Looking for a special tea? Send a letter to the teashop with your cravings. Maybe I can serve something to suit your taste.
Requests are always open for:
Headcanons - Alphabets - Reactions - Memes - Moodboards - GIF + Textpost Sets
Fic Requests: CLOSED
These requests take a lot longer, due to my writing process and academic studies. You may need a bit of patience!
⟡ English is neither my native language nor the one I primarily use. I apologize for any mistakes that may occur.
⟡ You are responsible for your own media consumption. Please be mindful of the warnings.
⟡ This should go without saying, but I don't use AI and don’t consent to my work being used to train AI or otherwise distributed.
⟡ All comments, reblogs and hearts are greatly appreciated! People like you give me the motivation to share my silly little scribbles! May your tea always be delicious <3
I'm currently writing for [Rings of Power ⟡ Wake Up Dead Man] but I'm an observer and lurker in various fandoms and always open to suggestions.
mature content (18+) is marked with ❥
⟡ Longing for Lilith ⟡
Jud Duplenticy x f!Reader
[Part I ❥ - Part II - Part III ❥]
A moment of weakness and God's sense of humor leads Jud to mistakenly assume he is talking to a phone sex operator named Lilith when he calls you, an unsuspecting artist.
⋆˙⟡ bonus content ⟡˙⋆
Fanart by my lovely moot @bananadineapple
⟡ The Haunting ⟡
Jud Duplenticy x Reader
[coming soon]
⋆˙⟡ bonus content ⟡˙⋆
Teaser and Moodboard
⟡ The High King’s Shadow ⟡
Gil-Galad x f!Guard! Reader
Part I - Part II - Part III ❥
You swore to serve High King Gil-Galad as his personal guard, becoming the shadow that protects his light. But after nearly losing you, he begins to challenge the path your roles dictate.
⋆˙⟡ bonus content ⟡˙⋆
Drabbles - brief insights into their dynamic
GIF+Textposts - humorous insights into their romantic dynamic
⟡ TROP Tropes Series ⟡
TROP Elves x Reader
[Galadriel - Elrond - Arondir - Gil-Galad - Celebrimbor - Annatar - Adar]
Ever wondered how well our favorite elves from Rings of Power would do at fake dating or as enemies to lovers? This series brings popular tropes from pop culture into Middle-earth.
Fake Dating ⟡ Reverse Tropes ⟡ Forced Proximity
⟡ Bridgerton AU ⟡
Dearest Gentle Reader - Lady Whisledown gossip about the elves and moodboards
Bridgerton x trop elves friendships
⟡ Memes and More ⟡
elves alignment charts
trop as Derry Girls memes
Celebrimbor making the 9 meme
My ⤷ masterlist ˎˊ˗ has undergone a little makeover, as you may have seen.
I’m temporarily closing my fic requests so I can finish up the ones that have been fermenting in my wip folder. But! My non-fic requests are open as always.
Requests are always open for:
Headcanons - Alphabets - Reactions - Memes - Moodboards - GIF + Textpost Sets
Fic Requests: CLOSED
So you can keep sending letters to the teashop with your orders if you’re feeling thirsty, my dears!
Taggame - that answers the question of why my favorite elf is my favorite elf
Tagged by my new moot @dancerinthestorm ^^
⟢ Favorite color
I can never make up my mind, and it's always changing. Right now it's this soft green color of the divider.
⟢ Last song
RAYE's new album is playing on repeat at my place, especially Joy. and Nightingale Lane <3
⟢ Currently reading
The Vegetarian by Han Kang. This book is definitely not my usual pick as far as horror elements and the physicality of the prose go, but I can’t put it down. It haunts and captivates me, but I don’t think I’ll read it a second time - though I definitely need to discuss it with one of my friends because there’s just so much to unpack.
⟢ Currently watching
I’ve also started watching Guy Ritchie’s Young Sherlock with my mom! We weren’t even halfway through the first episode when she turned to me and said: “They’re gonna be gay in this one, aren’t they?"
(They're gay in every incarnation, but the queer undertones? queerbaiting? - we‘ll have to see - in this show are so heavy that even my mom can pick up on the vibes)
Visually, the series is pretty nice, the soundtrack is a banger, and Dónal Finn absolutely carries the whole show acting-wise BUT I’m also skeptical about how they’ll handle Zine Tseng’s character, since I’ve had a deep-seated grudge against Guy Ritchie and his treatment of female characters since the end of The Gentleman…
⟢ Currently craving
Whatever is missing for me to finish my Jud Duplenticy fics and get past this writer's block TT
⟢ Why is your favorite elf your favorite elf?
Again, I always have a hard time deciding on questions like this and this might suprise you, but in terms of character, I’d say Celebrimbor, Galadriel, and Adar.
Celebrimbor is simply the perfect tragic, doomed by the narrative (and himself) type character. He’s proud, but he’s kind, he wants to do good but also to free his name from the burden of his ancestors and create something great and he ends up bringing about the very ruin he seeks to prevent. There’s just something so deeply human about him (and I still can’t get over the fact that we won’t be seeing him in Season 3 TT)
In Trop, we see Galadriel before she steps into her role as Lady of Light, and I find this portrayal so much more compelling. She is compassionate, but she is also clouded by fear, anger, and grief - and that’s completely understandable! I love how we get to see her imperfections and how she forms connections with other characters and influences them.
Do you see a pattern yet? If not, it’ll become very obvious with Adar now: He’s also an imperfect character - not just in appearance. Especially in worlds like Middle-earth, which are heavily based on the idea of clearly distinct races, I love that we’ve been given a character who exists in the in-between and struggles to carve out his own path.
A brief, incomplete insight at the current state of The Haunting (Jud Duplenticy x Reader)
Jolien was a sturdy woman in cowboy boots with a pickup truck who, in the absence of a driver’s license or car of Father Jud’s, had offered to pick you and your luggage up from the train station.
To break the awkward silence, she had chattered away about her car repair shop and how Father Jud had helped her through a very difficult time, but truth be told, your brain had switched to autopilot. The remains of the goodbye party you’d thrown at Frankie’s yesterday were stirring in your stomach, mixing with anxiety and the anger that Jud had stood you up (again). It felt wrong that someone would call him -the Jud who lived in your memory - Father, and it only increased the feeling of alienation that had gripped you ever since you’d gotten off the train.
