#name one elf who is not stunning

[raven-awed]

What He Noticed First part 2

Ominis Gaunt x fem reader/MC

Angst/fluffy

Summary: Ominis finds himself dealing with a lot of complicated feelings, especially when he realizes he has a crush on the new fifth year.

A/n: Thank you everyone who read part 1! I was not expecting so much support/interest. Thank you @minichrismd for the help! This part is written from the reader’s/MC’s perspective and is fluffier with a happy ending. Enjoy! ☺️ tags: @rascal-20 @stuck-on-writing

*not my picture

Your head tilted to the side as you watched Ominis march off into the dark corridor. You considered chasing after him, but with the way he’s been avoiding you lately, you worried that your presence would only upset him further.

Ominis has never been what anyone would consider open, especially not with you, he seemed to keep all his feelings and thoughts bottled up. Very rarely he’d share what was going on in his head when the two of you would talk.

He always was the one to ask questions, constantly curious about you, but oblivious that you were just as curious about him.

You had hoped becoming closer friends with Sebastian would also bring you closer to Ominis. The way Sebastian talked about their friendship, their secrets, their bond, the more you wanted to become part of that world, their world.

When Sebastian spoke tonight of their time in The Undercroft, you imagined yourself experiencing something similar with them, even if it was just simply sneaking away to practice spells or play Gobstones.

With a long sigh, you slowly walked towards the common room.

The school year had just begun and already things were getting rather complicated, not that you were expecting anything to be easy after learning that you can see ancient magic, but boy troubles should’ve been the least of your worries.

Over the next few days, you focused on school work and completing the first task presented by Professor Rakham.

Ominis had continued to keep his distance, taking a different seat in every class. You weren’t sure how he seemed to know exactly where you were, even when you were as silent as a mouse.

One morning, you received an owl from Professor Weasley asking you to meet with her for an assignment. As you paced around in the hall, you thought about what she had in her letter.

You froze, wide eyed, when a grand door with an intricate design materialized out of nowhere.

“What’s this?” You mused.

“Already found it, I see,” Professor Weasley smiled as she joined you. “This is the room of requirement. Seldom few seem to find it.”

Another secret room, you thought to yourself as you wandered through the vast and cluttered space. Hogwarts truly was full of surprises it seemed.

Professor Weasley shared her story about how she and a house elf named Deeks discovered the room while she was in school. She had decided to share it with you, so you could use it as a place to study and catch up with your class work.

She advised you to close your eyes and that the room would become exactly what you needed.

When you opened your eyes, you gasped. The room that formed around you was incredible, the high ceilings, the beautiful details and designs, it was all absolutely stunning. It was literally something out of your very dreams.

Standing in the center, you slowly turned taking in all the details. Already you were feeling giddy about spending hours here honing your skills.

You paused as one of the paintings caught your attention. Your face began to burn as you spotted a familiar face amongst the random paintings and portraits. Hanging in the middle of the wall was a portrait of Ominis, his head resting on his hand. From the expression on his face, it seemed as though he was in deep thought.

You quickly glanced at Professor Weasley, who fortunately hadn’t noticed the portrait and instead was busy chatting Deeks.

“Why are you here?” You whispered to yourself. It was puzzling that there would be a painting of him, while the rest were of random wizards and witches.

Moving closer to it, you studied Ominis’s face. The image had captured every little freckle and beauty mark of his. You almost felt like you could reach out and touch him. He closed his eyes and a small serene smile formed on his face that made your heart flutter, but under your fingertips all you felt was canvas.

You missed him.

Perhaps that’s why, being near him again was one of the things you were longing for the most, this was likely the room’s way of making that happen.

As Professor Weasley approached you to start your lessons on Transfiguration, the Ominis in the painting wisely slipped away, saving you from any sort of embarrassment.

“Ready to begin,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

…

The following day, you found a seat in the back row behind Ominis who was all the way in the front. You stared ahead, watching him. A couple of weeks ago he would’ve saved the seat next to him. It bothered you more than you cared to admit.

“You should count your lucky stars, he's blind,” Sebastian muttered, taking the vacant seat next to you.

You gave him an irritated look, before returning your attention to Ominis.

“Honestly, it’s pathetic watching you pine for him,” he explained. “The whole school is going to know about it before he does.”

You groaned, shrinking in your seat, were you really that obvious?

“Go talk to him,” Seb urged.

“We haven’t talked since that night outside at the Undercroft,” you whispered as Professor Weasley slowly walked past you and Sebastian. “I think he’s still mad at me.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “His bark is worse than his bite, trust me. Underneath it all, he’s quite forgiving.”

You sighed, hoping Sebastian was right about that. You continued to stare at the back of Ominis’s head, trying to figure out how to mend things with him.

Suddenly, Seb started chuckling, his body shaking slightly beside you as he tried to contain himself.

“What’s gotten into you now?” You pressed.

“Just occurred to me that you probably wouldn’t mind if he did bite you,” He teased.

“Ugh,” you scoffed disgustedly, giving him a playful shove with your elbow. You must have pushed him harder than you meant to because he lost his balance and fell backwards out of his seat.

“Mr. Sallow,” Professor Weasley reprimanded. “Having trouble staying in your seat again?”

A few students giggled as Sebastian stood up and dusted himself off. “Sorry, Professor.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Ominis turned in his seat slightly, wondering what was going on in the back of the classroom with Sebastian. You really were pathetic, you thought to yourself.

Back in the Room of Requirement, you tended to your Mallowsweet plant as you worried about your predicament with Ominis.

Sebastian was right about a few things this afternoon, one being your attraction to Ominis and the other being that you needed to talk to him. However, that was easier said than done. You weren’t even sure right now if he’d be willing to hear you out.

You glanced over your shoulder at his portrait, the Ominis in the painting was resting his head on his folded arms, taking a nap. His hair was adorably disheveled as he slept. You wished you could brush back the strands hanging in his face.

You had to do something, you didn’t want things to continue down this trajectory, but the only way to fix any of this mess was to do something, anything.

Your best bet would be asking Sebastian for help. He’d be the one who could convince Ominis to at least meet with you. You’d figure out the rest.

…

You played with the sleeves of your robe as you waited for Ominis in the Transfiguration Courtyard.

A cool autumn breeze rustled the leaves of the trees as it passed. Several other students were out enjoying the mild weather, sitting around the fountain reading books and chatting.

You had stayed up all night imagining how this could go. You thought about what you would say, what he would say. You hoped for the best, but expected the worst, heartbreak.

You took in a deep breath as you saw Ominis. As usual he was hard to read, his expression remained blank as he headed towards you.

“Hello Ominis,” you said.

He hesitated with his response as a wave of vanilla carried by the wind greeted him too.

“Y/n,” he finally replied, his lips pressing together in a tight line.

“Thanks for meeting with me.”

“Sebastian was quite persistent on your behalf,” he muttered. “So what did you want to talk about?” He asked, getting straight to the point.

“I-“ you frowned, looking from side to side, there were too many people here. “I-I wanted to show you something.”

Ominis lifted a brow and gave you a questioning look. “Alright,” he agreed reluctantly. “Lead the way.”

You led him towards the direction of the Astronomy Tower. The walk was quiet, filled with tension, you still didn’t quite understand why he was being so cold to you.

Ominis furrowed his brow, wondering why you brought him to the middle of some random hall. “Why are we stopping here?”

Being blind meant that he had mesmerized Hogwarts’ entire floor plan, it took time, lots of time, but it was necessary.

“Just give it a moment,” you explained.

He perked up when he heard the wall beginning to shift and change. Reaching out, he felt wood instead of cold stone, his fingers tracing over the grain and patterns that had magically appeared down towards the handles.

Pushing the doors open, you followed Ominis inside. By the echo of yours and his footsteps, he could tell the space was large with a high ceiling.

“What is this place?” He asked, carefully moving about the room.

“The Room of Requirement,” you shared. “Not quite as secret as the Undercroft, but still relatively unknown to most.”

He nodded, taking it all in, he paused in front of your potions station, it smelled of leech juice. “Brewing Maxima potion?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I’ve been using this space to catch up on class work.”

As Ominis continued his self guided tour, you tried to work up the nerve to tell him. It seemed so much easier when you thought of this plan yesterday, but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“So,” Ominis started, turning towards you. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“I- um-“ you sighed, frustrated. You want to lose this chance, but you were just sputtering like an idiot.

“Well what is-“

But before Ominis could finish his sentence, you pressed your lips to his. Your hands gripped the front of his robes and pulled him closer.

The kiss took Ominis by complete surprise. He didn’t exactly kiss back, but he didn’t stop you either. He was in such shock that his poor mind struggled to accept the fact that you were actually kissing him.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, before you slowly parted. Shyly, you looked at him. The expression on Ominis’s face was priceless, his eyes were wide, cheeks tinted pink, and his jaw was hanging open.

You rubbed the back of your neck, “Sorry, that’s not exactly what I had planned to do, but I was worried I’d lose my nerve.”

Ominis blinked, still processing the last few seconds. “What?”

“I like you,” you finally admitted. “A lot, and it’s been driving me crazy that you’re not-“

“You like me?” He repeated.

“I do,” you confirmed in a small voice.

Clearing his throat, Ominis smoothed out his robes and licked his lips nervously, “I like you too.”

He hated how childish and simple the words sounded, originally when he had planned to confess, he had a more eloquent speech prepared, but at least he finally confessed. And he couldn’t even begin to describe the relief he felt knowing you liked him too.

Cautiously, he reached out, fingers extended as he tried to find your face. He swallowed thickly, as the pad of his index finger brushed over your lips.

His touch was so light that it made you shiver. His hand traveled lower, palm resting on your neck. Ominis closed his eyes and tilted his head.

As he leaned forward, you met him the rest of the way. This kiss was slower, more tender. His lips were so soft and plush as they moved against yours.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” he murmured, with his eyes still closed. “I was… I was jealous of how close you and Sebastian were becoming.”

Ominis buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply, drowning in the scent of vanilla. “I just want to be close to you.”

The next afternoon, you and Ominis walked into the Great Hall hand in hand. All morning the two of you had been attached at the hip. You had explained to Ominis that you both had to make up for lost time and he was happy to oblige.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” Sebastian greeted as you and Ominis sat across from him. “I believe I deserve some thanks for this,” his gaze drifted over to Ominis. “One of you is terribly stubborn.”

“More stubborn than you?” Ominis questioned. His hand remained clasped with yours during lunch. Both of you idly conversed with Sebastian and each other while you ate.

“I’ve got Herbology next,” Ominis pouted. “Dreadful subject.”

“Want to meet in The Undercroft after classes?” You asked, leaning close and whispering in his ear. Ominis smiled sweetly as he felt your breath tickling his ear.

“Of course,” he replied and then kissed your cheek.

“Ugh,” Sebastian scrunched his face in disgust and pushed his plate away with part of an unfinished sandwich, “Think I liked it better when the two of you weren’t talking.”

You kicked him under the table. “Maybe we should stop talking to you, then,” you joked.

“Go ahead,” he retorted. “Might spare me from having to hear and see all this lovey dovey nonsense.”

You laughed, “Didn’t know you were so easily offended, Sallow.”

Ominis shook his head, “he’s a real prude, no better than any of the professors.”

“Hey,” Sebastian shouted.

“Come on,” Ominis started, rising from his seat and offering you his hand again. “I’ll walk with you to your next class.”

Tag list: @rascal-20

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #Ominis gaunt fanfic #reader insert #female reader #Hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt x mc

[whaledenwtf]

Halsin x Dryad!Reader - The Summer Solstice

IM BACK BITCHES!!! Instead of doing my presentation for university I'm typing this. You're welcome.

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Link All other links will be at the end of the fic!! ENJOY

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Oral (Female and Male Receiving), BEACH SEX YEAH, Size Difference, Oh Yeah Did I Mention MATING PRESS

Once again, my efforts to keep him as true to character have been made. :)

WORD COUNT: 3630

Link to some Summer Solstice Rituals I reference here: LINK

You couldn't help but be impressed. It was the summer solstice, and the Arch Druid of the Emerald Grove handling the rituals of the day was excelling. Excelling enough to gain the attentions of Silvanus himself. You were watching his back from behind an oak tree, admiring the musculature. He was tall, strong. You liked that. Your mind flitted between the mortal and what had happened earlier in the day. The Oak Father presented himself to you in your mind earlier today, expressing his excitement of one of his followers.

"His name is Halsin. He has excelled in many of the rituals and in assisting nature. He has even reached Arch Druid status." He had said offhandedly. You were always a curious Dryad, and knew you had to investigate. You knew Silvanus was meddling but you haven't been around mortals in decades. You wanted to join the festivities after all; the summer solstice was your favourite holiday! The flowers are already in full bloom, the summer air is sweet with the smell of hydrangeas and peonies. You knew many of your companions were celebrating on their own, with nature and chosen company. You decide to get a little closer to the celebrations, walking out from behind the oak tree you were hiding behind. Many of the druids turned to look at you and gasped. Many of them dropped their lutes and violins, the sounds of nature becoming louder in the sudden silence. Many of them came to you, with offerings of honeyed mead and flower crowns. You crouch down to a small elf child holding a marigold and lavender crown.

"Little one, may I wear your crown?" They look at their parents for guidance before nodding and placing the crown above your head. It blooms further once it is placed upon you, and the smell of lavender wafts around the air. You pluck one of the lavender buds from your crown and put it behind the child's ear, smiling.

"Now we match." The child giggles in wonder, before running to hide behind her mother's leg, watching you in glee. You rise to stand, only to notice the Arch Druid had turned around to watch you. You are stunned by his beauty. His face is angular, with a tattoo on the right side and a gruesome bear scar on the left. He was perfect, in your eyes. You smile at the crowd you attracted, before walking past them to reach Halsin. When you get close, you smell him and are enamored further. Pine, musk and cedar. You can understand why Silvanus had sung his praises; he was the embodiment of nature.

"We haven't had a dryad join in our festivities yet. May Silvanus preserve you." You bow dramatically, the vines and leaves that make up your clothing sway beautifully behind you.

"An honour it is to meet you, Arch Druid Halsin. Your reputation precedes you." He chuckles, his voice deep and booming.

"I hope you heard all good things I hope." He smirks down at you, hazel eyes glistening in the twilight. The last beams of sunlight shine on the both of you. You glow with a radiance, like water reflecting sunlight, and he is attracted to you. Your beauty, your essence, is all captivating.

