The Vessel – NC17 LOTR



Warning – this is the FIRST thing I ever wrote. People either love it or loathe it. I’ve modified the title for reasons and I posted it under a different pen name. Personally, I read it and cringe, but can see and measure my growth as a writer. This is a long fic with around 200K words.

The Vessel

by Zeesmuse

Originally posted 2001-2002

Beta- AlexCat

Fandom – LOTR

Rating -NC17 for sex, drugs and medival roll

Disclaimer 1; I’m not Tolkien, I don’t pretend to be the Great one, I didn’t sell this, yada yada yada that means no mula exchanged hands in any way shape or form. My OFC is mine.

Disclaimer 2: To JS Bach, Mozart, Elton John, Metallica, Bad Company, Howard Shore, John Bon Jovi, Bad Company, AC/DC and any other musician who’s music and lyrics I have impinged on. I have written none of the lyrics and apologize if I have offended any. I also wish to apologize to various television and movies which in the course of this I might have trod on, however, I don’t think Beavis will mind the plug so much. And to the others who I was very much influenced by. This is ALL your fault! Also, I have a former boyfriend that had rather unusual, but engaging habit that I adored. I have given it to Haldir. 20 guesses to what it is…

Dedication: This one is for all the beautiful women, who discovered that true beauty comes in the prime of their lives and not as skinny, young things!

Continue reading


So instead of buying more clothes (I’ve dropped several dress sizes and my pants are falling off me. I’ve invested in a belt!) I’ve bought some things to make my front yard more… palatable to outdoor enjoyment!

At some point, I will take a rake to some areas and there will be flowers planted. (Probably next weekend once I get back from the Interior. )

Happy Easter, everyone! He is Risen!

And the Oars Dipped


, , ,


The life and love of two Elves

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Rating: Mature

And the Oars Dipped

The oars dipped, the wood going deep, as if to drown themselves before rising to the surface, drops of salt water falling gently back to sea.

He remembered the first time he had seen her, riding into the city, tall and proud. She had long, fair hair, that shimmered like silken strands and the immediate thought of running his fingers and clothing himself in it, flittered through his mind.

He had immediately squelched the thought.

And the oars dipped.

He had then been mesmerized by her eyes, sapphire blue and sparkling in the sun. When she smiled, the edges crinkled and the tips turned up, the lashes fluttered, the light not diminished, not in the least.

He realized he could have drowned in her, gratefully, willingly.

But he turned away, his worth untried.

And the oars dipped.

He was amazed to find himself sitting next to her at a dinner in her family’s honor. Surely, it was a mistake, a misunderstanding that one as lowly as he would find himself next to her.

He tripped over his tongue the entire night.

She, nevertheless, found him amusing and stayed in his company.

And the oars rolled, the water trickling down.

As time went on, they met, clandestine, in libraries, bumped into each other in the stables, the Elf shocked to see the Elleth decked in tunic and leggings, leading her mare from the stall.

Again, he tripped over his tongue, not getting a sentence put together in any sensible fashion.

She obviously found him amusing, smiling at his discomfort and hiding her face at his stammering, before mounting up, throwing long legs over the mare and trotting out with several protective retainers.

He kicked himself all the way to his horse’s stall.

And the oars dipped.

Time passed, he moved up in service, was recognized by his peers, respected by those around him. And as time moved on, he became less self-conscious in her presence.

It only took him… oh, fifty… sixty, years to invite her to the fair in the city.

When she said ‘U’ma,’ she would be honored to accompany him, he nodded his thanks, made his way quietly back to his rooms, his chambers, before whooping in the room, his fist pumping.

The fair should have been tedious and boring, but he was in her company, her presence; and to watch her move gracefully through the stalls, the vendors, the spice makers, the pastries…

In a rare humorous fit, he grabbed her hand to lick the sticky, gooey coating of the sugar covered cake from the tips of her fingers. He had been shocked at his behavior, at her sudden intake of breath as his tongue wound its way around her fingers, the nails, under the grooves…

He stared at her, her eyes so much like the doe standing in the meadow… still… barely breathing…

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I forgot myself.”