Every now and then, Jolien had studied you from the corner of her eye, but at least she kept whatever she was thinking to herself, and you truly appreciated that. You fitted in here about as well as body shots at an Easter brunch.
Jud was still tall and lanky, but he had grown into his height by now. Everything seemed more compact and coordinated, his stance less tense. A selfish satisfaction flickered through you at the sight of his tattoo peeking out from under the collar, the ink a testament to your shared past that he hadn’t erased. But a few noticeable changes still stood out. First and foremost, the nicely fitting priestly clothes, complete with a clerical collar, the black shirt sleeves rolled up. Apparently, he also kept a stubble these days.
Shit. The bastard was still way too handsome.
Of course, you’d had your share of flings with some attractive people in the city. But what was a well-toned body or a radiant smile compared to the feeling of security falling asleep in Jud’s arms or the warmth in his gaze? It was still there, that warmth.
You swallowed as he took a few steps toward you, your eyes tracing his light freckles, the familiar green-brown speckles in his blue irises, the soft laugh lines around his eyes - also a new addition.
Suddenly, you remembered why you hadn’t called him after his ordination.
It had been a solid thirty minutes of standing in the bathroom, trying to waste time. You had already exhausted your options for grooming - styling your hair, brushing teeth, putting on and taking off makeup - and the meager contents of the medicine cabinet offered an equally limited variety of activities to keep yourself occupied. Apart from two packs of band-aids and a bottle of mild painkillers, there was a gaping void inside, just like the cabinet at your old flat.
When you and Jud had thrown out all the medication after his rehab, not even the Tylenol survived, just first aid supplies and condoms. Every time you needed a band-aid, the blue box had taunted you, a visible reminder that Jud certainly had sex - just not with you. Excluding the unacknowledged exception, of course.
Sighing, you slammed the cabinet shut and unlocked the door. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.
“How did you sleep?” Jud asked as he set down the plates and poured himself some coffee too.
“Poorly. It’s just too quiet,” you said honestly. “As if there wasn’t room for my thoughts in the crowded city, and here they’re bursting at the seams.”
Instead of concern, a knowing smile crossed Jud's face.
“It'll pass,” he assured you.
You thought of all the things your grandmother had claimed would pass. Test anxiety, heartbreak, hard times, money worries, your feelings for Jud. The latter in particular. It’ll pass, my love, and someday you’ll look at him and he’ll just be another man.
You watched as Jud carefully piled scrambled eggs onto a slice of toast. The sun caressed every curve of his curls, every soft laugh line, kissed the freckles on his crooked nose, and your heart reliably performed the same complicated stunt it had over 10 years ago.
“Are you promising that as my friend or as a priest?”
Smiling, he looked up from his toast.
“Both.”
My dear readers and Friends, I'll be honest: my work on The Haunting has been dragging on for a while now (shout-out to my academic projects, university deadlines, and writer's block), but I'm sticking with it. I want to write and share this story no matter how long it takes!
Right now, the beast that is writer's block is sitting on me, and my list of ideas and scenes isn't short, but if you have any thoughts, wishes, predictions etc. feel free to share them anyway - maybe something will spark my imagination!
Until then, I hope these wip snippets will satisfy your curiosity a little without giving too much away!
Note: You don’t want to know how long this has been hibernating in my drawer. Well, who do you think will seize the chance of this trope and get that long-awaited kiss? Bets can be placed in the comments, hehe
Pairing: TROP Elves x reader (gender neutral)
Characters: Elrond, Galadriel, Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor, Annatar, Adar
Word count: 4.1k
Warnings: Injuries and references to memory loss (Adar), being locked in a confined space (Celebrimbor, Galadriel), blood (Annatar), idiots, longing, clichés, reader is implied to be an elf (with longer hair) in some parts
How well TROP Elves would handle forced proximity ranked from worst to best
Annatar ⟡ hiding in a nook
Among all the creatures roaming Middle-earth, feared for their bloodlust, Sauron proved to be by far the most cunning hunter. While wolves formed packs to corner their prey, chasing it to death until they could sink their teeth into its throat and hawks shot down from the sky like lightning before their target could notice them or flee, Sauron preferred a more refined strategy. His prey was chosen with forethought, and every step observed until a pattern revealed itself to him, a pattern he could then sculpt to his liking. He arranged the circumstances thoroughly, sowing doubt to lure them into his snare, convinced it was their own decision.
Sauron had no need for claws or fangs, instead slipping into the minds of his victims, tearing them apart from within, and they thanked him for it. But though he hid behind a veil of deception, he understood that it was never truly an act of free volition. No deer would willingly place its neck in the jaws of a wolf, knowing that it sought blood.
Until today.
As he strode through Eregion that evening, a deer unexpectedly leapt before his feet, a game he never intended to hunt. Clatter of metal pierced the darkness, heavy boots thundering over stone, calls echoing through the night sky. Two guards rushed past Annatar, their drawn swords prison bars meant to constrain a fugitive thief who had just escaped from the hall of records. A thief who was clearly skilled enough to evade the noisy guards, heading straight toward a far more dangerous hunter.
Some strands of your tied-back hair had come loose, your ink-stained fingers clutching a few scrolls. As you ran, you glanced back over your shoulder, making sure you had shaken off your pursuers. A fatal mistake, because in that brief moment, Annatar got hold of your collar, pulling you to a sudden halt. Your gazes crossed, yours filled with fright, his calculating.
Annatar did not recognize you, so you were probably no one whose secret he could use as leverage if he let you go now. It was more useful to hand you over to the guards, further strengthening his reputation as Eregion's diligent servant. But just when he was about to call them back, something strange happened: you overpowered him.
In one swift motion, you freed yourself from his grip, shoved him back behind a wall, covering his mouth. One hand pressed against his lips, the other clutching your scrolls. The act occurred so unexpected that he simply let it happen.
You shot Annatar a determined look, the fear now vanished from your eyes. In a hissing whisper, you explained that the scrolls contained construction plans you had developed, a project unjustly confiscated from you, which you planned to present to Lord Celebrimbor personally.
A quest for justice. A renegade master builder. An elf who dared to threaten Sauron himself. Now you had piqued his curiosity, ignited a spark. He granted you this transgression, even though he could not yet deduce any benefit from it, amused by your demeanor and surprised by the turn this interaction had taken.
