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imakemywings · 1 year

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A Cup Always Half-Empty

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Pairing: Maglor/Thranduil

Characters: Maglor, Thranduil

Summary: Maglor wishes he could want less.

Rated: M (mild sexual content)

De-anon of this kink meme prompt

AO3 (with aesthetic playlists) | Pillowfort

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Maglor recalled a poem from his youth about a monkey who was filled with wanting. Whatever was out of his grasp, the monkey desired more than life itself. Once he was possessed of the thing he had desired, it was meaningless—his attention was already on the next unattainable thing with which he was convinced he would at last obtain eternal happiness.

He had written a melody for this miserable primate, a tune of reaching and falling, of perpetual dissatisfaction, but he could not decide on the ending. An empty death after a life of useless yearning, a life wasted in pursuit of happiness never attained? Or some final thing that at last granted the monkey the happiness that had eluded him—a subtle nod to the monkey’s perspective?

Never able to decide which path to take, Maglor had written one of each, and usually ended the song before he reached the final theme. He did so presently, allowing a suitable pause before he took up his guqin to begin a new piece. The crowd tonight was made up mainly of middling government officials. A few highborn guests lounged about, blowing trails of pipe smoke up towards the painted ceiling and lending the venue an air of added glitz. On the screens behind Maglor, vibrant branches of cherry blossom arced and the whispering creek, directed through the hall from the yard, which curved in front of the stage, gave him something of the appearance of being in nature as he played. To aid in the performance, he wore hairpins shaped into silver leaves, which stood out neatly against his dark hair, and perfumed himself with jasmine.

He had never understood stage fright. Even when he played at his most raw, laying his heart out at the feet of his audience, he found it a comfort that someone was there to listen. That someone should hear his laments! All the better if they found them beautiful.

And lately, Maglor Feanorion was full of laments.

***

The path of musician and entertainer was not one that would have been open to the son of a wealthy man. Fortunately, then, Maglor had thought on many a wry occasion, he was no longer the son of a wealthy man.

His name had garnered him attention in the beginning, but now it was his music that did it, and Maglor preferred it that way. (Not that he quibbled with the boost he’d gotten earlier.)

There was a slightly untidy porch around the west side where Maglor might sit and practice, and from there he could see one of the smaller roads weaving in towards the center of town. Down this road sometimes passed a particular government official, whom Maglor could always spot at a distance by his golden hair, tucked up under his plain black cap which marked out his profession.

Most others preferred the front porch, which faced a busier road, and thus put them more on display (both to see and be seen)—and Maglor had too, until recently.

He had to lift his head to see above the fence-line and could catch only the slightest glimpse of yellow hair from where he sat, but he would still sit and play there in the early morning chill in hopes of a sighting of his quarry.

It was a lucky day that day—he spotted what he sought and for a moment his bow danced all the more vigorously across his strings as he watched the Elf pass over this one dusty stretch of road before vanishing behind the laundry house next door. He saw a flash of a neatly-curved ear and a split-second view of a noble profile and when the object of his yearning had passed, Maglor sank back onto his cushion, setting aside his instrument to lay haphazard across the porch floor, the beads in his hair clattering quietly with the motion. His heart beat more quickly in his chest. His face felt warm. The only thing that could have made it better, he thought, were if Thranduil had turned to look at him.

***

Maglor was relieved he no longer had to fight so hard to keep his hands steady when he poured their tea. It hadn’t been terribly long ago when the thought of a meeting like this gave him such excitement he found it difficult to contain himself. Now, there was more normalcy to it and he was able to pour Thranduil’s tea without spilling a drop or untidying his long sleeves and pass it to him unsweetened, as he preferred.

They began their drink in silence. They usually did. Maglor had found that if he did not provide the conversation, Thranduil was content to sit for interminable lengths in silence. Sometimes, this was acceptable—Maglor might sit and study the line of his jaw, the vibrant green of his eyes, the elegant fall of his lashes—but as soon as he came back to himself, he squirmed in the silence, unable to brook it without breaking it.

He smoothed back a loose lock of hair—perpetually seeking to escape from his updos—and tilted his head at such an angle as to put his beaded earrings on display against his neck.

“It’s been some time since I saw you last,” he said demurely. He had worked for many days on saying this in a way that sounded neither petulant nor aggrieved.

Thranduil was silent, looking impassively down into his teacup as the steam wafted up about his face. It had taken Maglor time to understand the silence was often a prelude to an answer, if he could only find the patience. Thranduil rarely spoke without thoroughly considering his words first, whereas Maglor struggled not to vomit out every thought that entered his head.

“I was traveling,” he said quietly at last, and Maglor turned fully towards him, balancing his cup artfully in one hand.

“Did you bring me a gift?” he teased, batting his eyelashes in a way he believed was charming. He bit his lower lip when his answer was a tense quiet, trying to read the thoughts behind Thranduil’s stone face. No luck—Thranduil could’ve made a gifted courtier with a poker face like that.

Rather than speak, Thranduil reached into the folds of his simple, clean-cut robe and withdrew a small bird of carved wood. He pushed it across the table. Maglor’s eyes widened.

“For…me?” he asked. Thranduil nodded and lifted his teacup. Maglor picked up the bird and turned it over. She had her wings extended and the details of her beak and tail were present despite the small size of her.

“It’s a white-winged lark,” Thranduil murmured around his tea.

“Oh!” said Maglor, who knew nothing of birds or fauna or flora of any kind. He had never been the outdoorsy type, to put it nicely. “It’s beautiful,” he said, biting his lip again. “Are you sure you don’t want—?”

“I carved it on the ride there,” Thranduil said at the same time Maglor began his question.

“Oh! You made it?” Maglor re-examined the bird with new interest. Thranduil nodded, setting his teacup down. He kept both hands wrapped firmly around it, which was not very elegant, but Maglor was delighted, as he viewed this slight uncouthness as a reminder of Thranduil’s more common birth, and anything Maglor was permitted to know of Thranduil’s past and present delighted him. “I shall find her a suitable place of honor then,” said Maglor, putting the bird gently down on the table.

“I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” said Thranduil.

“It is,” Maglor insisted. “I should like to see her often.”

Thranduil made a non-committal noise and lifted his teacup again, but before he left he said: “If you like it so much, perhaps I will bring you another.”

When Maglor smiled, he knew it was too broad, showing too much tooth, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, she should have a companion.”

***

Any society had to have its rules. Maglor did not concern himself overmuch with most of them and found the great majority dull as dirt, but there was one that was of late causing him a great deal of trouble. It was never something he had considered much before, but now he thought of little else. The law was this:

It was forbidden for a musician or entertainer to marry with a public official.

It wouldn’t do for servants of the government to be bound to those with careers of such ill-repute, after all. And if Maglor was a bit free with his physical affections, did that reflect on the profession as a whole?

It wasn’t about the law, though. It was Maglor—he wanted too much. Always reaching for something he couldn’t have, never satisfied with what he did have. Whomever had written the poem about the monkey had never understood, he thought, what it was to want something so much. And what bliss! What beautiful ignorance! To know nothing of the kind of want that gnawed at your bones and rent at your heart and suffocated you with your own feelings. Maglor wished he did not know this want more desperate than thirst.

He had tried to convince himself to be content with less. In the beginning, Thranduil had been only an unusually pretty face among the crowd of people that ebbed and flowed around Maglor. Then, he had told himself he was pleased enough simply to talk with him now and again. Friendship, surely, would sate him! But when coaxing Thranduil into his bed did not abate Maglor’s desire, he knew nothing would. He could lay among the covers, watching sidelong the rise and fall of Thranduil’s chest as he dozed, and ache, and ache. None of it was enough. Until he could sleep and rise in Thranduil’s house, sit himself at Thranduil’s table, introduce himself as Thranduil’s husband, he would not be content.

Maglor wept for the monkey and the fire that burned in him, and wept again because no one understood it. When the monkey died at last, those around him thought him merely greedy and discontent. They did not understand. They did not understand what a curse it was to want a thing.

***

Nevertheless, Maglor sought such temporary joy as he could. When he had Thranduil naked abed with him, loose and languid from their lovemaking, his other fears and longings seemed to recede slightly, allowing him a little more room to breathe.

Maglor drew his fingers up Thranduil’s bare sternum, passing by the sparrow tattooed on his ribcage, up to the stars inked below his collarbone. There was a faint purple mark blooming on the right side of his chest, which Maglor realized with flushed pleasure had been left by his own mouth.

“You must take me with you next time you leave the city,” he said, blinking slowly at his companion. Thranduil’s pale gold hair was unbound and spilled out over Maglor’s pillows. Later, Maglor would press his face into that pillow and breathe in the smell of him that lingered.

“I hope not to leave again,” said Thranduil with a faint frown. He did not care much for travel. He did not care much for the city either, but that was where his work was. Once, after too many cups of huangjiu, Thranduil had, with uncharacteristic volubility, spun him a tale of the forested countryside where he originated—the lush green hills, the constant rustle of trees, the hoot and call of forest life. It was almost enough to make Maglor forget how much he hated being out in nature.

Maglor gathered Thranduil would prefer to return there, to the vast forests of his home province, if it were an option.

