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Now entering hyperspace
Fluff
Angst
Whump
Reader-inserts (no use of Y/N, may use a nickname for the sake of variety in writing style, will note if nickname is used)
Female!Reader (vague descriptives except when necessary)
Pregnancy/Childbirth (though it may not be the most accurate)
Babies/Children of character(s)
Domestic bliss
Mundane everyday tasks/moments
Canon-typical violence/action
Character injury/death
Occasional blood/gore (case-by-case)
Smut or explicit sexual content
Cloneshipping
Incest
Cheating/Adultery (with exception to referencing)
Rape/Non-con (with exception to referencing)
Polyamory
Most AUs (Modern, Mermaid, Soulmate, etc. Ask if you have questions)
Omega-verse (Alpha/Beta, etc.)
Yandere/Character worship
Specific reader details (height, weight, race, etc.)
Underage relationships
Male or Gender Neutral Reader POVs (Ask if you have questions, but this is primarily due to the fact that I am not confident in writing for these POVs and do not have the time to learn.)
Female Character x Reader (Similar to previous bullet, it’s extremely difficult to write something I’m not personally attracted to/interested in)
Hatred towards Omega
Star Wars: Clones [Echo, Fives, Rex, Wolffe, etc.], Bad Batch [Tech, Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker], Obi-Wan, Mando
The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon
Death Stranding: Sam Porter Bridges
Open
I’ll update this and make an announcement if and when this status changes. Requests will be taken with creative liberties, though I will do my best to honor the original request/prompt.
For guidelines refer to do’s and do not’s above. Any requests that don’t adhere to the do not’s will be deleted.
TAGLIST NOTICE
I’m sorry to those of you who asked to be tagged when I publish, but I will not be keeping a taglist for my posts.
I work overtime most weeks and I’m lucky to have the time to even write at all. As much as I love each of you and am incredibly grateful that you want to read my work, I just don’t have the time nor mental energy to maintain a taglist. I’m sure in this day and age there’s ways to make it easier, but I’d rather avoid the hassle altogether and make posting as stress-free as possible, that way I’ll still enjoy it and continue to want to do it. I want to avoid making writing and posting a chore, and you all don’t deserve to be seen as a chore. <3
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Today, I found out that my fanfic, More Than Empty Servitude, has been copied by another fanfic writer, both on AO3 and Tumblr.
The similarities range from nuanced to blatantly copied, even down to the backstory, appearance, and friendships/relationships of the FMC. Some very specific events and dialogue have also been copied, uncannily so. Thankfully, the copied story eventually becomes its own, but still feels like a fanfic of the source material (MTES) itself.
While I am all for being inspired by others in the fandom,
copying and plagiarizing is not okay.
I know at the end of the day, there’s no such thing as an original idea anymore, but when you have THIS many back to back to back similarities, it’s hard to pass off as flattery, inspiration, or coincidence.
(Especially when the author copying left kudos on MTES just a couple months ago, only to then publish their own fic a few weeks later.)
All this to say, if you are inspired by a piece of fanart or fan fiction, please use that inspiration with careful consideration. Tag the source material, credit the author, something, anything. Or, better yet, find a way to portray what you loved from the source material in a new and unique way, rather than copying aspects line for line, design by design.
Seeing this copied fanfic has left me feeling deflated and defeated, my writing motivation doused. I have spent YEARS creating and writing this story. To see it be reused and claimed as someone else’s has me feeling robbed and cheated.
To everyone in the fandom, creator and consumer alike, please don’t do this.
Summary: You arrive at the First Grove, the first site within the king's palace grounds, but further from the palace. You travel with Navë, Hareth, Branniel, and your guards, planning on using Hareth's memory as fuel for your healing of the corruption. What you don't expect is for the Elvenking to witness this experimental attempt.
AO3 Link
Previous Part: Chapter 4
Author's Note: Hi folks! I've been so excited to post this chapter! We are really getting into the weeds of this corruption in Mirkwood. I love how it turned out. Your comments and kudos mean so much to me! I literally freak out every time I see one. I can't believe people are liking this lil long fic of mine. Blows my mind.
I do not use generative AI in my writing
Scene 1 – Preparing for the Grove
“So he said yes?” Navë pokes her yellow-haired head out of the door to your quarters.
“Yes, he did,” you smile, knowingly. Candaer also smiles at her excitement, his dark eyes glinting as they look upon your happy attendant. “You’re coming.”
That afternoon, you and Navë go back to the healer’s storeroom to get more vials, a small blade to scrape, and basic healing supplies in case someone gets injured later. With Fergrath now on-watch outside of your door, it is just you and Navë remaining in your quarters. You prepare some less-delicate clothes for tomorrow, and begin to walk Navë through the basics of healing while sprawled on the covered floor, a richly red carpet cushioning your repose. The skirts of your blue-grey dress fan out like ice over blood.