Footsteps approached from the other side, two guards patrolling the square. You pressed yourself closer to Annatar, attempting to blend into the shadow of the wall, your breath brushing his neck. The warmth of your hand burned his lips, and he was overcome by the urge to sink his teeth into its flesh, licking the hot blood clean off. Why had he not noticed you before? He studied your profile, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, like a startled deer. Yet your gaze calmly observed the surroundings, like a wolf on the hunt.
During the following days, this scene kept flaring up in his mind, the memory of your warmth burning his skin. You received your audience with Lord Celebrimbor, and your project was returned to you. Annatar had made sure of it, now being able to supervise its construction and draw you closer into his sphere. The surprise on your face when you realized who your nighttime encounter had been seeped into him like sweet wine. How you shifted under his gaze, shy with embarrassment. He could not take his eyes off you, and why should he? After all, you had run into his arms willingly.
1/10: The fleeting nature of this encounter only fuels his obsession
Celebrimbor ⟡ locked out on a balcony
The dancing evening breeze carried sounds of cheerful music, clinking glasses, and laughter high into the sky. It swirled around Celebrimbor, who was watching the colorful bustle of Nost-na-Lothion far below him from the small balcony of his workshop. He flinched when your voice rang out behind him and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, your dress swaying as you approached him through the empty workshop, two glasses of wine in your hands.
The last time he had seen you, you had been in the arms of an entirely unfamiliar elf - a circumstance which had seemingly not diminished your delight for the dance you had shared. He was uncomfortable with you seeing him like this, a Lord hiding from his own feast, not to mention his feelings.
Under your watchful gaze, a heat crept under his skin, so he picked up a glass and swiftly downed some of the sweet wine, trying not to dwell on why he always felt as if he were standing in the flames of his forge whenever in your presence.
A few petals from the flowers adorning your hair in honor of the festivities sought to sway along with the music beneath you and got caught among some loose strands in the attempt. The urge to gently brush them out of your hair was almost impossible to resist. Celebrimbors fingers fidgeted along the rim of his glass, seeking a distraction, and finding it in the question of what had moved you to leave your dance partner behind.
Your mouth opened to reply just as a violent gust of wind rushed through the open workshop door and slammed the balcony door shut. The loud sound struck you like lightning. Instinctively, you grabbed Celebrimbor’s arm, his glass slipped from his grasp, shattering on the floor. Celebrimbor stammered an apology as you pressed against the door, both of you rushing to hide the flush spreading across your faces.
To your surprise, the wood did not yield. The bolt had slammed shut from the impact, locking the door from the inside. Celebrimbor possessed the strength and technical skill one would expect from a smith of his reputation, yet even he could accomplish nothing against the simple lock mechanism from the outside. Calling for help seemded hopeless as well, due to the height of the balcony and the festive commotion. There was nothing left for you to do but drink the remaining wine and wait.
A scenario that appeared to have been deliberately constructed by the Valar solely to torment Celebrimbor. He was not averse to sharing the last wine with you, but the implication of pressing his lips to the same glass that had touched yours made him hesitate. It felt too akin to the intimacy of a kiss. Not that he recoiled from the thought of kissing you. Quite the opposite.
He tried to let himself be carried along by the flow of your engaging conversation as usual, but that proved to be a far more challenging feat when you were this near, and, to make matters worse, were crowned with delicate blossoms and silver moonlight. It illuminated you so brightly he could study the color of your Iris. For years, Celebrimbor had searched for the gemstone that could best capture its brilliance, but now, for the first time, he was close enough to take in their color in every facet.
His gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips just as you leaned forward slightly, and, seemingly absentmindedly, plucked one of your stray petals that had found its way into his hair, as you spoke. Your story faltered, you looked up at him, the gemstone of your iris, which Celebrimbor had finally recognized, shimmering. The empty wine glass rested abandoned on the balustrade, the imprint of your lips long since cold. If he tilted forward just a fraction, he could truly taste their warmth.
He wanted to taste them.
Terrified by his own thoughts, Celebrimbor flinched back at once and was saved just then by a voice from outside. A guard had discovered the open workshop and had entered to inspect it. Surprise was written all over his face when he found none other than the Lord of Eregion and his herald trapped on the balcony. His discovery left the young guard so taken aback that he completely failed to notice his lord’s troubled state.
In the months following Nost-na-Lothion, Mirdania would be left wondering why her master exclusively would use one particular gemstone for his work.
2/10: Out of insecurity, he misses the perfect opportunity for a first kiss
Adar ⟡ receiving medical care
He can not recall how he got here, but when Adar awakens, he is lying on a mat woven from reeds and ferns. The blurry outlines of a weathered wooden shack become sharper, the smell of fire catches his attention, rain drips onto the roof above him. It takes Adar a moment to gain his orientation in this unfamiliar environment. His skull feels as if someone had split it open with an axe, and judging by the various injuries and pain throughout his body, someone had attempted to do just that.
No surprise that his weary mind immediately suspects you once you step into the shack and his line of sight. He feels more vulnerable without his breastplate; instinctively reaching for the nearest sharp object to defend himself. But you don’t even flinch, you just stand there with the bundle of wood in your arms, looking down at him. Your eyes are tired, deep shadows adorn their undersides, a bandage decorates your thigh, and only now does Adar notice that you, too, appear to be injured.
You command him to lie down, for if you wanted him dead, you could have spared yourself the trouble of stopping his bleeding, bandaging him, and brewing that reeking herbal tincture for his fever. It takes some time for him to grasp the meaning of your words, but when you order him to keep still so you can change the bandage on a particularly gruesome flesh wound on his arm, he begins to understand.
The reasoning behind your aid sounds rational. The Uruks place all their trust and loyalty in him alone. Adar is a means of keeping them under control, a predictable variable and a potential temporary ally in the war against Sauron. Without him, the horde of his children would dissolve into an uncontrollable mass, another fire burning the Elves' strained resources.
Your explanation and the earnesty of your efforts to keep him alive appease Adar's mistrust for the time being. It is a strange arrangement: you cook, maintain the fire, brew ointments, tend to his wounds and your own, while he can only observe your every move with masked suspicion. The gentleness of your touch, the care with which you treat him, is unfamiliar - not solely due to your previous interactions. He is the one who provides for others, ensuring his children have food and shelter, never the other way around.