"Silvanus has only sung your praises, Halsin. I had hoped to see you in person and was graced by your ceremony. Wonderfully done." He blushes, the tips of his ears burning crimson. He seems at shock from your words; Silvanus has praised him? He feels truly blessed. You turn to look at the onlookers, who were still gazing at your beauty.

"Please, continue your celebrations. The Oak Father wishes you all enjoy yourselves in the time of festivities. Enjoy nature as he intended." You words were clear, and not a moment later, did everyone begin celebrating again. You turn back to Halsin, who is watching you in wonder. You blush lightly under his gaze, before sidestepping to look at the altar of light.

"Beautiful spread. I see you added citrine and pyrite; as well as some local blooms." That seems to snap him out of his spell and he nods.

"The celebration of the solstice is one I take very seriously." You turn to look at him over your shoulder.

"May I?" He waves over the altar, allowing you to do your magic. Your eyes begin to glow green, and sunflowers begin to bloom in your hand. You lay them aesthetically on the altar, smiling.

"Thank you." He tells you earnestly. You giggle at his enthusiasm, smiling as you turn back to him.

"Of course-" You look at the horizon, noticing the the sun had set. "Well, I believe it is time for the bonfire and feast! Oh, I haven't been to solstice festivities in years." You tell him excitedly.

"Join us." He tells you. You smile widely at him, and his heart flutters in his chest.

"I'd love to. I'll dance- oh and sing! I'm so excited!" You are buzzing in place. He finds it adorable. His hand goes to the small of your back ushering you forward.

"Go on! Enjoy yourself." His hand feels warm on your skin, and you blush.

"What about you?" He waves you off.

"I tend to look over the festivities. Have to make sure we do not lose any cubs." You bite your lip, thinking. You had an idea.

"What if I ask you to celebrate with me? Would you join then?" His gaze glances down at your lips before meeting your eyes.

"I can make an exception, for such a beautiful guest." You blush once again. He smirks as your skin darkens, and he can't help but wonder if that blush shows up on other parts of your body, hidden to his eyes.

"Then I will make sure to save a dance for you." You go on your tippy-toes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, before running forward into the fray. His hand holds his face where you had kissed him, and he smiles. He can't wait.

You had spent the last hour dancing with the children of the Grove. You were showing them the dryad's dance, a sensual dance with a lot of swirling; your arms swaying. Like a willow tree you wave and sway, the wind following your movements. Your eyes catch Halsin watching at you, a heat in his gaze. At the end of the dance, you end with a flourish, arms spread up towards the moon. Flowers and flower petals fall over the children, who squeal and giggle excitedly. They come to hug you and you pet many of them, sprouting daisies and marigolds to give to each child. Once they receive their gifts, they run around the grove, chasing each other and playing. The music changes to a very familiar tune. The musicians begin playing "Down by the River", and you begin to sing. Your voice, ethereal and otherworldly echoes in nature. You begin to dance, voice still echoing. Like a siren, Halsin felt the pull of your voice, and began to edge closer to you subconsciously. Once he gets close enough, you grab his wrist, tugging him into a dance. You begin to circle one another, one of your hands palm to palm with one another. You continue to sing, your gazes locked. He is entranced by you.

"Down, down, down by the river." You end the song, twirling around Halsin. You both bow at one another, as everyone applauds you both.

"Thank you for the dance." He tells you huskily. You squirm under his gaze.

"I was hoping for more than one dance." You tell him quietly. He feels particularly emboldened by your response, and puts his hand around your waist.

"What were you thinking of?" He asks you quietly. Your hands lay on his chest.

"Perhaps we can celebrate the solstice together... privately." He hums, his arms pulling you closer to him. You feel his strength through your close bodies, and admire him further, hands caressing his chest, mapping his body.

"What of my duties?" He asks you. He doesn't seem to want to decline. You look around, noticing everyone having fun and participating in ritualistic dances.

"Meet me near the shoreline after the last song has ended and nature's music is loud again. I will wait for you." Your lips graze his gently. You taste like freshwater and thyme. His lips become numb, and his mind is emptied of all rational thought. His eyes glow amber as he watches you walk to the shore, hips swaying. A low growl leaves his chest, and he almost transforms into a bear. He can't help but curse his need to diligently do his duties. This night will feel eternal.

When the last notes of music have died down, and all that is left of the large bonfire is embers, he seeks your company. The night is dark, lit by glowing mushrooms and occasional group of fireflies. His path is dark, but he has never felt such peace. He walks the path to the shoreline, where your voice carries as you sing; the sound of crashing waves accompanying your music. His heart beats loudly in his ears, the tips of them twitching in his excitement. In all his years of existence, he has never lain with a dryad. It seems surprising, for many of his years he had taken an extensive amount of lovers, all of which were of many different races and ages. His bare feet finally hit the sand, and he sinks slightly in his continued path to you. He sees your ears twitch before you turn around, smiling.

"I was beginning to get concerned." You tell him softly. Your voice was gentle, and the emotions that burst forward from his heart urged him to speed in his walk to you, almost sprinting.

"You needn't be concerned of me." You rise to greet him, hands stretch out. He gets close enough to grasp them, and pulls you forward. You land on his chest, and are forced to look up at him. The stars are reflecting beautifully in your eyes. They are focused on his own gaze, and he has never felt more grateful for all of the actions, faults and obstacles in his life that had brought him here; with you.

"Can I not be concerned for someone I care about?" He blushes at the remark, and you notice the druid's skin darken. His hands let go of your own to grasp the sides of your face.

"You care?" You bite your lip, watching his amorous gaze.

"When Silvanus spoke of you, I must admit it was not the first time I've heard of the admirable and fearless Arch Druid Halsin. Your bravery and attunement to nature always attracted me to the idea of you. Now that I stand before you, my heart beats in tune with yours; the idea of any other being is far away in my mind. You take the forefront of many of my thoughts, and have been for the entirety of the day." His hands pull your face forward, his lips smashing against yours. This kiss was unlike the other; passion, excitement and need were felt in this kiss. You moan against him, and his tongue takes advantage of your lowered defenses. Your tongues move against each other languidly, caressing one another. You pull away from him, only to push him down so he is laying in the sand. You sit atop his lap, and begin kissing him again.

He decided that if lightning had struck him in this moment, he'd die the happiest man alive. Such words and attentions he had never heard, especially from the lips of someone he's come to admire so much. The world around them dissipated, and all that was left was them and time indefinite- your words and touches, your two souls joining in nature's basest form of love. His hands caress the sides of your body, his touch igniting heat wherever they touch, a heat blossoming in the very core of your being.

When air becomes a necessity for you both, you separate. You begin to pull his ceremonial tunic upwards, before laying it gently next to you both, taking care in the important garb. His pants are next, and his undergarments fall with them. You kneel between his legs and admire him. It seems Silvanus had taken great care in his looks, and his personality. If you hadn't known better, you'd believe him a god; crafted from your mind's eye. In a moment, he lifts himself up to remove your dryadic clothing, mostly leaves and vines, so he could gaze upon you. Once both naked, your touches become lighter, hovering over him ever so slightly. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, the hairs rising slightly.

"Your beauty is one I never thought I could ever gaze upon." You tell him sweetly. His eyes leave your face for a moment to gaze at the rest of you.

"Sitting here, with you, shows me that some of nature's greatest beauties are ones I hadn't had the chance to gaze upon yet. No words can even begin to describe how I see you in this moment; your beauty cannot be fully grasped with something as limiting as words." You crawl further up into the crevice of his thighs, your belly rubbing against his hardened member. Your noses are touching now, and you are exchanging each other's air.

"I need you." You whimper, and one of his hands grasp the back of your neck, under the thickness of your hair to pull you into a savouring kiss. His other hand goes to tread the path of your body; from grasping and playing with the pebbled peaks of your breasts, to caressing your bountiful curves to the apex of your thighs. You moan into his mouth as his thick fingers tickle the outline of your cunt, feeling the wetness that has gathered there. He moans when he realizes truly how wet you had become. His fingers then dip in between the seam of your cunt, to gather some of your nectar before separating from your lips to taste you.

His eyes flash golden at the taste of you on his tongue. Your wanton moan turns into a shriek as he pulls you up until your cunt is levelled with his mouth.

"I'm going to savour you now. Devour you, until you cannot stand, and your voice is strained. May I taste you, sweet one?" You respond to him by laying your full weight on his face. He wastes no time in savouring your scent, and... devouring you. His tongue explores your depths, as his nose bumps into your clit. You grind on him, juices flowing down his chin. He grabs your plush thighs, grinding you harder into him. He pulls away for a moment to release his grab on one of your thighs before plunging two of his thick fingers into you and sucking on your pearl. You will not last with his attentions. He is feasting on you, your moans and pants urging him further.

"That's right, my little lavender. Finish on my tongue and fingers. Cum for me." The authoritative tone his voice took shook you to your core, and you finish on his fingers and talented tongue. With a moan, your juices leak out of you. He begins to lick your mess, moaning at the taste of your essence. His grip on your thighs have waned enough for you to scramble away, legs shaking. You land with a thump on the ground between his thighs, grasping his cock in your hand. You stroke him once, then twice, before rubbing the pad of your thumb on his head and spreading his precum around. You pull away to taste him, and moan. He growls at your debauchery.

"I'm going to taste you, Halsin. Need to taste you." You huff out as if out of breathe, before taking him in your hand again. Your lips descend on him, tasting him. Your tongue was heavenly on him, and he grasped your hair in his hands, bucking into you. You moan around him, taking him to the back of your throat. He grunts at your attentions, grasp tightening. You pull away for a moment, taking deep breathes before looking him in the eye and taking him further into your mouth. You reach the patch of hair at his base, the tip of his cock hitting the furthest parts of your throat.

"O-oh. Fuck-" Hearing him lose his sense of self, and the fact he uttered an expletive made you feverish, and you began to deepthroat him, ushering him to thrust into your mouth. He takes advantage of your wants, thrusting into you. Your hands move upwards, fondling his heavy sack. Without warning he thrusts deep, finishing in your throat. You swallow as much as you could, the taste of him tart but delicious; you want more. You continue to suck and bob up and down his member, until he cums again, shaking and groaning loudly. You pull off of him, gathering the cum and spittle that leaked from your mouth and putting it back in your mouth, savouring him. He watches you with hunger. He sits up and growls, exciting you. His eyes glow amber, and without warning he transforms into a brown cave bear. You bite your lip at the transformation, aroused by his show of strength. He transforms back into his elvish form, stumbling.

"I-I'm so sorry, I transform when my baser... urges become too much." You shake your head, before sitting down and spreading your legs. Your hand spreads your cunt open, and he watches how your thighs and lips glisten with arousal.

"Breed me, my bear." His eyes flash golden again, but he refrains from transforming again. His arms grasp your thighs and pull them to your shoulders. You're bent in half, and the tip of his still very hard cock is poking at your entrance.

"Please Halsin. Take me. Make me yours." You tell him, urging him to thrust into you. He grunts and thrusts into you with one stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches off the sand, breasts pressed against his chest. Your lips meet again, teeth clashing at the force of your kisses. His thrusts are rough, and he continues to hit that sweet spot. You keen in his mouth, and he chuckles breathlessly. He continues his pace, hitting that spot effortlessly each time. His hips grind against your clit with each thrust, and your body is overstimulated quickly. You know you will not last long, his passion and accuracy in driving you wild bringing you closer to your precipice.

His lips leave yours, before latching onto your neck and biting you. You caterwaul at the action, gripping his triceps tightly. Your nails are digging into the skin, but he does not care. He is selfish in this moment, wishing you would stay like this with him forever, until the world has disintegrated around them. He removes his teeth from your neck, before his lips latch onto your nipple and suckle from them. Its too much, and you arch your back painfully as you finish. Your constricting walls bring him to completion, your cunt milking his cock. You whimper as you feel his heavy load inside you, leaking around his cock. He thrusts again, and both of you seize with sensitivity. He pulls out of you gently, before laying down next to you. His arm pulls you onto his chest, and you bask in his warmth.

"I'm sorry." He whispers to you. Your head snaps up to look at him. He looks upset, his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong, my bear?" He shakes his head.

"I'm selfish. I'm afraid for the sun's rise for that may take you away from me forever. I... I do not want to let you go, my love." Your eyes get misty, and your hug him fiercely.

"Why apologize? If I could I'd spend eternity in your embrace." His arms wrap around you, holding you to him tightly.

"But you cannot." He whispers. A tear leaves your eyes.

"I'm afraid not. But I can promise to come to you again. When the wind wafts the smell of lavender and marigolds in the air, that will be me calling to you." He closes his eyes and savours his last moments with you.

"Then let us enjoy what time we have left." You nod, wiping your tears from your eyes.

Until sunrise, he spends his time with you in silence, basking in your company. He has never felt such loss when the person has not left his embrace. This time with you has changed him, and he does not know how he can continue his devotion and duties after meeting you. When the dawn breaks, you're moving out of his arms, heartbroken.

"I will visit you as soon as I can." You promise him, getting dressed in your dryadic dress. He pulls his clothes onto his body, which has become cold without your touch.

"I will not forget this moment with you-" He pauses, frowning at his realization. "And… What is your name?" He asks you, cringing as he realizes his poor manners. You look over your shoulder, smiling gently as the sun hits your body.

"(Y/N). Hopefully fate allows us another moment together, my handsome bear." You disappear with a flourish, fully bloomed lavender and marigolds left where you were standing. Y/N… Your name is sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the taste of you. He can never forget a name as sweet as yours, a name that will probably stay branded on his brain until his last breathe.

THE END.

If you'd like to request anything, please do so! I'm getting back into writing and I'd love to write anything inspired by the people! Send requests here: LINK Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: LINK

#fanfic #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #smut #halsin smut #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin x dryad!reader #oh yeah we get sex #sex time #you call him my bear #i want him so bad #need his tree trunk arms around me NOW #im attracted to pixels help

[doodle-pops]

Lords of Gondolin | With A Musician Reader

Request: hi mina how have you been? i hope you’re doing ok c: i was wondering if you’d write a scenario about human!reader showing off her greatest musical creation to the elves? it’s a piano they’ve spent a decade workshopping & building to perfection. readers also made middle earth versions of the upright bass, acoustic guitar, & cello. they plan on making more instruments cause it’s their passion and how they want to be remembered by. for the lords of gondolin - @dicksoutformtl

A/N: I’m doing just fine! It was fun writing this request know that all of them would be impressed at reader’s craftsmanship. Enjoy!

