1584: Celebrian – Part NinePosted: November 6, 2016
Author: A now-forgotten servant of Morgoth the Defiler
Topic: Lord of the Rings
Critiqued by KittyNoodles
*** WARNING: The following riff contains no rape for once. Unfortunately, it does involve random bestiality, a scientific discussion of horse anatomy, and the beginning stages of some of the most atrocious body horror you’ve likely ever seen described on purpose, which may result in extreme dizziness, shortness of breath, nausea, heartburn, indigestion, and a lifelong aversion to ice cream. Yes, ice cream. Those of you who have seen 2 Girls 1 Cup are probably the only people prepared for this. Those of you who have not seen the aforementioned video are first advised not to look it up if you ever wish to eat again; furthermore, such persons will need to trade their complimentary Fic Sickness Bags™ for equally complimentary Fic Sickness Barrels™, both of which have been provided to us courtesy of the PCC. In case of extreme aversion to the impending body horror and character bastardization, please proceed in a shrieking, disorganized mob to your nearest fire escape. ***
[*Lyle pales, hugs her pillow, and retreats rapidly into the blanket fort’s wine cellar*
[The Booth is still littered with blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals – which is good, because it gives Kitty something soft to land on when she is bodily thrown into the Booth. As Kitty picks herself up with a grumble, it becomes clear that she is the only person in the Booth; evidently Fury has had his fill of the riff and is thus conspicuously absent. Kitty would have a replacement co-riffer along, if she would–]
Kitty: I am not inviting Avis!
[Don’t argue with the narration, Kitty. The Fourth Wall has feelings, too.]
Kitty: Go eat a dick!
[The narration politely refuses. The narration goes on to inform Kitty that Avis is the only OC in her entire repertoire who could help her with this portion of the riff without vomiting or attempting to murder Kitty for roping them into this mess.]
Kitty: Avis is literally the most despicable character in my OU. It ain’t happening. Mostly on the grounds that I’m female and he’s batshit crazy and enjoys it.
[The narration doubts he would kill the only person capable of providing him with more opportunities to be a despicable creature.]
Kitty: You’re the fat kid!
[The narration is hurt by that, Kitty. Your words hurt.]
Kitty: Q, Q, asshole, I’m doing this one solo.
Patrons, Ithalond is still recovering from our last installment, Fury has refused to come back on the grounds that he “cannot stand watching Lord Elrond Half-elven portrayed as a sex-obsessed monkey with no iota of sympathy in all his existence,” and Tarak is…
Okay, frankly, I don’t know where Tarak is. He left ages ago and I’m pretty sure he’s just gone back to murdering lackeys. Sorry.
Anyway! In our last installment, Fake!Celebrían was rescued! But not before the Orcs poured some strange, milky fluid out of… Dahmer-brand canteens, apparently. Onto her boobs. And then gave her meat and milk to kickstart her boobs growing bigger?
Whatever, she was rescued after that. And I guess Elrond is mostly concerned that she doesn’t feel like banging him right now, which is so grossly out of character for literally all of his portrayals throughout canon and the official adaptations that I had to concuss myself to see straight again after reading that part.
Anywho, we’re back to Imladris now, so let’s see how much worse Daeum could possibly make this garbage.
Celebrian tried to get back into the dream-like rhythm of life at Rivendell. But her dreams were filled by memories of how she pleasured the orc-king and she was troubled by how often her waking eye turned to the bulge in the crotch of the warriors or sheathed-cocks of the stallions.
Sadly enough, this is extremely tame – both in comparison to what we’ve already read and compared to what’s coming.
Why is she attracted to the horses, now? She wasn’t sodomized by any animals during her captivity, and as we now know, the orc king had a penis that was, by the more generous estimate, a foot long and two inches wide. And riddled with every STD known to man.
