devil may cry, cookie run kingdom, Wally darling, technoblade, Yugioh, Yuurivoice, Transformers,Tmnt- teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Music,Drama,My family/friends, Harry potter,Food
}things I don't like{
Bullies
Peppers and brussel sprouts and mushrooms
Fighting
Choose between people
And all the bad things in life
What my page is 💙
My page doesn't have to be just yuurivoice I can write different things to. My page is basically a free place to ask for anything you would want me to write.
(I can draw and it is now open for requests)
}what I will write{
Lime
Smut
Lemon
Fluff
Angst
And spicy
}what I will not write{
Torture
Bimbo/himbo
yandere
kidnapping
drug use
Abuse
Some things about me💙
I have a family, I love to eat Chinese food and I also have a favoritism to Tacos, spaghetti and lasagna. I am half German and also have Canadian as well as English and Native I'm a mix.
I love it when it starts to rain because rain is the calmest weather, I always love it.
I always wanted to be an animator on YouTube when I got older and hopefully soon I can make that dream come a reality.
My favorite beverage is Peace Tea sno berry flavor.
I do not like horror movies, but I do love action movies.
The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 12 [Legolas/Reader]
A.N: Here is another chapter....that was fast for me lol.
Request: none
Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader
Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.
Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.
Word Count: 4.6k
Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, injuries, gore, nudity, discussion of sex, vague discussion of the definition of rape, creepy men get what's coming to them, protective Legolas
MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD | The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist | HERE for OC format
The hall of Edoras had long since dissolved into noise and firelight—a celebration for the win at Helms Deep and a feast for the lives of those lost. Long tables stretched out upon the room filled with carefree relief. Laughter sang from every corner, mingling with the clash of tankards and the rough chorus of drunken Rohirrim songs. The air smelled of smoke, ale, sweat, and roasted meat. It was a time of content, where they could all breathe and forget the horrors of war—even if it was just for a moment.
At one of the tables sat what remained of the fellowship, along Éowyn and Éomer, enjoying the festivities.
(Y/N) sat beside Legolas with her posture half-slouched against him in a way that he was beginning to understand meant she had consumed far too much mead. Apparently, the Rámaite Mahtar (winged warriors) did not have the alcohol tolerance of the elves.
One wing rested loosely behind Legolas’s back, occasionally twitching whenever the hall erupted too loudly. The other hung on the opposite side. Her cheeks were faintly flushed from the ale, and her hair had loosened from its braid. She was several cups beyond sober and looking entirely too pleased about it.
Legolas had already removed three drinks from her hands.
She had somehow acquired a fourth—likely from Gimli, much to Legolas’s dismay.
Down the long table where the group was seated, a handful of Rohirrim soldiers spoke in hushed tones. Unfortunately for them, Legolas’s keen elven hearing caught every word—not that they knew.
“…I’m telling you,” one of them, with deep auburn hair, whispered as he nudged his companion. “There is no way that that elf is just guarding her out of duty.”
“I mean, think about it,” another man, with dark eyes, said. “If I had a woman like that sitting beside me, I would not be sharing a single breath of air with the rest of you.”
“That elf already does not share air with the rest of us,” a third pointed out. “He glares at anyone who gets within three paces of her.”
The Rohan soldiers let their eyes drift back to Legolas and (Y/N).
The man with auburn hair spoke again, muttering into his cup. “I am simply saying…if they are not sharing a bed already, then the elf has the restraint of Eru himself.”
A snort nearly escaped the dark-eyed man. “No man looks that possessive over a woman he hasn’t fucked.”
“That is exactly my point.”
Across the table and a little ways up, Legolas sat beside (Y/N) in rigid silence, very clearly pretending not to hear a single word. Which would have been more convincing had the tips of his ears not gone noticeably pink. (Y/N), meanwhile, was drunk enough to be entirely unbothered by the world around her.
The third soldier leaned closer. “So you think they’ve—”
“Yes,” the first man interrupted immediately. “Without question.”
A pause.
“…go on then,” the other pressed, lowering his voice. “If you’re so certain, describe it properly. In detail.”
