#artisan dwellings

[streetsofdublin]

PEEBLES' BUILDINGS MANOR STREET DUBLIN

Peebles' Buildings is a complex of two tenement buildings located in Stoneybatter. They were built in the late 19th century by the Dublin Artisan Dwellings Company, a private body that was established to provide affordable housing for working-class people

RAMEN CO RESTAURANT What caught my attention was the “D – Peebles’ Buildings” plaque on the was above the restaurant. Peebles’ Buildings is a complex of two tenement buildings located in Stoneybatter. They were built in the late 19th century by the Dublin Artisan Dwellings Company, a private body that was established to provide affordable housing for working-class people. The buildings are…

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#D - Peebles&039; Buildings #Dublin Artisan Dwellings Company #Fotonique #infomatque #manor street #philanthropist #Ramen Co #Restaurant #Sir Arthur Peebles #social housing #stoneybatter #Streets Of Dublin #tenement housing #William Murphy #working-class people

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Could we maybe get like snippets or blurb about Hector having a wife w/ him when he goes to join dracula’s generals? And maybe she’s really kind to dracula and then it turns out she’s pregnant and reminds him of his late wife? Does it change his plans or maybe he decides to protect her/hector more so than the other humans?

TW: Some Domestic Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Talks of Abortion 

It was a stormy, rainy night when a set of voices roused the young woman from her reading. For too long, she had a habit of getting lost in a text, be it fiction or fact, and losing herself to the words on the page, paying no mind to the reality around her. 

It had become an even more frequent habit now that she was banished from her previous life, her artisan skills not being needed as frequently in her new home as she would have liked. Then again, it was not the worst of fates. Had she stayed in her family home, her life would have most certainly been cut short. Here, she was safe. Here, she was… well… almost loved.

The man of the house, the one who agreed to let her stay, was a peculiar one. He appeared rather simple unless you spoke to him on certain subjects: necromancy and animals, his two favorites. 

His work was deviant. The young woman would go as far as to say it indubitably delved into the supernatural. Contrarily, it was his very association with the supernatural that drew her to him in the beginning. 

Hearing what sounded like an unfamiliar voice, the young woman closed the book she was reading and placed it on the small wooden table in front of her. Looking down fondly, she gave the sleeping reanimated cat in her lap a few gentle pets before scooping them up and moving them onto the bed. 

Yes, reinstilling the life of a dear feline friend may not seem worth a lifetime of isolation to some, but those simply did not understand the grand nature of the bond between cat and owner. The strange man of the house had brought her dear pet back to her, and despite what her fellow townspeople and own family thought, to her it was worth the duration of servitude she would no doubt be forced to continue in the man’s presence. 

Said man was not overly cruel, although he did have a fair temper. His understanding of certain situations was rather naive, yet wholesome all the same. 

As the two young people spent time near one another, the strange man and the young woman’s relationship grew. It blossomed from acquaintances to friends, and eventually to lovers, and understandably so. Their position to one another, in agreement with the man’s proximity to such strange magic, made it so they only had each other to rely on for interaction, for company, for… intimacy. 

Of course, their first few instances of sex left much to be desired, if the older village women’s stories were anything to go on, but it mattered not to her. The strange man was gentle. He never once made a move to force himself upon her. And despite the woman’s own lack of experience, he always assured her, he was quite pleased about her efforts to please him. As far as they were concerned, they were officially a marital couple. Although they did not share rings or papers officiating their status as such, their entwined futures were enough to reassure the other of their intentions. 

It certainly wasn’t the life the young woman had planned for herself as a little girl, but it was a life, therefore, it was good enough. 

Hector, as peculiar as he was, was good enough for her. 

And on the subject of Hector…

The young woman walked down the short corridor from their quaint shared bedroom to the main room of the house which Hector used for his rituals. It was very delicate magic, he once explained, so it could not be tampered with. The young woman didn’t mind. She came from a family of four, who all shared a single bed and a single rented room within a dwelling. Therefore, sharing a private bedroom within a private house with only one other person was very much a luxury, as far as she was concerned. 

“Hector? Is that you?” Her soft voice asked, clearly curious. “I thought I heard voices.” 

Appearing around the curve the young woman made her presence known, clothed in a simple muted dress, and old-yellowed apron. Her eyes were bright and clear, a direct contrast to the dark and dingy walls surrounding her person. Everything about her seemed too bright, too kind, too merciful to be inside the same home as a devil forgemaster, but there she was, clear as day. 

In front of her, Hector shifted, clearly apologetic about his new wife’s timing. Not more than two long strides from him stood Lord Dracula, the king of vampires, and Hector’s respected friend. Mere seconds before her arrival, Dracula had informed Hector about the death of his own, very human wife. 

Shuffling over to the young woman, Hector stood between the two strangers: his much older friend, and his new one, hoping to break some of the ambiguous unease between the two. 

“Master Dracula,” Hector addressed the towering vampire in the room, “This is (Y/N). She’s my-” 

“Friend” 

“Wife.” 

The young woman huffed, a slight blush rising to your cheeks. “Yes, ‘wife’, is what I meant to say. I’m, uh, still getting used to that,” she admitted bashfully.  

After looking into the unfriendly gaze of Hector’s guest, the woman lowered her head, trying desperately to shrink herself under the vampire’s irate aura. 

“I’m so sorry,” Hector repeated. “That you’ve lost your wife at a time when I’ve found mine.” 

The woman’s bright, curious eyes turned back up. “Lost?” 

“They killed her.” A deep, grave voice came from the behemoth of a man. “The stupid humans.” 

The woman’s face contorted as a wave of sorrow rushed over her. “I… I am so sorry. That’s awful.” 

Her condolences seemed to hang in the air, suffocating her more than the previous silence or Dracula’s gaze did. Taking the hint, the woman excused herself, retracing her steps back to the bedroom. 

“I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll leave the two of you alone.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

“I cannot believe you’re even considering this.” Already in their shared bed, the young woman lay there under the covers, her arms crossed defiantly. 

“I don’t see why you’re so upset.” Across the small room, Hector worked to scrub off the blood and muck from his arms with a rag and a bucket of salted water. “He says it’s going to be a cull, a reduction in numbers, that’s all.” Grabbing a second towel, he dabbed his arms dry before moving to join his wife in bed. 

“It’s genocide, Hector,” his wife spoke, her voice more urgent this time. “He is asking you to help commit genocide against your own people!” 

Hector scoffed, his brows furrowed. “My own people cast me out, treated me like filth, and now, you ask me to have mercy for them?” There was a venomous edge to his voice his wife had never heard before. 

Trying to rectify the conversation, the young woman swallowed harshly before continuing: “I know they were awful to you. I know they hurt you, and I know you didn’t deserve any of it.” 

Hector sighed as he lay down beside his wife. Soothingly, (Y/N) began massaging soft circles into his scalp, waiting for the man to fall deeper into relaxation. 

“I know you’re a good man Hector, and I am forever grateful for all that you’ve done for me. But this, this plan, it cannot end well. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone.” 

With a jolt, one of Hector’s hands shot out, latching onto his wife’s hand, abruptly stopping her massage efforts. “I don’t want to have this conversation again,” he sneered. “I am going to help Dracula with his plan, and you’ll have no choice but to come with me. I am your husband and you are my wife. That is all there’s to be said on the subject.” 

Just as suddenly as he grabbed her hand, Hector released it and turned over, facing away from his wife, before blowing out the last candle on their bedside table so the two of them could sleep. 

Frozen in shock, and unable to move, (Y/N) lay there on her back, afraid to even breathe heavily, lest Hector turn back over and speak such harsh words to her again. Her wrist stung where he squeezed it, and the position it landed in was anything but comfortable, but she dared not shift it. Laying there, concentrating on both the ache in her wrist and her breathing, the young woman stared up at the pitch-black ceiling over their shared home before the exhaustion was too much to bear, and sleep overcame her. 

━━◈◈◈━━

The move to the castle was silent. The young woman dared not speak lest she voice a contradictory opinion. Hector stayed silent as he simply had nothing else to say. 

Dracula’s castle was beyond daunting. The structure appeared as if it were plucked directly out of hell: dark, and foreboding, with jagged architecture that seemed to change within a blink of an eye. The entire building housed an almost unbearable energy- one of decimation and total grief. It did not feel like the birthplace of some grand war plan, it felt more like society’s tomb. 

Of course, (Y/N) could not say as much to her spouse, now that he was fully invested in aiding Dracula’s army. His forge was already set up within the castle, a molten hearth at the ready to create any instrument Hector would require in his efforts. 

A little week into their stay, Hector emerged victorious from his forge, claiming he had made a perfectly balanced hammer, a tool that would enable him to forge night creatures at an unprecedented rate. He boasted to a very proud, but equally concerned (Y/N), how so few devil forgemasters ever made it to this phase of power. 

Of course, his private proclamations made it all the more humorous when Isaac, another specially chosen devil forgemaster of Dracula showed up at the castle. Isaac, a much more stoic and disciplined man than Hector, used a blade, a red glowing dagger of sorts to create his night creatures. With a slice of the knife, Isaac could accomplish what it took Hector several hammer strikes to do. 

The young woman held her tongue but secretly relished the indignity Hector must have initially felt upon meeting his colleague. Then again, whatever victory she felt was short-lived, as she too got the impression that Isaac cared as equally little for her as he did Hector. 

Isaac became the least of her worries, however, when Dracula’s other generals and his vampire generals arrived one by one at his castle. 

Each time Dracula introduced Isaac and Hector as his devil forgemasters, and her as Hector’s wife, she felt their red eyes sizing the young woman up like a piece of meat. Thankfully, Dracula made it clear that his three human guests were not to be harmed, and his dominion over the vampire generals was enough to keep them away from her. 

Well, most of them anyway. Godbrand, a Viking vampire, was a different story entirely. 

“I still don’t get what you see in the guy,” Godbrand questioned as he followed her down one of the castle’s many corridors. “I mean, sure, he can make night creatures, but he’s not a fighter. Hell, he’s barely a man! With his heart bleeding for all those little mistreated pets of his.” 

She walked faster, doing her best not to spill the contents of the tray she was carrying. “Be that as it may,” she kept her voice curt, “Hector is my husband, and I am his wife. I made a promise.” 

“Promises can be broken. I mean, it’s,” Godbrand emphasized his ‘s’es in between his slurred-sounding words. “Ss’not like you’re really married. Hector brought back your dead cat, as this deformed creature. That’s not exactly a wedding ceremony.” 

The young woman rolled her eyes. “And what constitutes a marriage ritual where you’re from? A fight to the death?” 

Godbrand chuckled. “You know, you may be the first human I don’t find fucking boring.” 

The young woman grimaced, as she backed into a doorway, pushing open a heavy study door with her body. “Oh Godbrand,” she turned to enter the room, “If only I could say the same for you.” 

Letting the door shut softly behind her, she ignored Godbrand’s continued grumblings. She had much more important matters to tend to. 

Taking the two bowls of seeds off her tray, she placed them in new shallow dishes on her testing table. She then picked up the lidded cup, placing its cap to the side. She poured out a small amount of yellow liquid onto one of the bowls that contained new seeds as well as onto the bowl containing seeds from days before. 

Placing the now empty cup back down on the tray, the young woman sighed. The older seeds were indeed beginning to sprout from their dishes, and to make matters worse, her monthly cycle was late. On all fronts, the message was clear: she was with child. 

“Shit.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The young woman took a deep breath before knocking gently on Dracula’s door. She knew it was foolish for her to approach the man herself, but she found she could not face Hector, not after she discovered the truth of her condition. If she were to even look Hector in the eyes at the present moment, she feared all her composure would shatter, leaving her a sorry, sobbing mess in his arms. 

Oh, his arms! How she longed to be in his arms once more. How she wished for a nighttime of conversation that used to follow their moments of shared pleasure. Now it was brief, still existent but wholly impersonal. The act was there, and all the motions were followed, but thanks to her line of continued questioning about Dracula and his intended efforts, Hector was often in no mood to sleep in the same bed as her, much less hold a conversation with her following a round of passion. 

It just had all unraveled so fast. 

It was on the anniversary of Dracula’s poor wife’s death when the first group of night creatures and vampire soldiers were released upon Targovieste. They spread out like a plague in the night, their howls hinting at what was only the beginning of all the unthinkable horrors they would unleash. 

Before she knew it, the words were coming out of her mouth faster than her mind could think them, her new hormones no doubt adding fuel to the fire. “Traitor!” She had called him. “A child believing himself to be God, punishing the sins of man!” 

In her fury, she could not control the veracity with which she spoke. The only thing that stopped her from berating Hector further was the sharp sting of an open palm slapped against her cheek. Stunned into silence and knocked to the ground, the young woman looked up at an equally shocked Hector through teary, blurred vision. 

“I…” Hector started, almost at as much of a loss for words as she was. “I am so sorry, I…” he trailed off. He couldn’t finish his apology. How could he? When he was uncertain as to whether he even meant it. 

Thankfully, Hector had the sense to leave his wife alone to wallow, and wail without his scrutiny, at the very least, allowing her the dignity to mourn the death of whatever they once shared, alone. 

The test she had run confirmed her worst fears shortly after that. There was no mistaking it. The man who had forsaken his own species, the man who she once loved, the man who struck her down, was going to be the father of her child. That was unless she decided to do something else about it. 

She knew Dracula himself possessed great knowledge. She also knew his late wife was a healer. No, even better, a doctor. Surely, she would have some collection of remedies and treatments on the subject. If she had heard correctly, Lisa Tepes was also a mother herself. 

Recalling that fact, she shuddered. The thought of housing a human baby made her insides crawl, she didn’t even wish to begin to imagine what carrying a half-vampire child to term must be like. Perhaps, she mused, Dracula would be willing to speak on the subject, barring that he didn't strike her down for her insolence first. 

“Master Dracula?” She asked as she pushed open the door to his study a sliver. “Permission to enter?” 

With a loud sigh, the older vampire relented. “Granted.” 

As the young woman entered, she was shocked to find such a large empty room. In the middle, sat Dracula in a large chair, and before him was a fireplace. Off to the side, there was a desk, with a portrait of the vampire lord’s late gorgeous wife above it. But aside from that, the room was sparsely decorated. It certainly did not feel like the study of a vampire lord. And in the middle of it all, sat a large, very disinterested, and downcast Master Dracula. 

“What is it now? Have you come to make your case on behalf of the rest of humanity? Beg me to spare their souls?” His words were serious but his tone was largely indifferent. 