Beyond not looking like a fungus-encrusted Lovecraftian nightmare, a horse penis – and God help me and save me, I had to Google “dimensions of the average horse penis” to learn this – is around twenty inches long and one to two inches in diameter when sheathed. There is literally absolutely zero reason why Fake!Celebrían should associate a horse penis with the orc king’s penis. If anything, she should be turned on by the sight of wild boars, since the orc king was explicitly and repeatedly likened to a pig.
There is not enough Brain Bleach in all the known universe for what I just had to research and report. I am so sorry.
Most of all, she was haunted by her last request to the orc-king regarding her breasts.
Morning and night she checked them for signs of change but found none except for the initial increase in size. They did not decrease. She was disturbed by that sign.
That, at least, makes sense. Of course she’s haunted by the things she said and did for him, regardless of whether or not they were her fault (or whether or not she blames herself for any of it.) Who in the world wouldn’t be? It even makes sense that she’s begun obsessively making sure her breasts aren’t actually getting bigger and is distressed that they aren’t shrinking back down, since the enlargement is being presented as a) something she doesn’t want when she’s in her right mind, and b) something that in-universe events indicate will probably work just as well as drugging her did in the first place. For once, Daeum’s doing PTSD and characterization pretty well.
Elf-flesh restores itself. Even Ithalond’s hands would have grown back in time.
But, Daeum being Daeum, we all knew that couldn’t possibly last.
Tolkien’s Elves do possess a faster healing rate than humans – for injuries that don’t involve a body part going missing. Broken legs, lacerations, bruises, concussions… those they could all recover from much more quickly than the average human. But once again, Maedhros provides us with all the canonical proof we need to say for certain that Tolkien’s Elves could not regenerate whole body parts. If they could, Maedhros would have grown his hand back, not wrapped it up and taught himself to wield a sword left-handed in the middle of being at war with Morgoth and having zero established kingdoms in Middle-earth. It also would have taken away a lot of the emotional kick behind Fingon’s decision to cut Maedhros down from Thangorodrim rather than kill him if Maedhros could just pop a new hand on after a few weeks of TLC and bedrest.
Too long? Didn’t read? Daeum fails research, in other news water is wet.
And she could feel that her ass-hole was not quite so sunken nor so large, although the change was minute. It would take decades to return to normal but clearly the process had started. But her breasts had not started to shrink back to apple size. It was good that they had not grown but something was not right if they did not shrink.
[The narration would like to take a moment to point out that Kitty would not currently be duct-taped to the ceiling and covered in custard if she would invite Avis to co-riff with her.]
Kitty: Why do I always get the weird DRD agents…?
A year passed. Her eye still turned to cock-bulges but she could mask it and it no longer bothered her. She sometimes felt the orc-king’s cock in her mouth in her dreams but not very often. Her ass-hole continued its slow shrink towards normalcy. Only her breasts remained stubbornly unchanged.
Wait, so did everyone notice her staring at their junk before? And nobody said anything? No one raised any concerns that the Lady of Imladris is suddenly eyeing everything with a pulse and a penis like a kid walking by a candy shop display window? And why as she surrounded by so many cock bulges? Most of the guys I hang around don’t have bulges noticeable enough to even count as bulges unless they’re wearing skinny jeans or looking at porn.
Are Elrond and Ithalond the only male characters in this fic that aren’t hung like porn stars, or is everybody choosing not to mention Fake!Celebrían’s public leering because that would mean admitting that the sight of a married lady who’s recovering from captivity and torture really gets their pistons firing?
On another note, oh my god it’s actually going to take decades for her asshole to stop gaping. No. No. That isn’t even–
[The narration thinks Avis could articulate this quite well.]
Kitty: GEE SORRY I’M NOT COHERENT BUT I HAVE SEEN THINGS THAT I CAN NEVER UNSEE AND DAEUM IS PISSING ON MY SUFFERING WITH THESE ANATOMICAL IMPOSSIBILITIES.
