#gallantiisms

[nerevoite-blog]

        A SOFT thud is heard as Erestor places a pile of paperwork that needs to be done on Lindir’s desk. There are scribes that could do it, of course, but the content is important, and there is none other than himself that he trusts more than Lindir to see that it is done CORRECTLY. ❝Ah, Lindir,❞ he says, giving a small, respectful bow to the younger Ellon. Lindir is one of the few people that he is GLAD to see in the mornings, but he would never admit such a thing.

        ❝Already hard at work, I see.❞ 

⋆⋆⋆✧⋆⋆✦☆⋆★⋆ || @gallantiisms || ⋆★⋆☆✦⋆⋆✧⋆⋆⋆ 

[evcrbloom-blog]

Tuilinneth poked her head into the Ellon's study before bowing slightly, scurrying forward to gently pause his writing, place the paper aside and put a tray of food in front of King Thranduil. "You have not eaten, my King. So I brought you some food from the feast, I hope you do not mind..?"

      That which was not watched with care had a habit of creeping away into the night with little notice – but that was, in its way, by very design. The avoidance of meals wasn’t a particularly pleasant or desired act; rather, grief that had bitten down once more had a habit of keeping the Elvenking’s stomach empty for longer periods that he ought go without nourishment. Since, however, such periods of melancholy had come to the attention of his secretary, they became shorter with her insistence upon bringing him food – and true to his suspicions, such was no doubt her purpose.

   “What complaint could be found within an act of concern?” Even before she had taken away his work he had ceased in anticipation of something of that very sort, lest it become sullied by an unsavory blemish. Eyes rose to meet Tuilinneth’s own, keeping no secret of his fondness for her. “I thank you for your consideration, and should you have no other obligations, you are welcome to stay awhile should you wish.”

[lindeaewen-a]

Say my name: Muse will orgasm everytime they hear their name/Nickname. ( muahaha )

Alright, we’ll have this one for 24h, I might extend it if I can’t keep up with the asks bc this one seems to be quite popular.

Lindir will now orgasm every time someone says his name or a nickname. 

[elvxnkingthranduil]

Dead from Legolas. ( AHHHH )

Put DEAD in my ask box and I’ll write my character’s reaction toyour character dying to save them.

     ❝ Ionneg! ❞ The Elvenking was too reckless and his son paid the price. He didn’t see the axe coming down on his right side. His burned side’s sight was weak and not as keen. He missed things when he was focused elsewhere. Legolas did try to repel the heavy axe with his sword yet the opponent was bigger, stronger, faster. A rage consumed him as he roared a battle cry that brought the attacker to a pause. He took advantage with a surgical stroke with his swords. A slice along the jugular and a stab into the gut just to make sure this creature would not rise again.

                The skirmish came to an end once the leader was down and left the Elvenking with nothing but himself and his son. Thranduil made a slicing movement through the air to rid his blades of the blood and quickly sheathed his weapons. He wasted no time looking over his son’s wounds. It was bad. He grit his teeth and lifted up his son to physically carry him. He ran with the swiftness of the Eldar yet in his heart, he knew he could never run fast enough.

   ❝ Legolas, hold on. There’s still so MUCH I haven’t told you, ❞ he murmured quietly, just loud enough for Leoglas to hear him. The Elvenking kept talking about anything that’d come to mind. About his wife, Legolas’ mother. The way her laugh sounded and how much she loved him. About that time Legolas shot him with an arrow and they had to sit outside the healing halls for hours before he could be seen to have the arrow removed and the wound treated. About the giant spider on Legolas’ bed that the Elvenking had to be woken up from his waking sleep to slay. The spider was no small spider.

     He kept talking to try and keep his son awake, to keep him here on this plane with him. Yet it was not to be. The elder Sindar’s run began to slow to a canter, to a walk, and then to a complete stop.

      The Elvenking quietly sighed as he held his son’s body to his chest. It was too late. It was always too late.