.𑁍༊˚ Galdor

Galdor is thoroughly impressed by your craftsmanship in creating new and improved versions of some of the instruments they already have while crafting newly discovered pieces as well.

He would have known you were into the musical arts, hence why you were always playing or composing a new piece every few weeks. However, what he had never suspected was a entire batch of new instruments being presented to him.

He is enthralled and eager. While some instruments may not be a favourite to his ear due to the sounds they emit, you can bet he’s informing you of some upcoming festival where you can show off your creative talents.

Galdor is a proud elf Lord who would happily talk about what you’ve created to the others and recommend you to the King to play your pieces at balls. He wants everyone to be aware that you’ve made inventions and they’re groundbreaking.

There are moments when he’d sit around and listen as you explain to him how you created each piece and the inspiration behind them or watch as you play songs on them.

It touches him when he becomes aware of the purpose of your collection of paper in the corner of your room. They were all songs written to be played on these instruments about how much you like or care about him. He’s touched and appreciative.

.𑁍༊˚ Ecthelion

The musical master is too stunned to speak as he enters your humble abode and notices all the new “classical” instruments lying about. Ecthelion’s curiosity gets the better of him and he can’t help but strum the strings of the bass and cello, or press the keys on the piano and gasp at the new pitch echoing.

He becomes aware that these are not instruments that exist in Middle Earth and bombard you with a million questions. “How did you make this?” “Where did your idea come from?” “What inspired you?” “Who are you really?”

Ecthelion probably assumes that you’re not normal to come up with all these instruments since the Valar would have created their instruments for them…so are you a Maiar or Valar in disguise?

You will be followed around until you answer all of his questions with responses that tickle his brain the right way. And be prepared for him to request if you two can now play duets at festivals and balls. He wants you to be the musician couple.

Ecthelion will show you off, more than Galdor and some of the others because he’s proud and wants everyone to know how talented you are. He doesn’t care if the other Lords comments that you’re more talented than him, he would simply acknowledge and say, “Yes!”

And not to forget, he’s making sure that your name gets recorded in the history books as an important figure in music. He’s even more proud when he realises that you’ve outdone musical protégé like Maglor and Daeron.

.𑁍༊˚ Glorfindel

There is not a person without a ten-mile radius who hasn’t been alerted by him of your musical genius abilities. Even Lord Elrond would be shaken aggressively as he is being told about your creation. “Y/N has reinvented the world of music! There is no one as great as them!”

Goodbye Lindir or Ecthelion, hello to Y/N, the new musical protégé of Gondolin or Imladris. Get used to being announced at dinners or balls to play your newest pieces and having Glorfindel looking like a proud dad (if he had a camera, his look would be completed).

Anytime you’re making a trip to your music room, don’t go without Glorfindel or else he’ll barge in all grumpy, complaining that you forgot him. He wants to be present at each new masterpiece you’re making, whether it be a new instrument or song. He likes watching the look of concentration as you play each piece to conclude which suits the song best.

Be noted that he’s curious, so he is bound to touch the piano or cello and gasp as the notes ring out. I can see him being drawn towards the guitar and requesting that you teach him. I don’t know, but Glorfindel playing the guitar suits him (idk if it’s just me).

Cue Glorfindel wanting to join you whenever you’re playing and the guitar can be included. He’ll happily sit beside you and strum away lightly while you play the piano or violin.

Like Ecthelion, be prepared to be announced/talked about by Glorfindel any chance he gets. He’s not rubbing it in anyone’s face, simply expressing how proud he is of his little human creating instruments that “change everything”.

.𑁍༊˚ Egalmoth

Most proud of them all, however, he’s torn between wanting the world to learn about your skills and also keeping them hidden so he alone can know this secret and cherish it.

A bit stingy sharing your talents with the rest of the world because they should be for him to enjoy and praise. He does complain when people don’t praise you enough and encourages them to be louder.

I don’t see anyone surpassing him in terms of being the biggest cheerleader. This elf considers himself blessed to be around such a gifted person (you’re more gifted than his friends in his eyes). You’re a miracle worker creating new instruments unheard of or reinventing old ones.

He wants to learn about your pieces even though he doesn’t know about music deeply, he would to be told everything. Don’t worry if it sounds all foreign to him, he’s understanding.

Egalmoth would inquire if you would like more materials to make more instruments because he understands that it’s your passion. He would even ask if you would like to open up a school to teach others.

Like the others, he would request that you play at dinners when the Lords come over or if the King is hosting a dinner party. Might get annoyed if someone wants to collaborate with you because you sound great on your own.

.𑁍༊˚ Rog

This craftsman is enthralled, amazed, excited, and proud of your creation. You made these instruments all on your own! Rog cannot cease talking about how you designed and crafted all the instruments by yourself. This is one of the rare moments when he's talkative nonstop.

You’ve got one of the great blacksmiths hooked on your inventions and wants to know the process you took to create each piece. He’ll be teary if you mention that you used some of his instructions during his days of teaching you basic material crafting.

Learning more and more that everything was done on your own and you spent years making each puts a type of ride in his heart that’s unshakable. If you show him how each piece is played, Rog finds himself whipped and ready to boast.

It’s strange seeing the quiet blacksmith boasting and talkative, and it’s for good reasons, you. All the Lords know, the citizens know and the King as well. Very soon, you’ll be having a hearing with the King who was intrigued by your new inventions courtesy of Rog cheerful chattering.

Rog doesn’t mind whether you choose to play privately or publicly, the choice is yours and he’s pleased with either decision. He wants you to be comfortable, but he would ask if you could play him a piece so he could experience the beauty of your creations.

.𑁍༊˚ Maeglin

Curiosity caught his attention for a great purpose and it led him to discover new things worthwhile. Maeglin is enamoured and his curiosity is piqued tenfold. Questions rattle off the top of his head about all that he’s seeing and how did you manage to think about creating these pieces.

You’ll be seen as someone highly skilled and great in his eyes because you’re out here reinventing the world of music, something the elves are passionately known for.

“Can I come to watch?” “Can I sit and listen?” “Will you play for others to see what you’ve made?” He will stand in the doorway as you play your pieces and write songs suited best for each with a sense of pride in his chest. You’re a part of his House and creating all these great inventions to make a name for yourself. How could he not be pleased?

Definitely another one who would recommend you to the King to present your showstopping performances during balls. Whether you play with the orchestra or sole, Maeglin is supportive.

You’re Maeglin little songbird who he wakes up to playing your piano or guitar on the balcony or in the drawing room. You provide him with melodies that allow him to melt in and drive his tension away.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @hermaeuswhora @lamemaster @zheiya @addaigio @involuntaryspasms

#lords of gondolin #galdor x reader #ecthelion x reader #glorfindel x reader #egalmoth x reader #rog x reader #maeglin x reader #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion headcanons #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth headcanon #galdor headcanon #ecthelion headcanon #glorfindel headcanon #egalmoth headcanon #rog headcanon #maeglin headcanon #house of the tree #house of the golden flower #house of the fountain #house of the hammer of wrath #house of the heavenly arch #house of the mole #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[polutrope]

Ambarussa Appreciation

I have said before that I think Amrod and Amras have much untapped imaginative potential. But that's not to say there are no intrepid creators who have done marvellous work with the sixth and seventh sons of Fëanor. Here are some of them! Feel free to reblog this with additions of your own.

Fics

A Kind of Mercy by @aipilosse (T, 0.8k). Amras & Amrod. A haunting character study.

truth in a mirror by athenakarthagonensis (E, 4.4k). Amrod/OMC. Stunning prose and a dangerous lightly-toasted Amrod. The unique Green-elf POV is excellent.

The White Tower by Anna_Wing (not rated, 11.2k). Post-canon Elwing-focused fic (fascinating worldbuilding and musings on the nature of the Oath), but interesting and refreshing to see her interacting with the 'forgotten' Kinslayers.

Who By Fire by me (M, 4.9k). Amrod/Fingolfin. Two grief-raw souls connect at Mithrim. Lightly-toasted Amrod. cw: past attempted suicide, mental instability, injury, animal death.

The Same Blood by me (T, 1k). Amras and Amrod's relationship feels the strain of what they have been through. Follow-up to the previous fic.

as a mist of light, chapter 12 by @swanmaids (T, ficlet). Amras finds a way to cope after the fire. Crispy Amrod. cw: self harm.

We Shared Everything by @cuarthol (M, 2.2k). Amras and Amrod shared everything, until they didn't. Crispy Amrod. Fantastic use of first person (plural and singular).

Dénouement by @sallysavestheday (G, 0.9k). Amrod/Aredhel, post-canon. Two people who were killed by people they love find understanding in each other. Crispy Amrod.

A Name by @skyeventide (G, 1k). Beautiful and impactful musings on identity, pulling from the convoluted and complex names associated with these two. Lightly-toasted Amrod.

The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant, chapter 6 by me and @melestasflight (T, ~2k). Something lighter! The twins seduce Fingon.

Art

There is actually a pretty rich array of fanart of Amrod and Amras. Here are just a few of my favourites.

Amras and Amrod by @wisesnail

Amras and Amrod by @welcomingdisaster

Amrod threatens Elrond and Elros by @runawaymun, a chilling commission for my fic And Love Grew

Amrod by @myceliumelium

Amras and Maedhros by @redbootsindoriath

Amrod by @tabukomi

Ambarussa by @thelien-art

Ambarussa by @spvce-oddity

Maedhros, Celegorm, Amrod, Amras by @albuum

Any finally some HoMe quotes about the twins, who get so little in the published Silm.

325 [525] Torment fell upon Maidros and his brethren, because of their unfulfilled oath. Damrod and Díriel resolved to win the Silmaril, if Eärendel would not give it up willingly. […] 329 [529] Here Damrod and Díriel ravaged Sirion, and were slain. Maidros and Maglor were there, but they were sick at heart.  From 'The Later Annals of Beleriand' in The Lost Road

"The two twins were both red-haired. Nerdanel gave them both the name Ambarussa - for they were much alike and remained so while they lived. When Fëanor begged that their names should at least be different Nerdanel looked strange, and after a while said: 'Then let one be called [Ambarto >] Umbarto, but which, time will decide."

"The twins called each other Ambarussa. The name Ambarto/Umbarto was used by [?no one]. The twins remained alike, but the elder grew darker in hair, and was more dear to his father. After childhood they [?were not to be] confused…" From 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor' in The Peoples of Middle-earth

#amrod #amras #ambarussa #character appreciation #fic rec #art rec

[kottkrig]

To Embrace The Shadow: Absolution (End)

Lucretia is faced with her own mistakes and what the consequences might be if she forgets why they call her the Shadow Mother.

World of Warcraft | Original Characters

Found Family

“Can you come home now?”

Zala looked up from Lucretia’s arms with misty eyes. The elf often asked to be held without any fear of her mentor's sobering presence.

“Yes, of course. I will not abandon my people, and I owe you three a lot for securing my recovery ahead of time…” Lucretia faced her anticipating audience. The men were reaching out as if she might slip away again, but they were too modest to ignore decorum as quickly as their Sister.

“First of all, you deserve an apology.”

Letting Zala go, she floated back as much as she could in their modest space. She took off her miter, which was constructed from nothing but pure energy, as was the rest of her; the Shadow Mother was the wraith of a mortality left behind. The vessel she mantled was the one her people knew best, and she let it appear largely as cadaverous as she was before her ascension. She refused to be ashamed of her undeath, which she never chose for herself. Failing her kin, however, was a result of her choices.

The trio watched as she apologized for her arrogance, for taking their loyalty for granted. She was sorry for seeing herself as above consulting them about her plans, and just expecting them to comply. Her overconfidence put them all in danger and left them to clean up her mess.

The prestige tied to her name was earned, but she was not invincible, and she was the most responsible for reminding them that neither were they.

“My greatest joy would be for you to one day walk your own ways, but I cannot let you go with the presumption that any of us are untouchable. It would violate our third and most difficult tenet, and in turn, undo the others. All three must work together.”

They stared at her in stunned silence. It certainly confirmed her arrogance.

“But I have shackled your growth, and you have every right to be disappointed with me.”

Zala was quick to accept her apology. Lucretia had a hunch that she was just exhilarated with their reunion, as their bond sometimes leaned on the familial side over simply teacher and student. It wasn’t Lucretia’s intention for Zala to become so attached that it might hurt her autonomy, and they would have to work on that. Lafayette was similar, albeit more guarded with his opinion. It was likely that he followed Zala’s initiative, as he often did choose to go with the flow and submit to a more assurant personality. Only when the following silence got too tense for him did he seem to add his own input.

“You couldn’t predict that this would happen. But maybe… maybe we should have talked more beforehand. We could have helped you prepare better.”

Lucretia agreed with him and was pleased to hear him speak his mind. She then faced Cletus and found him avoiding her gaze. She had supervised him the longest, with promises of prestige dangling in front of him–which she knew he would eventually achieve–but she had held him back for years. Perhaps she feared for his safety, or perhaps she savored having such loyal acolytes at her beck and call, but loyalty was unwise without mutual trust. It might have dawned upon him and made him hesitant. She could not blame him.

They didn’t need to forgive her, and she was hoping that they would take their time with their final decision. Receiving her humility was what they deserved. As for herself, she could handle any heat coming her way from the cult. Uppity Dark Clerics who thought she got her comeuppance were insignificant when she had the honor of seeing her students flourish together.

Things eventually started returning to relative normalcy, but Lucretia had to rethink her approach as a teacher. She decided to bring the trio aside, one at a time, and offer to loosen her grip on them. If they were to grow further, they needed to be challenged, and she could use her privileged position to advance theirs.

Lafayette’s anxiety held him back from progressing any faster than at a sloth’s pace, and Lucretia knew that she contributed to his sheltering. The living and the dead could walk all over him, and he would take it in silence instead of standing his ground. His success in reclaiming control of his sight tasted of the respect that he longed for. It was going to be a lifelong journey to challenge his fears, and he would be facing setbacks, but such were the trials they all faced as early as learning their first tenet. He often settled among the cult’s archives, where anyone who needed something had to consult an archivist. If he was taught on how to manage their texts, others were wise to respect someone who held onto occult knowledge.

