#writing elves

[moonandris]

In the reference to the elf & faeries post (referred to as elves and fay, cause typing is hard)

For me the first thing that comes to mind with fay are pixies from disney movies and leprechauns, and maybe fauns, they are for me beings of fairy tales not fantasy, if that at all makes sense? I know of course that there are fay creatures, and they exist in worlds like d&d and so on, but I have never ended up interacting with those media as much. With that in note,

I mostly write short stories and got one larger project in mind. I do various worldbuilding, but usually not too extensive, and my count on elves and fay is quite low. Which is to say, I have written elves before, and planning on using them a lot actually, but for now it's mostly in my head. I do differentiate between High, Wood, Low and basic elves in my worldbuilding, they are more varied than just one race. The fay I have actually not written at all, maybe one short story or two could be considered to have them. This post actually remained me that I like the concept of dryads a lot! I should write those things. (Are those fay?) Perhaps in my world there will be fay, it might be simply something that I haven't got around to that aspect yet

I think I use elves more often because I feel like they fit the stories I write more, and because I'm not as familiar with the fay.

Here are some notes on how elves I write work:

High - They are region specific, dystopian! Utopian society which is pretty, isolated and rotten to it's core

Wood - just generic elves that live in the woods for now

Low - The elves who were forced to live in desert regions of the world, hard work is their life, rare to see outside those regions

basic - the elvish travellers, ones you most often see on the roads and towns

My dear @hachi-qo (go poke him, cool but shy fella) on the other hand in his worldbuilding project(intended for an rpg) has both fay and elves in his world. In short both small 'pixies' and elves exist and are intended as +- common thing, I don't know much more on his world but wanted to include another perspective while writing this,

This was a mouthful, I'm sorry if it's a bit long, Hope this helps with your thoughts, and have a nice day! (｡◕‿‿◕｡)つ🫖🍵

(also hi, this is an ad, I'm not yet properly a writeblr, but I'm planning on being one)

I like your races ideas for elves, there's honestly soooo many ways you could write them and have them play a part in your world. I especially love when different writers use the same naming tropes for elves, like you said High elves, Wood elves, Low elves, and basic elves (which you could also call them Common elves if you wanted to) but I love how everyone's version of a 'High elf' can differ. Seeing the same tropes implemented in different ways is such a cool thing to see when reading fantasy books.

Don't ever worry about apologizing to me for writing so much bc I LOOOOVEEEE when people share their worldbuilding ideas with me. Thank you so much for the detailed response and apologies for the late reply. :)

[deimcs]

DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS (2009) + iconic lines [2/?]

[qxeenofstars]

Funny how whenever there's deadline for something else the urge to start a creative writing process grows tenfold. I've come to a conclusion that the writing elves must be boiled in a stress soup for them to awaken and start working.

[tathrin]

A thought on Elves and Dwarves (as inspired by my roommate and I and the one place where our brains really don't line up):

Elves with perfect memories, who know exactly where they put that thingamajig even when they last set it down twenty years ago, and thus can always find whatever it is they're looking for amidst what looks like total disarray to everybody else.

Dwarves with perfectly ordered spatial awareness, who are so accustomed to the layout of their workshop or forge that they can lay their hands on any tool in there without even looking, and always set everything back where it belongs out of ingrained habit.

Elves who never ever put things back where they belong, because "put that away neatly so you can find it again" is simply not a concept that exists in elvish minds, because it doesn't need to.

Dwarves who will look right past the thing they're looking for if it's not where it belongs, because it's not where it belongs, why isn't it where it belongs, where did you put it you daft elf...?

Elves and Dwarves in the smithies of Ost-in-Edhil, ready to go to war over the arrangement of their tools, and Celebrimbor on the brink of tears desperately trying to keep the peace here that he never managed to in Nargothrond.

(alt: could easily be done the other way around too, with elves always putting things away because then the thing is always where it's supposed to be, even twenty years later, so you can find it again, because they have so many more important things to hold in their memories than where they last put down their favorite hammer, and after a few hundred years you fall into the habit of expecting things to be where they belong so you don't even look to find them somewhere else; and dwarves who have such an innate sense of their tools and their workspace that they don't need to have "proper places" to put things away, because of course they remember where they put their hammer, what kind of a question is that, can't you just feel where your hammer is wtf???)

[whereserpentswalk]

Humans sometimes wonder what separates them from other races like elves and dwarves and orcs, like what makes them unique. Some people say humans are generalists, some people say we're the most adaptable. But actually there is something that stands out about us that all the other races find super weird. Humans are the only sentient creature to reproduce sexually like animals do, and because of that we're the only species with romantic or sexual attraction, and ideas like sex and gender.

