Garnet's Drabbles - Updated 09/27/2015 - (Various Fandoms)

[VoOs]

Nnnngh. You are going to rekindle the flame of my old Lord of the Rings obsession with these. Please have mercy on me. (no, don't)

As a rule I'm not really an elves person, but I can't deny there's something deeply appealing about the idea of these ethereal, ever-poised creatures succumbing to a sneeze. Especially when described this exquisitely.

But you write lovable old Bilbo so wonderfully, too! Like in this bit:

He hardly noticed the emptiness under his left hand anymore, where once the ring would have settled snug beneath his ribs. His whole heart had felt lighter as of late, in fact, stretching out the cricks in its wings even as his shoulders and back developed new ones. Perhaps Rivendell could not cure the onward march of old age that seemed to finally, steadily be catching up with him, but the fresh air and quiet were good for the spirit.

I may melt.

Oh, and exchanges like this?

"Bless you! Goodness, but that must have tickled!"

Elrond blinked several times in the aftermath, his expression colored now only by a little surprise and a great amount of relief. His sigh was calm as he lowered the handkerchief, folded it over, and dabbed briefly at the corners of his eyes and edges of his nose.

"Unbearably so, but it has passed now. I beg your pardon,"

*claws at screen*

*unintelligible noises*

How is that even remotely fair?!

So, to sum it up: YES GOOD.

[bangbang]

OK, so Elrond was sort of a background character I never really spared a thought for, but Hugo Weaving has a nice voice and um you may have made me insanely attracted to him now?

Your Elrond is just so calm and lightly humorous even through the solemn magnitude of being Elrond. Bilbo is Bilbo, and I love Bilbo when he's this age and sort of scarred from the Ring and urrrgh the different sort of burdens (and temporary relief from them) are so present in this piece.

Fetish-wise, this really does it for me. I really like your imagery and your spellings. AS ALWAYS. And the wildness of Elrond's sneeze and how almost nonchalant he is about them. The restrained power is really, really nice.

But yeah. There always seems to be a sort of weight behind your writing, and it tugs at me.

[RiversD]

Ooh, yes, lovely older-Bilbo point of view- I liked the nod to his time with the dwarves, and the idea that different sides of his own nature attract him to the company of his different sets of friends.

And the effects of giving up the ring, of course.

I enjoyed how you portrayed the elves' attitude towards Old Bilbo (and thought it ran very close to the one I saw in the book, though of course it has been some little while since I read it through carefully). I can't find words I'm happy with to describe it, so I'll say that he's treated with some mingling of friendship, respect and paternal amusement. He's not completely of their world, but he has his own little space in it. Ah, I suck at words tonight. What you did. That was good.

Oh, thank you," he added, aside, to a young Elf that dipped in from the wings to refill his cup of mulled wine. "Potent stuff, isn't it? Puts a little color in your cheeks!" He wagged a finger that made her fight down a smile and fail before dipping, endeared, to grant her lord the same service.

This was a little bit heartwarming.

And then the sneezing came along and gave my stomach the happy-jumpy flip-flops (shh, that's totally the accepted phraseology). You're just so consistently good at the set-up and execution of these passages that I'm running out of words to fling at them in response.

I will say, though, that you really do have a knack for expressing the subtle difference in sound between cloth-covered and unmuffled sneezing. Possibly I notice it more because it's something I struggle with, but you're very, very good at it.

And also, phrase praise for:

Elrond's gaunt, patient features

niiiice.

And this was a neat and sweetly apt ending. Again, quite in JRR's style, I thought.

"Until your wanderlust strikes you next," Elrond teased gently, his eyes crimped at their corners.

"Oh no," Bilbo said as he drank of his own cup, though his eyes glinted bright in turn. "I am well done with adventures."

love, etc,

Rivers

[AngelEyes]

"Until your wanderlust strikes you next," Elrond teased gently, his eyes crimped at their corners.

"Oh no," Bilbo said as he drank of his own cup, though his eyes glinted bright in turn. "I am well done with adventures."

I love this exchange. I can totally picture it.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Yeah! More fics from Garnet! Loved Lindir's fit and Elrond's care taking. But Elrond's sneezes were to die for. Your take on elf sneezes being powerful yet simple is perfect in my mind.

[TaurielRiver]

He's so used to everyone ever being a walking, bad-decision-making disaster

ahaha oh indeed… I’m sensing my “never before has anyone dared utter words of that tongue here, in Imladris” facepalm coming on!!

And you touch on ANOTHER of my favourite lovely aspects of Elrond in this one too, which is his gentle acquiescence to lending counsel on old knowledge. He’s such a humble source of wisdom, and your depiction of his encouraging kindness to the smaller folk (“This is elegantly done" and “I am impressed by your fluency nevertheless”… AW DOUBLE AW) …just so so heart warming.

Hehe, and Bilbo’s cheerful bumbling, all wagging fingers and commenting on the delicately crafted Elvish wines as you would a brewhouse brandy! Completely charming!

And, given Bilbo’s tentative awe for the Elves, THIS: “He tapped the parchment against the table nervously. He hadn't meant to incite that reaction” was such a fitting response, second guessing himself and hoping he hasn’t somehow offended his dearly admired friend. And Elrond, all slightly incapable of allaying his worry but hushing him with a hand… the loveliness of this little moment alone is almost too much!!

Then Elrond being so dignified with the anticipated force of his sneezing… My gosh. I honestly wasn’t truly sure how to imagine this moment for him. And then I read what you wrote. And… THIS IS IT. And it was AMAZING.

You are such a part of my fantastical Elvish imaginings these days! Should I ever escape to Rivendell, I would almost expect you to already be sitting on the White Council, greeting me with “well, took you long enough!”

[Garnet]

VoOs - Good, good, rekindle that flame! I've been riding the waves of fourteen-year-old-me nostalgia and they're pretty great, I have to admit. I feel like a lot of people have at least some sort of personal story with this film series, so there's that.