Zala rambled on about a dozen things on her wishlist, but it wasn’t quite material things that Lucretia had in mind. They could revisit that matter at another time, so the two concluded that her role in preserving their grounds should broaden beyond menial labor and patrols in Deathknell. She had proven that she could plan for and journey into the unknown, and then return safely on her own. An elven ranger was exceptional for sweeping across the wilds with her silvan knowledge, and even someplace as haunted as Lordaeron needed care to maintain balance. It was her home, and she should be free to explore and nurture it. Lucretia urged her to be vigilant as the eyes of the Forgotten Shadow, and Zala eagerly swore to honor the trust put in her.

Cletus’s relationship with her had become tense. He fought harder than he should have for their sake, and was facing burnout as his only reward if he was just going back to being her eternal promising student. For one who had come so far, she still hadn’t ordained him. They both knew that his weak point was vainglory, and while power was what they all sought, every cultist had to constantly measure their capacity for it. Even the most successful of Dark Clerics weren't above remembering the tenets, or they risked falling like she had done. Cletus could charm his way forward all he wanted, but it meant nothing if he wouldn’t practice what he had been preaching in this time. Whenever he felt certain about it, Lucretia promised to be there to avow his commitment, and bow back at him as an equal.

She was self-aware enough to recognize her worries about letting go of control, knowing what it might cost a Shadow priest to be careless. She was proof herself of what rigid discipline could accomplish, but her students would never be able to breathe if they couldn’t reach above the surface. All four of them were left with scars reminding them of their trials, that they saw it through, and that there would be more trials to come. They would continue to face failure, prejudice, hatred and devastating loss, and she couldn’t always be there to protect them. What she could do was teach them how to protect themselves, and each other, until they were ready to walk their own ways. Their paths were not for her to decide for them, when such was not the will of the Forsaken.

It was challenging to adapt and persist through difficult times, and there may be endless time for any Forsaken to lead. But they were a stubborn people, and when those who reviled them as abominations kicked them down, they crawled back up and spat in the faces of their oppressors. The Cult of Forgotten Shadows sought to enhance what it meant to be Forsaken, and when to be Forsaken meant spiteful survival, they embraced the shadow that had been cast over them.

#the REAL final boss of this campaign: a codependent relationship #also yaaaaay we're done #this is the longest thing i've written as a newish writer thank u for the feedback everyone ily💜💜💜 #to embrace the shadow #character: lucretia #character: lafayette #character: zala #character: cletus #kott writes

[lamemaster]

Matters of Stamina (Glorfindel x Reader)

Pairing: Glofindel x Reader

Genre: fluff

AN: I have human pride, sue me idc :)

"We elves have always been known for our faithfulness. Consider the story of Luthien who defied fate for the sake of Beren," you mused, inwardly struggling to recall the name of the elf seated before you. You were quite certain he had some connection to Anaire, Nolofinwë's wife, but the name eluded your memory no matter how hard you tried.

If only you could remember the name, you would have reminded the elf that even among the elves, there were instances where individuals prioritized their own desires over the happiness of others. Thingol, for instance, had subjected Beren to a daunting quest driven by his own greed, endangering the happiness of his own daughter. However, you chose to exercise restraint, not wanting to offend another of your beloved's kin. By Eru, Glorfindel had shit ton of kin!

Marrying the renowned Balrog slayer, you had come to expect such bouts of elven pride. Elves did have a tendency to take boasting to another level when it came to their lineage. But your love for Glorfindel was unwavering, and you held him in the highest regard. Love came with respect and honor, and you did not require anyone to remind you of the magnificence of your beloved.

What puzzled you, though, was why showing respect for elvenkind seemed to necessitate belittling your own kind. Did men need to be diminished for elves to shine brightly? But what good would an argument during such joyous times yield? You wouldn't want Glorfindel to bear the weight of your choices.

Resigned to your fate, you nodded in agreement to the huffing Noldor before you. "Yes, indeed, it is a great honor," you replied, scanning the room for Glorfindel who had promised to bring you a drink. It had been a good thirty minutes, and since then, you had been stuck with the elf whose name continued to elude you which barred you from politely excusing yourself in hopes of escaping the awkward conversation.

"Although," the elf began, "I must say, it must be challenging for your kind to commit like us firstborn, for men do not bond in the same way as elves do." You stared directly at the elf in front of you, incredulous at his earlier statement. "It is understandable that your love is more fickle than ours. I just fear for Glorfindel..." The smug smile on his face made you contemplate throwing a punch, but you refrained from doing so. Mustering a pleasant smile on your face, the kind that your loved ones dreaded you acknowledged the duel of words the elf initiated.

"I agree there is indeed a lot Glrofindel and I must work on for our marriage to work," the Noldo beamed at your admission.

Leaning in close, your voice took on a sincere tone, and the elf mirrored your actions, eagerly anticipating the gossip you were about to deliver. Seizing the moment, you waited for him to take a sip of his drink, creating a perfect atmosphere of dramatic anticipation. And then, you dropped the bombshell, struggling to contain your laughter. "I wonder if your kind can keep up. We men… we have more stamina, and well, you know how elves are," you gestured vaguely, pretending to understand their limitations.

The Noldor's reaction was priceless, his drink spewing forth as he choked in surprise, caught off guard by your audacity. The hall fell into a stunned silence, the heightened elven senses ensuring that everyone had heard your revelation. Ignoring the disapproving gazes fixed upon you, you feigned a morose sigh, pretending to be engrossed in the embroidery of your gown. You were fairly certain one of those glares belonged to your seamstress somewhere in the crowd.

To your surprise, the Noldo remained rooted to his spot, rather than storming away in a fit of rage. "How much?" he managed to ask, his eyes widening with surprise and disbelief.

"Five to seven times a day," you whispered, using your fingers to motion the number, relishing the sight of the elf's eyes losing focus as his mind struggled to process the information.

"But it is all right, a small price to pay for love, isn't it?" you leaned back, breaking away from the trance you had cast upon the entire room. The elf sitting across from you nodded stupidly, and you restrained your laughter. Well, this was the price Glorfindel would pay for subjecting you to the painful conversation for the past half an hour.

The Noldor, still recovering from his momentary shock, stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and bewilderment. The smugness had vanished from his face, replaced by an expression of wide-eyed surprise. The room buzzed with stunned silence and hushed whispers as everyone struggled to process the audacious revelation you had just made.

Unable to contain your mischievous smile, you savored the victory in this playful battle of wits. Gradually regaining his composure, the Noldor managed to speak, his voice tinged with disbelief. "But… but that's… quite impressive," he stammered, his eyes still slightly glazed over.

You shrugged nonchalantly, maintaining an air of innocence. "Well, it's a matter of stamina, as I mentioned. We humans are renowned for our endurance, after all."

A few chuckles and snickers rippled through the room, with some onlookers struggling to contain their laughter. Glorfindel, finally returning with your drink, shot you an amused glance, clearly relishing the unexpected turn of events.

Rising from your seat, you took the drink from Glorfindel, intertwining your arm with his as you leaned your head on his shoulder. "Oh, my beloved, rest assured, I will always love you, no matter what," you said, evading the obvious question written on Glorfindel's face, and steered him away from the bewildered Noldor.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor elves #silmarillion x reader #tolkien #middle earth #romance #glorfindel x reader #glorfindel #fluff #amount of times I would get into arguments with stuck up elves would be unreal #No Elrond race of men is not falling #not on my watch

[karniss-bg3]

Where do you think Kar’niss got his sword? It’s a very nice sword. Not just some off the rack gear. And named as well—-

*drags palms over face* This effin’ SWOOOORD! It has haunted my nightmares since Kar’niss’ corpse first dumped it into my Tav’s lap. I’ve dug and dug and dug and I’m left with more questions than answers. Knowing my luck there is some obscure text or throwaway dialogue somewhere I’ve missed that might lend me a better clue. Damn you Baldur’s Gate 3, you’re too bloody big.

So, I began to write out this big blob of text going into the history of drow weaponry, hues of metals, in-game model comparisons, the stats on the damn thing, and so forth. I was out here looking like this guy for two hours.

Truth is, it’s really difficult to pinpoint the source of Kar’niss’ weapon. Not because there aren’t clues, but because Larian reuses longsword models so much that looking at the weapon alone isn’t solid enough. I almost came to the conclusion that it was an original drowcraft sword pre-1370’s DR until I discovered another sword model that was identical and not tied to drow at all. That and if it was truly a drowcraft weapon forged via faerzress methods then Larian would’ve changed the rules on how they worked. Which makes sense. It’s a fun bit of lore, but it would be a pain in the ass for a game mechanic. Who wants their badass weapons destroyed or losing all magical abilities when you leave the Underdark?

“ME ME ME,” said no one.

The only thing I can say for certain is that it is a drow forged weapon because it carries a buff that only activates if a drow elf is wielding it. It also seems to be perfect for a drider since it also has ensnaring strands, an attack that does 1d10 slashing damage and possibly enwebs the target. This works in conjunction with the added 1d4 poison damage to restrained targets. The swords description may hold the best clue of its origin:

“The trauma of becoming a drider is quickly set aside with a cold arachnid dispassion. This sword follows that disturbing trend - a replenishing poison gland is built within, deployed only against trapped opponents.”

This description and the name, Cruel Sting, lead me to believe the weapon...was a gift.

Imagine Kar’niss fresh from his transformation. He’s dazed, in pain, lost and alone. He’s been exiled from the only home he’s ever known and has lost favor with the Goddess he’s worshiped from birth. His future is uncertain and how long he has left to live is even less so. His mind is shattered, the incoherent thoughts his only remaining company. He hears frantic footsteps approaching from behind him and his already broken heart shrivels more. His kin have come to finish the job, to put him down, so enraged by the offense he caused Lolth. Weak and struggling to keep himself upright he turns to make a last stand, to show strength in his final moments, to die with some level of honor.

His resolve melts into confusion when he sees who is sprinting toward him. The individual would be unknown to us, but well known to him. A childhood friend? A lover? A confidant? Or perhaps someone he fought alongside faithfully for many years. Regardless of whom has arrived a strong bond is present between them. They approach and peer at what Kar’niss has become. Their face twists, a brief flash of sorrow betraying their features. Yet they cannot let it remain, nor are they able to stay with him for too long. Instead, they unsheathe a sword they brought with them, hurriedly holding it up to Kar’niss. Naturally he flinches at first, expecting the blade to pierce his flesh. The strike never comes, rather the new comer pushes it toward him with urgency, expecting him to take it.

Hesitantly Kar’niss complies, taking the hilt in hand and admiring the beautiful drow craftsmanship. He frowns, his eyes lingering on the one who brought it to him, too stunned to speak.

“It will protect you, Kar’niss,” they said in a hushed tone. “...Goodbye, and good luck.”

Kar’niss could do no more than stand there as their former companion darted off quick as a shot, not willing to run further risk of being seen with the newly transformed abomination. He clutched the sword close to him, the last connection he had to the life he lived before. It would forever act as a reminder of everything he has lost, the cruelest sting of them all.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #drow #lore #cruel sting #kar'niss lore #I am not sure how accurate that theory would be #but I think it suits the theme of Kar'niss' life #pure unfiltered tragedy #thanks for the ask!

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

The ballroom was as stunning as it always was, filled with light and music, and people dressed in all manner of colors as they danced about and talked amongst themselves.

Wyll passed by many guests, stopping to greet them and wish them well, delighting in the faces both familiar and unfamiliar. As he made his way toward the edge of the ballroom, he paused as his eyes fell on a figure beyond the crowds of mingling guests.

A tall, burly tiefling stood tucked away in the corner with their hands clasped behind their back, face impassive. 

Their clothing was unfamiliar to Wyll, animal furs and hides along with intricately woven and embroidered cloth. The colors—emerald, jade, and silver—were not of any house he knew, either. Their warm brown and heavily freckled skin was painted deep emerald that covered the upper half of their face and the ends of their horns, and he could see some designs on their hands as well. 

By Wyll’s side Faroth, chuckled.

“Eyeing up the General?”

“The General…?” Wyll asked.

He hadn’t noticed anyone by his side before, but a young half-elf man was next to him now. Wyll wasn’t sure how he knew the man’s name or how he knew the man at all, but he spoke to Wyll so familiarly.

“The king invited them in hopes of striking up an alliance, or at least deciding not to be enemies,”

“Ah… yes, of course. I was wondering who they were, I don’t think I’ve seen them before,”

“They barely seem to show up to the balls, usually they just watch for a little and then disappear. They even turn down any invitation to dance,” A young elven woman—Nalazros, some part of his mind knew—added, having appeared by Wyll’s side in the blink of an eye.

Wyll looked over to the commander once again, only to find they were looking at him, and even from a distance, he could see a subtle curiosity in their gaze.

“I think I may go introduce myself,” Wyll said, then quickly added, “If Father is hoping for an alliance, that is, it would be best to ensure they feel welcome and no one gets off on the wrong foot,”

The words felt rehearsed, slightly unnatural on his tongue, pulled from somewhere Wyll couldn’t quite name at the moment. But they seemed to be the right thing to say, as both Faroth and Nalazros nodded, and seemed content.

“Of course,”

“Best of luck, I don’t think I’ve seen them speak to anyone,” 

Wyll took a moment to take a breath and settle his nerves before he walked up to them. They noticed him quickly yet almost seemed surprised when he approached them.

Now that he was stood in front of them, he could notice the crow's feet in the corners of their eyes, the lines on their face. They were older than him, certainly, they had the scars and greying hair that spoke of a lifetime of experience rather than one of comfort inside fortress walls. They were beautiful in a way that caught Wyll off guard, making him stumble his last step and words.

“Good evening, General—if I may call you that, my friends— I mean, I didn’t catch your name earlier,”

They quirked an eyebrow slightly, face remaining near stoic as Wyll’s cheeks burned.

“I don’t care much for titles, you can call me general if you prefer, but my name is Majexatli,” They bowed slightly.

“Wyllyam Ravengard, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Wyll smiled, “How are you enjoying the ball?”

They paused and looked out to the crowd, the people gliding across the dance floor. For all the beauty there was in it all, they seemed... bothered.

“I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with these sorts of events. I would be far more comfortable in grasslands or battle,”

“You are staying in the guest wing, no? There’s quite a nice training area, perhaps I could show it to you sometime and we could spar. But in honesty, you fit in nicely here at the ball, you cut quite the fine figure,”

“Oh?”

The General, Majexatli, titled their head ever so slightly at his words, a faint amusement in their eyes. 

“Well, ahem, I—“ Wyll stumbled over his words, “That is to say— might I have this dance?”