And the oars rolled…

He dropped her hand, as if it were hot to the touch, burning him, his face red with embarrassment.

She laughed at his discomfort, a rich sound, joyous. She finished what he had started, before reaching for his chin, turning his head. “I believe you made a mess,” she whispered as she leaned forward and gently licked the minute trace of glaze from the corner of his mouth.

The Elf shivered at the touch of her tongue, as it sweetly lapped at the sugar from his lip. For a scant second, time stood still, the fair stood still, and all the inhabitants stood still, none of it mattered as her tongue made a lazy descent from the dimple of his cheek to his lip.

Where his self-control came from, he would never know, but then she smiled and moved on to the next stall. If she had seen the red hot heat of his face, she never let on.

It was at a spring mereth twenty years later before they stole beneath a tree, sharing that first lover’s kiss. She had tasted sweet, of honey, and when she took control of the situation, pushing him back into the recesses of the giant oak, he knew he had found the one to spend forever with.

Her hands roamed, touched him in places he had barely dared to touch himself, coaxing him, coaxing everything. Was an Elf supposed to enjoy having his nipples touched? He had dreamed of hers, dreamed of licking, suckling on them like a babe, feeling them…

And the oars dipped yet again…

They barely made it back to his chambers, the door barred, when her hands dove under his robes, baring him to the air.

“Are you sure?”

Crystal blue eyes, reflecting in the moonlight stared at him with guileless certainty.

“Make me yours.”

With a growl, he shrugged his robe to the floor, backing her further into the chambers. Gone was the uncertain swain, the shy suitor. Gone was any question, any reason of logic.

Him. Her. Skin.


And the oars dipped…

He didn’t remember his leggings or boots coming off; he was mesmerized by her, her pale beauty exposed as he slid her gown from alabaster shoulders to pool on the floor. Her hair shimmered, silken tresses that flowed through his fingers, the feel of it as sinful as the feel of her skin.

Somehow they moved to the bed, lying next to each other, wrapped in the other’s arms. A long hidden memory reasserted itself and he combed her hair over his shoulder, burying his face in it.

“What are you doing?” she giggled. She did do such on occasion, giggle like a young elleth when she thought no one was listening or watching.

“Clothing myself in your hair. What are you-” he inhaled sharply as she grasped the length of him, stroking upwards, and his voice raised several octaves, “-doing?”

“I wonder; how can something so marvelously hard, feel like velvet?”

Rather than answer, he kissed her, his tongue delving in, tasting her, her mouth. She curled into him, curving, pressing into him, moaning softly as his hands moved from gently cupping her face, down her shoulders, to her breasts; small and firm, like apples-

“Are you going suck on them, or not?” She was gasping for breath, almost wheezing with need.

The Elf lifted his head, a calculating look on his finely etched features. “You are as impatient as a human woman.” He expected the firm smack on his shoulder.

“Oh? And what would you know about bedding a human female?” While her voice was sharp, she spread her legs as he settled between her knees.

“I know nothing of human females.” He resumed his kissing her pouty, swollen lips, his fingers teasing her nipples, making them stiff peaks. He waited until she was squirming, begging, pleading before moving down to taste, sweetly rolling the nub of flesh with his tongue. At some point, she moved, undulating until he slid in, too fast, too hard. He broke through her barrier, stopping when he was fully ensheathed-

Eyes of cerulean took her in, in shock, in—

“Do not stop. Saes. It felt so good.”

At her plea, he began to move, wonderment at her satin cloak around him, so wet, so hot…

Her knees raised, her hands lowering to cup marble hard cheeks, toned muscle on toned muscle, guiding their rhythm.

Somehow, his mouth found the tip of a gracefully pointed ear and when he suckled on it, teasing it as he had the proffered breast, she gasped, her entire body shuddering at the sudden onslaught of her orgasm. As she quivered beneath him, muffling her cries in his shoulder, he allowed himself to fall over into the abyss, emptying his very life into the willingness of her body.