I have seen [TERRIBLE ANUS ABUSE] and let me tell you even after that and the fisting that came before it that [NOT A YOUNG WOMAN]’s butthole was just fine within a few minutes or so! The sphincter is a muscle! Muscles do not take years to return to normal after being injured, stressed, or stretched. Now, her ass may be a bit “broken in” now, in the sense that it’s probably not the padlocked bunker safe it was before, and it probably did gape for up to several hours or days after she was rescued (since between the dildos and the anal sex it did endure prolonged stress), and if it took a few more days still that wouldn’t shatter my suspension of disbelief, but it’s not going to take several months to go back to normal, let alone several decades.
And why the hell isn’t “destroying the shape of the victim’s body so that it’s permanently ‘molded’ to fit the penis of her assailant like a glove” on any of those bingo cards down there?! That’s textbook biastophilia and sexism, dammit!
[The narration would like to point out that Kitty owns only the first- through third-edition sets of the PCC’s Biastophilia Bingo Cards.]
Kitty: Shut up and narrate me down from here!
[The duct tape snaps loose and Kitty falls twenty feet down to the floor, landing amidst the pillows and blankets with a dull thud. Though the landing is significantly softer than it might have been without the blankets and pillows, the impact cracks four ribs and knocks the air from her lungs. Adding to her misfortune, Kitty has landed face-down in a squishy pillow, and due to the pain she is in is unable to roll over or shift in any way that might prevent her from suffocating. In the distance, one can hear the sound of a respawn point warming up…]
It did not terrify her like it had at first but still she was concerned. She could talk to no one about it, though. How could she possibly explain? So, she watched and waited, cupping her breast each day for signs of change, growth or diminution.
[Kitty walks into the Booth dressed in Haku’s combat outfit.]
Kitty: Okay, fine, I guess that worked. Dickwagon.
[The narration is happy to help.]
In the spring travelers from the east arrived. They were a merchant party traveling to distant Esgoroth.
Kitty: Goddammit, I’m going to have to drag out the fucking map again, aren’t I?
Okay, guys, here we go: The caravan is explicitly traveling from the east. Esgaroth is the lake near the Lonely Mountain. Both of these are just east of Mirkwood. Mirkwood is east of the Misty Mountains, which are east of Rivendell. Like so:
ESGAROTH IS EAST OF RIVENDELL, DAEUM. EAST. THIS CARAVAN HAS NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT THEY’RE DOING.
As it was a trip of many months
Especially considering they’re going the wrong direction!
and they were a large party, with women and children, they had many wagons, carts, horses and even cows for milk and steers for beef.
What the fucking fuck? Are these traveling merchants a band of nomads? It sounds like they’ve got their whole life packed up with them, wives and kids and livestock and all! In the time period when this is all happening, that’s a suicidally stupid way to live, what with bandits and Orcs raiding the locals and trolls coming out of hibernation and the Shadow starting to fall over Middle-earth again and all. It’d be less asinine if they walked around wearing tunics that read “please murder or enslave us and steal all of our shit.”
[The narration thinks having somebody to make black commentary on how little fun that would be–]
Kitty: NOBODY ASKED YOU!
Elrond offered entertainment.
On the surface, you might be tempted to think it’s rude that he doesn’t also offer food or shelter. But since these are nomads…
In gratitude on the last day, the travelers treated their hosts to a banquet at their camp with fresh beef and bread, their best wine, and a special treat unknown to the elves who did not keep cows: ice cream.
…they of course have plenty of both of those things.
I don’t know and am not going to spend hours going through forums and official canon to find out whether or not anybody north of Mordor and not a Dwarf was remotely likely to take to a nomadic lifestyle. I do think it’s strange that Elves wouldn’t keep cattle, because where else would they get milk? Goats? Yaks? Plotbunnies aside, those are both less likely, in my mind, than cows.
But then I’m a rational creature who thinks about things before vomiting onto her keyboard. Daeum is not.
Elrond watched Celebrian brush her hair. The banquet had ended and they were preparing to sleep.
No, I didn’t skip a linebreak. That really is the very next paragraph. Daeum also fails at scene transitions.
