender affection he had always carried for you now spilling out in the form of a kiss that was no longer shy or hesitant. The kiss, though still full of tenderness, became more urgent, more desperate, as though he were seeking something deeper within you.

His lips moved against yours in a rhythm of longing and devotion, and for a moment, he forgot the world around him—the duties that had so often consumed him, the responsibilities that had weighed heavy on his shoulders. All that mattered, in that fleeting moment, was the warmth of your touch, the softness of your kiss, and the connection between you.

When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed, and his breathing was uneven, the intensity of the kiss still lingering between you. He gazed at you with wide, soft eyes, his lips slightly parted as he tried to find his words, though none came immediately. He smiled shyly, the vulnerability in his eyes unmistakable, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I have never known such sweetness.” His voice was quiet, almost reverent, as though the kiss had revealed something new to him—something beautiful and profound that he hadn’t fully understood until now.

Lindir’s heart was still racing in his chest, his body still responding to the aftershocks of the kiss. He had always been a lover of music, of poetry, and of art, but in this moment, he understood that there was a depth to love that no words, no melody could ever fully capture. The kiss had told him everything he needed to know.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Temple kiss

The day had turned soft and quiet, the room filled only with the gentle sounds of the wind rustling through the trees outside and the occasional rustle of papers. Lindir was lost in the peace of the moment, his hand resting lightly in yours, his gaze flickering between the lute he’d left aside and your gentle, calming presence. The day had been full of music, but now it was simply about being together—no words, no performance, just the comfort of your company.

It wasn’t until you leaned in that Lindir truly felt the shift. Your lips pressed softly against his temple, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The warmth of your kiss enveloped him like a soft, protective cloak, and his body responded instantly. A small shiver ran down his spine as the kiss, though simple, carried an undeniable intimacy—a sense of safety, of quiet love, that grounded him completely in the moment.

Lindir closed his eyes for a split second, savoring the feeling of your lips against his skin. The sensation was so gentle, and yet so profound. It wasn’t a kiss of passion or fervor; it was a kiss of care, a kiss that wrapped around him like the very air he breathed. He felt, in that brief moment, that he was home—that with you, nothing else mattered. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you in this sacred space.

His shoulders, which had been tense with the small, unnoticed stress of the day, relaxed under your touch, his muscles softening as if he were shedding the weight of the world. The tenderness of your gesture melted away the hidden anxieties, and he found himself at peace, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to say anything at all. The kiss had spoken all the words he couldn’t find.

Lindir let his forehead rest gently against yours as you lingered close, a wordless exchange of affection flowing between you. He had never been so at ease, so completely content in someone’s presence. His hand, still gently cradling yours, tightened just slightly, the touch full of warmth and trust. A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he leaned in slightly more, savoring the peaceful connection.

In that quiet moment, his thoughts were filled with gratitude, a deep sense of being seen and loved for who he truly was. “You always know how to bring me peace,” he thought softly, a whisper of a thought that spoke more than words could ever express. Your love, so gentle and unwavering, had a way of soothing the weariness that Lindir never realized he carried until moments like these.

As the kiss lingered, the bond between you seemed to solidify, no longer needing to be spoken aloud. It was a bond of quiet moments, of shared affection, and Lindir couldn’t help but feel like everything he needed was right there in your arms, in the gentle touch of your lips against his temple. And in that moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Neck kiss

Lindir sat alone in the quiet alcove of Rivendell, his attention absorbed in the scroll before him. The soft rustle of the parchment was the only sound in the peaceful corner, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch on, calm and undisturbed. His fingers lightly traced the script as he worked through the task at hand, the rhythmic nature of his work giving him a sense of grounding. But then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted.

You approached quietly, so gently that he didn’t even hear you until your presence was close. Before he could react, your lips pressed softly against the sensitive skin of his neck. The kiss was light but electric, sending a wave of heat coursing through his body. The warmth of your touch seared through his skin, and Lindir’s breath hitched in surprise. His whole body froze for just a heartbeat, caught between the shock of the moment and the undeniable pleasure it stirred within him.

A soft, barely audible noise escaped his lips—an almost breathless “Ah…”—the sound so foreign and unintentional that it only deepened his immediate fluster. It was a soft mewl, more from the shock of being so tenderly kissed than any real discomfort. His breath quickened as his body reacted instinctively, stiffening under the intensity of the sensation. His pulse hammered in his chest, racing faster with each passing second, the sound of it echoing in his ears.

The kiss on his neck seemed to spread a warmth that radiated throughout his entire body, pooling in his chest and settling deep within him. His skin burned where your lips had met him, and the sensation sent shivers down his spine, a thrill of pleasure and vulnerability washing over him. His face flushed a bright crimson, his skin heated and almost painfully aware of your closeness. Lindir’s fingers clenched involuntarily at his sides, as if he were holding onto something to steady himself, unsure whether to pull away or allow the moment to unfold further.

He turned his head slightly, unable to meet your gaze directly, as if the overwhelming intimacy had caught him off guard. A quiet gasp slipped past his lips, and his words came out in a quiet, trembling whisper, barely audible. “You do things to me that I cannot understand…” His voice was thick with a mixture of awe and confusion. He was always composed—careful and poised—but this gesture, this simple kiss, unraveled him in a way he had not anticipated.

Lindir closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure, but his heartbeat continued to race, and the sensation of your lips on his neck lingered in his mind. His body was still betraying him, reacting to your touch in ways he couldn’t fully control. Even though he tried to steady his breath, he felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, in a way, deeply cherished.

The soft, lingering feeling of your kiss seemed to reverberate within him, leaving a mark of warmth that he could not ignore. He could feel the aftershocks of the kiss, like a pulse of affection that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. The tenderness and affection behind it filled him with an overwhelming sense of closeness, a bond that went beyond words. His fingers, still twitching at his sides, finally reached out slowly, brushing against your arm with a gentleness that mirrored the way your lips had touched him.

And even though Lindir still struggled to find the right words, his heart knew the truth of the moment he felt both exposed and loved, his vulnerability laid bare, yet cherished all the more for it. He could not deny the effect you had on him, nor the joy and warmth that filled him after this quiet, intimate exchange.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Hand kiss

The evening had fallen quietly around Rivendell, the soft glow of lanterns reflecting off the stone floors as Lindir and you walked side by side down a narrow corridor. The distant sound of Elven voices filled the air, but for a moment, it was just the two of you—caught in a peaceful, shared silence. Lindir’s thoughts drifted, his mind at ease with the beauty of the night, until your hand suddenly slipped into his.

It was a simple touch, but the intimacy of it caught him off guard. He looked at your hand, his heart skipping a beat at the way your fingers intertwined with his. His breath faltered for a brief moment, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed the warmth of your hand to anchor him, feeling the quiet strength and tenderness of your presence.

Then, without saying a word, you brought his hand gently to your lips. The soft press of your kiss against his knuckles was like a spark, igniting a quiet fire within him. The warmth of your lips lingered there, and Lindir felt a sensation he had not expected—tenderness, affection, and a profound sense of being cherished.

His breath caught in his chest, his heart swelling with emotion. He had always been the one to give, to share his music, his art, and his words, but in this moment, he was overwhelmed by the quiet love you offered him without asking for anything in return. His hand, usually so occupied with the duties of his position, felt like it was made of something softer, more delicate, now that it rested in your care.

Lindir’s eyes lifted to meet yours, his gaze softening as he allowed himself to fully experience the moment. There was no need for grand declarations or sweeping gestures, just the quiet intimacy of your kiss. His pulse quickened, and a small, shy smile played at the corners of his lips. “Your touch is always so gentle,” he thought, his chest tightening with emotion. His voice was soft, his tone filled with a quiet awe, “I’ve never known such tenderness before.”

Still holding your hand, he brought his other hand to yours, lifting it delicately and pressing his lips to your knuckles in return. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and full of the love he felt for you. His lips lingered there for a moment, a gesture of gratitude, an offering of his own affection.