“I would make a most charming travel companion, I assure you,” Maglor continued as if he hadn’t spoke, smiling as he eased in nearer along Thranduil’s side. “I promise I should never let you grow bored! Think of what a fine time you would have, with me to sing you all the way to the next imperial city.”

Thranduil made a noncommittal, yet some how wry, sound in the back of his throat, and carded a hand up through Maglor’s thick, dark hair. His dull nails scraped gently against Maglor’s scalp, and Maglor shut his eyes, nearly purring at the touch.

“Perhaps I shall just send you in my place,” Thranduil said. “If you are so keen to spend several days in a carriage.” Maglor laughed and sat up, earrings rattling as he swung a leg over Thranduil to straddle his lap.

“Make me your secretary?” he asked with a grin, laying his palms against the solid muscle of Thranduil’s chest. “I will write all your missives in verse. Think what a delight that will be!”

Thranduil caught Maglor’s face between his hands and pulled him down for a kiss, startling an undignified sound from Maglor’s lips before he melted into the kiss.

“As if I would ever trust you to note-take,” said Thranduil when he released him. “Your mind wanders more than a river has curves.” Maglor drew up in mock affront.

“I am most diligent in things to which I apply myself!” he said.

“There is nothing you have ever applied yourself to outside of music,” Thranduil returned.

“I have found nothing else worthy of my undivided attention,” Maglor sniffed. He paused. He dug his nails slightly into Thranduil’s chest. “Well. Almost nothing.”

Thranduil had a tell, when he was embarrassed. The mistake was in watching his face. The key was the ears. His delicately-pointed ears would flush with pleasure or embarrassment long before anything showed in his expression, and learning this had given Maglor the understanding that he flustered Thranduil more than he had ever guessed, before.

“I have told you before…I am an artist,” he said smoothly, leaning forward. “I cannot concern myself with base things like note-taking or numbers. I have time only for what is truly remarkable.” He stroked a hand down Thranduil’s chest and watched those deep green eyes with a half-lidded look.

“I should apologize for wasting your time then,” said Thranduil. This was their dance—Maglor laid overwrought compliments on Thranduil, who twisted and writhed about to feign Maglor had not meant to compliment him.

“You should apologize for not taking more of it,” Maglor dared.

“I have time left yet,” said Thranduil, running a hand up Maglor’s thigh. “Perhaps you wish to sing me another song?” The look in his eyes assured Maglor he did not refer to one of Maglor’s verses (it was he who had termed Maglor’s noises between the sheets singing), and he fell on Thranduil among the silk sheets and Thranduil’s arms went about him, and Maglor was loved, for a time.

***

The moon bathed the garden in pale light, turned green to black, and blue to silver. There was a faint breeze that stirred the trees and the grasses, whispering in Maglor’s ears. His long robes pooled around him on the deck and behind him, through the half-open door and behind the paper of the door, warm candlelight flickered.

Thranduil knelt beside him on the wood. He was by too often; Maglor knew that. If he were less selfish, he would send him away, or tell him not to come so much. Married they were not, but tongues still wagged, and Maglor would wither to see Thranduil punished for Maglor’s sake.

“I remain, as always, wed to my art,” Maglor was saying theatrically, placing a hand over his chest. “Anything else gets difficult, you see.”

“I should hardly think you have a dearth of admirers,” Thranduil said, a sentiment he had hinted at before. Maglor nibbled the inside of his cheek as Thranduil’s eyes quickly darted away.

“Of a sort,” Maglor said indecisively.

“What sort?” Thranduil asked. His eyes were on Maglor again.

“A…shallow sort,” Maglor answered reluctantly. Thranduil went on looking at him. “The…types who are interested in me are…well, they have little overlap with the ones looking for long-term commitment,” he said with a laugh that came out shakier than he meant it to. Blast.

Thranduil frowned.

“I’m sure that’s not all true,” he said.

Maglor picked at the blue hem of his robe.

“One doesn’t wish to overpay for a thing,” he murmured at last.

“Overpay?” Thranduil echoed, his brow knitting. “What do you mean by that?”

Maglor twisted the hem around his fingers.

“Only that all things have a value, don’t they?” he said. “And one does not wish to sacrifice more than is warranted by that value to obtain the thing.”

“You are not a trinket at the market,” said Thranduil with such heat that Maglor turned his whole head to look at him. There was a flush across Thranduil’s pale cheeks and he saw Thranduil’s hand fisted in his lap. “We are not speaking of barterable goods.”

Maglor shrugged nervously and picked at his robe.

“But for many, that is how the world is,” he said gently. “Everything with a value. Everything with a price. Everything a bargain.” Winners and losers. Things gained, things lost.

“If someone has told you so, they are a liar most cruel,” Thranduil said with some tremor in his voice as a string pulled too taut. “There are more things in life which cannot be so valued, with numbers and columns and comparisons. And you—you are.” Thranduil shook his head. “An Elf of surpassing beauty and remarkable talent, and anyone so greedy as to benefit of these things without giving to you in return lacks not only honor, but decency.” He spoke with unusual rush.

Maglor was trembling. He hoped the light was too low for Thranduil to see.

“You’re too kind,” he whispered, a stock response which managed still to rise to his lips, even then.

“No. I am not,” said Thranduil. “This is true, Maglor. And if there are those who would make you think you are not—worthy—then it is only because they wish to have a bargain for themselves, and take without having to show you the respect and treatment which you deserve.”

Maglor the mighty-voiced, Maglor the gold-cleaver, Maglor whose voice was like the sea could not speak. He had no words.

“You despair too soon, I think,” Thranduil added in a much softer voice, his face tilted slightly down, his eyes still on Maglor’s. “You have time yet. Let no one tell you it has passed. One day there will—there will be some Elf to take you to husband as you should have, as you wish to have. And they will be glad to know you kept looking for them.”

Maglor could not see him clearly anymore for the tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard around the painful lump in his throat, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Thranduil,” he said, muscles tense, on the verge of flinging himself into Thranduil’s arms. Thranduil’s hand was still in his lap and Maglor wished so desperately that Thranduil would place it on Maglor’s knee, or over his hand, or against his cheek. If Thranduil touched him, Maglor would give in: he quivered at the thought.

“Do not undervalue yourself,” Thranduil said. “I care not to hear my friends spoken ill of. Even by themselves. You have done nothing to earn it.”

Maglor swallowed again, trying to blink the tears surreptitiously from his eyes.

“I will try,” he said thickly, wondering if he could slip inside to find a handkerchief out of earshot. He attempted a wobbly smile. “Whatever you think, I believe your words are kind, and it soothes my heart to hear them.” Almost as much as it set his inside aflame with agony of desire.

Then, only then, when the danger had passed, did Thranduil reach for him, and lightly touch Maglor’s hand, and Maglor looked up and smiled with more surety as the passions of his heart cooled and came more under his control once again.

“You have been a good friend to me,” Maglor said. “I would that you know how much I treasure that. I know my position makes it difficult.” Thranduil’s eyes moved away and his hand began to draw back.

“I meant nothing by it,” he murmured. “I have only done as I wished.”

Ah, but did he not see! Did he not see the kindness in that? That he was kind to Maglor because he wished to be, and for no other reason?

“Then it means all the more, for I have traded nothing for it,” Maglor said, with something nearer to a true smile, for all his hands still had a tremor.

“I would take nothing for it,” said Thranduil, looking back at him.

“You have too much honor for that, Thranduil,” said Maglor with a lightly teasing note. “That is part of what I like about you.” Breathing deeply, he rose to his feet to shed the last of that terrible moment of near-truthfulness. “Come back inside. Let me boil another pot of tea. Will you take another cup before you go?”

***

Maglor was doomed to perish of longing for things that could never be his. Facedown he lay among his red silk sheets, his hair in disarray with a mahogany and jade pin sticking out haphazardly from his unbrushed locks, and thought to expire of the pain in his chest.

He could have tried to choke it out of himself. He could have sent Thranduil away, taken no more visits from him, even moved towns. He could have cut this Sinda out of his life and tried to excise the pain and desire which Thranduil woke in him.

But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Refused. No—Maglor would rather have the pain than deny himself the feeling. It was not in him to deny his own feelings.

I love you, he wept silently, hands fisted in his fat pillows. The smells of Thranduil’s last visit had faded out. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Did it matter that Maglor lived a life of relative privilege, with a roof over his head and meals on his table and fine clothes and dozens of instruments at his fingertips? Not a whit—he wanted Thranduil. Would he have been just as miserable to be poor and longing? He thought the answer was yes.

The notes of aching need Maglor called up on his strings played through his mind and laying in bed, he re-wrote the end of the monkey’s song. Happy ending—as if there could be happiness for one who wanted so intensely! The monkey was wretched. Even if he had the last thing he desired, he would dream up a new thing to want. There was no end. The monkey was a bottomless well, doomed never to be filled, never to have enough.

He reached for the carven lark which he had left beside his bed the night before and ran his fingers over the smooth wood. He had asked Aredhel about it. Larks, she said, were usually plain birds. They were more remarkable for their beautiful and varied songs.

Clutching the bird in his fist, he buried his face in a pillow again, too weary to weep any more lovelorn tears.