“I see Hector’s spoken to you,” the young woman fiddled her fingers, shamefully. “ I must admit, my position has not changed. Nor has Hector’s. But no,” she settled for clasping her hands together, “That is not what I wish to speak to you about. 

Dracula raised a brow, telling her to carry on in her explanation. 

“I was wondering if you knew how I might go about procuring these items,” fishing out a parchment from her apron pocket, the young woman shakily extended her hand out to him. 

Taking the paper much gentler than she expected, the vampire lord began to read the written list himself, his expression remaining unreadable. “Birthwort, yarrow, barberry, honey, and yue?”

“Yes,” the young woman confirmed. “I wasn’t certain if you had any here. I understand your late wife was a physician and that she learned much of what she knew from you. I thought perhaps some of these herbs would already be gathered and dried in storage within the castle.” 

“Does Hector know?” Dracula finally turned his attention to the young woman as he asked. 

Caught red-handed, the young woman looked down to the floor as she shook her head, hot embarrassed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “No,” she finally admitted. “I cannot bring myself to tell him.” 

“You intend to keep this from him?” 

“Why?” The young woman spoke up, louder than before. “Do you think I am denying him his right to inheritance? That I am betraying my wifely duties if I do not consult him first?” 

“The decision concerns him as well.” 

“The hell it does!” The rage that had been brewing in her stomach all this time once again found its way to her throat. “It’s my body that will be forced to endure the changes. It’s my body that will risk its life in childbirth. It’s my heart…” She clutched her chest as she spoke, her angry tears now falling freely.  “...That will break when the child I have worked so hard to carry into this world is slaughtered right in front of me by a night creature of his own father’s making.” 

Breaking into silent sobs, the woman shook her head, condemning her outburst of emotion. 

From his chair Dracula said nothing. His irritation at her intrusion slowly faded away as he watched the formerly spirited young woman break down into tears. 

Dracula turned his gaze away, looking over to the portrait of his wife as he recalled how conflicted he felt upon learning Lisa was pregnant. Despite his wife’s optimism and joy, he could not help but feel afraid for what lay ahead. Dhampir pregnancies were uncommon, and highly dangerous, especially in cases where the mother was human. He would have been more than ready to aid Lisa in terminating the pregnancy had she asked, only she hadn’t. Just short of eight months later, Adrian was born. It might very well have been both the most terrifying and the most joyous day of Vlad’s immortal life. 

If Lisa was ever scared, she did not show it. Perhaps she knew she could not be scared, as Vlad would be fearful enough for the both of them. It was an entirely different situation than the one present before him now. Lisa and he were very much in love, and they had years of practice communicating with one another. Hector and his wife’s marriage was fresh. And in many ways, Hector was still a child, naive to the real world around him. 

Not to mention, Hector’s wife did have a point. Dracula intended to end the human race, as well as the vampire race. No humanoids would be left on the planet once he was done with it. That included Hector and her, as well as any future children they might manage to have. It was only a matter of time. Hector did not know that, but she did. Which is precisely why she came to him. 

How terrifying, he mused, it must have been to knock on his door and beg for an abortifacient, knowing full well he intended to kill all those like you sooner than later. How terrifying it must be to live in a castle surrounded by vampires, the undead, always hungry parasites, and have no choice but to hide behind an immature man who could not yet see the forest for the trees?��

Perhaps the great lord Dracula did feel a semblance of pity for the young woman, if only for a moment. 

On the far side of the study, the young woman managed to compose herself for the most part. She rubbed her eyes free of any tears and wiped her nose of any snot, only sniffling on occasion. “I apologize,” she began. “For my interruption and my… outburst.” 

Dracula said nothing as he slowly stood to his impressive full height, nearly reaching the ceiling of the room they were in. 

Suddenly struck by how close she was to such a powerful creature, the woman pushed herself against the farthest wall, trying to increase the space between her and the vampire lord. 

“Do you wish to have this child?” He asked her. 

“Only if I know they are never to suffer.” 

Dracula gave a dry chuckle at her response. 

Huffing, the woman smiled bashfully. “Yes, I suppose it sounds rather silly when said out loud. But it is the truth.” 

“Suffering,” Dracula began, “Is not unique to the human condition.” 

“Nor the vampire one I suppose.” 

Dracula’s eyes softened upon hearing her words. “No,” he finally agreed. “No, it is not.” 

The two of them stood suspended within the silence that followed for a great deal of time. Or rather, perhaps it merely felt like a great deal of time because it was one of the few sentences uttered out of pure unadulterated truth between them. Either way, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They simply stood in each other’s company, occasionally making eye contact. 

Although she found she quite enjoyed the comfortable silence as opposed to the oppressive kind that seemed to consume her in her previous conversations with Dracula, the young woman still found she had a pressing question on her mind. As such, she was the one to eventually break the silence. 

 “Do you think Hector would make a good father?” The young woman enquired, feeling much more impervious in her position to ask questions. 

Dracula stayed silent. 

She nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought.” Her move to leave was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor behind her. 

“Dracula, sir?” She asked through sniffles. 

“Come,” he said, leading her out of her office. “There is something I wish to show you.” 

━━◈◈◈━━

The castle was beyond enormous, there was no way around that. If one did not have a map of the grounds, or a guide to show them the way, it was amazingly simple to become lost in its maze of hallways and ever-changing corridors that seemed to spawn out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly as they came. It did not seem possible for a building to change and shift on its own, but, then again, it did not seem possible for a building to move from city to city in its entirety within the blink of an eye. 

For the most part, the castle had settled once Dracula’s vampire generals and their troops arrived. It would have been too complicated to educate them all on the shifting nature of the castle, so Dracula demanded it cease. Even with the castle’s internal architecture remaining consistent, navigating the halls remained challenging. Especially for the lesser intelligent vampire spawn and the easily overwhelmed human partner of a devil forgemaster. 

Dracula watched from the corridor as the young woman flitted about the apothecary room, taking breaks in between her searching various cabinets to look down at notes that no doubt once belonged to his wife. Lisa was always interested in aiding the other women of Wallachia, and she had a fondness for the maternal edge of medicine. Briefly, Dracula recalled the first time he had shown Lisa this room. Admittedly, Lisa’s reaction was quite similar to the one Hector’s wife was having now: full of not just awe, but determination as well. As it had mostly been frequented by his late wife during her time within the castle, it had been left alone to gather dust and cobwebs for the past several years or so. Still, if there was any lab or apothecary within Dracula’s home that had the processed herbs she was looking for, it was this particular room. 

He led Hector’s wife there after their previous encounter, granting her his permission to take anything she found that she’d need. It was uncharacteristically generous of him to offer, but it did not make the young woman as pleased as she thought she’d be. This was what she wanted, right? To be rid of this child? Or was it possible she wished for something else? 

Bitterly, Dracula knew it was not the child, but the circumstances, the young woman was considering aborting. She could not promise them a future, much less any degree of safety, so she was ending things before the pain became too great to do so. It was odd. The argument could be made that she was acting out of self-preservation, then again, it sounded as if the young woman knew her death was already imminent. To end this child’s life before it began was not an act of selfishness on her part, but an act of mercy. Despite the grief Dracula could see it caused her, this young woman was determined to prevent her child from seeing the horrors the world, his world, was capable of producing. It was selfless. It… It did not make sense. 

Humans were selfish creatures, greedy, and cruel for sport. They thought only of themselves and anyone who dared show kindness or intelligence was cast out or killed. They did not deserve the teachings of his wife, who worked so hard to provide for their ill. They did not deserve Wallachia, nor did they deserve any part of the world. Their species was a plague, a never-ending mistake. They would not learn even if he gave them centuries more. They had to go and yet… 

Before the last sunset, Dracula would not have cared how the humans suffered and died. Nor did he care about the vampires, who would inevitably turn on each other, once they were finally faced with starvation. All that mattered was their death- all of their deaths. 

Then why was it that Lord Vlad Dracula Tepes could not think of anything but birth? 

He had shown Hector’s wife what she asked for, he had given her the materials needed to prevent such a birth. Granted, it was what she had asked for. One favor for a selfless thing. 

Perhaps… a long-since silent voice of reason in the back of Dracula’s mind spoke up… Perhaps there is hope for humanity yet? Maybe the good few, the intelligent, the brave, and the honorable could be… salvaged from this genocide? Perhaps what was needed was a true cull after all? 

Seated once again in his study, Dracula gazed into the flames of the fireplace. He would need to make plans to speak with all his Generals tomorrow. 

The war, as they knew it, was about to change. 

A/N: Ahhhh! Why is it so longgggg? Forgive me for getting carried away. But to answer your question, I do think there’s a sliver of hope Dracula would be swayed not to stop or anything, but maybe to shift his plans to allow a select, approved few humans to survive. No idea how’d that’d be implemented or how the Generals would respond (prob not well lol.) But that’s sort of my line of thinking. I also believe he’d be even more encouraging for Hector and Isacc to become friends. For Sources, check out these super cool links: Medieval ‘Pregnancy Tests’: (x) And this really cool on medieval abortion/menstruation remedies: (x) And As always, if you liked it, please REBLOG! 

And please consider donating to my Kofi!

#castlevania imagines #castlevania imagine #hector castlevania #hector x reader #dracula castlevania #castlevania x reader

[imakemywings]

Summary: Maedhros gets a reward for a job well done.

Length: 9.2k

AN: Saved my piece de resistance for the last day of @silmsmutweek

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

            When her secretary told her which number was calling, Thingol allowed it to be patched through, but she took her time answering and lifting the phone up to her ear. She could almost hear the intake of breath on the other side.

            “Do you remember what I told you about this number?” Her voice was not reprimanding, only reminding—giving her caller a chance to consider.

            “Only for remarkable circumstances,” breathed Maedhros on the other end.

            “So.” Thingol leaned back in her seat, twisting so she had a partial view out the windows behind her. “What is your remarkable circumstance?”

            “I was accepted to the journal.” A small smile spread over Thingol’s mouth despite herself. Unhurried, she let Maedhros’ statement sink in before replying.

            “Precisely as I expected,” she said, but there was a warm note in her voice. “Well done, little one.”

            “Thank you,” came the rushed response, and Maedhros sounded a little dizzy, as if she had called right after getting the news.

            “Are you celebrating tonight, or shall I see you at the apartment?”

            “I’ll be at the apartment.” Another smile tugged at the corner of Thingol’s lips.

            “I look forward to it then. Make sure you call your parents.”

            “I will,” said Maedhros with only a hint of impatience in her voice, even as she confirmed for Thingol that she had not called them before placing this call.

            “Good. Then I’ll see you later.”

            Maedhros bid a hasty goodbye, and Thingol set the phone back in the cradle, allowing herself another private smile. Even if she had anticipated Maedhros’ success, it was still good to hear her talent being recognized—and that Maedhros chose to share this moment of triumph with her didn’t hurt either.

***

            Thingol had an apartment in the city whose hilltop location allotted a view that looked out across the cityscape towards the mountains in the distance despite being under a dozen stories tall. She kept it mainly for its proximity to the office; her truer home was an estate an hour’s drive out into the countryside, surrounded by so many hills and trees it wasn’t visible until one was nearly upon it. Maedhros had been there only once, and the memory of it was like an intoxicated dream, something she couldn’t quite believe had been real. There dwelled Thingol’s wife, who had appeared bothered neither by Thingol’s absences into the city nor by Maedhros’ presence; they had greeted each other with kisses as if they had been apart only a few hours, rather than a week or two, and later that night Thingol had still taken Maedhros up to her bedroom. Melian did not enjoy the city much, had been Thingol’s only explanation.

            Maedhros did not ask questions about it, nor about their daughter and how exactly she fit into things or who she was related to. Thus far, Maedhros’ aversion to incivility had overcome her curiosity.

            That night, when she had finished a passable amount of work (Maedhros had never been known, when asked, to say she had done enough work)—or more truthfully, when she could not keep herself in her skin anymore—Maedhros threw a few things in her bag and hopped in her car.

            What exactly Thingol did for work was also not clear to her. She knew that Thingol ran a company she and Melian had founded, and that a part of it was a charity organization, but also that it had a strong production of artisanal wooden jewelry and home goods (sustainably sourced, as all the labels prominently asserted), as she had met one of their artist partners at an event. Thingol had bought her a new suit for the party, tailored to her measurements (when or where Thingol had gotten those she wasn’t sure), which now lived in a storage bag under the bed, as nothing in her closet was safe from Maglor’s grasping hands, no matter how many warnings Maedhros gave. The gold ring that had gone with it, Maedhros usually had in her pocket.

            Some time ago, Thingol had given her the passcode for the building, so she buzzed in only to let Thingol know she had arrived and was on her way upstairs. The building was a historical landmark and thus, despite the hefty price tag on its units, possessed an endless variety of “quirks.” Thingol had mentioned that she found them rather charming, and Maedhros had replied that she just wanted to know the elevator was going to take her all the way to the floor she needed when she got on it. It was so old she was fairly sure it was as large as it was to accommodate an elevator operator.

            Furthermore, there was no mirror in it, so Maedhros could not perform any last-minute assessments of her appearance beyond making sure her necklace was centered, a thin gold pendant hanging delicately against her chest, before arriving on Thingol’s floor. Each floor was devoted to only a single unit.

            She did not have a key to the apartment, so she had to simply ring and wait. She took the moment to silence her phone; she did not want to be interrupted that night, and she knew Thingol found her frequently checking her alarms and calendar tiresome. Thingol opened the door in slacks which Maedhros knew counted as loungewear for her, and a gray cashmere sweater.

            “Hello kitten,” she said, kissing each of Maedhros’ cheeks as she stepped into the unit. She had a smooth, deep voice that Maedhros found always soothing to the ear; a resonant sound that seemed able to reach inside her and call up peace, anger, passion, at Thingol’s will.

            She took them into the living room, where she waved Maedhros towards the couch and went to the positively antique drinks cart to fix them something each. This room of all the rest had been updated with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling cityscape below, the last of the fading light of day bleeding out of a dark sky. She set something peach-toned in a coupe glass in Maedhros’ hand and perched on the back of the sofa rather than joining Maedhros on the cushions, which was less than ideal. She could not put her head in Thingol’s lap like this.

            “Congratulations, darling,” she said, raising her glass to Maedhros’ success. “Clever as you are, these things do not always turn on what we think they ought. I am very proud of you.” There was a tenderness in Thingol’s gaze that made Maedhros flick her eyes away even as her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Thingol knew—even when Maedhros said nothing, but that wasn’t unusual—how stressed Maedhros had been about her professional progress. Her accident had kept her from graduate school for years, and she had felt ever since she was running herself ragged playing catch-up, something she detested.