Also, I’m loving what Elrond and Fake!Celebrían have done with this part of the Void. There’s so much Voidiness!
They had still not had sex but he was patient. He was pleased at her progress. She had calmed considerably since they had first rescued her and she no longer jumped at this touch.
Holy fucking shit, Fury wasn’t kidding. Not only is Elrond ridiculously obsessed with banging his still-recovering wife, but he’s tracking her healing the way you might keep an eye on a horse with a bad leg! Literally, look at that last sentence! He could very easily be discussing the progress of a horse seized from an abusive owner!
This is the Elf that welcomes strangers into his home regularly, to the point that he’s fostered several generations of Aragorn’s forefathers, welcomed the world’s rudest Dwarves ever to rest in his home as long as they would like to, and doesn’t pitch Frodo (who’s carrying Middle-earth’s resident doom magnet) or the many angry emissaries from all of the Free Peoples across the land (who all showed up uninvited, by the way) out for respectively bringing a doom magnet to his home and stomping through the proverbial front door to shout at each other in his house!
Daeum can’t even claim that he’s basing this off the fact that Elrond and his brother were kidnapped and raised by Maglor and Maedhros (the latter of whom already possibly had the blood of another pair of small children on his hand because his followers thought it was funny to chase said children into the woods alone at night during a raid on their home,) because a) Maglor and Maedhros weren’t the two sons of Fëanor who became infamous for attempting to force Lúthien to marry one of them, b) Maglor, at the very least, raised Elrond and Elros to be good people, and c) Daeum isn’t that dedicated to research! There’s absolutely zero reason for Elrond to be chiefly concerned with when he can bang his wife who was only extremely recently (for an Elf) rescued from ridiculously abusive Orcs.
And where are their children during all of this? All three of them should be adults by now, and her sons canonically rescued Celebrían. Where are Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen? I mean, I’m glad they aren’t suffering through this and getting flanderized alongside their parents, but seriously, what the hell? Shouldn’t their sons, at least, be coming out of the “stay by mother’s side” phase and starting to gear up to murder literally every Orc they encounter in the wilds?
“You seemed to enjoy yourself, tonight, my dear,” he said.
Apparently this version of Elrond is being portrayed by William Shatner. Poor guy.
Also that’s an odd casting choice for Elrond.
She smiled at him. “Yes, songs and food were, well, not our normal fare, but it was a happy party.”
Somehow I don’t think any of your readers expected the songs or food offered by the nomads to be Elvish in any way, Daeum, but thanks for adding that pointless tidbit to the pointless domestic scene.
“You seemed to like the iced-treat they made. You had several helpings.”
Jesus Christ, Cel, slow down! Too much dairy can’t be good for you! Think of the gas!
Did she have these helpings one after the other, or did she pace herself and do other stuff like chat and dance and ogle cock-bulges between bowls? Discuss.
“Yes, it was very good,” she said, blushing. It had been good.
[Again, the narration would like to point out that the brutal whammy-hammer beating Kitty just received would not have happened if–]
Kitty: Hate you. So much.
But she blushed not because of her indulgence, as Elrond thought, but because after she finished, she realized it had reminded her of the orc-king’s cum. It was sweet and cold where he had been hot and salty, but even so, there was something about its texture in her mouth that brought back the memory.
“In that case, we shall keep a few cows and make our own iced-cream in Rivendell.”
Wait, how are nomads capable of making ice cream? That requires a certain amount of ice – shocking, I know – and if it’s during the warm season, they probably aren’t rich enough to have ice handy. Are the nomads excruciatingly successful merchants? Do they haul around a giant ice box, too? Did ice boxes even exist in Middle-earth? What the actual fuck, Daeum, why did it have to be ice cream?!
Elrond was true to his word. Cows were sent for, as were a few milkmaids and a man to teach the elves how to handle the cows and make the ice cream. Soon, the new confection was a regular part of most evenings in Rivendell. Celebrian always helped herself to the treat.
