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mariaxxxxx · 6 months

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Chapter 3- My future in gold and jade

Summary: To save your nation You are given as a bride to a sea god.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

A/N: Reader is heavily implied to be Mexican but i tried to keep it as free to the imagination as possible

Curiosity: A friend asked me what period my story takes place in, well, although I didn't specify, it is very implicit that everything takes place in the colonial period. Namor obtains his queen (You) at least 200 years after burying his mother; As we know, our water daddy ages very slowly and he was around 70/80 years old when he said goodbye to his mother, but he had the appearance of a boy of no more than 13 years old. In my story he already has the appearance we know in the film, perhaps, with some small touches of subtle youth. The characters Namora and Attuma will not be present in this fic, as they were not born yet, I guarantee that later on the reader will have contact with the people who would become the great-grandparents of these iconic characters.

Work count: 1.020

Serie materialist

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

You could have a million lives, but it wouldn't be enough to describe the beauty of the man in front of you. Adorned in gold, jade and lazulite, with his modesty being covered by a white loincloth with checkered embroidery, in his beautiful nose a jade piercing and in his pointed ears earrings also decorated with green stone, his skin shone like liquid gold under the yellowish light from the cabin; the figure was so imposing that You believed you were in the presence of a God.

He smiled wide in her direction, exposing all his white, perfectly aligned teeth. He was standing in front of you, with an upright posture and hands clasped in front of his body. A beautiful body; You noticed. He wore nothing to cover his bare chest. You noticed that on his ankles there were two pairs of wings; just like his father had said.

“You’re even more beautiful up close.” He broke the silence.

"You speak my language." Although it wasn't his intention, his voice came out as a mere whisper. He seemed to have fun with it.

“I see they took very good care of You.” He gestured with his right arm as he spoke; indicating her figure covered in a beautiful dress and precious jewelry. His brain took a while to understand that the ‘‘they’’ he was referring to were the blue-skinned girls who had bathed and dressed him.

"Yes. They took very good care of me.” You said. “I feel like I should say thank you, but I don’t know how to do it.”

"Don't worry about that. I will tell them myself how pleased their queen is with the result.”

Queen, the word echoed in his mind. So he was a king? Were you his queen? Everything seemed so confusing to You. The information you were given proved useless at this point.

“I…” You started to speak, but the words slipped off your tongue. You knew what to say what to do what to think.

"You...?" he encouraged.

“What should I call him? I am your wife, but I know nothing about You.”

It seemed like the right question, because the man, The God, puffed out his chest and approached You. As he approached, You felt the wave of heat that his skin exuded.

“K’uk’ulkan. That’s what my people call me and that’s what my queen will call me.”

“K'uk'ulkan” You repeated the word quietly, testing the sound on your lips. The name was as beautiful as the one to whom it belonged.

“Come, sit next to me. I have a lot to tell you.”

The man was a talented storyteller and You were a curious listener. He told him how long ago his people were driven from their corn farms by white invaders; He explained how disease and genocide forced his people to look for alternative solutions to save themselves. It was a shaman, he said, who prayed to the God Chaac for an answer and the God responded. In a vision he was shown a plant, at the bottom of the sea, with sacred properties that would free the people from hunger and destruction.

His mother, his mother-in-law, refused to ingest the plant for fear of hurting the baby growing in her womb, but the Xama was convincing and she was promised that the seed growing in her womb would be the leader of this new nation. Then he, K'uk'ulkan, was born on prayers and salt water. With his ears pointed towards the stars and his feathered ankles, being able to breathe in and out of the water, he was given a throne when he was still just a few days old. His mother died at an advanced age and her body was buried on the surface, on the land from which she claimed to return.

“My mother is buried on the land where you belong. I cannot let his resting place be desecrated again by those colonizers.”

"I'm very sorry." You whispered. “It must have been painful to lose someone so important.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, my queen. Use this deplorable feeling for those who deserve it. Those who invade taking what does not belong to them, those who deprive mothers of their children and wives of their husbands. What I will do to the invaders will be pitiful.”

“How should I thank the savior of my people?” You questioned, eyes shining in anticipation. You were his to play with, to mold; his destiny was ingrained between that man's fingers.

“Your father already did this for you the moment your hand was offered to me in marriage.” He paused. “A brave man, I admit. He gave his most precious possession to a stranger.”

You noticed a tone of irritation in his voice, as if the idea of You being handed over so easily was absurd.

“Desperate measures require desperate solutions. My father did what was necessary to protect his people and I don't blame him for that; What is a single life to save millions?”

He seemed proud of his words, proof of which was a huge smile that appeared on his lips.

“Sometimes, my queen, alternative measures can be taken that preserve a single life and the lives of millions.”

"I am a princess. And a princess's mission can never cease. I must serve my nation and its role to play, the hopes of my people I can never disappoint.” You said. “These words were whispered in my ears the moment I took my first breath of life and these are the words I repeated to myself when I was told that I would be handed over to a being that flies beneath the waves. I was afraid, I felt angry at my father and those who failed to protect me, but the lives of my people are much more important than my wishes.”

The man, her husband, leaned forward until his face was mere inches from hers. He placed his hand right on her cheek. You closed your eyes, enjoying that intimate and affectionate act.

“The gods sent a good queen to me.”

#namor x reader #black panther #namor of talokan #namor x y/n #namor x you #talokan #wakanda forever #namor smut #namor the sub mariner #namor #tenoch huerta

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romchat · 8 months

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My Journey to You Ep. 12 visuals: Love in blue

Ok, I'm not really a color theory girlie, BUT when a character suddenly changes up their outfits that's something I like to pay attention to. Gong Shangjue has always been portrayed in somber black and suddenly he's dressed in blue for his little lantern date with his assassin fiancée who also happens to frequently dress in blue?

Oh, it's so on, production design team.

But first, let's take a moment to relive this banger of a scene.

The sexual tension between these two makes me absolutely feral. This slow burn is what enemies-to-lovers should always aspire to.

...

Well, shit. I saw that jaw clench, Shangjue. Sorry, can't offer any substantive commentary. Still recovering.

Moving on...

Something I didn't really notice until this episode was how blue-toned Shangjue and Qian's scenes are in comparison to Gong Ziyu and Yun Weishan's scenes.

It's reflected in the costumes, with Ziyu and Weishan often wearing warmer colors with more exuberant gold embroidery and trimmings. It's reflected in the lighting with their scenes more reliant on the warmth of ambient lighting while Shangjue and Qian's are often shot with cooler natural light. It's also present in the set design, with Shangjue and Qian's scenes (especially those shot together) consistently involving or happening by water, which reminds me of the Chinese poem:

Drops of water can break through stone [if given long enough].

In other words, "soft" strategies can eventually make headway in difficult challenges—in this case, Qian's clever use of care to crack through Shangjue's personal defenses. And probably vice versa in the future.

Also, note how both scenes above start with the camera panning and tilting up from the blue of the water before focusing on the two characters. The camera crew for My Journey to You use a surprising amount of movement in their shots so I'm going to pay more attention to how they introduce and conclude scenes from here on out.

Of course, Shangjue's new blue outfit (and the warm blue of the pond landscape) is immediately noticeable given how starkly monochromatic and cold most of their scenes have been up until this point. Wearing the same color is a costume representation of their growing closeness. This dinner date is yet another unexpected peace offering from Shangjue, possibly his response to Qian's earlier question of "Isn't it good to be cared about?" (And correct me if I'm wrong but I think it's also the first time he actually gives Qian something rather than a few insights into his psyche. He and Ziyu have very different love languages lol)

But from the loaded dialogue it's clear that neither are overcome by the unnamed growing attraction between them, and I expect the blue that visually represents their relationship to return to a cooler tone by the next episode. They're still playing cat-and-mouse with each other, just with sexier vibes.

(Side note: Ryan Cheng is so good here. The way he relaxes and tenses his body, the smooth transition between microexpressions as the two characters dance between interrogation and half-truths. Ah, to be hot and talented. Can't relate.)