In the evening he was due to play for a city administrator’s feast. It was a great honor for a musician to be recommended. By then, Maglor would have painted on a smiling face, with a hint of coyness about the eyes and a subtle cloud of floral perfume around him. He would fix his hair up with gems and combs of fine ivory or painted wood. For now, he allowed himself his blotchy cheeks and red eyes and pathetic, wobbling frown as he rose up from the sleeping mat and went to his desk for his pen and paper.

If he was going to make his laments known to the world, he would do it in a suitable way to make everyone in attendance weep along with him and ache for Maglor’s aches and hurt for Maglor’s hurts: to make them see the beauty of his suffering. That would have to be comfort enough.

#maglor #thranduil #maglor x thranduil #the hobbit #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #silmarillion kink meme #vaguely imperial chinese aesthetic influence #see author's notes about maglor's instrment the guqin

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prpfs · 2 months

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Nox | He/they/she (Afab) | 27

Availability: Nocturnal insomniac, so god only knows. But I message Ooc multiple times a day and try to reply to a thread at least once a day.

Preferred Writer Age: 21+

——————————

Fandom - Pairings (My Character/Looking for):

In current order of interest

The Walking Dead: Carl Grimes / Negan Smith (Will die for them)

(BBC's) Sherlock**: (fem, if possible) Sherlock Holmes / John Watson

The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins / Thorin Oakenshield

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion / Halsin

Dragon Age Inquisition: Krem / The Iron Bull

Harry Potter***: Severus Snape / James Potter

** I'm super detached to the Fandom and the drama that came around

*** (Extremely anti JKR. Will mean world building/changes)

I will 100% play background characters. I also am willing to write starters.

- Writing Style: 3rd Person, past tense. I can get a little wordy and borderline purple prose, so it can be anywhere from 4-6 paras to a whole ass novel. I’m not concerned about my partner’s writing length as long as it’s a couple paragraphs and you give me something to work with. Two sentences and/or not helping move the plot along for several messages is where i draw the line, typically.

I’m also ghost friendly. I would absolutely prefer if you told me ‘hey, this isn’t working for me’ but I won’t chase you down or badmouth you for disappearing. Sometimes life happens, sometimes people don’t gel. I’m cool with that. I will also never bug you for a reply. I might drop a check in message if i haven’t heard from you in two or three days, and I will send ship art/dumb memes in the meanwhile, but we’re all adults and have lives. Rping is a hobby and that’s how I will always view it.

Tw for: Age gap (cegan mainly). Drugs and alcohol, crimes mentions (Sherlock)

I am open to dead dove, kink, and dark content!

I only RP on discord, but you can reach out to me on Tumblr at @grimesboy

Hi, this is Grimesboy, I'm so sorry I meant to include emojis on my ask RIP 💞😈👏

If this doesn't work I can resend my ask in a few I'm just mobile and didn't want to reformat 😭 so sorry!

#walking dead roleplay #walking dead rp #sherlock rp #sherlock roleplay #the hobbit rp #the hobbit roleplay #baldurs gate 3 rp #dragon age inquisition rp #dragon age inquisition roleplay #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #fandom rp #fandom roleplay #dead dove

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veryace-ficrecs · 10 months

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The hobbit fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

as sunshine falls on the wretched by KivrinEngle - Rated G

Bilbo Baggins, the newly appointed Master of Bag End, has just reached his majority. He lives alone in his fine house, managing his estate, and ignoring the people of Hobbiton as much as they avoid him. When a storm lands him with an unexpected (and unwelcome) little visitor, all Bilbo wants to do is find the baby Dwarf's missing family so he can get back to his own life. That's not what happens.

dig your roots ('fore the sun goes down) by GuardianofDawn - Rated T

It isn't that Shirefolk - one Bilbo Baggins included - go out of their way to keep their gifts a secret. They just don't consider any of it abnormal or gossip-with-strangers worthy. Hobbits can pass unseen and unheard when they wish, because hobbits are children of the earth and growing things. Hobbits will say it is because they don't clod about in steel toed boots. Hobbits can choose to grow their children in groves, like prayers granted by Yavanna. Hobbits, if questioned, would mildly ask why else you would call growing trees a 'nursery'. And sometimes, as all hobbits know, a grove born hobbit may have been twice-grown. Shirefolk will comment that such a hobbit was born knowing a shortcut to mushrooms, and count their blessings when Gandalf Greyhame does not make himself involved in the matter. (They weren't so lucky as that last with Bilbo.)

First Impressions by BeautifulFiction - Rated G

‘Do we not feed you enough, Master Baggins?’ Bilbo rolled his eyes, glad that his back was to Thorin. By the Valar, the dwarf knew how to make even a simple question into a challenge. He found flaw in everything, and Bilbo was sorely tempted to throw the apple he had picked at Thorin’s head. Only the grumble of his belly and the tattered remnants of his good manners stayed his hand. They did not, however, control his tongue.

The 'H' Word by Trixylune - Rated G

For a Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt: Lets say that the term 'halfling' is an extreme insult to Hobbits. and during the Journey, Bilbo doesn't realise that the Dwarves don't know what the term actually means and doesn't understand why they are being so vulgar towards him. Lets also say that Gandalf was riding too far ahead or something and doesn't realise what's going on until dinner one night when he hears one of the dwarves (Bofur/Ori? Plz?) jokingly call Bilbo 'Halfling' and is furious. Gandalf:"BOFUR! Do NOT use that word in my presence again!" Dwarves:??

How To Win A Hobbit's Affection by Tehri - Rated G

There are a few key differences in how hobbits and dwarves court. These differences can lead to a good deal of confusion, and while Thorin is certainly not the image of a subtle dwarf, Bilbo is still utterly confused about what is going on.

Let your colours bleed (And blend with mine) by Xenomorphic - Rated T

Hobbits glow whenever they are happy. Of course Gandalf forgot to tell the dwarves.

The Age of Miscommunication by SilverSkiesAtMidnight - Rated T

“It’s got such a presence to it, even from a distance,” Bilbo says softly, and there’s a general murmur of awed agreement from the others. “Why, in all my fifty years, I never thought I’d see such a thing, and we haven’t even arrived yet!” Thorin’s sword hits the ground with a clatter, and Balin chokes on his pipe. The hobbit doesn’t look at Thorin, too busy thumping Balin on the back. Once the dwarf seems able to breathe again, he looks up, to find thirteen wide pairs of eyes fixed on him. “What?” he says defensively, though he’s not sure what he’s defending. “You’re how old?” Kíli squeaks. Bilbo frowns at the young dwarf. “I’m fifty years old. Well, fifty-one, come springtime. Though it is not very polite to ask someone their age so bluntly,” he tells him primly. Fíli makes a choked sound, and Nori lets out a vicious string of swears in Khuzdul.

Beauty Weeps the Brave by LaoraRyn - Rated G

None of the dwarves understand why bouquets of flowers adorn these tombs in the catacombs of Erebor. But then, none of them ever really understood Bilbo Baggins, either.

You Got Me by drunkonwriting - Rated G

The Company shows their affection for Bilbo in accordance with dwarvish tradition. Bilbo... has no idea why everyone keeps giving him gifts. (Dwarves give gifts of craft to start friendships or romance. Everybody lives AU, canon-compliant through the first movie.)

A Pretty Face by panickyintheuk - Rated G

Bilbo does his best to prove that he isn't completely shallow. The Company doesn't seem convinced, for some reason.

One Hobbit Against Five Armies of Stupidity by driedupwishes - Rated G

Bilbo Baggins was tired, dirty, and had had it up to here with everyone's ridiculous stubbornness. He swore when he got his hands on Gandalf the Grey, he was going to bloody strangle him. That would be after he knocked some sense into that damn gold crazed dwarf first, however. That was, of course, if he lived through the experience of letting Thorin Oakshield know he had the Arkenstone.

The Road Goes Ever On And On by myredturtle - Rated G

Being dead doesn't stop Bilbo Baggins from wanting to solve riddles and set out on adventures

The Ladder by Milliethekitty27 - Rated G

Inspired from a post made by wheeloffortune-design on tumblr. Tired of his lonely kitchen in Yavanna's Garden, Bilbo Baggins wonders if the dwarven love of being underground is true in death. If so, maybe his dwarves are living (ha ha) under the very land Bilbo is weeding. With that thought, Bilbo goes and asks Hamfast for a shovel.

Arkenrocks by Cimila - Rated G

The thing Gandalf neglected to mention when he assured Thorin Oakenshield and Company that Bilbo Baggins of Bag End would be the perfect thief for their mission was this: A Hobbit wouldn't be able to tell a diamond from a pearl, or from an Arkenstone - no matter how hard they try. This leads to some confusion, on Bilbos part. And some frustration, again on Bilbos part. (What sort of a description was 'heart of the mountain', anyway? A useless one, that's what.)

dine with the blood on my hands by aHostileRainbow - Rated G

What if the dwarves did break one of Belladonna Took's prized dishes? [Another AU snapshot of Bilbo Baggins losing his temper and being a BAMF about it.]

The Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy by Ingi - Rated G

Conkers is a game of skill and fun, a perfect way to let off steam to prevent many in-families assassinations from ocurring, and most of all, training. Because in Hobbit culture, many things are sacred, but very few as sacred as generosity and constraint. And sometimes, of course, a hobbit becomes overly greedy. It happens even in the best of families —Bilbo's, even, has a perfect example, coughLobeliacough—, and so, the hobbits long devised a solution: the Most Ancient and Sacred Hobbit Remedy for Greediness. It works nine times out of ten, and the one that doesn't is usually due to death or severe injury meddling in the process.