Elves and dwarves create new members of their races slowly and methodically, like works of art. Harpies, angels, demons and dragons are all individually and personally created by their gods. Orcs and goblins are spawned from spawning pits on mass. Merfolk come close with how they lay and fertilize eggs, but even then any individual merfolk can both lay eggs and fertilize, and they don't meet when they do it. Vampires and other undead are spawned from other races. Fae just sort of show up.

So the idea of having sexes, and genders constructed around them, and sexual and romantic relationships is all incredibly weird for other races. Most humans don't notice it because they just naturally assign members of other races genders when they meet them.

Diffrent races have diffrent ideas around these constructs. But most of them find it some level of confusing. A lot of them just ignore it. But it's really disturbing for some, romantic relationships seem like weird bonds that can't be explained, like some sort of unexplainable and volatile connection. Sexual attraction seems like some dark animalistic instinct. Gender is incomprehensible, and also seems wrong and immoral to most races. And sex itself seem like the darkest of any reproductive ritual or magic. Because of all of this humans who don't experience some or any of these things often have an easier time connecting with other races.

This has also lead scholars to belive that humans are the only sentient race to evolve naturally. Something often thought impossible before studies on humans occurred.

[acornsandoaktrees]

But Thranduil could not bear to watch his wife's soul depart Middle Earth; his gaze remained ever on her face. When at last her light faded entirely into greyness, he hid the view from his eyes, pale hands shuddering upon wet cheeks.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[littlest-bugz]

Man :( My uncle kinda bummed me out about my fantasy series.

He's like "well you need humans or elves or something that readers can already relate to" and I'm like

the 10+ species I made was for nothing? The species I made to replace the human population is just,,, irrelevant? Like damn :( I really broke my back making this fantasy realm for 8 years, and I have to change it entirely now because humans need to be there for 'relatability'?

My wee little heart is shattered,, Would literally anyone read a fantasy series that doesn't have humans or elves?

[cephalopod-celabrator]

I think it's a shame that there was never a discworld book involving Moist Von Lipwig facing the elves. Because I would pay so much money to see that. The elves are dangerous and some of them have seriously powerful magic, but for the most part they're creatures of glamour. They entrance, trick, deceive, and intimidate. But the thing is, Moist is even better at it than they are. Moist's primary skills are just his sheer audacity and charisma. The elves are creatures of stories, and Moist knows how to spin a story better than anyone. Plus, it's mentioned elves often try to use their glamour to overwhelm humans with sheer feelings of inadequacy and inferiority. And while Moist doesn't like plenty of things about himself, he's incredibly good at hiding it. As I said, he's a man with audacity. It could also draw an interesting parallel showing how elves aren't much more than he is, just magical con-artists but at least he's trying to be better now. Bonus: Adora Belle Dearheart vs the elves. She has an even more ironclad sense of self-confidence than Moist. Plus she has golems, which would likely be unaffected by both elf glamour and elf swords, and goblins which were formerly enslaved by the elves and are a vengeful people with access to a lot of iron. It would also be funny if they were hyper-sensitive to her cigar smoke or something

[thesummerestsolstice]

Peredhel biology is interesting. They can become mortal or immortal; and it's not entirely clear what the "default" setting is. Is it even the same for all half-elves? What are the implications of being part-elf and part-man? And that's not even getting into the part-Maiarin or pseudo-Maiarin(? Earendil?) Peredhel. There are a lot of really interesting ideas and interpretations there, but I'd like to share a few I've been wanting to write about:

The Peredhel choice is a myth; whether half-elves become mortal or immortal is baked into their biology. Because of the nature of twins, one will always be mortal and one will always be immortal. (I'm mostly thinking about the implications for Elrond and Elros here because I don't even want to consider what that would mean for Elladan and Elrohir)

Peredhel have the strange ability to "mimic" those around them; they appear more elvish amongst elves and more mannish amongst men. No one really knows how they do this, but it's led to lots of stories about "changelings."

Actually, lots of Peredhel have weird, vaguely mystical abilities. Think about the kind of things you'd read about in a fairytale- speaking to animals, unusual strength, preternatural charm. These things aren't unheard of amongst elves or men, but they're a lot more common amongst Peredhel. It's suspected to be some sort of Ainuric boon, or possibly a result of half-elven souls being more "flexible."