When he pulled back, there was a slight flush to his cheeks, a soft vulnerability in the way he looked at you. “You have a way of making everything feel… beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. His heart still fluttered with the intensity of the moment, and the simplicity of your affection made him feel as though he was floating in a world that existed just for the two of you.

He tightened his hold on your hand, a silent promise—one he would keep, for as long as he had the breath to do so. The warmth of your touch remained with him, filling him with a joy that he would carry with him for the rest of his days.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Shoulder kiss

The quiet halls of Rivendell hummed with the soft sounds of the day—an occasional rustle of papers, the distant pluck of strings from a lute, and the murmur of conversations echoing down the long corridors. Lindir, ever the dutiful aide, was absorbed in his work at his desk, his hands moving with precision as he read through letters and wrote responses for Lord Elrond. He had long ago mastered the art of filtering out distractions, his mind solely focused on his responsibilities. So when you approached him, he didn’t hear your soft steps or sense your presence until it was too late.

Without a word, you leaned in, and your lips brushed against his bare shoulder. The soft pressure of your kiss was a complete surprise, a gentle warmth that seemed to permeate his very being. Lindir’s body froze for a fraction of a second, the unexpectedness of the touch pulling him from his thoughts. His breath hitched in his chest, his heart racing as though it had been startled into beating faster. He closed his eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer tenderness of the gesture.

The sensation of your lips against his skin sent a pleasant shiver through him, the heat radiating from where you kissed him, spreading through his body in waves. His breath became shallow as his pulse quickened, and a deep blush began to color his cheeks, painting his pale skin a delicate shade of pink.

Lindir had always been self-conscious about his appearance, especially when it came to his more vulnerable spots—his shoulders, his neck, the softer parts of him he had never fully embraced. But your kiss—so soft, so tender—made him feel seen in a way he couldn’t explain. It was as if, for that moment, you looked past his insecurities and simply cherished him for who he was.

The intimacy of it made his emotions swell, and he fought to steady his breath. “This closeness…” he thought, his heart full of gratitude and quiet affection. The vulnerability he usually felt in such moments was soothed by the calm, steady warmth of your touch. The simple kiss on his shoulder filled him with a quiet sense of belonging, of love, as though you had wrapped him in a safe, unspoken embrace.

When you finally pulled back, Lindir slowly opened his eyes, his gaze soft and filled with a mixture of awe and love. His hands found yours, gently pulling you closer as his lips parted into a shy, warm smile. “You do not know how much your kindness means to me,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet sincerity.

Without another word, he leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that spoke volumes—an unspoken promise, a quiet thank you for the love and warmth you had shown him in such a simple, profound way.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Nose kiss

The evening had settled over Rivendell in a soft glow, the lanterns casting their golden light on the stone walls as you and Lindir walked through the halls. The day’s duties had faded into the background, replaced by a shared moment of laughter and ease as you strolled together, trading stories and teasing each other in that familiar way that came from being close. Lindir was telling you about a song he had recently composed, his voice warm and light as he laughed along with the rhythm of his own words. The sound of his laughter was like music in the quiet hall, playful and full of joy.

In the middle of his tale, you leaned in without warning, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. The contact was unexpected, and Lindir froze for a moment, his eyes wide as he registered the gentle touch. He blinked at you, his expression one of surprise, his lips parting in a soft laugh that seemed to escape before he could fully catch his breath. The touch was light, almost mischievous, but it filled him with a joy that he couldn’t quite contain.

His cheeks flushed instantly, a soft pink spreading across his face as he reached up, almost instinctively, to brush his fingers lightly against his nose where your lips had just been. He couldn’t suppress the warmth that blossomed within him, the deep rush of affection he felt for you. “Did you just kiss my nose?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, but the softness in it revealed just how deeply he cherished even the simplest gestures from you. His laugh, still ringing with warmth, filled the hallway, making the air around him feel lighter.

“You always know how to make me smile,” he thought, his heart soaring with the sweetness of the moment. The playfulness of it all was such a contrast to his usual composed nature, and yet, it made him feel more alive than ever. The gentle kiss on his nose, so playful and yet filled with love, made him feel cherished in a way he hadn’t realized he craved until that moment.

Blushing even more, Lindir leaned in and kissed your cheek, the gesture swift but full of warmth. His heart raced in his chest, and his breath came in a soft sigh as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His smile deepened, and the joy in his eyes was unmistakable.

“You have such a way with me,” he murmured, his voice soft, the playful banter still lingering between you. But as he gazed at you, it was clear that he was more than just amused—he was moved, his love for you reflected in every glance, every smile. Even in the midst of your teasing, you had a way of making him feel special, seen, and deeply loved.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Elven ear kiss

Lindir sat at his desk in his private chambers, the soft flicker of candlelight casting gentle shadows on the papers scattered in front of him. His dark chestnut brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders, partly veiling his ears as he concentrated on his task. The quiet hum of the wind outside and the rhythmic scratching of his quill on parchment were the only sounds in the otherwise still room. His mind was fully absorbed in the task at hand: carefully recording a report for Lord Elrond. The peace of the moment, the solitude, seemed to settle around him, and for a brief time, the world outside faded into a distant murmur.

Unaware of your presence, Lindir was lost in his thoughts, his focus unbroken as he worked. Then, in an instant, the quiet was pierced by the soft sound of your approach. You moved toward him with the quiet grace that only an elf could possess, your steps almost soundless as you neared. Without warning, you leaned over, pressing your lips gently against the delicate curve of his ear.

The sensation was like nothing Lindir had ever experienced. The kiss, soft as a whisper, made his entire body freeze, every muscle tensing as a shiver of unexpected pleasure raced through him. His breath caught in his throat, and a low, involuntary moan slipped past his lips before he could stop it. The warmth of your lips against his sensitive ear was overwhelming, igniting a rush of sensations that left him temporarily disoriented. His entire body felt as though it had been electrified, each nerve alive and humming with the intimate touch.

Lindir’s eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, to hold onto the moment without becoming entirely lost in it. His pulse quickened, the rhythmic beat pounding in his ears like the sound of distant drums. His heart raced wildly, a deep flush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, leaving him deeply embarrassed but undeniably elated. “What is it about you…” he thought to himself, his mind struggling to find the words to understand the intensity of what you made him feel.

His ears, finely attuned to every sensation, burned with warmth from your kiss. He could feel his Elven ears, normally hidden beneath the curtain of his hair, turning a shade of red that mirrored the heat flooding his face. His eyes opened slowly, and he turned his head toward you, still dazed from the unexpected intimacy. The softness of your touch lingered in the air around him, as though the kiss had left an imprint on his very soul.

Immediately, Lindir turned away, his hand coming to his face in a desperate attempt to hide his blush. His cheeks burned, the feeling of embarrassment overwhelming as he mumbled under his breath, “I… I didn’t mean to—” But his words were cut short by a soft laugh escaping you. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, finding it utterly endearing. He had moaned, after all, and it had caught him completely off guard.

With a playful grin, you leaned in, pressing your face into the soft waves of his dark chestnut hair, nuzzling him gently. The action only seemed to embarrass Lindir further, and he squeaked in surprise, his body stiffening as though trying to escape the tender, teasing affection. His eyes widened in flustered surprise, and he let out a soft, nervous laugh, half-shocked at the intensity of his own reaction.

“You’re teasing me now,” Lindir whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to regain his composure. But his blush only deepened as he buried his face in his hand, attempting to shield himself from your teasing gaze. His Elven ears burned brighter, the pink hue spreading across his skin like wildfire.

The moment you nuzzled into his hair, Lindir’s breath caught, and he couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that bubbled up from deep within him, the sound a little embarrassed but full of joy. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head in playful exasperation, but there was no denying the tenderness in his tone. He could feel his heart still racing from the intimate kiss, but now the warmth of your affection seemed to steady him, even as his face remained flushed and his body still hummed with the aftershocks of your touch.