By the fourth day, relief outweighs his alertness when you return from gathering in the forest. You still keep his weapons hidden beyond his reach, but you don’t carry any yourself - a concession, the visible proof of your temporary partnership. Adar tries to repay some of the debt he is accumulating by sharing his herbal knowledge with you, where to find the right plants, which mixtures hasten wound healing, calm inflammation. He still feels unease when you touch him, your beautiful hands against his scarred skin, but it is no longer rooted in the fear you might seek to harm him.
The quiet care you bestow upon him, no matter how conditional it may be, is slowly consuming him. He knows you, or at least, he once thought he did. The enemy who crossed his sword, he knew. But the elf who stays by his side day and night, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth or serving him warm soup - that tender person, he does not know. It throws him off balance, gnaws at him in the night when you sleep beside him. A faint feeling deep inside his chest, a whisper he tries to shut out, telling him that no matter how you two part ways from here on out, he can no longer face you the same way he did before.
4/10: He does not know how to deal with this kind of affection, the hidden longing for it unsettles him deeply
Gil-Galad ⟡ being taught a craft
When his herald delivered your message, Gil-Galad considered it a jest. But by the time he stood in the doorway of Lindon's palace kitchen - a figure framed in gold by the midday sun, completely out of place in this workspace - he gave credence to Elrond's words. Even though his eyes still hesitated to accept the scene presented to them. Your jewelry rested safely on a wooden tray behind you, hair tied back, a simple apron covering your formal court attire, your hands buried in a bowl of dough. Unbelievable.
With a brief wave of his hand, the High King dismissed everyone else, guards and kitchen staff alike. He could not resist raising an eyebrow, displaying his scepticism, as he approached the cooking station to inspect your culinary skills. You merely responded with a knowing smile when he inquired the purpose of this decidedly...humble activity. Although it was you who had summoned him – which in itself would be considered impudent – you made no effort to follow courtly protocol by greeting him with a bow or otherwise honoring his presence by pausing your work.
Such formalities were not required when you were alone, privacy granted your friendship precedence over your ranks. Secretly, Gil-Galad enjoyed your casual manner toward him, although he would never gift you the satisfaction of displaying his fondness outwardly.
As you continued to work through the dough with firm movements, you explained this unusual choice of meeting place. It was not the first time that you had taken refuge in the kitchen in order to sort your thoughts. As your hands shaped the dough, your mind shaped thoughts, the steady motion grounding you. Sometimes the answer was not buried in stacks of scrolls gathered by Lord Elrond, but in the silence and warmth of bread rising in the oven.
Naturally, you had to punish Gil-Galad’s doubtful gaze and lofty tone with a demonstration. Before he knew it, he found himself facing another bowl of sticky mass, while you tied an apron behind his back. This was certainly not how he had imagined the strategy meeting with his advisor. Putting on an indifferent expression, he swallowed the nervousness that crept up as you carefully removed his rings and placed them beside yours.
His first movements were awkward, clearly the attempts of an elf who only ever encountered food when it was elegantly arranged and placed before him by servants. So you stepped in to guide him, an act Gil-Galad submitted to with dignity, despite his heart nearly leaping from his chest whenever your hands brushed his. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when you withdrew to continue kneading your own dough. You were mistaken, this activity did nothing to calm his troubled spirit.
But after a while, the tension in his shoulders eased a little. Warmth from the oven seeped into his tired bones, the scent of herbs and charcoal filled the air, soothing his senses. By the time you took the fresh loaves out of the oven, a solution for every matter on your meeting agenda had been found. As always, you had been right. It was grounding to create something with one's own hands, something with a tangible outcome. Not merely abstract commands and plans, the consequences of which weighed solely on his head.
He expressed his reluctant gratitude to you as you savored the still-warm bread with a few figs and wine, a knowing grin playing across your face. The golden midday sun streaming into the kitchen cast a soft glow around you, presumably the reason for the warmth spreading from Gil-Galad’s core throughout his entire body. Or so he assured himself.
6/10: He’s still too caught up in his own head to fully savor the moment and will find himself yearning to return there weeks later without admitting the reason why
Elrond ⟡ taking shelter during rain
t was supposed to be nothing more than a brief ride to the Grey Havens, but within the first third of the journey, delicate raindrops kissed Elrond's hair, turning into a dense veil of pearling water by the halfway point. The saddles' leather grew slippery, and the view across the open meadow was obscured by a fog so thick that even the sharp elven eyes could barely tell west from east. Only a fool would insist on riding on under such conditions, and Elrond Half-elven was many things, but certainly no fool.
As soon as a tree with a mighty crown came into view, Elrond signaled for you to halt there and seek shelter. Breathing heavy, you dismounted the horses. As if the sudden downpour was not trouble enough, the High King had chosen you, of all elves, to accompany Elrond. It should have been expected - the success of your other missions spoke for itself - yet he could not help but question whether Gil-Galad was abusing his authority to torment him beyond necessity.
White wisps of mist curled around your wet face, your damp clothes clung to your body, outlining every curve, every muscle. Elrond averted his gaze, using the excuse of loosening his horse’s saddle slightly so that the wet leather would not rub against the animal’s coat, in order to hide the blush spreading across his face. You followed his example, checking to see if the scrolls in their metal cases had stayed dry. Then you both stood a bit self-conscious under the tree’s canopy, while the horses grazed peacefully on the other side.
Elrond was never at a loss for words, language his sharpest weapon, one he wielded with precision. But under the circumstances - alone with you in such a confined space, soaked to the bone, your clothes leaving less room for the imagination than he was comfortable with - his tongue twisted itself around the words, unable to form a smooth, flowing stream.
You seemed to sense his unease and, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of affection, you made a joke that lightened the mood a bit. Chuckling, Elrond brushed his damp curls back and carried on discussing the next steps with you. As you spoke, you attempted to tame your windswept and rain-soaked hair into a presentable state as well. A far more challenging task given the length of your braid. You had tidied your hair as best you could, but a few loose strands at the crown of your head escaped your attention. Elrond moved closer before his better judgment could stop him and asked for permission to assist you.
Gently, he untangled the disarray, ignoring his treacherous heart racing. The conversation fell silent, only the soft rain and a cascade of feelings pouring down upon you. Small clouds of steam rose from your breath, intertwining in the close space between your bodies, gazes and unspoken words mingling within.
Slowly, careful not to startle you, Elrond brushed a strand of hair clinging to your forehead back behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, caressing the tender skin of your cheek. He had been mistaken. He was a fool after all, for only a fool would be so reckless to do what followed.