Because their souls are inherently kind of unstable, Peredhel fade more easily then elves. That being said, the "symptoms" of fading are different (elves will literally become translucent, while half-elves will lose weight, sleep for most of the day and still be tired, etc.), so it's often assumed to be a normal mortal illness until it becomes a life-threatening situation.

Ulmo has kind of adopted the Peredhel as his people. He's their patron, and he cares for them all. Many half-elves live or work near or on the ocean, and for those who are immortal, the desire to sail west generally manifests less as wanting to go to Valinor and more a literal desire to go to the sea. Half-elves who are inclined to pray usually do so to Ulmo. There's a reason that Rivendell is protected by a river. Also, yes, Earendil is still absolutely Ulmo's guy, he's just also Varda's guy. They have a very friendly custody agreement.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Reflection: A Retelling of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”

The mirror is a gift from the dwarves. Its frame of hammered gold is wrought with delicately-crafted birds and beasts, fruit and flowers. Its silver-backed surface, unlike those created by human craftsman, shows a true reflection.

The queen loves to gaze at herself in the mirror. It tells her that she is beautiful—skin like milk, hair like midnight, eyes as blue as a crystalline lake. She is young, healthy, graceful, charming—perfection in human form. Truly a queen worthy of this kingdom.

Then, one day, the mirror’s message changes. It shows that the queen has lines around her eyes, sunspots on her nose, wicked glints of silver in her night-black hair. The queen does all she can to hide the damage, spends hours before the mirror with cosmetics and concealers. To the rest of the world, the queen is as perfect as ever.

Yet every morning, the mirror tells the truth.

Worst of all, her husband has a little daughter—barely fourteen years old—who grows lovelier by the day. Every morning, the mirror says that before long, those who worshiped the queen’s beauty will transfer their devotion to the princess—and will be right to do so.

The queen's beauty would not seem so tarnished if the princess were not there for comparison. The queen tries to send the princess to an isolated estate—tells her husband it is better for the girl to grow up away from the corrupting influences of the court. But the girl is too dear to her father. She wastes away with homesickness, until her father the king orders her to come home for the sake of her health.

The queen tries neglecting the girl in ways the king won't notice—refusing to let her wash with good soap, denying her a maid, forbidding her fashionable clothes and hairstyles. Through it all, the mirror tells her that the girl’s beauty shines out brighter than ever.

Before long, the queen spends hours by the mirror each day, locked in a futile endeavor to restore what is lost forever. One moonlit night, she finds a dagger, and considers plunging it into her heart just to end this ceaseless torment, but the morning shows her a better path.

She will never be perfect, nor make the princess less so—but she can destroy perfection.

It would be easy to take this dagger to where the princess sleeps and shove it through her perfect heart, but the queen doesn't dare to mar her own beauty with blood-stained hands.

She gives the dagger to a loyal huntsman. He takes the girl into the forest—and returns holding a small, bloody heart.

That night before the mirror, the queen's smile makes her glow with a new kind of beauty.

*

People often tell the princess she is beautiful. She believes them, for she has never seen an ugly face. Old Sal’s missing tooth is an open door into her smile. The chambermaid’s freckles make a daytime constellation. The little stable boy’s one good eye glitters green as an emerald. Her stepmother owns a beautiful mirror, but the princess barely gazes at it. Why would she waste time examining her own familiar face in a world with so many other lovely faces to gaze upon?

One day in early spring, she asks to go berrying in the forest beyond the castle, as she once did with her mother. To her surprise, the queen permits it—the queen rarely allows the princess anything that might be a luxury. She even sends one of her huntsmen as protection.

In the eaves of the forest, the princess finds strawberries not far from the path, and she hastens to gather as many as she can. She invites the huntsman to join her, but he stands statue-like at the edge of the clearing, always on guard. Not wanting him to go without, the princess brings the berries to him, and offers him the largest, sweetest one.

As she does, she gazes at his face. Scars make mountain ranges along his cheeks and brow. His hair is edged with silver. The lines of his face are solid as stone. His deep gray eyes hold storm clouds.

“Oh, my,” the princess says in awe. “You are beautiful.”

The huntsman’s face disappears as he hides it in one of his hands. “I can’t,” he says, his voice rough with unshed tears. “I must betray my queen."

His other hands darts to the side, quick as a serpent, and the silver flash of a blade disappears into the undergrowth.

The huntsmen places both of his hands on the princess’ shoulders and crouches to look into her face. “You must run. The queen wants you dead. If you stay at the palace, she will find a way to kill you. You must flee into the forest and never return.”