They spent hours afterwards, touching, caressing, exploring each other. At some point, he asked her, “When did you know?”

He felt her smile against his neck. “When did I know what?”

The Elf pulled away, looking at her solemnly. “You said to make you mine. When did you know?”

She stroked the tip of his ear, causing him to shiver. “The first time I laid eyes on you.”

And the oars rolled, the dark murky waters of man turning slowly to a bright turquoise blue… closer… closer…

They spent every possible stolen moment for a time, wonderment anew. As time passed, they bonded, as their kind did, and for a short time, they reveled in their selfish bliss.

But life moves, and time marches. War overran Middle Earth and he forced her to flee, drove her deep into the forests, safe, hidden.

And the very face of Arda changed.

When it was over, he found her, found a new home. They were given a realm, took it, renewed it, Peace reigned for a time.

Children came, as expected, and their home prospered. They grew complacent in their home. There were times they grew apart, each with their own agenda, each with their own life. Such was the way of their kind. But they always found each other again. Somehow, someway. And it was always as it was so many millennia in the past.

But evil reared its ugly head and despite their careful planning, their defenses, their watchful eye, the horrible happened.

His beloved was attacked.

Hurt. Harmed. Touched.

The best healers were called for. Her own husband, renowned for his abilities…

And the oars rolled…

The world changed yet again and evil lifted: from Baradur, from Dol Guldor. In the end, she left Arda, returned to Valinor, and he did not blame her. She begged, pleaded for him to go with her, but there was still much to be done. Man needed them.

Truth be told, he did not know if he would even follow her to Valinor. He had not seen the trees, did not feel the need to go, did not hear the gulls, the call of the sea.

But as time rolled, he realized he missed her. Man was needy; so needy, but they always would be. He could see in time, that the Elves would be forgotten, at some time no longer be revered, rather misaligned, untrusted.

Those left behind would fade. Much like Arwen would.

And did.

So he stepped on that boat, Cirdan nodding in deference, leaving all behind, not caring, simply standing at the prow, staring into the distance.

To see This Valinor, This Undying Land.

And the oars rolled, bright, crisp waters, clean, fresh…

She was waiting, he knew she would be, a smile on her face, arms held out for that embrace, an embrace he was not dignified in returning.

“You knew. Galadriel, you knew I would come.”

“From the day I met you, my Silver Tree, I knew the oars would bring you to me.

And the oars stopped.




Originally posted September 2009

The Shepherd 10B – Before me


, ,

The Shepherd

Chapter 10B

Before me


Genevieve groaned and rolled over, only to feel a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I have her. You go back to sleep. Rest.”

Ghislaine was teething and was running a low grade fever, in addition to having a snotty nose. She was allergic to most children’s pain relievers and had been fussy all day.

Genevieve had bronchitis; Roger had it as well and probably gave it to his mother. Guy was determined he was too stubborn to become sick! Someone had to be in charge of this sniffling, sneezing, coughing, wheezing, unable to rest cold family.

Guy woke up further with each step from his and Genevieve’s bedroom suite to Ghislaine’s bedroom. He opened the door to see her standing in her crib, chubby toes stomping on the soft bumper and trying to climb out.


“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaaaaa….” The moment she recognized the tall shadow, she put her arms out, fingers reaching.

Guy knew what that meant. She wanted in his and Genevieve’s bed.

Nope. Not happening.

This child reminded him of Sibilla, his and Vivienne’s first born. She lived in their bed, it was a wonder their second child was conceived.

Truth be told, their second born was probably conceived in the tub. Or the greenhouse. Greenhouse. Definitely the greenhouse!

Guy reached out to the child, putting his arms around her to hold her close. Ghislaine began to march, trying to climb out of the crib. “Non, non, ma chérie. L’heure de dormir.” He picked her up, just enough to raise her feet from the mattress and laid her down.

He patted her behind. “Nuit nuit.”

