#ienemy

Send me ✪ and my muse will tell you what they’d like to do to/with yours.

One  ✦ = They don’t want to do this at all. Five  ✦ = They would die to be doing this! (Zero  ✦  = “Wat?!”)

Ar-Pharazôn would like to...

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ dance with your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ sing for your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ask your muse out on a date.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ take a bath with your muse.

✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ hold your muse tight. (by the throat...??)

✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ lean onto your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ kiss your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ sleep with your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ marry your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ watch your muse sleep.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ cuddle your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ go to a party with your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ watch a movie with your muse.

✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ play video games with your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ steal horses with your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ cook together with your muse.

✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ support your muse's hobbies.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ get drunk with your muse.

✦ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ watch your muse cry.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ send your muse away.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ make your muse trip.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ deny your muse's existence.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ slap your muse.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ crush your muse's dreams.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ set your muse's home on fire.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✧ ✧ kill your muse.

Though the fair stranger’s stay in Aglon had been short, already did Curufin take a surprising liking to him. While any other may have be treated with wariness at best in this very situation, for his trust did not come easily nor in great amounts, there was something unexplainable about this elf that clicked so seamlessly with him. Their love for metalwork, for the heat of embers upon their skin, for the deadly beauty that could be wrought from an unassuming piece of steel. Finally did Curufin feel as if he had a colleague, one who could match both his skill and his passion, one that he could— and already had— spend hours chatting away about a topic few knew as intimately as he did.

Thus it came to be that Curufin did not sense the beginnings of a web woven specifically for him, and only reacted in amusement. “You flatter me, high smith,” the edges of his lips turn upward into a small smile, pleased at finally having his skill acknowledged. This, Curufin found, was one of the few downsides of metalwork: the better your craft, the fewer the acknowledgement. He lifts his head, setting aside his hammer and turning the chisel in his hands with a cock of his head. A lovely thing it is, dark and elegant, and he knows well just how difficult the art of rune engraving, for even now he still does not consider himself a master.

This forest path was both well trodden and well known. It was the safest way to reach Imladris, Elrond's humble but ever growng stronghold. In his bag was a scroll with Gil-galad's royal seal, containing important tactical messages for the visiting Greenwood royalty awaiting Elrond's return up in the valley. He did not travel by horse, the hooves were too loud and orcs too numerous. He was better off on his light feet, evading them with both grace and the blessing of the radiant sun.

Danger was not always announced by loud noise. Sometimes it was heralded by absolute silence. Elrond halted his steps amidst the tall trees, realising that all he heard was himself. His own footsteps, the rustling of his cloak and his own breathing. Now that unease increased, he also heard his own pulse thrum in his ears.

No birdsong, no skittering critter in the underbush. Life had vacated his surroundings, leaving only the breeze rustling the tree leaves, until even it ceased, stilling moving branches. Everything had fled, leaving only Elrond behind. The forest was warning him.

His heart hammered in his chest, as if it too was a songbird that desperately flapped its tiny wings and tried to escape. Suddenly he did hear something. A step? Someone heavy or large. Another step. Of a foot? No..not a foot. A paw. Elrond had joined enough hunts to know how a walking animal sounded like.

@ienemy sent : [ nuzzle ] sender leans in and nuzzles their face into receiver's neck

love could survive many things. it was, at times, the most resilient emotion. it did not make sense, and to look for logic within love was a doomed search from the start. hers had been dragged through the darkest depths of despair, remained & lingered despite heart abruptly shattered to pieces by the person who'd held it. yet she found herself here again, right back where it began.

fingers ran through his hair and a soft sigh left her lips as he buried his face in her neck, sweet nuzzle as he settled next to her. no bliss could compare to this state of having him in her arms, holding him close to her as if he were to disappear if his touch could not be properly felt. he was hers, hers, hers. as he always had been since the moment they met.

“Not for servants of the enemy. I know not who you are - but what you are is clear.”

Fear swirled around him, clenching his heart like rotted vines. There should never be strangers in this forest. He had crafted his enchantments so thick for a reason. But like Anguirel through flesh, this stranger cut through the fog and shadow as though it were nothing, snuffing out beloved starlight. 

As ever fear made him wroth, but he hesitated to draw the sword, believing now that lecherous eyes lay upon it. Perhaps the enemy had now learned of Eöl’s craftsmanship, and had sent a servant to slay him for his treasures. He refused to make it easy.

But the question plucked at the strings of his pride.

: ̗̀➛ *ೃ༄ THERE IS A SWEETNESS IN THE SOUND OF A BLADE CUTTING THROUGH THE AIR ; that her heart so rejoices at the pitched chime — a deep set hunger in her ocean eyes as steel slices against nothing but the salt and mist thrown up from the great and wild sea beyond. her weapon is forged perfectly , the weight held between calloused palms measured and steady as galadriel swings it to and fro — her body moving with a soft fluidity as she turns against the first morning rays that sun throws down. her body passes through the purest light with ease , as if she is but another beam thrown down across pale marble in grace by the valar high above.

❛  did you come here in all this state to simply watch ?  ❜  his breathing is not heavy but it is carried to her over the sound of the crashing waves beyond them both. she knows that it was @ienemy's hands that crafted the sword she now holds between grateful fingers , one hand wrapped around the hilt as she allows it to fall to her side to rest against flowing silk and heavy fabric of her hitched up skirts with a expulsion of breath that plumes from between her lips like a fine smoke into the coolness above. she does not need to look upon him to know he watches. the thrall and drag of his earthen gaze and the way the unspoken answer that hangs in the morning breeze that drifts between them is palpable.

the city below only now begins to stir, for the most part the citizens of numenor continue to slumber. perhaps it is for the best.

HALBRAND sends a CHALLENGE

@ienemy sent : ❛ he will murder you if i do not go to him. ❜ ( that one au where he finds her captured / tortured in angband :') )

his words do nothing to persuade her, feeble grip on his arm remaining, desperate and fearful. he could shake her off with ease and simply go, yet he did not, and it only spurred on this lingering stubborness that burned as fierce as ever.

morgoth had taken pleasure in his attempts to break her, and her fana had taken all the hits, bruised and battered and wounded. in this state, with clothes having turned to rags and dried blood & grime clinging to her skin - wounds festering. nothing yet enough to take her life, but always to ensure intense agony would be felt. still her spirit remained resilient. fueled by the desire to see mairon again, if only once. it would be worth everything.

" he will murder me regardless of that. " she knew there would be no good ending, no mercy. no chance at survival. morgoth hated her as much as she hated him. she was a threat, now proven by his lieutenant unable to sever his ties to her. he had swayed her beloved expertly, but he could do nothing about love, could not break the bond that lingered quietly yet remained ever so strong. mairon was hers, as she was his, and nothing would make her give up on him, on wanting to bring him back to her.

Chomp on him

His eyes are closed - it is easier to bear if he cannot see the jaws closing in on him. Sharp teeth sink into his shoulder, firm muscle resisting until the skin broke, and blood seeped slowly from the sound. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes again. He tried to laugh, but it was bitter and fearful.