Also, HAH. Those exchanges are pure, ridiculous indulgence for which I have whittled away all my shame and hesitation. It pleases me immensely to know that they're still well-recieved.

bangbang - Admittedly, for most of the original LotR run he was known as "Agent Elrond" among my friends, because LOL Matrix. But the paternal, severe influence grew on me slowly until it had developed into a full-fledged attraction. I am so glad to pass that particular mania on :| !

Also cracking up at "the solemn magnitude of being Elrond" !

I'm glad for the weight of it, too. I find that I just don't have the stamina to write fics outside of the fetish zone, but at the same time I sometimes find myself writing fics that I have to reluctantly sort of force the fetish into because I don't think it's good enough for the general public, but there's not enough sneezing for the private public? I dunno, it's a weird line to straddle. But this makes me feel better about it!

RiversD - I initially hadn't given much thought to Bilbo except for his position as The Narrator, but I love his dual-nature between Baggins and Took, so I'm so glad it communicated here!

Happy-jumpy flip-flops are, incidentally, what I strive for at all times, so I am always extremely pleased when they occur and are recorded.

I will say, though, that you really do have a knack for expressing the subtle difference in sound between cloth-covered and unmuffled sneezing.

Okay, I will say though that this is one of the weirdly most flattering compliments I've received? It's a subtle differentiation that exists in my mind, but I'm so glad that the audience gets the "muffled" quality which is a wholly separate and very hot level of fetish for me.

AngelEyes - I'm so glad! I've always found the relationship between Bilbo and the Elves a fascinating one.

scw - Oh you, thank you! I have a great weakness for Elf!sneezes, which no one predicted but which happened anyway. I'm happy that they came across as intended, powerful and irrestistable, but par for the course.

TaurielRiver - IMLADRIS FACEPALM is Elrond's default state, I swear. His entire existence is as an adviser telling people how to deal and everyone ignoring such advise. I also love how open and fluent the Elves are, while the Dwarves are secretive and protective of their culture. It makes for an understandable but interesting divide.

"dearly admired friend" is also so sweet because yes, I agree that the Elves of Rivendell have mixed feelings of affection and respect. Glad that came across well enough! In truth the rest of this comment makes me very, very happy beyond what I can express in words, so this flail will have to do well enough.

And in the meantime! Some anthropomorphic rocks, some of the many I've written, because Steven Universe kickflipped its way into my life with its weird lesbian minerals and namesake characters. Don't judge.

Words: 551

Fandom: Steven Universe

"Steven, don't touch the pylons."

"I wasn't--..."

The soft, steady pulse of the stone structure hitched into overdrive at the brush of his fingertips, issued before he could jerk them guiltily away. The frequency ramped up over the short course of a few seconds, in fact, until the whole pillar was glowing and vibrating with a blinding incandescence.

POFF!

As the pylon reached critical mass, its base cracked and blew apart in a cloud of dust and rubble, while the concussive force launched Steven backwards like a half-human projectile.

"Steven!"

Despite their ward being a good deal more durable than he looked, Pearl spilled forward with heart in her throat. And plenty of dust in there, too. She coughed frantically as Amethyst gagged and batted at the air, though her shoulders dipped with relief as the debris finally cleared to reveal the boy snagged in mid-air by a stonefaced Garnet. She held him above her with both arms outstretched, while he thrust his skyward in delight. They were both filmed in a thin layer of dust and debris, stark against their hair.

"Whoohoo! Nice catch." A pause, and then he dropped his arms with sheepish contrition. "I... might have touched the pylon."

"No kidding, dude," Amethyst remarked as she toed through the remains. "Well, at least we know they explode."

The four of them turned their hesitating attention to the remaining line of stone monoliths winding away into the darkness of the swamp, readily spaced out between the thick, ropy lianas and the unchecked undergrowth. When the absence of one didn't set off a chain reaction of follow-up explosions, the brief interlude of silence dissipated as insects and birds resumed their buzzing, hooting, howling. The alien cacophony was somehow less eerie than the muffled quiet.

"See, could have been worse," Amethyst added with a shrug, while Pearl's eyes rolled dramatically back into her head.

"No more touching," Steven agreed from where he was still held aloft. His sunny expression gave way to a waver of uncertainty, however, as he looked down to find Garnet's own familiar stoicism gone absent. Instead, she had parted her lips to reveal a faint white sliver of teeth, and the neat slope of her nose had furrowed into a wrinkle at its bridge. The mirror sheen of her visor made it difficult to discern the cant of her eyes and brows, but the erratic catch of her breath led Steven to a gradual conclusion.

"Uh, are you okay Garnet? You look like you're about to..."

She abruptly whipped him to one side, flared the soft rounds of her nostrils to a hard edge, and sneezed over one shoulder.

"--uh-CHZSHH!"

Steven was spared the impact square to the face, although he likely wouldn't have cared as he kicked his legs in surprised delight.

"Whoa. Gesundheit! I didn't know you could did that!"

Garnet shrugged in response and switched him to a convenient tuck under one arm. She sniffled and wristed briefly at her nose with a newly freed hand, but the crinkle in it soon smoothed out and she fell back into her neutral expression with apparent ease.

"You can put me down, you know?"

Garnet fixed him with a look. "Just removing temptation, li'l man."

"Oh." He glanced thoughtfully at the remaining pylons, then nodded gravely. "That's fair."

[Galaxy]

I can not handle how much I adore the way you portray the Steven Universe characters, it is 100% spot on. I love love love how Garnet's just got the one controlled sneeze that she shrugs off, that is so maddeningly like her I am so glad someone so cool is into SU tbh because you are so freaking awesome at what you do!!

[weepy]

Oh my wooooorrrrd, you wrote for SU! You wrote Garnet's expression so well, I'm so pleased and excited that I could get the picture so easily! Amazing as always, and thanks for this drabble ^o^

[TaurielRiver]

AUTHOR INSERT! Who doooes that??