“You are asking me,” he replied carefully, “to narrate what the elf bedding his woman looks like…in detail? Absolutely not. I am not speaking those thoughts–not in detail, not in an outline, not even in a metaphor. I prefer to keep my tongue where it is.”
“Oh come on,” he insisted, wiggling his eyebrows.
“You did not see him at Isengard. He threatened to decorate the tower with Saruman’s entrails just for the few comments the wizard made.”
The dark-eyed soldier snorted, “I pity the man who tries tonight.”
The third Rohirim sighed dramatically. “Still. Lucky bastard.”
That finally earned a reaction. Legolas’s eyes lifted slowly from his drink and rested on the group of men.
The entire cluster of Rohirrim immediately straightened like boys caught stealing from the royal kitchens. The elf had heard them.
“What,” Legolas asked from his place at the table with a terrifyingly calm tone, “exactly makes me fortunate?”
Silence. Absolute silence from the soldiers. Yet, confused glances and eyebrow raises from Aragorn, Gimli, Éomer, and Éowyn, for they had not heard the conversation unfold between the men.
Then, one of them actually answered. “My lord, respectfully…” He gestured vaguely toward (Y/N), currently half-asleep against Legolas’s shoulder with her one wing draped lazily behind him. “Look at her.”
And, because drunken men clearly lack survival instincts, another tacked onto his friend’s sentence. “I mean, you survive Helm’s Deep, get carried through it by legends, and walk away with that sitting beside you like she belongs there. It’s not fair.”
Aragorn slowly pressed his fingers against his temple, already tired and wary of where this was going.
Gimli, on the other hand, looked delighted. “Fair?” the dwarf echoed. “Life is not fair. The elf just learned it comes with rewards.”
Legolas stared at the soldiers. Then slowly looked down at (Y/N). For a long moment, he said nothing at all. Then, almost idly, he reached up and adjusted the edge of her wing where it was flush against him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Fortune implies chance,” he said. He paused, gently cupping (Y/N)’s jaw in his hand and guiding her to look up at him, his thumb brushing gently across her flushed lips—likely more to make his point than out of necessity. That possessive elven streak taking hold. “This was not chance.” Legolas finally looked back at the soldiers. “You may call it fortunate,” he added evenly, “if it helps you sleep.” He let (Y/N)’s face fall from his careful grasp. Then, with absolute finality, he finished his words: “I do not.”
Across the table, Aragorn exhaled slowly, recognizing the tone well enough to know the conversation was over—without Legolas enforcing his point with action.
As the discussion disbanded with unease, (Y/N) blinked up at him, a frown crossing her face—clearly too drunk to understand the meaning behind the events and conversation that just transpired.
Unfortunately, this was not the only incident as the night dragged on—each passing moment seemed to invite yet another lapse in judgment of Rohirrim men, as if the evening itself had grown determined to test Legolas’s patience.
Behind Legolas and (Y/N), a young Rohirrim soldier stared at the woman openly.
Not subtle. Not even remotely.
He stood with his back against the wall with his friends surrounding him. His eyes were fixated on (Y/N) like poisoned sap to a tree. The pint of ale within his grasp was sloshing slightly.
Young. Drunk. Overconfident—A fatal combination.
Aragorn watched him from his place across from the elf and Rámaite Mahtar. He was well aware of what a man with desires looked like and that….well, that was one of them. The Ranger knew that Legolas was cognizant of him too, for the elf’s jaw was tight and his form stiff. He had been tracking the man, with every one of his senses, with the same focus he usually reserved for battlefield targets—despite his back being to him.
The Rohan man’s companions only seemed to be encouraging the soldier, for they elbowed him and muttered support and reassurance between suppressed laughter.
Legolas’s ear twitched, catching the words they echoed.
To most, the elf appeared calm, but Aragorn knew better.
It wasn't long before the soldier, bolstered by entirely too much ale and the misplaced confidence of a man not fearing for his life nearly enough, approached them and leaned on the table beside (Y/N)—the opposite side of where Legolas was beside her.
“So…” he began, grinning crookedly at (Y/N). “Has anyone told you that you are the most beautiful woman in this hall, my lady?”