“The forest?” the princess asks in terror. She has often wandered in the eaves, but she has never dared the strange terrors that are said to lurk in its interior.

“There is nothing there that can harm such innocence,” the huntsman says. “You will find shelter.” He turns her around and pushes her toward the depths of the forest. “Now run! As fast and as far as you can!”

The shadows of the forest embrace her, and the flowers make a path at her feet. She crosses shallow rivers, climbs rocky slopes, winds through twisted groves of trees. She couldn’t return home even if she wanted to.

She had not been blind. She had seen something like ugliness in the queen’s face whenever they were alone. But hatred? Murder?

She nearly collapses with grief, but through the trees, she sees a wisp of smoke. A chimney. A roof over a tumbledown cottage. The princess runs through the open door, collapses on the floor, and is glad to find a safe place to weep.

Her father will think her dead, and she will not be there to comfort him. She will never again see any of the beautiful faces that fill the palace. The hundreds of hidden details that made the castle home are forever out of her reach. The huntsman saved her, but to what end? A lifetime of loneliness and misery? Is this truly a better fate than the quick death of a dagger through the heart?

She opens her eyes. She has looked too long at the sorrows in her heart. She must find solace from without.

She gazes upon the cottage.

And sees seven beautiful faces.

*

The dwarves love their princess. She is beautiful, not only because of her face, but because of the way her soul shines out through it. She is endlessly beautiful because she sees the beauty in everyone and everything.

There never was a girl so selfless. Her every waking moment is spent filling their days with a million small comforts. The cottage has never been so clean. The food has never been so lovingly prepared. There is nothing she would not do for them, and in return, they devote their lives to her service.

She needs their protection. One so naturally kind and innocent can’t recognize when strangers might have ill intent. One day, after being out in the woods, the seven dwarves return to the cottage to find the princess nearly strangled by a set of stays. When they revive her, she tells them of a ragged old woman (with such beautiful hands!) who asked for food and water and then repaid her generosity by giving a nearly-fatal gift. The eldest of the dwarves caught a glimpse of the stranger’s retreat, and saw enough of her form to suspect the queen.

The dwarves keep a closer guard on the princess, but six months later, a few minutes go by when all seven of them are away from home. They return to find the princess nearly killed by a poisoned comb in her hair. The story she tells is similar to the last one—an old woman in need of help repaid their kind princess with a gift meant to kill.

After that, the princess is never alone. The dwarf on guard duty always has the envied task, so lovely is it to be in her presence. A year, then two, go by with no signs of danger.

Then one winter morning, after a night of birthday feasting, all seven of the dwarves sleep late. The princess rises at her usual time, hoping to fix them a holiday breakfast. By the time the dwarves stumble out of bed, they find the princess sprawled across the kitchen floor—cold, pale and lifeless, with a poisoned apple in her hand.

They despise themselves for having failed her, but their love for the princess drives them to serve her the only way they can—by laying her body to rest. The cold, hard earth won’t take her, and they can’t bear to hide her away in the realm of death. Knowing that decay will not touch one so innocent, they place her in a coffin of glass and lay her in their garden, where her beauty can brighten the world in death as it did in life.

They keep a constant vigil, lost in loving grief. They ought to have known she would end this way. This is the fate of all innocence in this dark and sinful world—to be destroyed by wickedness. Even as they see this truth, they know that it is wrong. The world should not be this way, but what can they do? They wish and pray for better, but they can’t hope. How can innocence ever overcome such evil?

In the spring, when the last snow melts and the first snowbells bloom, the dwarves see movement in the woods beyond their cottage. A prince approaches on a snow-white horse. He is ruler of this forest and its mysterious ways—a king of kings, even more beautiful than their princess. His face shines with a wisdom that does nothing to defile the innocence of his heart.

He leaps from his horse, approaches the coffin, raises the lid, and takes the cold hand of the princess between his.

“Beloved,” he says, “arise.”

In his words and actions, the dwarves find the answer to the riddle they have pondered in their long vigil of grief. In a world of wickedness, the salvation of Innocence is Love.

The princess opens her eyes. Takes a breath. Sits up and gazes upon the world she loves, upon the one who loved her back to life. Something of the prince’s wisdom is reflected in her, so that her beauty is almost painful to behold.

The dwarves rejoice, and the princess rejoices with them. She kisses each one atop the head, but does not release the hand of her prince.

Eager to serve one who served them so well, the dwarves cook her breakfast, and she eats with even more enthusiasm than she showed in her former life. Yet when the meal ends, she stands with her prince at the threshold of the cottage.