            Thingol pried her with some questions about the journal, though there was little enough she had not asked about when Maedhros first shared she was submitting an application. Thingol was never rushed, never hurried, and sometimes she set Maedhros’ nerves to crackling with her languorous pace. Yes, she had already eaten. No, she was not hungry now and did not wish even for something small. Yes, she had called her parents and they were perfectly thrilled, and Dad already wanted a draft of her first article. Yes, her friends were pleased also (the nebulous friends Maedhros never mentioned by name, lest she give away how few of them there really were). No, she hadn’t seen Daeron’s latest concerto, but yes, she might be interested in going along with Thingol next week. No, she didn’t need a refill on her drink. Thingol had her in agonies on the sofa, wanting Thingol to come and sit with her, which she thought Thingol knew perfectly well. The woman was a devil of driving Maedhros out of her mind with want, and worse, seemed to take pleasure in it. Did she not mean to reward Maedhros tonight?

            “So tell me,” Thingol said, sliding off the sofa to meander around the room, half-heartedly looking at the view from the windows before turning her gaze back to Maedhros, “what are your plans now?”

            “I never mentioned plans,” said Maedhros, being childish (she knew that Thingol would indulge her, to a point).

            “I have never known you not to have a scheme in progress,” Thingol laughed, leaning back against a mid-rise wood cabinet, smiling at her companion. “So will you share, or will you surprise me later?”

            “Perhaps I have not yet determined them,” Maedhros said, which wasn’t entirely true. She had drafted a list of article ideas before she had even been accepted, and had seven folders of research on her computer relating to those, and had earlier that day broken down into her digital calendar her own self-imposed deadlines for her work. Thingol told her she needed more slow-paced hobbies. “I was only admitted today.”

            Thingol’s knowing smile suggested she had some preternatural sense about the research folders, but she said nothing else. While the conversation had subsided, she still showed no sign of coming over to the sofa again, and Maedhros was getting desperate.

            “Won’t you come and sit down?” she said at last, which was already more of a request than she liked to make. Thingol’s piercing gray eyes studied her and Maedhros knew that Thingol was well aware what Maedhros was doing, but being so caught out had the regrettable effect of only making Maedhros’ situation more dire.

            “Why don’t you fix me another drink first?” Thingol suggested, holding her empty glass out, the stem pinched gracefully between her long, tapering fingers. Maedhros’ pride balked, but she also sensed a game, and her desire for the rewards of playing along outweighed her resistance, after several moments of internal debate.

            Her rebellion was in making the drink without asking what Thingol wanted, which received no comment, only a raised eyebrow as she took the glass back and raised it to her lips. Maedhros was near enough to see the divots in her lip.

            “I forget how little taste you have for sweet drinks,” she said as she lowered the glass, her lips upturned as she studied Maedhros’ face. “Or perhaps your mind is elsewhere,” she suggested.

            “I can make another,” Maedhros said.

            “No, no, this will do,” said Thingol, seeming to confirm Maedhros’ guess that it was not about the drink at all. She took another leisurely sip and then declared, “I suppose you ought to have a reward for your achievement, hm?”

            Maedhros did not respond, her focus being on not quivering at that statement.

            “Do you think so?” Thingol asked her more directly, which always inspired hesitation in Maedhros, ever reluctant to out loud say that she thought she was owed something. “I think so,” Thingol relented quickly enough. She drew her fingers down the underside of Maedhros’ jawline, coaxing her nearer with a feather-light touch. Thingol was one of the few people Maedhros had to look up at in any capacity. “I know how hard you worked for this,” she said softly. “I hope you are giving yourself due credit.”

            “I should have gotten it,” Maedhros said.

            “I agree; you ought to have been a shoe-in.” That was not quite what Maedhros had meant, and she suspected Thingol knew it. “But many things are at play in these decisions and ability alone is not always the deciding factor. You did well, and you should be proud. There are many others who are not celebrating tonight.”

            Maedhros said nothing.

            Thingol tilted her chin more sharply upwards.

            “It is not nothing that you achieved this, even if we were quite sure you would,” Thingol said. “It is still an achievement, Maedhros.”

            “I know,” Maedhros said reluctantly. Still—she should have gotten it. She would have been disgusted with herself if she had not.

            “You did well,” Thingol said. “And you should be proud.” Then she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Maedhros’, and Maedhros sank into the kiss, resting a hand against Thingol’s ribs as her eyes fluttered shut. Thingol’s hands moved down to her waist, tugging her nearer, and it was only when the pressure of Thingol’s thigh between her legs made Maedhros gasp that she realize she was straddling one of her legs.

            “Is this to be my only reward?” she asked, hoping this would encourage Thingol to move things to the bedroom.

            “Perhaps not only,” said Thingol. “But first.” She pulled Maedhros into another kiss and shifted her leg, and Maedhros grit her teeth against the urge to rut. Without breaking their kiss, Thingol slid a hand down her lower back to her ass, pressing her nearer, and this time Maedhros could not resist bucking her hips against Thingol’s thigh, her body ravenous for that contact no matter how degrading it seemed to hump her lover’s leg like an animal.

            Thingol’s mouth had moved to her throat, the taller Elf bending for such access,  and Maedhros tilted her chin up without thought, eagerly welcoming more of Thingol’s touch. Her hands reached up for Thingol’s platinum hair, nearly always worn loose, and she dug her fingers into the fine, soft tresses.

            “Mm…”

            “Take more of your pleasure, if you want it,” Thingol murmured, and Maedhros surrendered to her body’s urging, grinding herself against Thingol’s thigh until her face burned and her gut was turning summersaults. Won’t you give me more? she cried silently.

            “I…this isn’t…” Maedhros panted, fighting against the please which bubbled up in her throat. “This isn’t enough!”

            Thingol only laughed merrily and nipped at Maedhros’ neck, drawing a half-aborted moan from her as she pressed urgently down against Thingol’s leg.

            “Not enough of a reward for my industrious student?” she teased, rocking her thigh a little, which made Maedhros bite her lip before she realized what she was doing.

            “No,” she replied, trying for ‘imperious’ and getting something, to her chagrin, more like ‘petulant.’

            “Hm…well that won’t do,” said Thingol, quick as molasses, running her hand up and down Maedhros’ back as she kissed the underside of her jaw. “I ought to reward my kitten properly…” Her mouth traced a path over to Maedhros’ ear, where she nibble at the earlobe, making Maedhros’ earrings tinkle. “Perhaps if she would tell me what she wants.”

            This was an exercise Thingol frequently employed, no matter that it was at least half the time unsuccessful. Maedhros hated asking for what she wanted almost as much as Thingol liked hearing her do it. Grown women ask for what they want, Thingol said. Maedhros preferred Thingol to just give it to her.

            Sometimes, as then, Thingol would pose the question when Maedhros was desperate enough to give in, at least partway.

            “I want you to touch me!” she said. This, of course, left her open to Thingol pointing out that she was touching her—just not where Maedhros wanted it, in the way that she wanted it—but she must have been feeling generous in light of Maedhros’ achievement of the day.

            “Is that all?” she said with feigned surprise. “You need only ask.” She tweaked Maedhros’ ear which made Maedhros jerk her head away, and then took her time undoing the tie belt and the button and the zipper of Maedhros’ slacks to be able to slip her hand down the front of Maedhros’ panties—which were shamefully wet, given how little had actually happened yet. She could not completely contain the whimper that burst in her throat when Thingol’s hand slid over the swollen bud of her clit, and she realized how tightly she was gripping the cabinet behind Thingol in her effort not to move.

            Thingol seemed ready to give her all she wanted and Maedhros thrilled with this triumph nearly as much as she had getting the email confirming her acceptance onto the university journal. She panted against Thingol’s neck as her hand moved deeper, plunging two fingers through the nest of brown curls into Maedhros’ hot sex; now, Maedhros could not resist rocking against the touch. It was so rare that Thingol gave into her wishes without playing games first! (Given, the frenzy Thingol worked her up into first made certain that these orgasms were an an entirely different category than the ones Maedhros hastily rubbed out while her sister was out of their apartment, but still! Shouldn’t she get what she wanted tonight?)

            Maedhros ought to have known how delusional she was with desire for an orgasm, and it should not have surprised her when, having settled into place with her fingers in Maedhros’ cunt and her thumb against her clit, Thingol stopped moving. Maedhros too, fell still, sensing too late she was about to get another lesson in the pleasures of taking one’s time with things.

            “Well?” Thingol drawled, crooking her fingers and almost drawing a gasp from Maedhros. “Is this not what you wanted?”

            “No,” Maedhros whined. Well—she would not have characterized it as a whine, but Thingol would have (and so would most others).

            “You wanted to finish?”

            “Yes! Why else would I—oh!” Thingol cut off her testy reply with a press of her thumb, the pressure of which did not last nearly long enough. Maedhros glared, but Thingol only smirked (smirked!) at her in that way that always made Maedhros both irritated and horny.

            “Then finish,” she said sanguinely, and Maedhros growled.

            “This I can do myse—ah!” Thingol curled her fingers inside of Maedhros in a way that made Maedhros instinctively try to shift closer to her.

            “I want to see you cum,” Thingol murmured against her ear. “Do I not always give you a just reward? Do I not always satisfy you?”

            That was hard to argue against. Usually when Maedhros left Thingol’s residence, she was so thoroughly fucked it took her twenty-four straight hours to get her brain back online. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be impatient though!

            Thingol’s thumb circled her, as if to encourage her towards the desired response.

            “Be good for me.” Thingol’s breath was warm against Maedhros’ ear, her shoulder solid to lean against, and her thumb pressed idly against the root of Maedhros’ clit. “I know you can. Isn’t this what you came here for?”

            A whine built in Maedhros’ throat, but she swallowed it down and rocked lightly against Thingol’s hand.

            “There we go,” Thingol encouraged her. “That’s it.” Maedhros took in a trembling breath and forced herself to let go of her compunctions. Thingol was right, of course—this was precisely what she had come here for, and her resistance served her only as far as it was enjoyable to push back against Thingol, and not when it went as far as to deny her what she really wanted. So she began to move her hips more firmly and purposefully, riding Thingol’s hand as she was bade. She anchored her hands on Thingol’s chest instead of the cupboard behind her, and Thingol occasionally passed her thumb over the pearl of Maedhros’ need.

            Thingol raised the drink in her other hand, which Maedhros had honestly forgotten she still had, and took a surprisingly steady sip of it.

            “Good girl,” she said when she lowered the cup. “You’re close now, aren’t you?” Maedhros grit her teeth and nodded, shuddering against Thingol’s hand. “Do you need some help?”

            “No,” Maedhros gasped, shifting her angle and picking up speed, fucking herself on Thingol’s fingers. “I can do it. I’m so close!” Thingol set her drink down on the cupboard and dug her free hand into Maedhros’ hair, which she had worn only partially up that night.

            “Yes, you can,” she said, giving just a slight tug on Maedhros’ hair. Maedhros let out a sharp intake of breath and clenched her thighs against Thingol’s, half trying to climb up her to get Thingol’s fingers deeper into her heat.

            Almost, almost, she thought desperately, thinking she would not be opposed to Thingol shoving her entire hand inside at the moment. When Thingol opened her mouth to make another comment, Maedhros grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand more firmly against Maedhros’ sex, forcing her fingers deeper in, muffling her cry against Thingol’s shoulder as this tipped her over the edge.

            “Good girl,” Thingol said more softly as Maedhros’ hips continued to judder arrhythmically against her through the tail end of her orgasm. If asked, she would never have imagined that being spoken down to this way would be anything but repulsive, and yet—when Thingol said it, it didn’t feel like being spoken down to. It felt true. She was good. She was proud. She was accomplished.

            She was trembling and catching her breath against the older woman, who did not withdraw her fingers from Maedhros’ cunt until Maedhros had let go of her wrist (it took her several moments to remember how to loosen her fingers). This hand landed on Maedhros’ rear, while the clean one stayed stroking her hair, and so Thingol held Maedhros to her. Her hand moved down to scrape her nails gently along Maedhros’ spine in the way she knew Maedhros liked, soothing her through the end of it.

            “How do you feel?” Thingol asked gently.

            “Good,” Maedhros mumbled muzzily. “I’m good.”

            “Tired?”

            “No.” That got her more alert at once. It was Thingol’s preference, it seemed, to give Maedhros as many orgasms as she could take—and given how wound up Maedhros was that night, she did not want to give the impression one was all she was after.

            If Thingol was amused with her eagerness, it showed only faintly, and she straightened up and took care redoing the zip and buttons of Maedhros’ pants. She re-tied the belt as well, into a neat knot.

            “Let me get you something to drink,” she said.

            “No, I’ve had enough—”

            “I meant water, sweetling,” said Thingol.

            “Oh.” Maedhros didn’t really think that was necessary, but Thingol also often seemed to have a preference for insisting she stayed hydrated. She sat on the couch, her stomach full of butterflies in contemplation of the rest of the night, and Thingol returned with a glass of juice—cranberry, once she’d taken a sip—which she passed over to Maedhros. Now she sat on the sofa alongside Maedhros, but touched her only lightly—her fingers rested just so against the top of Maedhros’ thigh and she wanted to move for more, but she knew well enough by then that she needed to finish at least the better part of the juice before Thingol was going to touch her again—no matter how long that took.

            Thingol leaned on her elbow against the back of the couch and they exchanged light words about nothing—briefly, Thingol rhapsodized about a backpacking trip she had and Lúthien had gone on recently—while Maedhros nursed her juice. Once, just to be difficult, she had chugged the whole glass at once, and while Thingol had not commented, it had been clear she was less than impressed.

            When the glass was empty, Thingol stroked her fingers down Maedhros’ cheek, and the younger woman shifted nearer to her so that Thingol could slide an arm around her shoulders. For a few moments they just sat, Maedhros leaning against Thingol, and then Thingol asked quietly:

            “Are you ready?”

            “I have been ready,” said Maedhros. Thingol chuckled and kissed the top of Maedhros’ head.

            “Very well, along you go,” she said, and the smile that flickered across her face as Maedhros rose from the sofa set the butterflies to rampaging in her belly. “Time for bed.”

            Thingol finished the drink that Maedhros had made for her and then followed her into the bedroom.