“Here,” you hand her some gauze. “So now pretend that here –” you gesture to a spot on your arm with a beauty mark for a reference point. “– is a stab wound. How would you wrap it?” The amber-eyed elleth squinted her eyes at you, slowly lowering the gauze. As she lowers it, a smile creeps onto your face.
“No. I must clean it first before I dress it,” Navë tilts her head, challengingly.
“Well done, but clean it with what?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at the array of herbs in front of you.
“With…athelas?” She asks, gesturing to the curly leafed stalks bundled together tightly.
“Not alone, or at least, when the men brought this plant from the West, they taught others to boil it for its best properties, so either reach for this, which we already extracted –” you gesture to a small bottle with a greenish liquid in it. “– but more importantly, you must also call the spirit of the person to come and aid you in healing their wound.”
You extend a hand to her, and she takes it softly, looking up to you. “Healing the spirit comes with will and song. Sing a song of old to me,” you ask.
“Of old? What do you mean?”
“Of your history, a song from the Woodland Realm that I would not otherwise be familiar with.”
“The Feast of the Stars is coming up, and there is this one…this one often gets sung,” she clears her throat. It is not in Sindarin, my lady. You may need some practice to learn it. The more simple translation says, ‘I go walking/Beyond the forest/Where the world falls away/And the white light/Of forever fills the air.’”
“That’s so beautiful,” you melt into the ethereal meaning. “Please sing it to me so that I might join you come the festival.” Navë smiles and begins to bind the wrappings upon your arm – just as you showed her – singing softly,
“Hae ephadron
Theri thaur
Am na dhû
Ias fîr i ambar
A trehil I ‘alad ‘lân uir ‘wilith”
The sound of her voice rings delicately and serenely off of the natural curves of the walls of your rooms. You hum in appreciation, closing your eyes for the duration of the song. Your arm is fully bandaged – and bandaged well – by the time she finishes the song, humming the melody again for you almost as another verse.
“I’m glad you like it,” Navë smiles, pausing and setting down your arm. “Do you think the forest can truly hold onto such memories?”
You pause and consider, then tell her, “Bodies can remember pain, no matter how well you heal them,” you hold up your beautifully bandaged arm, realizing it is the arm that was choked by mud in the tumultuous woods. “So, at least in theory, if bodies remember, then – perhaps – forests do too.”
“In theory?” Navë bites her bottom lip nervously.
“That’s all we have for now,” you sigh. “We should rest before tomorrow, but thank you. I shall practice your song.” Navë stands from the floor, and helps you ready for bed before leaving for her own rest. Not many more words are said, yet you find yourself in the most content of company.
Scene 2 – Arrival at the First Grove
Hareth and Branniel meet you, Navë, Candaer, and a very tired Fergrath at the large palace doors, all of you dressed practically for the mission ahead of you – much more practically than for a simple medical errand.
Doors open with a gust of biting wind, and guards call out to each other as you make your way outside.
It has been nearly a week since you were last outside of the walls of the king’s palace. Judging by the tense looks on all three elleths’ faces, the whiteness of their knuckles, you can’t be sure how long it has been since they have left. The wet stone of the bridge splashes droplets around the ankles of your boots, but your boots rise to just below your knee. Leggings tuck into your boots, a light sleeveless ranger’s tunic with a mock neck peaking just above your mother’s clasp that rests back where your throat meets your collarbone. You wear your dark blue cloak of Mithlond, the Grey Havens. Your hair is pulled back with clips that look like the vines of the forest, a detail Navë felt quite clever adding.
Hareth’s shoulders nearly reach the lobes of her pointed ears, tense. Her face twists with every step.
“Lead on,” you encourage her, placing a hand on her shoulder. You give her a warm smile, “You know the way better than I.”
“You have a map, don’t you?” She snaps. I’d be emotional too, your heart squeezes thinking of how difficult it must be to leave along the path you once walked with your great love. Branniel carries a small rucksack of supplies over her shoulder, a few paces behind, more in step with Candaer and Fergrath. She watches Hareth closely, brows furrowing at Hareth’s tone.
Navë is uncharacteristically quiet, taking cautious steps, walking next to Candaer who helps her jump over larger puddles instead of having her move ahead. Cute.
“I do have a map, if you’d prefer,” you swing your small pack around, about to dig through it when she puts a hand on yours to stop you.
“No, it –” she shakes her head. “It’s fine. Follow me.” You nod, bowing subtly. She takes a breath and starts down a very bumpy path, littered with vines and roots, leaves and debris. You all watch the woman weave and bob through the vines, her brows knit together in memory, her lips pursed. Her eyes trace the ceiling of trees that must have been green before. Nimbly for her age, she moves with pace, intentionally, and it does take some effort for the rest of you to keep up. You follow the flashes of silvery-grey hair as she traces the nearly forgotten trail to the First Grove.
As you got more of a look at the back of her head, it suddenly occurred to you that Hareth wore her long grey hair down today – with the exception of only two small braids that tucked behind her ears. It’s not like her, you realize, to wear her hair down at all instead of a practical and tight, low bun.