“I must return to my father,” the princess says.

The dwarves protest. What of the queen? What of the danger?

The princess looks at her prince with eyes full of love. “I have nothing to fear.”

*

The king rejoices at his daughter’s return—he has thought her dead for so many years. Grief has aged and weakened him, but there is beauty in his face that grows brighter with every minute he spends in the presence of the princess.

The princess tells him of her troubles since she went away, and the king is horrified by her words. “I knew my wife had lost her reason,” he says, “but not her heart! She must pay for her crimes!”

He moves toward the door as though he will administer justice this moment.

The prince stops him with a gentle hand upon his chest. “There is no need.”

*

The queen gazes at herself in the mirror. She never looks anywhere else. If there is a world beyond the edges of its frame, she has forgotten it. She sees only her own face, searches for the remaining scraps of beauty, tries desperately to erase the blemishes that grow ever more hateful with the passing of years.

Another face appears in the reflection—a face the queen thought she had destroyed long ago. It is lovelier than ever. The queen hides her face in her hands so she can not see the painful beauty of the princess.

“Come away from there,” the princess says. “Gaze with me upon the other beauties of the world.”

“And lose myself?” the queen shrieks. “That is what you have always wanted—to destroy my very self! To take all the honor and beauty that should be mine!”

“I wish to save you,” the princess says. “Come away.”

“Never!” the queen screams, clutching the mirror in two white-knuckled hands. “I have everything I need right here! You can’t take it from me!”

The princess touches the queen’s shoulder. The queen screams and shrinks away, hiding her face once more in her hands.

A man’s voice—painful in its beauty—says, “Beloved, she has made her choice.”

At long last, they leave. The queen looks in the mirror and sees no face but her own. No greater beauty remains nearby to shame her.

In the confines of her world’s silver surface, she is fairest of all.

*

The queen is locked away in the prison of her choosing.

The king stays to do what good he can for his kingdom, and the princess promises to return for him after he has fulfilled his purpose.

The prince places the princess on his snow-white horse, and they travel once more past the cottage of the dwarves, who are glad to see her so beautiful and beloved.

At last, the prince brings the princess to his kingdom at the heart of the forest.

The beauty she finds there is beyond words.

[emmyspov]

Prioritise yourself (Thranduil x Reader)

author's note: happy easter to everyone who celebrates it and a happy weekend to all either way🪻this is honestly one of the most scary things i've posted because it's something so personal that i relate to a lot, but i thought maybe someone else might need it, too🥺 please always remember that nothing will ever be more important than your health and well-being 🩷

warnings: symptoms of burnout, lack of sleep, exhaustion, negative self-talk, skipping meals, mentions of food, nudity (for taking a bath together) - please please please let me know if I forgot something! 🩷

word count: 1.9k

edit is mine, all pics are from pinterest :)

It had seemed like a smart idea when you offered Thranduil to help him with all the paperwork.

His days were filled with meetings and more often than not he only returned to your chambers once it was dark already.

So, for the past few months, you had been - more or less secretly - helping him with whatever you could: sending out invitations to other royals, filing away documents, re-writing contracts so all that would be left to do was sign them.

You were the king's partner after all and you wanted to help him as much as possible. This was your kingdom, your home, as much as it was his, as he regularly reminded you.

Thranduil noticed, obviously. The hours in his study were reduced since most things were taken care of in a perfect way already - he could return to your private rooms right after dinner and spend time with you instead which the Elvenking appreciated immensely.

However, over the past few weeks, things have taken a turn. And Thranduil noticed that, too.

How, on some days, you would get up earlier than him, how you would skip lunch and dinner with him - although it was one of your favorite things since you got to spend it with one another during your otherwise busy schedules - and instead eat by yourself, hunched over some papers. He noticed your tired eyes and dull skin and- lack happiness, to cut it short.

Worry didn't even remotely describe what he was feeling. He felt sick to his stomach when he thought about you being unhappy.

Today was no different.

You had gotten up before sunrise, leaving your husband a little love letter, before entering your own study to take care of all official things.

There was a lot to do. Other elves as much as people from Laketown and even dwarves were sending letters, hoping to schedule a meeting with the king himself to talk over whatever was bothering them.

You made it your mission to answer every single one of them, noting down appointments and also sending out excuses if Thranduil wasn't the right one to talk to when it came to certain matters.

By the end of the day, your head was pounding. You let out a yawn and rubbed your eyes, hoping to relieve some of the pressure behind them, but to no use.