Finally--and I'm pretty sure I'm reaching but it's my tumblr so why the hell not--I want to talk about Gong Yuanzhi's costuming. Something I immediately noticed about Yuanzhi's character is how his closet is probably the most diverse of the main cast. Unlike other characters who tend to wear variations of the same fabrics, his outfits use different textures and colors. He wears a lot of black like his beloved cousin but also blues, silvers, whites, and now in Episode 12 green. I wonder if his lack of commitment to one color story is an indication of how his alliance with Shangjue will shift in the future, especially if Shangjue ever allows his attraction to Qian to cloud his judgment about either Yuanzhi's loyalty or what is in the best interest of the Gong clan.

Episode 12 definitely felt like a transitional episode that is meant to drop clues and kickstart a bunch of plot threads so I'm excited to see how those threads converge or diverge from these color stories if at all.

#my journey to you #云之羽 #cdrama #ryan cheng #set design #costume design #god I hope I don't become a color conspiracy theoriest #meta

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whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell · 9 months

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Vatic - Chapter IX "Dragonbone"

Series Description :The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister.

Chapter Description : Y/n finds that life is different since Driftmark

Warnings : description of wounds

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 3k

Y/n had never enjoyed prayer. She did not understand why her mother did. The young princess did not enjoy sitting on her knees, the stone floor digging into her dress, and in turn, the beading and embroidery which pushed into her boney joints. She did not enjoy the scent of incense in a sept. She did not like how the lit candles would drip wax onto whatever surface they were sat upon, and she did not like when the wax got onto her hands or onto her dress.

It was why she had her eyes open as those around her in the royal sept prayed to the gods.

Maris was beside her, and her lady mother? She was on the opposite side of the sept, knelt in front of the statues of the mother and the father.

The past weeks, her mother had been distraught. Taken over by rage for her son, by guilt for attacking Rhaenyra. There was another element to it that y/n could not place. A depression that seemed to overtake Alicent.

y/n did not understand.

The words of last night’s dream rang around in her head as she observed her mother. The gods have no mercy. That’s why they’re gods.

The tone in which she heard it was flippant. That of a woman who found it to be truly self-evident of who the gods truly were. Merciless.

Helaena, as per usual, was in the corner, likely finding a bug to make friends with. Aegon was busy with the repercussions of drowning in his cups the night prior. The King was with the maesters, getting whatever sores and wounds on his body cleaned, though the youngest daughter of the King could not bring it in herself to care when she once had. Her Grandsire had made his appearance in the royal sept exceptionally brief before retreating back outside to go back into the keep.

Aemond refused to be seen.

Her brother had remained confined to the royal apartments, only being seen by family, the maesters, and the servants.

Her heart ached for him. She would never understand the anguish of losing an eye. How it would impact his life. She knew it would prove to be a challenge in his training with the sword. The maester had told Alicent that as Aemond healed and began to move about the castle more, he would need help. He would have issues with understanding how far away things truly were.

She wished for him to read to her again, but she did not know if he would have issues reading the words on the pages, and she feared to ask him. She did not want to make upset him, and it would seem that was the mood he was in more oft than not.

“At the very least pretend to pray, Princess.” Maris’ hushed whisper came, alerting y/n that she’d been caught.

“I have nothing to pray for Lady Maris.” y/n whispered back. “Go back to your own prayers.”

The royal sept was a small one. Located within the walls of the Red Keep. It’s doors lead out to a yard. It was meant primarily for the King and his family, but the ladies and lords of the court, and the servants, were not barred from it. Anyone who found themselves in need to have a monologue with their gods while at the seat of the Iron Throne were welcome to it.

That included little ladies who found no true point in religious gospel or the religious iconography of the seven which had recently found itself upon her mother. It was only a necklace with the seven pointed star, but y/n had noticed it nevertheless.

Her mother was Hightower, of Oldtown, where the faith had laid down its roots . Where the Hightowers and the faith had tangled themselves with one another. It was only reasonable that her mother would find solace with her gods. Their statued faces must have felt like a second family. But to y/n, they were strangers who looked down upon her, and would not give her the answers she once pleaded for them to give her when she was just a young girl of five.

y/n huffed and stood from the ground, rubbing her knees through the green dress before standing up straight to see Lady Harte and Lady Hollard looking at her ever so slightly. The same look on their faces as Alicent and Rhaenyra once shared with one another at court.

“I’m going to continue my studies, Lady Maris.” y/n told her friend, going to the large wooden doors that stood open for anyone to come and go as they pleased. Her footfalls echoed through the small sept until she reached the exit. She turned her head back to look at her friend and her mother.

Maris had peacefully resumed her prayers, looking up to the Maiden with her eyes closed, her lips moving as she voiced her wishes with the absence of her voice. And y/n’s mother. The Queen still knelt in front of the Mother and the Father. She was dressed, but only because it would be improper for her not to be. Around their royal apartments, her mother was frequently dishevled as of late. Her hair a mess, and either in her nightgown or in an old dress that she hadn’t bothered to have the maids properly tie around her body.

She hadn’t been the same since Driftmark. No one had been. And y/n had begun to feel as though she had no one.

Things would not return to normal she feared, and it plagued her thoughts as she left the sept, stepping in the sunshine. Aegon hardly found his way to the training yard as early in the mornings as the princes once had. The maesters wished to keep Aemond from any strenuous activities, Jacerys and Luke were gone. Along with Rhaenyra.

Perhaps she could have said a single prayer. For the late Ser Laenor. But what good would praying for a dead man do? His casket was already on the sea floor with the Lady Laena and their ancestors before them.

y/n longed for her sister, Rhaenyra. Yet everytime she found herself longing for the older woman, she’d be reminded of the inaction. The injustice her beloved brother faced, and she’d tell herself to ignore the thoughts of Rhaenyra.

But even though she told herself to ignore the thoughts of her sister, she played with the cardinal locket around her neck as she reached the royal apartments.

That’s where she found Aemond. Sitting on one of the loveseats, a book opened and face down against the stone floor a good four paces away from him. He was sitting with his arms crossed and head against the back of the seat. His nose was red, and his brows furrowed, stretching the stitches that had taken the place of his left eye.

“Brother, whatever is the matter?”

If she were anyone else, their mother, or Aegon, their father or grandsire, he would have brushed her off, told her that he was perfectly well. But they had a bond with one another that neither had with a single other person. He’d never lied to her, and she had never lied to him. He had rightfully been in a terrible mood since they’d returned to King’s Landing, brushing everyone else off and stewing in his hatred, but they were alone. It was the first time they’d had a moment alone with one another since before he had lost his eye. And it seemed being only around her did he seem to calm himself.

“It hurts.” Was his final reply as he looked at her.

The sight did not bother her like it had the maids and servants who came into the apartments. They were all bothered by the red swollen flesh. But his loss of an eye did not change him to her.

“Do you wish for me to ask the maester for milk of the poppy?” She offered picking the book up from the ground and reading the title pressed into the leather cover. “Garth Greenhand and The Houses He Sired”

“No,” He said quickly, turning to look up at the ceiling, hardly even a second after y/n had offered it. “It hurts to do anything. I keep knocking into things whenever I walk, I cannot train, Mother will not allow me to go to the dragon pit, I cannot even read without it hurting.”

“You wished to read?”

“I wished to not think of my eye.” He responded.

The idea came to her as he said that, still holding the heavy leather bound book in her small hands. “I may read to you, brother. As you’ve read to me. If you wish?”

At the offer, Aemond looked at her, his lilac eyes carefully trained on her as she stood in front of him. She looked directly back at him before she moved to the seat across from him, the table separating them as she took a seat. Placing the large book in her lap, she opened it, trying to find the bookmark he often used. A pressed and dried leaf he had once found in an old book in the royal library, likely left over from another prince or princess from a previous generation that had forgotten their bookmark behind.

She didn’t wait for Aemond’s response as she finally found where his bookmark was, she was met with the black and white ink image of the Lannister lion at the top center of the page, taking up a considerable amount of space.

“Although it is not completely known who the mother of Lann the Clever was, Maesters of the citadel in Oldtown agree that he was likely the bastard born son of either Rowan Gold-Tree or Florys the Fox, both are the daughters of Garth Greenhand. Both founders of House Rowan and House Florent respectively.” She began to read, looking up from the page to see Aemond staring at her. “Maesters in other places of Westeros dispute on who Lann the Clever was, or if he truly existed, but within the Reach it is widley believed that Garth Greenhand is the grandsire of Lann the Clever and of House Lannister. The Lannisters are an old and proud family. Known to have golden hair and green eyes, and are known to wear red to represent their house.”

