#himrings-main

[essenceofarda]

if you’re still taking requests - caranthir? if not that’s understandable too. i love your art and hope you’re well! :)

Threw in Haleth too bc why not :D

She’s Still Got It ;)

Thanks for the requests!!! 💖

[stormxpadme]

@himrings-main​  asked 2 + glorestor? 👀 “I don’t wanna die …”

(Send me numbers and (a) character(s), bonus points for OTP. )

“I don’t wanna die …” Erestor croaks, slurred and choked from increasing pain on the in- and outside.

You will not, Glorfindel wants to say.

Don’t be ridiculous, Glorfindel wants to say.

They’re already be looking for us, Glorfindel wants to say. The Lord won’t let you go. How is he supposed to do without you?

He says none of it. They’re trapped, no one knows where they are, and he can’t get the inner bleedings from that damn orc dagger under control. He’s not a great healer, and whenever he sings one damage closed, another one opens up. There’s just too much destroyed.

He hasn’t ever lied to Erestor, he won’t start now.

“You get used to it after a while.”

Erestor looks like he wants to return his dry chuckle, but that hurts too much. His eyes are feverish. It would be easier for him to give in to unconsciousness, but they both know, he wouldn’t be waking up anymore. Neither of them is ready for that.

Glorfindel pretends not to see the thin rivulet of red, the next cough brings up; he just props Erestor’s head on his thigh higher so he can help him drink the copper taste away.

His fingertips graze his lover’s cheek and he shudders at how cold his skin is. It’s not going to take as long as thought.

In a moment like this, the last he wants to burden Erestor with is self-reproaches or premature grief. There’ll be enough time for that later.

In moments like this, smiles hurt less.

“Let’s be real here. Mandos won’t be putting up with your annoying ass for longer than a few weeks anyway. You’re getting basically a full health check and early retirement. You’ll be fine.”

Something pale drips on Erestor’s deathly pale forehead, mixing with the sheen of sickness there. Maybe Glorfindel doesn’t have his shit together as well as he thinks.

His lover is nice enough not to mention it which makes it easier to ignore the tears streaming down his own cheeks. They’ve fooled themselves long enough that they’re not good for each other. With a new war on the horizon, they both felt, they deserved some happiness. Apparently the Valar don’t think so.

“I guess, it’s my turn to search for a place then. How about a house on the lake? You could never shut up about that.”

“You hate swimming.” Glorfindel snorts, but somehow it turns into a sob.

“I’ll manage.” With as much strength as he can still muster up, Erestor pulls him down to kiss the salt from his lips. “And don’t you dare to stay here. I’m not waiting around forever. I don’t want to have to argue my way back here. And I really hate swimming.”

“Don’t worry. There’s nothing here for me left.”

Glorfindel no longer feels like joking. He gets out of his tunic because Erestor is trembling worse by the second.

When he’s finished spreading it over his blood-covered form, Erestor has stopped breathing.

Until the others come to break down the walls of their prison, Glorfindel has stopped crying. There’s no time to cry. There’s orcs to hunt, and soon enough, a war to win, so he can get away from this world that keeps on taking everything from him.

Maybe it’s also time to start building a boat.

[ehhhtelion]

caranthir? :)

one cranberry coming right up

[fillianore-moved]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RINA!! 💗💗💗💗💗💗

thank you mayim ily so much !! 🥺💌💘💘

[essenceofarda]

i love your new celebrían + twins piece so much! thank you for all you do and for sharing your art with us <3

💖💖💖💖 Thank you so much for  taking the time to send me this message--I haven’t been feeling great lately and this totally brightened my week. Thank you 💖

[stormxpadme]

@himrings-main asked:

ask meme: glorestor + 31 Send me characters and a number!

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Not what Glorfindel has expected to hear as an explanation, why Erestor refuses to join Midsummer celebrations for the third time in a row. Oh ... oh. So that’s why Lord Elrond insisted that Glorfindel should try to get his chief advisor out of the library this time. Unexpected ... but not wholly unpleasant. Not at all. He approaches carefully though, the way he’s tried all these last centuries - apparently, a little too cautiously -, because he’s been burned a few times too often, and far more painfully than any flame of a demon could. “You know, you could have just ... asked. I wouldn’t have said no.”

"And become another notch in your midsummer toybox? I don’t think so.” Erestor only buries his nose deeper in his book. “Go back, will you? I’m sure they’re lining up already to get a taste of the legendary Balrog slayer.”

