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the books that changed you (tolkienstuck femslash)

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The sight of their Lady, seated next to a pale girl dressed in gold, puzzled the Galadhrim. But if Lady Galadriel had allowed her into their woods, then she was to be trusted.

“What is Light like?” The question surprised Rose, and she blinked her lavender eyes at the shining lady seated next to her. “I should think you would know, being of the Light,” she responded. Galadriel smiled sadly.

“I am not so much Light in this age, not anymore. But I should like to hear its radiance in your words. Your voice is lovely to listen to.”

So, Rose told her of the pains and pleasures of Light, and all that she had seen.

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Arwen was curled on a velvet couch, reading an old Elvish tome. Jane, obscured by the pillar she was hiding behind, admired the elven lady’s form, her hips, and, Jane’s guilty pleasure – her hands.

“Jane,” Arwen said without looking up. The dark-haired human jumped, ashamed. “Come out, I want to see you.” There was a teasing note in her lilting voice, and Jane thought that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be as bad as she had imagined.

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The Rogue of Void had escaped Mirkwood’s prisons, and Tauriel was sent to find out how. This woman’s mysterious powers intrigued her, while King Thranduil feared them. Tauriel only wanted to find out how they worked, and their place in the universe.

Roxy was hiding silently above the prison, watching Tauriel investigate her otherwise unremarkable cell, with amusement. The door was still locked, and there were no footprints in the stone dust of the floor. Tauriel was stumped, and Roxy was trying not to laugh aloud. How elves had gained their reputation of wisdom, she would never know.

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Jade was lovely in an earthy way, Luthien reflected as she watched her companion sleep, curled alongside the omnipotent hound, Bec. It was for this young human woman that Luthien had given up her life as the best-loved elf in Doriath, and her status as princess, not to mention her safety.

The wounds Jade had received in Morgoth’s halls were merely scrapes – Bec had not been touched, it seemed. The odd pair intrigued Luthien; how did they avoid injury altogether in a world made of mortal flesh? She almost feared them.

Then Jade mumbled something in her sleep, and Luthien’s heart warmed. How could she fear something so lovely?

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The Broodfester tongues were unfamiliar to Thuringwethil, yet they sounded beautiful to her sensitive ears. The Dark Seer, as she was known among Sauron’s legions, was singing to the vampire, stroking her tangled hair as she recited verses in the language of her gods. Thuringwethil’s large eyes were closing slowly – ah, the Broodfester tongue was lovely to hear.

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“Come closer, young woman,” Ungoliant hissed, mandibles clacking together in excitement. “I want to smell your fear.” Roxy remained invisible, just out of the Spider’s reach. “I’d rather not,” the Rogue responded slowly, “For then it would be you that is afraid.” Ungoliant fell silent in surprise, straining all eight eyes into the darkness of her lair, trying to find this… being, of such power that even she would faint with fear. A dark laugh chimed from the Void, a laugh overlaying ancient Eldritch whispers. And Ungoliant was afraid.

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                The steam rising from Cared-en-Aras was almost suffocating. Jane thought she was going to choke on it. Must be the Dragon, the Maid thought, grimacing. Good thing he would be dead soon.

                She had come to kill Glaurung, but apparently, someone had got there first. The cries of a woman alerted Jane to the presence of human life, and her legs carried her forward faster than she had aver thought possible. She emerged from the smog to see a slender woman, crying and backing away from the wounded form of Glaurung. She was getting dangerously close to the edge of the cliffs.

                Then the woman turned, as if to jump to her death. “Wait! No!” Jane called, darting forward and grabbing the woman’s waist before she could leap. “It’s alright, I’m here!” The woman struggled, “No! Let me die! I carry my own brother’s child!” Her attempts died away, and she fell onto Jane’s shoulder, sobbing.

                The dragon rumbled, amused. “Oh, dear Maid,” he hissed. “You cannot save her.” Knowing the most common cause of the dragon-spell, Jane avoided his gaze. “Then you don’t know the powers of Life.”

                “Nienor,” the woman mumbled. Jane glanced down, to see that her gaze had brightened with remembrance. “My name is Nienor.” The dragon snarled, clearly displeased, but Jane couldn’t be happier with this progress.

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Kanaya had wandered farther than she had intended, and the twilight was deepening. The dark-haired she-elf glanced over her shoulder, searching for the way she had come. The trees were unfamiliar; she was lost.