The sound of movement caught y/n’s attention. As she looked up, she saw Aemond standing and walking towards her. “You can keep reading.” He told her as he finally reached her, sitting down on the ground to her left, and resting the uninjured side of his face against her knee,

“Lannisters are known to be ambitious, politically savvy, clever, charismatic, and it is well known that both the men and women sired from this house tend to look regal in appearance, and the young maids of House Lannister are often sought after by aspiring young lords or first born sons. From houses that wish to be aligned with the golden lion sigil, or low houses that wish for the hefty dowry that many of the Lannister women carry with them into their marriages.”

That’s how the two of them sat. For hours as she read to him. From House Lannister to Tyrell and even the now extinct House Gardener. But they had finished the book by the time nightfall had come, and before dinner. Aemond had sense wrapped an arm around her leg, his finger playing with the small buckle of her shoe, or picking at the fabric of her stockings.

They had been sitting in silence for a few moments now. But Aemond came to break the silence. “Your name day is tomorrow.” It wasn’t as though he’d just realized, y/n knew that. He was reminding her. The only people who ever made a big deal of her name day were him, their mother and Rhaenyra. Their mother had been drowning in her guilt over hurting Rhaenyra at Driftmark so much so that she only truly checked in with Aemond or the Maester to assure that Aemond was alright, and Rhaenyra was off at Dragonstone, with her new husband. Her uncle, Daemon.

“I know, brother.” It was easy to forget her name day. She never asked for anything big or important. She never truly saw the point. She was the youngest daughter, and a liability to her father. She knew this. Just a daughter her father would one day have to pay a dowry for. However, y/n did not know why they would not save the crown and their coins by marrying her off to either Aemond or Daeron, but she never questioned her mother about it. She already knew the turmoil her mother had been going through when she betrothed Aegon and Helaena to one another. Yes, the Targaryens were exempt from the faith’s rule against incest, but it did not ease their mother’s heavy heart.

“Did you wish for anything?” He inquired, moving his head for his chin to be resting atop her knee.

“Only for your health in truth, brother. I heard the maesters speaking one night with mother right after we got back from Driftmark. They warned her that infections could just as easily take a life or steal away one’s health as easily as injuries. I wished for you to be healthy.”

Aegon was at the dining table, which was most unlike him this early in the morning. Helaena had quietly whispered y/n a happy name day when they walked into the room together, as had Aemond. Aegon had only given her a nod. Their grandsire was in the tower of the hand, and both Viserys and Alicent were sitting at the dining table when she’d arrived.

“She did not wish for any festivities, My Love.” Alicent told Viserys, though there was no affection in the way she spoke to him when he had asked what they would be doing. y/n was quietly eating her breakfast, occasionally looking up at her family either between bites or while chewing. She made her observations quietly, like she often did during meals with her family.

Viserys is growing weaker, she thought to herself.

Aegon looks just like our mother.

Helaena is more beautiful than Aegon or the court believe her to be.

Aemond’s anger is growing.

Mother still feels guilt for harming Rhaenyra.

“A gift for the Princess y/n’s tenth name day, from the Princess Rhaenyra.” A steward announced as he entered the room. He quickly stepped aside however, as two men carried in a large wooden box. Theobrand was following them not far behind, a grin on his face as he did.

“Oh, how kind,” Viserys spoke up, looking up from his food to the two men. y/n remained seated at the table, watching as they came to a stop by the table, looking at her expectantly. “Well, go on, y/n. We do not need to wait till later to open all the gifts.” Viserys urged her, gesturing his frail hand to the two men and the box.

Hesitantly, y/n slid out of her chair and rounded the table to reach the two men, cautiously undoing the latches of the box. She looked to Theobrand with an apprehensive gaze before pushing up the lid to open it, and the two men holding it open for her to gaze in at the gift.

The gasp that came from her was unexpected. She didn’t mean for it to slip out, but the gift was beautiful.

Pulling it from the box, y/n turned to show her family.

It was a bow, taller than y/n was, and carved from dragon bone. It was ornately carved with great care, the princess could tell. It was heavy, requiring all of y/n’s strength to hold it up. It was as black as the night sky, and had been polished in such a way that it reflected the light as a gemstone would.

She watched as a worried look cast over her mother’s face, an unimpressed one upon Aegon’s, an happy one from Helaena, an uncertain one from Aemond, and an excited look from Viserys.

“A fine gift!” The King declared. “Theobrand will show you how to master it!”

“It is still a bit large for the little princess, Your Grace. But Princess Rhaenyra and I both thought it best for her to have a bow she would grow into. But I shall teach the Princess how to be a masterful archer, and to wield it just as well as the Princes will be able to wield a sword.” Theobrand had approached and placed a steady and firm hand on y/n’s shoulder.

“Husband,” Alicent began, turning her attention to Viserys. “Do you truly believe a weapon to be an appropriate gift for a ten year old?”

Viserys tilted his head in amusement at Alicent’s question. “I do remember my tenth name day very well. My Uncle Aemon had given me a dagger that was longer than my own forearm. . . I think this to be a fine and thoughtful gift from Rhaenyra.” Viserys reasoned. “Any of us should be so lucky to have such goals as y/n. To master a skill that is not even expected of her.”

“You encourage this?” Alicent questioned.

“Yes. . . I do. y/n, do you wish to master archery?” Viserys asked.

With the line of questioning now on y/n, she suddenly felt very uncomfortable. But she gave a quick nod.

“There, see? The girl wishes to learn archery, Alicent. I can hardly blame her. Sitting around playing instruments, praying, and embroidering all day would be dreadfully boring for a young girl.”

y/n saw how Alicent grew incredibly stiff at his comment. y/n stayed still for a moment, watching her mother as she stood up from the table. “I believe I am full.” She told everyone, turning to leave, but before she passed y/n, she stopped. Alicent grabbed y/n gently by either side of her jaw and laid a gentle kiss to the crown of y/n’s head before she finally continued to leave the room.

Add yourself to the taglist!!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality @strangersunghoon

A/N : this has been written for like two weeks now, I'm only getting the motivation to edit two of the chapters and post them because I am riddled with anxiety over the Taylor Swift presale codes coming out later today.

#game of thrones fic #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon fic #aemond x you #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x you

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orgrimmar-archive · 11 months

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azeroth races and their wheelchairs

probably gonna put this one under a cut, it'll be long.

Im going to start with the Alliance since they're on the left side of the screen in the character creator and most people tend to fall towards the left first. Also, I care a lot more about the Horde, so I'm just going to get it over with.

ALLIANCE:

Humans have the really shitty wagon-wheel wheelchairs (I.E, what we see Eraleshk in), because it shares a model with chairs found in Kul'tiras. Also, they're boring. Sorry.

Dwarves have iron-wrought chairs, I'd assume with 3-wheels ala D&D's combat wheelchair, probably with less spikes. I'd assume there'd be a gryphon/hammer motif depending on where it's from.

Kal'dorei chairs are likely similar to their buildings, warped trees grown in a specific pattern to make a sort of low bucket-seat with a raised angle for the legs. Stone/marble reinforcements for the axles and likely some sort of living aspect (maybe a treant willingly allowing itself to grow into the shape so it has little legs?)

Gnomes probably just have mechanical legs, I doubt they would 'limit' themselves to a chair shape. Lame in general.

Draenei likely have another 3-wheel situation, likely powered wheelchairs through the use of their mana/lightforged crystals.

Worgen/Gilneans.. Pompous bastards definitely have some kind of highly detailed embroidery that wears off after any actual activity.

Ren'dorei ... See Sin'dorei, but make it purple.

Lightforged Draenei have 4-wheeled, tanky combat wheelchairs with crystals powering them. I'd assume they'd want to keep as many Lightforged on the field as possible.

Dark Iron Dwarves use.. well, dark iron, obviously. I'd assume there's a drill on the front and those who use them typically end up as tunnelers and miners.

..I don't even want to look at a Mechagnome.

HORDE:

Orcs likely have very combat-centric wheelchairs as well, but for daily use I'd assume it would be simple wood/iron mix, likely with a pelt draped over the seat for extra comfort. I think many Orcs value customizing their chairs as well, with clan emblems and the like.