To Love Is To Live by erikaehm - Rated G

Twist on the 'Bilbo takes in a dwarf' stories.

Bilbo does take in a dwarf … but not Thorin, Fili, Kili, or Ori.

He takes in Bifur.

On Omelettes by icarus_chained - Rated G

Bilbo interrupts an argument between Bombur and Dwalin to explain the hobbit approach to ancestral weaponry, and the insanity of more or less the entire Took line. Or: why frying pans are a hobbit's weapon of choice.

Listen by Neyiea - Rated G

Bilbo's always had a good ear for languages, so with a little bit of effort on his part, and a small amount of help from an unlikely source, he begins to learn Khuzdul.

#veryace recs #the hobbit #hobbit battle of the five armies #battle of the five armies #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #gandalf #killi #filli #bifur the dwarf #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

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rphunter · 1 month

Note

Nox | He/they/she (Afab) | 27

Availability: Nocturnal insomniac, so god only knows. But I message Ooc multiple times a day and try to reply to a thread at least once a day.

Preferred Writer Age: 21+

Preferred Character Age: 20+, 18 MINIMUM

Antis, just get over yourself and look away. This ain't for you, anyway 😘

——————————

Fandom - Pairings (My Character / Who I'm looking for):

In current order of interest

Harry Potter***: Severus Snape / James Potter

The Walking Dead: Carl Grimes / Negan Smith (Will die for them)

(BBC's) Sherlock**: (fem, if possible) Sherlock Holmes / John Watson

The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins / Thorin Oakenshield

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion / Halsin

Dragon Age Inquisition: Krem / The Iron Bull

** I'm super detached to the Fandom and the drama that came around

*** (Extremely anti JKR. Will mean world building/changes)

I will 100% play background characters. I also am willing to write starters.

Tw for: Age gap (cegan). Drugs, alcohol, crimes mentions (Sherlock), Mentions of abuse / assault (Astarion)

I am open to dead dove, kink, and dark content!

I only RP on discord, but you can like this or message me to plot! If you reached out previously and haven't heard from me, feel free to send a nudge my way! I have thenmemory retention of a soggy sponge.

#dark #spicy #grimesboy #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rp #the walking dead roleplay #the walking dead rp #sherlock roleplay #sherlock rp #the hobbit roleplay #the hobbit rp #baldurs gate 3 roleplay #baldurs gate 3 rp #dragon age inquisition roleplay #dragon age inquisition rp

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darkrpfinder · 1 month

Note

Nox | He/they/she (Afab) | 27

Availability: Nocturnal insomniac, so god only knows. But I message Ooc multiple times a day and try to reply to a thread at least once a day.

Preferred Writer Age: 21+

Preferred Character Age: 20+, 18 MINIMUM

——————————

Fandom - Pairings (My Character / Who I'm looking for):

In current order of interest

The Walking Dead: Carl Grimes / Negan Smith (Will die for them)

(BBC's) Sherlock**: (fem, if possible) Sherlock Holmes / John Watson

The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins / Thorin Oakenshield

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion / Halsin

Dragon Age Inquisition: Krem / The Iron Bull

Harry Potter***: Severus Snape / James Potter

** I'm super detached to the Fandom and the drama that came around

*** (Extremely anti JKR. Will mean world building/changes)

I will 100% play background characters. I also am willing to write starters.

Tw for: Age gap (cegan mainly). Drugs and alcohol, crimes mentions (Sherlock), Mentions of abuse / assault (Astarion)

I am open to dead dove, kink, and dark content!

I only RP on discord, but you can like this or message me to plot! If you reached out previously and haven't heard from me, feel free to send a nudge my way!

#the walking dead rp #twd rp #sherlock rp #the hobbit rp #bg3 rp #baldur's gate 3 rp #dragon age rp #harry potter rp #hp rp #mxm #rp search #dark roleplay #dark rp #spicy rp #18+ mun #dead dove

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bxdcubes · 1 year

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Dwalin/Bilbo fic recs

for @booknerd0612

this are most of my bookmarks for these two ;)

Dwalin & Bilbo - bc this one made me cry

In From the Rain by yellow_craion

Dwalin travels back to the Blue Mountains, cold, wet and miserable, when he is faced with an unexpected kindness.

Bilbo takes in a dwarf trope, basically Warnings for reference / implied violence, prostitution and i suppose extortion but all in the past

Dwalin/Bilbo

Key to my House (Key to my Heart) by JackQuaker

"It was the act of bodily union that achieved marriage, and after which the indissoluble bond was complete." -Laws and Customs Among the Eldar

Marriage rituals are the one thing Dwarves and Elves have in common. Hobbits do things differently. Bilbo might have appreciated knowing that sooner.

Protective Nature by silverneko9lives0

Everyone survives the BOTFA and Bilbo stays in Erebor. However, it seems that all the nobles suddenly want to seduce Bilbo and not all of them have honorable intentions. Dwalin may just be the Captain of the Guard, but he'll be damned if he allows anyone to hurt their Burglar. He makes it his unofficial job to chase off any unsavory characters.

Swallow by Headwig1010

A tale of love, swearing and food.

So much food.

Together, Despite It All by jcrycolr3wradc

Whatever Bilbo was expecting when he opened his door, Gandalf, Lobelia, a noisy neighbor trying to intrude on his dinner, he was most certainly not expecting a hulking figure of a dwarf.

In Silence by PurrpleCat

"„Dwalin, son of Fundin,” Dain says above him, his voice devoid of any emotion, „You are banished forthwith from the Kingdom of Erebor under pain of death.” Dwalin can almost hear the smile in his voice as he says: „Bring me his beard.”

He can hear Balin scream, but he cannot recognize the words – blood is pounding in his ears, horror making him freeze. He closes his eyes tightly, swallows. This is what he wants, he reminds himself. This is what he deserves.

Thorin, he thinks as one of the guards yanks his head back and puts a blade to his chin. Forgive me."

Marry That One by Aloneindarknes7

Balin had always advised his brother to marry someone who could cook.

Marry Me? by beargirl1393

When the dwarves come to invite Bilbo to join their quest, he does so readily. There's just one problem. In order for him to travel with the Company, he needs at least one family member to be with him. Since Bilbo has no close family (and no other hobbits would want to go on an adventure) the dwarves decide that he must marry one of them, in order to create family ties. Dwalin is chosen to marry the hobbit, and even though this is a marriage of convenience he hopes that, eventually, he and his new husband will find love with each other.

Chronicles of a Warrior and a Burglar by silverneko9lives0

For Hobbit Kink Meme:

"Dwalin’s a crusty warrior with a marshmallow interior, so what I want to see is Bilbo forced to marry him. Scenario is as follows: none of the dwarves are traveling alone, that is, without family. So, Bilbo can’t travel without family either, and we know the easiest way of creating family ties is by marriage. Cue the dwarves discussing the issue among themselves (with or without Gandalf) to see who would be willing to marry the Hobbit. Bombur and Gloin are out, Balin is too old, Kili and Ori are too young, and Dwalin just goes, “Did anyone ask the Hobbit what he would like?” Unbeknownst to the Dwarves, Bilbo has eavesdropped on the conversation, and when they follow Dwalin’s advice, the Hobbit, who really wants to go on the adventure, promptly asks Dwalin to marry him. To everyone’s great shock. Points if: the relationship between them develops slowly, if they are honest about slowly falling in love, and if it ends happily ever after with everyone alive."

With Thorin/Bilbo/Dwalin

Synergy by alkjira

“Would you want to fuck him?” Dwalin breathed against the side of Bilbo’s neck as he ground the Hobbit down on his now aching dick. “Or would you just be looking to have him take you? You seem to like this. Imagine how much better it would be if it was Thorin rubbing against you.”

Wherein Dwalin and Bilbo are both in love with Thorin and we end up with scenes like the above.

With Nori/Bilbo/Dwalin

the sweet honey that sticks them together by Thorinsmut (FormlessVoidbeast)

It might look a bit odd from the outside, but Dwalin and Bilbo and Nori have a relationship that works for them, and they couldn't be happier.

Enjoy this one-shot of some established-relationship porn.

With Fem!Bilbo

Songless by Timfleur_Salisbury_Cornwallis

Birabelle Baggins was many things; well-read, generous to those who deserved it, an excellent cook, twelve-year reigning champion of the Buckland Spring Festival Conkers Competition, and quite proficient with a needle and thread if called upon. However, she was not what others of her race would call “respectable”.

In the Dark by Madkat89

After the Battle, Bella is taken into custody and imprisoned for life in the dungeons of Erebor for her crimes against Thorin Oakenshield. However, the company doesn't even know that she's alive, believing that she fell on the field of battle before they could make amends. Will the truth come out or will she forever be lost to them in the depths of Erebor

After Famine by Magniflorious

From this kink meme prompt: Female Dwarves, being rather manly looking, don't have a lot going on in the chest area. There is enough there to nurse a child, but it's more flat muscle than bulging fat.