You turn to Branniel to ask her about it. “I think she wore it like this with her husband,” she says. “Though, this is the first time I am seeing it.” You clutch at the swans of your clasp, bowing to each other.
In your vigorous pace to follow the senior healer, after only ten minutes on foot, you come to a dome of branches, bound together like a shell, great trees with roots as tall as you form a massive circle the size of a grand courtyard. The dome covers a large pit of briar. Within the pit are cracked stone benches, carved arches and large roots that drop down into the pit to form archways. You imagine couples arm in arm, imagining where they once passed. Pale white buds peppered the thorny briars, flowers that would never bloom in this corruption or cold. Blackened vines choke old stone walking paths.
Hareth stops at the very edge of the path and goes very still.
Scene 3 – White Flowers
“Is this –” You begin to ask. Hareth gives a solemn nod.
“The Grove,” she says, voice tight.
“How have we never come across this place before, Fer?” Candaer remarks in awe.
“Did you see how bad the path was to get here?” Fergrath replies, pulling a twig from the buckle of his boot.
You shoot them a glare, nodding over to Hareth who seems frozen in thought. Navë steps on his boot sharply to double down. He cringes in realization, mouthing an apology.
You step to her side, lacing your arm through hers. She clutches onto you, her eyes still fixed ahead. “Tell me about him,” you encourage softly, trying to follow her gaze down into the thorny courtyard.
She gave a teary but sharp HA! “You’re just trying to get me to tell you so you can use it,” she retreats defensively, pressing her eyes shut, as if trying to keep her memories of her husband hidden behind her eyelids, keeping them for herself alone.
“Use it to heal this place. Isn’t that what we both want?” You ask, earnestly. She doesn’t reply, but she releases the tension on her eyelids. You pause in consideration, then speak again; “Was he handsome?”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” she laughs despite herself, blinking softly. The wall of salty tears wobbles in the waterline of her tired eyes. She lifts her hand to blot them away, but it just gives permission for more tears to patter upon the bleeding earth.
You wait for her to continue. The rest of the group waits a few yards behind the two of you who were at the edge of the vine dome. After a moment, she squeezes your arm, encouraging you to look where she points. With a sniff and a straightening of her posture, she says, “We met each other while he was courting another elleth, taking her around the Grove. The problem was that she and I were…seeing each other privately.”
“Hareth!” Branniel exclaims.
“I used to have my fun too,” she smiles slyly back at her apprentice. “But she and I were not each other's One. We knew this. Though, I did not want to admit it at the time. I completely tripped him on their way out. He got covered in mud and she laughed at him. He was so embarrassed that I felt horribly. I smeared mud on my own outfit, and she thought me so strange. She left. And we spent hours together that day. Every day we would try to look out for each other in this grove. There,” she pointed to a bench across the way, “he would bring me ridiculously large flowers. I didn’t even know what to do with them, but he’d tuck them behind my ears.”
When she drops your arm to touch the place behind her ear, you let the story course through you, reaching out to the vines of the dome.
Hareth continues as you begin to channel your energy into the place in the dome where it swallows the stone path down into the grove. An entrance should be here, you intuit. You focus in, closing your eyes.
“We argued about what plants work better for treating head pains. I told him he gave me head pains. I can’t tell if he made me laugh or if I was too clever in teasing him, making myself laugh. Either way, we laughed here.”
Navë instinctively reaches for Candaer’s arm, and he extends it, blushing. She rests her head against his shoulder. His black hair contrasts with her golden straw-colored hair.
White light blooms from your palms, and Hareth heaves a shaky breath, muttering, “A healer from the sea indeed.”
The rot loosens. Some of the vines begin to shrink back into the earth, pulling and parting in the shape of an entrance way. Some of the flower buds begin to open and bloom. “Yes!” Hareth claps her hands, exclaiming with tearful delight. “Flowers like these ones.” You allow her memory to course through you like a song, proud of the joy you are bringing her. For a brief moment, even as she is done speaking her memory, when the healing should have run its course, you feel a momentary surge where you more deeply connect with the ground. The path’s roots uncurl from their walking stone captives.
Then, as soon as the surge starts, it stops. The roots slow their descent into the earth. They stutter. Your palms don’t lose energy, but rather you feel the tug of something much more challenging to overcome. The entrance into the First Grove courtyard is not entirely open, though the roots have braided themselves into an arch around it, only one or two roots stretch across the opening. There’s a resistance to going further. You open your eyes.
Across the First Grove, atop a horse of white, the elvenking watches, a violent expression across his face.
Scene 4 – Projections in the Mire
The Elvenking sends for his horse at the break of day. He informs his guard that he will be personally witnessing the healer that was given to him. Thranduil, donning his silver armor, makes his way from the palace tenuously, waiting for your party to go ahead. Taking a longer path around to the grove than the one his senior healer would most likely take, he canters cautiously among the trees, using their dark cover to observe from a distance. He imagines that he should be concerned that his guards do not notice him, or appreciative that they do not react if they do notice him.
