#naaranta

naaranta replied to your post: do u ever ship a thing so hard that yo...

[sweats]

protip friend if you don't want that to happen you can always tag nsfw like "nsfw //" and it'll make it so they can't see the post, because you can't track tags with hyphens or slashes in them.

Lol to be honest I don't really care, I've been roleplaying long enough to know that if a porn blog follows you then you're doing something right on the nsfw scale when you do it.

//S C R E A M S

Just a note, and I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad: but Litcelmo is the brainchild of my friend Charlie and I so if you guys wanna send anons as him, I think that's pretty cool that we have a fanbase, but ask Charlie first okay? :3

The sun shone through the pink and white blossoms and warmed the lush path up to the palace, marked by marble arches that reminded Ondolemar of home, of Alinor; the grounds had been cleared for the wedding festival, and he roamed them now, chatting idly with anyone who approached. Weddings were not really his favorite thing, but it was quite a way to meet his patrons--the King and Queen of Mirkwood, on their wedding day, no less.

As was customary--and the Altmer thankfully found that their customs were not too dissimilar--the bride would arrive at the end of the first day of this grand party, which would continue on for at least two more days afterward. To think he had stepped off the boat from Alinor late yesterday evening, and the people were already welcoming him... he was pleased. Not all Ambassadors had such warm welcomes.

Ambassador. That word felt lovely to associate with himself after all these years waiting to be promoted from his position as a military commander. Of course, he agreed with the promotion--who better to represent Alinor than himself, a prime example of the Altmer male?

Ondolemar had a vague grasp of what had gone on in this land, mysterious as it was--the King, Oropher, was dead, and his son, Thranduil, had finally taken the throne years ago; but, without a queen. When the people of Mirkwood asked for one, asked for royal heirs, Thranduil decided to honor a previous betrothal which had been interrupted by war.

And that was all he knew. Ondolemar had neither seen nor heard anything from the Elvenking, but had been told the previous evening that he would meet him at the wedding feast. He waited as patiently as he could when finally, as the sun was beginning to set, one of the king's stewards summoned him to the great marble courtyard, where the wedding party's table was set and where some had already settled down.

"The bride will be here soon, and the King has requested your presence," the steward mumbled as they made their way down the path toward the courtyard.

Ondolemar folded his hands behind his back. "Good. It's about time we met," he said crisply, tone irreverent--he'd met many a king, and many who claimed to be kings. It was nothing new.

However, when they passed under a great, glistening arch and Ondolemar laid eyes on the solitary figure sitting at the head of the table, his mood shifted. He could feel his throat drying up, felt eyes on him, even though the Elvenking was not looking. The Ambassador's movements were forced, stiff, as he followed the steward the rest of the way.

"Your Majesty, the Ambassador Ondolemar of Alinor." Hearing his name calmed the Altmer a little, strengthened his posture. Yes. Ambassador. That was what he was, and damned if he would be intimidated by this king, of all kings.

Send me a ‘†’ and my muse will sing yours to sleep as your muse passes away

(charlie why would you send me this i’m so confused)