Legolas’s grip on his cup tightened. The nearby Rohirrim who had previously made their comments immediately went silent—their gaze fastened to the situation that was about to unfold as if it was a saddle to a horse.
Across the table, Aragorn physically closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for just a moment. This was not going to go well.
Gimli, on the other hand, grinned into his drink.
(Y/N), with a frown, blinked slowly at the man—not sure of how to respond.
The man continued, his grin and tone growing bolder. “I saw many of my comrades staring at you, and I couldn't allow them to approach you first. But can you blame them? Beautiful women are rare enough after war.” His gaze flicked briefly toward her wings. “Beautiful winged women, even more so.” His eyes then drifted to her shoulder and the sleeve that had long since slipped from its place, exposing the smallest bit of cleavage.
The air beside her began to heat in rage.
Legolas lifted his cup and took a rather large sip. He did not even turn to look at the man. “You are staring,” he said calmly, “rather disrespectfully.”
The soldier, somehow still determined to march willingly toward his own funeral, laughed. “No offense meant, elf. I was only admiring her.”
Legolas’s gaze shifted toward him.
“And I am deciding,” he replied calmly, “how much admiration I am willing to tolerate before I remove your teeth from your mouth.”
A choking sound escaped Aragorn somewhere into his cup of ale, and Gimli outright barked out a gleeful laugh. Éomer only raised his brows, and Éowyn covered her mouth with wide, shocked eyes.
Meanwhile, the Rohirrim soldier’s smile faded slightly as he attempted to recover, now realizing that he was walking on tricky ground. “Sir elf, truly, I only wished to say your female comrade is—”
“She is not my comrade.” The correction came far too quickly.
A low chuckle rumbled from Éomer as he lifted his drink. “Bold man,” he mused dryly, “trying to court an elf’s wife.”
Hearing this, what remained of the man’s grin dropped instantly.
Legolas did not correct Éomer; instead, he stood up from his place upon the bench and turned fully towards the soldier. He did not move with haste or anger. If anything, the calmness of his actions made the moment worse. Light flickered across the sharp curves of his face and the long strands of his blonde hair as he stepped toward the man with controlled precision, each movement measured.
The soldier swallowed hard.
From across the table, Aragorn exhaled hot air through his nose. This was escalating—exactly as he expected.
Legolas stopped directly before the Rohirrim, leaving only about two feet of space. Close enough to intimidate.
“You have spent the better part of this evening staring at her,” the elf said evenly.
The man opened his mouth, likely to deny it, but Legolas continued before he could speak.
“You approached her.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And then you spoke to her as though she were eager for the attention of drunken men. She is not.”
The soldier visibly paled. “My lord elf, I meant only respect—”
“No,” Legolas interrupted. “You meant desire.” The bluntness of the statement struck the table like stone falling upon rock.
Even the nearby Rohirrim had stopped pretending not to listen now—their mouths gaping and eyes wide, anticipation of how this was to unfold burning brightly in their gazes.
Legolas’s expression remained perfectly composed, but beneath that composure simmered something sharp enough to draw blood. “You looked upon her as though you were entitled to her attention merely because you survived a battle.” His gaze swept once over the man. “You are not.”
Behind Legolas, Gimli looked moments from collapsing with delight while Éomer drank openly through a grin.
“And yet,” Legolas continued, his voice steady, “You persisted.”
The soldier straightened nervously. “I did not realize—”
“That much is obvious.”
A painful silence followed.
Then, Legolas leaned slightly closer. The soldier could feel the elf’s hot breath against his face—almost as if Legolas was daring him to try. “She is under my protection,” he stated quietly. “And if you approach her again with intentions so transparent, you will discover precisely how little patience I possess tonight.”
The soldier nodded immediately. “Yes, my lord.”
Only then did Legolas step back.
The Rohirrim man retreated almost instantly into the crowd, eager to escape with his dignity still partially intact—if you could even call it that.
A low chuckle escaped Éomer as he watched the man flee. “Gods,” he muttered into his drink, “you court like a territorial wolf.”
Legolas ignored him completely and resumed his seat beside (Y/N).
Gimli snorted into his ale. “Careful, horse-lord. That sounds like poetry coming on. I don’t have enough ale in me to tolerate that.”