Elrond had to send for milkmaids. He couldn’t, I don’t know, ask some of his own people to be milkmaids? Offer it as a job for the younger Elves? He’s already forcing his people to take care of livestock regardless of their opinion on the matter because his wife loves her some icy-cream.
One summer night, she dreamed of the orc-king and his orc-bitch with the great teats. She dreamed of the liquid the bitch had rubbed into her own breasts. In her dream, her nipples suddenly protruded an inch, then two. Her aureola spread to the size of her fist, nearly engulfing her small breasts. Then her chest began to swell. Her breasts grew hard and taut as they expanded.
I think she’s dreaming about having breast cancer. Fleshy acks of fatty tissue on your chest should really not be hard and taut, even if they’ve been augmented.
They swelled and swelled. All the while the orc-bitch continued to rub her liquid into them. She saw her nipples enlarged to the size of the orc-bitch’s, saw them hanging like her husband’s limp penis.
So her nipples are that shape and size without even being perky? Or are they so large that they sag with their own weight? Are her hard, taut boobs hanging down, too? I’m having trouble picturing this ungodly nightmare you’re attempting to paint here, Daeum.
Also, what is with this fic and ragging on Elrond’s little lord? LEAVE HIS PENIS ALONE, ASSWAGON.
With a start she woke in the night. Her husband stirred beside her but did not wake. Her hands were cupped to her breasts, still small, but were they as small as before? She could not tell. She spent the rest of the night waiting for dawn so that she could inspect her breasts when her husband left her alone during her toilette.
I’m not sure why, but the phrase, “when her husband left her alone during her toilette” makes me extremely uncomfortable. It’s probably the implication that there are times when he doesn’t leave her alone during her bathroom visits, which – while something that a lot of healthy couples probably occasionally do, especially if there’s exactly one bathroom and somebody’s in the shower when somebody else desperately needs to use the toilet – is extremely disturbing when combined with Fake!Elrond’s previously established character traits of being sex-obsessed and apparently thinking of his wife as a glorified pet.
In other news: The sleeping thing has reared its ugly head again.
Okay, so I know I’ve said before that Elves don’t sleep. That was a gross oversimplification on my part, and I apologize.
It’s more accurate to say that Elves do not sleep the way humans sleep. This post from tumblr blog askmiddlearth lays it out pretty well: They didn’t always necessarily need sleep, and when they did sleep it wasn’t what we would consider true sleep as much as meditation or really intense daydreaming. They didn’t even really need to be lying down or immobile – Legolas apparently pulled it off while in motion and keeping up with fellow travelers.
So… that’s that.
When that time finally arrived, she carefully felt her breasts and nipples. They did seem bigger, but only by tiny a bit. She would never have noticed had she not spent the last many months checking them carefully. And perhaps it was just the dream working on her mind.
So she gave the girls a good squeeze and a heft or two, or what? How is she checking her boobs for signs of change? All we know for sure is that it’s accurate enough that she can mark “tiny” changes, but we don’t even know what qualifies as a tiny change, because Daeum isn’t describing anything that isn’t mind-bogglingly horrifying.
She had to be sure. She took a hair ribbon and wrapped it around her right breast. She marked where the ribbon met.
She’s only now doing this, so at least we know this is a method she hasn’t thought to use before. Fuck you, Daeum.
Over the next few days, she checked her breast size with the ribbon as soon as she had privacy. The ribbon no longer met at the mark. At first, she convinced herself it was merely the imprecision of her method of measurement, or a different tilt to her breast that shifted the weight. By the end of the week, the ribbon was an inch short of her mark and her breasts felt noticeably heavy.
Wow, that is a massive bodily change to undergo in the span of a single week. Are her flesh and muscle under the same spell as the fat layers and mammary glands? Because if they aren’t, that’s… a hell of a lot of pressure against the pectoralis muscles and skin. And even if the whole breast is enchanted, looking at the FDA’s list of breast augmentation complications, that much weight suddenly getting piled onto the rest of your body over a few days’ time should cause a lot of pain. Fake!Celebrían should not have needed a ribbon measurement to know that her boobs were getting bigger.