Forsaken likely just have shitty human chairs with some extra improvements. I'd assume most are salvaged from ruins in Lordaeron and future chairs are expanding on that simple sort of wagon-wheel design, likely incorporating metal wheels for more durability. Perhaps an on-the-go apothecary station as well?

Tauren who use wheelchairs likely are the last to know how to Plainsrun, in my opinion. I'd like to think they're taught how to move on all fours, with their chair supporting their hind legs. For those who would rather not do that, I'd think they'd have 8-wheeled chairs, automated by Kodo if they choose, like a little cart to themselves.

Troll wheelchairs are different depending on the tribe to me, so I'll focus on Darkspear, as they're the main playable ones when just default trolls are chosen. Darkspear chairs likely have a lot of orcish innovation, iron wheel treads and the like, with a totemic motif on the main seat, painted/carved. I'd assume they also have places to hang decorations off of, as a lot of trolls seem to really love just hanging shit up. (Me too though.)

Sin'dorei is the one I've been waiting to talk about. I would assume getting a wheelchair in Sin'dorei culture would be something quite respected, as in my perfect world nobody is ableist to chair users and I can pretend that's true in WoW. I'd think a lot of flowing, phoenix motifs, very obviously alluding to the royal family and to the concept of rebirth in general. Those who have lived through injury or simply have endured to the point that brought them to getting the chair are given a symbolic 'rebirth'. Many flowing, feather-like patterns, especially on the armrests and the wheel-wells. The back of the seat would likely be influenced by the Sin'dorei phoenix crest in some way, and I wouldn't doubt that gem inlays or metal detailing is common. I'd assume the wheels would have a wooden axle with filligree metal on the actual treads. The younger the elf is, the more grand the party is, a celebration of your new beginning and a way to allow yourself to let go of the past.

Goblin wheelchairs are likely a more minature version of their trikes, and probably will explode if exposed to even the smallest of errors. I would not really trust one in the same way I wouldn't really trust a gnome to make a wheelchair for me. They probably have a built in glider in case of a surprise ejection, though.

Shal'dorei wheelchairs are likely similar to Kal'dorei wheelchairs, with a more heavy focus on the stonework aspect. I would assume the chair itself would be wood, reinforced with stone and powered by arcane magic, with elegant cloth detailing and perhaps even drapery. I wouldn't doubt that they lack wheels entirely, and would likely be more like palanquin with magical hoisters.

Highmountain wheelchairs follow their eagle and moose motifs, I'd think. There would be two styles, eagle being more akin to an active/sports wheelchair and moose being more like a regular manual wheelchair. I'd think the eagle wheelchairs would have four wheels while moose have three, and would have a much slimmer profile. That being said, it is likely traditional to paint the seat and wheels yourself when you receive it.

Mag'har orcs likely follow similar traditions to vague-orgrimmar orcs, with more iron. I'd assume their wheels also are just treads, so they're more 'all-terrain'. Depending on the clan, there are different decorations. (For instance, if you were Lightning's Blade, they probably put a lightning rod on you for fun.)

Zandalar does not believe you should push your own chair, so you get a beautiful carriage with raptor attendants, unless you are in favor with Jani, and then you get a legion of saurolisks and a little wagon.

Vulpera probably just use alpacas, but in the event they can't, they likely have small, very portable chairs with metal frames and soft, comfy seats, with ample room for their tail.

NEUTRAL RACES:

Pandaren wheelchairs are likely a mix of wood and metal. I'd assume the frame would be wood, with the axles being metal, and the seats having wood frames with cushions bolted into it. The cushions would likely feature embroidery, and I would even go out to say that you could have it blessed by a certain celestial and it would affect the appearance.

Dracthyr wheelchairs are likely combat focused. I would say that they feature metal primarily, with armor plating and little to no backrest in order to have full range of motion with the wings. If the wings do not work, the backrest would still be low, so as not to smush them. I'd think that there would be seatbelts so the dracthyr could still fly while they are inside of it, and I'm sure they have special chairs /for/ the event that you will be flying often.

#i typed this out kind of off the top of my head so some are way more detailed than others #but the general gist is wheelchair cool.#wow #headcanons #actually.#canon lore...#my writing

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thesmokingguns · 1 year

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The Darkling Sunshine

Word Count: 2715

A/N: There is one scene scene in the show and book that I did not agree with and really thought that should have went the other way. Yes it would have changed the entire story but you know for the better. This is just my reimagining of the scene where Baghra tells Alina she needs to go. I did write Alina in the ‘I POV’ and didn’t use her name.

YOUR POV

“Oh Saints.” you had no sense of direction. Mal had tried to teach you by pointing at stars and giving them names but what help did that give you as you rushed through stone hallways on command on Baghra.

Baghra, the mother of the Black Heretic.

You did believe her that he was her son. You believed that he was the man who created the fold and you did trust that he was planning on using it as a weapon but there was something gnawing in your gut about what else she said. Was Aleksander trying to make you his slave or did he see more in you?

Part of you wondered what he could see, a poor orphan girl who had been sent to the army to draw maps but instead wasted paper daring mythical creatures. You who didn’t understand the way the grisha were meant to live and who made mistake after mistake. You, who he had just been kissing.

There had been an anger in his kiss, you could taste it as his teeth gnashed yours and his hand slid your skirts up to your belly. But hadn’t you been angry as well? There was so much happening and everyone was pointing you in different directions, wanting to control you. But maybe you needed to stop and start asking questions of your own.

The Night air was cool and you were thankful for the black kefta that you had on as you emerged by the stables. Everyone was still inside the Little Palace celebrating the grisha’s performances. No doubt they are all talking about you, the sun summoner. These same people who had for years ignored you now kneeling down before you.

The power had felt…amazing.

You needed to gather your wits around you, looking around and realizing there were more enemies than friends. Especially after Baghra had said some grisha were loyal to her. You were given two options: you could run and hide or you could sneak back in and talk to Aleksander. Both options terrified you.

Where would you go if you ran? What would you do? The world was at war and the Fold existed like a black scar across the land, an emptiness that you couldn’t travel around easily. And if you went back inside you would be surrounded by silent enemies and a man who was powerful and could have been using your affection as a toy. He could be trying to bed you just to get you closer to him, instead of actually wanting you. But didn’t you deserve answers?

You were torn.

It was hard to describe your feelings for General Kirigan. It was different from how you felt about Mal. Mal was this comforting presence in your life, your best friend who had been there for you at all the worst times. You had known that he would always be there for you and that safety had provided you a comfort that had been what you thought was love. But Mal hadn’t seen you that way. Instead he tumbled in the darkness with anything that had a mouth and legs. Grisha or soldier. Mal didn’t care as long as he could press his strong body into someone and forget. He just never had wanted you.

But with Aleksander, the way he looked at you made your heart stop. He understood the burden of your gift but also the magic you couldn’t see in it. When you two had kissed the first time you had tasted his surprise, the loneliness on his lips. And you had understood him then because you had been lonely like that for a long time. There were layers to a man who was branded one way and your fingers itched to peel them apart, to see who he was under all the shadows that swirled around him.

“Oh Saints, I hope I’m doing the right thing.” You turned quickled slicing your cheek on a sharp corner of the barn. Your blood slid down, staining the gold embroidery of your kefta. You were quick in shrugging it off. Wiping some of your blood on the fabric and letting it fall down to the ground of the barn as you turned, looking at the hidden way you had come out of and knowing you were going to climb back up.

You had questions that needed to be answered and you weren’t going to just let them not be, And if Baghra was right you were going to be making the worst mistake of your life, but if she was wrong. You breathed out, this could be the start of your life and not the continuous running away from your problems that you had been doing.

The Darkling POV

‘Y/N?” I strode into the room, looking for her. Heart racing after the assassination attempt and needing the weight of her in my arms to make sure that she was safe. “Y/N?” I turned to look into my bedroom, hoping I had taken too long for her.

The empty room took my breath away and I struggled for a moment for control over my emotions. Fear. I had fear for the first time and I had to grab at my heart that was trembling in my chest to verify that it was true, that this was what I was feeling.

She was gone.

My breath struggled and I was weak, giving in for a few seconds before the cool familiarity of my anger slid into place. My hand knotting in a fist as I turned rushing from the room as I felt teh sneer on my face.

Mal.