Hesitant, giving you enough time to pull away, he leaned in toward you, drawn by the irresistible gaze of your eyes tracing his face. The kiss was as light as a feather, merely the gentle touch of your lips, as delicate as the rain that had caressed your skin moments before. You leaned in, and Elrond’s heart struck the first note a melody, so much sweeter than the fading rustle of the water above you.
9/10: He seizes the moment and finds what he longed for, even if it was an impulse
Galadriel ⟡ trapped on a raft
What are dreams if not shadows of the past, tightening their clutches around the lungs and hearts of those they haunt? Galadriel dreaded sleep, for at night she lost command of her mind. It became vulnerable to Sauron, open for him to slip inside and play his cruel games with her. Even after she closed that door and lay down, safe in the knowledge that she had banished him, she did not find the peace she longed for. Her newfound freedom proved to be yet another cage, trapped in experiencing the same dream time and time again. She stood on the raft amid the storm, begging Halbrand - no, Sauron - to bind himself to her. Her greatest regret played out endlessly in her sleep, mocking her.
She could not conceal her unrest and weariness from you, your concern touched her like rain falling on parched flowers. Galadriel hid the contents of her dreams from you, but naturally that did not dissuade you from seeking a way to lighten her burdens. The advice you had given her that day still echoed in her mind as evening fell. She was the master of her dreams. She could shape them to her liking, you had said, and if that failed, you would pray to the Valar, asking to be sent in her dreams.
A silent smile had graced Galadriel's face, touched by affection for your declaration to protect her. But when she eventually lost the battle against fatigue that night, she was once again overcome with fear of what would await her on the other side.
She found herself in the same hell as the previous weeks. The sea was raging, black waves crashing against rotten wood, tossing the raft. Trembling, Galadriel closed her eyes, water sticking to her skin, cold air scratching her lungs. You are the master of your dreams. Your voice echoed through her, a ribbon of delicate light she clung to. She repeated the words in her mind, tracing them with her tongue like a prayer. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, Galadriel steeled herself to hear the words that would follow now.
But Sauron's voice never reached her ear. Galadriel's eyes flew open, her heart beating high in her throat. The image before her had been completely transformed into its opposite. Seawater gently rocked the raft in its arms, warm sun soaking up the cold from her skin. In disbelief, she turned around. Instead of facing her incarnate nightmare, her gaze fell upon your familiar figure, fastening the mast with rope. When you noticed her and paused your work to approach her, she shied away. Galadriel was certain that your lovely form would shatter any moment, revealing the true nature of evil that wore your face in mockery. But her fears remained unfulfilled.
Your eyes gave no sign of malice, only tenderness and worry. You urged her to breathe, affirming that you were with her. Shaky fingers reached out to your face, seeking reassurance. When Galadriel felt the warmth of your hand holding hers, the dam broke. She sank to her knees, letting you hold her in your arms, tears silently escaping her. You held her tight, promising you would not let any harm come to her.
In the following days, this dream returned. Once Galadriel fell asleep, she found herself back on the raft, but instead of Sauron, you were the one awaiting her, speaking to her, holding her in your arms. You bathed in the sun and swam in the sea, sharing laughter and glances, even a kiss one night. The raft was no longer a prison, but a small haven of peace.
10/10: The forced proximity is her sanctuary, her refuge, and her salvation
Liked what you read and looking for more?
➳ Masterlist
➳ Other posts from this series:
Fake Dating TROP Elves or TROP Elves as Reverse Tropes
Can't find the trope you're looking for? Feel free to send a letter to the teashop (Ask)
The simple answer is: when it’s written and translated.
I’m afraid I may have teased you too much, too soon, because I haven’t written at all in the last two/three months TT
If you want to know why and why my writing process generally takes so long, feel free to check out the linked asks I’ve previously answered on this topic.
Currently, the wip for The Haunting sits at almost 4.000 words, and I’m not even at the halfway point (it’s going to be a longer one-shot with two parts/POVs). Right now, I’m still thinking about whether the ending should be more angsty, a little smutty, or very open (like Part I of Longing for Lilith) - feel free to throw in your opinions in the comments!
I'm glad there's still so much interest in the fic, and it's coming - I promise, my dear!
These are snippets for various characters for the upcoming part of my TROP Tropes Series - Can you guess the trope?
Among all the creatures roaming Middle-earth, feared for their bloodlust, Sauron proved to be by far the most cunning hunter. While wolves formed packs to corner their prey, chasing it to death until they could sink their teeth into its throat, and hawks shot down from the sky like lightning before their target could notice them or flee, Sauron preferred a more refined strategy. His prey was chosen with forethought, and every step observed until a pattern revealed itself to him, a pattern he could then sculpt to his liking. He arranged the circumstances thoroughly, sowing doubt to lure them into his snare, convinced it was their own decision.
Elrond was never at a loss for words; language his sharpest weapon, one he wielded with precision. But under the circumstances - alone with you in such a confined space, soaked to the bone, your clothes leaving less room for the imagination than he was comfortable with - his tongue twisted itself around the words, unable to form a smooth, flowing stream.
Galadriel dreaded sleep, for at night she lost command of her mind. It became vulnerable to Sauron, open for him to slip inside and play his cruel games with her. Even after she closed that door and lay down, safe in the knowledge that she had banished him, she did not find the peace she longed for. Her newfound freedom proved to be yet another cage, trapped in experiencing the same dream time and time again. She stood on the raft amid the storm, begging Halbrand - no, Sauron - to bind himself to her. Her greatest regret played out endlessly in her sleep, mocking her.
More of the High King and his Guard plssss 👑♥️ ⚔️ 😌🙏
Good morning, my dear friend!
I’ve finally crawled out of my academic cave, and what better way to celebrate my return to Tumblr than with this ask?
Unfortunately, my (creative) energy is still drained, so for now, I’ll share these meme-gifs (?) I made about their dynamic. The quality has suffered quite a bit (I lost the battle against Tumblr and Canva), but I hope they bring a smile to your face anyway <3
Gil-Galad POV
Guard Reader POV
And a comment from poor Elrond, who has to witness all this:
For anyone interested in reading the fic: You can find all the parts in my linked masterlist
Please don’t be alarmed by my quietness over the last few weeks! I’m in the final stretch of a very demanding exam period with lots of papers (and an official academic publication!), so as you can imagine, I'm drowning in research and looming deadlines.
