Nene_Robo
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Summary
How Dahlia became The Herald of Barbatos.
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"You look like a man who needs one of two things to cheer up:" Venti lifted one finger up, "a miracle from Barbatos himself…” He lifted another finger, "…or someone to drag him out of his misery with questionable decisions. Lucky for you, I specialize in both." He winked, then leaned forward. “Now, my deacon—”“I’m not a deacon yet.” Dahlia corrected automatically.
“—my future deacon,” Venti amended without shame, “which would you prefer?”
OR
Shortly after the Traveler left Mondstadt and the city regained its peace, Dahlia was announced as a candidate, a soon-to-be-ordained Deacon of the Church of Favonius. Which was great, awesome, perfect, had it not been for a teeny, tiny detail: his faith, or rather the lack of it.And then the wind gets a whiff of his secret.
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- Part 1 of Tales of a Windborne Flower
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Dahlia long ago lost track of how many refills they’ve downed between them, but Venti has clearly reached his limit. He has an obvious tell: when he's drunk, he wobbles back and forth, at constant threat of sloshing wine down the front of his clothes.
Ha! Silly bard. Dahlia pats his palms against the table and hums an off-tune hymn as he basks in his victory.
“Don't look so shmug,” Venti says with a light slurring of his words and an accusatory, off-center point of his finger. “You're jusht as drunk as I am.”
What? No, that's not true. Dahlia opens his mouth to parry with a witty retort, but for some reason all that comes out is, “Pbbt, m’not.”
Venti's answering laugh is as sweet and smooth as honeyed mead. Dahlia watches the curving of that wine-anointed mouth with keen interest, wondering if Venti's mirth tastes as good as it sounds.
Oh. That's a dangerous thought.
Maybe Dahlia is a bit drunk.
A drinking game leads to two unexpected confessions.
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Summary
"Lohen."
"Hm~?"
Lohen stops bouncing his leg, looking over the meeting table to see Illuga staring pointedly at him.
"What?" Lohen raises an eyebrow, "I'm listening."
Or; Lohen won't admit he's sick: the oneshot
Bookmarked by Nene_Robo
15 Jun 2026
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An Elf!?! by Insane_Lollypop
Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
23 Apr 2026
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Summary
"He’s the finest specimen of a Longbeard I’ve seen in three centuries," Bifur grunted, signing the words with a look of genuine awe.
"It’s a problem, is what it is," Dwalin growled, crossing his massive arms as he watched the scene across the hall.
At least five Dwarves,sons and daughters of noble houses,were currently surrounding Gimli’s table. One was offering a finely wrought silver brooch; another was reciting a poem about the durability of granite; a third was trying to catch his eye with a display of masterfully tempered daggers.
By all accounts, Gimli should have been the proudest Dwarf in the Mountain. Instead, he looked as though he were chewing on a lemon.
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there was a blur of movement,a whistle of wind and the distinct clack of a bow being drawn.The music died. The laughter cut out into a jagged silence.
Legolas was suddenly standing at Gimli’s side. His bow was up, the string pulled taut against his cheek, and the gleaming tip of a Mirkwood arrow was leveled directly at the center of the Dwarven lady’s forehead.
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Summary
Arlecchino wakes up in a world where she isn't a Harbinger, where she didn't lose Clervie, where everything seems to have gone right. Despite how sweet and idyllic everything seems, Arlecchino knows that this isn't reality, that she has to get back to her world, her problems and her children, but with each peaceful day, she finds her resolve to return home slipping away.
"“I-I can walk on my own…”
“But I want to carry you.”
There is a raw edge to that admission, a broken, honest, desperate emotion that she didn’t intend to express. Even though this is but a dream, she still wants to replace the memory of the last time she held Clervie in her arms, her body limp and lifeless as she carried her out of the dueling ring. It is foolish, illogical, overly emotional, but when it comes to Clervie, Arlecchino knows that she cannot resist."