Éomer only grinned.
Across the table, Aragorn gave him a tired, warning look—practically begging him not to test the elf.
Éomer shrugged, entirely unbothered by Aragorn’s subtle gesture. “Wolf is wrong anyway,” Éomer said lightly, eyes still on Legolas. “Too crude.” Amused, he spoke again with a faint shake of his head. “I have been watching this elf for an hour. Dignity left the moment that girl leaned against him, and he forgot how to sit like a man instead of a drawn bowstring.”
Gimli released a deep laugh immediately.
Aragorn exhaled through his nose—half resignation, half amusement.
Éomer leaned back, thoroughly entertained now.
“And yet,” he added, grin widening as he took a sip, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so carefully lose their composure in my life.” His eyes flicked once more to Legolas. “It’s impressive.”
Legolas only glared at him.
Beside him, Gimli, openly enjoying himself, spoke. “I like this game we have played tonight,” the dwarf muttered. “We should name it: Guess When the Elf Snaps.”
The blonde elf’s sharp look transferred to his dwarven friend, his blood boiling.
Gimli only laughed, raising his cup, calling for another pint. “Ay! Get me another!”
At this (Y/N) blinked, the sleepiness drifting a bit from her demeanor. A lazy grin stretched across her face. “Me as well!”
Legolas looked at her with a frown, “(Y/N), you are drunk. You do not need another pint.”
Her brows furrowed as she looked at her empty tankard. “But it is empty. That means I need another.”
Once again, Gimli’s roaring blitheness echoed upon the hall. “Ay! She needs another pint, lad!”
Much to Legolas’s disapproval, a barmaid came to their table with multiple pints, placing one in front of (Y/N).
It was at that moment that large, hairy feet thundered down the top of the table….yes, the top of the table. Merry and Pippin stood upon the wood and began a lively tavern song.
“Hey! Ho! To the bottle I go.
To heal my heart and drown my woe!”
(Y/N) grinned up at them, clearly excited and enthralled by the chaotic cheer.
“Rain may fall and wind may blow,
But there still be many miles to go.”
It was at that moment that Pippin saw her dazzling eyes and released a gleeful cheer. He extended his hand to her and was quick to accept it. He and Merry yanked her up onto the table, looping their arms with hers. She tucked her wings back into her form. With that, the three’s arms were locked as they swung around and around, the song continuing—(Y/N) going right along with them.
“Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain,
And the stream that falls from hill to plain.”
Merry’s foot swung slightly, accidentally kicking the bowl of half-eaten peanuts. They, unfortunately, went sprawling across the table—some even clattered against Legolas's chest.
The elf sighed, but opted not to ruin their fun.
“Better than rain or rippling brook...
Is a mug of beer inside this Took!”
With that, Merry and Pippin took to chugging their drinks, prompting the Rámaite Mahtar (winged warrior) to bend down and grab hers. With that, she too tilted the tankard back and downed the whole thing.
Only moments later, a second song started, and the three continued their dancing, hoots and cheers following. That is how the next hour passed, drink after drink, and dance after dance.
It only came to an end when (Y/N) lost her footing. Her perception distorted and twirled as her body fell forward, right into the arms of her lover—who luckily had noticed her body begin to tip and stood upright to catch her.
The smell of pine and honey filled her nostrils as her dizzy gaze finally settled onto Legolas’s face. “Legolas!” she started with a breathy giggle. “Will you join us?”
“I am afraid not, my starlight,” he replied gently. “I fear it may be time for you to retire.”
“Retire?” she questioned, not fully understanding.
“To sleep,” he clarified.
(Y/N) frowned, “But I want to dance again!”
“There will be more occasions for dancing, my starlight. I fear that if I do not get you to rest, you will wake up with a rather regrettable headache.”
“What is this h-headache you speak of?” she asked, her words slurring.
The elf sighed, "Unfortunately, I believe you will find out in the morrow.” With that, he placed her down, careful to steady her on her own two feet.
He then began to guide her from the hall. As the large, wooden doors closed behind them, a silence—almost eerie—settled, for the distant spill of music and laughter behind the doors was now quieted and muffled. The temperature of the air itself appeared to have dropped, for some of the windows were open and cool night air drifted in. Now that they were no longer side-by-side with drunken soldiers, the chaos faded.