Pathetic little tracker boy who had realized that as soon as someone else got their hands on Y/N they would see she was special. He had a lifetime to be with her and yet he had chosen wrong time and time again.

I had been wrong, thinking that their childhood lovesick story was over. Had done so well in intercepting the letters that they wrote each other, burning them after reading about how they confided in each other, playing with words to avoid using words of true feelings. But Y/N had stopped writing a few weeks ago and Genya had stopped asking about the tracker so I had thought it was fine.

Now he had come into my palace and he had taken her? He would pay for this. He would pay for this greatly. And he better not have touched a hair on Y/N’s head.

Striding across the grounds I was panting, out of breath as I gre angry with the thought of how I would find them. He idea of her under him letting him rut against her like a dog twisted my stomach, making bile burn my throat. But as I looked up, I saw her.

My mother and knew that something was wrong.

“He’s not here.” she said cooly and I knew she knew who I was looking for but I played along with her anyway.

“Who?” She was wasting my time and I think she relished in seeing me like this, seeing me hurt. Not everyone had all the graces that came with motherhood and mine had too many years to let me down.

“The tracker. Yes, I know about him and your little mission.” Baghra was strong and trained all the grisha. I had given her too much power in touching so many lives. Power that I was regretting now because obviously she had formed bonds and connections with people who were loyal to her over me.

That would have to be dealt with at a later time. Right now I just needed to find the tracker and rip him limb to limb. Find Y/N make sure she wasn’t hurt and bring her back inside, keep her safe. I just needed to keep her safe.

“What have you done with him?” She wanted to play games and I knew by now I had to play along for a little bit to get the answers I was searching for.

“Disposed of along with your hopes of killing the stag.” Ah so she did know about the stag. The stag that would give Y/N more power, let her really unleash her light onto the world.

My little saint was going to be stronger than me and I couldn’t wait to see her shine. This would be my greatest gift to her. The way I would express my feelings to her, to show her that I didn’t care if we weren’t equal. I would give her the world just to be by her side.

“I always have hope, mother. Even you can’t kill that.” She thought I was evil. Fine. Let them all thing I was evil. They didn’t understand the weight of keeping grisha alive. Y/N would. She would understand me.

“That isn't hope. That's greed. You would use y/n against the rest of the world.” I didn’t give her any emotion. There was no way I was going to let her know that what she was saying confused me endlessly.

For years my mother had stood beside me and helped me protect the grisha. She remembered how we were hunted and treated so above all else she should understand the sacrifices that needed to be made for our kind. And here she was, standing against me as she talked about the world like it wasn’t full of people who wanted to erase us.

“You mean against our enemies? Without me, there’s just her. Standing alone She is all that matters now, not me. She is the future She is the one-”

“Yes, but where is she?” Now this, this I did not like.

She had taken Y/N from me. She had taken her and done something to make her leave. What had she done to poison her against me or was it so easy that she had just told her who I was and she had run away, afraid of me? Y/N liked the old stories, the stories that were my memories but were her history. She smiled, as she recited the tales of the black heretic, looking at me and not knowing that the story she told was mine.

And now she knew and she was gone.

“Careful, you don’t really matter anymore either.And if you put her in harms way think about what I might do.” I turned, the anger was too much now but the hurt was there and surprising me with its ache.

She had chosen to leave. Chosen to go. Chosen that I was not good enough for her. She had made me her villain and if that was what she wanted, I would play my part.

“General Kirigan.” I stopped, freezing as Ivan held up her Kefta, stained in blood. My head turned to Baghra as her mouth fell open, hand coming up in shock as she saw it too. I took it, my hands feeling like they were trembling as I touched it, smearing it.

“It’s fresh. Send out troops to find her and make sure she isn’t harmed. I will head out in the morning. The King must not know about this.” I knew Ivan could be discreet, knew he was at least loyal.

As he rushed away I turned, holding the bloody kefta, eyes narrowing as I looked at Baghra now.

“This blood is on your hands.” She didn’t know what to say to that, letting me turn walking back to my rooms, holding the kefta and hoping no harm had come to Y/N. Maybe she had been forced to go. Maybe I had been wrong to think she would leave so easily.

All I cared about was her safety

Your POV

The stairs were endless and where they led confused me more and more. I was exhausted, dried blood on my face as I finally pushed open a door, stumbling inside and falling to the ground. Deep struggling breaths for what seemed like miles of climbing. My thighs and calves ached from the exercise. All that champagne instead of water not doing me any favors. I wiped at my face, cursing as I reopened the cut and watched my blood spill out on the floor to General Kirigan’s war room.

My foot kicked the door closed behind me and I laid on the ground for a second, trying to gather the strength to stand again.

The door to the room opened and I knew it was him. I could tell from the way he strode in, heavily stepped and confident that he was here.

My eyes closed as I sighed out, safe. I hoped.

“Aleksander.” I said his name, pushing myself up. He was told me quicker than I expected, helping me stand as he looked at me. His eyes wide in surprise. He had thought I had left him, he thought I could leave him.

“Y/N. I thought that…you’re hurt.” he touched my cheek, my blood on his finger smearing it as he moved me towards his room, sitting me on his bed as he kneeled beside me, holding my hands in his.

“I know who you are, Aleksander. I know that you’re the Black Heretic. But what I don’t know is what you want from me and what I am to you.” It felt silly to ask these questions to him. To ask this powerful man who I was to him.

I wanted him to say I was more than just one of his grisha. I wanted him to single me out and to feel special. But I was afraid that he was going to say that I was just a piece in his puzzle. The weapon he needed to make the fold do what he wanted. But I needed to know. I needed to know if I had made a mistake coming back here.

Aleksander stood up, walking away from me as he poured a glass of water, handing it to me as he looked at me, hand to his mouth as he thought.

“Let me call for a bath for you and for Genya to heal you. We can talk of-”

“No. Aleksander, please.” The tears were in my eyes as I begged him and he sighed, dropping to his knees in front of me, the emotions on his face so prominent that I dropped the water, neither of us caring.

“Y/N, you’re the future. You’re going to save the grisha. You can destroy the fold or we can use it to bring peace to a world that knows nothing but war. We can save so many lives. Grisha and not. And…and we can do it together. You and I as…equals.” I nodded my head, understanding what e was saying.

It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I had wanted to-

“And…I’m afraid that I’m quite in love with you, Y/N and you have presented yourself to be my greatest weakness.” He looked so vulnerable then, so unsure of himself as he told me this and I knew it hurt him to be weak. But this was what I needed from him.

I slid down, landing more in his lap than on the floor, cupping his face, fingers over the beard as I pulled him to me, kissing him to seal my fate. I had come back to him and I was glad of it. His hands were wrapped around me, lifting us from where we kneeled by each other on the floor, pressing me into the bed as he covered his body with mine. His hand slid over my cheek, stopping as I flinched.

“We have talked. Now you must let me get Genya here to heal you, my little saint. Please, let me take care of you?” I nodded, allowing this as he got up, stopping as he turned, looking at me in his bed, “I’m going to love you for eternity, you do know that?” he asked as I looked at him, tilting my head.

“And not a day less.” He was so beautiful when he smirked like that, when he allowed himself happiness. And I wanted to be that for him.

The Darlkling’s sunshine.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bones #the darkling #the darkling fanfic #the darkling fan fiction #Ben Barnes fan fic #general kirigan fan fic #shadow and bone fan fic #shadow and bones fan fiction #ben Barnes fan fiction #Ben Barnes fanfic

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tinselsmanagerie · 4 months

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Here's a Merikh starter that I'm pretty proud of.

Amongst the many who loitered off of the dance floor, one man stood, completely unremarkable, by his own regard, but quite stunning by the eye of another.

Fine linen covered his body, the likes of which the man had never before touched, let alone worn. His black overcoat was unbuttoned to show a white blouse, simple but ruffled, worn under a stunning vest, blue with silver embroidery.

His dark long hair hung loose around his chest, bangs gently framing his face. Deep grey eyes peered out at the crowd from behind a Prussian blue mask. The mask itself was stitched with silver thread, elegant sweeping motions highlighted by small jewels set within the starry design. His eyes were lined in rings of the same stones, and a milky speckled gemstone set between his eyebrows, also highlighted by the small sparkling gems.

Despite the nature of the ball, there hung at his hip a rapier, and beside that a pistol. By the way he stood, one would tell immediately that he was a fighter, perhaps at one point serving in the military, but not for long.