Icy blue, discerning eyes seek to make their judgement. He finds you across the way, slightly obscured by the dome of vines, but his sharp vision and sharp hearing never fails him. Wholly absorbed in trying to hear you speak to Healer Hareth, Thranduil catches your voice, soft, lilting, persuasive: “Use it to heal this place. Isn’t that what we both want?”
His mind drifts to things he remembers truly wanting. What did he want with you…he imagines the slope of your neck in the dress yesterday, the shape of your waist. What did you truly want with him?
Finally, he sees the light, the glow pouring from your hands engulfs your body in a halo of light – its purity unseen since the likes of Galadriel. He considers, purity, yet you are covered in mud. Thranduil leans forward, drawn in by your beauty. There is serenity in your face, yet an intense focus. You are clearly powerful, yet so unguarded.
His lips part in shock when he sees it. Your will and light begins to move the vines around the dome. They pull back into the earth. He felt an unfamiliar stirring beneath his armor, his heart speeding up at the thrill of watching you. You, this new thing to behold, a weapon much sharper than promised.
What if you did fix this forest for him? Hareth, whom he has known since he was a young ellon, is an incredibly hard person to get through to. Was memory truly so powerful when combined with your touch? Hareth, of all people, letting herself be guided…
Thranduil ponders his own memories here. Imagining her. The mother of his child. His late wife. Had they not walked here in the Grove together? She carried their son in these gardens. She listened to his woes. Yes, their marriage was political, but they shared so much. He presses his eyes shut, trying to keep his grief at bay.
Atop his horse of white, the platinum-haired ellon opens his eyes to gaze on the grove. He can’t help himself. Looking below him, he faintly pictures the First Grove when it was greener, imagining his family whole. He pictured the shape of a life before loneliness hardened around him. The most painful form of hope pierces his heart; a yearning for what might never be again until he is nothing but the spirit which holds his long memory.
How long it has been since his life felt like this memory, bittersweet as their marriage was. He imagines her long pale eyelashes as they closed when they kissed under one of the arches at dawn. He remembers when they closed for the last time.
This pain, at first a dull yearning for this place to be healed, the dull yearning of nostalgia corrupts like the black branches above him. He wants to cry out in anguish as the projections of his own mind dissipate until he stares plainly at the briar that separates you from him. Guarded by armor, he feels bare as you open your eyes, the glow gone, and you see him.
You. Have you done this? Had you pulled him into your magic? Your healing process?
“My Lord! I am so honored to see that you came to witness this! The grove responded to the theory!” You shout across the thicket. You are too far away to read your expression entirely. Thranduil scowls at this, for how dare you be joyful at misery being the cure for this sick wood.
Once you call out, Hareth whips around to look at him with alarm, worry plastered across her face at how vulnerable she had been in front of the Elvenking.
Shame and wrath rise within him, guarding him better than silver armor could ever. “Quiet!” He hisses across the way, cutting through the tightening air. He rides his horse almost all the way around the grove. Then, he dismounts, storming over to you.
He towers above, every bit the wrathful king Elrond said he would be. You immediately turn red, realizing that you forgot yourself in your excitement. You bow down, curtsying deeply, gaze on the forest floor. You hear your guard companions clink as they drop into a deep bow behind you. The other healers join your curtsy.
Every step towards you, he allows the knife of memory to twist in his heart, glaring at you, you sharp thing.
As you look at the ground, waiting for his approach, to your horror, the vines begin to creep back. Slowly at first, then as he gets closer to you, they roar out of the ground. You turn before he storms over to you, curtsy be damned. You rush to the spot where you had healed the wounded grove, and attempt to save it, wildly willing your healing to come to these vines to no avail. The entrance is doubly covered in brush with the king’s tandem wrath.
The flowers wilt within seconds. You drop to your knees, cupping the dead petals, he doesn’t halt his stride, even as you kneel on the ground. His boots stop just feet from your knees.
Hareth, who never dropped her gaze when she curtsied, stands to her full height when the kind stops. She looks between the king’s seething countenance and the corrupted and wild growth. And then she understands.
Scene 5 – Hareth’s Stash
Looking down at the half-elf curled on the ground, cupping a dying flower, Thranduil seethingly bends down, silver crown atop his head shining. “Rise, healer of Mithlond,” he commands calmly, summoning surprising coolness despite his apparent anger. Rather, his eyes are piercing in his analysis of the vengeful vines. “I would like an explanation of how you did this. I watched you have some limited success before the vines returned, something I have not seen from my healers yet.” He moues a disappointed frown to compliment his bored expression, as he shoots a look over to Hareth who purses her lips, but does not lower her gaze.
“They were entirely instrumental in my work today,” you say in your party’s defense. You brush off your tunic, standing from your despair at the failure of the vines in holding down. It hurts to drop the petals to the ground, just for them to become another layer in the earth. “I listened to Healer Hareth speak of her late husband and their times here. The story…it helped me channel my own healing.”