“You’re not making this any easier, you know,” he added, his voice light and teasing now, though the shy smile that tugged at his lips was still there. He leaned into you, allowing himself a moment of comfort, even as his body flushed with both embarrassment and affection. The overwhelming pleasure of the kiss had made him lose his composure for a moment, but now, in the safety of your embrace, he was beginning to find his footing again.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Back of the neck kiss

Lindir was nestled in the quiet of his chambers, a plush cushion beneath him as he sat cross-legged, lost in the soothing rhythm of his harp. His fingers moved gracefully across the strings, the delicate melody drifting through the room like a soft breeze. The light of the late afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting a golden glow that danced across the stone floor and illuminated the serene scene. Lindir’s mind was far away, adrift in the music, the familiar comfort of the tune grounding him in a calm, almost meditative state.

He didn’t hear your approach, his attention fully consumed by the melody he was creating. The space around him seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the music and his thoughts. Then, without any warning, you were there—your presence felt only when you leaned down, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

The suddenness of the kiss made Lindir stiffen in surprise, his entire body reacting to the intimate touch. A gasp escaped him before he could stop it, his breath catching as an unexpected shiver ran through him. The kiss on the back of his neck felt like a jolt of electricity, sparking sensations he hadn’t anticipated. His fingers froze mid-strum, the soft melody of the harp falling into an abrupt silence. His whole body tensed, every muscle going rigid as his mind struggled to comprehend the overwhelming feeling.

He held his breath for a moment, feeling the heat of your lips against the delicate nape of his neck, and a wave of warmth spread through his entire body. Goosebumps prickled along his skin, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the pleasure surged through him. His heart began to race, the soft beats now quickened with a mix of surprise and something more intense—desire, perhaps.

Lindir slowly turned to face you, his movements hesitant at first, as if he couldn’t quite reconcile the intimacy of the moment with the shock it had caused. His eyes were wide, filled with a quiet awe, and he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as they sought out your touch. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to calm the fluttering in his heart.

His Elven ears, usually so attuned to every sound around him, were sensitive to the slightest change in temperature or touch, and now they were flushed a deep shade of red. He could feel the heat spreading to his cheeks, his embarrassment evident in the way he quickly tried to hide his reaction. He turned toward you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck to bury his face from view, unable to fully suppress the blush that had bloomed across his face. His lips were still trembling from the shock of the kiss, and his heart seemed to thrum with the intensity of it all.

The feeling of your arms around him, the warmth of your touch, made him feel both exposed and adored, his vulnerability laid bare in that simple gesture. Despite the overwhelming sensations, there was a quiet joy in it too. The rush of intimacy, though unexpected, filled him with a sense of closeness to you that left him breathless in more ways than one.

“I didn’t expect that…” he whispered, his voice soft and filled with a mixture of surprise, affection, and the lingering effects of your touch. His heart was still racing, his chest rising and falling with a quickness that betrayed the effect you had on him. “You leave me speechless,” he added, his words laced with affection but also a note of shyness as he nuzzled deeper into your neck, trying to hide the redness in his face.

He was embarrassed by how his body had reacted—how his pulse had surged, how his skin had come alive under your touch. But there was also something in that moment that left him longing for more. The closeness, the tenderness, and the raw emotion made him feel more connected to you than ever before, and he wasn’t sure he could find the words to express just how much it meant to him.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[zuppizup]

A Dark Alternative: Chapter 33

Summary: In a world where the border between Xadia and the human lands never truly existed, humans and elves live along side each other, but not together.

Years ago, Callum made an unlikely friend, one he thought long lost to time. By chance, their paths cross again, but considering how much they’ve both changed, is it possible to rekindle their friendship? Or have their differences become too much to overcome?

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Mature

AO3 Link: A Dark Alternative

Rayla took a deep breath, her sleepy mind taking a moment to put conflicting pieces together. She was in a tent, though early dawn sunlight was now bright enough to illuminate most of the inside. There was a funny rhythmic rumbling sound in her ear, and she opened her eyes to find herself pressed against Callum, his mouth open as he snored softly.

She thought back on him waking her at some point over night, chuckles and giggles as they agreed they should probably sleep in one of the tents, even though the chances of anyone coming across them were incredibly remote. The threat of waking up covered in bug bites was motivation enough.

It was more than anything she’d imagined, she’d dreamed. Gazing at him now, she felt content, truly happy, for what felt like the first time in so very long. It was like she’d almost forgotten what this kind of joy felt like, the emotion almost bubbling up and out of her in another fit of giggles or happy tears or just... pulling Callum as close as she possibly could, breathing in the smell of his skin, relishing the way his hands felt against her, even through sleep.

Read More On AO3 – A Dark Alternative: Chapter 33

[lemonsprite]

Hello can I ask for BG3 Halsin x reader?

Usually people depict the reader as ageless but I was wondering if you can do anything with a reader that's also up in their 300s? They could probably relate on many thing that come with a long lifespan and stuff

Thanks and have a nice day (I know this is like probably brainless time from me but the summer heat is getting me my brain left me)

Thank you guys for all the Halsin ideas I luv my bear husband TT

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 || 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐆𝐍! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Halsin can’t remember the last time he’s met someone like you

Word Count:

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!!! nothing!! Just pure silliness

A/N: I had SUCH bad writers block with this one so I apologize if it’s actual doodoo TT but I love writing the bg3 party dynamic sm ugh

Halsin was used to being a pile of dust when compared to all his friends and companions. Despite only being in the middle stages of his life for an elf, he’d lived much longer than those around him.

Part of that knowledge made his heart ache in a weird bittersweet mixture of emotions. Living as long as he did caused him to see the rise of fall of friends and lovers and there was nothing he could do about it. It seemed like a cycle he was doomed too, one that would unfold the same as always.

Halsin knew almost no elves the same absurdly old age as him.

“Karlach I don’t think the camp really needs another cantaloue… we haven’t even finished the other two Wyll bought three days ago…” chided Halsin, placing a hand on top of Karlach’s and slowly guiding the round fruit in her hands back into the market stall.

“Yeah but mate, what’s gonna happen when shadowheart gets her midnight cravings and eats both cantaloupes in one night?” Pouted Karlach, gripping tightly to the fruit. “What will I eat then…? If you think about it… this purchase is just a tactical strategy…”

Halsin gave her a look, one he was all too familiar with when dealing with those much younger and less wise than him.

Karlach sighed and dropped the cantaloupe, making her way to another stall that sold hand made yarn woven weapon sheaths. (Not the best in terms of practicality but very aesthetically pleasing)

“Do you have this in a size Large?” Asked a voice and before Halsin could catch himself, he found his gaze landing on the stranger beside him. Also an elf from what he could tell with their pointed ears.

“The smithy by the Rivington general store sells the same armour for a cheaper price.” Suggested Halsin, moving slightly closer to the new bystander.

“I could…” he coughed, clearing his throat. “Show you the way if you need?”

Halsin had no idea what he was doing. One second, the elf was scolding Karlach and the next he was flirting with a complete stranger. Something in your eyes, the way you held yourself made him want to know you better, hear you speak his name.

“That would be nice…” you smiled, politely putting the not purchased armour back on the market stand and turning to Halsin.

A large crash resounded behind Halsin and he whipped around to find Karlach standing above a pile of shattered porcelain. Like a large dog unaware of how big she was.

“Hey you gotta pay for that!” Angrily shouted the storekeeper as he looked incredulously from Karlach to the shattered pottery.

“That one yours?” You asked, nodding your head in the direction of the destructive tiefling.

Halsin nodded, watching as Karlach tearfully handed over the little money she had.

“I’ve got nine of them back at camp.” He said wistfully, thinking back to the ruckus and chaos of camp.

“I’ve been on my own for awhile now…” you hummed, walking with Halsin as he began to lead you to the nearby smithy, Karlach jogging to reach up with the two of you.

“I’m Halsin.” He smiled. “And this is my friend Karlach.”

“Oh I know you! I spent a century with the emerald enclave, they spoke very highly of you.” You grinned, stuffing your hands in the pockets of your tunic as you walked.

Karlach smiled brightly, nodding her head eagerly. “You should see when he wildshapes! The bear is quite cute.”

“You were apart of the emerald enclave?” Halsin asked, pleasantly bemused as the city surroundings grew less and less frequent and more bursting countryside surrounded him.