(Y/N) took a deep breath in, her form drifting toward one of the windows. “It smells like…flowers. You know, the little purple ones we saw with Frodo.” She sighed, her tone somber. “I miss Frodo. And Sam.” Her gaze settled onto the elf beside her. “Do you think they are alright?” she whispered anxiously.
The elf exhaled slowly, not wanting to let his mind drift to such dark corners tonight. “I hope so, but I fear I cannot give you an answer.”
She sighed softly. She allowed her forearms to rest upon the stone of the windowsill, and her eyes settled on the night sky. After a long couple of moments, she spoke again. “This world is pretty.”
Legolas, standing beside her, smiled softly. “That it is.”
“When I was with him….with Morgoth and his servants, there was no such thing as ‘pretty.’”
Legolas glanced at her, but her attention was focused out far, as if her mind was away with the painful memories.
“Sometimes, when I think about it, it feels like…” (Y/N) paused. “Those—those images when you sleep?”
“Dreams,” he provided.
“Yes, dreams.”
Legolas turned to face her, gently stroking her cheek. “You do not ever have to return there. You can stay here.”
She looked up at him, her eyes dewy and soft. “In this pretty world?”
The concern of his lip twitched into a soft grin at her intoxicated words. “Yes, in this pretty world.”
Abruptly, a light, airy giggle left her lips—sounding like tower bells ringing in celebration. “Y-you,” she began drunkenly, “You are also pretty.”
A soft chuckle left his mouth. “You are intoxicated. Let’s get you to sleep.”
She only hummed in reply as Legolas began leading her to one of the designated rooms, lined with beds, for the guests and soldiers.
Swaying and being supported by Legolas’s arm wrapped around her waist, she spoke with a frown. “We are not going to the room I stayed in last time? Éowyn will not like that.”
Legolas raised his brow in question.
“Apparently,” she began, “women cannot share rooms with men in this town unless they are….Ah, what–what is that word? Wed! Yes, Éowyn said, unless they a-are wed.”
The elf only sighed, “I fear I do not feel comfortable leaving you in an unguarded room tonight.”
“Explain?” she inquired simply.
Legolas sucked in a deep breath, feeling unsure how to proceed with these details. She held the right to know of the violations that could come upon women by dishonorable men. “Well,” he began with uncertainty. He knew he would have to be blunt and direct, given her understanding of this world. “There are some people in this world who will intentionally harm women to settle their own desires. Some of them will try to force sex upon a woman without her consent.”
Her brows furrowed. “I do not want sex with men that are not you.”
“I know this, (Y/N), which is why I would not want to put you in a position where you are unsafe.”
“I would just kill them if they tried,” she quipped back. With that, (Y/N) stumbled over her own feet, her balance giving way beneath her from the effects of the mead. Legolas guided her upright with practiced ease, as though he had been expecting it all along—and he had.
The Prince raised his brows. “Unfortunately, I fear you are too drunk to be able to kill someone with ease.”
She snorted. “I can.”
Legolas, not wishing to even try to win this argument, did not push back. “Regardless, with the amount of eyes that were on you this evening, I would prefer you to be with me.”
She only shrugged in reply.
What Legolas did not tell her was that he had deliberately chosen not to remain in her room with her. Valar forbid, should some drunken man mistake the locked door to (Y/N)’s room for an invitation, Legolas suspected that, without Aragorn or Gimli nearby to restrain him, the encounter would end with a body.
It was not long before they arrived at the designated chamber. Some spots were already filled with snoring men, the alcohol lying claim to their night.
Legolas was quick to lay out a bedroll along the wall before settling himself against the wooden panels. (Y/N) lowered herself onto the mat beside him, resting her head in his lap. The Prince began gently stroking his fingers up and down her back in a soft rhythmic movement, and it was not long before (Y/N) was fast asleep.
As the night stretched on, drunken men of Rohan began to filter in. They were quick to select a bedroll and sleep, weary from the battle and ale.