“You would make grief into a tool, and call the result healing?” He scoffs mirthfully. You have to tilt your head back just to look up at him, the already tall elf feels like he casts a menacing shadow over you. You feel a burning feeling of shame across your cheeks. You did fail. You failed like you did with the river vines.
“I offered my memories, my lord, they were not exploited. They were freely given, to be used to repair this grove.” Hareth says, her own expression icing over. Branniel adjusts the bag on her shoulder, her expression fixed and firm in agreement with her teacher.
“I require a full report, and until you can tell me how you mean to prevent this backlash, you do not leave the grounds of my palace just to further corrupt my kingdom,” Thranduil says, eyes flashing as they meet yours. Your eyes sting in guilt and apology, but through it all, as you hold his intense stare, you swear you see pain beneath his commanding gaze. Just as he turns, you catch his arm at the silver bracer.
“I never meant to –” Your heart feels pulled towards his pain. He heaves, breath heavy with anger. His eyes snap to your hand. His mouth barely parts, then closes again. He snatches his hand away. His chin lifts. He looks stricken – eyes wide before they narrow and look past you as he regains control of his expression.
Thranduil mounts his horse.
“Go back to your quarters,” he says in a surprisingly soft yet still commanding voice that you’ve never heard before. The thrumming of your own heartbeat in your ears overwhelms you. He rides off, back down the main trail, the white haired ellon on his great white steed.
“What in Valar’s name were you about to do?” Hareth snaps at you incredulously, face full of concern. “Give the king a hug?”
“I - I don’t know. I just…” your words trail off as you see, in the king’s wake roots burst out of the ground, thorns and thickets grow. The roots finish pouring back, reclaiming most of the progress you made and then some, closing up most of your way back.
“Did you bring your sword?” Fergrath asks you, heading towards nature's wrath and beginning the hard work of chopping at the new vines.
“Come now, this worked!” Hareth nudges you. It makes you smile faintly, though the shame of disappointing the Elvenking was still sitting heavily on your sternum.
“And you were quite the cynic, too, no?” Navë says to Hareth, trying to encourage you.
“Listen. I’m happy to be proven wrong. This grove accepted your help. You have something very special, child. A powerful gift,” Hareth admits. She then drops her voice to a low and hushed tone so as to speak only to you, “However, we do need to speak privately.” You look over to her, the pit in your stomach and pressure on your chest only deepening. You nod.
You cut and chop your way through with the help of Breeze, Fergrath, and Candaer. You come back to the front entrance. Knowing that you had a looming limitation on exiting once you entered those doors made it feel like you were entering into a form of imprisonment, though you knew you could leave at any time and go back to Rivendell. Though, it would mean another treacherous journey back, just to admit that you had failed your lords when they entrusted you with such a mission. Perhaps you couldn’t just leave at any time: bound by your mission and the Elvenking.
The party makes their way to their respective rooms, Fergrath following you and Hareth to the healing wing.
“Please wait outside,” Hareth says before slamming the door in the red-haired ellon’s face.
“Hareth!” You exclaim at her rudeness.
“We need to talk about the king, and like it or not – friend or not – his responsibility is to the king. I would say, I’ve lived longer than King Thranduil has. My responsibility is to the realm.” You let that sink in, pulling a worn chair away from one of her large tome-ridden tables. She doesn’t sit.
Hareth moves to a back cupboard, stained a dark and rich brown. She opens it up, pulling out a bottle of wine, grabbing a knife and beginning to open it. She does not ask if you want a glass, pouring rich blood-red wine into a silver chalice. You have no idea until she hands it to you just how full the cup is. It is very full.
Sitting down in front of you, she takes a long swig of her wine. “Drink.”
You take a sip of the wine, the bombastic scent of cherry and flowers and rich verdant soil hits your nose before the rich drink touches your tongue. “Wow, this is beautiful,” you go back for another sip.
“Don’t mention it,” Hareth waves, clearly trying to focus the conversation. “Did you see him as you were healing?” The elder healer did not need to clarify who he was. The silver-crowned Elvenking was at the forefront of your mind.
“No, only at the very end. I usually need to close my eyes to focus on the healing, if I know that it is a larger amount of energy that I need to summon.”
“Good. Then I’ll tell you what I saw,” Hareth leans back in a chair, starting to tie her hair back into a tight knot.
“When I spoke of my husband, when you were working, the grove seemed very open. And when King Thranduil watched at first it looked like your healing held well.” Hareth tips her glass to you.
“Do you think the king…so, you think the king helped?” Your mind races.
“I know he was looking at you. I’m not sure. He seemed fairly neutral, and the roots were moving well into the ground. Then he changed to this dark, dark expression. It was quite sinister.” Her voice darkens as she imagines it again.
“And that’s when the roots stopped moving?” You ask, trying to follow her logic.
“Exactly. And when he rode away, after you tried to reach out to him – which we still need to unpack whatever that was –” she looks at you sharply as you start to blush, looking down into your goblet of wine. “– I know you also saw his distress and the wake of corruption that bloomed behind him.”