Which is why Bilba's ample bosom is so distracting to the Dwarves. It's like being given a triple chocolate cake when you're used to eating apples for dessert - it's just too amazing to handle.

Bonus points: One of the Dwarves gets to touch her boobs (after asking of course) and comes immediately.

Dankûna by Cuptivate

Small candle, burning bright.

EXTRA

Female Bilbo Oneshots by Madkat89

This is a great collection of Fem!Bilbo/Dwarrow fics where i found a lot of new ships

#booknerd0612 #dwilbo #dwalinbilbo #hobbit fic recs

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grimesboy · 2 months

Text

Nox | He/they/she (Afab) | 27

Availability: Nocturnal insomniac, so god only knows. But I message Ooc multiple times a day and try to reply to a thread at least once a day.

Preferred Writer Age: 21+

Preferred Character Age: 20+, 18 MINIMUM

——————————

Fandom - Pairings (My Character/Looking for):

In current order of interest

The Walking Dead: Carl Grimes / Negan Smith (Will die for them)

Dragon Age Inquisition: Krem / The Iron Bull

Harry Potter***: Severus Snape / James Potter

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion / Halsin

The Hobbit: Bilbo Baggins / Thorin Oakenshield

BBC Sherlock: Sherlock/ John

** I'm super detached to the Fandom and the drama that came around

*** (Extremely anti JKR. Will mean world building/changes)

I will 100% play background characters. I also am willing to write starters.

Tw for: Age gap (cegan mainly). Drugs and alcohol, crimes mentions (Sherlock), Possible mentions of abuse / assault (Astarion)

I am open to dead dove, kink, and dark content!

I only RP on discord, but you can reach out to me on Tumblr at @grimesboy

Messages are open! If this is pinned, I'm still looking for partners!

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demigoddessqueens · 1 year

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main masterlist vi

Kiss fic

Critical Role - multi party ask "talk in sleep" // CR boys + song fic //

The Legend of Vox Machina - Vax + reader becomes the Champion // Percy love confession // with a dressed up reader at fancy event // Vex + Keyleth poly // VM s/o has triplets // Percy + “thank you for your cooperation” // Percy & Vax + Raven Queen!follower // “you did this to me!” // Vex + Keyleth soulmate AU // squished in a tight space // “battle angel” significant other // surprise cuddles // surprise cuddles part 2 // drunken compliments // nicknames 💕 // Scanlan + tiefling bard // Kima + Allura poly // cuddles after the rain // birthday 🎂 headcanons // monk friend headcanons // THATS MY WIFE/HUSBAND // FOOD 🥘 AS A LOVE 💕 LANGUAGE // Kissing meme + Vax // Percy + kiss + hand above head // MODERN aU Percy + secret relationship // MODERN AU s/o // Percy with short!reader // Percy + s/o confessing // Vax taking care of reader // holding onto them // Scanlan + trust-building prompt // Percy & Vax + inventor!reader // drawing them // Percy + reader in labor // frenemy + Vax // BATH Headcanons // enemies to lovers + Vax // reader saving themselves //

Winged Vax series - part 1 // part 2

Grog Angst

song fic 1 // song fic 2 // song fic 3 //

NSFW - Percy + thigh&praise kink //

The Mighty Nein - MN boys + VM + BH realizing they love you // hand holding + VM boys // Yasha + kidnapped!reader // Yasha + short, shy!reader //

Bell’s Hells - Laudna + fem!reader //

Arcane - ekko + reader afraid of heights // vi + her s/o and jinx + her s/o (separately)

Assassin’s Creed - love letters series + others // Bayek headcanons // cuddle headcanons // Connor bday headcanons // Henry Green + "shadows" //

Castlevania - Dracula SFW Alphabet // Dracula + fem!reader smut // pretty s/o who doesn’t believe it + VM // Alucard + VM with a witch s/o // CV men + "You" confession // Alucard + modern!reader // CV men + missing you // Hector A-Z NSFW //

CV 🦇 valentines drabble

Sypha + Alucard + Isaac w/ artist!reader

LOTR/The Hobbit/Tolkien - Arwen NSFW alphabet // Tauriel NSFW alphabet //

Pedro Pascal characters - Mr. Ben //

Blood of Zeus - s/o becomes a god //

Monster romance - tiefling writing prompt //

Helluva Boss/Hazbin Hotel - succubus!reader who’s injured //

Marvel - Namor angst headcanons // sick headcanons // short Namor oneshot //

Star Wars - ahsoka with nerdy!gf //

Dragon Age - Cullen fluff headcanons // Leliana + "let me help you" // Leliana + "god you're beautiful" //

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adudeandaguitar · 11 months

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I'm a pretty rad fella

He/him that likes emo, indie, metal, pop punk, and rock.

I'm also a guitarist that is obsessed with collecting CDs of my favorite bands (too broke for the vinyl lifestyle).

Current fav bands are: Tigers Jaw, Modern Baseball, Say Anything, The Wonder Years, The Front Bottoms (i'll prob update this list a lot)

Fav movies: The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Hobbit Trilogy, and Scott Pilgrim vs The World, The Maze Runner Trilogy, 500 Days Of Summer

Fav tv shows: Over The Garden Wall and Adventure Time.

Currently reading: The Catcher in the Rye

Weird fellas get insta blocked no questions asked.

I reblog shit on here I think is cool, sometimes I'll make a post myself. I tend to post whatever so you're kinda in for a lot random shit. However my posts tend to revolve around edits, memes, songs, bands, poetry, etc.

That's all, enjoy your stay here.

Sidebar: DNI if you post porn, kinks, or anything of that nature.

I'm a minor so keep the interactions between us sfw please, don't be a creep. Being a creep gets you blocked.

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starvels · 1 year

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tagged by @cassabi to do this On Repeat Spotify meme! thanks for the tag, sweet cassabee.

Rules: shuffle your "on repeat" playlist from spotify/the music service of your choice and post the first 10 tracks.

daedalus by zes: vibey little thing with a fun album cover that reminds me of plucking apart angels like pulling wings off moths as a child

bummer days by liza anne: bouncy and reminds me of 90s female vocalists in the best ways. "when i feel good i think i make myself sad. i wanna feel like i can get out of my own way. i'll stop crying at my own party."

revolving door by kisnou, amethyst: cherry blossom triangle lounge music when you're worried about something and staring out the window at the setting sun and traffic

i am the greatest by elohim: a sing-along anthem. pump yourself up and scream out the sad, it says so in the song, you gotta do it. poptimism! i do listen to it lmfao

thunder by penny and sparrow: put this on and lay on your room and drink a beer and think about moving and leaving your best friend behind because you love them too much, too romo

chosen family by rina sawayama: 200% a song that should be on the soundtrack of a space western novel to movie adaptation like 'the long way to a small, angry planet' by becky chambers

late bloomer by semler: a goosebump harmonica pop songthinking too hard about gender and sexuality and coming to myself too late and losing out on life by not doing things early enough and finding some sort of bittersweet comfort in this song. a fave

somebody else by lucy daydream: a good writing song bc the vocals are pretty autotuned and the beat is very steady so you can sorta tune it out and get into a good rhythm

thoughtless by monica martin: i really like the bridge and the chorus here. it's very citywalking sounds and life retrospective as the camera swings around you energy

gay in the south by susto: funny to end on this song because it truly is what i have had on repeat. it's the title song for that ults priest kink fic i have been working on forever so its been rolling around in my brain over and over. it's got lovely lyrics and vocals and the string and drums are on point. "they promised us you were going straight // to hell when you die. i know now that hell is nothing but a headspace."

+ bonus bc i do think i have been listening to this more than nearly all the others: concerning hobbits (lord of the rings lofi) by chill astronaut. my go-to for reading lotr and also just chill settling down for a good late night convo w friends/doing dishes with sib

overall, this doesn't seem that accurate but what do i know haha. hope some of you enjoyed or got a suggestion or two!

(no pressure again!) tagging: @hanjisoonie @alexenglish @hungerpunch @somekindofsheepl @viudanegraaa @dirigibleplumbing @lomku @sevenyeargap @welcomingdisaster

#memes #my talk

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imakemywings · 2 months

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The Number One Exercise for Relieving Work-Related Stress (Click to Find Out!)

Fandom: The Hobbit/The Silmarillion

Relationship: Maglor/Thranduil

Summary: Maglor, who earned her place in Mirkwood serving in defense of the realm, has a plan for alleviating the queen's stress, and naturally it involves a great many jewels.

Length: 5.6k

AN: Fill for this kink meme prompt for the Noldor and their jewelry kink. See AO3 or SWG for a bonus poem.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Maglor tilted her head to the left until the earring nearly lay flat against the side of her neck in the mirror. Then, she tilted her head to the right. Too much? She took the polished wood and rat-bone earrings out, then decided that was not enough, and put them back in. She scrutinized the kohl she had put around her eyes. She squinted at the necklaces layered onto her bare bosom. She felt her foot growing numb under her naked ass.

She pawed through Thranduil’s earrings again, and examined the ones she had already laid out on the vanity as possibilities, humming a little aria to herself. She could only wear so many of them (despite her earlier impulse to call in a jeweler to add a few more piercings to her ears). It was imperative to find the most comely combination possible. Moreover, while Thranduil’s taste was equally in accessories of wood, bone, amber, and other softer materials, Maglor’s preference was for metal and jewels, so it was these she sought above all else in Thranduil’s collection. (However, there was something to be said for bedecking herself specifically in Wood-elf fashion.)