“Not apart.” You explained, giving Halsin a sheepish smile. “Just lived with them a good while, even during that big battle with Ketheric Thorm back in the day, helped as much as I could.”

“I can’t remember the last time I’d met an elf who can recall such a time.” Halsin smiled gently. “Say… would you like to join us for dinner at our camp?”

Karlach gave Halsin a knowing smirk.

“That sounds amazing.” You grinned. “I’d love too.”

Despite the scene of utter chaos unfolding around him, Halsin couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from your thoughtful gaze.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were currently arm wrestling for dominance while Gale fought back Astarion, telling him dinner wasn’t quite ready yet.

Halsin had brought you to a quite hill nearby, overlooking all the drama as you two had a quite chat.

“Can’t remember the last time I had a dinner like this.” You quipped, causing the grass to rustle as you leaned back.

“Would you… want to stay…?” Halsin asked shyly, weirdly awkward for a man of his calibre. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, his usual confident and wise facade slowly melting. You made him feel like a dumb kid again, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“It would be nice to have someone older with a little more wisdom join the party… I don’t think me and Jaeheria can last another day…” he added with a soft laugh, joining you in the grass.

“Jaeheria’s here?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen her in two hundred years.”

“You should stay.” He urged. “I also… just really want to know you better.”

Halsin gently placed his hand on top of yours in the grass, giving you enough time to pull away if you need.

“Yeah… yeah I’d like that.” You smiled, running your thumb over his knuckles and lifting your face to meet his rich hazel gaze.

[bountydroid]

The Lonely Elf pt 2

Haldir x female!elf!OC

Notes: Sorry this took so long. Im surprised anyone actually wanted a part 2.

TW: Battle? No real descriptions of death or gore.

Word Count: 2,162

"Then I will die as one of them!" Aragorn's angry voice echoed through Helm's Deep. I winced as the men around us took in his words. Before Legolas could respond, Aragorn turned around and retreated from the conversation.

"Let him go lad." Gimli said softly, stopping Legolas from following after his friend. "Let him be."

The mood was dire in Helm's Deep. With each minute the orcs grew closer and the fear deepened in the men's hearts. I found a place to sit quietly, watching the hustle and bustle of preparing men and children. My heart saddened. Was this the end? I failed Bilbo. I told him I would look after Frodo but when he left I chose to go with the others instead. After everything he had done for me, how could I betray him in such a way?

"Bilbo will understand," Gandalf's voice rang in my memory. I confided in him about these feelings on the way to Rohan, but his words did little to comfort me. Tears fell down my cheeks as I wondered about Frodo's well-being. With all my heart I hoped that he and Sam were doing well, that they were safe and warm. I wished I would endure this fight to see them again, but I had little hope. After Legolas and Aragorn's argument, we parted ways, the four of us finding our own corners of the keep to hide in. We all needed to think about our dire situation and process it in our own ways. I chose this time to think about those whom I love. My wonderful family of hobbits, the company dwarves I have barely been able to face since our adventure went dire, and of course Haldir. I choked down a sob as I pulled out the coin Galadriel had given me.

"Let it help you remember what you are fighting for, and what awaits for you when your quest is done," I spoke aloud bitterly before tossing the coin away from me. "What a joke."

The hustle and bustle continued through the night. The women and young children had found shelter in the deepest part of the fortress while the rest of us readied for battle. I did not fail to notice the looks I received from the men of Rohan. They thought I should be with the other women, despite my experience in battle. A bitter taste settled in my mouth as I decided to look for my traveling companions.

"It's a little tight across the chest." I heard Gimli say from behind a door, I slowly opened it and stuck my head around the corner. "There you are, lassie!" He exclaimed happily causing me to smile down at him.

My eyes shifted to Legolas and Aragorn. "You ready to kill some orc?"

Before they could respond, a horn echoed from outside, "That is no orc horn." Legolas said, eyebrows furrowing before rushing out of the room to find the source.

"We come to honor that allegiance." Haldir's soft voice echoed in my ears. Before he could see me I backed up and hid behind one of the men as I held my breath. My heart jumped as I heard Aragorn greet him. "No, he can't be here." I thought to myself. Conflicting emotions filled my body. I was both happy and distraught to see him. How could he throw away his life by coming here? How could he seem so stoic in the face of certain death? I slipped back into Helm's Deep, hoping to find a corner to hide in so I wouldn't have to face him.

-

The men seemed more hopeful now that we had elves fighting at our side. I knew that our chances were still slim to none, but we had a better chance if the men thought we would live so I didn't say anything to persuade them otherwise.

"The she-elf? She's over there." I heard a man's voice ring out. I held my breath as I peered around the corner to see him talking to Haldir. Haldir's eyes flickered over to me before he looked back at the man. He gave him a small bow and headed in my direction.

I closed my eyes as I let out a long breath to steady my nerves as his footsteps became louder and louder. "Elowen." I heard him say softly as his feet came to a stop.

"Haldir," I responded as I opened my eyes to meet his gaze. Silence filled the air for a couple of minutes before I finally broke it. "Why would lord Elrond send you to die?"

Haldir looked taken aback by my question. "He didn't. I volunteered."

"What?" I questioned as my face twisted up in confusion.

"I volunteered when I heard he was sending troops." He repeated softly as he crouched in front of me.

"Why?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

He met my eyes before answering, "Because you are here."

The tears I had been fighting all this time started to spill out as I gave in to my emotions. I could feel him put his hand on my shoulder massaging it softly as I tried to regain composure. I tightly gripped his arm like I was afraid he would disappear at any moment. He continued to rub my shoulder to comfort me as my crying came to a stop.

I finally met his eyes again, all puffy and red, I wanted to respond somehow but words were failing me, Instead, I opted to throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face into his neck, letting my actions speak for me.

-

The night sky grew darker as the soldiers fell into their positions. Aragorn, Haldir, and King Theoden had ordered each person to their designated place. We were as prepared as we could be. I stood next to Legolas and Gimli, picking my nails nervously. I tried my best to stop myself from searching for Haldir. It was for the best that I didn't think about him and his fate. I would only put myself in more danger if I was distracted. I tried to remind myself to have hope, even in the face of certain death. My grim attitude wasn't helpful to anyone. I tried to remind myself of what Gandalf said. "Look to my coming on the first light of the fifth day, at dawn look to the east." Would he be able to save us? I stewed in my thoughts as the torches in the distance came closer. Their footsteps were deafening as our army stayed silent.

"You could have picked a better spot!" Gimli said angrily as he tried to peer over the wall.

I let out a small scoff before turning to face the others, noticing the small smirk on Legolas's face.

"Well lad, by the luck you live by. Let's hope it lasts the night." Gimli said as Aragorn came up behind him startling me.

Where did he come from?

"Your friends are with you Aragorn," Legolas said as he stared at the approaching army.

"Let's hope they last the night," Gimli responded.

"This isn't the end Gimli," I finally broke my silence. "I refuse to die here. There is still so much I want to do."

Aragorn's voice rang out, his deep voice louder than the pouring ran. He walked among the elven archers, encouraging them in their native tongue. The Urukai army finally stopped marching, staring at us from the ground.

"What's happening out there?" Gimli asked while jumping to try and see over the wall.

"Would you like me to describe it to you?" Legolas responded, lightening the mood. "Or would you like me to find you a box?

Gimli's laugh made me smile, but it didn't last long when the Urukai started to bang their spears on the ground, creating a thundering rhythm.

The archers nocked their bows, preparing for Aragorn to say the word and let their arrows fly. As we waited for Aragorn's command a single arrow flew out and hit an Urukai in the neck, causing the army to stop and stare. The battle has started, whether we were ready or not.

-

I had lost track of how long we were fighting for, but one thing was for sure, we were losing. It was not unexpected as most of us had steeled ourselves for this outcome, but we were still filled with desperation and hope that somehow we would live. The outer defenses had fallen, everything but the main keep had been breached, and it was utter chaos.

"To the keep!" I heard Aragorn yell out, urging our forces to retreat. "Haldir!" He continued to yell in elvish.