“I did see that. So, you’re saying that he’s causing this or that he’s…what?”
“If he didn’t cause this, then he certainly – at the very least – has a significant role to play with you being able to heal any of this,” Hareth stops rocking on the back legs of the chair, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, smoothing her hair back with the hand that isn’t holding the wine, unnerved. She looks and sees your bewildered expression.
Sighing, she adds, “In other words, if your healing is a door, we can open the damn thing, but the king has to stop slamming it shut. Even better, is if he could open the door all the way and keep it open for you to do what you need to do.”
“What if it was a coincidence?” You ask, weakly.
“Do you honestly believe that after what we saw?” Hareth rolls her eyes, finishing her goblet. You now see why she poured you a cup.
“I don’t know what to think right now, nor do I have a good explanation for grabbing his arm, I don’t know. Do you think he hates me after this? I have absolutely killed this whole effort by not thinking!”
“Drink.” Hareth repeats. You take a shaky sip. “Our king is a passionate one. He cares very deeply about the safety of the realm,” she grants.
“I can’t imagine how scary it must be to see the vines come back stronger after I healed them,” you say softly. “He just looked so…hurt. I –” you almost, even now, wish you could reach out. Heal that broken look in his eyes. Grief…but for what? You recall your preparations for going to Mirkwood, how Elrond had warned you of the king’s temperamental nature, and warned you that he lost his wife over a millenia ago. You knew they were an arranged marriage, but were they in love? Did they stroll together in the First Grove? Did they kiss under the arches like Hareth and her husband?
A knot forms in your gut as you imagine Thranduil bending down, gently cupping an elleth’s face in his hands, her similarly white-blonde hair long and perfect as he kissed her passionately, filled with the care he had for his home. You imagine him melting into the kiss. How he would shift and sigh. How you would pull him in by his arms. How you would soothe him with your lips. How –
“Valar, tell me you’ve had wine before,” Hareth curses, waving a hand in front of your face. You blink, hard. Fuck…what were you thinking?
“I have, it’s just been a long day,” you explain, though you can feel the warmth of the wine beginning to spread to your fingers and chest. You do feel lighter, but so warm. The heady flavor of the wine lingers on your tongue.
“Mhm,” Hareth looks at you askance. “You should still meet with the king for the report. I suspect you’ll want to clear the air as well,” she pours some more wine into your cup before you can protest.
By nightfall, conversation flows…more loosely between you.
“Be honest, do you think he hates me?” You palm your forehead in tipsy anguish. Navë taps at the door, cracking it open.
Hareth assures you sleepily, “My love, you have absolutely no way of knowing that, nor can I condone you wallowing in your own anxiety! All. Will. Be. Well.”
“My lady, it is such a late hour. Candaer was looking to relieve Fergrath at your chambers but you are still…here,” she pauses, taking in the now drunk bottle of wine in front of you.
“Decompressing, are we?” Navë laughs.
You give a small nod.
“Let’s get you to bed though,” she giggles, as you stand. You don’t wobble. You weren’t too lost in your cups, but you did feel a pleasant buzz across your skin. You give her a smile and a laugh as she ushers you out the door.
“Did you save me a glass?” Fergrath jokes, eyes floating shut from exhaustion.
“Oh, no! Was I supposed to bring you a glass? Is that a thing here?” You wonder aloud, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. A light dizziness hums in the back of your neck, a welcome buzz from the wine.
“No, it’s not. Now, walk us back and you must go to bed as well,” Navë scolds your guard. You make your way back the winding path into your hallway, passing a few elves who glance in your direction, but most of them tipsy or destination-focused themselves.
You make it to your quarters, greeting the dark-haired ellon at your door. You push inside with Navë, stripping with every step as you go further into the room. “I have to report to the king tomorrow, Navë,” you start. “I really do think he hates me, and I’ve lost all favor with him. Now, what will I report to my lords back home and in Rivendell?”
You slip on a comfortable night garment, and crawl into bed.
“How desperately do you believe him to hate you?” Navë asks, regret already pouring into her words as she asks. She looks upon you, your whole countenance wracked with anxiety. “I do have a…person I know who tends to the king in his quarters,” she whispers, looking towards the door.
“I used to see him before…”
“Before you and Candaer?” You ask, oblivious to her attempt at stealth.
“Shhhhh!” She covers your mouth with her hand. “Yes, but he is now married and very happy. We are friends alone. Still, you have to promise not to say anything. He works as an attendant to the king. I can ask after the mood of King Thranduil tonight, see if his behavior is out of the norm. He owes me a favor, but obviously he would get in trouble if you reveal that you know anything.”
You vigorously nod, agreeing to these very agreeable terms.
“Very well. I will try to find him tonight. You’ll owe me then,” Navë smiles at you. “Now, rest.” You feel your heart float to ease. Your forehead releases its tension that it has been carrying subconsciously. You sink into your mattress and allow your dreamless rest to take you.
