neither law, nor love, nor league of hell

my 'Witches of Middle Earth' series

Feanor | Griffith webweaving

Maeglin | Mordred webweaving

Silm x Art series

Numenor Week submissions

Celedriel Week submission

about Feanor asking for Galadriel's hair

why Galadriel stayed in the Middle Earth

why i don't think that the Silmarillion has an 'unreliable narrator'

Mairon isn't Sauron "real name"

parallels between Frodo&Sam and Galadriel&Celeborn

i do sometimes post contents that can be triggering for some people. i do tag everything just in case, but again, keep this in mind.

if i dislike a ship/a character, my dislike isn't for you personally!

i don't write many metas, but if i'll do, i'll add them to this list.

Galadriel, he had called her, and the way he had whispered such a name made her blush even harder than thinking about his cock buried inside of her. Such a thought followed her in her dreams as much in her wake, leaving her musing long on it.

When she had met him in Doriath, she had found herself admiring him, for he was beautiful and brave and bold, and even if he was not among Thingol’s captains, people talked well enough of his valour, for he had defended his people against the attack in the North, in the great Battle-Under-the-Stars. She had started looking at him with liking, musing often about his beauty, especially alone at night in her bed, imagining his clever hands upon her.

To seduce Celeborn had never been her first intention. If anything, at first, Artanis had told herself that she had to forget such a childish infatuation, for she was not a young girl anymore, eager to fall into the traps of love and easily idealizing a man that would prove to be all too different from her fantasies. And how could she ever think about falling in love, after the Doom, after the Helcaraxë?

And yet, and yet. Celeborn was proud, aye, but also able of kindness, prone to tell what he thought with very little care for second ends or for what people might think of him. Some could have mocked the way he wore his heart on his sleeve, but Artanis appreciated that.

He was so different from the Noldorin princes she was used to, who hid their intentions under faces like masks and used words as weapons even before Fëanáro had started to forge his swords.

Maybe it was so that, in that far away land that had never seen the Light of the Two Trees, she had finally found the one she had always longed for, all unknowingly, the one that she had thought long extinct save for her girlish fancies, who could love her with no second end and who would never try to lock her in a cage, as many before him had tried to do more than once. Even dear Findaráto, whom Artanis loved more than anyone else, had by time to time tried to command her.

And often enough in the secrecy of the bedroom, Celeborn had accepted to submit to her, in a way that none would have expected from such a proud prince as he was.

Oh, and how she had loved to mark his body with her nails and teeth, red and blue marks appearing like a field of flowers on his skin, and he had not only allowed that but had also enjoyed it. She had been careful to bestow those signs on him only in places that he could easily hide under clothes, and so the very idea that during the day he would go on his duties at court with the signs of her affection on his skin, albeit well-hidden to anyone’s eyes, made her still shiver in pleasure.