Thranduil had been engaged in negotiations with Dale for the last three weeks. They would come to an agreement, of course, the queen had told her languidly over an evening glass of wine, but the Men were impatient, which made Thranduil annoyed, and so she would let the process drag on by Elvish time. The Men were chewing their fingernails through to be done with what was meant to be a very routine trade treaty renewal and would therefore be willing to make the few concessions Thranduil sought.

But work was work, and with negotiations expected to wrap up shortly—that day, even!—Maglor thought it was past time she alleviated some of Thranduil’s weariness.

When at last she was satisfied with the shape and size and colors and number of adornments she wore, she reached for the jar of blush-pink paste and borrowed a bit to smear on each of her delicate brown cheeks. Then, on further consideration, rubbed a bit onto each nipple as well, pleased with the extra-rosy look it gave them. She sat back on the bench and observed her image in the mirror.

Her hair, which had regained its old glossy sheen in the centuries since she had first arrived in Mirkwood and began a proper diet again, she had woven into a careful updo on the back of her head. It was the custom of the Wood-elves to wear their hair down frequently, which meant that baring the back of the neck could be as risqué for them as a low neckline or tight trousers. For Maglor, who would have sooner perished than leave the house in Tirion with her hair down (at least, not without some effort at artful dishevelment) it was still at times surprising to see the queen greet guests without a single lock pinned up.

Nevertheless, Maglor had adapted quickly, and was keen to take advantage of customs that might hold Thranduil’s attention. However, it was equally important she wore it in a way that Thranduil could quickly and easily take it down. Therefore, Maglor had spent forty minutes twisting it up into something that could be let down with just one movement to remove the lethal hairpin holding everything in place. All the advantage of baring her neck, still with the promise of having her hair pulled.

She pressed her breasts together and let them fall back into place. She mimicked pulling at the necklaces around her throat. She felt a toasty glow in her chest at the feeling of Thranduil’s jewels against the heat of her body. She tilted her head at a coquettish angle and batted her eyelashes at her reflection, and then she heard the front door.

Morgoth’s fires! She had taken too long! Now she had no time to plan how to stretch herself out on the bed in the most appealing way, but there was no time to lament that. Stumbling off the bench, she flung herself at the bed, which was done too aggressively and threw her into the decorative pillows, where she flailed around for a moment trying to catch her bearings.

“…Maglor?”

Namo, why! Maglor righted herself on the broad bed and looked up, slightly frazzled (she could feel her hair still in place, thank Ilúvatar), to see her lover in the doorway.

Thranduil was dressed for receiving foreign dignitaries, which meant she was, naturally, resplendent. A crown woven of the forest’s offerings circled her golden head, and the jewels Maglor hadn’t been able to pilfer shone at her ears and her throat and her long-fingered hands, and her robes were a luscious green that seemed almost to shift in shade when she moved. Thranduil tended to a leaner figure than Maglor, slim in the chest, broad in the shoulder, with eyes so green it seemed a part of the forest had crawled into her and become a part thereof. Maglor blushed just to see her, and to know this woman wanted her at any time.

“Hello,” she said a little breathlessly.

“Are you well?” Thranduil asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow as Maglor slid into a more flirtatious pose, stretching herself out on the covers, displaying the evidence of her theft.

“How fare the negotiations?” Maglor asked, ignoring the question and propping her head up with one hand to flutter her dark lashes at Thranduil. She shifted her thighs, pleased to see Thranduil’s eyes flick to the nest of wiry black hair between her legs.

“Well enough,” Thranduil answered, giving Maglor a look as if she suspected her of shenanigans (a suspicion WHOLLY unjustified in Maglor’s view). The queen reached up and removed her crown, and while Maglor regretted Thranduil’s weariness, there was still something stirred in her heart (and lower, too) at the sight of Thranduil’s regal exhaustion. How endlessly she works for the kingdom, Maglor sighed dreamily. “We have come to agreement; the morrow will be some last entertainment for our guests, and then they will be gone, I believe. Seldom are Men content to be at rest.” She set the crown down on her vanity.

“I am glad to hear it,” Maglor said, swinging her legs off the bed when Thranduil did not immediately come to her. “You have been tireless at the task; you have long earned rest.”

“I shan’t refuse it,” Thranduil sighed, and Maglor came nearer and insinuated herself up against Thranduil’s chest, when the queen was not taking enough of a suggestion.

“Let me help,” she simpered, and while the similarity of their height (and Thranduil was tall among the Sindar!) made it hard to bat her eyes up at Thranduil, she made the effort anyway. “Permit me to alleviate your stress.”

“I am tired, Maglor,” said Thranduil gently, placing her hands on Maglor’s shoulders.

“This I know,” said Maglor. “Therefore allow me! You need do nothing at all; I shall care for you.” She pressed her nakedness against Thranduil, curling her hands on Thranduil’s chest, tilting her chin up. “Allow me to take such weights from your mind, my love,” she breathed, breathing in the smell of rain and damp moss that hung around the Elvenqueen.

Thranduil’s hand went automatically to Maglor’s waist, and Maglor then surged up and pressed her mouth to Thranduil’s, and the queen did not draw away, but allowed Maglor to coax her into the kiss, until Maglor felt she tingled with warmth from head to toe.

“Are those my earrings?” Thranduil asked when they separated, and Maglor almost melted to the floor in frustration. Certainly, Sindar did not place quite the same cultural importance on jewelry that the Noldor did, but honestly!

“Indeed,” she said, her voice unsteady only briefly as she quickly switched tracks from utter despair. “Indeed I have many things of yours, my lady.” She took Thranduil’s hands and slid one of the rings from Thranduil’s hand onto her own, smiling, then touched Thranduil’s hands to the earrings she wore. “These.” She pressed Thranduil’s hands to the necklaces at her chest. “These.” Lower, she cupped Thranduil’s hands around her bare breasts and smiled. “These.” She traced Thranduil’s fingers down to the parsley bed below her bellybutton and the corners of her mouth turned up more sharply. “This.”

Thranduil had that slow, thoughtful look on her face that thrilled Maglor to think she was winning.

“Let me give what aid I may,” she wheedled, stretching her arms around Thranduil’s neck, leaning the weight of her body against Thranduil. “This I can do for you,” she murmured against Thranduil’s ear. “If this lovesick fool is good for little else, she may do this at the least.”

The tip of Thranduil’s ear was flushed and Maglor cheered silently. This was often the only signal that she had flustered or aroused her love.

“Very well,” Thranduil said, as if she were giving in to doing Maglor a favor. “On the bed.” She pointed, and Maglor danced away from her on light feet to fall onto the bed in a tumble of jewels, watching with shining eyes as Thranduil shrugged out of her heavier outer robe, leaving her in the closely-fit inner tunic which cinched so fetchingly against her waist and that first curve of her hips. Heat bubbled in Maglor’s gut and her chest and she sighed with pleasure supreme as Thranduil began to weave her hair back into a simple three-strand braid. She had grown accustomed to this habit of Thranduil’s and was delighted to envision Thranduil preparing to go to work on her.

“Is such theft a courtship ritual among the Noldor?” Thranduil drawled as she toed her shoes off and then approached the bed.

“No,” Maglor said, shivering, feeling the sharp beat of her heart. “Yet it may…it may gain the attention of one desired. Lovers may share many things, may they not?” Maglor had certainly delighted Noldorin lovers past by bedecking herself in their jewels and presenting herself for a good fucking.

Thranduil might disagree, but Maglor would forever maintain that her new ruby earrings from Erebor had been what led to the consummation of long-simmering interest between herself and the queen.

Thranduil shed most of her own jewelry before approaching the bed, and Maglor promptly raised herself up on her knees to capture another kiss from Thranduil when she came within reach. It was several long moments of this before Thranduil could push Maglor down on the mattress and disengage her mouth.

“Allegedly this is for my benefit,” said Thranduil, “yet it seems you who feels neglected.” Maglor made a little moue unbecoming of a former general.

“Never did I use the word neglected,” she objected.

“Yet you cry neglect should I leave the room for five minutes or more.”

“I do not!” Maglor lied emphatically.

“You might have chosen a partner with a less bothersome career,” said Thranduil

“No,” Maglor said, her face softening. “No, I could not have.”

Thranduil silenced any further romanticizing on Maglor’s part with another kiss, and this time Maglor made no disguise of arching up against her, winding her arms around Thranduil’s neck to pull her down flush against Maglor’s bare body. Thranduil was poised with one foot still on the floor when Maglor pressed her hands greedily against the queen’s breasts through her tunic and stole yet another kiss from her.

“Was it long you waited for me here?” Thranduil murmured, lowering her mouth to Maglor’s throat; Maglor’s head fell back in prompt and wanton abandon.

“Terribly long,” Maglor lied breathily, combing her hands through Thranduil’s loose, pale gold hair, warmth spreading throughout her body at Thranduil’s touch. “An eternity.”