Ok I know I'm mainly a Star Wars blog but this story has me in a CHOKEHOLD and I have to share it. When I tell you I was RAVENOUS waiting for this chapter this week, I am HUNGRYYYYY FOR MORE OKAY?
As if Fridays didn't come slowly as it is 😭
Tags/Warnings: Captain Rex x F!Reader, no use of Y/N, no order 66/the war is over, Fives lives, fluffy as Toy Story skies, a teeny weeny sprinkle of angst, TWO—count ‘em—TWO smooches, swimming, roughhousing in water (be safe in the water, folks), a noogie between brothers (what the heck is a noogie? (link)), general merriment
Summary: The war is over. It's a sunny day, the air is clear, there's a nice breeze, and the perfect spot on a hill by a small river. Who could ever ask for more?
@cloneficgiftexchange Spring Prompt: New Beginnings
AI Notice: Any and all use of my work in training AI is expressly prohibited. Do not use my work in training artificial intelligence.
Water babbled over smooth rocks, its sound tickling your ears like a sweet lullaby. Two small creeks converged into one, rolling river, stretching just wide and deep enough to fish or swim in. Fluffy clouds dotted a perfect blue sky, drifting slowly with the breeze.
A chorus of laughter echoed behind you, briefly pulling your attention to the faint bustle of the day at the top of the hill. You ran your hand over the gingham blanket beneath you, smoothing out a few wrinkles despite knowing more would be made anyway.
Footsteps crunched in the grass behind you. Turning your head over your shoulder, you found Rex approaching from the hill, a drink in each hand. You smiled warmly as he passed you a lemonade, watching him brush off his bare feet before he stepped on the blanket. He leaned and laid a hand flat behind you, grunting softly as he lowered himself to sit. Once seated and sure his drink wouldn’t topple from his hand, you scooted in. He adjusted his support arm slightly, shifting to make your lean into his side more comfortable.
You let out a content sigh, bringing your drink to your lips. You relished in its refreshing tang; a relief on a warm day. A cool breeze rustled through the trees every once in a while, helping the sun’s rays feel more pleasant than glaring. Its light dappled through leaves and branches, decorating your blanket and the grass around it with filtered light and dancing shadows. The sight made your heart wish it could sing.
Rex moved to take a sip of his drink, bringing your attention back to him. You shifted your head, leaning it against his shoulder at an angle where you could look up at him. Maker, he was beautiful. Relaxed, leaned back in civvies—it suited him. The war was over. He could relax and breathe like this more often, now.
He must’ve felt your staring. His face remained pointed to the river, but his eyes drifted to the lower corner, finding and meeting your gaze with a slight smirk. He made a lighthearted quip about liking what you see. Your chuckle and shameless confirmation drew a laugh out of him. He turned his head, his lips pressing a tender kiss your forehead. Your eyes drifted closed at the contact, letting out a warm hum.
They opened at a touch on your chin. Rex’s fingers pulled your face up towards his, his own eyes drifting shut as he leaned down, his lips ghosting against your own. You let your eyes shut again as he pressed into a slow, languid kiss. There was no haste, no rush to claim each other. It was full of ease; an odd sense of security neither of you had felt before.
He pulled away and rested his nose against the side of yours, both of you taking a moment to breathe. Your eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as you tilted your head. You pulled away ever so slightly, finding a better view of his eyes.
In them you found a certain kind of sadness. The sadness of a man who saw hundreds of men fall. Hundreds of his brothers who would never know a day like this, when the war was over and all there was left to do was hope and dream and plan and do. He’d never known that before, and had to admit he never thought of what that might even be like. Yet here he was, finally knowing peace. With his brothers—with you.
A shine rose to his eyes as he looked right back into yours. Your brow gave a small furrow as if to check he was alright, but he only smiled softly and nodded almost imperceptibly. You passed your drink to the other hand, raising your palm to cup his jaw and cheek. If your cold hand shocked him he made no indication of it, just exhaled and turned his head to gently brush his cheek against your palm.
After a few moments he took your hand in his, lowering it away from his face as he dipped his head to meet your lips again. It was still slow, but this time a little less delicate. This was more reverent, like he was savoring what the freedom to openly hold and kiss you felt like.
A wolf-whistle, followed by whoops and hollers jarred you from the moment. You pulled back quickly, surprised and a little hot in the cheeks with embarrassment. Rex didn’t move, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth while a furrow dug into his brow. You brought your hand to your growing smile, fingers resting where his lips were moments before.
Rex finally turned his head to face his brothers, who now laughed freely, throwing pokes of fun and gibes as they walked down the hill past you. All of them were dressed in their swim trunks, several with towels thrown over a shoulder, and some with a ball or floatie in tow.
He turned back to you, a mischievous, revenge-hungry smirk on his face. He apologized, relenting that duty called. You quirked a brow with a sly grin, reminding him the war was over. He shrugged as he downed the rest of his drink in several gulps, then corrected that it was his brotherly duty. You laughed, playfully scoffing at how you could’ve forgotten. Rex set his cup to the side and stood, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to one corner of the blanket. You grinned and smacked his calf lightly with the back of your fingers, telling him to show them what’s what. He took a few steps toward the river, throwing a faux salute over his shoulder at you.