I have watched quite a few funny song clips from these guys and I'm definitely feeling the character vibes here! But also, I just really liked the scenario- lots of fun and ah, so cute! Truth be told, I think you pretty much had me at 'anthropomorphic rocks'...

[TheGreatCatsby]

Elrond sneezing? Yes please! I lovelovelove the idea of elf sneezes. They're usually so controlled and poised characters that it's /unbelievably/ hot when they loose that control to something like a sneeze. Also, the way Elrond sneezes - powerful, but so... Elrondish. Love it. The fact that it tickled 'unbearably so' had me fangirling a LOT. Please pleasepleeease write some more Elrond fics!

Oh, and I'm also a little too obsessed with you're Thranduil and Bard fanfictions. Are you going to continue to write those? It'd be very much appreciated! ☺️

[Garnet]

Still reppin' hard over here in my lands of monsters and Elves and serial killers.¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Words: 1265

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

On any other occasion, his heart would have thrummed with wild pleasure at the honor of seating Asfaloth, the great white steed who was as fleet of foot as he was sure. A finer horse Estel had never known, and he had known many. Honey-gold Vanyë and silver Veryan, the companions of his brothers who greeted him with the same warmth of his adoptive kin. He had no doubt that they would have born him to the farthest reaches of the world without question. Even his father's own dark and fearsome courser had tolerated Estel's earliest riding lessons with a steady gait and calm eyes. He held a potent memory of Elrond's pale hand resting on the stallion's shoulder, effortlessly directing his might with only the barest of touches.

Just now, however, he had only eyes for his own loyal Fala, limping gently along in their wake. The sight of the tame brown mare stung somewhere behind his eyes.

"I hate to see her like this," he lamented, and felt a squeeze from Asfaloth's rider at his shoulder. That was an entirely separate and humbling matter.

It was a strange line to straddle, being raised on tales of valor and heroism of Glorfindel, a figure that seemed best described to memory. And yet, so had he ever been a familiar presence in Estel's life. In legend, he knew an Elf unmatched, who had fought through shadow and flame, life and death and life again. In person, he knew only an Elf with as much boundless good humor as he had skill with a blade and saddle, humble of his own unimaginable deeds. It was difficult not to let at least a little bit of hero worship color their interactions.

"As we all hate to see a loved one in pain. Take comfort in the notion that she will recover quickly."

"You are confident?" Estel worried, turning to watch Fala's quiet face bob in time to her asymmetrical gait.

"Very. It is but a sprain. Troublesome, but there is little to do for it except the slowness of our pace, and to spare her any extra weight." Already her packs and saddle and rider had been redistributed amid the rest of their small hunting party. He would have been just as content to ride with any of the other Elves, but he had hardly been about to decline an offer from Glorfindel, already knotting Estel's brace of pheasants to his steed's kit. "Rest will be her greatest ally, when we return."

Estel shifted his weight with a sigh, reassured for the fifth or sixth time of his friend's wellness. "Even so, I ought have felt how unstable the ground was." The memory of Fala's first, confident footing followed by her squeal of dismay haunted him.

Glorfindel clicked his tongue. "Agoreg vae. These things happen, Estel, you are fine a rider as any Man or Elf."

At last allowing his mouth to twist into a wry smile, Estel leaned back until the blades of his shoulders bumped against Glorfindel's broad, warm chest. Asfaloth's gait was steady as stone, and his rider's weight adjusted to the motions of it with such ease that they felt as one person, one experience to whom Estel had been an invited guest. "Give me a few moments, and I will surely find some other wound to pick open and have you lick clean, as well."

Glorfindel laughed aloud at that, in his rich copper voice. "I worry more for the ones your heart," he explained, jostling the sinewy 'teen lightly between his arms. He gave a single, thoughtless sniff before continuing. "In truth, I think Fala second in resilience only to yourself."

Estel turned his head with a dash of surprise. "You think me hardy?" It was a bit rich coming from any Elf, ageless and immortal, but especially so from one who had breached out the Halls of Mandos as if they were no more than a convenient waypoint, an inn on the route of some grander adventure. Perhaps Estel had always bounced back from any ills of the body or soul with but a few scars to show for it, but at times he still felt more akin to the horses than he did the Elves. Perhaps that was why Fala's minor grief cut him so deeply. He would have to work at controlling that current of empathy, lest it sweep him away.

"Don't sound so surprised," Glorfindel chuckled, and sniffed again. Estel had initially chalked the first up to an idle punctuation or to test the scent of the wind's direction, but this one very nearly caught his attention. Very nearly.

"You slew a Balrog," Estel remarked with pointed quiet instead. For all the tales of past valor, the subject himself talked of them little. "And yet here you are. I can hardly imagine you or Asfaloth felled by a sprained ankle or a croupy winter cough."

The Elf was quiet a moment, so long that Estel worried he'd either tilled the soil of bad memories, or offered some unintended slight. When he glanced back, however, the Elf's austere features were hazed by a strange and ambiguous expression. His eyes had grown weighted rather that bright, and the part of his lips was hesitating. It wasn't until the long, clean-cut architecture of his nose pinched at its bridge that recognition slotted into place.

"Hold tight a moment, Estel. I feel about to..." His voice broke into the cloudiness of want before he could finish the sentence, though not for lack of effort. "About to... hhh-hh--!"

With no small inkling of how violently Elves could evacuate their noses, when they at last felt compelled to, Estel tightened his knees behind Asfaloth's shoulders and knotted his hands in the reins, just ahead of Glorfindel's. The golden-haired hero of Gondolin freed one to steady his young charge by the hip, even as he turned as far from him as possible, given their position.

"--ah'SSHHHss!"

He rocked hard back into Glorfindel at the wrench of his body, the sound one of copious and curdling spray. Asfaloth strode on unfazed but for the backwards cup of one ear, as if in concern, while his rider drew another tremendous breath.