My eyes scanned the wall before landing on Haldir's back. A sigh of relief left my body as I started to make my way towards him. I would drag him to the keep if I had to. Before I made it to him I saw him lean down with his hand near his waist. He was hurt. I started to run along the wall as fast as I could, pushing men and Urukai aside while I watched one come up behind him. I realized I would not make it in time, in an act of desperation I pulled out my knife and threw it at the Urukia's head, hoping that nothing would get in its way.

With a bit of luck, it hit its target. A sigh of relief left my body as I continued to run towards Haldir as the dead Urukai fell on top of him. "Haldir," I said as I pulled the dead weight off him. "Let's get you to a healer."

-

The keep was packed and there was an army banging on the doors. It wouldn't hold for long. I nervously bit my nails as I sat next to Haldir who was being tended to by one of the elvish healers. I watched Aragorn and Theoden argue about something, but I was too far away to hear. Satisfied that Haldir was safe I decided to go to Aragorn to be briefed on the situation. After a single step, I felt a hand grab at my wrist. Startled, I looked down with wide eyes at Haldir's face of desperation.

"Stay," He begged. "There is nothing out there but death."

"Are you regretting coming to my rescue?" I jested, trying to lighten the mood.

He scoffed as he pulled me to the ground next to him. Despite the chaos around us I felt content in the moment, like I was where I needed to be.

-

In a stroke of luck, Gandalf arrived just in time with the Riders of Rohan at his back. It was no small miracle that we defeated an army so large. After the chaos began to settle down the fellowship was ready to leave and face Saruman in his tower. When Legolas came to collect me I felt conflict in my heart. I looked to Haldir who was now on his feet and delivering orders to the elves. They were getting ready to head back to their homes. Home. My heart tightened at the thought. Like he could feel my eyes on him, Haldir turned to face me only to see Legolas holding my gear.

"Come Elowen, we must go." Legolas' voice rang in my ears.

"Okay," I responded quietly as I took my things from his arms.

"Wait," Haldir said loudly as he maneuvered through the crowded keep. "Come back to Caras Galadhon with me."

Legolas looked between us, "Make your decision quickly, Elowen." He said before leaving us to speak alone.

"I made a promise Haldir. It is important to me that I finish this journey." I responded with uncertainty as he towered over me.

"I do not wish to lose you." He said tenderly as his hand reached for my cheek.

I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, enjoying the moment. "I must go, but when I am done and the ring is destroyed, I will come find you."

I opened my eyes to see a frown across his face. He hummed quietly as he lovingly rubbed his thumb across my cheek.

"I promise," I said, trying to reassure us both. "But I must go now, they are waiting for me." I turned away from him, trying to hurry to the fellowship before I changed my mind. I let out a small squeak as I felt a hand grab my shoulder and whip me around. Before I could protest I felt Haldir's lips collide harshly into mine. I melted into his body as the kiss became softer and more passionate. My mind went blank as I parted my lips, making way for his tongue to enter my mouth, deepening the kiss. When I finally pulled away he cradled my face as he gently knocked his forehead into mine. "Come home to me." He whispered.

[live-laugh-legolas]

What type of music the fellowship listens to (modern)

Aragorn:

-Country man

-Idk if he even actually listens to it, but I swear every guy on tinder has country music in their interests and I think it is just a go to answer

-“what kind of music do you like?” “Idk, country I guess”

-Likes the depressed indie artists

-✨John Mayer✨

Legolas:

-Idk if anyone is going to agree with me on this but I think he’s into metal music

-I also think he would love Eminem

-He knows every lyric

-Not the type to dance or even show that he’s listening to music, but he actually has music blasting in his ears

-Ik elves have like sensitive ears or whatever but let me have this one

-Wannabe emo kid

Boromir:

-I think he likes pop music but listens almost purely to covers

-“I knew them before they were famous” vibes

-Loves artists like Elton John, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, etc

-Also side note, this man cannot sing but absolutely goes hard at karaoke

Gimli:

-He’s a T-Swift fan

-Also Celine Dion

-I just think he likes the girl bosses

-P!nk, Halsey, and Shawn Mendez because I just thought of it so he must be a girl boss too

-Gets emotional listening to music; like totally matches the energy of the song

-Sometimes I just cry because an artist just sounds so good, and I think he would do the same

Frodo:

-The “aesthetic” music

-You know the ones that kinda go hard but also sound kinda bad if you actually listen to them?

-I was just listening to “Butch 4 Butch” by Rio Romeo and I just got the vibe that Frodo would vibe

Sam:

-I just feel like he likes rap music

-Not aggressive rap, but when songs have rap in them

-Post-Malone sort of vibes

-Also “TikTok songs” but just the part that’s played in the few seconds of the video

Merry:

-Classical music

-But like the classical music that goes hard

-Like “O Fortuna” maybe

-But he also sings JoJo Siwa and no one knows if it’s satire or genuine

-“KARMAS A BITCH!”

Pippin:

-Hozier boy

-The girls, the gays, and the Pippin ya know?

-But also K-Pop

-I don’t know anything about the genre but I have a friend who literally know every dance to every song from Black Pink and I think that’s how Pip would be

-He will have me watch him do the dances and I can just imagine Pippin doing the same thing; putting on little recitals and you just can’t say no

Gandalf:

-Joe Rogan podcasts

-Ok that’s a joke

-But definitely listens to podcasts, maybe ones about science

-Enjoys some good smooth jazz

-Gets real groovy when a saxophone starts playing

*Bonus Faramir and/or Eomer:

-I’ll be honest I don’t know these characters as well as I should

-but

-Recently my sister has had her earbuds in 24/7 and I asked her about it and she has apparently been listening to Dr Who audio dramas

-She is trying to convince me to listen too but frankly I’m too scared

-There was something about a sentient puddle?

-I just feel like one of the characters would do this and these are the two I decided on but lmk if I’m totally wrong

[chelseaknoo]

𝓐 𝓻𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓮

Stan x reader x kyle

Pt 1

Plot:the elf king Kyle just proposed to you and you excitedly accepted now you’re going to have a wedding but there’s one thing.. his friend the knight Stan marshwalker has a crush on you and wants you to be his wife. WHO WILL YOU CHOOSE?

Waring: sexual content and foul language

Kissing my gloved hand, the elf king of the drow elves gazed into my eyes and whispered, "y/n, will you marry me?" The setting was nothing short of ethereal, with twinkling stars and a full moon casting a warm glow over the lush forest surrounding us. I felt a swell of emotion rise up within me as I looked into his emerald green eyes, their depths mirroring the love I felt for him. It had been six months since we'd started dating, and in that time, Kyle had swept me off my feet with his charm, his wit, and his unwavering devotion to not only me but his kingdom as well.

As I searched for the right words to reply, he leaned in closer, his breath tickling my ear. "I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, y/n," he whispered, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making you happy and showing you a love that knows no bounds."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I took in the sincerity in his words. I knew, without a doubt, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life by his side. "Yes, Kyle," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rustling of the leaves around us. "Yes, I will marry you." And with that, he pulled me into an embrace so fierce it made my heart skip a beat, his lips finding mine in a passionate kiss that sealed our fate together.

As we pulled apart, the excitement of the moment building inside us both, Kyle grinned widely, revealing his sharp teeth. "Now, my love," he exclaimed, his voice practically reverberating with excitement, "let us have a feast fit for a king and his queen-to-be!" With a wave of his hand, the sound of music filled the air, and a procession of elves emerged from the forest, carrying platters of food fit for the gods themselves: succulent meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, artfully crafted breads, and of course, an endless supply of wine and other spirits. The smell was intoxicating, and my stomach growled in anticipation.

I glanced over at Kyle, who was watching me with a twinkle in his eye. "Do you have anything special planned for our first dance?" I asked, hoping that perhaps he'd give me a hint as to what song he had chosen. He smiled, taking my hand in his. "Oh, my dearest y/n," he began, leading me to the makeshift dance floor at the center of the clearing, "you know very well that I've been practicing a special dance just for this moment." And with that, he swept me into his arms, moving effortlessly across the floor, his steps matching mine perfectly, as if we'd been dancing together for centuries. The music swelled around us, and I couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning of a beautiful, magical life together.