            It was second only to the living room in sheer expansiveness, so that even the colossal teak bed did not manage to dominate the room. Half the windows followed the view of the living room over the city, while the others looked towards the darker edges of town trending towards the more rural surrounding areas. The room was large enough that several of the drawers of the antique dresser had been wordlessly set aside for Maedhros’ use. She didn’t keep much there, but Thingol kept them empty even when Maedhros added nothing herself.

            The dark green paint over the walls and ceiling always made the room feel tucked away somewhere, even when the bright light of morning was streaming in the windows. Thingol’s tastes ran very different from those of Maedhros’ own family, with their preference for high, open spaces and plenty of natural light, but if anything, this only increased the appeal of spending time in Thingol’s dark, cozy places.

            Maedhros went without direction to the bed, pausing to slip her shoes off just inside the bedroom door, and stretched out. Thingol’s bed—both here and at the country estate—was dangerously comfortable, and Maedhros had, humiliatingly, fallen asleep waiting for her on at least two occasions (more galling still, Thingol would not wake her in such situations, but simply let her sleep until morning). Now, though, she was too keyed-up for that, even if she did appreciate the impossibly soft mattress and plush covers—and the battalion of pillows—cradling her.

            Thingol went to the closet to take down Maedhros’ favorite box in the apartment (which was saying something, since one of those boxes housed a set of antique encyclopedias from the sailing age). Sometimes, if she had had a difficult day, Thingol would let her choose the phallus, but most often Thingol chose, and Maedhros rarely had complaints. (There wasn’t always a phallus—Thingol had other toys, and sometimes was content to drive Maedhros mad with just her fingers and tongue.) Tonight, she withdrew a particularly girthy number from the box, its vibrant teal-and-purple marbling giving it the air of a fresh summer fruit.

            “What do you think, kitten?” Thingol asked, holding it up for Maedhros to view. Feeling her mouth go a little dry, Maedhros nodded with a flash of eagerness.

            “I think that will do,” she said placidly. “If it pleases you.”

            “It pleases me if it pleases you,” said Thingol. She took from another box and displayed for Maedhros a little vibrator with a finger strap, and Maedhros gave another nod. “Do you plan to stay dressed for this?” Thingol asked as she she fished the harness out of the closet, half-teasing, half-genuine. Maedhros had cum too hard from being fucked in her work clothes for Thingol not to be at least a little genuine.

            Tonight though—tonight, she wanted Thingol to see all of her, and touch as much as she would. Maedhros rolled off of the bed and made efficient work of piling her clothes next to the bedside table, the soaked panties set a little off to the side, away from the rest of her things. She also rolled the duvet back to the foot of the bed. She knew herself what a wearisome task it was removing a duvet cover to wash—no sense soiling it if they didn’t need to do it. Before she could settle back on the bed, Thingol beckoned her over.

            “Help me,” she said, although what she really meant was do it for me. Maedhros made a methodology of it: First, she removed Thingol’s earrings and her necklace (the nose stud she left in place) and set them on the vanity; second, she helped Thingol wriggle out of the cashmere sweater, which she folded and placed on top of the dresser; then, feeling her heartbeat in her ears,  she leaned in closer and reached around to undo the clasp of Thingol’s bra and remove it from her as gently as she would have handled one of Grandfather’s decorative eggs (here, she became briefly distracted by Thingol’s tits, which she felt was not wholly her fault) and eventually folded it into the proper dresser drawer; next—her heartbeat was so loud she wasn’t sure she would have heard if Thingol had addressed her—she undid the side zip of Thingol’s pants and slid them down so she could step out of the soft black fabric; lastly, she became sorely distracted by Thingol’s black and lavender panties with the lace around the edges, and how much she wished to touch and see if Thingol had gotten wet in the living room as well, but when she saw Thingol’s hands twitch, she came back to herself and quickly moved her hands to Thingol’s hips.

            She lifted her eyes to Thingol’s amused gaze and for a moment, she thought Thingol meant to kiss her, but she did not.

            “You must be wandering in thought indeed,” the older Elf teased. “You are not often so lost anymore.”

            Maedhros flushed lightly.

            “I am not lost,” she said, pleased with the self-assurance in her voice. “I am…taking note.” Thingol carded a hand through Maedhros’ auburn hair and tucked the loose strands behind her ear.

            “Far be it from me to rush you,” she said.

            Maedhros wanted to touch—but she knew well enough that she was not to touch Thingol’s cunt without permission, which she was not likely to get, presently. So instead, she slid the underwear off and tried to content herself with caressing her way back up Thingol’s thighs to her hips to press her thumbs into the cushioned arc of Thingol’s hip bones. The hair between her legs was much darker than her head, a chestnut brown nothing like her silvery crown.

            “Are you still taking notes?” Thingol asked softly, the corners of her mouth curving up.

            “Yes,” Maedhros answered in an exhale, skimming her fingers lightly up Thingol’s sides, where Thingol captured them and then capitulated to drawing Maedhros into a kiss. She could not resist the smile that pulled at her lips at this triumph and she gladly leaned in, but Thingol broke it off much too soon.

            “Bed,�� she said, but there was a softness in her eyes that Maedhros wanted to chase more than life itself. Nevertheless, she went to the bed.

            “You don’t want help?” she said, although she already guessed the answer would be no, and it was. Thingol got herself into the harness and situated the dildo on her own, and then simply observed Maedhros on display in her bed. Maedhros twitched, and wanted to pull the sheet up over herself, but she forced the impulse down, recognizing it as the senseless thing that it was. Instead, she made herself lay relaxed under Thingol’s gaze and gave her a look as if to say Are you coming?

            “Are you ready?” Thingol asked again, and Maedhros nodded.

            “I’m ready,” she said. Please hovered on her tongue again, but she swallowed that too. Thingol did not make her wait longer, anyway—she came to the bed and ran her hands up Maedhros’ legs from her ankle to her thighs, fingers brushing through the coarse hair, and then lowered her face between Maedhros’ breasts to kiss her there. Maedhros’ eyes fluttered shut as Thingol’s mouth moved down to her belly, her nose brushing over Maedhros’ ribs, and then began again at her sternum and moved up to the hollow of her throat. The sigh that escape her chest could not be helped.

            “My beautiful girl,” Thingol murmured, squeezing Maedhros’ hip with one hand as she nuzzled against Maedhros’ left shoulder, laying kisses against the crook of her neck. “My clever, beautiful girl.” A shiver went through Maedhros and her fingers curled up slightly in the sheets. The toy brushed against the thicket of hair between her legs and sent a bolt of electricity through her. Thingol’s mouth continued over the underside of Maedhros’ jaw and finally caught her lips again, and Maedhros surged up into this kiss, one hand going to grip Thingol’s hair, the other propping her up against the mattress.

            Accepting the intensity of Maedhros’ need, Thingol sat back on her heels and gave Maedhros the room to sit up and chase more kisses. She wound her arms around Thingol’s shoulders and finally took as much as she wanted, parting her mouth wetly against her partner’s, pressing her tongue to Thingol’s.

            “Are you pleased?” she breathed.

            “With you? Of course I am,” Thingol answered, caressing Maedhros’ cheek.

            “Really?”

            “Yes. I would not lie to you about such things; have you known me much to stroke your ego for its own sake?” Maedhros found no lie in Thingol’s deep gray eyes, so she gave her another open-mouthed kiss. “You work so hard,” Thingol murmured when Maedhros broke away for air. She kissed Maedhros’ pointed ear. “How could I not be proud of you?”

            It was awkward trying to get her mouth to Thingol’s breasts in this position, but she made the effort. (With some fluster, she had noticed that one of Thingol’s nipple rings had been removed, not unlikely because Thingol had noticed Maedhros’ penchant for giving her this particular attention.)

            “I feel I should lie down, before you injure yourself,” said Thingol somewhat dryly to this contortion. When Maedhros looked up, Thingol laughed. “Don’t look so serious, sweetling,” she said, running a hand through Maedhros’ hair. “As I said—you have earned a reward tonight.” So she lay down without being asked, and Maedhros pounced on her at once, though she was careful not to touch where she was not meant to do so (a fact which naturally only drew her attention there more). But for now, she focused quite happily on Thingol’s chest, lavishing kisses on her breasts, which grew into nibbling and grabbing. One hand traveled up to toy with and tug at the ring through the other nipple, which she knew Thingol enjoyed. She was not to leave marks without express permission, but that was no trouble today, for she moved quickly to taking one of Thingol’s nipples between her lips, laving her tongue over the tender skin, not even realizing how she was starting to press down against Thingol’s thigh again.

            She felt Thingol’s hand card up through her hair as she suckled on her breast. She broke away only when she needed to catch her breath, and then she laid her head on Thingol’s chest, panting.

            “You do have energy to burn off today,” Thingol remarked.

            “It is not just energy,” Maedhros said, somewhat temperamentally.

            “Of course not,” Thingol gave way, rubbing Maedhros’ back. “I am not patronizing you, dear.” Maedhros sighed, and pressed her face between Thingol’s breasts, and knew she had been too sensitive. Always looking for someone accusing you of incompetence, a former acquaintance had said to her once.

            “Even if it were, I should hardly complain,” Thingol added more lightly. “For I benefit of it.” Her nails scraped against Maedhros’ spine and Maedhros shivered in delight, lifting herself up to kiss at Thingol’s throat. As she did, Thingol raised her thigh to nudge it more firmly against Maedhros’ warming sex, and now Maedhros did not have the desire or the restraint to keep herself from rolling her weight against Thingol’s leg, relishing the pressure against her growing need.

            Slowly, Thingol pushed herself up with one hand, the other still resting against Maedhros’ lower back, capturing Maedhros’ lips in a kiss as she did so.

            “Let me take care of you,” she said, her voice in that low, melodic place that made Maedhros shudder and melt. Her hips twitched, seeking some satisfactory contact. “Let me look after my kitten.” When she kissed Maedhros again, it was so gentle as to cool Maedhros’ fire and make her lie obediently down.

            When Thingol drew her hands up Maedhros’ inner thighs, she could not control the shivers that went through her, or the aching frissons of desire that coursed through her, making her grip one of the pillows by her head and clench her teeth to keep from pleading with Thingol to touch her where she wanted it.

            “My sweet, wonderful thing,” Thingol breathed against her belly, kissing her just above her thatch of hair, making Maedhros squirm unwillingly under her. “I am so pleased you wished to come here tonight.”

            “Of course,” Maedhros gasped. “Why—why wouldn’t I?” Thingol did not reply, although later Maedhros would eventually suppose Thingol had been referring to the possibility of her having other plans.

            When Thingol leaned up kiss her, the toy pressed sharply between Maedhros’ legs and she couldn’t help the whine that left her, or the way her hips arched off the bed, seeking more of that.

            “On your knees,” Thingol said then, her voice shifting at once into the tone she used for commands. She sat back to give Maedhros the room and Maedhros, without hesitation, turned over onto her hands and knees. “Good girl.” She felt Thingol’s hand caress her ass, followed by the light dig of her nails, which made Maedhros crane her head back. Spanking was something she was only rarely in the mood for, but there were no slaps forthcoming—Thingol was only teasing, as usual (it would have been unlike her in any case, to strike without making it clear that was coming—and giving Maedhros the chance to refuse). This nís will be the death of me! Maedhros thought, both furious and aroused.

            “Tell me,” said Thingol, pushing Maedhros’ head down, “what did you accomplish today?”

            “I was accepted to the journal,” Maedhros recited dutifully.

            “And was it difficult?”

            “I have always been a decent writer—”

            “How many hours did you put into the application?” Thingol interrupted. Maedhros considered.

            “It was work,” she allowed, after some approximate calculations.

            “Are you pleased with your achievement?”

            “I am,” Maedhros said.

            “Are you proud?” Maedhros considered again.

            “Yes,” she said at last. “I should be on the journal.” Thingol’s hand was stroking her ass again.

            “How much of a break will you give yourself now that you have achieved it?” Maedhros said nothing. “Maedhros.”

            “I need to start preparing,” Maedhros blurted out.

            “You need to rest, too,” Thingol countered. “Do not make me take you out to the country again.”

            “Is that meant to be a threat?” Maedhros asked, nearly rolling her eyes. She’d commit arson to be permitted to return to Thingol’s country estate. Thingol laughed.

            “I suppose it is not much of one for you, is it? What if I reminded you there is no Wi-Fi there?”

            “There…” There wasn’t? Maedhros had to think hard back on the one visit to remember. She had not had much time to notice. Thingol snickered and Maedhros felt the warm press of lips against her back.

            “Take two days at least, little one,” she said gently. “Your work will be better if you rest first.”

            “I am trying to relax right now, but someone is making it difficult!”

            Thingol’s laughter suggested she was not in the least repentant for the throbbing of Maedhros’ sex.

            “We shall see what I can do for you here,” she said, that playful note still in her voice, “and decide on any necessary kidnapping later.” She slid the toy between Maedhros’ legs, making her exhale in relief that they might be getting somewhere, but Thingol was apparently not yet ready for that—she moved her hips to rub the dildo over Maedhros’ lips, but did not penetrate her yet, and it was impossible for her to grind down against it without merely pushing it further out of reach.

            “Thingol,” she whined at last, dripping with unspent arousal.

            “Let’s see if you’re ready,” Thingol said, as if Maedhros’ vagina wasn’t a textbook picture of insert here, now, please! She plunged two fingers in and hummed in satisfaction to feel Maedhros’ wetness and Maedhros resisted the urge to rock back against the touch. “That’s my good girl,” she cooed, but reached for the lubricant in the drawer of the bedside table anyway. Maedhros’ head fell forward, pressing her face into the pillow over the agonizing sixty-to-a-hundred-and-twenty seconds it took Thingol to lube up the dildo.

            “This is really not necessary,” she said, just to be difficult.

            “It will be more comfortable for you, kitten. I’m not going to hurt you.” Maedhros groaned, and refrained from claiming she didn’t care if she was hurt, as long as it happened while Thingol was fucking her. That would only draw out the conversation.

            Presently, Thingol placed the head of the toy at Maedhros’ entrance and she shivered in anticipation, able to feel its breadth already. Yes, yes, yes, please, she thought desperately. Thingol at last did not take her sweet time, and once the head of the toy had passed into Maedhros, thrust the rest in in one smooth, sharp movement. Maedhros cried out, fisting her hands in the pillows, and was not able to stop from shoving her ass back towards Thingol to take the phallus in as quickly as she could.