"--ah'SSSHHss!"

Estel kept his posture tightly gathered, waiting for the next swell of inhale at his back. For as long as he had known the Elf, no matter the cause, on the occasions that he sneezed, they always seemed to come in..

"--ah... SZSSSHHH!!"

... three's. True to tradition, Glorfindel guttered out with a sigh thereafter. It turned into a polite acquiescence to the murmur of blessings from the nearest riders. Estel let a moment or two pass before finally relaxing his grip from the reins and letting a hand drift to Glorfindel's knee, just behind him.

"Bless you, my lord. Are you well?"

"I think I have battled lesser foes than that tickle," his companion laughed, warm against his ear but turning away to spare him the closeness of a follow-up sniff. "Perhaps no sprained ankles or winter coughs, but a bit of riding dust does seem to undo me just as surely."

Estel grinned and tilted back until the dark skeins of his own hair twined with effulgent gold, while he darted into a coat pocket. His fingers came up with a freshly folded handkerchief, new in its crease. "Do you think you will survive?" He mused gravely, as he passed it back into Glorfindel's glove.

"Mm, I imagine I may pull through, though perhaps you had better take the reins, just in case."

[AngelEyes]

Elf fic! Yay! I love your elf fic!

[ToothTen]

Elf fic! Yay! I love your elf fic!

This is about where I'm at, like I want to point out each of the individual bits of phrasing that culminated in my complete mental undoing, yet even more than that, I just want to roll around in happy circles because I can't handle your deSCRIPTIONS!!!!

[TaurielRiver]

*scoots quietly over...*

SOOOO, SOOOOOOO, Glorfindel alwaysdoesthething three times mmmmm??

BUT REALLY, I wanted to say I love the near-mythical significance given to the great steeds of Middle Earth, so I am theee most delighted for this! "As fleet of foot as he was sure" is such a stirringly concise turn of phrase to illustrate the exact sense of power and dignity in that regard too! And so so touching to see lil' Aragorn all enchanted by the honour of it all. But my heart has just been skewered by this sensitive-guilty-upset moment, and then Glorfindel's reassuring warmth and wisdom? I don't know which left me in feel-turmoil faster! Buuut I am so glad he made it all better, in that ever kind and not-quite-of-this-world Glorfindel fashion.

It was a bit rich coming from any Elf, ageless and immortal, but especially so from one who had breached out the Halls of Mandos as if they were no more than a convenient waypoint, an inn on the route of some grander adventure.

I just have to point this line out again because it is too gorgeous for this world, and makes me completely sentimental but in that really UGH-but-noooo-he-survives, moved kind of way. And I enjoyed the allusion to something that he fought his way out of where no other overcame, and the hint that events he will yet live to see will indeed be some of the most significant!

But OHHHhhNOOoo, Glorfindel putting a steadying arm around his more easily unseatable companion, totally, totally realising the, ah, ...potentially (INTENSELY) consequential moment(s) on the horizon?! And such thoughtful, collected poise alongside... what was it... copious spray? :x And then the adorable little detail of Glorfindel's considerate turn-aside so as not to sniffle in too close proximity...? Aaaand the fact he is aware he is slightly allergic to that unavoidable dust/grit that comes with going riding?? :q

I am too much charmed. AND EVERYTHING ELSE.

[RiversD]

EEEeee! You wrote more awesomeness!

I love, love, love all the horses and riding description in this.

And I really like the whole awe-tempered-by-familiarity/fondness relationship that Estel has with Glorfindel. It really works for me, and has the additional benefit of being kind of adorable.

Glorfindel chuckled, and sniffed again. Estel had initially chalked the first up to an idle punctuation or to test the scent of the wind's direction, but this one very nearly caught his attention. Very nearly.

Well, this ticked my heart rate up nicely. I like that even though I know perfectly well what kind of fiction I signed up to read, you still have a way of planting a few phrases ahead of time that fill me with... I don't know. Is there a word for that feeling midway between suspense and gleeful anticipation?

Perhaps it has something to do with the quality of the storytelling as well. I can almost forget where I'm reading it, and so I'm pleasantly surprised when this lovely bit of fanfiction turns out to contain sneezing.

And some wonderfully described sneezing, at that.

His voice broke into the cloudiness of want

Guh. um. Uh, this particular set of words is one that I would like to carry away and place in my special Book of Dangerously Powerful Phrases, thank you. This is a long way from okay, and I thank you for it.

though not for lack of effort.

*dies and is carried to heaven by the beautiful triplet of sneeziness that follows*

I also like the whole "not really in a position to be polite but I'm going to do my best to be considerate anyway" of the situation, plus the added dynamic of sneezing while dual-seating a horse.

"I think I have battled lesser foes than that tickle," his companion laughed

*resurrects solely in order to be comprehensively undone by this exchange* Masterfully done.

I had more words in me than I thought. Whew. (So many in fact, that my computer auto-logged me out and I lost the comment. I tried my best to remember what I'd said. )

[Garnet]

Ohhh goodness. Attempting to at least vague-reply to these beautiful comments, this time, in lieu of just absorping them without notice. (But do know that I appreciate and read each and every one with ravenous pleasure).

AngelEyes - Yay, I also love elf!fics for God only knows what reasons! Fandom-kink out of nowhere, much?

ToothTen - No pointing out or elaborating is strictly required, and I am just happy to know that my dumb is thusly enjoyed, thank you thank you for the feedback!

TaurielRiver - Oh girl. GIRL. Let me regurgitate all my affections back at you for this comment (but nah, that's gross!) In short-form, Glorfindel totally always does the thing in three's, because I enjoy employing a bit of headcanon to every character (on top of the transient headcanon that Elves sneeze like they fuckin' mean it!).