                My brother will be furious if I don’t return soon, she fretted silently. The sister of Finwe pulled her dark cloak closer around her slender form. The nightingales began to sing, as if to comfort her. Then a woman’s voice, clear and angelic, joined the hum of the twilight birds with ease.

                Kanaya lifted her head, to see the source of the lovely sound gliding across the dew-laden grass and admiring the flowers. Her midnight-black hair was long and shimmering, and the light of Aman was plain in her face.

Kanaya moved forward, spellbound, and took the woman’s hand. Her body ceased its movement, and she fell into a deep enchantment.


Hundreds of years later, two women awoke from their slumber, and smiled. Many songs tell of the great love between Kanaya Thingol and Melian of Valinor, the Two Queens of Doriath; and their descendants, given to them by Eru himself, continued to shape the World even after they departed these Lands, hand in hand, still in love.

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               The house in the beech tree got lonely at night, and it seemed the Valar themselves had sent her someone to ease the cold.

               Damara wasn’t her lover, not really. The strange nightly visitor was more of a bedwarmer. Damara herself would say fuckbuddies, but Luthien preferred the less obscene term, personally. The rustblood troll was sitting at the edge of Luthien’s bed, watching the elf-woman work at her loom.

               “What is that?” Damara inquired, and raised one slim finger to point at Luthien’s half-finished creation. Her nails were glossy with black polish. Luthien twisted around on her side of the mattress to smile at her friend. “A cloak. Or, it will be.”

                Damara tilted her head, frowning. Luthien took a moment to admire the dimples on those gray cheeks, then the rustblood was speaking again, “What will it do, besides cover naked body that I would like to see?”

                The princess sighed, exasperated at Damara’s lewdness, and responded, “I put a spell of sleeping upon it, for… for my planned escape. I hope it will prove useful.”

                The rustblood’s form went rigid. “You mean leave?” Luthien would have panicked in that moment, afraid that Damara would alert the guards and prevent her from escaping, if not for the expression on her friend’s face.

                Damara’s eyes were crinkled at the edges, and her lips quivered. She looked for all the world as if she were about to cry. Then the tears started overflowing, pale red, dripping down her face into those same dimples Luthien had admired not moments earlier. “Not want you to leave me,” she mumbled, embarrassment battling with desperation in her eyes.

                Luthien shifted to her friend’s side, feeling as if her heart would break for the troll woman’s sorrow. “I won’t be leaving you, not really.” Damara glanced up, clearly in disbelief, and Luthien continued. “As long as you take our time together, and hold closely to your heart,” - she lifted her hand and placed it, gently, over Damara’s bloodpusher -  “then I will find you. I will not forget you, because you are my friend. And elves do not forget easily.”

               Damara was silent for a long moment. Then her arms went up and around Luthien’s waist, drawing her down onto the bed. “…. Pale for you, Luthien.” Well-versed on troll culture, the princess felt her own eyes fill with tears at Damara’s admission. “Pale for you, too, Damara.”


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Feferi was drifting, allowing the river’s current to carry her wherever it pleased. The fish-princess kicked her legs and giggled in delight as a school of minnows swirled around her outstretched hands. The river-water seemed to laugh alongside her, its voice bubbling up from the newly-forming eddies just ahead.

The heiress paused, thinking her auricular sponge clots must be deceiving her. The river was actually laughing. Her large yellow eyes blinked in surprise, just before the eddies began to take form.

The water rose up in the shape of a woman; her golden hair spilled down her pale-cream shoulders, and her small mouth was quirked upward into a smile. Blue-green eyes reflected the sun’s light, and glimmered like rippling water. Her chest was bare, and Feferi’s fuchsia blood rushed to her cheeks.

Smiling wider, the strange woman laughed openly at Feferi’s reaction. “Strange girl!” she giggled, making a valiant effort to recover. “Even your little fins are rosy! You must really enjoy what you see~!”

It was true, Feferi realized, the river-woman was lovely. The thought kindled a sudden rush of heat through her aquatic vascular system - and certain other places, if she was being honest. …Just a little kiss couldn’t hurt?

As if reading her thoughts, Goldberry - for that was the river-woman’s name - caught the heiress’s face in her hands and pulled her forward. Feferi barely had time to think, Her palms are very warm, before her glossy black lips crashed against Goldberry’s rosebud mouth.

…Alright, maybe one night couldn’t hurt?