Which is why my head is acting like a stingy landlord, kicking everything out, that isn’t paying rent (i.e. helping my papers).
But you can look forward to my blog getting more lively in April again. I’ll be answering some asks and finishing up a wip that’s been sitting around for a while, so hang in there and enjoy the start of spring! <3
I need to ask you something (just a yapping question/yapping session):
As you know I loved your Rings of Power X Bridgerton AU (😤🥹🤌!!! — your brain!!) and,
Now I need to know more about who you think would/could frequent who if the characters from both worlds met.
I for example would imagine Cìrdan and Lady Danbury to be a platonic match made in heaven. They would plot and scheme to match the Duke of Lindon with an eligible lady, and just watching that unfold would be so much fun.
Then of course, Benedict and the Marquess of Eregion, Celebrimbor. Could there even be a little fling between them until Annatar enters the scene of the ton? 👀
My mind is just going all over the place.
I would like to know what connections friendships/you'd imagine 🙈
Ohhhh how delightful! My mind is going all over the place with this au as well, so I’m really hyped for your ask, dear! I definitely see your vision and am so on board for a yapping session!
I don't know if I imagined the characters living in the same universe, but here are my two cents on your ✨ fabulous ✨ ideas and a few more pairs that I can see happening, hihi c:
Gil-Galad and Lady Danbury (and Cirdan)
Lady Danbury (my icon!) and Cirdan are definitely gossip besties (ohhh would I love to be a fly on that wall!) who collaborate to set up their godsons (at the same time, not with each other - that would be quite a different story...)
Lady Danbury was a major influence in Gil-Galad's upbringing, not only through her friendship with Cirdan, but also her involvement in the royal court, which he is (through his family) a part of as well
I imagine that he was strongly influenced by her in his views towards women (in this house, respect-women-juice is served very generously) and she is undoubtedly the auntie, that gives him a stern talking-to from time to time and takes none of his attitude
After Simon married Daphne, Gil-Galad had the joy (or misfortune, as he would say) of having not just one, but two very involved matchmakers at his side
Which brings me to my next point:
Gil-Galad and Simon
Why are they friends? Sometimes they don't even know themselves
Probably because Cirdan and Lady Danbury had suddenly become the guardians of two quiet boys from difficult family backgrounds, and they thought it would be good for their development if they also spent some time with other children of the same age. So they put the two together and hoped for the best
Gil-Galad disapproves of Simon's “rake tendencies” and Simon thinks Gil-Galad is too uptight
But they are there for each other when it counts, and no one else understands their difficulties as well as the other does: the pressure to be perfect, to be reduced to a title by others, to be hunted by mothers...
They frequently sneak out of ballrooms to escape marriage-minded mothers and smoke or drink wine in the silence of the garden
They also keep a running “debt list” of who had to rescue whom more from unpleasant situations involving infatuated ladies, their mothers, or Lady Danbury’s matchmaking efforts
As for your other idea, I completely agree with you, but I would like to expand on it a little more, if you allow:
Celebrimbor and Benedict
Obviously artist friends who care little for social conventions and move in the same circles
At first, Benedict refuses to recognize Celebrimbor as a true artist, considering him merely a skilled jewelry salesman
But at a party hosted by a mutual friend, they strike up a conversation and Celebrimbor offers to show him his private forge after the friend tries to mediate between the two
After Benedict sees how Celebrimbor works and talks about his craft, he cannot deny his incredible talent and is somewhat very embarrassed because he feels like a bloody rookie next to him
Celebrimbor encourages him to develop his talent further, they frequently drink wine together in his private workshop and discuss their projects
I'm not sure if they would actually start an affair because I see Celebrimbor as someone who falls too fast and too deep way too soon, and Benedict as someone (at that time) who is just casually messing around with everyone of interest, but there was definitely something more than friendship between them. I can see Benedict having a crush on this older, more experienced, and refined artist, but I can also see Celebrimbor developing feelings for someone who is so openly enthusiastic and charming/funny as Benedict
If they had been involved with each other, they would definitely remain good friends afterwards, once Benedict has found Sophie (and Celebrimbor his s/o?)
Sophie would have so many questions for Celebrimbor and would judge his work based on her vast knowledge, he would undoubtedly grow fond of her quickly and be genuinely happy for Benedict
And here are a few more ideas about friendships that I find plausible off the top of my head:
Galadriel and Kate (and Eloise)
I can imagine Galadriel and Kate as friends who have grown closer over time
I think they clash when they first meet, since neither of them shies away from confrontation, and both are ambitious and stubborn
Perhaps an innocent remark by a third party escalats into a competition (similar to the game in season 2), but at some point they have to admit (with the help of their loved ones) that they have a lot in common and that what annoys them about the other is also something they embody themselves (pot, meet kettle…)
It takes some time, but after a while they become close companions. Galadriel invites Kate to hunt and race horses in her woods, far away from the judgmental glances of men, and afterwards they drink tea (proper, actual tea, prepared by Kate) and gossip about the Ton, even though they would never admit it
Galadriel was definitely one of the first nobles who was not friends with the Bridgertons to protect and support Kate as the new viscountess in front of the Ton (even before they were friends)
Eloise is Galadriel's biggest fan and would love to ask her about her lifestyle when she visits Kate at the Bridgerton house, but she's always too nervous and stumbles over her words (Galadriel finds it kind of endearing)
Elrond, Violet and the Bridgertons
He's a viscount, he has a blue color scheme, he's super outgoing and friendly and pretty much friends with everyone, and he's an orphan - he's basically Violet's fifth son, okay?
I think their families were friends already, and after his parents died, Violet helped him handle the sudden responsibilities that fell on him, like managing the household, accounting, etc.
Elrond is close friends with every member of the family, and they all love him - He used to play with Gregory and Hyacinth, even though he was much older, helps everyone with their studies, offers to be a dance practice partner, discusses politics with Eliose and writing with Penelope, is welcome at every dinner even without an invitation, and has stayed over more than once after Anthony helped him review some documents and it got too late.
But I think he is particularly close with one member of the Bridgerton family:
Elrond and Francesca (and John)
Look, if we consider the characters that Elrond admires/loves in Rings of Power (Durin and Disa, Galadriel, Celebrimbor...), what do they have in common? They are unapologetically themselves and loyal (especially to family and chosen family/ friends). Do you know who else fits this description? My girl Francesca.