            “That’s my girl,” Thingol encouraged her, stroking the inside of Maedhros’ thigh. The stretch of it was delicious, bordering on painful, and Maedhros throbbed around it, unable to make some quip in return, being occupied trying to accustom herself to this considerable bodily intrusion. The ridges of it pressed and scraped against her walls, nearly overwhelming her. “Let’s take care of some of that energy, hm?” Finally, finally, finally Thingol fucked her! Done with the teasing, done with the coyness, done with the games—Thingol’s athleticism showed in how fast and hard she drove the toy into Maedhros’ cunt, making the old bed creak faintly in protest as she hammered away until Maedhros almost sobbed with pleasure, writhing in the sheets and no longer in even an approximation of control over the sounds that came out of her.  Her legs no longer felt like they could support her, and she was sinking further and further down into the mattress as Thingol pounded into her.

“Oh! Oh, yes,” she gasped, shaking as Thingol adjusted her angle and thrust hard and deep. Maedhros wailed, too far gone to even be relieved about the thickness of the walls in the old building. “Oh, yes, Thingol, please! Please! Fuck me, please!”

            “Anything for my good girl,” Thingol panted, grabbing Maedhros’ hips to haul her up into a better position. Here, Thingol trusted her to tap out if it was too much, but Maedhros had not yet found the exact words to describe how being pushed so far was part of the experience—one she had allowed herself with no one but Thingol. Fortunately, the older Elf seemed to understand at least a part of it without Maedhros’ ineffective efforts at explanation. Thingol’s fingers dug into her hips and Maedhros jerked backwards, clumsily trying to move with Thingol, trying to get more of the brutally large toy stuffed into her.

            Thingol responded by pushing her down against the mattress, but rewarded her acquiescence with reaching around to rub at Maedhros’ clit, at which point Maedhros realized she must have put on the finger vibrator she’d left on the bed. That forced her to slow down with the toy, but she had Maedhros so near the edge by then it hardly mattered, particularly once the vibrator started buzzing against her, sending waves of pleasure out through her and tearing a broken gasp from Maedhros’ throat.

            “Are you close, sweet thing?” Thingol asked.

            “Yes,” Maedhros replied, “I’m so—oh! I’m so,” she panted, “I’m so—!” She realized she hadn’t been breathing and drew in a ragged gasp of air. “Tell me again,” she begged, shuddering against Thingol’s weight. “Tell me again!”

            Thingol leaned over her to speak softly by Maedhros’ ear.

            “I’m so proud of you,” she said. Maedhros let out a cracked cry and her orgasm swept over her, turning her limbs to jelly, driving a babble of gasping and moaning out of her mouth as she jerked and shivered against Thingol’s hand and strap. She collapsed onto the bed, the toy sliding free of her with an obscene slurp, and Thingol drew back with the vibrator.

            Thingol’s hand was cool against her back, stroking very lightly, careful not to risk overwhelming her. After a few moments of this reassurance, the touch disappeared, and Maedhros felt Thingol move off the bed, heard the sound of her removing the harness, setting it all aside to be cleaned later along with the vibrator (Thingol always cleaned their things; she never delegated this task to Maedhros). Some part of her felt she ought to be sitting up and offering to help, or return the favor, or doing something besides laying there like a slug, but she could not begin to imagine moving her muscles, or that they might cooperate with her brain even if she wished to move.

            Thingol returned to bed and sat beside her. She pressed her fingers against Maedhros’ right shoulder and one could be forgiven, based on the noise that Maedhros made, for thinking they were still having intercourse.

            “Feeling alright?” Thingol asked in a low voice, which felt appropriate to Maedhros’ present state.

            “Mhm…that’s good…” Maedhros forced her mouth to say something coherent. Thingol began to rub more concertedly then, cautious with the amount of pressure she applied until Maedhros failed to wince or warn her off.

            There had been aches and pains that never left her since the accident, and it had become clear they never really would. Maedhros had only mentioned it once or twice, but—Thingol remembered. Thingol always remembered. She was always gentle with Maedhros’ right shoulder and never asked her for any favors that required fine motor skill. Since the one time that Maedhros had gone for pain medication in Thingol’s bathroom to find there was none—and been in quite a foul mood about it—there had never been less than half a bottle of two varieties of NSAID in the apartment (or in the house).

            Thingol remembered. She remembered how Maedhros liked her coffee, and her drinks, and where she liked to be touched and how, and when she had important events coming up, and her preferred pain medications, and how she liked to wear her hair, and the words she liked to hear when she wanted to be comforted.

            For several minutes, Maedhros let Thingol massage her shoulder, then she sat up abruptly and caught Thingol’s cheek with her hand, drawing her into a kiss, her stomach fluttering at how easily she gained what she wanted.

            “Can I take care of you too?” she asked, her tone still subdued. Thingol did not always permit it, even when Maedhros knew her to be aroused. She had probed around this before, but never got more of an answer from Thingol than that she was not in the mood, always said with a tone of finality which blocked further questioning. That night, though, Thingol was in the mood.

            “How would you like to do it?”

            Maedhros resisted the urge to look down at Thingol. She held the desire in the palm of her hand, savored it for a moment. She wetted her lips.

            “Can I use my mouth?” A smile spread fondly over Thingol’s face and she patted Maedhros’ cheek.

            “Yes, if that’s what you wish, you may,” she said. They still rested a few moments more, with Maedhros slumped against Thingol, idly tracing patterns over her ribs. She did not know how Thingol could summon such patience, as Maedhros felt like shredding a pillow with her teeth whenever Thingol made Maedhros get her off first before Maedhros was allowed a turn. Maybe it came with age.

            When Maedhros felt less like she would swoon if she stood upright, she turned her head to press kisses against Thingol’s breasts, nuzzling against the soft flesh, enjoying the heat of her lover’s body. In the winter, when the heat in the aged building was weak, and Thingol cradled Maedhros through the night in a cocoon of warmth under her covers, Maedhros felt as if she had retreated to some youthful vision of total and complete safety. Carefully, she shifted to straddle Thingol’s lap and, leaning in, paused a moment to study the familiar planes of her face—her sharp cheekbones; her thin, finely-arched brows; the scar, no larger than the tip of a fingernail, on her lower lip—before molding her mouth to Thingol’s.

            She rolled her hips against Thingol’s, a movement she had been honing since they first began this, and trailed her kisses down Thingol’s neck in the way she liked herself. Down Thingol’s pale throat she went, over her collarbone—she lingered again on Thingol’s chest, using her teeth to tug at the nipple ring this time as she sucked—and then down the sternum—she paused again to leave a mess of kisses on Thingol’s stomach—and then she was kneeling between Thingol’s legs, looking at what she wanted.

            “Can I?” she asked, looking up. Thingol nodded benevolently, and Maedhros drew her thumb up Thingol’s slit, parting her lips slightly, the sight of the glistening pink flesh thrilling low in her gut. (Was it silly, that she was still so pleased Thingol could get this wet for her?)

            Her eyes flicked back up to Thingol’s face, and then she pressed her thumb a little deeper, dragging it through the moisture gathered along Thingol’s entrance, breathing in the pungent, earthy smell of her arousal. Slowly, she slid down onto her belly—grateful as usual for the vast size of the bed—and pressed a breathless kiss against Thingol’s cunt. Her tongue flickered out against the lips and then she used two fingers to part them and tease her tongue against Thingol’s swollen clit. She heard an intake of breath from her partner and smirked, repeating the gesture.

            Flattening herself further still, she slipped an arm under each of Thingol’s legs and applied her mouth to the pearl of Thingol’s need with the same studiousness with which she approached her work. It was better this way, she thought, when she had climaxed already, and could focus more on pleasing Thingol without needing to be constantly redirected.

            For several moments, she focused purely on this, lapping and sucking at Thingol’s clit, nuzzling her folds, Thingol’s fluid coating her lips and tongue. When she looked up again, her chin was wet with it, and she gazed up at Thingol with intent, hazarding a (educated) guess about the effect of this look on Thingol.

            “Is this good?” she asked softly. “Does it please you?”

            She could see Thingol swallow and she could almost feel her body start to rouse again at the sight and the knowledge of how much she could get to Thingol.

            “Yes,” said Thingol, and there was a breathless note in her voice. “You are doing very well.”

            “Should I go on?”

            “Yes, if you would like.” An underhanded reply—Thingol knew Maedhros wanted to do it!

            “I would,” Maedhros replied, and bowed her head over Thingol’s sex again. She shifted down, tonguing at Thingol’s entrance, wishing she had asked if she could also use her fingers, but not wanting to break from what she was doing then to seek permission.

            When she returned to suck with vigor, she drew a moan from the other Elf, which almost made her shiver with delight, and she applied herself with double enthusiasm until she could feel Thingol’s hips twitching up towards her mouth. It felt like she held a fucking machine gun in her hands, a delusion of power she was all too happy to embrace. She hummed against Thingol’s heat and, muffled, she heard:

            “That’s my good girl,” which went right to her cunt, predictably. She could feel the tightness of Thingol’s muscles as she drew nearer to her finish and she paused to pepper kisses on her sex before thrusting her tongue between the folds again. Sometimes, this went on long enough to make her jaw ache, but it was worth it for the pride she got feeling Thingol shiver apart under her mouth (when she was so successful). “Nearly there,” Thingol panted. “You’re doing so well, sweet one.”

            Despite this proclamation, Maedhros went on several more minutes without a reward, at which point she decided more drastic measures were needed. Once again she lifted her head from her feast and looked up at Thingol, resting her cheek against Thingol’s trembling thigh.

            “For me?” she said delicately. She bent her head and kissed Thingol’s sex and laved her tongue over her clit. “I want to see yours too,” she murmured to Thingol’s heat. “I need it.” This time, when she went to work again, it was only moment before Thingol cried out softly as her orgasm rippled through her, one hand reaching for Maedhros’ head to grip her there as she arched back against the pillows. Maedhros laid her head contently between Thingol’s legs and listened to the sound of her lover’s panting as she caught her breath.

            When it had fully passed, Thingol coaxed Maedhros to lie up beside her, where Maedhros plucked a few unfortunate strands of curly hair out of her teeth to flick onto the mattress.

            “Shall I bring you the floss?” Thingol asked, amused.

            “Later,” Maedhros sighed, sinking back against the wall of pillows. She was too comfortable now to move, and she certainly didn’t want Thingol moving. She shifted nearer and wrapped her arms around Thingol’s hips, holding close to her, with her head on Thingol’s chest, rising and falling with her lover’s breathing.

            It was not the most taxing session they had ever had by quite a mile (after one particular encounter at Thingol’s country home, Maedhros had slept thirteen straight hours after and woken feeling positively reborn and also not certain what the year was), but she had nowhere to be and nothing which immediately needed doing, so she surrendered to the post-coital stupor.

            “You’ve gotten better,” Thingol observed. Maedhros smiled to herself with pride and turned her face more against Thingol.

            “If I had more practice I would get better faster,” she said, in something that did not really possess enough subtlety to qualify as a “hint.”

            “Mm…but then what would I do with you on special occasions?” Thingol asked.

            “Find a bigger dildo,” Maedhros suggested.

            “Soon I will need to have them custom-made for you,” Thingol said, but Maedhros was unabashed on this point.

            “Good thing you can afford it,” she quipped back.

            “A good thing indeed,” Thingol replied. She scraped her nails over Maedhros’ scalp as she stroked her head. “Perhaps a begetting day gift for you.”

            “One that stays in this apartment!” Maedhros needed to have that explicit.

            “Oh? Oughtn’t I send it to your house?”

            “Only if you want Maglor to steal it,” Maedhros snorted. “She is chronically incapable of keeping her hands out of my things. And once she’s had it, I will be done with it.”

            “I will save it for your celebration here then,” Thingol said as she cradled the back of Maedhros’ head, as if there had ever been any question of that. “I won’t have any magpies thieving from my starling.” Maedhros should not have been so pleased to be the more well-liked of the two birds, but for a moment it was tempting to tell Maglor about this rendezvous just to mention that particular comparison. “Do you want to have a bath?” Thingol asked, rubbing her hand down along Maedhros’ spine.

            “In a minute,” Maedhros mumbled. “I’m comfortable here.” Thingol smiled.

            “As you wish, kitten.”

#thingol #maedhros #maedhros x thingol #the silmarillion #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #silmsmutweek

[carlatsukinamistolemyhamsandwich]

Dragon

From this ask game

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to this! Rather than write a summary for a fic, I ended up writing a drabble instead ^^;;

I really struggled with this one because I love dragons so I had a lot of ideas but in the end I decided to go with dragon!Reiji x reader (plus mentioned dragon!Shuu x reader).

TW: yandere characters and forced captivity.

Drabble:

Reiji hated visiting his elder brother's hoard. He couldn't understand how any dragon with even a semblance of pride could stand the state of the place; the complete lack of organization that had priceless tapestries strewn next to worthless baubles in a haphazard manner all over the cave floor.

There was, however, a lone shining gem he looked forward to seeing on his visits here.

You.

Contained behind gold-plated bars, positioned in the middle of the hoard surrounded by piles of treasure and cheap trinkets.

Today you were wearing a simple silk gown, the same sapphire blue as Shuu's eyes. The quality looked decent enough, but Reiji could not help but frown at it regardless—the outfit did little to flatter your natural features. As he gave you a once over, his mind drifted to the garnet covered corset hidden away in his own mountain top dwelling, made by one of the foremost artisans from the nearby kingdom and acquired by him shortly after he'd first caught sight of you in your gilded cage.

"He's not here," you said, not even glancing up from where you sat on a raised plinth draped in pillows and silk sheets. "I can play messenger if you want, but you know as well as I that there's no guarantee he'll do anything with the information."

Your voice was clear as it echoed through the cavernous space and Reiji was once again reminded of how much a crime it was that his older brother had found you before he had a chance to.

He loosed a sigh as he shifted his form to something more humanoid, his body contracting and twisting into a shape that was foreign to him but more familiar to you. It wasn't as though there was really any need to—your dealings with Shuu had all but forced you to cast aside any primal aversion you may have once felt to viewing one of his kind—but it was easier to stand closer to your cage like this.

"Typical, of course the good-for-nothing would rouse himself the moment I have word to deliver from Father. Do you have any idea when he might be back?"

You finally looked up at him, your pupils seemingly hollow in the dim light.

"I didn't ask, I never want to give the impression that I wait for his return." The slight hint of venom in your tone was not lost on Reiji, and it soothed some instinct deep inside of him, the one that kept him up at night wondering exactly where Shuu had stashed the enchanted key he used to keep you prisoner.