Closing them for only a minute wouldn't hurt. You could still look for your husband afterwards.

A line had been crossed for the Elvenking.

It was the second day in a row that you skipped your shared meals and from what he just learned, you weren't eating them at all.

He needed to talk to you. He wouldn’t - and couldn’t - let you destroy yourself over some work. Your happiness and well being came first and he would make you realise that, no matter the cost.

After reaching your study and receiving no answer to his knocks, he let himself in with determined steps, only to stop abruptly as soon as he saw your sleeping figure. His eyes softened immediately.

"Oh, meleth."

With two big steps, he was by your side, crouching down until he was on eye level with you. Even in your sleep, you looked stressed, your eyebrows scrunched up, reminding him of the times you woke up from a bad dream.

"What are you doing to yourself, hm?"

Gentle, as if you would break like glass if he touched you with too much force, he picked you up and carried you out of the room and into your shared bed chamber where he set you down on the soft mattress and covered you with a fluffy blanket.

Thranduil left the room again for only a few moments so he could blow out the candle in your study and put everything where it belonged. He himself hated to work at a messy desk and didn't want you to deal with the same thing once you would return to work, although he didn't want to think about that yet. For now, you needed rest and all the love and care you could get.

He returned to your bedroom after he spoke to some of his subordinates to let them know neither he nor you would be available in the next three days.

You were still fast asleep, curled up into the blanket. The king walked over to you and slowly began to remove all your uncomfortable clothing before he himself put on a night gown.

Only then did he lay down next to you, carefully maneuvering your body into his arms, your head on his chest. Even in your sleep you wrapped your arm around his waist and entangled your legs, letting out a small sigh.

"Sleep, meleth, you've been working too hard", your husband whispered and brought his delicate fingertips up to brush some hair out of your face before letting them trail down to your back, rubbing some calming circles into your shoulder. "I'll watch over you, I promise."

And Thranduil kept his word.

He stayed up to make sure you slept through the night, occasionally pressing a kiss to your temple or the top of your head while his fingers were always touching you in some way.

It was nearly lunch time when you woke up the next day.

After noticing you were still cuddled up with your husband although the sun was already shining into the room, you immediately sat up.

"I- I overslept, oh Varda, there is so much to do. Why didn’t you wake me, my love?"

With a gentle force, Thranduil pressed you back onto the mattress.

"You've been overworking yourself for weeks and your health and happiness are suffering in return. I told everyone we wouldn't be available for the next few days. For the foreseeable future, we'll only take care of you."

You didn't want to cry. And you tried really hard to keep the tears at bay, but when the Elvenking looked at you with so much love in his eyes, you couldn’t stop them.

"I'm sorry for failing you, my king."

The elf wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. "Oh meleth, no. No, you didn't fail me, you never have. And you never will."

"I can't even take care of myself", you hiccuped, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "It's like the work and the pressure never stop and I'll never be good enough and now I am sitting here, crying to you, a literal king who has way more responsibility than me. I am so sorry to burden you with this."

Thranduil's heart was breaking. He couldn't believe this was how you saw yourself when, to him, you were the most beautiful being in all of Middle Earth.

"You are never a burden to me. Do you hear me? Never. We can fix this. You have to learn how to prioritise yourself. I can teach you. I will teach you. And we will start right now. You must be hungry, what do you want to eat?"

You fumbled around with your hands before looking up at the Elvenking. "Could I have some pancakes?"

Thranduil leaned forward to press a kiss against your nose. "Whatever you want, meleth nîn."

With one swift motion, he got up, put on one of his majestic robes and made his way to the kitchen to order your beloved pancakes and some additional treats as well as some hot and cold beverages.

He returned to your chambers with a first tray of food, watching your face lit up with delight at the sweet smell.

"Here you go, my love. Eat as much as you want and take all the time you need. There are no other things that need to get done today or the next few days."

You nodded and grabbed a plate, happily munching on the food the servants were bringing in over time.

The king was watching you carefully while he himself ate something. It was more than obvious that all the food was good for your mind, body and soul.

You let yourself fall back against the sheets when you were done, letting out a satisfied sigh. "That was good."

"It is about to get better. What do you think of a bath?"

Your eyes lit up. "Right now?"

The elf couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Is that what you want?"

You sat up, enthusiastically bouncing on the mattress and nodding your head. "Yes, please!"

Thranduil stood up again and walked into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and your favourite bath salts and flower petals before coming back to you.

With ease, he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the bed, carrying you into the bathroom.