Wyll held out a hand, mentally chiding his forwardness and forcing the general into the uncomfortable position of trying to turn him down gently. Before Wyll could second guess himself anymore, though, he felt a large, warm, calloused hand take his.

“I would be honored,”

Heart fluttering, Wyll began to walk towards the dance floor arm-in-arm with Majexatli. This close to them he was suddenly aware of how large they were. Wyll only came up to their shoulder, their hand dwarfed his, their arm thick with muscle and fat. 

As much as he wanted to play it off, he felt like a lovesick schoolboy, so flustered in Majexatli’s presence that he could feel his cheeks burning hot.

The smell of sulfur and brimstone hit him suddenly, growing more intense with each step, the burning in his cheeks turning painful, spreading down his body. The sea of guests parted like water, their whispers slowly morphing from delight to horror as they glanced furtively at Wyll.

The hall seemed to stretch on forever, the dance floor never seeming to get any closer even as Wyll sped up, only to freeze as he passed a mirror on the wall. 

For a split second, his reflection seemed normal, but before he could feel relief he watched in horror as his visage melted away. Hellfire washed over him as horns spouted from his head, flesh warping like clay as he felt invisible claws drag up his face leaving behind scars, his right eye suddenly turn to stone.

Lips pressed against his ear, a clawed hand over his mouth, familiar and making his skin crawl—

Wyll awoke with a jerk, gasping, nightclothes soaked with sweat. 

As he pushed himself to sit, his hand knocked into something solid. Blinking, his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and he saw what it was. A book, a romance novel he had found earlier that day as Majexatli had been exploring the ruins of what once was a library in Reithwin before the Shadow Curse. A story of a prince falling for a visiting warrior.

It was ust a dream. A nightmare. The book he had been reading before bed mingling with memories and wishful thinking. 

How could Wyll not dream of Majexatli? Even now as he lay with a blanket twisted around him, damp with sweat, the smell of brimstone still haunting him, he couldn’t help but think of them. How they looked by the fireside following Wyll’s lead as they danced, the way the corners of their eye crinkled as they smiled at Wyll, the feel of their hand on his waist as they kissed him with a passion that almost made Wyll lose all sense of propriety—

The smell of sulfur and brimstone was no longer just a memory or dream, the scent hitting him like a brick wall. 

Tsk tsk. Don’t get distracted, pet. You have a job to do. Focus on retrieving Zariel’s asset from Moonrise, not fantasizing about your beastly plaything.

Mizora’s voice echoed in his head from his eye.

“We’ll be arriving at Moonrise tomorrow, I haven’t forgotten what I need to do,”

Mizora didn’t reply, leaving him to lay tensely in the silence, in the smell of sulfur and brimstone. No doubt she just wanted to watch him squirm, but it must only have been entertaining for a few moments, as the hellish smell that surrounded him faded suddenly, as quickly as it had appeared.

And then Wyll was truly left alone, in the silence, laying on his bedroll in the dark.

The dream—the nightmare—still lingered in his mind. Seeing Majexatli, happy and healthy, dressed in finery, the feeling of their calloused hand holding his, and—

The hellfire, the burning, the horns sprouting from his head as everyone watched in horror—

It must have been Mizora, twisting his dreams to taunt him, turning his dreams into nightmares.

Wyll didn’t regret the deal he made, he would make the same choice if he had to do it over, Wyll told himself. It was just Mizora’s manipulation that made her appear in his nightmare. He didn’t regret his pact. The shame and fear that festered within the dream was not his own. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. 

Yet…

Wyll took a deep breath, tried to close his eyes, tried to let go of the dream, and go back to sleep. No matter how much he adjusted himself, no matter how much he tried to remember something pleasant—the feeling of Majexatli’s hand in his, the way they had leaned down to kiss him after their dance, the warmth of their embrace—some deep anxiety had already settled in his bones, lead-heavy in his chest and twisting in his stomach. 

With a sigh, Wyll pushed himself to stand, stepping out of his tent. As he stepped into the cool night air, he looked to the campfire, where Majexatli would usually sleep—he wasn’t even sure why he looked, why that was his first thought—only to find no one in sight, the only bedroll laid out by the fire was empty. 

Before he could wonder where Majexatli was, a scream echoed through the camp from the woods. A familiar voice. Wyll’s heart fell, fear flooding his veins. Without thinking, Wyll scrambled for his sword by his tent, rushing out into the woods still in his camp clothes. 

“Majexatli!” He called as he ran, deftly weaving between the trees and dodging the gnarled branches. 

In the distance, he could hear fighting. Shouts, banging, spells. Wyll followed the noise, running as fast as he could but then—

A scream cut short.

And utter silence.

Wyll called upon the name of every god he could think of as he continued forward, towards where he last had heard the noises. 

Please, please, he thought as he ran, let Majexatli be okay. They need to be okay. 

How did Majexatli even get lured so far from camp? Had they been abducted? Why hadn’t anyone heard anything at camp then? If they went out into the woods themselves—Wyll couldn’t imagine why they would—why did they go alone? Majexatli wasn’t reckless, they knew better, so why—

Wyll stumbled to a stop as he crashed into a clearing. There was no moonlight to illuminate anything, it was pitch black, the only reason Wyll could make out anything was from the ring of darkvision he had—a gift from Majexatli. He barely had time to be thankful for their gift before he froze.

In the center of the clearing, a large hulking dire wolf stood over the still-bleeding body of an ox, its belly torn open. As he watched, the wolf feasted on the ox’s entrails.

Before Wyll could look around, before he could even think to move, the wolf’s ears perked up.

Its eyes met his, maw still dripping with blood. 

Trying to remain calm, Wyll took a careful step back, keeping his eyes on the wolf, afraid to turn his back. With his next step, though, his foot hit something. On instinct, he looked down, trying to steady himself, and saw a body. Human. Bloodied and maimed beyond recognition. As his eyes darted around, he saw it wasn’t alone. At least half a dozen humanoid bodies littered the clearing, all torn apart and gored by claws and teeth.

A growl brought his attention back to the dire wolf and Wyll almost cursed as he saw it was closer than it was before. And it was moving. Teeth bared, hunched low to the ground, it stalked towards him, growling. Even without standing at its full height, the dire wolf dwarfed Wyll. 

It lunged suddenly and Wyll just managed to fire off an eldritch blast at it as he dove out of the way.

The blast hit the wolf, making it recoil, but after only a moment, it quickly recovered, shaking off the attack like it was nothing. 

Shit.

Wyll adjusted the grip on his longsword and readied himself to fight. 

Combat was familiar to Wyll, The Blade of Frontiers was no stranger to fighting off monsters on his own—though he hadn’t had to fight solo since Avernus and the Nautiloid. The dire wolf before him would hardly have been a challenging foe. 

Whoever had been fighting the wolf before, the bodies that now scattered the clearing, seemed to have at least gotten a few hits on it. It was easy enough to slash at its already injured leg as he jumped out of the way of its teeth. With each blow Wyll landed on the wolf was being worn down more and more, he had hoped it might give up, retreat enough to give Wyll a chance to run, but even as he threw another volley of crackling eldritch blasts, the wolf still ran at him, even as it’s blood was spilling out on onto the ground beneath it. 

Wyll hadn’t prepared for combat, he was without any armor, but all he needed to do was to keep avoiding getting hit—

With that thought, it hit Wyll suddenly, as he dodged the wolf as it lunged at him once more—the wolf hadn’t actually hurt him. The snapping jaw always caught a space next to him, claws and teeth just shy of doing any real damage. Even as blood dripped from the wolf’s maw, none of it was Wyll’s.

Wyll slowed his movements, lowered his sword slightly.

Snarling, the wolf stepped closer. Even hunched low to the ground, the wolf stood as tall as him at the shoulders. When the wolf was only a few feet away, Wyll suddenly felt his tadpole squirming behind his eyes, connecting with the parasite in the wolf. Before Wyll could even consider how that could be possible, the wolf’s thoughts suddenly flooded his mind.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll stopped, hesitated, lowering his sword fully. 

The wolf growled, maw stained red, patches of fur matted with blood from where his sword managed to hit. As it stepped closer, teeth bared, Wyll’s tadpole once again connected with the wolf’s.

Do it. Be the hero. Kill me. Get it over with. You’ve finally seen the real me, have the courtesy to show me who you are. Whether you're like him or not, whether you’re a hero or not, you can drive your blade through my chest and know you are right. You always are. He always was.

Wyll’s mind flashes back to the nightmare that awoke him, the horrified faces as he transformed into his deviled form, hellfire consuming him and leaving something monstrous. The disappointment, the terror in the eyes of everyone as Mizora appeared behind him.

A fitting punishment. Wyll didn’t regret it, he told himself, he would make the deal with Mizora again, he would spare Karlach’s life again. He saved countless lives with his pact, he gave up his human form to spare an innocent woman. Wyll Ravengard, The Blade of Frontiers, was a hero, everything he did was right. He killed devils and monsters.

The creature before him was a monster, littered around him were the mutilated bodies of humans and animals alike. It had killed countless people, may kill countless more. 

Yet…

“I don’t think you want to hurt me,” Wyll said quietly, searching the wolf’s eyes for understanding.

I can hear the blood in your veins. I hunger to tear open your flesh and devour you. The desire consumes my mind. I will hurt you. It is only a matter of time.

“You haven’t hurt me yet, you had the chance but didn’t,”

I won’t let you win, I won’t be fooled by the hero act. Not again. Not this time. I won’t let you touch me. I won’t let you pretend it’s love. Show me your true self, not the act.

Wyll dropped his sword, dropped to his knees, raised his hands to surrender.

The wolf only saw the sudden movement.

The moment before the teeth dug into his arm, Wyll realized why the wolf was familiar. 

Dark brown fur, a torn ear. 

He had seen the ear get torn.

The wolf’s teeth tore into his skin and Wyll couldn’t breathe, blood turning ice-cold with fear, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Before he could even think, he scrambled for his sword on the ground, managing to stand and thrust his sword forward to free himself from the wolf's jaws and—

Suddenly Wyll was standing over bloodied Majexatli, blood dripping down his arm as the point of his sword hovered over their heart.

“Do it,” Majexatli’s voice was eerily steady, even as tears mingled with the blood on their face, “It’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it? You’re just like him, and I deserve it,”

There was blood in Majexatli’s mouth, staining their teeth. He remembered kissing them at the celebration after the Grove and tasting the blood. He had known then, he had known, that there was something with Majexatli. He wanted to be horrified, he was the Blade of Frontiers, he killed monsters, he didn’t love them. But his heart still fluttered whenever he was near Majexatli, he still dreamt of dancing with them, still dreamt of a future by their side.

The nightmare still lingered in his mind, his title weighing on his shoulders making his sword arm tremble. 

As they both were still in the silence that had fallen, Wyll glanced at the wound on his forearm. The bite was shallow, if they truly wanted they could have bit down hard enough to crack bone, but they didn’t.

Before he could move, though, Majexatli did. They grabbed the blade in their hand, not flinching even as their blood coated the metal. Leaning forward, they pulled the blade towards them, towards their heart, digging into their flesh.

Wyll yanked the sword back, dropping it as though burned, panic surging through him. Dropping to his knees, he pressed his hands to the wound on Majexatli’s chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. 

When Wyll looked up to Majexatli’s face, instead of pain or panic, they were watching him calmly, curiously, warily. 

“You have healing magic,” Wyll urged, unable to assuage the fear in his gut as their blood coated his hands, “Majexatli, please, I—”

After a moment, a faint blue light passed over Wyll, the worst of the bleeding on his arm slowing to a stop, pain ebbing slightly. Wyll was about to protest, to urge them to heal themselves instead, but Majexatli beat them to it. The same blue glow emanated from Majexatli’s chest for a moment, Wyll could feel the of their chest skin beneath his fingers knit itself together just slightly. 

It had been a long day, Wyll realized. Majexatli likely didn’t have much magic to spare.

“You didn’t kill me… why?”

They looked at Wyll, puzzled, wary, confused, guarded. Wyll pulled his hands back from their chest, though some part of him was anxious to, as blood still oozed from their wounds—more than just from his sword—staining the rough fabric of their tunic black.  

“I don’t think you’re a monster, you don’t want to hurt me,” Wyll echoed his words from earlier, even as pain radiated from his arm, even as his blood dripped to the ground.

“I did hurt you,”

Majexatli looked to Wyll’s arm, their bloodied hands.

“You could have killed me if you wanted, but you didn’t. Whatever curse or affliction you suffer, you’re stronger than it,”

Majexatli laughed, bitterly, new tears welling up in their eyes.

“I’m not cursed. I am blessed. I chose to be this way. I chose Malar,”

Malar. The name sounded faintly familiar like Wyll had read it once, a god of some sort, but not one he’s ever seen worshiped. Jaheira had said it before, he realized after a moment, though she said is as a curse.

“Malar?”

“The Beastlord. Lord of hunting, bloodlust, and the violence of beasts. Silvanus abandoned me—no, that’s not right, Silvanus was never there, he never cared, in his divine indifference. Malar gave me the power to survive, not the balance,”

Vitriol and venom dripped from the word balance as Majexatli said it, face twisted in disgust.

It made sense, in retrospect. Their discomfort in the Emerald Grove, the tension they had when speaking with Halsin and Jaheira, the way they fought in wildshape, the fresh meats that seemed to appear in their camp supplies, the blood in their mouth when they kissed Wyll.

“Hells, alright,” Wyll started, struggling to find words, “You should've told me sooner. We could've figured something out,”

Majexatli laughed again.

“What is there to figure out, I’m a monster, it’s as simple as that,” Majexatli said, “You should have killed me. I wasn’t lying, everything I said. I’ve killed countless people, thrilled in the hunt, eaten beasts and men bloodied and raw. You should end me, the coast you care so much about would be safer for it,”

“I trust you,” The words came as easy as breathing, “Gods only know if I should - but I do. We can figure this out, find things for you to hunt. Hells, I hunt monsters, I could—”

Suddenly Majexatli dragged Wyll closer, crashing their lips together in a kiss that was teeth and blood and desperation and tears. The buzz of adrenaline still hadn’t died down, he was gripping Majexatli’s shirt with such intensity he was certain his claws would tear holes in the fabric, but he kissed them with a desperate but gentle fervor.

He needed them to know. He still wanted to kiss them when they tasted of blood, still wanted them in their entirety even as they were surrounded by the blood and wrought by Majexatli’s teeth.