Yes, his prescence was near unmistakable, though he believed himself to be blending in quite well. As such, the man did nothing to hide the stern expression on his face as he stood, hands folded behind his back, against a wall at the edge of the room.

Like many who graced the halls of the manor, the man's circumstances of attendance were rather queer, as he was neither nobility, nor particularly well brought up. He had few formalities about him, knowing little of small talk or ballroom dance. In fact, to his knowledge, he had done nothing to draw attention to himself, nothing to garner such an invitation as he had been granted.

That was, if one counted beast slaying as unremarkable.

The letter had arrived on a cloudy day, in which the wind smelled mostly of rotted hay, no doubt blown from the small farms that dotted the surroundings of the town the hunter called home. The courier had waved him down, having waited nearly three quarters of an hour for the man to arrive home.

"You must have Lady Luck by your side," the man had remarked good naturedly, voice but a murmur as he looked over the fancy envelope he had been handed. "Most days, I don't return for hours.."

The courier had laughed, exchanged his own humored remarks, and bid himself farewell, trodding off with the glee of a man who saved much more time than he had accounted for.

The letter was addressed plainly, to one Merikh Forsythe. The contents were brief, outlining a time and day, as well as a brief congratulations- or perhaps that's all that Merikh had cared to notice.

For a moment, the man thought only of his work, tossing the letter to the side as he stepped into his small home. He cared little for parties and nobles and whatever petty fortune he had been given- no doubt kindness only extended to inflate some ego. It was strange though, the way he rolled the name around in his mouth.

Millicent Chèvrenoir.

He had heard that name before.. how, where, he couldn't place.

Somewhere in the next week, his ears pricked up at the sound of the name he had been mulling over day in and day out, at the market, if he remembered correctly. The village women, chatty and high-spirited, tittered excitedly of the ball, the wondrous ball.

Against his better judgment, the man interjected, the women looking quite surprised to see the reticent hunter so willingly speaking.

"Why the lady Chèvrenoir, she throws the finest of balls-"

"Yes, I know of the balls." Merikh interjected patiently. "What of her reputation?"

"Well," the other began, inspecting a tomato from the stall they hovered about. "She's known for her generosity. I've heard of many a common folk being invited to live in the manor- living out the rest of your days in luxury, that's the life~"

The group broke into excited giggles again, swooning at the very thought.

"And where is this House Chèvrenoir?" Merikh asked.

The women had exchanged unsure glances, a few chuckling as if there was a joke to be had. Merikh's attentive expression told that there was, in fact, no humor in his query.

"Dear," yet another woman began, her words hesitant and gentle. "Lady Chèvrenoir is the patron of Nocte." She gestured plainly, a hand extended to point at the grand castle that sat above their village.

Merikh had flushed a bit, apologizing for his blunder. He must have forgotten, he didn't spend as much attention to the people of the town, so much as the creatures that threatened them. Nonetheless, he thanked the ladies for their assistance, beginning to move on and return to his shopping.

He stopped short, feeling a tug at his cape. An older woman, a begger, grasped the tattering edges, pulling the cape with her gnarled fingers until Merikh was crouched in front of her. Without a second thought, he retrieved a coin from his bag, offering it to the woman.

She wrapped her knobbly hands around his and the coin, pulling him ever closer. "Listen to me, child," her rotted breath filled the stagnant air between them with a stench that had Merikh holding his breath. "Do not go to the castle. That woman- she's the devil. Those who go in, they never return." The words were hushed and frantic, and the woman glanced around, as if she would be taken away for saying such things. "The Lady of the Black Goat, is a witch, a murderess. They all perish."

One of the woman from the group before hovered still, but gossipy as she were, she could not stand for such nonesense.

"Oh bugger off, Agatha, the Lady is no such thing."

"They ALL PERISH!" The crone Agatha repeated, her voice rising suddenly to a shrill shriek. "YOU MUST NEVER-" her voice dropped again to a whisper. "Never go there."

Merikh had given a soft smile, nodding gently. "Thank you, madam, for the wisdom." He replaced his hands over hers, placing the coin gently in her palm. "It was a great help."

Millicent Chèvrenoir.. murderess.

The pieces had clicked into place. He had heard many a rumor from all over Iudril. As a hunter of many beasts, it was his duty to get to the bottom of such rumors. And thus, a few days later, he found himself on the cobbled road, eyes and mission fixed resolutely on House Chèvrenoir.

It was within minutes of him entering the manor, letter in hand that he had been whisked away to a room, in which an outfit sat, waiting for him. Certainly quite a few ranks above the tattered cotton he wore on the regular.

Now standing in the ballroom, Merikh surveyed the attendees carefully, silvery gaze occasionally flicking upwards to the Lady Millicent. He sensed nothing strange thus far- perhaps this whole rumor had been just that: a rumor. Something cooked up by old wives with nothing better to do.

Anyway, he supposed a night of fine clothes and finer food was enough of compensation for the time wasted.

A small huff left his lips. A shame, though. He supposed if anything were to happen, he wouldn't need hypervigilance to notice.

Even so, his eyes couldn't help the way they scanned the crowds. And even more involuntary was the way they stuck on one feature, floating in the sea of fine silks and metals.

Those golden leporine ears, towering above most heads, and standing out amongst most hats were to Merikh's gaze as a whirlpool is to a boat.

A gentle smile curved his face, mask moving slightly as the pudge of his cheeks bunched below it. Was that truly who he thought it was?

As if having minds of their own, his feet began to move, following the near gravitational pull that the golden eared stranger had.

He came to a halt in front of the viera, tilting his head slightly. Their eyes met, and Merikh knew at once who stood before him.

His own gaze twinkled, a playful grin creeping onto his face. "Pardon me, sir." He extended a hand as he spoke. "I saw you from across the room, and simply had to ask you for your hand. Would you have a dance with me?"

#oc rp #rp #starter post #Merikh #TinselsManagerie #my writing #fiction

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mywawavisit1 · 5 months

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frozairanistone · 7 months

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Uncovering the Tradition of Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's in Mathura

Presentation

Mathura, a city profoundly saturated with strict and social history, is home to various craftsmen and specialists who have been safeguarding old customs for ages. One such prominent foundation is Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's, situated at Shop No. 28, Nagar Palika Market, Krishna Nagar, Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, 281004. With their dominance in making stone wonders and their obligation to save age-old masterfulness, this family-run business has procured a standing that stretches out past the lines of Mathura. In this blog, we dig into the set of experiences, craftsmanship, and contributions of the Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's, commending their exceptional commitment to the city's legacy.

A Verifiable Outline

The tradition of Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's goes back a very long while. Established by the visionary craftsman Firoza Irani, the foundation picked up speed through the devotion and ability of the Shivhare family, who acquired this craftsmanship through the ages. The Shivhare Siblings have flawlessly mixed conventional craftsmanship with contemporary plans, guaranteeing their items stay applicable and interesting to present-day sensibilities while safeguarding the substance of customary workmanship.

Craftsmanship and Creativity

The craftsmen at Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's are famous for their fastidious craftsmanship in working with stone. The mind-boggling cuts and enumerating in each piece show their profound comprehension of the medium. From symbols of different gods to staggering building components, their work mirrors an ideal concordance of expertise and commitment.

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The progress of Firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's can be credited not exclusively to their craftsmanship but additionally to their steadfast spotlight on consumer loyalty. They focus on areas of strength for building with their clients, figuring out their inclinations, and altering items as needed. The craftsmen effectively draw in clients, offering bits of knowledge into the specialty of stone cutting and assisting them with picking pieces that resound with their stylish and otherworldly tendencies.

End

firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's remains as a guide of masterfulness and social legacy in Mathura, Uttar Pradesh. Their obligation to safeguard and proliferate conventional stone craftsmanship while embracing contemporary plans is excellent. As they keep on charming workmanship lovers and enthusiasts the same with their staggering manifestations, their inheritance stays a vital piece of Mathura's rich social embroidery. In the event that you're in Mathura, a visit to firoza Irani Stone Shivhare Brother's is an excursion into the core of Indian workmanship and craftsmanship.

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simply-sithel · 3 years

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MmmMMmmm... it’s been a while since I’ve been able to relax into a hoop of stoned embroidery. Stitched by candlelight while A read aloud chapter 8 from I Am A Strange Loop, in which something fun is finally batted about.