Also, also, I am toooo enamored on the unofficial matter of Glorfindel, and that he may have been one of the only, if not the only person to kickflip the fuck out the Halls of Awaiting like, "NAH, I still got a lot of stuff to do on Arda? Later!!1"

But uh yes, I still have a weird amount of puddly inside feelings for two characters seating a horse together, and one of them sneezing (even in a totally platonic manner, as here). And maybe, as you and RiversD have pointed out, for the mythic magnitude of Tolkien's horses altogether. I am already wanting to write a thousand little side-stories of young!Estel and his brothers' steeds

RiversD - O, how I have missed your comments! I agree, thought, in that several authors on this forum have a habit of engaging me so thoroughly and immediately that I forget the nature of the website. Then, suddenly, fetish content! Like a well-loved gift from the heavens, and always appreciated!

Also, um, please share your metaphorical Book of Dangerously Powerful Phrases with me, so that I might harvest and repurpose nefariously for my own!

But yes, GREATLY APPRECIATED, thank you thank you!

And now, this is absolutely not what I intended to write today at all. Not the same characters/actors of said characters, fandom, or anything remotely relevant. But this is what happened, and so? Feelings, man. Feelings.

Words: 1263

Fandom: Lord of the RIngs

The ale always did him in, sooner or later, though not in the manner expected. Inebriation beclouded only the most distant of Legolas's thoughts, as he rested a fond gaze upon his fonder friend, but it was damnably hard to get an Elf drunk. A particular import of wild wine from the East sometimes did the trick, but otherwise Gimli had gradually, grumblingly accepted that even his ferocious constitution was no match for the First Born.

Even so, it was a little bit satisfying to hear his companion's voice occlude with congestion, his nose sting with a low-grade annoyance to the strongest dwarrow-crafted beer. Something in the brew, Legolas had once lamented in theory, a plant perhaps too similar to pipeweed or too potent for his nose. There was no end of amusement, when considering a drink that might do little more than soften an Elf's smile, yet make him sneeze out a bloody storm.

"--adh'CHSSHH!" Legolas fielded the second of the evening to one side, soon to be chased by at least half a score.

"Blessings," Gimli chuckled. His head already felt weightless and lofted by whimsy, a loosening of the tongue and the mind that he had never been ashamed of in front of his most beloved companion. "I cannot imagine what in this most benevolent of slurries irritates you so," he hummed, around the slurp of dark and bitter froth that lingered in his beard until it was licked away.

Legolas laughed beside him and dropped an arm across his shoulders. Perhaps more heavily imbibed than Gimili had guessed, though he had no complaints for a cuddlesome friend.

"Nor I," the Elf admitted, grinning with the white flash of his teeth in his pale, handsome face. Beardless, too-tall, too-slender, and yet Gimli let an affectionate hand settle at his knee in turn. "But I will tolerate it for -- hh!" His chest jumped, eyes hazing, though the thread of his focus remained interminably linked to the Dwarf's. "For... hh-- CHSISSCHHhhh!" He leaned hard into the release, eyes crumpled and nostrils thrown wide. Gimli took no small amount of pleasure in seeing his friend's reins go slack, in the damp and inelegant spray that loosed into the air.

"Blessings!"

Legolas sat back with a sigh that seemed heavy with relief. "My thanks." He seemed to have forgotten his original riposte, and had fallen instead to combing the long and narrow rake of his fingers gently at Gimli's temple. Any tavern-goer who chanced a look aside may well have fallen from their chair at the sight of an Elf and a Dwarf so affectionately entwined, but Gimli had long passed the hurdle of giving it much thought.

Anyway, he was also and already far too drunk to care, as he leaned his copper-gilt head into his friend's touch and let an old shanty drift up into the air:

"Where are me boots, me noggin, noggin boots

they're all gone for ale and for pipeweed
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather

And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me ale and me pipeweed..."

He nearly tumbled out his own chair, however, to hear Legolas's honey-smooth voice raise in turn a moment later, completing the verse.

"For I've spent all my tin on the laddies drinking gin
Now across the western ocean I must wander."

"Cully!" Gimli barked, half delighted and half accusatory. "How came an Elf by such a bawdy tune?"

Little was he surprised at the Elf's inclination; Legolas sang damned near constantly about the birds, the air, the trees in particular. It had become a susurrant background noise of his life, as familiar as the bow of his back against his chest, the silk-fine softness of his hair under calloused smith's fingers. Still, though, Elfsong had always been rent in a haunting and ethereal format, drifting and windborne. At times it drew him near to tears, even if he barely recognized the words. Ugly inn short-drags seemed far beneath them.

Legolas smiled crookedly, his elegant nose twitching with a sniffle.

"My father, believe it or no."

Gimli's incredulity skipped aloft several notches, as he leaned back from his sneezish companion with brows arched. "Truly?"

He knew precious little of the Woodland Realm's king. His own father had sparing few good words for him, if any, and the Elf had always seemed in his mind's eye to be a strange thing, a pale spider crouched in its bower and dormant in its frosty centuries. A far cry, at least, from the effulgent warmth of his friend, who would drink with him, who would braid his hair, who would ping horse chestnuts off the shoulders of unassuming diplomats and then pretend a look of scandalized offense -- who dared?

"Aye," Legolas hummed, yet another thoughtless and minor nod to how much company of the Dwarves he had kept, as of late. "He had great fondness, once, for a Man of the Rhovanion. I suspect they shared many a lewd lyric."

Gimli thought on that for barely a beat before sucking in a quiet and knowing breath. He suspected that ancient and glacial Thranduil had little emotion to spare on commonplace friendships among Men. That fondness, to be worthy of mention, had been a weighty thing.

"A good Man?" He ventured after a long space, and Legolas nodded slowly.

"Most assuredly. His sons and grandsons, too, but none so rare and kind as the first."

"Long passed, then," the Dwarf lamented, softer yet.

"As is their way."

