Tag: gigolas

“dead furless smelly infected bodies” Good luck on this

notanightlight:

Warning: blood, gore, death, implied torture, this is from an orc’s perspective. This ficlet is horror. If that is going to trigger you than DO NOT READ IT!

Gnalbag cringed back into waking, the insipid sunlight filtering down into his yellowed eyes. Sticky black blood plastered loose dirt to the side of his head and he could feel the weight of another body pinning his legs down. He hissed and spat as he struggled to pull himself out from under the heavy corpse, cursing every form of life he knew of.

Dagor Dagorath lived up to its name. It truly was the battle of all battles, and the time for orcs to rise. Gnalbag believed the war would already be over, if it wasn’t for the unexpected charge of those mangey rock grubbers.

The thrice damned stringy elf Warriors were struggling against the might of the Dark Lord’s armies after a year of bloodshed, so close to caving that Gnalbag could practically see the battlefields littered with heaps of their dead, furless, smelly, infected bodies! And then doors opened in the mountainside and bellowing, thick-skulled dwarves poured out.

Gnalbag cursed at the mangled stump that used to be his left leg and the wound in his side still oozing tar black blood and bile. Where was his pike? He was going to drive it through the mouth of the next dwarf he saw and carry their head on it until it rotted off!

He spotted the jagged head of his pike and began scrambling over to if when a thick, steel-toed boot stepped down on it, pressing it into the sludge of dirt and blood.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing that,” said a deep voice.

Gnalbag growled and spat a black curse at the pompous dwarf.

“Do not get comfortable with victory. This is the last you’ll know it!” he ranted. “Our dark master will grind you into the stones you came from and the ground will be stained as red as your beard!”

The dwarf snorted at him dismissively, calling out that he found a live one while leaning casually on his axe, as if to emphasize how little of a threat Gnalbag was to him. Gnalbag wished he had a knife to drive into its belly. Then he noticed the nine figures engraved on the dwarf’s chest plate.

“I know who you are,” Gnalbag said, feeling unholy glee build up inside him. “You’re the dwarf from the nine!”

Other dwarves were starting to draw near.

“You’re the one who was sticking the elf!” he cackled, spraying flecks of black blood and spit.

“I would watch your tongue, orc, or I will remove it for you,” the dwarf growled.

Gnalbag only laughed louder.

“Still looking for your elvish whore?” he continued. The dwarf didn’t answer, but Gnalbag had seen the way his eyes swept over the battlefield. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin.

“How do you know you didn’t already meet him out there?”

“What are you implying?” the dwarf spat.

“Gimli, don’t listen to a thing like that,” another dwarf tried to reason, but Gnalbag knew he had the red dwarf’s attention now.

“You might have greeted him with your axe,” Gnalbag carried on, “after all, our Master needed thousands of orcs for his armies for his armies.”

Gnalbag relished the simmering mass of emotion practically radiating from the dwarf’s skin.

“Do you know how orcs are made, dwarf?” he taunted with a falsely sweet voice, “I’ll give you a hint.”

Gnalbag lifted a finger to his own torn, but still pointed ear, nearly bursting with manic glee.

“I used to be an elf once!” Gnalbag crowed.

The last thing he ever knew was the exact taste of Dwarvish steel as the axe shattered his face.

End.

(Thanks for the prompt. You didn’t think I’d go there, did you?)

Yo dets, a headcanon that I wanted to share with you. In the Glittering Caves, when Gimli and Co. start to gently chip away at the walls and rock, they come across one cave deeper than any of the others. Its empty, save two things. They’re smooth columns of rock, stretching from ceiling to the ground, one silver and the other gold. They were created by Aule before the marring of the world, and they are reminiscent of the Trees of Valinor. Gimli shows these to Legolas, who cries from joy and awe

ohgod that is goooorgeous, I love it!!

cargsdoodles:

Epilogue of my gigolas comic from the fee&kee social media au.