Aragorn came in, his eyes landed on (Y/N) and Legolas. He knew the reasoning behind this. He did not have to inquire. The uncrowned king approached them and laid a mat down near them, finding comfort in the companions that he had known and traveled with for so long.
The door creaked open once more, and this time it was Gandalf who stepped through.
The sound echoed briefly through the quiet chamber before the door opened once more. Two Rohirrim soldiers entered, struggling under the weight of a dwarf they knew all too well. Gimli was thoroughly unconscious, snoring loudly enough to shake the rafters.
Not long after came Merry and Pippin, their faces flushed with drink and mischief as they stumbled into the chambers rather ungracefully.
Legolas took note of each person who entered the chamber. His watchful gaze remained calm until the Rohirrim soldier, who had approached (Y/N) earlier, stumbled through the doorway—still far too drunk for his own good.
Immediately, the elf’s expression hardened into something far less welcoming.
The soldier noticed.
The Rohirrim man’s eyes flicked first to (Y/N), sound asleep with her head resting in Legolas’s lap, then to the elf himself. The murderous glare waiting for him left little room for misunderstanding. Whatever courage the man had possessed earlier in the evening was not present now. Without a word, he moved to the farthest corner of the room, laid out his bedroll, and promptly turned his back to them before curling up for the night.
It wasn't long before Legolas too allowed his eyes to close softly, letting himself get some rest.
That quiet rest hung in the room for hours. Until a rather vast disruption—full of fear and doom.
Many gazes were snapped open as Pippin’s gurgling shrieks echoed upon the walls. His hands were wrapped around the plantir, and his entire body shook and writhed. Aragorn was quick to grab the sphere from his grasp, which only sent the Ranger into a similar state. (Y/N) was the next to do so—snatching it in an attempt to aid him.
Immediately, she too entered a trance-like state.
The voice of Sauron crept into the corners of her mind. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N),” he hissed. “Now what are you doing here—out from the Hollow of Chains and the Iron Pits of Wings?”
A deep, flaming darkness swallowed her. It encased her and seeped deep into her core. Flashes of memories struck her mind. Memories filled with the smell of iron, the taste of blood, and the sound of her and her kins’ screams.
It felt like she was there again, back in the clutches of Morgoth. Broken, beaten, bloody.
She could feel the pressure of the chains that had dug into her wrists and ankles for thousands of years. She could feel the slices of blades and whips that had broken her skin. She could feel the deep fear that had encased her heart.
Then came laughter—cold, cruel, and familiar.
The image of Sauron emerged from the corners of her mind, clad in armor and flames—an image of a man she had known before, yet she had not had a name attached to it. Not until now.
“You escaped,” he mused, circling her slowly. “A remarkable feat. Morgoth himself would have found amusement in that. He probably has.” He paused. “To think that he and I spent centuries breaking your kind and yet, here you are.”
His form moved closer to her, and the image shifted again. Helms Deep. Legolas. Rohan. The Hobbits. Lothlorien. Aragorn. Gandalf. Boromir. Gimli……Again, Legolas.
Sauron’s face appeared once more, contorting with amusement. “Ah. The elf. The prince who guards you as though he can shield you from what is coming. He cannot.”
The vision twisted, showing Legolas. Legolas beaten. Legolas bloody. Legolas’s body broken and bruised. Legolas tortured. Legolas dead.
(Y/N) tried to scream and run towards him, but she was locked in those chains, and her voice was stolen. She could feel hot tears and snot running down her face, and she pulled and pulled against the iron.
“Oh, a weakness!” Sauron’s voice slithered. “We had not thought that your kind had had any at all—even with all our experimentation. If only we had known it would take merely an elf.”
The vision shifted again—Legolas hung chained from the ceiling, shirtless and covered in wounds. Sauron appeared before him with unnerving calm, and without haste drew a blade across his chest. A raw cry of pain escaped Legolas as it cut through his skin.
With that, those iron chains that held (Y/N) shattered, and she lunged forward.
“There she is—our most brutal little warrior.”
Then back in darkness she was. Spinning around, looking for him—desperately, angrily, fearfully.
"The creature Morgoth could never quite extinguish,” Sauron’s voice echoed without form. “Perhaps, I should return you to him?”