Gimli mulled over that for several long moments. He considered the halflings, nigh his own lifespan, and then that of Aragorn and Boromir, who seemed at once larger than their lives and yet halved by their lack of time on this good ground. Even the Dúnedain, for all of his long years, would hardly compare.

He thought of his dear friend, immortal in the face of it all, and felt a wholly different sort of pang. His grip shifted to squeeze briefly in the suddenly too-slim, too-fragile shape of Legolas's hand.

Then the Elf turned, to sneeze a hearty and explosive, "-- ahdt--CHISSCHHhhuh!" that would have shamed any Dwarf. Gimli boomed another laugh and roughed his partner close.

"To bed with you, Khâzush, before the ale has you entirely undone."

Legolas offered a bleary laugh, even as he rose through unsteady measures. "Only if you will show me the way, Gim-nín, for I fear I am not fit to make the crossing."

Even if he suspected it was the Elf's version of appealing to his stalwart ego, Gimli clapped him soundly to the small of his back. "I will make all crossings with you, my friend."

[bangbang]

It's five am here and I am lying in bed having a ridiculous amount of emotions about elves. I hope you're proud of yourself.

I love the way you write these two. There's such a warmth and familiarity between them. They are SUCH GOOD FRIENDS, she shrieks into her pillow.

I love the acknowledgement of the differing lifespans of Middle Earth. It's so sad but you handle it without making it mawkish. And Baaaaard. It devastates me to think of Thranduil going back to his coldness after their relationship; and Gimli musing upon the inevitability of it all was about as haunting as the elf-tunes you describe.

And HAH. I know that song! I used to sing it ALL THE TIME as a kid - I think I learnt it from a book about pirates? I remember an elderly relative overhearing and being horrified about it - the ladies drinking gin part, which I naively took to mean that the singer was very nice and got a round in. But yeah, as soon as I read the first line I started singing along in my head.

Aaaaaand the fetish stuff. I love the inevitability of alcohol-sneezes anyway, like the person knowing that a certain drink makes them sneeze like crazy but drinking it anyway and just DEALING WITH THE CONSEQUENCES - it's a very appealing concept to me. So I loved it on Legolas, and I love the sounds, and I love that it's not a delicate little elf sneeze filled with whimsy and poetry. It's a sneeze to be reckoned with. (Just like his DAD.)

And that last line killed me. Like, to the point where I couldn't wait until morning to comment and tell you how exceptional and lyrical your writing is. You do sad-but-not-sentimental SO WELL.

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Well, what can I say that bangbang hasn't. Not much, if anything.

I'll say it again; you write beautifully. I eagerly read every post I come across. I have especially enjoyed your LoTR stories. I love how you are able to present such tender, intimate relationships that are not always grounded in sexual desire. It is such a hard thing to do in any kind of fiction.

[Spoo]

You are beautiful. Your drabbles are beautiful. Please don't ever stop, my friend.

[AngelEyes]

You are beautiful. Your drabbles are beautiful. Please don't ever stop, my friend.

Seconded!

[TaurielRiver]

Manic-sprinting right back to this at a time which doesn’t require my screen-brightness to be low enough that I may as well be absorbing the fic by osmosis, here is the story that made my day! (actually, twice now!!)

Straight away, this takes me right back to one of my absolute favourite scenes from the Return of the King (Directors Cut), the Legolas vs. Gimli drinking competition! Hard to get an elf drunk, noooo kidding, hard to get a Mirkwood elf drunk, whole other ballgame, hard to LEGO drunk, noooow we’re talkin!! So firstly the idea of these two just lounging around being all comfortable and indulgent with each other just really tickles my fancy, but the fact that Legolas has this adorable reaction (and totally wailed about it once and yet PFTTT, screw that, still drinkin’ it!) is just this whole other plain of cuteness that makes me all lightheaded just thinking about it!

Also, I think you hinted this in the authors notes (though I’m forever guilty of reading between the lines!), but I really got a sense of book!Gimli here, (i.e. more toward my headcanon for this particular affectionate-with-contented-flirting friendship), which I don’t see hardly ever, so this was such a rare treat! (Like all your work, BUT THIS IS LOTR SO INDULGE ME. :x <3)

ALSO MORE ALSO, as I said, I was hardly reading this at home, so halfway through, I was squinting into my screen, like… um, is that word blue? Did she just LINK A CRAZY TAVERN SONG IN THIS MIDDLE OF THE TEXT!? Cue my face imploding with (poorly!) restrained snorting for the rest of the day! I love how I got zero warning for this hilarious, like “elf fic, enjoy your melancholy elf feels!” (mwhahaha, prepares grenade of laughing gas). Also, straight after, I am just dying over this little line: “Legolas sang damned near constantly about the birds, the air, the trees in particular”, which is just so true, but Gimli just says it in such a blunt fashion that it’s like he gets around with this most galvanised nature enthusiast, always ready to leap up a tree and explode into vigorous sonnets given half a chance!

But there IS a wistful part of this fic which is so sad but bitter sweet BUT SO SAD. I’ve actually wondered before how you would have that particular moment play out if you ever wrote it (heartbreaking obviously, and I could honestly barely read THIS mention of it), buuut yeah. Material for a fetish fic it makes not. But sometimes my heart just feels that I owe it to a character I love to know. OKAY NO MORE ON THAT TOPIC OR U KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. But such a touching, reflective ending, on showing the great sense of loss that comes with immortality. And the line about Legolas’s hand suddenly seeming slimmer and more fragile in light of it. Oh my god, killing me here.

I always feel so lucky that you write for this fandom. It’s just the best. Always!

Elves sneeze like they fuckin' mean it!

Also. This is now going on my wall. Try to stop me.