Around us, the other elves had gathered, forming a circle to watch us dance. Some clapped in time with the music, while others swayed gently, their eyes fixed on our every movement. As we twirled and spun, I felt a sense of belonging and love wash over me, and for a moment, it seemed as if nothing else in the world mattered. When the song finally came to an end, we were breathless, our bodies pressed tightly together, but neither of us wanted to let go. It was as if we were two halves of the same whole, meant to be together always.

Kyle leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. "What do you say, my queen?" he whispered, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "Shall we continue the celebration?" I nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Yes," I breathed, "let's dance until the stars come down from the sky." And with that, we began again, lost in the music and each other, our love a beacon of hope and light in a world that was often dark and uncertain.

As the night wore on, the feast continued, with course after course of delicious food being served to us by our attentive subjects. We drank wine and danced and laughed, and for a brief moment, it was as if the world outside the forest didn't exist. But we both knew that soon, reality would intrude once more, and we would have to face the challenges that lay ahead. But for now, we were content to bask in the glow of our love and the adoration of our people, savoring every precious moment together as the future unfolded before us.

Finally, as the last rays of the setting sun painted the treetops with a warm, golden light, Kyle excused himself from my side, murmuring something about seeing to the guests' comfort. I watched as he moved gracefully through the crowd, his presence commanding and his charm irresistible. It was then that I realized that I was no longer simply his fiancée, but rather his equal; his partner in every sense of the word.

I wandered away from the main gathering, drawn to the edge of the forest where the trees parted to reveal a small, secluded glade. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and the sound of rustling leaves, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over me as I stood there, taking it all in. I heard footsteps crunching on the grass behind me, and before I could turn around, strong hands gripped my hips and pulled me roughly against a familiar, hard body.

"My queen," Kyle breathed into my ear, his voice husky with desire. "I've been waiting for this moment all night." He pushed me back against a tree, his lips finding mine in a hungry, urgent kiss. His hands roamed over my body, tearing at my clothes, his need for me palpable. I could feel his arousal pressed against my stomach, and with a low growl, he pushed me to the ground, positioning himself between my spread legs.

As he entered me, his teeth grazed against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I arched my back, meeting his thrusts with my own, our bodies moving in perfect harmony, the rhythm of our lovemaking echoing through the forest like a primal call to the wild. The sensation of being claimed by him, of being his and his alone, was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before, and I knew in that moment that there was no place in the world I'd rather be than right here, with him.

As we moved together, lost in the intensity of our passion, I could feel the last vestiges of the day's worries and fears slipping away, replaced by a deep, abiding sense of contentment and belonging. And as our climax swept over us, our bodies twisting together in a tangle of limbs and desire, I knew that this was only the beginning of a beautiful, extraordinary life, shared with the man I loved, the man who was destined to be my king.

Everyone was happy that day. We’ll mostly everyone

Stan sits at his post as he hears his best friend’s sex noises while anger and jealousy boils up inside him.

[middleearthpixie]

The Ties That Bind ~ Chapter Fourteen

A/N - Just a health update - I'm almost 3 weeks' post-op and not only is my surgeon pleased with my recovery, he was rather blown away by my progress at my 2 week post-op appointment. I'm up and about, for the most part, and no longer need a walker (yay!) but won't start physical therapy until I'm 6 weeks post-op, so no bending, lifting, or twisting for me just yet. I'm also slowly getting my energy back, so hopefully my muse will be back as well so I can get back to my fics. :) Thank you to everyone who's reached out to me. I 💜 you for taking the time. So now, without further ado...

Summary: Although Erebor is his once more, Thorin knows there is still a great threat to the peace of Middle Earth. Azog is gone, but another has taken his place and has sworn to finish what Azog began. Erebor is back, but it’s sadly lacking in protection and as much as he hates the thought of it, Thorin knows there is one thing that will guarantee the safety and continuation of his line.

War is coming and all Eirlys of Mirkwood wishes to do is fight alongside her brother Legolas and the other elves, united with Men and Dwarves in their attempt to quell the renewed tensions between them and the orc army of the north. But, her father, Thranduíl has other plans. Unite his kingdom with the newly reestablished kingdom of Erebor and use the power of both to defeat the orcs.

An arranged marriage that neither side wants, but both sides need. But what happens when the two sides realize that maybe—just maybe—being together isn't quite as bad as they'd thought...

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Eirlys of Mirkwood

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

Read on AO3

Thorin sat across from her in the coach, his face voice of emotion as he turned to peer out the window. Eirlys glanced over at Madris, who was busy with her knitting, and then looked back up at Thorin. For all the good it did. He hadn’t met her gaze once, not a single time in the four hours since they’d departed from Mirkwood. 

He spoke to his sister, but that was it and at first, that was just fine with her. But when Madris leaned her head back and drifted off to sleep, leaving Eirlys on her own, it wasn't quite so fine. She let her eyes close and tried to force herself to drift off to sleep as well, and when that didn't work, she played dead. Not that it mattered. Thorin gave no indication at all that he had any interest in speaking with her. 

But, when he and Dís chatted amongst themselves, the sound of Thorin’s deep voice alone was enough to send a delicious shiver along her spine and she wished more than anything that Dís and Madris were in any other coach so she could actually talk to Thorin. As aggravating as it was to have him accuse her of something she didn't do, she just knew that if they could actually talk, she could get him to believe her. Didn't her father always say she had a gift for finding her way out of trouble as easily as she found her way into it?

The trouble was, she didn't want an audience to this. And as long as Dís and Madris were both sitting right there…

She groaned inwardly. How had something so simple become so blasted difficult? She never had any problem talking to anyone. Her father used to tell her she could talk the ears off a gold statue if she set her mind to it. 

So how was it that one man was so very capable of rendering her at a loss for words?

She pondered the situation as she also turned to peer through the window. The road from Mirkwood was fairly open, but that didn't mean orc packs couldn't be lying in wait for them, even with the Royal Guards Thranduíl ordered to travel with them. Thorin traveled far too lightly for Thranduíl’s liking, and so he’d insisted on sending along the extra muscle to accompany them to Erebor. At first, Eirlys thought that was a bit overbearing on his part, but now, as she peered out at the expanse that lay between Mirkwood and Erebor, she was grateful for them. Thorin didn't travel like any other king she’d ever known, but instead seemed to think he was still Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of a small band of homeless dwarves who’d passed through Mirkwood not quite three years earlier. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Dís settle back and close her eyes. A few minutes later, the dwarrowdam snored softly in time with Madris. Her heart began to beat faster as she turned back toward Thorin, her pulse now pounding through her veins as she whispered, “I didn't know she snored.”

At first, Thorin said nothing. But then, he glanced over at Dís. “She has since we were children. She talks in her sleep as well.”

“Madris does, too. But she makes no sense.”

That earned her a slight grin. “Dís babbles in khuzdal. She also makes no sense, but if you answer her, she will reply in kind. Fíli and Kíli used to think it was great fun to make conversation with her when she slept.”

“I don't speak your language,” she confessed, her spirits rising. “But perhaps you might teach me?”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I could, yes.”

“Is it difficult to learn?”

“It wasn’t for me.”

She gave him a long look. “You know what I mean.”

“No, it won’t be difficult for you. You are no fool.”

“I thank you for noticing.”

“I have.”

His eyes softened, but only for a moment, then that softness faded and her spirits sank once more as he said, “And that is not all I noticed.”

“Thorin,” she drew in a deep breath, trying to quell the flurry of butterflies that suddenly felt loose in her belly, “I did not kiss Lachon. And if you look back without the anger, you’ll know you did not see that at all.”

He didn't reply at first and her spirits rose as he just held her gaze as the silence stretched between them. Her heart sped up. Perhaps he was doing just that, looking back at what happened with a new clarity. And when he did, he’d have no choice but to agree with her.

Didn't he?

But then, the shadow lowered across his eyes and her heart sank once more as he drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. 