It was then that the illusion faded, for a light burst through the darkness and the vision cracked like glass.
She was back—back in Rohan, back in the sleeping chambers, back with her friends.
“(Y/N)!” Legolas called out.
She looked down at the glass ball that had rolled upon the floor, away from her.
Gandalf was quick to cover it.
She could feel the elf’s arms upon her, pulling her close to him, but her eyes were focused on Pippin.
Gandalf’s furious voice echoed through the room. “Fool of a Took!”
He rushed to the catatonic hobbit’s side and pressed a hand against his forehead. Murmuring words under his breath—likely some form of magic. Pippin jolted awake with a gasp.
The wizard immediately began questioning him with urgent intensity, receiving in return a breathless, desperate account of what he had seen.
Legolas turned (Y/N) to face him, her form flushed against his own. He grasped her face between his palms. “Are you alright, my starlight?”
She only nodded, her hands resting flat upon his chest—where the wound in the vision had been.
….
Taglist in the comments because there are too many of you (said with much love) <3
Legolas : I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.
Thranduil : It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Y/n isn’t
-----------------
Legolas : Thranduil , what do IDK, LY, and TTYL mean?
Thranduil : I don’t know, love you, talk to you later
Legolas : Ok, I love you too, I’ll just ask Y/n.
------------------
Legolas : Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night.
Thranduil : You were flirting with Y/n.
Legolas : So what? They're my partner.
Thranduil : You asked them if they were single.
Legolas :
Thranduil : And then you cried when they said they weren't.
----------------
Legolas : Who thinks I can fit 15 marshmallows in my mouth?
Thranduil : You’re a hazard to society
Y/n: And a coward. DO TWENTY.
----------------
Legolas : Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.
Y/n: Oh, you’ve been?
Legolas : Once. In Monopoly.
----------------
Thranduil , in a beach shirt: So sue me, it's October and I'd likY/ne to be on Island Time for a day!
Y/n: I have Spotify open right now on my computer, do you want me to blast you? Do you want me to put you on blast? Cuz I've got your history right here on the sidebar,
Y/n: Take it Back by Jimmy Buffet, Nautical Wheelers by Jimmy Buffet, Jolly Mon Sing by Jimmy Buffet, Steamer by Jimmy Buffet, trEAT HER LIKE A LADY BY JIMMY BUFFET, MAÑANA BY JIMMY BUFFET, WHEN SALOME PLAYS THE DRUMS BY JAMES BUFFET, HAVANA DAYDREAMIN BY JIMMY BUFFET- What the FUCK happened to you?!
Thranduil , laughing: I HAD A CASE OF THE MONDAYS
Y/n: ARE YOU HAUNTED?! ARE YOU FUCKING POSSESSED?!
Okay fascinating clue that I found out by watching Jumanji 2 welcome to the jungle and also watching the first Jumanji I just realized in the second movie welcome to the jungle of Jumanji that one everyone yells out Jumanji to finish the game and to be free once the camera pans out it shows like the structure of it and it got me realized that the way the mountains and the Jaguar is, is the exact same shape as the board game so like in the first movie they show the board game where all these like curves snake like things are the tiles that you go on so you can move on to the game, and if you look when the panel of the camera is coming back and shows the jewel shine to lift the curse it's the exact same design and board game... Another fun fact when they are in the scene to return the jewel to the Jaguar if you would look at the statues you would see those were the game pieces from the old Jumanji and turns out if Google the lore of Jumanji apparently the game is a supernatural entity that is supposed to bring people together by bringing out their worst fears so they would have to work together so they can finish the game but what I don't understand is why would you throw it away we get that it's dangerous because you experienced hardships with it but wouldn't it make sense to keep it with you in order to keep other people from playing because it's just going to end up somewhere else like put it in a safe or like keep it somewhere where nobody else would touch it I know it's just me mumbling nonsense but still especially since it's been confirmed that Jumanji 3 is coming out next year on December 11th 2026
For those who don't know where the skit is from it's from this
Harlequin: Where's the buttons?
Pierrot: No, no they've installed voice recognition technology in this lift. I heard about ‘t.
Harlequin: Voice recognition technology? In a lift? In Germany? Ever tried voice recognition technology?