[•.*°•☆. Q .☆•°*.•]

daaaaaaaaaaaaaah GARNET I AM ENTIRELY OBSESSED WITH EVERY CREATIVE THING YOU SHARE WITH US

<333333333333333

[Garnet]

I am going to scramble back and give everyone comment-replies tomorrow because you all make my small heart grow three sizes and then some! But right now my ass needs to get up in six hours for a double, so I'm just dropping this off and running

I promised TaurielRiver a Le Chiffre fic like a week or more ago, and I am just now getting around to it. I was channeling the 2006 version, because I'm slowly my working my way through fetish material of EVERY Mads character, apparently. If you want to picture Peter Lorre, however, I am totally not going to stop you.

Words: 2026

Fandom: James Bond

As far as relationships went, this was turning out to be her most honest one. That in itself held some irony, considering the dangerous work that he had his well-manicured hands in, the criminal record that stretched miles wide if anyone could manage to catch him in the act. But they never did.

It worked almost too well, in fact. She was self-sufficient, but liked his money. He was aloof, but appreciated her company now and then in their most basic of transactions. Valenka had no illusions that he loved her, that she was anything more than a shiny trophy, a particularly expensive flavor of arm candy. She had been worse things, and liked this one well enough to cross her fingers that it wouldn't all come crashing down. Not any time soon, at least.

What little love she had for Le Chiffre in return sometimes came in odd forms. She didn't like conversations with him, for he was too clever and too cruel with his wit. It often left her feeling stupid and resentful, even when she knew he had not really meant it. She did enjoy the sex, because he let her take the reins and turn that cruelty back on him to the satisfying crack of her hand across his face. She enjoyed, too, that face. It was not handsome, but she found it pleasing nonetheless for its odd angles and the gruesome sheen of the scar over his ruined left eye. She tried not to make a show of how much her appetite preyed upon that old injury, how elated she grew at the sight of his lacrimal ducts welling up with the habitual blood in place of tears. He would think it strange or patronizing, and she would be forced to confront her own secretly sadistic thoughts.

Instead, she kept her voice level and attention calm whenever he slipped a hand inside his breast pocket to steal a handkerchief, blotting it gently to the inside corner of his eye. A passing moment of concerned interest, nothing more.

Tonight was a wholly novel discovery, even for her, as she sipped her martini and watched her rich, awful boyfriend torment against a sneeze he was trying not to indulge.

Baccarat was not usually Le Chiffre's game, too fast and plain, but chemin de fer had enough strategy to engage him when the stakes were high, and the company was interesting. Not half so interesting to Valenka as the first, irritated wrinkle of his nose as he turned to rough a thumb against it. A smudging pass to soothe the beginnings of a tickle, and then he was back to dealing. Clever little gestures and the slick vinyl sound of cards skating across velvet. She closed her eyes, working her neck back and forth in a lazy roll as she tried to pick out the noise of his sniffle beneath the music and the low conversations around her.

She couldn't, not quite, but upon slivering another glance from beneath the weight of her mascara, she smiled to find his expression less raptor-keen, more hazy. Any moment, then, he would twist himself angrily from the table, lips parted, to field one his startlingly brief and violent sneezes into the crook of an arm. A handkerchief, if he was lucky enough to fetch it in time.

The seconds ticked by, however, and his expression little by little seemed to galvanize once more, those weakened edges resolving into their usual cut-stone calm. There was little tell of the moment, in fact, but for a single, bothered arch of one nostril in a soundless sniff. She rolled the gin-soaked olive between her back molars and crushed the salted flesh between them, savoring the brine.

"Another, madame?"

Her attention darted back to the bartender, slick-haired and dipping with earnest expectancy under the low lighting. The background noise of the private rooms was less chaotic than the casino's main floor, but they came with all the appropriate amenities. Not for the first or last time, Valenka enjoyed her high-rolling and probably fatal lifestyle.

"Please," she agreed, with a wave of her hand, and glanced back to the evening's entertainment just in time to see Le Chiffre's recovery from a grimacing flinch into the wedge of a thumb and curled forefinger. She hadn't heard a single note of it, but neither, she assumed, had anyone else. Only the Italian diplomat to his immediate left, fucking several mistresses on the side and already several hundred thousand in the red from tonight's game, tipped his head towards him with a murmured blessing. Le Chiffre darted him an acknowledging sidelong glance, but said nothing.

Jebi ga! She lamented to herself. Missed it.

As the bartender clicked another martini deferentially before her, Valenka plucked it up and stirred herself to a stand. The burnished gold of her slinking mermaid silhouette cascaded down one thigh and just grazed the carpet as she drifted towards her quarry. A caressing hand initiated her advance, palming Le Chiffre's broad and neatly tailored shoulder as she angled herself into an empty seat to his right, leaning close. Half the players at the table were likewise occupied with sides warmed with their showcase flavors of the evening. She was not the least bit ashamed, nor did she mislike showing off the smooth architecture of her own shoulder and tight waist. Fuck 'em.

"How much longer?" She murmured aside, shelving her chin briefly on her companion's shoulder. She'd approached his good side with a thoughtless sense of knowing, but Le Chiffre's glance was still dark and wary.

"A few more hands."

She glanced down at the handsome accumulation of his winnings so far. "Can you call it early?"

He parted his lips as if to respond, some viciously barbed remark, but creased his eyes shut halfway through and drew an angry, trembling breath.

"...hhhh!" Into the pinch of one hand he jerked again, with a sound almost entirely silent but for a backfired "-nht!" into his sinus, one that Valenka alone caught for the shockwave it sent through his body and into hers. She pursed her lips and tried not to murmur in sympathy, he wouldn't have it, but did allow herself the brief stroke of her palm from shoulder to shoulder. The furious stifling was also new, and also delightful in an equally strange way. She mentally reviewed where that had come from, and then whether she'd ever seen him sneeze in company outside the more intimate. She decided that no, she hadn't, and just as quickly was stirring over an ever greater knot of desire.

Hotel room. Now.

"I'll make it worth your while."

He was not normally so carnal a man as to cave to those kinds of suggestions, and especially not in this irritated hangtime between stimulus and full-fledged relief. The excuse seemed a convenient one, however, and in the next round he waved out.