Francesca likes Elrond because he is gentle and honest and very respectful of her preferences. She has no interest in a topic? He doesn't talk about it anymore. She needs some fresh air because everything in the ballroom is getting a bit overwhelming? Fresh air sounds like an excellent idea. She has learned a new piece and can't think of anything else? He wants to know more!
They like to hang out together in silence, Francesca practising her plays and Elrond writing or reading
Francesca thinks Elrond recites too many poems, uses too many metaphors while speaking and is a little too expressive with his emotions, but she's willing to give him a pass
After she gets married, Elrond naturally becomes friends with John right away, since they both work in politics and greatly appreciate each other's opinions and general disposition
Side note: Violet definitely tried to set Elrond and Francesca up in season 3, but they just have zero chemistry and no interest in each other in terms of romance. Because of this "incident", things were a little awkward between the two for a while, but they eventually settled back into their usual routine (thanks to John)
Arondir and the Mondrichs
The Mondrichs were friends of Bronwyn, they used to live on the same street, and Bronwyn worked there as a nurse/medic/midwife and had to patch up Will after his fights quite a lot
And you can't tell me that two independent, outspoken women like Alice and her wouldn't become best friends
Arondir and Will train together regularly and Alice taught him how to prepare Bronwyn and Theo's favourite meal
After Bronwyn's death, they are the only ones to share Arondir's grief and support him and Theo, the only ones with whom he can even remotely talk about his loss
They share experiences about their children, the concerns Arondir has about raising Theo, and how he can be a good father to him - They just help each other out as they try to fit into this new world or find their own way in it and I love that for them
It has come to my attention that you, my esteemed new readers, may not yet be acquainted with the main characters of this season and since I take my duties as a gossip-spreading, quill-wielding witch, as a certain gentleman once described me, quite seriously, allow me to provide you with an insight into the captivating personalities and lives of the Ton. Perhaps an even closer look than they would prefer…
Duke Gil-Galad
What hallmarks define a good man? That he hails from a reputable family, possessing the title and residence to match, say the fathers. That he proves to be a refined gentleman, well-mannered, educated, and carrying himself with a sense of elegance, say the mothers. He should be tall and handsome, with broad shoulders to lean on and a charming smile to swoon over, say the daughters.
So why, this author must ask herself, is Duke Gil-Galad not yet married, when he satisfies all these requirements? Are the young ladies of Mayfair perhaps intimidated by his reserved demeanour? Or might it be their parents' concerns about the Dukes ancestry? Regarding the latter at least, opinions surrounding the King's nephew may shift this season.
Though the identity of Lord Gil-Galad's father remains a strictly guarded secret, the prevailing lack of royal offspring might elevate the His Grace to be prime candidate for the throne. An unknown father seems a far minor issue when marriage to the Duke could offer not only the title of Duchess of Lindon, but possibly the crown of England.
Here's hoping Lord Gil-Galad, despite his previous disinterest in the marriage market, will prove just as eager as the ladies that will soon find themselves in fierce competition for his favor. This author predicts, however, that the Duke's attention now more than ever shall be devoted to politics. Then again, perhaps yet another surprise awaits us this season?
Duchess Galadriel
The radiance of a true diamond is everlasting, something no one can attest to better than Duchess Galadriel. Long past her debutante days, Her Ladyship remains, as always, the brightest of jewels among the Ton. Few are as refined, educated, noble, and graceful, at least if one is to believe appearances and hearsay at various gentleman's clubs. What our honourable gentlemen so easily forget, however, is that the diamond is not only the most beautiful jewel, but also the hardest.
After the late Duke Celeborn vanished during a journey across the sea several years ago and is since presumed dead, Duchess Galadriel demonstrated remarkable resilience in the face of such adversity. Even if horseback riding, fencing, hunting and archery seem a rather interesting method of processing a tragedy of this magnitude. But who are we to judge a person's manner of mourning?
It seems, however, that Her Grace is not so keen on trading her newly found freedom as a widow, so to speak, in exchange for a new husband. Though some unpleasant rumours circulated last season, following several sightings of the Duchess in companied by a gentleman outside the ranks of nobility, she is by no means shorthanded in terms of potential suitors. Out of decency, this author prefers to keep her silence on the specifics of said rumours.
Only time will tell whether another man succeeds in melting, or breaking, the diamond heart of this spirited lady. But perhaps this proves to be a feat that cannot be accomplished by any man at all.
Marquess Celebrimbor
While high society bares its animalistic instincts, displaying wolfish smiles and sharp tongues as they vie to secure the best match on the marriage market, eternal bachelor Marquess Celebrimbor is interested in one hunt only: the pursuit of exceptional artwork. No one appreciates the magnificence of true art quite like the Lord of Eregion, his domain flourishing thanks to his patronage as a centre of fine craftsmanship.
Yet one cannot help but wonder whether his decision to devote the entire inheritance of this long-established house in support of art and culture is truly motivated by noble reasons alone. Does the Marquess wish to make a name for himself, far removed from the reputation of his once respected family, that fell into disgrace after the former Marquess's scandalous break with the entire Ton? Or is His Lordship spending his wealth so generously since he too believes there is no hope for the continuation of this bloodline? Surely the death of the previous Lords due to a mysterious suffering of the mind must be quite daunting for potential marriage candidates, for who would seek to marry into a bloodline afflicted by madness?
A tragedy which, according to high society, however fierce their gossip may be, certainly cannot diminish the splendour of the jewellery sold in the name of said house. At least, these adornments seem to bestow the ladies‘ favour upon Lord Celebrimbor, given that his jewellery, in his stead, is beloved by every lady in Mayfair.
According to some sources, several of these exclusive pieces originated not only from the Marquess quill, but also from his own hands work. This author is inclined to wonder whether hands capable of creating such beauty would render their owner a fine lover as well.
Earl Adar
Where there is fire, there is smoke, and those who find themselves shrouded in it had better be careful lest they become fuel for the flames. A lesson Earl Adar would do well to heed before the rumours clouding his every move leave him victim of yet another inferno.
Several years after withdrawing from all social life following the tragic fire that destroyed his townhouse, the Earl made a rather surprising return to London last season. And while the ever-watchful, albeit fleeting eyes of the Ton immediately took note of the Lord's scarred face, this author could not help but observe that the incident seemed to have affected His Lordship way beyond physical appearance.