In fact, she shouldn’t have needed a ribbon at all, since I’m pretty sure the Elves had measuring tape handy and she could have just asked to borrow some for some sewing project, if she didn’t have some of her own already.
“It can’t be,” she said. “Something isn’t right. The mark must be off.”
The bruising, skin trauma, and muscular damage disagree with you most strongly.
She threw away the ribbon. She wrapped another around her breast. This time she cut the ribbon to the length necessary to wrap her breast. She even left a little extra. To hold the ribbon together she told herself although she really knew it was to defer the inevitable judgment.
Wait, wait, I need to picture this.
She cut more ribbon than necessary, but held it so the ends met around her breast? But she has too much ribbon, and this is because she’s delaying the inevitable outgrowth of her breasts for this ribbon, too. So… she’s got a space somewhere between her breast and the ribbon? Is she overlapping the ends right now? I’m trying to think of a way this could be done to plausibly give her time to deny the growth for a few days, but I’m having a lot of difficulty coming up with anything that doesn’t make her look blitheringly stupid.
By the following week, no matter how much she squeezed and mashed her breast, she could not make the ribbon join.
Okay, squeezed and mashed don’t really bother me too much. A determined woman can put up with a lot of self-inflicted trauma to her girls, depending on her mood. Still sounds kind of painful, mind, but not as bad as the total laceration of chest tissue and deformity to her chest wall that has to be going on by this point in time.
Breast augmentation surgery piles on a certain amount of extra weight in one go, and then the body is allowed to recover for a long time even before a follow-up augmentation. No woman is capable of withstanding the kind of constant wear and tear to her chest that Fake!Celebrían is experiencing. Those boobs are going to rip loose if she walks or sits down with too much bounce.
[The narration knows of somebody who could make very twisted comments about several things Kitty just said. It could be so horrible that it would turn out to be funny.]
Kitty: Your mother was a hamster.
[The narration’s mother was a squirrel, thank you very much.]
Kitty: And her spaghetti recipe was filched from the back of a Chef Boyardee can.
[The narration grows angry with Kitty!]
Kitty: The narration can go fly a kite.
[…The narration does not have hands. The narration needs to go cry for a little while.]
There was no denying it. Besides, the other signs were just as obvious only fear and denial had let her go this far. Her hands could not longer contain her breasts. Once they easily cupped her apple-mounds but they could not contend with what was now the size of a modest grapefruit. Neither could she ignore her nipples that thrust from the shift of her gown where once they had barely dented the cloth.
Kitty: Okay, Uncle Google doesn’t want to give me any apple-versus-grapefruit size comparison pictures. This was the closest I could find:
I will say that the average circumference of an apple is around 9.5 inches, while the average circumference of a grapefruit looks to be about 15.4 inches.
So make of that what you will. I think either way, Daeum isn’t describing sizes as big as he thinks they are. In which case, Fake!Celebrían probably isn’t experiencing massive tissue damage after all.
And she had several times caught Elrond staring at her breasts, although he had not yet said anything.
Rude, Elrond. It’s not nice to stare at people.
Then again, it’s your wife’s increasingly ridiculous rack you’re staring at, so that’s more of a gray area.
It was time to talk to him, though the thought shamed her deeply. There was no other choice.
I’m actually stunned he hasn’t mentioned it yet, now that I think of it. Wouldn’t the intelligent reaction to your wife suddenly beginning to get increasingly larger breasts be to sit her down and say, “Hey honey, I can’t help but notice you’re experiencing some swelling up top, is everything okay?”
That night, in bed, with her hands across in chest in unconscious, futile attempt to stifle the growth of her bosom. She spoke to Elrond.
Apparently the narrator of the fic is also being portrayed by William Shatner.