To the very nice tune of nearly half a million, but she had little care for the money at the moment.

She lingered beside him with an air of fondness, in her towering heels and with a hand tucked to the crook of his arm, all the way up to the seventh floor. She'd forgotten her drink down at the card table, and was already missing it for the interim, while Le Chiffre grimaced discreetly and resisted the pull of an unwelcome breath.

The card swept through the slot with a telling snikkt, and in the next instant the door was shut behind them and Le Chiffre was wrenching violently into the nearest corner.

"--HISSHH!"

"Gesundheit!"

He ignored her, already crumpling into the cup of both palms to hide the urgent flare of his nostrils. "HISSHH-ue!"

With some semblance of calm, Valenka minced towards their huge King bed and settled to its edge as she removed her heels and worked the cricks from her soles. She listened in near-reverent appreciation as Le Chiffre disappeared into the en suite, still sneezing with a hard, repetitive dip of his head towards one half-unfurled hand.

"ISH!" Just inside the doorway. "--ISH!" And again, at the sink. "ISH! --ISSH!" Just before he toed the door mostly shut. Mostly, but not quite, as he dissolved into a fit so aggressive that she wondered where he'd left his inhaler. He might soon need it.

She left him to his implied privacy for a few moments, listening to him purge a tickle that seemed irresistible, before finally wobbling to her feet once more and shouldering open the bathroom door. Le Chiffre stood half-bent over the sink, his palms gripping hard to its marbled edge. He was breathing heavy in a momentary reprieve between sneezes, his good eye bleary with tears and his bad one streaming a steady, gruesome trickle of red down the inside arch of one cheekbone. It trailed in vibrant crimson around the lines of his mouth and under the sharp angle of his jaw, threatening to drip off onto expensive tile. Valenka swallowed.

"What do you need?" She asked, with careful phrasing to avoid his scorn. She'd asked the wrong, too-obvious questions too many times. Are you alright? Of fucking course I'm not.

"Dieu," he groaned. "A new nose, maybe." His was flushed a bright and weepy pink, trailing a weak glisten onto his upper lip.

"Mm, that might take me a few days to assemble the appropriate contacts," she hummed as she tore open a complimentary box of tissues, the best and softest the hotel could offer up to their lofty clientele. She was still new enough at this game to occasionally wonder at even the most minor luxuries.

Valenka had not come from money. Her only consolation during some of these moments, in fact, was that neither had Le Chiffre. They'd made their own fortunes, in one way or another. Scavengers, lampreys, hyenas that had assimilated enough pickings to elevate themselves among the born-rich. Always with the lurking sense of not deserving it, despite having earned it with more blood, sweat, and venom.

"A compromise?" She offered instead, with a folded square of white. Le Chiffre accepted them just as he was hitching over another, "hh-hh-HHH!" before burying himself with relieved enthusiasm. "-HIFHHHH!"

Better. He angled away to blow his nose at length, his hair disturbed from its neat coif into rakish strands across his brow, skin sheening with sweat or poor lighting. Valenka debated whether she ought send down for another few boxes of said tissues, among other sundries from the commissary.

"What's all this about?" She murmured when he'd recovered by a few bleary degrees, trying to remember if he'd sounded congested on the plane ride from Alsace. She wasn't quite comfortable to stretch a hand for his forehead with tender affection, but she did pluck another few tissues free and beat him to the punchline of cleaning up his bloody aftermath. Le Chiffre resisted for an instant, a sneer threatening to turn into a snarl, but Valenka put her foot firmly down first, in a loud tone that brooked no arguments: "Hold still."

Just like that, the control was relinquished. He went slowly slack, with an air of grudging acceptance that she knew to be all show. She dabbed his skin clean in the interim, relenting when the carnage was resolved to a pink sheen over his milky-blind eye.

"There. Are you ill?"

"I'm not sure. It was very sudden. Fine one moment, and the-- hh! HH!" She folded the bloodstained tissues over into the cleanest spot she could, before pinching them fast to his nose. He shuddered into her without restraint. "HIZSSHH-ue!"

She scrunched the damp tissue in one palm once it had left him, dropping it unfazed into the nearest trash can.

"Nazdravlje. Bed, just in case," she urged, with the touch of her fingers to the corner of his jaw. He balked for just a second, mustering an instinctive last rally of fortitude.

"I don't nee--..."

"Bed." A withering pause, before she softened and offered, with less forced attitude, "I'll join you in a moment."

Le Chiffre relented with a sigh, weak and bloody from his own efforts, nose dripping. Valenka was sure she'd never felt more predatory, but translated it into the gentlest of touches to his arm.

"Alright," he sighed. "Alright."

[bangbang]

Le Chiffre! Maybe one of my favourite Mads characters, and one that you've written so well. The noise I made when I read your intro was like, the pitch that only dogs can hear.

I love Valenka here. You've fleshed out her character beyond the kinda one-dimensional figure we see in the films, and she's actually really endearing. Her attitude towards Le Chiffre is great, because of course she must be on tenterhooks the whole time, and of course she wouldn't really believe that this is True Love. I love delving into character motivation and backstory so using this kinda throwaway character really did it for me.

The sneeeeezing. I love the slow development, the way you describe him fighting it off, and then the complete and utter crumbling literally as soon as the hotel door closes. (He needs to keep up appearances, after all.)

But yesss. God. The flurry of them, the language you use to describe them (have I told you how much I love your use of language? Because I really, really do) and even the little throwaway detail of him needing his inhaler if he keeps sneezing like that; it all made me shiver tbh.

And omg. The attention Valenka gives to his old injury throughout, and especially after his sneezing has left a bloody river down his face, is really charged and interesting. And I definitely don't hate her cleaning the blood then catching a sneeze for him. I don't hate it at allll.

Sigh. I just love everything you write, okay? It's lyrical and filled with depth and hot as hell.