How else can one explain the Earl's excessive charity, seeing as he has been providing for quite a number of orphans with his personal fortune ever since? Not only has Lord Adar been donating to various facilities, anonymous sources even claim to have seen him visiting said places himself. An act of compassion that some members of high society deem unwarranted, going so far as to allege he acquired the land for his recent construction of an orphanage through illicit means.
Another rumor suggests that the Earl's return is evidence of his intention to find a wife for his growing flock of children this season. Word has it that, like many gentleman, Earl Adar has his eye on a certain Duchess. It remains to be seen whether these rumors are merely smoke without substance or if they indeed contain a spark of truth.
Viscount Elrond
What does it mean to be a Lord befitting this title? A noble and fair appearance? A mind and manner reflecting strength and wisdom? Or perhaps a nature as gentle and warm as summer itself? Viscount Elrond, regardless of his youth, serves as proof that a gentleman can indeed embody all of these virtues, justifying his popularity amongst the young ladies.
But whether said ladies can persuade their sceptical parents of their preference in marriage is another matter. For whilst no one can deny the Viscount's sophistication, intellect, kindness, and overall admirable character, the purity of his lineage, or rather lack thereof, may pose a problem for his prospects in the marriage market. But of what consequence are an improper bloodline and the occasional impulsive tendency when weighed against the quiet charm of a poet and the satisfaction of securing the Tons current darling as husband?
Lord Elrond himself, however, appears still reserved to partake in the game of courtship and love, seemingly more inclined to compose poetry on the subject. Some claim that the Viscount's lack of enthusiasm in seeking a wife may be due to his heart having already been captured by Duchess Galadriel, with whom he shares a longstanding and rather close friendship. A rumour this author suspects was born out of envy and a feeble attempt of certain gentlemen undeserving of that title in an effort to shift the young ladies' interest elsewhere.
But any such ambitions will soon prove futile, for every woman knows: competition only fuels the desire to win. It remains to be seen whom Lord Elrond will crown as his victor and bride. Provided, of course, that His Lordships diplomatic endeavours to avoid any potential offence do not prevent such a decision.
Baron Arondir
A gentleman who is truly worthy of this title is not to be found just everywhere, and yet he can be discovered at any place, like Baron Arondir so perfectly illustrates. While one must search very carefully among the esteemed guests of Mayfairs social gatherings to discern a genuine gentleman, they appear to blossom in the gentry.
Her Majesty the Queen must have taken notice of this phenomenon as well, for it was she who promptly bestowed a noble title upon Sir Arondir for his accomplishments in the military. A choice this author, for once, wholeheartedly approves of. But not everyone seems to be celebrating the rise in rank of this former commoner.
Wicked tongues whisper in any ears willing to listen, saying the choice of the Lord Arondir’s late wife proves that a noble appearance cannot transform an ordinary donkey into a mighty steed. The only donkey this author is able to identify, however, is the dull mind capable of formulating such assertions. While the former rank of the late Lady Bronwyn should be of no concern at present time, the situation regarding her son Theo, whom she brought into the marriage, is quite another matter.
Though the widowhood of a gentleman may not pose an obstacle in search for a new wife, an adopted child may cause hesitation among ladies looking to wed. Such circumstances are likely to further complicate the Baron's efforts to navigate high society. One can only hope that Lord Arondir's romantic disposition and graceful demeanor will serve as sufficient compensation in the eyes of the Ton.
Lord Annatar
Nothing catches the eye of the Ton faster and with greater ease than a new sparkling jewel. All the familiar treasures, however brilliant their lustre, pale in comparison to the excitement of discovering something novel. A lesson that Lord Celebrimbor, as a master of jewellery and art, surely takes to heart. So it is no surprise that it is the master himself whose residence is hosting the most noteworthy addition of the season.
Lord Annatar, a friend and business partner of the Marquess from overseas, may not yet have found his own house in London, but certainly the attention of the Ton. To what extent his disarming smile and fair appearance have contributed to this, can be attested by the noble Ladies who, since the Lord's introduction to Mayfair's society, have suddenly been vying for invitations to the Marquess' gatherings.
Hence, this author deems it necessary to remind you, my dear readers of another old but nonetheless valuable lesson: not all that glitters proves to be gold. Despite our inclination to extend a warm welcome to Lord Annatar, one must question why he appears so intent on avoiding any further inquiries of his title and origins. Or where the source of this strange animosity between him and Earl Adar lies. Or why the esteemed Lord bears such a striking resemblance to the gentleman of unknown identity with whom Duchess Galadriel was spotted last season.
A coincidence that seems to have entirely escaped the members of high society, blinded by the glamour of novelty. This author, however, cannot help but wonder whether someone willing to dig deeper would unearth diamonds, gold, or something else entirely.
Should you, my dear readers, hunger for more gossip or find yourselves plagued by questions, do not hesitate and send a letter to the teashop! This author will rush to provide answers, for her thoughts are entirely preoccupied with the events of the Ton…
Rules: Make a post with as many WIPs as you can think of without checking your WIP folder, and tag as many people as fandoms you listed WIPs for. People can send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then you post a snippet or tell them something about it.
thank you for tagging me @daughterofthesunlands <3
Last book: The Waves by Virginia Woolf
I bought it on a whim and was very surprised by her writing style in this one. But I think it's growing on me.
Last song: gods on t.v. by KiNG MALA
Love their music and the melody of the guitar(?) just scratches a nerve in my brain.
Last movie: unclear
Some animated kids' movie while I was sick, could be Kung Fu Panda or How to Train Your Dragon.
Last series: Marry My Husband (2024)
Had to rewatch it because it was my favorite K-Drama from last year. I'm still not over the potential queer subtext between Soo-min and Ji-won.
Salty or sweet: sweet
I wish I could fight my terrible sweet tooth, but alas - the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
Coffee or tea: TEA
Insert „Don't make me tap the (shop) sign“ meme here.
Working on: The Haunting and my TROP Tropes Series
A teaser for my upcoming Jud Duplenticy wip is already out, but I suspect you might be more curious about my Rings of Power content. ;)
I'm currently working on a new instance for the TROP Tropes Series, and this time our beloved elves are confronted with bad hunting metaphors, surprising rainfall, (un-) advantageous slow wound healing, confined spaces, and the horror of having their hidden desires fulfilled in unintended ways. Oh, and Gil-Galad bakes a bread!