Also, really, Daeum? That’s the only reason you could think of for why Fake!Celebrían might be covering her breasts? Not shame at their increasing size, not an attempt to make them seem smaller to help ease the conversation along, not as a means of calming herself by applying pressure or support to a likely tender part of her body, thus hopefully mitigating the discomfort a smidge? The only reason you could honestly come up with for Fake!Celebrían to squish her boobs down is an unconscious attempt to halt or reverse the swelling?
I keep thinking I’ll stop being surprised, and then some tiny, subtle thing will catch me completely off guard. Normally that’s a pleasant surprise; here it’s just aggravating.
“Elrond, my love, I must speak to you.”
It’s about the water bill; it’s really quite high this month. Are you absolutely certain we need a decorative attack-river?
He’s right there, Cel. Normal people would just say, “I’m concerned about my boobs,” or, “Hon? I’ve been thinking…” and then launch into the conversation from there.
I mean, most normal people I know, anyway.
“Of course, my sweet.” Elrond knew what she would say but he let her get to it on her own. He had no fear. Such petty magic of the orcs could be dealt with.
Elrond continues to be a garbage husband. First he assumes he knows what she’s going to say (because in Fake!Elrond’s world bodily perfection is second in importance only to sex), and then instead of, I don’t know, sitting up and being attentive and asking her if she’s okay since she’s obviously physically uncomfortable, he just lays there and adds nothing to the conversation because the woman needs to do all the hard talky stuff.
“The orcs… the orcs…”<
A verb, Cel, we need a verb.
Elrond waited for her to continue.
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, MAN. Will you please pretend you’re interested in this painfully uncomfortable but necessary conversation your wife is attempting to have with you?!
“The orcs put a liquid on my breasts. To make them grow. I had thought it was too long ago and the risk had passed. But… my, b-breasts are…”
The fact that Fake!Celebrían is so hesitant to discuss her breasts behaving oddly makes me wonder how sex-negative Daeum thinks the Elves are. Is she going to gasp in abject horror if Elrond decides to mention “vagina?”
I mean, granted, Tolkien’s Elves don’t really go around popping off with explicit discussions about sex and genitalia, but the general assumption among the fandom is that the Elves are extremely sex-positive, especially in comparison to the Dwarves and Men. In a story like this, it’s weird that Daeum appears to be actively working against that stereotype. Especially considering Fake!Elrond’s raging hard-on for recently traumatized rape victims.
“Yes, they have grown,” said Elrond. He took her into his arms to comfort her. He was not attracted by her ample bosom; it was not elvish. Big breasts were for humans and fat orc-cows. But he still loved his wife.
Shit, that’s more racist than literally all of the Elf-Dwarf interactions in the entire legendarium combined. I didn’t realize Elrond Half-elven was such a misanthrope, especially considering his grandfather was a human, his twin brother chose a mortal life as the first king of Númenor, and Elrond himself fostered multiple Men of Isildur’s line, including Aragorn.
And I’m beginning to suspect that Daeum is using female Orcs as an unsubtle “take that” to a female – or several females – with whom he has a poor relationship in reality. Has he once referred to an Orc female in anything less than an extremely derogatory light, even compared to the way he treats Fake!Celebrían?
“Fear not, Celebrian, I can turn back this magic.”
What a profound, heartwarming interaction. Well, enough of that; time for more boobies!
The next day Elrond worked his magic. Celebrian had stripped to the waist and her large breasts sat full, firm and high on her chest. In time, if nothing were done about her breasts, she knew they would soften and sag some but as their new size was only two weeks old, for now they held firm. And though she knew her husband felt no arousal by their firm mass, she herself felt warmth in her loins and had to stifle a desire to caress them before her husband.
There is so much stupid in that paragraph that I literally just forgot how to spell my own name.