“An eternity, hm?” Thranduil moved further down still, lapped at one of Maglor’s nipples, and then made a repulsed noise and drew back. “Did you put something on your skin?” she asked, and Maglor’s cheeks flushed.

“Ah, well…only a little. Harmless, really. I sought an effect of color...”

Thranduil gave her a look clearly torn between being exasperated and deeply entertained, and at last she shook her head. Then she licked her thumb good and moist and wiped the blush away from Maglor’s nipples.

“Another way I know to achieve that effect,” she murmured, and Maglor yelped and sighed, aching wonderfully as Thranduil nibbled at her breasts.

“Ah…as always I…ohh…I defer to the wisdom of my…” Maglor’s hand fisted in Thranduil’s hair and she gave up speaking for the time being.

Thranduil drew back and thrust her fingers into Maglor’s face.

“Open,” she said, using her queen’s command voice that turned Maglor’s insides to liquid. Maglor’s lips parted and she eagerly took Thranduil’s fingers into her mouth, sucking the fervor, and delighted to see the tips of her lover’s ears glow at her shameless enthusiasm. “Come here.” Eventually she managed to free her fingers from Maglor’s greedy tongue and moved back off the bed, beckoning Maglor to the edge, where she sat and spread her legs without hesitation, desirous that Thranduil should see how wet and ready she was for her.

Thranduil traced her fingertips lightly down Maglor’s thighs, and Maglor twitched her head to make her earrings rattle.

“Have I pleased my lady?” she could not help but ask. “With this sight?” She fingered the necklaces at her breast.

“Always the sight of you pleases me,” Thranduil murmured, as often too sincere for Maglor’s flirtatious banter. “Let me return the favor.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t think me not just as pleased with the sight of you.” Maglor completed this sentence only with great determination and several octaves higher than it had begun as Thranduil’s fingers brushed through the coarse black hair below her bellybutton and began to tease at the glistening seam of her lips. “You need not even speak and already I—ah. Already I am—at your whim—” Maglor’s determination to keep talking decreased by order of magnitude as Thranduil’s fingers pressed deeper into her, until those same digits slicked with Maglor’s own saliva breached her entrance and Maglor fell back onto the mattress, jewels singing, legs miles apart, breasts quivering with her gasping breaths.

“Since you have gone through such remarkable effort,” Thranduil was saying then, fingers working with agonizing slowness in and out of Maglor’s cunt, stroking her most obligingly, “I feel I should do the same. What say you? Would you prefer a toy?”

Maglor’s garbled moan could not have been less coherent. Thranduil had a habit of turning her silver-tongued Noldo into a probable victim of head trauma. Maglor adored it.

“As you…as you prefer, of course,” she got out at last, squirming on the bed, canting her hips up towards Thranduil’s hand. What she wanted more than anything was to have more, and she did not at all care for the notion of Thranduil leaving her even for a moment.

“Then a toy it shall be,” said Thranduil, and Maglor could wail at the sudden emptiness and the absence of Thranduil’s reaching fingers. “Go and fetch it.”

Maglor sat up, dizzy, and thought perhaps she ought to have spent fewer of the last couple decades coaxing Thranduil to be rougher and harsher with her. Thranduil’s objections were two-fold, being for one that she was not naturally inclined to harshness. Sternness perhaps (and how Maglor had thought of that with a hand pressed between her own legs for centuries!), but not mean, and particularly in intimacy inclined to gentleness and generosity.

The other prong of her resistance was, alas, Maglor’s own doing. Maglor’s psyche had been, to speak obliquely, delicate when first she arrived in Mirkwood just before the turn of the Second Age’s second millennium. She had tried most ardently to convince Thranduil that a bit of roughness in bed would help more than harm, but the many occasions on which she had wept at Thranduil’s simplest touch did not much convince the queen of the therapeutic value of calling her a slut. Still, Maglor was nothing if not determined to get what she wanted.

Now, though, as she was forced, wet and throbbing, to climb off the bed and go dig up one of Thranduil’s phalluses, she considered that she had empowered this woman far too much.

“The harness as well,” Thranduil directed.

“As you wish.” Anything to get Thranduil’s hands back on her!

She returned to Thranduil as quick as she could with both items, but rather than hand them over, leaned in for a kiss.

“Distracted?” Thranduil murmured against Maglor’s lips.

“You are still dressed,” Maglor lamented, one of few things for which she would put off her own satisfaction. “Allow me to assist.” She cast the toy and harness aside on the bed and reached for Thranduil’s tunic clasps. The corners of the queen’s mouth twitched in near a smile and she allowed Maglor to take her time running her hands up and down Thranduil’s lapels before she began to undo the clasps one at a time. Patience was not often something Maglor had in abundance, but let it not be said she could not enjoy the unwrapping of her lover!

When Maglor cast aside Thranduil’s shift, dropping it into the pile of her other things which they had made nearby, she gestured as if gazing upon a masterpiece for the first time.

“Your beauty only grows manifold with each time I see you!” she cried, and kissed Thranduil’s breast. Once more her arms went about Thranduil’s neck and she buried her face into the crook of Thranduil’s neck, kissing and sucking at the warm skin. Here, wordlessly, she took one of Thranduil’s broad hands and set it against the back of her head; this signal the queen understood. She tugged at the pin in Maglor’s hair and set those coal black waves tumbling down over Maglor’s shoulders. Thranduil’s hands carded through her hair and Maglor made wordless noises of pleasure, laving her tongue against Thranduil’s collarbone.

With some aid, she wrapped her well-muscled legs around Thranduil’s hips until she was clinging to her like a starfish, wet against Thranduil’s bared stomach, with Thranduil’s hands hooked underneath her. Maglor nuzzled against Thranduil’s neck, into the soft fall of her hair, breathing in the smell of her.

“If too long I think on this,” she murmured, “still it seems a dream to me, for such happiness cannot be the due of Kanafinwë Makalaurë.” Her grip on Thranduil tightened, though not for fear of falling. One of Thranduil’s hands moved up to her back, stroking soothingly down her spine.

“’tis all real, this I promise,” Thranduil assured her quietly. “Let me show you.” She managed to untangle Maglor from her, and then tossed her onto the bed as if she were an unruly child.

“Such displays of affection!” Maglor cried in faux outrage from where she’d sunk into the mattress. “My reward for declarations of love and loyalty!” She let her voice quaver melodramatically as if on the verge of tears.

“If such things stir you not, you must be already in the waking world,” Thranduil pointed out and Maglor could see the glint of amusement in her eyes.

“How I should have listened to the tales of the cruelty of the terrible Elvenqueen!” Maglor wailed.

“Tsk. Does my jabbering jay wish for her pleasure or not? If so, she would do best hand over the object of it.” Maglor slid the toy into the harness and rose once more from the bed to help Thranduil step into it. The queen was more than capable of doing it herself, and Maglor often liked to watch, but she took pleasure too in the intimacy of installing the device which was to take her apart, nestling it with great care against the moss bed of Thranduil’s sex.

When it was settled, Maglor gave the toy a few teasing strokes with her hand before returning unbidden to the bed. She settled back against the pillows and spread her legs in welcome, adjusting her necklaces and earrings to make sure they were all pleasingly arranged.

“How do you think it suits me, your jewelry?” Since Thranduil had not taken enough notice of this, Maglor was forced to use more direct and less coy means. It was not ideal, but she was still convinced she could bring Thranduil around to the notion of wearing another’s jewels as a form of intimacy. “I chose very carefully,” she added, dragging a thumb over her lower lip.

“My vanity appears thoroughly ravished,” Thranduil agreed, glancing back at it, drawing a pout from Maglor at even this brief lapse in her direct attention.

“How she comments more readily on the furniture than on myself, when I have put such effort into appearing fair and comely for her!” Maglor cried. A smile quirked the corner of Thranduil’s mouth as she turned, sobering slightly, back to Maglor.

“When one feels a thing but lightly, is it not easier of which to speak?” she said.

“So I hear from others,” Maglor admitted. She herself had never been one to shy from sharing her feelings; indeed, as a youth, she had languished in them. How many tragedies and troubles had she dreamed up for herself in Tirion so that she could sit on some high window sill above the yellowing trees and write lengthy and florid laments about her woes? But now…

Now Maglor spent those fall mornings laying on a cushion on the balcony with Thranduil, listening to her remark on the color of the leaves, and holding a cup of tea to her chest, and she thought there was no higher expenditure of time on Arda. What worth was there in fantastical tragedies when Maglor cupped such joy in her hands?

“Yet it is your thoughts I crave above all others,” Maglor said.

“As ever, I have not your gift for words of praise,” said Thranduil, coming nearer, kneeling on the bed and moving towards Maglor. “Yet I believe the fashion of this kingdom looks well on you, and to my eye there is no fairer Elf in all the realm.” This was patently biased, as Maglor was far from the fairest of Mirkwood—nay, she had been not even the fairest of her family—but she was quite content for Thranduil to be so biased.

Thranduil’s fingers swept up Maglor’s thighs and she lowered her head to kiss against the plump flesh. In Mirkwood, Maglor was fitter and more well-fed than she had been since she commanded the troops of the Gap, and had been training regularly for war. Something skeletal and wasted she had been when she arrived, but she had filled out to full health since then, and Thranduil seemed to take particular pleasure in Maglor’s strong, firm thighs. Often Maglor left the royal apartment with the evidence of Thranduil’s appreciation bruising the soft inner skin.