“You can deny it all you wish,” he replied just as softly, shaking his head, “but we both know what I saw.”

She scowled. “You are being unnecessarily stubborn, you know. And you will kick yourself when you realize I speak true.”

“I am kicking myself now for being taken in from the first,” he told her flatly. Then, without another word, he turned back to the window, and went silent.

Madris let out a loud snort. “Who goes there?”

“No one, Madris,” Eirlys muttered, giving her maid’s knee a rough shake. “You’re only dreaming.”

“Oh… good…” another snort and she settled back into sleep. 

Eirlys looked back up at Thorin, who still stared out the window, and bit back a sigh. He was not giving up his temper any time soon, and he obviously wasn't at all interested in reason. 

But when she thought about it, she wasn't entirely surprised. When Thorin and his Company first passed through Mirkwood and her father had him imprisoned, she’d overheard what had gotten him tossed in the dungeon to begin with. 

Thranduíl had offered his assistance in helping the dwarves reclaim Erebor, but asked that a necklace be returned to him—one that had belonged to Eirlys’ mother—and in response, Thorin accused Thranduíl, as well as the rest of the Woodland elves, of being without honor. She still remembered the fury in his voice as he growled, “Ish kakfê ai-‘d-dûr-rugnal!” She had absolutely no idea what the word meant, but no sooner were those words out of his mouth, then Thranduíl had his guards grab him and drag him from the Throne Room. 

She’d been out in the corridor, just beyond the doors, and had prime viewing of watching those guards grab Thorin by the arms. As they did, she then ducked in behind one of those doors to avoid being seen in return. She hadn’t realized it at the time, of course, but her position in that moment afforded her the first look at the man who would one day become her husband. 

That moment would be forever burned into her mind, the sight of the powerful dwarf, silvery threads of spiderwebbing from his and his Company’s battle with the giant spiders at the northern end of the Mirkwood forest clinging to his long, dark hair like fairy floss, his blue eyes dark with fury and flashing with fire. Despite the fact that he was held by two of her father’s strongest guards, it still appeared to take all of their effort to move him. 

It was a moment that remained with her until her wedding night, when not only did she see him at his majestic best, but also felt his strength for herself. Only where he’d fought her father’s  guards, with her, he was as gentle and tender as possible. 

Her gaze slid back to him, his elbow resting on the window frame, his chin resting on his huge fist. At rest, he was every bit as imposing, but now that she’d seen his gentler side… 

The light filtering in through the window glinted off the silver ring he wore on his thick middle finger. She lingered on that hand, heat slowly swirling through her as their wedding night replayed in her mind.

Another sigh rose to her lips. He’d ruined her, no doubt. One night was all it took. 

She sank back in her seat. There was one way to get through to him.  

“Of course. But…” He smiled as he released her, and stepped around to whisk the linens from the bed and balled them in his arms. “I rather enjoy how one goes about begetting an heir, so I daresay, we will have one sooner rather than later.”

She smiled. Perhaps all wasn't exactly lost just yet.

****

As dusk crept in, the coaches rolled to a stop at a roadside inn and Eirlys was never so thankful to unfold herself from a seat and stretch, unable to hold back her groan of appreciation as her spine popped. 

“How much further have we to travel?” Madris asked no one in particular as the coachman brought their capcases from the back of the coach. 

Dís smiled, rubbing one eye. “We should be there sometime around noon. Perhaps a bit later.”

“Good. I am not built for coach-travel.”

Eirlys smiled as Dís bobbed her head with such force, the beads in her beard clacked. “I am reminded of this every time I travel by coach.”

“Which is almost never,” Thorin broke in, coming around with Dwalin. 

“This is true. But, in my defense, we were barred from Erebor for so long, now that it’s home again, I have little desire to leave it.”

Thorin gazed fondly at her. “You did not have to come this time, either, you know.”

“As if I’d miss your wedding.”

As Dís said that, Thorin looked over at Eirlys and for a split second, she’d swear those blue eyes softened. Then, he looked back at Dís. “It wouldn’t have been the same if you had.”

He cleared his throat then. “Come along, Eirlys. We should get settled before going to supper.”

As he spoke, he offered his arm, but when she slipped her hand through it, he stiffened. It was only briefly, but she certainly felt it and wondered which emotion caused it. There was no time to dwell, as he swept her into the inn and a few minutes later, they were in their room with the door closed. 

Her heart beat faster as he shrugged out of his long coat of dark blue leather trimmed with silver-grey fur. Beneath that, he wore a simple dark gray henley and black trousers—a far cry from the way her father would dress, as he would never been seen as anything less than regal, no matter where they might be. 

But the look suited Thorin. 

Eirlys tried to ignore the way her blood felt so much warmer as it swept through her veins, concentrating instead on shrugging out of her own traveling cloak. Sewn of fine wool, its greenish-brownish-grayish hue made it perfect for blending in with any wooded area, and it rendered her nearly invisible if necessary whenever she explored the woods beyond the palace at Mirkwood. It was also as warm as any fur and repelled rain beautifully. The clasp had been created by one of the finest artisans in Mirkwood—a jade leaf entwined with gold and silver and she tucked it carefully back through the fabric as she slid it from her shoulders to drape across the same chair where Thorin had left his coat. 

“Will we truly be at Erebor by noon tomorrow?”

He turned away from the window. “We should be, as long as we don't run into any trouble. Once we leave here, there is nothing but open road between us and Dale, so be ready.”

“I usually am.” She gestured to the smaller of her two bags, which held her quiver and bow, both of which poked out of the bag. “I thought Madris would lecture me if I wore them in the coach.”

He offered up a smile. “You know how to use a bow?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Perhaps that is because I am surprised.”

“I’ve told you of my skills and you’ve seen them as well. Why would you doubt them now?”

“Because I’ve not seen you wielding a bow. And I rather hope I never have to.”

“Do you doubt me, Thorin of Erebor? Even having seeing me for yourself? For shame, to doubt your own eyes.”

It was a risk, teasing him that way, but her apprehension faded as he smiled then. Smiled and shook his head and replied, “No, I don’t suppose I doubt either my eyes or your skills, Eirlys.”

“Good. Because you shouldn’t.” She took a step closer to him, letting her hand come to rest on his forearm. He’d shoved the sleeves of his henley up to his elbows and as her fingers curled over the thick rope of muscle about his forearm, heat swept through her. 

She wondered if he felt the spark, for his eyes widened slightly. Just as in the coach, her heart beat quickened and without thinking, she tightened her fingers about his forearm. The heat grew, filled her, and the air seemed to thicken. 

She didn't miss the sound of his breath hitching and a hint of triumph surged through her. Any moment now, and he would lean toward her, would push up onto his toes to brush her lips with his. 

Her heart quickened further, each beat sending warming blood pulsing through her temples, roaring through her ears. Any moment, and he’d kiss her. He’d take her into his arms, would sweep her from her feet to spirit her to the high, narrow bed tucked beneath the shuttered dormer windows at the far end of the room. They’d fall together into slightly-musty smelling sheets, arms and legs entwined, lips locked, skin quickly overheating from cumbersome clothing that would quickly be tugged away, lest it be torn off by frenzied fingers in desperate need to feel the other’s bared body against them. She’d part her legs to accommodate his wider hips. He’d reach between them, his fingers seeking her first to tease her as if she wouldn’t already be aching and wet for him, and when he found her ready, his fingers would curl about himself. He’d guide that thick, wonderful part of him to her and when he slid deep, she’d arch to meet him, to accept him, to forgive him for his foolishness as he offered up that first amazing thrust. And when it was over, he’d cling to her, whispering her name against her ear as he sank against her and struggled to breathe alongside her. 

And it would be wonderful.

Tension wound through her, her thoughts giving life to the desire that now hummed through her. She leaned toward him, her eyes growing heavy-lidded as she saw how his lips pursed to meet hers. She smiled, her heartbeat faster still when he mirrored her smile.

“Thorin?”

Dwalin’s voice shattered the moment like a hammer striking delicate crystal. Thorin jerked away from her, smile melting, eyes frosting over once more as he stepped back. “Come in!”

