Elvish Terms Of Endearment Novels & Stories

I grumbled. "An orb and scepter," Mairte corrected, as my other attendants—several sidhe ladies—giggled. "Am I going to have to hold an orb and a scepter?" I clarified. "No, this isn't England." Mairte rolled her eyes. "Well, thank God for that," I huffed, and the sidhe women gasped. "What did I say now?" "God." laughed Mairte. "Here, we usually say 'Goddess' or 'Danu' if we want to get specific. To imply that a male deity could birth a race is slightly offensive to us."

Mark's Provo "You got your sister pregnant yet you proposed to me" Harleen passed up and down. Her hands were neatly folded on her bosom. "Harleen, babe sweetie I can.." she raised her cooking stick. "do not call me babe or sweetie, those words do not belong to me. They belong to you know who. How cruel can you be Mark " she returned her hand to the former position. "sorry" I mumbled. "yeah right, sorry my ass" she scoffed.

She had just assumed he was a regular demon. “Kiwi?” Sensing that Enkeli was upset, Lily walked over from playing and lightly tugged on Enkeli’s skirt. “BAhaAhahahahha KIWI! Hahaha. Oh, that’s hilarious.” Shedim clutches his stomach with one hand, unable to control his laughter. It was the perfect name, he was even slightly jealous that he did not come up with it himself. “She means to call you sour.” He wiped away his tear of laughter, receiving an intense glare from Enkeli.

At least they had more tact than Lysander, who was currently smirking at him. "If we did not grow up together--" His longest friend chuckled. "I am aware. No need for threats, Dante. Sera is--" "Seraphina," he corrected Lysander, letting his irritation for the harmless nickname show. The endearment fell off Lysander's tongue so effortlessly he despised how truly intimate and affectionate it sounded. It was different from how all the others said it. With Lysander, it almost sounded too close to a sweet endearment for his liking. He was aware of how hypocritical his actions were. He often addressed her in an endearing manner, but she was...

So I look away. “See? Even you can’t resist this charm. Next you call his name and spice it up with an endearment.” Endearment? Apart from the ‘My Alpha’ and ‘My Luna’ Jude and I call each other, we really don’t do endearment. Or maybe we have not gotten to that stage. But if I’m to give him one, what will it be? My love? My strong man? The love of my life? My man with the enchanting eyes that drew me in from the first day he set his eyes on me?

Her high pitched voice was was painful to the ears. " I don't actually, but I think you are going to tell me." Willow said rolling her eyes. She knew she did not tear the garment. "Such attitude from a filthy,low class person like yourself. Holding up our designer six thousand dollar garment against your dirty body." The lady insulted Willow.

She smiles, I return it just as softly before an exhausted sigh escapes my lips, picturing the various scenarios that may take place when I begin the next stage of my plan to gain vengeance. “I’m sorry we haven’t exchanged names. I’m Valerie,” I give her my hand, she takes it in her small ones and giggles. Green eyes, glimmering with obvious amusement. “Nice to meet you, Valerie. I-I don’t have a name though,” she smiles, mine falls quickly. I’ve been drowning in my problems and hidden from any creature who breathes to remember humans on Eldora don’t have the right to possess a name. How fucking ridiculous! “What do you think of Theia? A name derives from Dorothea, meaning gift,” I wonder, s

"By the way, these creatures are called Pishney or Pishnies. They're created also by the ancient Eldar referenced after the image of wolves. They are the inhabitants of this forest!" Dandeline bents down on her knees to caress the pishnies like how she does with her dogs. Then the pishnies play with her, too. Some of them gave her a glowing rose and flower crown on her head. "Flowers? Really?" I mutter to myself.

Something that does not belong to a stranger. She steps forward, lowering herself onto one knee in a silent gesture of respect. “I ask again,” she says, her voice steady but cautious. “Who are you? And why do you look at that child with such emotion?” The elf does not lift his gaze from Lynette. Instead, a soft, bittersweet smile tugs at his lips. His fingers tighten around her hand as if grounding himself. Then, finally, he speaks. “I am Eryndor Sylvaris, ruler of the White Elves,” he murmurs, his voice carrying the weight of his pain. He finally looks up, his golden eyes meeting Vivian’s with unwavering certainty.