So you know those super sketchy fairs that set up in a random parking lot over night? Yeah well one of those came in town. Its been a few months since /the breakup/ and Leggles decides now is as good a time as ever to finally ask Gimli out on a date. The rest of gang agrees that going to the fair is a very very good idea. Just ya know for fun. Not to spy. Or anything. Why would you think that?

I have read fanfiction on and off for over a decade now, and in all that time, I’ve never read the porn. Occasionally, a story has moved me so much that I’ve read it despite it’s having porn and skimmed through the porn scenes. But dammit if the flirting in your chapter 36 preview hasn’t made me consider reading the porn, just to see more of the lovely, lovely Sansûkh. You’re writing is truly a gift.

AWWWW THANK YOU. You are so very kind! What a pair of flirty dorks, I am thrilled you enjoyed them!

(welp, the smut hasn’t really made too much of an impact yet, hahaha probably because half the cast is dead. I wrote a Dwalin/Orla oneshot which is by FAR more focused upon intimacy rather than hot ‘n’ steamy raunchiness. Apart from that, I haven’t actually written anything rated Teen+ (as yet)! 

And just to reassure you, Nonnie: the rating for Sansukh is NOT going to change. So if you prefer to continue to avoid the boinkaboink it will be separately published, in the Appendices.)

Sansûkh – Chapter 36 Sneak Peek

Okay, I am feeling a bit guilty that I haven’t got this damned chapter finished yet when I promised that I had most of it nutted out and only had to write it. gdi, everything happens all at once hnnngh this is the most difficult goddamned chapter I stg

Current word count progress: 8.9K 

So, I haven’t done a sneaky peek of the draft/WIP in freakin’ ages. But because you’re all being awesome and patient (and sending me cute headcanony ideas to keep me bopping as I wrestle with this danged thing), as a thank-you I thought I’d give you all some flirty Gigolas. 

image

Enjoy!

Hrera looked up from her silver wire-twisting as they approached. She was seated comfortably in a large high-backed chair that had been dragged into the Chamber
of Sansukhul because: ‘if you think I am sitting for hour after hour on cold stone all alone, then next you will find that I am sitting on you.’

The
chair had been produced in record time. There was even a cushion.

“Back again?” Hrera looked disapproving – more so than usual.

“I
must,” Thorin said wearily. “The battles still continue, and I have not yet found my star.”

“Oh, I’m not in the least bit worried for him,” she sniffed, and smoothed back his hair. “Don’t push yourself too far again, Thorin darling.”

He ducked his head obediently, allowing her to arrange his hair to her satisfaction. “I will not,” he said, and yawned.

She tweaked his ear. “I’m sure. Off you go then. If you must.”

Thorin gave his grandmother a tight smile of apology and fell upon his bench. He heard Frerin whispering a few words to Hrera as the stars began their mesmerising dance. Then all was drowned by the ringing in his ears as he was hurtled through the star-pool towards Middle-Earth once more.

The shrieking was the first sound. Thorin opened his eyes and then winced as the cold, cutting light of day stabbed into them. There was no sign of the sun. The sky billowed with black clouds, roiling and evil-looking.

“Where…” said Frerin, squinting and shading his eyes.

“Give chase! Give chase!” came the cry, and
Thorin turned to see Aragorn with his sword drawn, urging the Grey Company onwards. “We near the port of Pelargir! Drive these allies of darkness onwards, drive them into the sea!”

“Ai-oi, come and take a bite of my axe, you servants of Sauron!” came the familiar rumbling laugh, and Thorin’s heart leaped as he turned to behold his star. Gimli was standing planted firmly upon a small rise, his axe dealing blow after
blow. Behind him, the Elf stood like a spear of pale fire, his bow picking off more distant targets.

“These aren’t Orcs, these are Umbari,” said Thorin, frowning. “Corsairs.”

“I see you’ve finally made it, then,” said Óin, and he jerked his head towards Gimli. “Pleasure to watch him work, ain’t it?”

“Aye.” Thorin watched for a moment as Gimli cut down a corsair, his axe glinting in the dim daylight. His star spun on one foot to sink the blade into another, unstoppable as a charging bull. He pulled his axe free with a jerk, and then whirled it over his head for a moment, the blood spattering in an arc upon the
faces of his foes. His hair was caught in an unfamiliar braid, and Thorin
frowned at it for a moment.