As they broke apart, gasping for breath, Majexatli’s hand—still wet with blood, whether their own or his—came up to cup his cheek.

“You care about me,”

“Of course I do,” I love you, Wyll wanted to say, “You don't have to shoulder this burden alone,”

Wyll pushed himself to stand and offered his hand to help Majexatli up. They looked at his hand skeptically for a few moments, uncertain, before cautiously accepting his help, standing up with a groan. 

“I know the way back to camp, keep close to my side,”

Majexatli limped out of the clearing, every so often looking over to Wyll as he followed closely next to them. A silence fell between them, the forest around them deathly still as they made their way back to camp.

They chose this, that was the words they used. They weren’t cursed, they chose this. And yet… they lied, they hid this part of themselves, they hunted away from camp in the dead of night alone, they wanted Wyll to slay them like he would a monster. 

There was something there, just below the surface that Wyll couldn’t quite see, something that would explain… something about all this. But as Wyll tried to peel back the layers in his mind, he found himself once again remembering his dream.

Being consumed by hellfire, turned into a monster as people watched in horror. It wasn’t his own dream, wasn’t his own shame, Wyll told himself. It was just a dream in its nonsense logic, then twisted by Mizora to taunt him. 

Wyll chose to be in his pact, chose to make the deal with Mizora. She gave him the power to be the Blade of Frontiers. He didn’t regret it. 

As they walked back to camp together, he reached for Majexatli’s hand, only to stop as the smell of sulfur and hellfire surrounded him. Mizora didn’t speak but Wyll could feel her presence, feel her watching him, watching Majexatli with derisive disdain. 

He didn’t regret his pact, he didn’t.

…right?

#eldritch it speaks #salam plays bg3 #oc: majexatli #I have to be done with this if I don't post this now I never will 😭 #I think it has some solid good parts at least

[veivie]

I like to think that dark elf Alver has his yandere side leveled up.

In his disguise self, he can push his urge to make his competitor for Cale's affection 'disappear'.

But in his dark elf? He just want to make it happen and barely hold back.

Alver, but more dark and unhinged.

Very day become more and more hard to push away his urge. A voice always come to his mind everytime he saw Cale being 'touched' by others. Alver thought, that voice was already gone since he's become an adult, but he's wrong.

That voice always come and said an opposite things-

"Damn, I want to make him smile."

("And cry.")

"Why can't Cale just look at me?"

("They don't deserve him. Cale didn't need them.")

"Cale are my precious dongsaeng."

("He's only mine.")

("Claim him, now. Make him yours!")

"Shut up."

"Hyung-nim?" Alver blink. He looked at Cale.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'm just thinking about paperwork." Cale nod.

"I see. Don't too hard to yourself, you need rest." Alver laugh.

"Thanks Cale, you really are a great dongsaeng."

("Mine. Mine. Mine.")

Look like this voice will not disappear in the near future.

Alver shrugged.

He already agreed with the voice anyway.

Cale is his.

Should I make the voice is actually Ancient White Star? Heum- I should.

Ever since he died with the so called hero, Aws' world was full of darkness. Well- he guessed it's because gods are bitter. He almost become a God, remember? So they must just want to make him suffer in this darkness.

Well- that's didn't working. He's careless anyways.

Aws been with this darkness sine forever. He kind feel comfortable? Yeah, something like that.

But then, his darkness shatters? And he suddenly can hear a sound of baby crying?

Aws blink. Oke, first- What the fuck? Second, how the hell he suddenly can see some kind of screen in front of his eyes?

Aws blink again. In this screen the can see a man with blonde hair and blue eyes- kinda handsome, but not as handsome as him- carrying a baby that's surprisingly look like him?

The man looked at the baby with love- what the hell?

"Your name is Alver Crossman."

Aws was stunned. Crossman? Ain't that his last name?

Aws blink. Oh, look like this baby is his descendants, kinda unexpected. He thought the gods will kill everyone in his lineage.

Well- look like he's wrong.

And look like he will see how this kid grow up.

That's the first Aws meet his descendants, Alver Crossman.

Since then, aws watch the quarter dark elf grow up.

He was there when Alver's mother died.

He was there when Alver's father (that bastard should be burn alive. Yes, aws hated Zedd.) neglected him.

He was there when the queen sent ton of assassin.

He was there when Alver silently cry because of his bastard father.

Well- let's say, Aws has a bond with Alver. Let's say he was attached to his descendants.

Aws sigh.

"If I was you, I will kill everyone."

"Huh? Who-?"

Aws silent. A cold run to his spine. Alver can hear him?

"Who's there?"

Yes. His descendant can hear him.

That's was the first time aws tried to give Alver advices.

He was the one who told Alver to hide his true nature.

He was the one who told Alver to mask his face with smile.

He was the one who told Alver to become stronger.

But that's all gone the moment he saw a warning? From Sun goddess (yes, he knew that the God actually women.)

He saw how Alver began to debate himself about being a king.

A little guilty come. Damn, fuck those gods.

He want to tell Alver that the curse (or so Alver thought) was not for him.

He can become a king. He can- his dark elf side has nothing to do with the curse.

Aws was about to open his mouth when he hear Alver laugh.

Alver's laugh full of a bitter feeling.

"You must be kidding me. After everything I've been through?! Fuck!"

Aws become silent. It's a first time since Alver's outburst after his mother died.

Alver's voice full of sorrow. Aws feel the same pain, after all Alver is his descendant.

Aws also laugh bitterly, it's his fault isn't it? Aws sigh.

He should talk.

"That's not true-" Aws blink, why Alver didn't respond?

No, don't tell him-

Alver then shunned everyone around him.

He saw how Alver locked himself in his bedroom. He tried to talk again.

But Alver never respond. Ah- Alver can't hear him again. Look like he will become a silent observer again.

Time flew. Once again, aws watch Alver in silent.

He watch how Alver become a fine young man. A little proud feeling come in.

Well, since Alver look like him- ofc he's handsome, right?

He watch how Alver finally become a crown prince. In a long time, aws can smile again. He really happy for Alver.

Then he watch how Alver meet a strange red hair noble, who has a personality like Alver's.

He watch how cute bickering between them.

Suddenly, there's a war. Someone has a nerve to copying him, huh?

Aws watch everything, he was kind surprise his copycat actually reincarnator.

He also laugh to how stupid his copycat is. He got every ap but did not get the most important ap. Ha- immature!

Times flew again, then Alver intend to tell Cale about the curse.

When Alver feel nervous, aws also feel the same way.

He silently observe them. When Cale said that Alver supposed to be here- Aws really feel happiness for his descendant.

He really happy.

Then Cale told Alver about the possibility of him being Alber's ancestor. Alver just shrug it off- can he feel accepted from that-?

He once again observe how Alver slowly but surely fell for the red hair. Well- Aws approve! Even if Alver didn't need his approval- still! He's Alver's ancestor!

Anyways- he know, he shouldn't feel this way- but... Yeah, aws also fell for Cale.

He want to punch himself so hard. What the hell? Why he suddenly falling for Cale? Fuck.

Well- he can be with Cale if Alver is, right?

As someone who almost become a god. Aws have a different feeling than Alver's innocent feeling. What he feel for Cale was more dark- more possessive- maybe you can call it obsession.

His dark feeling also effect Alver's feeling. Alver also began to feel the same dark feeling for Cale.

From that's, Aws knows. Alver can hear his voice if Alver and him have a same feeling about something.

First, about being a king.

Now, Cale.

They're both want Cale become theirs.

They're both want to possessed Cale.

Yes, just like the kingdom.

Cale are their to be share.

#lout of count’s family #trash of the count's family #lcf #cale henituse #tcf #alberu crossman #albecale #alberu x cale #alcale #ancient white star

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Have you read or watched the lord of the Rings trilogy? If so I would like to request a record of Ragnarok x Legolas reader. The reader is of elven royalty and has the same personality and traits as Legolas from Lotr.

The reader was somehow transported from their home to Valhalla Arena or the reader tragically dies somehow and then is summoned to fight in Ragnarok?

How would the humans and gods react? It would be quite interesting how the reader looks almost like the humans but with a pointer ears.

-The nymphs were cheering loudly for Apollo, calling out his name as he waved up at them, working his charm, but the annoyance of many of the men in attendance to this fight.

-When the door for humanity opened, Apollo was stunned to hear his lovely cheering squad go silent as you walked out, a mysterious wind blowing your hair back, showing your good looks and pointed ears, revealing you as an elf!

-You were the child the king of the Woodland Realm, one of the members of the Fellowship that helped take down the dark lord Sauron and bring peace to your realm, and a total heartthrob!!

-Apollo’s eye twitched as he saw the bow, seeing that it was archer vs. archer, but he was annoyed when all of the ladies in attendance started to cheer for you, including his nymphs!!

-The men were cheering for you as well, as you weren’t acting cocky with the cheers, keeping your eyes on your opponent.

-You approached Apollo and was stunned to find you very respectful towards him, as you inquired about this match, instead of a fight to the death, to be an archery contest, your skills against his skills.

-Due to your respect with speaking with him and acknowledging his own skills, he accepted. While the crowds weren’t too pleased, as they wanted to see carnage, Apollo, using his charisma, was quick to get everyone won over on the idea.

-Things started off simple, targets placed at the same, varying distances for the both of you, taking turns, Apollo going first, then you, getting bullseyes on all eight of the targets.

-The crowd was eating it up, cheering loudly as you traded bullseyes, and in all honest, you were both having a lot of fun, as you both rarely found someone who could challenge your skills.

-Swinging targets, targets hit from running horseback, dodging non-lethal opponents while still hitting the targets perfectly.

-Instead of becoming annoyed with it, you both praised each other’s skills and moves, hyping one another up, enjoying the competition.

-After it ended in a complete draw, something you both couldn’t help but laugh at, Apollo patted your back, “Come my friend! I’ll treat you to a drink!”

-If only he knew you could hold your alcohol just as well as you could shoot arrows, which would then turn into another competition between two new friends.

#record of ragnarok #ror x reader #ror apollo

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Part 10)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 1881

Imagine Series

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

I didn’t drop the comfort of the invisibility spell until I was in the comfort and seclusion of the rock cave. After setting the backpack and satchel carefully on the slate gray rock floor, I took a few minutes to cast Leomund’s tiny hut to make the small cave a bit more comfortable in the cooler evening hours of the autumn season. I lit most of the candles in the cave and proceeded to set out all the supplies from my satchel and backpack. As I grabbed the vial of blood from the satchel, I felt a familiar hunger pain start in the pit of my stomach, and I mentally cursed as I had been so occupied all day and had forgotten to feed. Taking a focusing breath, I finished setting up the alchemy kit to test the contents of both flasks I had poured from the chef’s wine bottles. Pouring the liquid from the first flask into the testing tube, the amber light flickering from the burning candles gave away to my keen drow eyes that the liquid has a slight shimmer to it.

Be always weary of the surface dwellers, and even those that reside in the Underdark with us. You never know if you were to run into a fae, but you’ll know by the shimmering dust those mischievous creatures leave behind. Mother’s tough-love lessons found their way into my thoughts once more as I proceeded to test the liquid in various ways. After running a series of tests on the liquid, my eyes widened as I came to a stunning conclusion: the wine was mixed with dust from a fae, and a single drop of blood from Astarion. Further testing revealed that the wine could enable the fae creature to easily charm whoever’s blood was mixed into the wine.

Clever. I thought. Make a wine to charm a usually hard to charm elf. If I had been living in the Underdark, the effort to charm the ascended vampire might have been commended, but I was far more upset about it at the current moment. Luckily for Astarion I was  trained when I was a young drow to make antidotes for such things, so I set to work making a specific antidote to the charming wine. Fortunately for me, I was able to make one charm antidote from a single drop of blood in the half-full vial; however, it did take me a few hours to correctly make it. Once it was complete, I glanced outside the cave entrance to find the moon rising slowly in the dark black sky before it disappeared behind several clouds. I sighed heavily as I begun to test the contents of the second flask. The tiefling had mentioned that it was to be a more potent and longer lasting charming potion, but as I tested and studied the second flask, I made a grave discovery: the second bottle was not a charming potion but a potent poison.

He doesn’t want to use the vampire for nefarious means, he wants to avenge his daughter. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I hurried to pack up the antidote for the charming wine and all of my evidence against the traitors living in the castle. Astarion was in terrible danger, and I had to protect him. 

My unfortunate victory on the discovery was undermined, however, by the familiar ache of my fangs wanting to sink themselves into a vein. I groaned as I regretted not sneaking something for me to feed on before coming down to my hole. Ignoring the growing hunger pains, I packed my satchel with all of my evidence against the tiefling and the chef then left the cave. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, I snuck my way back up to the castle’s back door.

“Wiap (fly).” I whispered as I touched my shoulder. I felt light as a feather as my feet hovered off of the ground. I held my breath as I quietly flew up to the balcony outside of Astarion’s bedchambers. Peering through a window offset of the balcony, I noticed the tension in the shoulders of the vampire lord as he listened to the tiefling say something to him.

“Leave me. I shall seek you when I need you.” He angrily said to her as he turned away from her, but he missed the eye roll she gave him before turning on her heels and exiting the room. Those sharp crimson eyes didn’t notice me as he stepped onto the balcony and into the cool autumn night.

Astarion POV

“What have I done? Why did she leave me?” I let out in a somber voice to the night sky. Zeyis had just informed me that it appeared (TAV’s name) had abandoned the castle—abandoned me—and I felt as if my heart weighed heavy like a ton of bricks in my chest.

The one person I thought would never leave me has left. I thought to myself.

“I did not abandon you, my love.” (TAV’s name)’s hushed voice came from the darkness beside me. Startled, I turned to peer into the darkness. There, perched on the balcony railing, was the gorgeous drow I had fallen in love with many centuries ago. Her (TAV’s hair color) had small stray hairs that had fallen out of the braid her hair was done in, and her ruby-colored eyes took in my face with a bittersweet expression on her lips. The jade dress she wore was crinkled with how she was sitting, and particles of a fine white substance settled on the stone flooring beneath her feet, which were still missing their shoes. I opened my mouth to ask her what she was up to, but her slender finger pressed to her lips told me to hush. “Hiedra told you I had left the castle, didn’t she?” (TAV’s name) asked in a hushed tone, and I felt confusion spread itself on my face at the mention of the unfamiliar name.