#they're actually quite vibrant green in the sunlight #I've 2 other half-stitched bits on this strip of fabric--#'the longer you stay here the more DAN' and 'five minutes later roots & frui' in the same ... teal?#do I even have this floss any more & would I (should I?) finish them...?#will my hanging (growing?) vines (stalks?) ever come of more?#who cares- that's not the point of stoned embroidery #some day I shall have a marvelous fragmented pillow of fleeting thoughts #high embroidery #domestic life

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

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what do u think about yandere emperors x f!maid?? THE POWER IMBALANCE IS AMAZINGGG. He will corner you in the dark corners of the palace and annoy or harass u. Constantly asking u in their room to clean but actually wanna fuck u. Who do u think in BNHA is suited for the yandere emperor role? Personally, I think it’s Bakugo, Shigaraki, Todoroki and Dabi.

yandere ! BNHA princes imagines

Oops shit, it turned into princes, that’s completely different fuck, but hope it’s okay!!

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, bullying kinda, harassment, abuse, condescension, degradation, power abuse, manipulation, coercion

TIP-JAR

BAKUGO KATSUKI

Some princes maids will fuss over, hoping to catch their eyes. Maids will giggle as they see them walk by in the hallways, swoon at how they seem to sway almost like an angel would, like they’re floating with the breeze. Maids will faint as they see their signature grins being flashed at them like a shooting star, pretty kind eyes sparkling and fluffy locks shaking with magic. Maids will pinch their own cheeks to make them all blushed and cute before entering their chambers with supper, they’ll dust their skirts free of soot and smoke, rake through their hair with their fingers, try to look as presentable as possible, as desirable as possible.

Bakugo isn't that type of prince though.

A prince is supposed to be tall and lean and elegant, standing proud with a straight spine, clad in gold embroidery and neat pointed shoes. Bakugo walks with a hunch in his back, like a goon, thick-muscled arms hanging loosely by his sides like deadweight, sleeves almost always ripped off, flexing both brawn and tattoos, looking like a berserker-warrior, roughed by battle, kissed with scars and callouses, with a face that never sheds its ugly grim bloodthirsty scowl.

He’s not the type one daydreams about. He’s much rather the type one stays away from, hide behind walls when hearing the loud slaps of his feet on the marble floors, heart booming like it wants to leap from the chest and run away, like a deer hiding from the bear.

But he’ll sure daydream about maids.

One maid in particular

Little busy-bee tiptoeing about in her worn-out skirt.

She’ll be that one soft thing he actually likes between flowers and other annoying yapping bratty princesses always pining for his attention. But she’s not exactly soft either, walking about the massive palace day in and day out, chore after chore, in those uncomfortable shoes that soles are nearly worn through, ugly ragged skirt allowing him to see her pretty petite ankles and those smooth calves when she bends over like she’s made for it, on her knees like it’s her rightful place, scrubbing the floors, struggling to reach the top shelves when dusting, when reaching to pull the blinds from the massive windows she has in her care to keep clean and not smitten with soot from the fires he’ll so often start.

She’ll be skittering about like a little mouse, gathering dirty laundry from his room once he’s out hunting, placing them neatly inside his closet again, careful to leave him his supper when he’s been called away by his mother the Queen, like she’s feeding some monster she cannot be caught alone with and not her future King.

He’d heard she were the only one brave enough to actually enter his room, but if one asks him, he knows she actually just picked the short straw, seeing how she leaps around the corner once she see him coming, silly little thing thinking he can't hear her breathing like she’s being hunted.

She’s cute though.

He knows it’s cruel to burden her with even more strain, but... she’s his servant, and what type of future King would he be if he didn't take what was rightfully his?

She looks too adorable standing against the cold stone wall, clutching onto the basket of dirty laundry until her dainty knuckles turn ashen, head bowed beneath Lord Bakugo’s searing red gaze as he towers above her delicate petite frame like a mighty dragon cornering prey. Heat radiating from him like a furnace as he leans in as close as he can with the basket separating the two of them, his large paw of a hand, clawed with talons, large enough to crack her skull open, raised to rub sandpaper fingertips against her jaw, caressing her little face and tilting her head up and up and up to meet his royal-red eyes.

“You’re not suited for this job.” He voiced, tone gruff as he thumbed her chin, his ash-blonde mane falling forward, casting a shadow over his eyes. “Tiny things like you shouldn't do labor work.” He added, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trailed up and down her smooth delicate features, lips cracking open to flash that crazed battle-grin, canines and all, the one that can swallow the sun and breath fire. “You’re much better off tied to my bed.”

He was never one for romance, but it would seem she isn't much of a lady by any means either, the way she kicked her heels into his abdomen once he hoisted her up over his shoulder, her tiny useless fists banging on his back like it would do anything but tickle him as he steadied her with one greedy paw placed on her ass, feeling up the plushie flesh like kneading dough, carrying her away to her new job of keeping him satisfied.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

All For One’s heir was a rare sight. She wasn't sure she’d ever even seen him before once she was assigned the role, being the Prince’s new chambermaid. All she knew, by the looks on all the other girls forlorn pitiful faces, was that she’d fallen prey to an unfortunate fate.

She’d heard things, whispers on scared faces, gossip about the cruel spoiled prince and his lack of charm both in the verbal and physical form. She’d heard he was born silent, drained and colorless sept for the blood-red in his eyes. She’d heard his hair was silver like starlit spiderwebs and his skin was in the same state of the moon, cratered and dusted. She’d heard his smile was as ruthless and bloodthirsty and crazed like that of a jackal, with a laugh just as deranged. That even death feared his touch.

The stories was enough to have her shivering outside his door, enough to have her breath hitch in her throat once she nudged the handle to have the door creek open, enough to have her knees weak as she stumbled inside the darkness of his room.

“You’re prettier than the last.” A rusty voice spoke from an unknown source, lost in the darkness of the large bedchamber. “Guess they learned.” It spoke again. “Good for them...” She heard something thud against the floor, whipping around to try spot any trace in the swallowing void, completely overcome by shadows once the door slid to a full close. “Though... they shouldn't have bothered with the nice dress. I don't care what you wear, it’s only gonna end up another thing for them to mop from the floor.”

Something emerged from the corner of the room, tall and lean and slender, like a shadow himself until the crack in the curtain cast a strip of light onto his face, eyes even bloodier than what she’d imagined, enough to have her spellbound to her spot on the floor.

“They didn't tell you why you’re here, did they?” He asked, quietly chuckling at her scared awkward stance on his floor, by his bed, completely unaware.

Adorable.

“Good, I like my prey clueless.” She stiffened as his hand ascended, long pale slender-knuckled fingers reaching towards her face, boney and dry as his fingertips scraped along her cheek. “Fed to the wolves weren't you, pretty?” He whispered, eyes looking down to her breasts, licking his lips in salute to how they glowed with healthy warmth like gold, before looking up to her face again, coarse finger dragging across her bottom lip. “Guess that's the price you pay for a face like this.” Chipped nails dug into the plush of her cheeks as he held her face still, his nose taking a large whiff as he nuzzled into her neck. “Mmh, you even smell good.” He moaned. “Pretty thing like you probably tastes good too.” He groaned. “If you want to keep your dress you should strip now, I’m not the most patient person.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled his hand back, standing there, mere inches apart from her, so very tall. “S-strip?” She stuttered, eyes blinking as she looked up at him, no crown on his head, though still looking every ounce worth of superior where no amount of silly gold could hold up to the dominance in his eyes.

She started pulling the strings to her bosom, undoing the laces while keeping eye-contact with the man. “Smart move, pretty.” He praised, looking at how she hurriedly ripped off the intricate layers, trying her very best to not upset him, happy with what he saw. “Now...” He started, taking in her amazing nude frame with a bite to his lip. “Get on your knees like an obedient well-behaved lawful servant.” She whimpered as she lowered herself, looking wide-eyed up at him. “That's a good slave.” She put her knees to the floor, and rested her ass on her heels, her dress pooled around her, as she stared up at the silhouette cast by the moon’s cold blue glow, breath shuddering as he swiped his thumb over her trembling bottom lip, eyes locked with each other. “Open up.” She did what she was told effortlessly, too scared into place to dare even think about refusing, letting her jaw drop, mouth open to receive his thumb pushing down on her tongue. “Fuck... so pretty.” He moaned. “You’ll definitely be my new favorite, I’ll be extra careful not to dust you.” She shuddered, tasting the salt of his thumb, her mouth watering at the same rate her eyes did.