Pierrot: Naw
Harlequin: They don't do - German accents
Pierrot: Eleven
Elevator: Could you please repeat that?
Harlequin: Eleven
Pierrot: Eleven...Eleven
Harlequin: Eleven
Elevator: Could you please repeat that?
Pierrot: E-le-ven
Harlequin: Whose idea was this? You need to try an American accent. Eleven…Eleven.
Pierrot: That sounds Irish, no’ American
Harlequin: No, doesnae. Eleven.
Pierrot: Where in America's tha', Dublin?
Elevator: I'm sorry. Could you please repeat that?
Pierrot: Try an English accent, right…Eleven…Eleven
Harlequin: You fae the same part o' England as Dick Van Dyke!
Pierrot: Let's hear yours then, smar’ arse.
Elevator: Please speak slowly and clearly
Harlequin: Smart arse
Harlequin: E-le-ven.
Elevator: I'm sorry. Could you please repeat that?
Harlequin: Eleven. If you don't underston the lingo, away back hame yer ain country.
Pierrot: Oh, s'tha talk nae is it? "Away back tae yer ain country"?
Harlequin: Oh, don't start Mr Bleeding Heart – how can ye be racist tae a lift?
Elevator: Please speak slowly and clearly.
Pierrot: Eleven…Eleven…Eleven…Eleven
Harlequin: Ye'r jus' sayin' it the same way
Pierrot: I'm gonnae keep sayin' it until it understons Sco'ish, a' right?
Pierrot: Eleven…Eleven…Eleven…Eleven
Harlequin: Oh, just take us anywhere, ye cow. Just open the doors.
Elevator: This is a voice-activated elevator. Please state which floor you would like to go to in a clear and calm manner.
Harlequin: Calm? Calm? Where's tha’ comin' fae? Why's it tellin' people ‘e be calm?
Pierrot: Because they knew they'd be sellin' this tae Sco'ish people who'd be goin' aff their nuts at it.
Elevator: You have not selected a floor.
Pierrot: Aye, we hav - ELEVEN!
Elevator: If you would like to get out of the elevator without selecting a floor, simply say "Open the doors please"
Harlequin: Please? Please? Suck ma wullie.
Pierrot: Maybe we should have said please.
Harlequin: I'm no begging that fer nothin'.
Pierrot: Open the doors please.
Harlequin: Please..pathetic.
Elevator: Please remain calm.
Pierrot: Oh fu……wud ye let me up tae that..*climb up Harlequin shoulders*… get me up there…right, jus wait fer it tae speak…
Elevator: You have not selected a floor.
Pierrot: Up yours, ye cow! You don't let us out these doors, I'm gonnae come tae America, I'm gonnae find whatever desperate actress gave yer voice, and I'm gonnae go tae the electric chair fer ye.
Harlequin: the freak circus, ye bastards.
pierrot: CIRCUS!
Harlequin: CIRCUS!
Pierrot : CIRCUS!
Harlequin: FREEDOM!
Pierrot: FREEDOM!
Harlequin: FREEDOM!
*Doors open and y/n, Jester, ticket master, and the doctor stands watching*
Y/n: and then he slipped and hit his head on the ice but he was knocked out for at least 8 hours
Ticket taker: lol
Y/n :*looks at ticket taker with a =_=*
*Harlequin running toward y/n*
Harlequin: nononononononon
Y/n: hay harle
*punches y/n in the stomach*
Y/n: oww
Everyone: 0_0
Harlequin: ahh
Y/n: WHAT THE F***
Harlequin: you are one of my very best friends and I cannot stand by and watch you throw away your life like this you're too young you're too beautiful
Y/n: what the f*** are you talking about
Harlequin: I'm talking about the baby that growing inside of your belly right now
Pierrot: *widen eyes* see ya
*pierrot leaves*
Y/n: IM NOT PREGNANT
Harlequin: not after that punch or not I was taking moei Thai classes
Y/n: I was never pregnant Harle
Harlequin: are..... are you sure
Y/n: yes I'm f****** sure
Jester: I'm sorry but why the F*** is everybody yelling over here
Harlequin: oh I found this positive pregnancy test