"Arms up", he ordered gently and removed your clothing, doing the same to himself afterwards.

"You're so handsome", you breathed out as you softly pressed your hand against his chest, right above his heart. "I'm so lucky to have you."

Thranduil's heart started to beat faster under your touch and praise and you smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach at the fact that you still had this effect on him.

He lifted you into the tub, setting you down and lowering himself behind you, pulling your body flush against his chest.

"I'm the lucky one."

You shook your head before letting it fall back against his shoulder. "You take care of me when I can't do it myself."

The king's deft fingers brushed through your hair, letting them trail down your arm. "We take care of each other. You are the one who decreased my work load so I'd have more time."

You intertwined your hands. "Well, of course. I want you to be well."

A kiss was pressed against the top of your head. "Do you see my point?"

You nodded. "I think I do."

Thranduil let his thumb brush over the back of your hand. "Tomorrow, we can take a walk in the garden and look at all the blossoming flowers. Or we can do whatever else will make you happy."

A smile graced your lips. "Just being with you makes me happy."

Gently, the ellon grabbed your chin and turned your head around so he could kiss you. You melted into his embrace, smiling against his lips.

"Gi melin", he whispered after you two had parted for air and you replied with the same sentiment.

Once you two had soaked in the water for a while, the Elvenking grabbed your shampoo and lathered up his hands before bringing them up to your scalp to work in the product.

The more time you spend like this with your husband - in your little bubble of happiness and safety - the lighter your heart felt.

And it only got better when Thranduil's hands wandered down your head to your neck and shoulders, massaging your tense muscles to help you relax even further.

You shuddered and the king grinned to himself. He was just as pleased as you were earlier that his touch could, still, make you weak in the knees.

"Rest, meleth", he whispered as he continued to work on your upper back. "There will be time to talk about long-term adjustments and solutions, but for now, you can let yourself fall. I'll be there to catch you."

Everything-Taglist: @shadowhuntyi @asgardianhobbit98 @fizzyxcustard

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[ghostbsuter]

Danny 'always checks if the billionaire he's staying at got a basement/cave' fenton, peacefully eating at dinner.

Bruce speaks up, smiling light. "So, Danny. How are you liking your stay so far?"

Danny, meeting his eyes, answers easily. "Yeah, it's been alright."

The teen keeps staring at Bruce, leaning on his hand and not even trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry, but are we not gonna talk about the fact you're batman and have a massive cave underneath your home?"

Bruce chokes immediately, "Excuse me?" He looks rather baffled.

Danny isn't done yet, deciding that Damian is his next victim. "Or the fact that Ra's al ghul's grandson is next to me?'

Someone is coughing hard, another is hysterically laughing. He doesn't knows who.

"Or," he meets Jason's eye. "He apparently died and came back?"

Danny leans back into his chair, honestly confused.

"You all reek of death, even Mr. Alfred does!" The statement is followed by ridiculous gestures and Duke shrugs.

"You get used to it." He explains, chewing.

"Really? Kinda strange. If I hadn't researched batman before, I'd 100% think Bruce is a villain."

"Amen to that, Bruce being a secret villain seems more plausible than vigilante."

"Yeah!"

The rest of dinner and after was spent on all ridiculous points and theories towards the waynes, Duke and Danny got on like a house on fire.

To the dismay of both Dick and Bruce, for different reasons.

Dick for not being the favorite and Bruce for being found out so fucking fast, he still is recovering.

(He was only slightly glad Stephanie wasn't here during that reveal.)

[tathrin]

A Gimleaf Thought:

Dwarves for whom their braids are a huge aspect of their identity and presentation, and which are consequently considered Not Appropriate to touch casually unless you are on very intimate terms. Stroking a dwarf's beard-braid in public in more than the lightest and most fleeting of touches would honestly be more inappropriate than just reaching down and grabbing their cock, it's on that level of intimacy, right?

Elves whose ears are extremely sensitive, not just in the keenness of their hearing but in terms of touch, too. (Yes, Viggo, this one is for you.) Throw in some social aspects of the importance of song to elvish life and spirits (this world was literally Sung into existence, remember, and the elves are very bound to this world and its Song) and you end up with a similar situation, where touching an elf's ears is like the most intimate gesture ever. Not something you would do casually, or to anyone you weren't on like...imminent-betrothal-level terms with at least. With me so far?

Well: Gimli does not know this about elves. Legolas does not know this about dwarves.