“Twenty-one!” Legolas called, and Gimli laughed again in delight.

“I’m ahead o’ you again, laddie, better catch up! I make my count out at twenty-three!”

Legolas
drew his bow, fast as thought, and the corsair that was rushing behind Gimli fell to the ground with an arrow in his throat. “Better watch your back, meleth nin,” Legolas panted, grinning hard.

“Why,
when I have you to do that for me?” Gimli returned the fierce grin, his eyes bright.

Aragorn glanced back at them, and rolled his eyes. “To the ships!” he cried, and then sprang forward. Andúril gleamed like a tongue of white fire.

“Boats again,” Gimli groaned, and Legolas’ laugh pealed out over the fighting, a clear bell of silver.

“I
shall hold your hand, shall I?”

“Oh fer cryin’ out loud,” Óin muttered, and tugged at his beard. “Sickening, the pair of them.”

“Have they been like this the whole time?” Thorin said. Beside him, Frerin snorted.

“They’re flirting with axe an’ bow, is what they’re doing,” Óin grumbled. “Gimli’s putting as much flair and polish on those swings as he possibly can without taking his own eye out, and the Elf’s more damn flamboyant than a peacock. How do they twist and leap like that? Are they part cat?”

Legolas twirled and turned, his hair flying out in a fan behind him as he drew his knives. He moved like liquid music, almost too graceful to be thought of as fighting if it were not for the trail of fallen bodies he left in his wake.

Gimli paused for a moment, his axe raised halfway, to watch the Elf move for a second.

“Keep your mind on what you are doing,” Thorin told him.

“Ah,
my king,” Gimli said, and smiled broadly. “You cannot blame me for admiring such skill.”

“I do not think it is exactly his skill that you admire so,” Thorin grunted.

Gimli’s smile turned arch. “Ah, well, you cannot blame me for that, either. Weren’t you the one who urged us on?”

Thorin folded his arms and harrumphed.

“Bloody sickening,” Óin muttered again, and then he waved a hand down towards the river some small distance below, glittering like a silver snake. “There’s the mouth of Anduin. These bastards are sailing up the river.”

“They mean to fall upon Gondor unforeseen,” Thorin said, and then an unearthly reek
filled the air. The wind rose with a sudden howl, blowing back the hair of the
fighters, clawing at them with chilly fingers.

Then
the greenish sickly glow of the restless dead began to rise like marsh-mist
from the earth. Aragorn paused, and then lifted Andúril high. It gleamed against the murky sky. “Take their ships!”

The
corsairs aboard the ships below laughed and jeered. “Who’s gonna stop us then!”
one shouted, his rough voice raucous from bellowing over sea-winds. “Your
ragged bunch? Who are you to deny us passage to Gondor, eh?”

“Legolas,
fire a warning shot past the bo’sun’s ear,” Aragorn said, and Legolas drew his
bow once more.

“Mind
your aim,” Gimli murmured, close by Legolas’ side.

The
shot flew wide, and hit a sailor in the throat. He pulled an extraordinary
face, and keeled over dead.

“Whoops,”
said Gimli innocently. “Treacherous winds, aren’t they?”

Legolas
glared down at Gimli for a moment, but could not maintain it for long. His
laugh pealed out, even as the corsairs gaped at their dead comrade. “Ah, meleth
nin, not the dread of death nor the sharing of heart’s secrets can daunt the
spirit of a Dwarf!”

Gimli’s
nose wrinkled. “Sea-sickness might do it. Boats. Eurgh.” Then he shook his head
and raised his voice to a carrying roar, addressing the corsairs once more.
“Well, we warned you! Prepare to be boarded!”

“Sounds
exciting,” Legolas murmured. Gimli choked and the apples of his cheeks flushed
almost as bright as his beard.

“Elves,”
he muttered with a scandalised huff, and raised his axe. There was a glitter in his dark eyes, however,
that told Thorin that this particular taunting arrow had found its mark.

TBC!