"I suppose I cannot blame you for that, even if it is unfortunate to be at the mercy of that useless lout's whims." The words weren't a lie but the irritation lacing them was. How rare that he should have a chance to speak to you without having to watch Shuu drap himself all over you. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could convince you to let me out of here while he’s gone, is there?” you asked with a smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

Reiji turned his gaze to a handful of golden coins scattered to the side of your cage before replying, “do you truly think you would make it very far?”

“No. Well—” he saw you shift at the edge of his vision, “—I don’t want to give up on the possibility completely, even if it’s unlikely. Do you think I could?”

“No,” he said crisply. “The harsh conditions, combined with how long you’ve been idle in that cage mean you would be unlikely to even make it halfway down the mountain, let alone to a human settlement.”

“Ah, I see.” Your flat tone led Reiji to settle his gaze on you once more, seeing now how you had pulled your legs up onto the plinth and wrapped your arms around them. “Would you—would you do it anyway? I know you and Shuu don’t exactly get along, so I thought if I had any chance of leaving here then it would be…” you trailed off, retreating further into yourself. 

“So you had thought I might act as your knight in shining armor? Hmph, how very optimistic of you—and ill-informed.” Reiji stepped closer to the bars so that he could run a taloned finger along one. “As much as I might be loath to acknowledge any hint of competency from him, Shuu knew what he was doing when he had this constructed. The bars were forged with ore from our homeland which means—” a sharp screech rang out as Reiji pressed down with his talon against the metal, scratching off a small section of the gold plate and revealing an unblemished dull gray surface underneath “—it is quite resistant to draconic power. The only way to open it is the key.”

Your expression fell further. 

“He always keeps it on him and hides it with magic whenever he’s with me, I don’t think… I don’t think there’s any way I can get my hands on it.”

“I see,” Reiji replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral as he lifted his hand away from the bars. “However, if you did have a chance of stealing it, would you honestly have the courage to do so?”

“Yes, I’d—I’d do anything to get out of here.” Your fingers tightened around your calves, digging into the silk of your gown.

“In that case, I may be able to offer some assistance afterall, although it comes with certain conditions.”

Your eyes snapped towards him as you leaned forward. 

“You’d do it? You’d really help me?”

Reiji allowed a faint smile to play at his lips. “As you’ve noted, in spite of our blood connection, I do not regard Shuu with any sort of fondness. So yes, I shall provide you with the means to obtain the key to your prison under the instruction that you wait until I am present to use it. I have no intent of aiding you in a bid for freedom only to be blamed for your demise when Shuu finds your frozen corpse somewhere on the mountainside. If you truly want to escape him by a method other than death then you have little choice but to travel with me.”

”I can wait,” you said quickly, climbing to your feet and standing so you were less than an arm’s length from him. “I’ve already waited more than long enough, I can stand it a bit longer if I know it’s not forever.”

“Good, in that case close your right eye.” You did as asked and Reiji slipped his hand through the bars, resting his thumb on your eyelid as he sent a pulse of his power through it. “Now, your hand.” No sooner had the words left his lips, than your hand was hastily clutching at his own, desperation clear on your features. Reiji might have almost found it pitiful if you weren’t playing perfectly into his hand. His magic weaved its way from him to you, glowing faintly purple before sinking into your skin. Once sure the spell had taken, he removed his hand and took a step away from the bars, savering the lingering feel of you and committing it to memory.

“I have granted you the ability to see through draconic magic, although only temporarily so you will have to acquire the key swiftly. Once you have located it, simply take hold of it in the hand I just enchanted and it will create a copy, one you can take while leaving the good-for-thing none the wiser.”

“Thank you,” you said softly. “Thank you, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you for this.”

“There is no need for you to worry about that,” Reiji turned away from you, the sinister smile on his face hidden from your view, “I’m sure I shall think of something.”

#my writing #ask game #Reiji Sakamaki #Reiji Sakamaki x Reader #Alternate Universe #tw: yandere

[hottubraccoon]

Great Kettering; land of Artistry and Pride.

south-east corner of the continent, primarily orc citizens

Character SHORT List:

Dima Grimscale

Dragonrider 2.0

Erick Livan

Felix Enrel

Harry Enrel

Julia Violet

Lindsey Livan

Miss Seashell

Pent Enrel

Kent Darkwater

thomashetzler on Unsplash.

Geography:

Great Kettering is based on the UK islands physical geography*. Great Kettering has slight weather changes with the seasons, primarily an increase in humidity and less rainfall in the summer months. Mostly known to be cold and wet overall. Tsunamis can happen along the coast to the south, and south-east. Earthquakes are small distant shakes from the far west. Droughts are rare and only in very dire situations. Lots of coastal towns are on the coast cliffs rather than the coast, and therefore are generally safe from the usual tsunamis that occur. Boat living... isn't uncommon yet dangerous depending on the time of year (hence the phrase, sturdy like GK's fishers). Earthquakes aren't an issue just noticeable along the west border. Great winters are prepared for a lot like Solistal does. 

*but only when I feel like it lol

Architecture:

GK is a mix of my personal headcanons for orcs and fantasy England. The most common form of landmark is the stone/moss circles, each with their own pattern, like a fingerprint. Generally, only those born in the area will be familiar with these landmarks without a map. Because of this, the moss circles are speculated to be linked to the orc-ish Aeons religion. Kelp forests are a special sight along GK coasts. The most well known location in GK is the sunken castle, and its bridges to nowhere. One explanation is that the coastal cliff was washed away and the castle was too heavy so it fell into the ocean to be forgotten, another blames the mythological 'Thorns' for putting it their during one of their tantrums. For a foreigner, the knight tourneys are a highly anticipated event due to the invitation of both the highest king and lowest servant. Most towns start with a safe drinking water source in the middle, market and community buildings around that, then common dwellings around those. For Kettering, the capital, there are 'districts' that citizens must get permits to build inside. These districts help with deliveries, city planning, guard patrols, and lock down procedures. Again, most towns are situated along the south coast, and it's either the direct coast or, if the cliffs are too severe, then it'll be as high on a hill they can get while still in viewing distance of the sea. On the north side of Great Kettering, it still follows the idea of the highest hills. Including Kettering, which itself has a 'natural moat' around it, although the city surrounding the castle has since expanded further around the lake as well. In smaller towns, people are clumped together, tiny and people live in each others pockets, whereas bigger towns are more spacious. That said, construction is trending towards taller rather than wider. Common structures are in the easy to acquire and transport materials, where the elegant marbles and quartz are left for Kettering or other religious sites in other large towns.

Trade/Commerce:

GK trade away seafood for different 'exotic' foods and their artisans are highly sorted after. They import from Solistal for specialty materials to craft with. Kamikita holds a chokehold on trading routes and this frustrates GK. They import from Birkina for island herbs and spices, as well as dyes for their crafts. Can be self-sufficient if trades were to be suddenly cut. The world trade is currency based but smaller store keepers accept barters... if you can talk them into it. Solistal's ores/minerals and their jewelcrafters are flaunted as expensive goods and a highly requested import. Whereas 'seals' or magical coins are the least sought after. GK's embroiders are the most asked for export.

sapegin on Unsplash.

Other Parts:

For Great Kettering. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

For Solistal. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

For Kamikita. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

For Birkina. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

#ted talks #the klenith saga #tws #my writing #my worldbuilding #worldbuilding #fantasy #high fantasy #great kettering #orcs #geography #architecture #commerce #character list #characters #kettering #settings #long post #unsplash #artistry and pride #undescribed images #part 1 #part 1 of 4

[zvetenze]

Oslekova kăšta, view from courtyard

Koprivštica, Bulgaria

The Oslekova kăšta, constructed in the 1850s, represents the late national revival period of traditional dwelling architecture. Koprivštica had become a wealthy town and a center of resistance to the Ottoman powers. The dwelling was conceived as a symetrically organized composition but Nenčo Oslekov was not able to purchase the property to the right. The grand dwellings of this period replaced the čardak space with a central salon with glazed openings on each level. The building design is attributed to Usta Minčo and murals by Kosta Zograf, both artisans from Samokov. (photo 2000)

#Bulgaria #architecture #house

[middleearthpixie]

This was the artwork I commissioned, Baby It's Cold Outside done by the amazing ConsultingPacha for the #FotFicPinupCalendar2023 organized by @frosticenow.

and this is the fic (A Bit of Home) I wrote to accompany it...

A Bit of Home

Summary: The Hobbit, Post-Sack/Pre-Quest for Erebor 

You’re spending your first Yule with Thorin, but being that you are from this world and not Middle Earth, you miss Christmas as well. At least, you do until Thorin brings a bit of it to you

Pairing: Thorin x Fem!Reader

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, reader, 

Warnings: Nothing but fluffy fluff to be found here

Rating: G

Words: 2,742

***

Snow shifted softly through the trees, settling along the branches to dust them white. Here and  there, a cardinal showed through, their scarlet feathers looking like drops of blood against the stark background. The fire crackled softly on the hearth in the great room, and in the kitchen, where you stood, another crackled as well, a bit louder and the flames danced a bit higher, but it kept the kitchen warm enough.

It was your first Yule in Middle Earth and while you’d grown used to your new home, you couldn't help but miss your old one from time to time. The bouts of homesickness had lessened, of course, but you were fairly certain they’d never go away entirely, no matter how happy you might be now.

And you really were happy. It had taken some doing to convince Thorin you weren’t mad—after all, one could hardly fault him for thinking otherwise when he happened upon you, wandering about the woods not far from the village of Hamelin, wearing strange clothes he’d never seen before, and talking about things such as cell phones and the internet. You tried to explain the concept of a wormhole and falling through one to land in his place and time, but since you didn't really understand it yourself, you might as well have been talking Greek to him, as your mother would say. Still, the important part was how you managed to convince him you were perfectly sane and that you weren’t about to attack him or worse. He offered you a place to sleep for the night and you never left. Over time, he helped you settle in and things being what they were, you were now a couple. 

But as the holiday drew nearer, the homesickness worsened. No one back in your time, in your world, knew what happened to you. You were probably just considered missing and you tried not think about how worried your family must have been. Especially at that time of year. You wished you had some way to let them know you were alive and well and very happy, but since there were no internet connections or cell towers to be found, you could only hope they felt it somehow.

You tried not dwell, and Thorin was endlessly patient as he listened to you describe what Christmas was like, and at its heart, it really wasn't all that much different from Yule. Thorin smiled as you tried to describe Santa Claus, merriment dancing in his pale blue eyes as he said, “He sounds like Bombur, only taller.”

“And with white hair, instead of red,” you’d said in return. “And not nearly as quiet.”

He’d asked you questions about your traditions, explained to you about the dwarven ones, adding, “And if the time comes where Erebor is ours once more, the celebration will be even grander.”

Erebor. His ancestral home deep within the Lonely Mountain, whose throne he stood to inherit was now in the possession of a firedrake from the north known as Smaug the Terrible. Thorin spoke every now and again of returning to the mountain, of taking back what was rightly his, but at the same time, he seemed very content with the home you’d created for the two of you. He worked as a blacksmith to put food on the table and keep the roof over your head and while it wasn't the same as being a king, he did very well just the same. He was an artisan, and people came from all around to commission pieces from him in addition to purchasing the more mundane, everyday tools he forged as well. 

As the holiday grew closer, Thorin found himself working longer hours. More often than not, you ate supper alone and were fast asleep by the time he came home. He was up with the sun and gone before you awoke and while you understood, you missed him just the same and looked forward to the time when he’d keep more normal hours.

The kettle whistled to let you know the water boiled and you’d just plucked it carefully from the hook over the fire when there came a knock at the door. You set the kettle down and moved to the kitchen door to open it.

“Good morning, madam, I’ve a missive from the village for you.” 

He held out the folded sheet of ivory parchment sealed with a scarlet D, which made you smile. Why the deuce was Thorin sending you a missive when he could just come home and tell you? True, the cozy stone cottage was at the opposite end of the village, but it wasn’t that big of a village to begin with and the trip would take no more than twenty or thirty minutes, tops.

Even so, you thanked the courier and as he strolled off into the snow, you cracked the seal and unfolded the parchment. 

“Mesmel,

“Please come down to the village tonight at half-six. I’ve a surprise for you.

Yours, 

T”

Mesmel. Jewel of all jewels, he’d explained the first time he’d whispered it to you. Without fail, you smiled every time he spoke it, and did so now seeing it in writing. 

And a surprise? He wasn't much one for surprises, or of frivolity of any sort, really. He was stoic and serious and rarely smiled, although he seemed to smile much more often of late, even if it wasn't nearly as often as you’d like. 

Your mind boggled all the rest of the afternoon and as the time approached, you grabbed your sensible woolen cloak to draw about your shoulders and hurried out into the swiftly falling snow. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon and the air was crisp and cold, your breath a frosty cloud of silver vapor with each breath, swirling about you as you made your way from the stone cottage at the end of the lane to trek your way into the village proper. 

You smiled and bobbed your head at those you passed along the way. Hamelin was an eclectic village of Hamelin, with its mix of dwarves, Men, and even an occasional elf here and there. They all regarded you with suspicion at one time, but lately the smiles seemed more genuine and you didn't get the feeling they whispered about you behind your back nearly as often as they once had.

Thorin’s blacksmithy was at the far end of Stone Street, a large rustic wood-and-stone building from which plumes of smoke rose and the clang of steel meeting iron rang out the way church bells chimed. As you drew near, you not only heard the clanging, but felt it as the vibrations rippled through you with each strike of the hammer. It rose in volume, in a steady rhythm and you could almost picture Thorin there, at the anvil, hammer in his right hand, lifting it high above his head only to bring it down with incredibly force to slowly, steadily, shape the iron he forged into a gleaming blade that would soon be polished to a mirror finish when he was through.

The door to the front of the shop opened with the cheerful tinkle of the bell above it. The clanging stopped, then a deep voice bellowed, “Who goes?”

“Someone sent me a message requesting I stop by.”

“Mesmel.” You heard the smile in his voice as he said that one word. “Wait a moment whilst I clear up this mess.”

“What are you about, Thorin?” 

“You will see.”

“Thorin?”

“Trust me, mesmel.”

You sighed softly as you reached to unfasten the frogs at your throat and then whisked your cloak from around your shoulders. It was always so warm in the shop and today was no exception. Various dull scraping sounds and an occasional thud came from the back, each followed by, “Everything is fine, stay where you are.”