The first time Legolas starts toying with Gimli's beard, it's as much idle curiosity as anything: elves like pretty hair, and pretty braids, and Gimli's beard is very pretty. (And he asked Galadriel for her hair! and got three strands! so clearly Talking About Pretty Hair is something they can both appreciate, and thus bond over!) Gimli goes BEET red not that Legolas notices because he hasn't figured out that only elves blush with their ears yet but is too shocked to muster even a token protest, and by the time he remembers how to breathe it's too late, Legolas has already been talking for ten minutes about how nice Gimli's hair is and can he teach him some of those braids they look neat...? and Gimli can't possibly bark at him to stop touching them now, can he? That would be rude. And anyway, Legolas clearly has no idea what fondling a dwarf's beard implies, and there are no other dwarves around to see him now, so it's harmless. It means nothing. Nothing.

Meanwhile the first time Gimli touches Legolas's ears, it's to flick one of them in jest as he teases him for being able to hear a butterfly yawn from forty leagues, you silly creature! Legolas also flushes, dark enough that his brown ears look like they've been dipped in some of his father's favorite wine, but he's never been that good at saying things delicately anyway, and he doesn't want to rebuff the dwarf when Gimli clearly has no idea the implications of what he's just done or the fact that Legolas is shivering all the way from the tips of those ears down to his toes right now and it would be rude to explain now, when Gimli has already moved on to his next clever jest, so Legolas just blushes and lets it go, it's not like Gimli will be able to reach his ears often so he doesn't need to worry about it...

Only somehow they seem to keep finding spots where the road dips and curves, or there's rubble to sit on, and then the mines are just full of broken stones at convenient heights; and then they end up in a boat together, where Gimli can absolutely reach them; and well at least they're not in Lórien now so nobody is around who will know what that means, so Legolas doesn't have to avoid his hands anymore; and then they end up on a horse together, and his ears are even more easy to reach now; and then they're resting on the wall of the Hornburg waiting for the orcs to come and it's very comforting, actually, to have Gimli's hands stroking his ears like that, callused yes but so soft and gentle; and by the time they get to Gondor it's far too ingrained a habit to stop...not that Legolas wants him to.

Meanwhile, of course, Aragorn and Gandalf know EXACTLY what both braids and ears mean to both dwarves and elves, and they spend weeks gossiping together in quiet Quenya about it, and taking bets on what will happen when one or the other one of them cottons-on to what that means to the other one, and who will find out what first, etc etc.

(When Gandalf meets the Three Hunters again in Fangorn, the state of those bets is one of the first thing he asks Aragorn to fill him in on during the ride to Edoras because all wizards are gossip queens.)

And then the Grey Company shows up, with Elladan and Elrohir, and Legolas watches his whole long life flash before his eyes when Gimli reaches up to give his ear a caress—a friendly and completely platonic caress of course, it's not like he knows what that gesture means, he couldn't possibly have figured it out and be doing it on purpose now, don't be absurd you silly elf—right where they can see it!

Gimli suffers much the same experience when over the campfire that night Halbarad casually mentions all the dwarves he's befriended during his time as a Ranger, why Gimli he even knew your dad back when you were all living in the Blue Mountains, nice to see you've gotten your journeyman braid I bet that made Glóin very proud...

Gimli goes as red as Legolas's ears, and then as pale as Saruman's robes. Aragorn silently curses that Gandalf isn't here to see what comes next (he is going to gripe so hard when he finds out he missed the big reveal!) and holds his breath, waiting to discover who's about to win (and lose) all those bets...

[mogwaei]

Character sheet for my new Solasmancing Lavellan!

Djin'zidei - "Mirage or errant wish" / "the path beyond the mirror"

lore below:

Djin'zidei was born to a clan with a love for family and knowledge, enough so that many are encouraged to seek out other clans as an eternal quest for wisdom. It becomes necessary when Djin'zidei herself discovers she is possessed of a heightened sensitivity to both the Fade and the Veil. This gift, or curse, causes her frequent trouble, leading her to constantly experimenting with various substances to manage her 'episodes.' Despite the challenges, she remains deeply fascinated by it. (What this all entails will be explored in a fic) 👀

Through a series of odd events tied to her travels, she ends up encountering an odder Adventuring Crew of treasure hunters and historians (there's a dwarf & a rogue Grey Warden for instance) with her sibling. They decide to join, as her sensitivity makes her very useful for exploring ruins and other ancient places. The group becomes tight-knit when they find they all share a ravenous hunger for knowledge, thrill, and chasing mysteries.

then everything changed when the fire nation attacked...