[ closed ] turkish i mean tevene oil wrestling

[aenseidhe]

WHO: Iorveth + Thor + Gwenaëlle + Resa + Thranduil + Loki yelling from a window
WHAT: Wrestling!!!! + Catch all for other things that happened in this eventful day that left Iorveth very sore
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Gallows training grounds
NOTES: Gratuitous shirtless boys touching each other a bunch (FOR WRESTLING, GOD) + NSFW things in another thread that will prob be moved to an inbox idk im sleepy

[ "If you two are going to fight, it's no magic, no weapons, wrestling only, and you have to take your shirts off."

Leave it to Gwenaëlle Baudin to actually get two grown ass men to agree to this nonsense. At least, by the time they decide to start up, Thor and Iorveth have made some kind of temporary peace. While they're still at odds over Tevinter's view on elves, they're discussing it more than simply threatening bloodshed. So, let's be real. This is basically because they both think Gwenaëlle is pretty. Aaaaand, a little, a pissing contest still.

So, no shirts she said. Iorveth wears about 4 to 6 layers of gear at any given time, so it takes him a little bit to strip down from shirtless. First, the cloth belt, the leather belts holding his quiver, bow and swords in place, with the badges of slain special forces commanders decorating it, his gloves, and the leather chest guard are all unbuckled and set aside. Then, the chainmail shift. Then, the loose, brown tunic beneath, and lastly, the larger green tunic, and the plain linen undershirt beneath. When he's finally clear of all that junk, the tattoo that usually only peeks through the top of his collar, branches and leaves weaving up his shoulder and neck, is in full and complete view, and it's much, much larger.

The design stretches from his shoulder, partway down his upper arm, down his chest on his left side, until it reaches his ribs, and wraps around his side there. In full, the tattoo forms a tree - the art of it gnarled and old, twisted and mystic in nature, roots stretching out as far as the branches do. all through it, in the grain of the wood and tangle of the roots and branches, new designs are formed. Some foreign symbols, like runes and sigils, some animal faces or bodies. one could easily guess it's religious in nature, because it is. That taken care of, he'll leave the headscarf on, and he's ready to go. Pacing over to Gwenaëlle, Iorveth stands with hands on his hips as he tilts an amused smile towards her. ]

Any other requests, Elaine Ard Rhena?

Comments

[rowancrowned]

[ the question, for thranduil, if asked, would be moot.

you can't return to what you never even left. and as more and more time pases, arda feels like unto a dream, if a realistic one. ]

However much you need, [ he echoes. they have that, at least, in a fair amount, all the margins of this war where they've built (tried to build) this little shelter against the rest of it all, the future thranduil holds under his tongue, his aspirations, weak as they are, his greed for a little shaded place with flute music and the laughter of children.

he is satisfied with his hair, at least, the flimsy excuse of being able to step away and consider his vulnerability from afar, his fear. iorveth had shed it, is nurturing it into new growth, but too much of being elven for thranduil are those connections, even the ones that had atrophied by necessity as king.

back to the bed, them, to their orbit, where he keeps being drawn. they fit together too well for him not to think it iluvatar-ordained. they know how best to hurt one another for that fit, even accidentally.

(he could make a joke, about crowns and consorts, in counterpoint to gwen, but he does not. he knows he will never wear a crown again. he never did, in truth. it is only a memory.) ]

hover text for translation

[aenseidhe]

[ never tell him these things, thranduil, it will destroy his purpose in life.

and then he'll probably still try to return to the aen seidhe at all costs, because what's better than one iorveth on a battlefield? two iorveths. he always did want a brother. ]

Fidelity. I swear it to you. [ Iorveth leans his forehead to Gwenaelle's, a hand against her cheek, and a welling of affection, adoration and gratitude for her understanding. it's not something he's sure how to express, so he offers her another slow, sweet kiss, and a nuzzle against her cheek, endlessly fond. ]

Amusing as it would be to watching you chase Kostos through the Gallows with one of Thranduil's blades, I do appreciate that. [ he's feel pretty bad for it, and Kostos probably wouldn't have any clue what was going on besides. not that Iorveth even wants to think about them breaking apart because of this, but it is a reality that ought to be considered, by all of them. iorveth for his convictions, and gwenaelle and thranduil for the fact they may very well lose him to them someday. it spikes an ache in him like nothing else, but that's no excuse for foolishness and blindness.

his attention turns back to Thranduil as he returns to them, and he knows this has been difficult for a man so regal and proud, from a culture so similar, but at the same time, so very different from his own. easing forward to him, iorveth curls his body against his back (still bare save for a well placed bedsheet), sneaking his arms around to hug his torso back against his chest.]

I'm sorry, m'Rion. [ Iorveth murmurs against his ear, tucking his face against the side of his neck. supplication, if you like, but Iorveth would kneel to him every day of his life and still feel like he'd lost nothing of himself in it. it isn't as if thranduil's ever asked him to, but he means so very, very much to iorveth now it's all consuming. ] I've not made this easy for you.

[ for a long while, Iorveth settles there, arms holding tight around thranduil's middle, chest pressed to his back, face ducked against him, clinging and praying for this all to come to a simple union, for his anxieties to pass quickly, and for him to know with certainty he isn't reunion them or himself in this. ]

[elegiaque]

( her fingers are a light weight on iorveth's back, tracing a nothing pattern from the nape of his neck down his spine, the comfort of presence more than to purpose— )

If Thranduil liked doing things the easy way, he wouldn't be doing either of us.

( crass, gwenaëlle, and yet not actually incorrect. )