Fëanárë

carrd <- rules, verses, etc highbornlowtide <- my falmar OC (follows back from this url) sidmarillion <- multimuse blog minglinger <- main/shitposting blog

The first thing of which Ranyasúre was obliquely aware of, in the dream, was heat.

The body against hers was furnace-like, lithe and long and strong in ways her own had never been, and the woman— woman, came to her with no evidence physically in the dark— was greedy, as if wrath with Rani even in the midst of desire. Rani dug nails into the woman’s jaw, turning to meet her gaze there, and saw, then, as if it was only natural, the crown heir. Dark hair had been tousled, and bright eyes impassioned, as if Fëanárë had been challenged, and Ranyasúre laughed against lips and teeth, vicious and humored all in one turn.

Rani pressed a hand to peaked breasts, a thumb brushing roughly over, before Fëanárë persistently inched Rani’s shoulders downward, leaving the other nís face to face with her spread thighs. As if by instinct, teeth grazing from her muscled abdomen down, Ranyasúre set to work, eyes closed as she took Fëanárë’s heat in her mouth, tongue lathing as she closed her eyes.

And Rani woke, there in the late years of Valinor, quite astounded by the dream, completely flattened on her bed.

Until he landed a fortunate strike that caused Fëanárë to fall on her back. He rolled with her, moved on top of her and - much to his own surprise - locked their lips in a kiss.

Thranduil expected her to react with anger. To throw him off her and stab him for his insolence. Instead she returned the kiss eagerly and even flipped them over, so that she sat on top of him. While they kissed passionately, Thranduil's arms curled around her body and his fingers dove through her dark hair.

Just when he had begun to unlace her garments and spotted the first hint of bare skin, he awoke. It took him a few seconds to untangle himself from the passion of his dream and to understand that none of it had been real.

Very real however was the hardness between his legs. With an embarrassed groan, Thranduil buried his head in his hands. He could not believe he had actually dreamed such a thing, and about Fëanárë, of all women.

mean sentences, vol 15 || accepting

"On a time I might have argued with you." The spark of ire in Fëanárë's eye seemed to indicate that she had not grown very far beyond this urge. "However, of late I have come to believe that the value of intelligence lies in what it accomplishes, not in its nebulous existence within a mind; after all, what use is the brightest disciple of Aulë without the accomplishment of some craft?

"And so I would put to you the question of not what makes you smarter than me, but rather, what grander thing you have made than my creations."