“Thorin, this is getting silly.”

“Very well,” he let out a heavy breath, “come back.”

You skirted the front desk, and made your way around toward the rear of the shop, where tools and works in progress were kept along with orders awaiting pickup. Along the rear wall was a hearth large enough for you to stand in, and while it normally had a raging fire crackling away, this one was now far smaller, casting enough light to give everything a soft, ivory glow.

But, instead of the tools of his trade being scattered about, the work area was tidied and you smiled at the small table, and two chairs he’d set up, which explained the scraping and thuds. Upon that table stood an elegant, if somewhat tarnished candelabra holding the stumps of candles, whose dancing flames belied the candles’ rather sorry state. 

A bottle of wine and two goblets stood together as well. The goblets didn't match, but you didn't care as you smiled at the sight. Your dwarf was not much one for overly romantic gestures on a regular basis, but when he gave into them, they were memorable, to say the least. 

He came out of the back room and you could only stare, a smile tugging at your lips as you took in the sight of him dressed in only his black, rough-hewn trousers and a red Santa cap set at a slight angle atop his head. In the gleam of the firelight, he looked beyond handsome—almost mystical, really—with the glow highlighting the swells of muscle along his shoulders and wrapped down about his arms. His long, curly black hair spilled over those broad shoulders and his smile reached his eyes, softening them to near sapphire.

“Thorin,” you said, draping your cloak over your forearm, “what are you about?”

“I know you miss your world, and your traditions and I know I’ve been running like a madman these last few weeks, but I didn't want you to think I’d forgotten how important those traditions are to you. Merry Christmas, I believe, is what you tell people in your world?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as tears stung your eyes. “Yes,” you managed to whisper, “we say merry Christmas.”

He stepped closer. He was tall for a dwarf and you were short for being of Man, which meant you were both the same height. The same height, but he was far broader across the chest and shoulders, and his legs were far thicker than yours would ever be. He was handsome and utterly perfect in so many ways and without thinking, you lay your hand against his chest, your fingers slipping through the soft, dark hair that curled away from his skin as it stretched from shoulder to shoulder and down over his firm belly. 

“Merry Christmas, amrâlimê.” He bent to you, his lips soft, his heavy, black beard shot through with hints of silver prickly against your skin. Those lips met yours, moved slowly against them, parted as the tip of his tongue swept between your lips to tease yours. 

You slid the hand on his chest up, around to his nape to pull him closer. Heat from his massive hands sank into you as he wrapped those powerful arms about you and crushed you close. He bent you back, his hands splayed against you—one on your upper back, the other cupped about your lower cheek.

His kiss was slow and teasing and deep and you almost sighed when he broke it and pulled back to press his forehead to yours. “I have a gift for you, mesmel,” he murmured.

“You mean, this isn’t it?”

A low, rumbling purr of a laugh bubbled to his lips. “It is not, no. But, I’m glad you think it could be.”

“You’re hot, Thorin,” you told him as he straightened up and stepped away from you. “You have to know that.”

“Everyone is hot in here,” he replied with a hint of a puzzlement. “Because of the fires.”

You smiled. Almost a year together and you still had to explain certain expressions to him. “Yes, that’s true, but you are hotter than anyone else in this room at any given time.”

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones, above the line of that thick beard. “I thank you for the compliment.”

As he spoke, he moved toward the workbench along the far wall. “I know I’ve been going like a madman lately, and you’ve spent far more time alone than you bargained for.”

“I understand. You’re in demand and rightfully so.” You looked about at the wall to your left, where there hung blades and axes of varying sizes and embellishments, from a simple, plain sword to those with finely etched and ornate handles encrusted with gemstones set in precious metals. “You’ve got a gift, you know. You’re more an artist than a tradesman.”

He looked up, his forehead furrowed beneath the brilliant white fur rim of his Santa cap. “They are not mutually exclusive, you know.”

“No, I didn't mean it that way. I just—you have a gift and it shows through in every piece you forge.”

His forehead smoothed, to your relief, and he bobbed his head. “Thank you. Dwarves take great pride in their trades, you know.”

“I do, indeed.”

He moved a few things about on the bench, muttering to himself in a language of which you only knew and understood snippets. Then, he snapped his fingers. “Aha! There it is.” He peered at you over one shoulder. “It’s so small, I thought I’d lost it.”

With that, he plucked up a small wood box and with his free hand, gestured to the table. “Sit, mesmel, and close your eyes.”

You did as he said, and as you sank into the straight-backed chair, couldn't keep from asking, “What are you about Mr. Durin?”

“You shall see. Keep your eyes closed.”

You knew he’d neared by the way the air stirred before you, carrying on it hints of steel, iron, leather, smoke, and man. Thorin’s scent. You would know it anywhere. Your heartbeat sped up for reasons you couldn't quite grasp. Butterflies fluttered in your belly and you didn't know why. 

“Open your eyes, amrâlimê,” came his tender whisper.

You did and you understood at once why your heart and stomach went wild. Thorin was before you, on one knee, and in his huge palm sat the small teak box. And within that small teak box, on a bed of rich black velvet, was the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. It was simple and elegant, understated to the extreme—a simple square-cut sapphire surrounded by diamonds that were pure white and dazzling. 

“I know you miss your people,” he began, his voice low and growly, “and you miss your family but I was hoping that perhaps you and I might start a family of our own to make up for what you’ve lost. So, I was rather hoping you would say yes, should I ask you to marry me.”

“Thorin…”

He lifted the ring from its velvet cushion, the sapphire sparkling and throwing off flashes of light in all directions as it glittered in the firelight, and gently eased it onto your finger, saying, “Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak at first. Your throat squeezed too tight and your mouth was so very dry. Your hand shook and as you met his beautiful blue eyes, your own stung even as you nodded and managed to croak, “Yes.”

His eyes softened. His smile grew wider than any you’d seen in the entire time you’d been in his company and as you eased from your chair to sink to your knees before him, you slid your arms about his neck, and then you whispered back, “There is nothing to make up for, though, Thorin. What I’ve gained in return it far greater than anything I left behind and there is nowhere I would rather be than right here, right now, with you, my half-naked dwarven Santa Claus.”

He grinned, reaching up to sweep the cap from his head. “I forgot I wore it.”

“You wear it well, Mr. Durin,” you murmured as he gently pressed you down into the warm, if  slightly warped, floorboards. 

He hovered above you, eyes glittering in the firelight, and a moment later, the only sound was the soft crackle of the flames and your low sigh of utter pleasure. 

***

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Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Richard Armitage #fotfpinupcalendar2023 #amazing fanart #short fic

[camillasgirl]

Queen Camilla’s Patronages

The Elephant Family (Joint President with King Charles III)

Elephant Family exclusively works in partnership with home grown in-country conservation experts on the ground to tackle the challenges facing Asia’s wildlife and the indigenous communities that live alongside them. We support the rights and essential knowledge of forest dwelling peoples and take a 21st century approach to species preservation, recognising that the habitats of the majority of animals are outside of national parks and focusing our energies on both the sharing as well as sparing of space.

We have raised more than £20 million to support our magnificent wildlife and their precious habitats. We raise funds through high profile full colour public art events, which are always 100% free and inclusive highlighting the work of both well and lesser known artists.  

Our events have included epic digital faberge egg hunts in New York, high fashion Animal Balls in London, rickshaw races through rural India and hundreds of painted elephant sculptures taking over the streets of Mumbai.  

In 2021, our CoExistence campaign saw 235 lantana elephants brought to life by artisans in the Nilgiri Hills in Southern India. Of those, 230 elephants crossed the seas on an epic adventure and have been delivered to 140 different homes and locations around the world. Members of our CoExistence herd can now be found in places as diverse as Bahrain, USA, Puerta Rico, Spain, Sweden, Greece and of course all corners of the UK!  

#the elephant family #king charles lll #queen camilla #queen patronages

[dlaprobably]

Servantember, Day 4: Marie Tussaud (Caster)

Still doing these! Going to be making an effort to get these up more often, as I've got quite a few to get through and want to continue the ones I had yet to draw eventually. This is around the point where I started to come up with more detailed lore for some of these, so this one will be a bit on the lengthier side!

Day 4's idea was Marie Tussaud, wax sculptor and wax museum founder also known by her title of Madame Tussaud! Tussaud first made her name sculpting contemporary celebrities, such as Voltaire and Benjamin Franklin, under the tutelage of family friend Philippe Curtius. Narrowly avoiding the guillotine during the Reign of Terror, she was put to work sculpting the likenesses of those who weren't as fortunate. In later years she traveled to England, where she would eventually set up her famous exhibition.

Lore Notes:

-A relentlessly perfectionistic artisan who takes her work, the immortalizing of humanity's great heroes and legends, incredibly seriously. If a job is to be done, it ought to be done well, and she holds others to similarly high standards as she does herself. She can be a harsh critic but takes care to be a constructive one, and is much harsher on her own work than she is that of others unless it's truly careless. If your work does manage to impress her, consider yourself lucky, as she's much friendlier to those in her good books, but this is much easier to do than she makes it appear.

-Does no fighting herself, but uses wax-based replicas of other Heroic Spirits as her forces. They lack the full power of their properly summoned counterparts, and are rather less durable on account of their composition, but as detailed below, her support abilities imbue them with further power and the necessary magical energy to sustain their numbers, making it a mistake to underestimate them.

-Tussaud's Territory Creation skill is key to her operations, as it allows her to establish not only a workshop, but a museum in which to display her works. The museum's daytime operations and visits from the public allow its wax figures to passively gather magical energy while at rest, with the rate of gathering depending on attention given to the particular display. Her Waxen Legacy skill grants a small boost in combat power to replicas on display during the day, with the increase in power scaling on the figure's existing fame. Lesser-known figures are likely to benefit greatly from the attention brought to them, while it won't make much of a difference to already famous figures.

-Her Noble Phantasm, House of Wax, comes into play during the museum's nighttime hours, when the wax figures awaken in their powered-up forms to defend the museum like a fortress. While Tussaud will often send them out at night to face other Servants directly, they benefit more from the magical energy deposits the closer they are to the museum and their displays, and thus excel in a defensive capacity. Tussaud is also more easily able to make repairs on the fly from within the museum, and as a Caster not suited for direct combat, holing up in her workshop is the best strategy for her.

-A sort of sub-Noble Phantasm of hers exists in the form of the Chamber of Horrors, which she typically keeps partitioned off as a last resort. The more sinister figures dwell there, anti-heroes, villains, and even a few phantasmal beasts. While they remain open for the public during the daytime in their separate room, and she puts the same amount of care into their crafting as she does the more heroic figures, she fears what might happen if she were to let them loose at night.

-Her summoning as a Heroic Spirit has made her all the more philosophical about the nature of her craft, as it could be said that she does the work of the Throne of Heroes on a more mortal, individualized level. While Servants' manifestations are influenced by a great variety of factors, such as shifts in a figure's historical or societal perception, the territory in which they're summoned, and the influence of other legends on their own, her renditions are sculpted entirely through her artist's point of view, at her discretion. The Throne lacks sentience as far as she can tell, and thus lacks an artistic vision, but has nigh-unlimited magical energy to draw upon, and has no need for the medium of wax. She is the only self she's aware of, and thus can't speak as to how true a version of herself she is, as the Throne's recreation of Tussaud. Is she no more than a wax sculpture herself?

-May actually be made out of wax??? As far as her word goes, she's flesh and blood, insofar as any other Servant is, but some of her habits give reason to doubt this. She dines on wax food without batting an eye, and often draws a bath of hot wax to relax in at the end of a long day without any ill effects. She makes heavy use of her tools, but her and the wax almost seem to become as one in her sculpting at times in a rather literal sense, though it could well be a trick of the light. It may just be that she's taking advantage of her newly gained, if limited, resilience as a Heroic Spirit to satisfy curiosities of hers, but she offers no insight on the subject.

-Detests John of Nottingham, a fellow waxworking Caster-class Servant, for his lack of respect for his sculptures in both the crudeness of their crafting and their intended purpose. If summoned in the same environment as him, makes a point of rescuing his waxworks and, should they so wish, molding them into proper forms more to their liking.

-Is well aware of how fitting "Caster" is as a moniker for her, and has a sensible chuckle at it when it's brought up.

Design Notes:

Tussaud seemed like an interesting idea to me as a rather different sort of artist-based Servant, where most of the canon ones are painters and writers. I'm aware there's an "official" Tussaud design that was drawn for some Fate comedy manga as part of a competition, but I still wanted to do my own take on her. Her appearance was meant to evoke both the image of the distinguished, aristocratic Madame and the more practical craftswoman, hence the apron over the frilly dress, and while I considered going with a poofier powdered wig look for the hair, I settled on the slightly fancy-looking bun. Her work in progress is based on the infamous Bootleg Saber/Sader figurine, but whether she's resculpting her into a more accurate depiction or whether this is her grand design, who can say! John of Nottingham, referenced in her lore notes, is another one I've drawn, and he's only a couple of days after Tussaud, so you'll be seeing him real soon.

#fate grand order #fgo #fanservant #dla arts #servantember

[kv3hs]

The Artisan and His Lady

“Do you think fate is real?” 

Synopsis: In where Kaveh and you share a bittersweet moment while gazing at the stars.

Pairing: Kaveh x fem!reader

Warning: kissing?

Word Count: 611

Sorry for any grammatical or technical errors ! Hope you enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you think fate is real?” 

The woman chuckled in response. “Whatever made you come to that conclusion?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe people were meant to meet each. The routes we take, they all maybe are meant to lead us to a meeting that will change our lives”

“I highly doubt that my young sallow” the woman grimaced sadly. 

“ But what if-”

“If fate were real, then my fate is pretty darn depressing.” The woman glanced at the young lad before counting. 

“ Fate is so cruel if you say it's about a meeting that will change lives because meeting you has certainly changed my life, but to what avail? It isn’t like I can just marry you, my swallow. No matter how hard I wish.” she deeply sighed in her response.  

The young lad turned back to face the glimmering stars and grimaced sadly too. 

“You are right my Lady. Fate was so cruel to pair our souls in such a beautiful way. Maybe in another life, we can reunite once again, without this anomaly of an insignia-named class pushing and breaking us apart”, he tried to sound optimistic, even though it was evident he was suppressing the cries that formed at his throat.  