Eirlys wanted to cry with frustration, wanted to order Dwalin to leave them be, but even if she did, she had no doubt Thorin would simply follow him out of the room, regardless of why Dwalin was there in the first. 

The door opened and Eirlys wondered if she only imagined the hint of blush streaking along Dwalin’s otherwise pale cheeks. “Beggin’ yer pardons, of course. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“You interrupted nothing,” Thorin replied without hesitation. 

“Are ye certain?” Dwalin’s gaze slid from Thorin to her and back. “Because ye both seem a little—ah—pink.”

Eirlys bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as she stole another look at Thorin. Dwalin hadn’t lied. There was a hint of blush sweeping along Thorin’s cheekbones as well. 

But that triumph was short-lived, for Thorin’s blush vanished as he shook his head. “Your eyes play tricks on you. Now, what is it?”

“Dís sent me up to fetch ye both for supper. She and yer maid—” Dwalin nodded at her—“are waiting for us below, along with the passel of muscle yer father insisted we need bring with us. Ye should have seen the dining room hostess’ face at the sight. I think she might have wet herself.”

“I can only imagine,” Eirlys couldn't help reply.

That earned her a brief grin from Thorin, but it was gone as quickly as it came as he said, “Then we should probably go below. I should hate there to be any trouble because a band of elves grew rowdy with impatience.”

“They certainly cannot be worse than a band of dwarves who do the same,” she said without thinking. 

That earned her glares from both men, but she refused to let them trouble her, and instead shrugged as she passed through the doorway. “Tell me I am wrong.”

She didn't wait for either of them to answer, but kept moving, all the while silently cursing out Dwalin and his terrible timing. 

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[illarian-rambling]

Consider me bamboozled :)

🚫 - What are some things that one of the species in your world cannot do that humans (or a different species they resemble) cannot?

Happy WBW!

Oh so many things lol

It'd probably be easier to start with what humans can do that's special. Among all the folk of Illaros, humans are the best suited for travel. They're by-and-large a seafaring folk, with the ability to subsist off of fewer nutrients and survive for long periods of time without food or water. An elf or a dwarf will starve to death within a week, while a human can last for nearly three times that long. They're also one of the physically bigger folk. In general though, the stand-out trait among humans is their sorcerers. All folk on Illaros can have sorcerers, but humans by far have the most and are more likely to pass the genes on to their children.

Okay now onto cool abilities other folk have. I'm just gonna focus on the lineage of non-human characters otherwise we'd be here all day (skipping over the fae because they aren't biological, really) (;

The standout ability of the sirens is the Voice. Technically, this isn't a genetic thing, it's a divine blessing given by Lamsara Hedandros to all his people, but a siren would really have to fuck up to have that blessing rescinded. They have two keys; the mental and physical. Both can excite the emotions and weather, respectively. With training, these can be honed into very specific effects, such as a stun charm or a lightning strike, or flesh carving to assume a land-based form. Other than that, they're fish people who live at great depths, and they have a sense of hearing far sharper than a human's.

Halawemavira, or selkies, are made up of two groups; the halawemavar (freshwater, fish-like) and halawemavish (saltwater, seal-like). Both are known for their quick form-shifting. Unlike sirens, who have to put in a lot of effort to assume a land form, halawemavira are quite quick to move between water and land. They're also known for their ability to stomach almost anything - from rotten meat to mild poisons - as well as their keen sense of smell and sharp teeth.

Physiologically, there aren't too many differences between Nabafyrian and Skysheerian elves. Skysheerians are slightly better acclimated to their mountain climate, while Nabafyrians have better low-light vision. As for differences between elves and humans, elves tend to be both shorter and lighter. They live for much longer, up to five-hundred years (they stop aging at about 25-30 and only start again in their 300s, then go slowly from there). There are the long ears, which give them a better sense of hearing, but are generally used for expression more than anything (an elf will use their ears far more than their eyebrows). I guess elves also have slightly sharper teeth, that's about it.

Changelings... Boy, where to start. Changelings are prokaryotic, person-sized organisms similar to amoebas, but, you know, prokaryotic and person-sized. They have a very flexible membrane and chromatophore organelles that allow them to mimic the appearances of others. Originally, they were manufactured by the fae, but many have escaped onto Illaros. They can switch between a solid and more liquid form, making them very slippery. There are so many other weird quirks of their biology - they do gas exchange through their skin, they excrete bodily waste in the form of a mucous membrane, they have a decentralized 'nervous'-system - but if I get into it, I'll be here forever lol.

Daramakti, similarly to elves, are divided between Darain and Makti. There isn't much physiological difference between these two - Makti tend to have curlier hair, while Darains have longer horns. But in terms of differences from humans, Daramakti all have blue skin and blood, white hair, long double-pointed ears, and opalescent horns. Daramakti women often have a second set of horns protruding from their cheekbones as well, but not always. Daramakti also all have the divinely granted ability to levitate. It's not quite true flight, more like switching off gravity for a bit, but they make use of it in combination with gliders and kites. Also, as a side note, the blue blood gene is incredibly dominant, so anyone with a drop of Daramakti heritage will probably have blue blood.

And finally, the uradowish. They are one of the three peoples of Halah and probably the most numerous. They are very short of stature, generally never breaking four feet. They're reptilian but bipedal, sort of like dnd kobolds, with blue/green/gray scales. They do not have horns, but they do have very sensitive whiskers and tails used for sensing nearby objects in dark confines. Indeed, the uradowish have overdeveloped senses of touch due to their subterranean environment. (In case you were wondering, Faalgun is mostly uradowish with some Daramakti mixed in)

Thanks for the ask!

[deconstructthesoup]

Sorely tempted to run your typical high-fantasy game of D&D so I can fulfill my worldbuilding dreams of just making elves Weird

Like, oh, high elves are isolationist and snooty and live far away from people and are usually characterized as being calm and emotionless? Great, let's make them live in the mountains and wear fluffy coats for flavor, and let's also take the "elves are tall and skinny" thing and make high elves Uncanny-Valley levels of tall and skinny, complete with blank white eyes and a tendency to speak in unison when in groups. Make it so they deliberately suppress their emotions in favor of cold, hard logic, and make it so they're so disconnected from time due to their lifespan and their environment that they truly feel like relics of the past.

Wood elves live in the forest and are big nature people but aren't that different from high elves usually, and also elves as a whole come from the Feywild? Awesome, let's give them cat's eyes, claws, and tufts of fur at the end of their ears, make their teeth a little sharp and pointed, and throw in some green blood for good measure. They're our baseline elves, so some of them might live in cities and some of them might live in the forest, but make it so being a jack-of-all-trades is part of their culture, so they tend to have insanely niche knowledge of an insane amount of useful skills. Hell, make them a little bit chaotic and freespirited, moving away from the "I am calm and at one with nature" thing and more towards a "nature is a force that will fuck you up and I embody that" thing.

Drow live in the Underdark, an underground realm that's filled to the brim with weird-ass Aberrations and all-around freaky creatures, and worship a spider goddess? Perfect, let's make it so their purple/blue skin is something that's meant to help them blend into the Underdark and that their white hair is a blessing from said spider goddess, and let's take some inspiration from The Magnus Archives and spin their spider aesthetic into a culture that values charm, family, and forming "webs of connections---" and this can mean anything from making a drow character who's just a really nice person who wants to make friends to making a drow character who's straight-up a mafia boss. Make it so that because they live underground and are therefore closer to a lot of natural resources, they're more technologically advanced, but also make it so they've embraced the weirdness of the Underdark, creating a steampunk-meets-Lovecraft society where there's radio towers made in part with the psionic powers of mind flayers and trains created combining machinery with the carcasses of Aboleths. Maybe all of this weirdness is why people are so scared of the Underdark---a lack of understanding, rather than drow being genuinely evil by default. But also... make drow a little bit too charming, a little bit too used to how alien their home is, and have them feel like they're time travelers who've gone back in time and are just a tiny bit lost. They're disconnected from time like high elves, but in a completely different direction.

Idk, man, I just. Elves should be weird.