Ghislaine was back up before he could step back from the crib, again both arms reaching out, chubby fingers stretched. “Daaaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaaaa!” She was crying in earnest now. In the moonlit room, he could see tears and true anguish. She sensed his hesitation and inhaled. “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

Guy’s heart seized. “NO!” It was more a forced breath than anything else. He stepped back to the crib and picked her up. “Mama’s sick. You can’t sleep with us tonight.”

Ghislaine had him in a death grip. She snuggled up to him, black curls tickling his nose. Slowly, he began to sway back and forth. He began to back up towards the rocker, As he was lowering himself, the man realized just in time the rocking chair was not in its normal spot. Rather it was in Roger’s room, where Genevieve dragged it while Roger was sick.

Why don’t we have another rocking chair? By God, we should have one in every room! Did I not work my arse off for centuries in order to have enough rocking chairs for my children!

And at that moment, despite the agony of his lower back as he slowly raised back up to his full height, he decided tomorrow, he was going to any furniture store that delivered, and buy no less than a dozen rocking chairs! One for every room in the house, as well as his office and Genevieve’s!

Ghislaine was asleep on his shoulder, so he crept back to the crib and gently laid her back down on her stomach. He took the blanket and covered her up.

The child went from dead sleep to wide awake, faster than Louis Hamilton could accelerate his racing car on the Grand Prix Circuit!


Yes. This child was Sibilla. God Save Us all.

Back in his arms and on his shoulder she went.

She continued to fuss and fidget, Guy raking his brain on what to do.

Finally, he began to croon…

“Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Uhm… do do do dodododoooo dodododooooo baby of mine…”

Back to sleep.

For many minutes, Guy just stood there, swaying back and forth. No way he could do this all night.

No way.

Many memories of many nights trying to get Sibilla to sleep in her own bed…

The Wolf of Nottingham sighed. There was no other choice. This was going to hurt.

He placed Ghislaine back in her crib. She immediately set to screaming again. Tonight was not the night for tough love. Shushing her, he threw a long leg over the railing and heaved himself into the crib with her. With his head pressed against the frilly bumper pad, his legs spread like a frog’s, and his knees reaching almost to the top of the rail, he settled down in the crib, praying the springs held. Sibilla…. no….. Ghislaine immediately crawled on top of his chest and went to sleep.

And there was blessed silence.

After 20 minutes or so, he heard the door creaking open. Genevieve’s shadow filled the door. “Is she down?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “And I’m not moving her.”

Gen nodded to herself and backed out of the doorway.

She returned a minute later carrying his pillow and a lightweight blanket. “Lift up.” She tucked the pillow under his head and spread the blanket over him and their sleeping child.

“Dear God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he whispered. “I love you. Please don’t ever leave me.”

His wife bent over the railing and kissed him. “Why would I do that? You chased me over the ages and saved my life many times.”

With that, she tiptoed from the room and returned to their bed.


“No,” the word escaped on his breath. “You saved mine.”

Begin: 03/18/2021

Fini: 03/20/2021

Non, non, ma chérie. L’heure de dormir – No no darling. Time for sleep


I stepped on the scale today and discovered I had broken through a plateau I’ve not been able to breach since 2008.

Yes, I weigh less than I did when I worked further south over 10 years ago. I gained in quarantine, I gained in the hospital and after with the steroids and I’ve lost all of that plus some. I weigh 15 pounds LESS when I last weighed in in November. I believe returning to work, eating oatmeal and salads or yogurt for lunch, eating right for dinner and dancing with my kids (this week, we did the Electric Slide and discovered KC and the Sunshine Band as well as doing Body Grooves in the past) has done this body good. All of my pants are too big. I’m either going to have to buy a belt or have them altered. Can’t afford more. I’m still a porker, just not as big a porker!

Happy Guy Day!

To dump or not to dump. And memes

So funny stuff first.

I’m taking a page out of Guylty’s notebook and posting a few funny memes. I didn’t watch or listen to the inauguration – I was working and honestly I had better things to do and don’t bitch because we all know I lean right and I’m less than ecstatic about the horrors my country getting ready to go through.

Look! I even have a ‘Find Bernie’…

Rant. If I offended you last time, I will again. Read at your own risk.

Continue reading