Several cheers rang out as he approached the riverbank. Rex stopped in place at the water’s edge and planted both fists on his hips, taking a commanding stance. The group went quiet as he spoke, each freezing mid-move in the water. After several moments of what you could only assume was him speaking, every head turned to Fives. He blinked and gaped at Rex, then began sputtering his defense. Rex stepped forward, advancing down into the water towards the accused. Their brothers’ laughter kicked up again, “oohs” of anticipation echoing up the hill. Fives began frantically wading away from Rex, but his brothers worked against him, holding him back with wide smiles.
When he was close enough, Rex all but tackled Fives into the water. Their brothers roared with laughter and shouts of encouragement, some for Rex and some for Fives. They popped back up out of the water, Fives’ begs for mercy breaking through his sputtering laughter. Rex, however, didn’t give him an ounce of mercy this time.
Amidst a flurry of flying limbs and splashing water, you couldn’t tell who was winning or not. Not that it would make much of a difference. With the way Rex made for his brother, you knew he’d come out on top.
Sure enough, moments later Rex was proved victorious. Fives’ head was locked securely under his arm on the unfortunate receiving end of a head-rattling noogie.
Rex released Fives, earning a round of cheers and applause from his brothers. You laughed along with them, clapping despite knowing he couldn’t quite hear you. He stood among everyone for a few minutes more, catching and tossing the ball when it was passed to him. He made a final pass to Kix, then turned and started climbing out of the river, his eyes finding you on the gentle slope of the hillside.
As he approached you, you realized he had another mischievous glint in his eyes. You shifted where you sat, suddenly finding a nervous giggle ready to bubble up out of you.
Rex rolled his shoulders as he came to the edge of the blanket and gestured for you to stand up. You vigorously shook your head, smiling despite knowing exactly what he wanted to do. He quirked an eyebrow, asking you if this was your idea of insubordination. You giggled and bit back that you weren’t his subordinate anyway. His grin widened as he quipped that he'd see about that.
You yelped out a laugh as Rex leaned over the blanket, his still dripping-wet arms outstretched toward you while you scooted yourself away. He put a knee to the blanket, stretching further to plant his hands on your waist, drawing even more laughter from you.
You squealed in surprise as he tossed you over his shoulder, kicking your feet and wiggling while you laughed your protests. Every step to the riverbank, you demanded he put you down, but his chest only rumbled with a chuckled denial of your “request”.
He reached the river and finally lowered you off his shoulder, gently planting your feet to the bank. You tried to make a break for it but he was quicker, wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you to himself.
Still holding you firmly in his arms, he turned his back to the water and leaned back, letting himself fall in and taking you with him. Water rushed over you both, the cold sending a swarm of chills through your whole body.
You gasped and yelped at the cold, breathlessly laughing in shock. Rex’s chest shook with laughter behind you. He loosened his grip, letting you float a few inches from his body. You turned under the water, giggling as you raised a hand to splash and scold him. He laughed again and blinked rapidly under the spray, admitting that was deserved.
Whether you knew it or not, being able to spend the day with you and his brothers, to openly hold you and kiss you and play in a river—all without a thought of the war—was starting to heal something in him he couldn’t quite put a name to.
This was the start of something completely new. The war was over. He and his brothers could choose their own paths. And while there would surely be challenges ahead (namely with politics and clone rights), if his future looked anything like this, Rex knew it would be well worth any struggle yet to come.
I had an idea, that seemed fairly straight forward on the surface: make an etched 3D wood cut scene of Tech working in a chaotic enemy computer lab, trying to get important data.
It was anything but straight forward, but we are almost there.
I drew the design from scratch in Adobe Illustrator, breaking out all the different layers. Then, I put them all into the laser cutter software, Lightburn, and got all the settings figured out.
And then, I decided to make it even more complex and add lights. The wiring map broke my brain. I nearly gave up many times.
We are now 96 hours in, with 14 individual layers, and 17 separate pieces, plus the electronics, but we are near the finish line!
I finished a prototype epilogue jacket for that version of Omega. It won't be exactly screen accurate, but I wanted the gist of it for my AU Bad Batch 1/6 scale figures. They also got a couple dogs, a Miniature American Shepherd named Havoc(my breed) and Echo got a malinois that he named Recon.
I have a few tweaks to make to Tech, want to try a different style of glasses. It's been fun trying different outfits and accessories with each character.
@jasontoddiefor's new Jedi Traditions chapter mentioned Masters letting younglings sit in their laps during floating meditation and?? my crops are watered, skin cleared, food seasoned, a solid 11/10 in wholesomeness, would recommend
but what if i read one of your fanfics and then went to your ao3 accounts and read all of your fanfics and left a comment on every single chapter of every single one and you got spam emails from all of my kudos and comments and it made you smile, what then? what if i brighten your day with my words like you did mine, what then???