Okay, first of all: What the actual fuck about the breasts being firm and perky because the size of them is new? Is Daeum trying to say that the skin of her breasts really isn’t increasing at the same rate as the girth of them? Because I’m not sure there’s any other reason that they would be hard now, while they’re newly huge, but will later sag as they become accustomed to their own mass. I mean, yes, as a woman ages gravity does start to drag on the girls, but that usually takes a long-ass time. Like, decades. And if her skin really isn’t expanding at the same pace as her breasts, then she should be experiencing some stretching and potentially some internal if not external tearing of the flesh and muscle tissue.
Second: Fake!Celebrían is aroused by the sight of her own abnormally large breasts, in spite of the fact that she is also embarrassed by them and is well aware that her husband finds them unattractive. I think she’s got Narcissus beat.
While he cast his enchantments, she noticed that her aureola were now two inches across and her nipples, stimulated by the cool morning air were erect and bigger than the last joint of her index finger.
Stimulated by the– Are they doing this outside?! Holy shit! “Good morning, everyone! Bask in the glory of my wife’s hideous Orc-sized tits while I try to heal them!”
And Daeum, that still isn’t how you spell areola. Get it together, buddy, all you gotta do is Google “anatomy of a breast.”
After a few minutes of chanting, Elrond took cool spring water and bathed her breasts. He pronounced more words. The spell was done.
I’m… not entirely sure that’s how Elvish healing works.
On the other hand, if going along with this means I’m allowed to imagine Elrond wearing a feather headdress and dancing circles around his wife during the chanting bit, then I’m game. Doubly so if this was how he bathed her breasts in cool spring water:
“There you go, Celebrian,” he said. “It will take some time to return to normal but at least they will grow no longer. The spells of orcs are not strong unless willingly accepted. All will be well.”
Anybody else just imagine Fake!Elrond patting Fake!Celebrían on the head, or is that just me?
Elrond had turned his back on Celebrian while he spoke so that he could gather the basin and other items used during the spell. So he did not notice Celebrian jump with a shock that sent her grapefruit breasts bouncing.
Oh god, anime boob physics!
The words “willingly accepted” shouted in her head.
Ah, but what were they shouting?
She had asked for the spell. She had been under the effects of the draught but nonetheless, she had begged for her breasts to be made large. She had asked for “great breasts to match your wonderful cock.”
Hang on, hang on, that was a year ago and while she was drugged. I’ll give you that the Orc magic works the way Daeum’s brain and takes any agreement under any circumstances as total consent, but in the year since then she’s been shown to actively not want her boobs to get bigger. And they only started getting bigger like two weeks ago, right after a PTSD-induced wet nightmare.
Trying to follow Daeum’s logic is like watching an incredibly horny rabbit repeatedly run headlong into a wall with a picture of a girl bunny’s rear-end painted on it, then get mad and hump a carrot instead.
She remembered the words perfectly. How big could that be? She wondered. Surely not as big as the orc-bitch! That creature’s breasts had stretched to her waist and neither was the orc-bitch short (being almost six feet) nor had her boobs been flabby, empty husks: they were fat and full. They must have weighed eight pounds or more each!
I would start a counter for the number of times the term “orc-bitch” is coined in this story, but that would require me to read or ctrl+F through the stuff I’ve already riffed and probably create a machine sentient enough to regulate its own temperature so that it didn’t explode with the number of button mashes, but also robotic enough not to become self aware and go A.M. on my ass for forcing it to endure this fic with me.
That evening, she cut another ribbon to measure her breast. When the ribbon could not be forced to meet the following morning, she cried in despair. The spell had failed. She could not help but measure her breasts daily for the rest of the week, in vain hope that Elrond’s magic would start to over power the orc’s. But it never happened.
She actively does not want her boobs to keep growing. If Daeum is trying to indicate to us that she secretly does want her boobs to grow and is simply in denial, this is a ridiculously ineffective way of doing it.
Also, if he is going for the “she knows she wants it” route, that’s super icky and I need to go shower now. And I think I should check on the narration. I need it for next time, and stuff.
Until next week, Patrons!