“Zeyis told me you had left.” I replied in the same hushed tone, and I watched her eyes as she, no doubt, studied every emotion passing through my eyes. There was no use in hiding it—the drow could read me like one of her favorite books. I swear to all the stars and gods above that she was the only person in the entire realm who could see the person underneath it all, even if I tried my damnest to hide it from everyone. But the look in her eyes right now, the emotion they held, took me back to every moment that I saw the same look in her eyes: when I saw Sebastian at Cazador’s palace, the first time she heard about the carving of my scars, and every time I spoke about life as Cazador’s slave.

“Come here to me, Astarion. I have something you need to see. I know who stole your blood, but I need you to actually see what I saw.” She held out a delicately small hand to me and waited patiently for me to step towards her. “Before you ask, I fear you will understand why I can’t just tell you.” I laid my hand inside of hers, and she gave me a sorrowful smile before she spoke in Draconic. “Drex ekess wer ir geouir gipren wer irthir si sweekmon ekess kaoj (show to the one willing to receive the knowledge I seek to share).”

As (TAV’s name) spoke the last word, the world around me went black as a heavy sadness and heartbreak overcame me. Zeyis’ mischievous smirk and endless taunts echoed through my head as a multitude of flashes of myself pushing the spectator out of the way or blatantly ignoring the spectator’s words played in front of my eyes. All of the dirty insults the tiefling had ever said to the spectator continued to echo in the background until I could see myself standing in front of the spectator. I recognized the robes I had been wearing the day before, and my face bore an expression of…anger? I heard my words replay in my head, “I need you to find whomever has disgraced me in such a manner, but I do not want the entire castle to know what has transpired. You must conduct your investigation in secrecy.”

Flashes and blurs of a library filled with books and a golden dragonborn giving the spectator three specific books passed in a whirlwind before I felt the spectator’s frustration build within me as the spectator struggled to successfully complete a ritual. In a blur, I felt the familiar shifting of warm sand under the weight of the spectator’s barefeet. Brief moments of sitting in front of a large mirror with a drow staring back at me flashed before me as (TAV’s name)’s voice echoed in my mind, “Now, you need to figure out what she actually is, and how she is managing to control our little star. If you figure that out, we may be able to get him back.”

Next, I watched as a beautiful woman with pointy ears spoke with our chef, Ahriman, while standing in the rain outside of the castle before the woman shapeshifted into Zeyis. I heard Ahriman call her name, Hiedra. The visions of that night swirled and melted into Zeyis walking into a room with the chef before they discussed the creation of a potion using a vial of my blood. I felt my hands dig in a chest with a false bottom as the spectator pulled out a half-full vial of a dark crimson liquid. My nostrils were filled with the scent of a finely aged brandy, rosemary, and bergamot--a scent the spectator knew belonged to me. An empty bottle was filled with a similar liquid before the scenery blended to the spectator hastily packing a bag of some kind, but Ahriman’s voice spoke in the background, “Astarion, you will soon pay for taking my daughter from me, and you will know what it is to have lost everything.” After watching the chef leave, the spectator read the words of a letter written to the chef about his missing daughter, and my name had been mentioned in it. 

Soon the spectator was testing flasks of wine and learned the tiefling was a fae in disguise. I watched as the spectator took her time creating an antidote to the charming wine the chef created, and the shock as the spectator realized the second flask wasn’t a charming potion, but a poison. I felt the familiar sting of hunger overcome my senses before I found the spectator standing in front of me, hoping I would take her hand. With a blink of my eyes, I stared at the woman in front of me who was now avoiding direct eye contact. Her throat moved as she forcefully swallowed as I made the connections to what I had just seen--she was the spectator, and she had shown me what she had seen and felt for the last hundred years along with what she learned in the last couple of days.

For the first time in a century, I could truly see her again, and I felt horrible for all of the shit I had put her through.

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #the promise of eternity

[wordbunch]

perfectly proper (RoP Elrond x Reader)

a/n: finally writing again!!! this was requested and I hope I did it justice 😊 let me know how you liked it ❤️

summary: Elrond is interested in Celebrimbor’s daughter...only that he doesn’t know she’s his daughter, until it accidentally gets revealed.

Lindon was bustling as every and any available elf was doing all in their power to prepare for the upcoming feast in celebration of the first day of spring. It seemed livelier than ever after a dull, gray winter. Elrond, the High King’s herald, was overseeing some last preparations concerning the dinner table, wanting to make sure everything was as close to perfection as possible. Carefully, his eyes pored over stunning emerald name tags on which names of important guests were carved in intricate golden letters. The Elf’s attention was immediately drawn to a certain name, of a person especially dear to him. [Y/N].

A small frown found its way onto Elrond’s handsome face when he realized [Y/N] was supposed to be seated a good few places away from him. He quickly looked around to see if anyone was nearby and paying attention to him, before his eyes darted back to [Y/N]’s name plate. He couldn’t mess around with the King’s seating arrangements, right…? Or could he? He fidgeted with the hem of his deep blue cape as he considered what he could do. Celebrimbor was supposed to be sitting on [Y/N]’s right side, and an elf-maiden, a friend of [Y/N]’s, would be on her left. Elrond’s mind was racing as he thought of his options, his sole focus being finding a way to spend more time in the presence of the gorgeous, captivating woman, who seemed to be taking up more and more space in his heart.

As soon as the majestic dining hall became a little bit emptier, everyone having gone to their chambers to get themselves presentable on time, Elrond finally made up his mind and quickly repositioned some of the dark green name plates. With this new arrangement, [Y/N] and Elrond were sitting next to each other, but he was momentarily too anxious to thoroughly think about where he moved the other honorable guests. The herald tried to smooth out some wrinkles in his clothes, but opted for going for a change of clothes, since a few more minutes were left before the start of the dinner. 

His timing turned out to be almost perfect, since he walked right into [Y/N] on his way back from his chambers, and he gallantly offered his arm out to her, which she gladly accepted.

“My lady,” he bowed slightly, heat rushing into his cheeks, “allow me to escort you to dinner.”

“Gladly,” the girl smiled at him and very subtly squeezed his arm, hoping that he wouldn't notice. “The shade of your robes brings out your eye color beautifully, my Lord,” [Y/N] complimented, feeling surprisingly bold even without any liquid courage.

“You are too kind,” Elrond mused, meeting her eyes for a brief moment; his heart almost skipped a beat. “However, I fear that your beauty is beyond any words that I can utter. None of them would do justice to your radiance.”

“Is it not too early for you to be making me blush this much?” [Y/N] raised an eyebrow at Elrond, but secretly enjoyed his flattery. She was hoping that he couldn’t hear her rapidly quickening heartbeat. 

“It is never too early to appreciate the brightest star in this whole realm, Lady [Y/N]. In my humble opinion, that could be no one else but you,” Elrond confessed earnestly, feeling mild disappointment at the fact that they’d almost reached the dining hall already - he wanted [Y/N] all to himself. 

“Have you had much to drink already?” [Y/N] joked with a vibrant laugh. “The feast hasn’t even started.”

“I am merely relishing in just existing by your side after a busy day,” Elrond shrugged nonchalantly as he led the two of them towards the large, richly decorated table. It was already swarming with people. “You bring out a different side of me.”

“Well then, I am very happy to hear that,” [Y/N] tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with a glimmer in her eyes. Her eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise when she realized she was seated next to the herald at the dining table, but she was overjoyed. It was only a bit strange to her that her father seemed to be sitting a few seats further away, but she shrugged it off. Who knows what the king had in mind when planning the seating, the girl thought. Elrond pulled out her chair and helped her get settled in before he sat himself, and immediately offered her a drink. [Y/N] gladly accepted, hoping she’d be able to let loose a bit over the course of the evening, especially since she’d been sitting next to Elrond and some other younger elves. 

“Do you think the High King will be late to his own feast once again?” she nudged Elrond, speaking in a low, mischievous voice. He tried not to laugh too loudly at her comment, so he just took a sip from his crystal glass.

“Remember, he is never late, everyone else is just early,” the herald smirked. 

“My father isn’t here yet either,” [Y/N] muttered as she surveyed the room suspiciously. “Now that is most unusual.”

“Your father?” Elrond inquired, almost falling off of his chair when he heard the well-known voice of Celebrimbor speak up loudly.

“Is there a reason why my daughter is seated so far away from me?”

Elrond froze, his eyes going wide. [Y/N] was Celebrimbor’s daughter? How hadn’t he put the pieces together earlier? While Elrond was sitting in disbelief, [Y/N] got up to go greet her father.

“I will be sitting over there, next to Elrond,” she gestured towards the elf who was still sitting dumbstruck. Celebrimbor raised an eyebrow.

“I see,” he exhaled. “Let me go over there and talk to him for a moment, then.”

“I really think that is not nece-” [Y/N] began, but her father just raised a hand and walked in the direction of the herald. Elrond was only hoping he didn’t look like a deer in headlights, as his thoughts went to how he was rearranging the name tags earlier. Maybe he should have thought it through a little bit. Maybe. As soon as Celebrimbor appeared next to Elrond, the herald felt very, very small, but he looked up regardless.

“If you try anything improper with my daughter-” he began, and [Y/N] appeared next to the two within a second”

“Ada, leave him be. For the love of Valar, that is just Elrond,” she gestured towards him and he gave an awkward little smile, trying to look as innocent as possible. “We have known each other forever. He is anything but improper.” 

“My Lord,” Elrond started, his voice almost cracking, “your daughter is very special to me, and I would never harm her in any way.” At this point, the eyes and ears of everybody in the room were fixated solely on the three. Both for his own comfort, and in order to reassure [Y/N], he gently squeezed her hand. 

“I told you,” the girl smiled at the older elf whose eyes were going back and forth between his daughter and Elrond. “He is perfectly decent.” Before any of them had a chance to add anything else, the stern voice of the High King Gil-Galad cut through the room.

“Who has been tampering with the seating arrangement?!”

-

❤️ ❤️ everything taglist ❤️ ❤️

 @starlady66​ @lazyoswald​ @lotrnonsense​ @entishramblings

#elrond x reader #rings of power imagine #elrond imagine #elrond fanfiction #trop #trop fanfic #the rings of power #rop imagine #trop imagine #the rings of power imagine #elrond #rings of power #rop fanfiction #from my pocketses

[blankdblank]

Never

It never crossed your mind that Thorin would make it back to the mountain to fall so suddenly. We burn together, a broken fragment of a sentence that choked you nightly when you would jolt up out of bed hearing it again. Gold still shifted, muttered conversations carried while you worked alone. Thorin in his final act shoved his nephews free of the flames and their mournful selves laid resting to let their bruised injured selves heal from the wounds gained in a landing inside an armory. Several times over they were impaled and cut in tries to scramble away from those flames and now the Elf King had been lenient after the dragon had reduced to dust under weight of the sea of gold Thorin let free to a skilled canon fired black arrow at the dragon’s belly.

Taps, soft and deliberate of the chisel and hammer in your hand, much like those of the toe of boots and hands on hilts of weapons for the Dwarf King who knew you startled on watch. So every night he would come to sit with you. Sit and tell you the most fantastic things about all the lands he had traveled and people in kingdoms you couldn’t dream of.

They had told you once in a casual mention that there was reason as to why all the statues of Dwarves were identical. No more. Just one more gentle knock of a stubborn bump away to perfect the outline of eyelashes that framed one of the Dwarf King’s impossibly blue eyes. “Oh,” you sighed. For a moment resting your chisel wielding hand atop the fur lining of his outer jacket he loaned you many a night insisting his people were built for the cold night air.

“Stubborn fool.” Those words more for yourself than him as you’d let yourself hope even for a moment things could have ended any other way than with you again in sights of a future alone and without use in another bustling city like the one you had been all but voted out of to be prey to Wraiths in search of revenge for one of their slain kin.

Dust and the fallen clump of this fine silvery green stone, broken off from a wall you’d chosen for this task, obscuring the face you had carved urged your lungs to fill. Right out the air came to puff the dust away. But just as sudden the blink of those eyes that began to bubble blue had you wobble on the crate you stood upon and fall backwards shrieking in fright. Noise of the gold and conversations halted, and just for a moment even the injured Princes turned their heads in the off putting silence before bodies turned and all the Dwarves came racing in case of danger, heard to lift weapons lying around to not be unarmed.

“Bunnanunê,” right apart his lips split to the bleed of a fleshy tone across the cheeks and forehead you labored days on worry spread across Thorin’s face. Raven black hair came to color out of the green stone just like the shade on the fur color of his coat. “Why are you frightened?” Up into the dark his same eyes so skilled to see through it his eyes moved to scan over the hall lit poorly by open bowl lanterns you had drug here around this ruined chunk of stone you hoped to make use of after it was shorn off a wall to block a path to the treasury. “Where is the dragon?!” barely above a whisper his voice dropped in worry and his body tried to jolt forward and take hold of you, assuming that must be why you were scared. The lack of movement from his knees down however had him halt and stare open mouthed in shock to find himself being carved out of stone.

“Lass!” several of the others shouted in a muddle of voices, only until they entered the doorway and dropped their weapons to name the living statue you still were splayed back across the cold dusty rubble coated floor staring up at. “Thorin…” many uttered to the stunned, now reborn Dwarf King who came to accept a hard truth he didn’t dare to dream might be true.

The rule being you never carve a Dwarf from stone outside the specified rules of design, to prevent heartbreak, as only their destined One could bring their fallen half back to life. Just as Durin was brought back three times by his One until they both passed together of old age into the halls of Mahal.

Bofur was kind enough to hasten over alongside Ori, to get you upright as the latter explained the rule that now had you marked to be their Queen. But only after you did one thing, you had to finish carving out his legs and feet. Jokes of shrinking or adding inches came and went while Thorin spent every moment possible to adore his treasured One until he could step off of this clump of stone and scoop your still mildly trembling self into his arms and never allow himself to be parted from you again.

@lilith15000​ @theincaprincess​ @devilishminx328​ @jesevans​ and adding @deepestfirefun

#Thorin x oc #Thorin x reader #the hobbit #thorin #erebor #lotr #sculptor reader #angst and fluff

[wednesdaysky]

Counterpoint to all the "Durgetash as childhood friends" ideas (which I love): Human Gortash with a longer-lived Durge.

My Durge is an elf. I like to think of him as around ~150 years old (if this contradicts BG1/2 then oh well, Forgotten Realms contradicts itself), and he has the elven temperament to match. Calm, calculating, created to serve the purpose of his father's long-term ambitions. There to make sure the cult of Bhaal could continue to exist even after every Bhaalspawn was thought to be purged. Gardener of a seed lying dormant, waiting for new fertile blood-soaked ground.