The woman turned to stare at her lover residing beside her. The way his eyes dazzled with galaxies of nubiles sorted in each iris. The way his soft hair danced around his shoulders and how his plush lips were gapped a bit wide while gazing upon the beauties of what the night sky has to offer. The way his surprisingly soft fingers intertwined with her surprisingly rough fingers. Just everything about him looked ethereal and to say she was in love was an understatement. She was over the moon for this man and willing to surrender her whole heart to him, blindly. You can just see the hearts in her eyes whenever she looks at him or how her chest just heaves with joy upon his arrival. 

She reached for her lover's face with both hands and guided his head towards her.  The clueless look on his face, painted with a pink hue across his cheeks, just made the woman crease a small smile. So in love, she was. So in love. 

She leaned forward, whilst bringing his head closer to hers until their foreheads were touching. There is no need for conversation. The look they give each other says it all. Thus he dove in first, softly grasping her lips with his.  

The kiss wasn’t rough of need and desire. It was rather a soft chaste kiss of the promise to love each other till eternity ends. To the universe and beyond mankind’s creation, nothing can’t explain the connection between these two souls. It’s something beyond the comprehension of the human psyche, even they othe’t figure out absence. Not when they are together, bathing in the so little they have time to enjoy being enamored by the other they magnetize to each other just at first glance, but these are headaches that can be solved at a later time. Now. Right now, it was their time to dwell in the bliss of romance, forgetting the universe and the stars beyond them. Forgetting all the consequences that come rival with the romance they pursue. Like said not too long ago, they are headaches for another day. Battles that are fought in the manor’s shadows. 

But sadly all fairytales come to an end, though theirs began abruptly. Stuck in their own little  Phantasia, the two failed to notice the two beady eyes, bored into their distant figures, seethed with anger as it lurked in the manor’s shadows. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#kaveh #genshin kaveh #genshin imagines #genshin impact #kaveh x y/n #kaveh x fem!reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh imagines #kaveh angst

[spacetravels]

I want more Vaughn lore!!!!

YEAHHH ok bullet points.. i drew her for day 2 of oc tober i’ll post that later but u can have doodles too..

baldurian <3 she’s lived here all her life but has travelled outside of bg with her parents, who are guild artisans by trade (particularly tapestry making & seamstressing)

in-game she’s a devo paladin w guild artisan bg cuz of her ideals being so strongly influenced by her upbringing. she had a happy childhood for a long time!! she can’t stand to see people in pain!! she’d sacrifice herself to protect smiles!! also she finds beauty and positive energy in everything… like she’s an optimist at heart.. ok nitty gritty stuff under a read more here’s baby vaughns

uhmm basically when she was 16 she and her parents in their trade group were attacked by zhentarim on a trade route and were held as captives cause her parents’ skills were seen as valuable… vaughn has blocked out a lot of the weeks she and her parents were their captives but remembered in particular being starved and tortured. she was a defiant little snot and earned a few injuries… until a group of paladins liberated the captives. her mother died of her injuries and her father hasn’t worked a day since being saved. vaughn doesn’t know if her brain just naturally blocked out all of the trauma or if a paladin took pity on her and blocked it for her. she’s content with never knowing.

vaughn took up a lot of work after that, mostly to take care of her father and pretended to be him and take over his commissioned pieces and whatnot since she had the skill to… people didn’t really notice the difference in her work but then once she turned 18 she joined the army to train as a soldier and take on a paladin oath. everything she does is for her family, to keep her father safe and make sure he isn’t worried about her. she’s hired a caretaker for him and sends him money when she is away from home for months at a time. this goes on for years before she gets sniped by the ilithids LOL

rn her main goal is to see her father and make sure he’s safe. he’s just so broken so she’s very worried abt him… i’d write abt her romance w gale but she rly isn’t confident and doesn’t think she deserves him but also is mad at him. for the bomb drama. but she also loves him dearly. jock wife to nerd husband or whatever

RIGHT i give her so much light and radiance motifs cuz like. smth abt being sunshine. she’s so sunlight coded… despite everything she has to believe in the dawn, in a tomorrow. she can’t dwell too long in shadow!!

#amaje art #amanda answers #ocs #bg3 tav #vaughn #THANK UUUU i love my dotter.

[phlve]

Psychosophy Descriptions — LFEV

A person of this type is thoughtful, hardworking, unemotional, delicate, peaceful, reasonable, and prone to logical and philosophical understanding of the world. The thirst for intellectual knowledge is one of the main features of his character, and he pays special attention to the knowledge of everything new and systemic. He is a good consultant and strategist, craftsman and host.

His inner attitude is as follows: the world is systemic, thought can explain a lot, the world is open for research, everything is predetermined and not accidental, everything has a deep meaning mediated by cause-and-effect relationships. Dispassion and stability in the manifestation of emotions is a way of life; the manifestation of strong feelings and emotions, open demonstration in public of deeply seething spiritual states (love, hatred, delight, disappointment, etc.) is unacceptable.

Features of manifestation in behavior and character: emotional dryness (shackled laugh, nervous tears); inadequacy in emotional manifestations, the presence of a single (as a rule) object of passion and love, a “glassy” look, debilitating control of the emotional state of a significant environment; very deeply hidden feelings; craving for art, secret pursuits and trying oneself in poetry, literature, music, painting, theater, etc.

A Berthier-type carrier is also interested in various philosophical and mathematical models of the world order, typology, psychology, and philosophy in all its diversity. On many issues, he has his own strong opinion. In the case of a high intellectual level of personality development and the presence of educational baggage, a Berthier-type carrier feels comfortable in science, primarily theoretical. He has an excellent memory, excellent erudition.

The Berthier character is manifested in a flexible form of communication, a critical analysis of the surrounding reality, based on one's own ideas. It is more convenient for him to obey than to take responsibility.

He is healthy and physically strong, a hardy person and a workaholic. He always has order in his house, at his workplace, in his workshop. Material values, money, food, carnal pleasures are of great importance for the carrier of this type. He constantly and easily takes care of the household. He has few problems with his own health. He equips his permanent and even temporary dwelling soundly and joyfully, thoroughly preparing for the repair of housing. Treats money and material values normally. If they are not enough, he seeks to earn extra money in different ways. In sexual life - a predictable and systemic partner.

He is a gentle person in everyday life, peaceful, benevolent, avoiding conflicts in all areas of life, except for intellectual disputes and emotional addictions. In rare disputes or discussions, hidden, sometimes powerful intellectual cynicism, global and systematic thinking, accuracy as a quality of his mindset make themselves felt.

A Berthier type person is interested in promoting his ideas and views and dreams of meeting a like-minded person with pronounced strong-willed character traits and trusting his leadership abilities.

In a difficult or extreme situation, he acts decisively and is able to surprise with the adequacy of actions, will, heroism, courage, physical and mental endurance, and intellectual power. In sports activities, he is able to achieve records and win.

Berthier-type people are long-lived, as they say "healthy people", "fresh", rarely get sick and work a lot physically. Excellent athletes, owners, parents.

By vocation - inventors, researchers, doctors, lawyers, consultants, artisans, travelers, environmentalists, the elderly and children.

Source: The16Types

#personality theory #personality types #typology #attitudinal psyche #psyche yoga #psychosophy #lfev #intj #intp #istj #istp

[localhollerhaint]

Have you heard of the Moon-Eyed People of Appalachia?

The Moon-Eyed People are a fascinating aspect of Appalachian and Cherokee folklore, captivating the imagination with their mysterious origins and enigmatic characteristics. According to local legends, the Moon-Eyed People were a unique pale skinned colony who inhabited parts of the Appalachian Mountains long before the arrival of the Cherokee. They were described as being short, with flat round faces, white blond hair, and blue eyes. Eyes so blue it made them sensitive to the sun.

These people were said to be reclusive due to their sensitivity to sunlight, which led them to live primarily during the evenings and nights. Their distinctive physical features, such as their pale skin and large, round, light blue eyes, were attributed to their adaptation to the dimly lit environments they preferred. As a result of their night time lifestyles and moon like eyes, they were lent their name.

Cherokee stories often describe the Moon-Eyed People as skilled artisans and agriculturalists who constructed elaborate underground cave dwellings to shield themselves from the sun's rays. They were believed to have established an intricate network of tunnels and chambers, showcasing their resourcefulness. One such structure that is attributed to the Moon-Eyed Ones today is an ancient 850 ft long stone wall located in Fort Mountain State Park, GA; as well as a carved stone statue unearthed in 1841 near Murphy, NC. .

The Moon-Eyed People's eventual interactions with the Cherokee varies among legends. Some stories depict peaceful coexistence and cultural exchange between the two groups, while others narrate conflicts and battle. Regardless of the nature of their interactions, the legends emphasize the Moon-Eyed People's eventual disappearance or migration from the area. Some lore states they were completely killed off by neighboring tribes, others claim they were chased off north into Kentucky and Tennessee. There are even claims they retreated underground where they could live without the inconvenience of sunlight.

The origin of the Moon-Eyed people is unknown and largely debated. Some researchers believe they were a community of outcast tribal members effected by albinism. Some believe they were members of the Welshman, Prince Madocs, lost expedition crew that allegedly landed here in 1170. Others believe the story is nothing more than a story, and they are myth alone.

While the Moon-Eyed People tend to remain confined to the realm of folklore, they continue to intrigue and captivate those who delve into the depths of their tale.

#appalachian #melungeon #appalachia #art #culture #folklore #cherokee #moon eyed people #moon

[margarettelizha]

Return to Me

Our anniversary is in the next couple suns. If you had asked me a cycle ago what I thought it would look like, I could have lived to the end of time and not guessed where we would be now. It makes me wish I could go back to the girl I was on our wedding day, give her the reassurance I needed.

With everything that’s been going on, I’ve had barely any time to prepare. I wasn’t anticipating being trapped in Ishgard while the investigation continues, but I promised Olivier I would do what he needed me to, and he needs to know I’m safe while he’s… he’s not.

It’s hardly worth dwelling on now.

I had the particularly good foresight of ordering his gift from a local artisan - according to our accounts he is someone our family has worked with for years. Because the workshop is in Foundation proper, I was able to convince Madame Bassot to let me go with just Edith and Edouard, the newest addition to the guards at our front gate. We’ve all been pretty high strung since family dinner. It certainly went better than last time, but I am hardly the only person in this house reliving sending someone off to war.

I really hope he likes it. I tried to match it as carefully as I could to the earring he typically wears, and the silver he seems to prefer. A sliver of my cypress doorway, a sliver of his cedar, to keep with him wherever he goes.

I gave you my heart the moment I gave you my hand, to do whatever you wished. That you have offered yours in return is not something I thought possible.

I know I offer him little protection, but I will not rest easy until he is safe in my arms, for however long I get to keep him this time.

#[muse: maggie] #[fractured fabergé] #ffxiv oc #ffxiv roleplay

[custom-builders-melbourne]

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[dungeonmastertyrant]

Elves

Elves are a magical people of otherworldly grace living in the world but not entirely part of it. They live in places of Ethereal beauty in the midst of ancient forests or in silvery spires glittering with faerie light where soft muisic drifts through the air and gentle fragrances waft on the breeze Elves love nature and magic art and artistry music and poetry and good things of the world. With their unearthly grace and fine features elves appear hauntingly beautiful to humans and members of other races. They are slightly shorter than humans on average 5 1/2 feet. They are more slender than humans weighing about 125 pounds Males and Females are about the same height and males are only marginally heavier than the females Elves coloration encompasses the normal human range and also includes skin in shades of copper bronze and almost bluish-white hair of green or blue and eyes like pools of liquid gold or silver Elves have no facial and little body hair They favor elegant clothing in bright colors and they enjoy simple yet lovely jewelry. Elevs on average live to be 750 giving them a broad perspective on events that might trouble the shorter lived races more deeply They are more often amused than excited and more likely to be curious than greedy They tend to remainaloof and unfazed by petty happenstance When pursuing a goal however whether adventuring on a mission or learning a new skill or art elves can be focused and relentless They are slow to make friends and enemies and even slower to forget them They reply to petty insults with disdain and to serious insults with vengence Like the branches of a young tree elves are flexible in the face of danger They trust in diplomacy and compromise to resolve differences before they escalate to violence They have been known to retreat from intusions into their woodland homes confident that they can simply wait the invaders out But when the need arises elves reveal a stern martial side demonstrating skill with sword bow and strategy Most elves dwell in small forest villages hidden among the trees Elves hunt game gather food and grow vegatables and their skill and magic allow them to support themselves withought the need for clearing and plowing land They are talented artisans crafting finely worked clothes and art objects Their contact with outsiders is usually limited though a few elves make a good living by trading crafted items for metals (Which they have no interest in mining) Elves encountered outside their own lands are commonly traveling minstrels artists or sages Human nobles compete for the services of elf instructors to teach swordplay or magic to their children Elves take up adventuring out of wanderlust Since they are so long lived the can enjoy centruies of exploration and discovery They dislike the pace of human society which is regimented from day to day but constantly changing over decades so they find careers that let them travel freely and set their own pace Elves also enjoy exercising their martial prowess or gaining greater magical power and adventuring allows them to do so. Some might join with rebels fighting against oppression and other might become champions of moral causes

Traits

Dexterity increases by 2 Elves love freedom variety and self expression so they lean strongly toward the gentler aspects of chaos. They value and protect others freedom as well as their own and they are more often good than not The drow are an exception their exile into the underdark has made them vicious and dangerous Drow are more often evil than not.

Elves are usually 5 1/2 feet and have slender builds your size is medium Your walking speed is 30 feet

Accustomed to teilit forests and the night sky you have superior vision in dark and dim conditions You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light and in darkness as if it were dim light You can't discern color in darkness only shades of gray.

Keen senses: You have proficiency in the Perception Skill.

Fey ancestry: You have advantage on saving throws against being charned and magic can't put you to sleep

Trance: Elves don't need to sleep Instead they meditate deeply reamining semiconscious for 4 hours a day While meditating you can dream after a fashion such dreams are actually mental excersises that have become reflexive through years of practice. After resting in this way you gain the same benefit that a human has does from 8 hours of sleep.

Languages: You can speak read and write Common and Elvish. Elvish is fluid with subtle intonations and intricate grammer. Elven literature is rich and varied and their songs and poems are famous among other races. Many races learn their language so they can add Elvish ballads to their repitoires.

Subrace: Pick between High elf, Wood elf, or Drow (Consult with your dungeon master before picking Drow due to how rare they are on the surface) and Eladrin (Again consult with your dungeon master before playing Eladrin).

Source: Players Handbook.

#dnd character