“Then I wonder that you have not glanced upon a mirror, my love!” Maglor smiled as she spoke, for it buoyed something in her chest she had long believed sunken and drowned to banter words so playfully with another, particularly with this other.

“And what game of yours, to beg sweet words off me and then refuse them?” Thranduil asked, giving Maglor’s thigh a pinch and making her gasp.

“Sweet words I said, not untruths,” Maglor teased.

“I give you my truths; if you recognize them not, I believe this to be no fault of mine.”

Maglor wanted to have a snappy reply to this as well, but as happened so often with her anymore—how her youthful self would have wailed and torn her hair and covered her eyes to see it!—she was simply overwhelmed at the notion of being loved and desired, and so she kissed Thranduil instead, drawing her near until the queen’s breasts brushed against her own.

“Tell me not that my little minstrel is out of words?” Thranduil never missed an opportunity to tease Maglor for such responses, but it thrilled her to hear, and such terms as ‘my little minstrel’ were equally a delight, more so because Maglor could imagine some trace of possessiveness behind it, even if Thranduil appeared to be the least possessive person Maglor had ever encountered (at times, to her frustration!)

“Out of words, Maglor? Never!” boasted she. “Very fine ones I have, ones just for you. Lean closer, and I shall whisper them to you.” Thranduil obeyed, and Maglor smoothed the hair away from Thranduil’s ear and drew in her breath and put her mouth just beside it to whisper: “I want your cock.”

Thranduil snorted and dropped her head at once before raising her face to look at Maglor, her lips pressed thin in amusement. She traced her fingers over the necklaces laying askew across Maglor’s breast, lingering, Maglor thought, with some appreciation.

“Far be it from my place to deny such eloquence,” she replied dryly, and Maglor gave an anticipatory wriggle on the bed. Thranduil took a moment to thumb at Maglor’s clit until she was mewling before using her fingers to part Maglor’s lips and ease in the tip of the toy.

Learning one another had been, thus far, an experience for the pair, neither of whom believed they would ever have a lover again. Thranduil was centuries into grieving her lost wife—who had sired their only daughter, Legolas—when first Maglor had arrived, and Maglor, for obvious reasons, simply assumed no one would ever wish to touch her or look on her with love or desire again. While the sheer headiness of her early encounters with Thranduil were not something she would ever trade, there was, she found, a domestic kind of bliss in having settled into something more regular, more comfortable, and less likely to leave her bawling at a simple touch or an innocuous compliment. It helped that she’d had centuries of serving Thranduil as one of her subjects and gaining, if Maglor could venture to say, some measure of her respect before either of them had even hinted at breaching a romance.

It was, therefore, Maglor’s utmost pleasure to be taken into Thranduil’s arms and thoroughly loved (though truthfully, with how she had worked herself up and Thranduil’s fingers earlier, she did not last terribly long). The toy stretched her beautifully (though not as much as some of the others she might have chosen) and the strain of it thrilled her with a liquid heat that bubbled up in her gut and flowed outward. Maglor, ever a connoisseur of sound, focused to shivering delight on the wet sound of Thranduil’s toy thrusting in and out of her; the shifting of the bed beneath them; the rattle of her many jewels; and her own needy grunting and moaning as she rolled her hips up, trying to drive the toy deeper.

When her climax burst and spread in tingling waves throughout her, Maglor groaned on the tail end of one last Oh, Thranduil, I’m so close! Thranduil did not remove the toy until Maglor stilled entirely, which she must have learned Maglor preferred—indeed, Maglor often pleaded to be fucked through her orgasm, relishing the sense of overstimulation.

“Does your mind rest easier now?” Thranduil asked, drawing back.

“Your mind…” Maglor said incoherently, making an equally senseless gesture with one hand above her head.

“Mhm.” Thranduil slid off the bed and busied herself shimmying out of the harness. Pushing through her post-coital fog, Maglor lunged upright, Thranduil’s jewels jangling, and scrambled to the edge of the bed to throw her arms around Thranduil’s waist and pull the queen back against her.

“Say not it is time for your departure,” she pleaded. “I have not yet done as I said, I have given you no pleasure yet.”

“How can that be?” Thranduil said, twisting in her arms. “When you have just sung so prettily for me?”

Maglor flushed, pleased, and stroked Thranduil’s pale belly.

“Yet I would give you more,” she insisted. Thranduil touched Maglor’s cheek gently and then leaned in to kiss her.

“I am tired, and tonight I would demand too great an effort for too little a reward,” she said. “I am content with your pleasure.” She detached herself from Maglor to toss the used toy into the laundry pile to be washed later, but to Maglor’s relief returned not to work, but to the bed.

“Are you sure?” Maglor fretted, scooting back to make room for Thranduil.

“Will you not remove some of that silly costume?” Thranduil asked instead, gesturing at the chest worth of jewels Maglor wore.

“Silly!” Maglor cried. “’tis a display most sensuous by my reckoning!”

“You may not lay against me in so many jewels; neither have I a wish to caress a porcupine.”

“My efforts are wholly unappreciated!” Maglor removed herself from the bed and as quickly as she might removed all but one of the necklaces—a solid, simple ruby in silver which rested quite fetchingly against her chest, just above the space between her breasts and complemented the tone of her skin quite well—and all of the earrings but a pair of golden cuffs. Then she returned and snuggled into Thranduil’s waiting arms, something deep in her chest letting out a relieved sigh to be clasped so near and so lovingly. Still it seemed to her a thing new and wonderous, relative to the interminable stretch of numbing isolation and deprivation which had characterized her life after the end of the First Age.

She pressed kisses to Thranduil’s shoulder and collar and then propped herself up to look down into those mossy green eyes. So long a study had she made of Thranduil’s eyes in the years of her time in Mirkwood that she felt confident it was not her imagination that she could see just a slight difference between Thranduil’s natural eye and the blind one she covered with a glamor spell (Elvish healing both natural and assisted might erase scars of most sources, but dragon fire was beyond even their ken).

“Your thoughts seem very loud,” said Thranduil after some moments of silence, reaching up to brush her fingers over Maglor’s cheek.

“Still I wonder that such bounty is mine,” Maglor confessed, tracing a finger over the elegant curve of Thranduil’s lower lip. “To live so long in yearning and disbelief…makes a dream of a reality so long desired.” She lowered her head and pressed a tender kiss to Thranduil’s lips.

“Should you require more proof, there is the bath there,” Thranduil offered, and Maglor huffed. Would she ever forgive Thranduil for the instance of throwing Maglor, naked and helpless, into the icy water of Thranduil’s spring-water bath for a laugh? Perhaps eventually. Perhaps when Galadriel admitted to a mistake.

But then Maglor’s face sobered.

“I am speaking truly, though,” she said. She stroked the familiar, beloved lines of Thranduil’s face. “You saved me,” she said softly. “’tis a debt I shall never repay.”

“I—”

“You did,” Maglor insisted. And Maglor would never be convinced otherwise. When first she had wandered inland, seeking she did not know what, she had not meant to step into the realm of a former Doriathrim. Of course Thranduil had captured her eventually; Maglor knew nothing of the forest, not this one nor any other, and the light in her eyes gave her away for what she was, even if she had sought to disguise it. It mattered little to her—by then she had glimpsed at a distance the queen abroad in the woods and her heart was set on her, or so it seemed to Maglor. It was after Thranduil showed her mercy, in the form of a probationary period rather than an immediate kiss from Thranduil’s blade, that Maglor knew she was in love.

“When one has seen oneself a given way for so long, it becomes immutable, or so it seems,” Maglor went on. “You cannot know what a gift it is for another to suggest you might be otherwise.” Thranduil did not object this time, and Maglor drew her thumb gently along Thranduil’s cheekbone, over the soft skin under her eye. “That person I was before, I would not be her again, not if it were a choice betwixt her and death. But ‘twas you that showed me she was not all that was left to me.”

Initially, Thranduil’s long silences had troubled Maglor, often making her fear the queen was displeased. Now, and at this moment in particular, she appreciated that Thranduil was giving her words the consideration it seemed they were due.

At length she said: “Then I am glad.” Her fingers lingered on Maglor’s face, and after a pause, she added: “I know this path has not always been smooth. Yet you have persisted. It is…reassuring, perhaps, to know that such change is possible, and there are those willing to make the effort.”

“And I shall keep trying,” Maglor declared, feeling that rush of determined protectiveness which had become the way she characterized her duty to Thranduil, a feeling like nothing she had experienced since she had last been entrusted with something, with the defense of the Gap. In the long centuries since then, she had come to believe she simply was not capable of being trusted with keeping anything safe, but she had now new things to guard: Thranduil, and Thranduil’s home, and Thranduil’s happiness, and it seemed to her there was no nobler cause to which to dedicate what remained of her life in Middle-earth.

Thranduil said nothing more on it, but leaned up and kissed her, and Maglor sank back down into her arms, and felt again that at last—at long, long last after endless wanderings abroad, alone, wind-burned and sunbaked and hoary with regret, Maglor had come to a place she believed she would never reach again: home.

#the silmarillion #the hobbit #maglor #thranduil #maglor x thranduil #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #sapphictolkien

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