He was still fostered in that poor corner of Baldur's Gate, but he had so many years to see it grow and change. Humans were born and died in a blink, some decades it grew more prosperous, some decades it was worn down again. Low on the list of hunting grounds, because stopping by now and again was a hobby, in between dismemberments. Other murders could come first.

There was a little café he liked for a while, a mere 25 years old, on the edge of the district. Cheap cups of coffee for the local laborers, light lunch for the more middle-class. It was a pleasant place to watch the decades pass now and again. Sitting outside a couple times a week, enjoying a drink, innocently polishing some "belt knives" of the type any upstanding gentleman might own. Some other store had been here before, something else would come after. The surrounding buildings became little shops and offices and houses and inns, fell into disrepair, were abandoned and sold and rebuilt and repolished and fell into disrepair...

One year a cobbler and his wife moved into the area, and within the tiniest little blink they seemed to be doing well, then poorly again. A surly young boy would run up and down the street doing errands for them. The shining metal of Durge's knives seemed to catch his eye more often than not. The boy proved to be bolder than expected: asking if Durge was a fighter, where he'd learned to use knives like that. Durge indulgently showed him some little tricks. How delightful to mentor a new murderer in the making. Sometimes the boy would be there again on Durge's here-and-there visits. Sometimes they would speak, nothing consequential. Durge passed down a little more knowledge each time. Carving techniques, proper grip. He watched the boy grow taller and ganglier and closer to being a young man.

One day, another blink later, the boy vanished. Perhaps he'd died, or somesuch human thing. A shame to lose a promising future assassin, but humans came and went. One more death was a cause for celebration.

Years later, the soil of Baldur's Gate was properly blood-soaked enough for that seed to bloom again. The ranks of Bhaal's faithful swelled and the Dark Urge made the necessary moves to keep his seedling alive. Attaining power and funds, blackmailing nobles, assassinating inconveniences, sewing corruption in the Flaming Fist. Having the allyship of the local vampire lord was useful, so money and artifacts changed hands. Seen often at reclusive patriar Cazador Szarr's evening charity galas was an even more anonymous elven nobleman slipping through the ballroom in his finery, the only guest in the room allowed to wear weapons at his hip.

At one such gala, Cazador invited Durge to make a useful acquaintance, an up-and-coming young arms dealer named Enver Gortash. It was hard not to notice the encroachment of Bane's cult into Bhaalist territory -- depending on loyalties, such a man could be useful to work with, or useful to kill. Cazador made his introduction and left them to it. The Dark Urge introduced himself, a vague thought in his mind that the human looked somehow familiar. This 'Enver Gortash', on the other hand, seemed stunned. But he recovered quickly, of course. The bold boy who'd played at knives with Durge in years past had become a bold adult who was pleased to introduce himself as an equal, the very Chosen of Bane. Gortash proved to be pleasantly ambitious. Humans lived and died so fast, rarely amounting to much, but this one had ideas. He seemed ready to bring so much more death into the world. It was charming.

The churches of Bhaal and Bane were hardly set to be allies, but knowing the face of one's rival was always useful, and this one seemed very worth remembering. But then Gortash seemed to have some ideas of his own -- messages came about how the pair of them might accomplish things together, how he'd love to assist Bhaal's church in retrieving some sacred relics, how they might have a mutually beneficial relationship in the future. And the rest was history...

I love the idea of Durge who is older with resources of his own, a leader of his church who brings gravitas and experience to Gortash's complex scheming and infinite ambition. A Durge who Gortash respects partly because he knows how long and patiently Durge has worked on Bhaal's behalf; because he remembers years of watching calm confidence and a knife flipped expertly in clever hands. A Durge who Gortash grasps for control over because that's his nature, while still knowing that this beast is no mad dog, any surrender is given willingly and Durge might retract his indulgence at any time -- and maybe that's part of the allure.

And then on top of that, there's the very human Gortash with Durge the elf, or a dwarf or gnome. Even if everything had gone perfectly with the Absolute, how long might it have still taken for an elven Durge to finally complete their father's plans? Snuffing out all life on Toril would never be an easy task even with the Netherbrain's power, especially considering Bane and Bhaal themselves working at cross-purposes. For a long-lived Durge, they would've been putting themselves on a very short timeline. How devastating might it have been in a world where Durge knew they wouldn't have their apocalypse within Gortash's lifetime, that they'd never get a marriage at the altar? Having to consider the idea that even if Gortash didn't get properly murdered, someday his short life would still leave Durge working toward their vision alone?

#bg3 spoilers #durge #durgetash #the dark urge #enver gortash #gortash

[youareunbearable]

I swear I wrote this down before, but I cant find it in any of my notes so here's a little fun idea! When the world gets recreated so its no longer Arda Marred, I think the Valar got together and Looked at the Finwe problem and shrugged and decided to make all of Miriel and her descendants Maiar to slove that tricky little problem of Remarriage.

Because the Feanorians are now Maiar, they aren't technically born, meaning they aren't really siblings and part of the same family so there is no real issue in separating them now is there?

Miriel is one of Vaire's weavers of course, and Feanor is one of Aule's most talented smiths, but that is understandable as he is the spirit of Hearth Fire itself. There are others within Aule's Halls, but their knowledge of each other is passing, for Celebrimbor tends to stay with the jewelry makers and Curufin likes creating hunting gear for Orome's hunt

Orome is almost never seen without his most prized hunter, Celegorm, who prefers a form that looks more wolf than Elf.

Vana, Orome's wife, herself has a pair of giggling and twittering songbirds that follow her around as she follows her husband's Hunt. They dance and sing and twirl in sync that many often just call the pair of them by a singular name, Ambarussa.

Irmo within his forest full of Song and Music has a very talented Maia that is so in tune with thr Song that they can play with it however they choose. Maglor only uses this ability to give the Elves good dreams, of course.

Este is forever thankful of her assistant Caranthir, who keeps all her medical necessities and books in order, so she is always prepared to help those in need, even if he himself doesn't have the best beside manner.

Lady Nienna’s Maia, Maedhros is a bit more of a recluse. He is charming when spoken too, but there is something distant, some type of lingering melancholy that clings to him, like a weak dawn in the deepest days of winter. He tends to hide himself away in the forests surrounding Formenos, helping those who are lost find their way back home.

Then there are Finwe and his beautiful wife Indis, their children, and many grandchildren. They are a stunning example of a happy family, and all the citizens of Tirion love having them as their royal family. Nothing is ever wrong, even when Fingolfin’s daughter Aredhel got lost during a hunt, she was lucky enough to be escorted back to her worried brothers' camp.

Fingon, who had never felt the degree of terror that flooded his veins at the thought of his sister lost in the woods, terror that was much stronger than what was called for because what could befell her in their peaceful land of Valinor?

She was being ferried on the back of a behemoth of a horse, pristine and laughing at the antics of the silver wolf-like Maia walking at her side. The horse was being led by a silent Maia, who smiled softly at the pair but made no move to include himself.

Fingon looked up at the tall Maia, and felt something in his fea shatter. He always had felt like something was missing, that he would havr an urge to go looking for someone he could never find, catch himself looking up to share an idea with someone who must have been taller than him only to look up at empty air. His bed felt so cold, but no matter how high he tended the hearth flames he knew it was because it was empty. He would look to the distant mountains and see a dawn peaking over their tops and weep as something in his fea ached.

Everything felt so overwhelming when he looked at this Maia, this being that looked cold, who wore furs and had snow dusting his shoulders even though it was a warm sunny summer day. Fingon was so lost in the sensations swirling within him that he was too slow to act before the Maia helped Aredhel off his horse, swung up himself and was out of the clearing. That wolfish Maia giving his sister a laughing twirl before bounding off into the thicket, chasing after the distant horn call.

Fingon’s knees felt weak, he found himself sinking to the forest floor. This world may be Arda Remade, but he still felt Marred.

#amber rambles #Silmarillion #maedhros #Feanorians #fingon #there was more to this that i thought i wrote down #basically the story is in Arda Remade fingon finds that he is the only one in his family that feels Off #he doesnt knkw why. no one has memories of arda marred but fingon knows he lost something precious to him in the remaking #finwe is worried for his eldest grandson. he doenst know why seeing someone he loves turn so melancholic makes him afraid #it just does. so he urges fingon to visit Lorien to soothe his Fea and heal #here he meets Caranthir and Maglor and he feels a connection to both and spends a lot of his time he #there bothering the both of them and he shares his feelings with maglor who just humms and agrees with him #that the Music within his fea is missing something.maybe someone? maybe hes supposed to go out and find them #maglor tells him to let the Music guide him and Caranthir gives him supplies and then fingon is off #he travels around Valinor by himself. where he meets the other non-Feanorians and feels pieces slot together #his most eye opening experience was meeting with the Maia Feanor and his Elf lover Nerdanel up in Formenos #she agrees with him that what hes feeling is valid as she also lost something in the Remaking #she cannot have children and this aches as she has dreams of a full house and 7 perfect sons that are no longer hers #she shows him her sculptures and as he looks he realizes he has met most of them on his journey! not elves like she has created #but Maiar who under their unnatural differneces look almost identical to these sculptures #he pauses at the last one. the unfamiliar one. Nerdanel sighs and says she feels like this one was her first born #the one she lost even before the Remaking. Fingon feels the same. this face makes him ache. #he wanders the forest that night haunted by these people. these elves he feels like he should know but doesnt. hes so in his thoughts #he doesnt realize hes lost. he calls out into the woods and hears nothing call back but his echos. a chill crawls up his spine #his breath begins to fog and there is a sound behind him and he twirls and there is rhat sculpture. his missing piece #Dont Worry. the figure of Winter and Memory says to him. I Found You #You Found Me. Fingon replies

[sotwk]

My gosh this is a very wild guess, but is Anariel the maiden in Rivendell in your WIP "The Only Gold"? [main clues I used: Anariel's birth year (fic must be set after TA 496), you mentioned that it was one of your WIP fics, she lived in Rivendell, golden/blonde hair (based on your face claim), Anariel is close to Arvellas and learned a lot from him (potentially including about the dwarves) and the she-elf in the fic knows Khuzdul

My dear friend, this was not a "wild guess", but rather some Sherlock Holmes level of investigative deduction! XD You are 100% correct! I am so impressed and flattered that you took the time to gather information and piece it together to present your proof! You must be really good at finding Easter Eggs from movie franchises.

Because of the "jumping all over the place" approach I have taken to writing out the SotWK AU of Thranduil's (and Middle-earth's) history, there are clues and Easter Eggs all over my stories about plot details that haven't been revealed yet. Mysteries like: Which Son of Fëanor is Maereth's grandfather? Who are the other First Age canons related/connected to Thranduil's family?

"The Only Gold" is my "Durins Live" fix-it fic, told mostly through the eyes of Fili and, as you have guessed, Anariel. It will run through an AU version of The Hobbit/BotFA events and explore the SotWK AU history and (broken) relationship that actually existed between Mirkwood and Erebor. All 3 Sons of Durin (Thorin, Fili and Kili) will live, but the question is how, and what role will Thranduil's family play in it?

Will Fili and Anariel fall in love and end up finally uniting the two kingdoms and races? (Grandpa Thranduil and Uncle Thorin are fighting over who gets to wring my neck first right now. *nervous laugh*) Honestly, the endgame of their relationship remains very fluid my head. (aka undecided) All I know is destiny foretold by the Elvenqueen herself will push these two beautiful blondes together.

Just a few additional notes about the lovely tidbits you picked up on regarding Anariel:

Her birth year: She is actually as close in age to her Uncle Legolas as Legolas is to his brother Mirion! But yes, Anariel was born about 500 years before the Greenwood started to darken, so she enjoyed some happy centuries of peace with her family.

Her life in Rivendell: Sadly, by the events of The Hobbit, her mother had become estranged from Thranduil, which caused Itarildë and Anariel to leave Mirkwood and reside in Rivendell for a period of time. (Aranion stayed because no one is more loyal to Thranduil than he; what a darling grandson!)

Her relation to Elrond: Anariel is a cousin by blood to Elrond. Elrond's paternal great-grandmother Elenwë is the sister of Elemírë (an OC), Anariel's paternal great-great-grandmother. Thus in the story, Elrond refers to her his "kin".

Her closeness to Arvellas and knowledge of the Dwarven culture: By the Third Age, no other Elf in Middle-earth could surpass Prince Arvellas in his knowledge of the Dwarves. For many centuries, he taught his dear niece nearly everything he knew about the Dwarven race, including Khuzdul. Arvellas foresaw he was not destined to live forever on Middle-earth, so he sought to pass on his knowledge to a worthy successor.

Her golden hair: The beauty of Anariel's golden hair is one to rival Galadriel's, due to her strong Vanyarin inheritance. (I mean, her name is "Daughter of the Sun"!) In the SotWK AU, Glorfindel is 3/4 Vanya, and he married the sister of Elenwë (wife of Turgon), who is full Vanya. I made some rough calculations which reveals Itarildë as 22% Vanya, higher than any canon elf left in Middle-earth in the Third Age, save for Glorfindel himself (if you accept my HC that he's part Vanya). So yes, that's why the Dwarves were stunned and mesmerized by the golden hair of Anariel; it likely carries some "magic" in it. I have a self-indulgent HC that Gloin and Gimli would have had heated debates over whose hair was more beautiful--Galadriel's or Anariel's.

Anyway, apologies for my rambling Anon (and everyone who made it this far)! I have a thousand SotWK headcanons in my head that need to be unloaded sometimes to release the pressure. XD.

Anon, I would really love to give you a prize (as I promised) from the Tumblr Mart, any badge of your choice... but if you're not comfortable revealing yourself, I completely understand. Another option would be sending me another Ask and letting me know of a writer/artist whom you want to support, and I will buy them some KoFi on your behalf. Please let me know! :) Thank you again for participating in my little Guessing Game, and for your wonderful support!

Tagging those have historically been interested: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @achromaticerebus @auttumnsayshi @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @heranintomyknife23times @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @lilidurin @beekieboo @albionscastle @jezzibee @g-m-kaye

Interested in more SotWK AU content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

#sotwk answers #sotwk easter eggs #fili #fili x oc #fili fanfiction #thorin #thranduil #thranduil headcanon #thranduilion #anariel #the hobbit #sotwk headcanon