Glorfindel can’t remember when it’s last hurt so much to hear someone say his title, especially in this tired, hollow voice. Past victories are no longer of any meaning with a new war on the horizon and his soul feeling emptier by the year. ”Maybe that’s not what I want anymore.”

“Sex? Next you tell me, the Fall of Gondolin was just an accident.”

“No, that would be the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Can you be serious for five minutes? I’m trying to tell you something here.” For a lack of options and because Erestor still doesn’t deem it necessary to stand up, Glorfindel sits down on his desk, right before him. “Do you know why I never asked you out for Midsummer?”

The answer is not exactly what he has been hoping for, but it hurts no less. “I remind you too much of Ecthelion. That’s alright,” Erestor adds, when Glorfindel just stares at him with his mouth open, his throat too tight for a moment. And for a moment, he is his lover,  sunken hazel eyes instead of brilliant blue ones, but filled with the same burden of Ages, pale skin flickering in the dimmed candle light, a book on his lap he’s read a dozen times already because it’s the only escape in new impending doom. Then he blinks, lips tight, and the illusion fades. “That’s alright, you know. I could never be him. I’m still just a glorified scribe, and you owe me nothing. Especially not pity.”

“Pity.” When Glorfindel takes the damn book away to reach for Erestor’s hands instead, they’re even colder than usual. “You know what I see when I look at you? I see survival. You’re not a failed scribe, you’re the only member of your house who made it out of the burning ruins of our home alive. You helped them find the way when Ecthelion and me both lost our battles. And the Lord would have been lost for two Ages already without you. I’m not living in the past, Erestor. Him and me, we promised each other, we wouldn’t. I just never knew if you ...” But that’s where he doesn’t know how to continue anymore, and that’s where Glorfindel of Gondolin, reborn legend and demon slayer, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower blushes.

“If I wanted you back? Oh, Fin.” Erestor drops his head in an unnerved gesture on his lap, and Glorfindel’s cock gives a dutiful twitch in the tightness of his breeches. “They’ve returned you from the Halls with many a gift, but perception isn’t one of them.” He shudders a little when Glorfindel buries his hand in his hair and pulls his head just a little closer to where he really wants to feel that skilled mouth right now, but they both stop just in time, because nothing is clear yet, nothing at all. And there’s still a party going on outside. People will talk if not at least one of them will turn up again soon. “I suppose they’ll have a lot more to talk tomorrow.” Erestor shrugs, with half a grin, when Glorfindel mentions it, but the sound of cheerful music from up there, from extensive feasts and of half of the citizens engaging in mindless pleasure to leave the burden of another year behind, is too tempting to spend the night in a dusty library. “Think you can keep your hands off your soldiers if we join them? Because you might find, I’m very much like your former husband in one regard. I can be awfully jealous in life.”

As an answer, Glorfindel pulls him close and kisses him deeply, hungry tongues meeting for a first, relieved time. Erestor gets up to stand between his spread legs, hands start wandering, and they nearly almost end up rutting right here on the table.

Until it’s suddenly the Lord standing in the door, murmuring something that sounds a lot like “Thank the Valar for small favors”, to come and get them both to fulfill their host duties.

It’s alright. After a few millennium, a few more hours of waiting are more than bearable.

[stormxpadme]

@himrings-main

replied to your

post

:

@feanoriel​ replied to your post: ...

with or without regard to gigolas, it has become popular among certain people (in a way that is deeply suspicious to me for many reasons we don’t have time for here) to think it’s edgy to consider elves as a whole as idiots and useless and dumb, and i think legolas is a character who has faced a lot of that from people and it sucks

I feel a little calmed down now, actually. Like, don't get me wrong, I'm very big on memes myself, and I really don't mind the occasional shitpost. But I just like really would love it if especially the LOTR elves would be treated less like completely incompetent idiots.

[ectoplasm-james]

okay 15 and 29

15. if you had to have a lyric of a song tattooed on your forehead, massive and conspicuous, what would you choose

if i’m getting a forehead tattoo there is already no salvaging that can be done of the situation, so i’m going to say “t-t-tongues” 

29. you have to convince boris johnson to stop brexit in one son, what do you choose?

easy. i break in no. 10 downing street and blast “thunder” by imagine dragons on an endless loop. the windows are barred, the doors are locked.