Shigaraki licked his teeth as he grinned, eyes wild and erratic, cock straining against his pants, warm and heavy, throbbing at the sight of the perfect little naked offering on her knees at his feet.

“Come on, pretty, help your Master out of his robes.” He took her hands and pulled her up, where she quickly got to work on unbuttoning his pants, tits bouncing, nipples hard from the nippy air in his room. “You like taking orders, don't you, pretty thing?” She gave him an adorable nod, lashes fluttering at him meekly, big doe-eyes searching for further direction as if scared to move on her own. “You sure know you're place.” He smirked. “I like that.” His hand made an effort to keep his pinky raised, encircling her tiny wrist like a cuff, guiding her to the bed. “Come here.” Plopping down on the bed, he pulled her snug between his thighs, rubbing circles into the fine skin of her hips, tugging her up on his lap with a groan rumbling in his chest, eyes lush and lustful. “Look at this face...” His hand circled her neck this time. “Mmh, fuck, pretty, pretty, pretty.” He kissed her collarbone, giving it a slight bite, making her gasp and jolt a little bit on his lap, teasing the large long beast sitting between the two of them. “Soft too.” He added, kissing up her neck where his hand was holding her steady. “Mmh, you’re gonna be good for me, right?” He moaned. “I would hate to let my hand slip and fuck up your pretty little body.” He warned, adding slight pressure on her throat, his other hand snaking around to the small of her back, pulling her closer, still with the little thing whimpering so sweetly. “That won't happen if you just listen and obey, like a proper good fuck-slave.” She gave a moan once he bit the special soft spot on her neck, her hands instantly jumping to grip his shoulders, melting into his mouth and the throne of his lap. “Nod your head for me, pretty girl.” She moaned in response, tipping her head while leaning into the long-haired prince she’d been sacrificed to. “You want me to fuck you, don't you slave?”

Her eyes slid closed. “Mh, yes.”

“Yes?” He asked, holding her face between his palms, foreheads kissing, looking deep into her eyes as she kneeled on his lap like she was praying.

“Yes, please, M-Master.” She affirmed as her lips ghosted over his.

“Mmh, fuck, you’ve got manners too.” His eyes dazed, heavy-lidded, yet remaining strong, keeping her locked as he drew her in for a kiss. “Keep this up and we’ll get along nicely.”

TODOROKI SHOTO

Not many princes are good-hearted. Where most are spoiled rotten, others are consumed by their power. Prince Shoto is neither, he’s simply strictly lethal. And people in the castle did their best to avoid his steely attention.

Todoroki’s presence leaves the halls feeling chilly, goosebumps climbing up her legs where her skirt hangs in filthy tethers at the ends as she skips rather hurriedly though the corridors, fabric dragging across the stone tiles, scathing on the coarse flooring. She was an unlucky one, one not protected by the safety of working in the kitchens were one can go their entire employment without ever facing the royal family. Poor maid needed to trot along the battlefield of the palace, turning corners, ears on alert, listening to whatever approaching footsteps could be on a path her way.

But, today she had no time for caution, for she had already tested her luck enough as she was running rather dangerously late. She was supposed to be at Fuyumi’s chambers first thing in the morning, bright and shining, helping and guide the seamstresses in fitting the Princess’s dress for tonights event. And she would have been there if she hadn't been up yesterday picking crystal-roses from the garden for Fuyumis broach, where she’d haplessly caught a nasty cold that now had her nose red and stuffed and eyes watering, and even less fortunately bedridden.

She sneezed as she rushed down the hallway, head ducking, hands flying to cover up her nose as she stopped in her hurried pursuit, finding as she continued her strut, that her split-second break from being on watch had already managed to lead her into a world of trouble. Her short stature, elbows first, landing her in a chest of some unknown tall figure.

Focusing her blurry vision, she looked up to see dual-colored hair and eyes belonging to both the King and the Queen, one ice-cold and the other hard as rocks.

“I’m so- so sorry, my Prince.” She blurted out quickly, bowing her head to avoid staring at the unsightly scar covering the towering boy’s left eye. She swallowed thickly, nearly in tears already, knowing that the crown-prince was rather one that liked toying with the castle’s staff on days he hadn't the patience to read books and study, where he never practiced his sword-skills unless he had satisfactory targets.

His hand reached forward and her heart froze over, like a hand of death had taken ahold of it and her lungs seemed to seize, throat closing, making her dizzy at the feel of his grip on her chin, so dreadfully cold it had her teeth shattering.

“No, no, don't cry, it’s quite alright. Accidents happen after all.” His voice was as smooth and soft as it was steely, and it brought her no consolation as she was forced to look into his sharp unforgiving eyes. “Your name?” He demanded and she thought that the whimper which escaped her throat might just be the last sound she’d ever make before she withered like a flower in a blizzard.

“My name?” She couldn't hold back the tear that slipped down her cheek, gasping as the Prince caught it on his index-finger before it could drip down onto the floors.

She watched him take it to his lips, half-way surprised to see his tongue wasn't split through the middle as he licked the little droplet off his slender pale finger. “Yes, slave, your name.”

“T-Tundra, my Prince” She lied, thinking if she left the hallway still with her life that perhaps if he went looking he’d be searching for the wrong person.

The corner of his lips twitched slightly at her answer, forming a rather crooked eerie sort of smile. “Is that right?” He snickered, eyes never leaving hers, having her locked in place, un-allowed to look away. “Fitting you should bare a name such as that and still fall prey to measly little colds.” He stated.

“Irony is a watchful hound, your Highness.” She wanted to look down, anywhere but his searing gaze, thinking he might just turn her into ice only to thaw her into a mushy human being again, have her melt into an unfortunate pulp on the awful brimstone of the castle floors.

“That, she is.” He agreed, tilting his head to the side and looking at her as though he was observing, like he was looking for a flaw in her composure outside the obvious fear that scented the air. “You’re my sister’s handmaid aren't you?” Her blood ran white hot before dropping to a numbing freeze. “You should be with her, fitting her for her dress to this evening’s ball, shouldn't you? Tundra?”

He knows.

He knows she’s lying to him.

He knows who she is.

“I do look forward to seeing you by my sister’s side, you always look so... precious... up there on the podium. Perhaps you’ll agree to a dance?” He asked though demanded, and she swore her corset was cracking her ribs with how little it allowed her to breathe.

“I’d be honored, my Prince.” She felt like she could rake her skin off, drag it clean of the bone, like she was crumbling like some pastry in front of the young heir.

“Do make sure my sister looks stunning, she does love looking her best. And while you’re at it, throw together something for yourself.” He added, his eyes finally leaving hers to trail down her sorry dress. “I will rather have you go naked than in something as tragic as those robes.”

She couldn't say or do much more than nod, trying her best to keep her lip from quivering so violently. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Well...” He reached out his hand and she could feel the cold air flow like a winter’s breeze, nipping at her skin as he presented his palm to her, awaiting her smaller delicate hand to be offered. “I won't keep you any longer.” She did as she knew she had to, laying her breakable, frostbite-prone hand inside the comfort of Todoroki’s pretty porcelain paw, rings of power around his fingers sure to bite her skin with blisters, making her whimper so unfortunately loudly as she watched him press his freezing lips to her knuckles, the chill running through her veins and causing her head to still. “Run along now, wouldn't want you to fall behind on your chores. Such slacking requires punishment and I would just hate to have to whip you into shape, Tundra.”

Then I must say a street Keigo fits in here too, perhaps taken in by the Todoroki’s, being Dabi’s best mate...

DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA x TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

The wayward son, falling short of meeting the expectations of his father the King, who always favored the youngest brother. In all rights as the firstborn, Touya was supposed to be King, but Enji respects strength above tradition and Shoto was assigned inheritance of the throne. And one can get a fair guess who the Dark Prince is going to take it all out on.

Poor maid, just doing her job, though cruel fate always putting her in places she shouldn't be, at moments poorly timed, trapping her in inescapable dangerous situations. And perhaps she’d be able to avoid the Prince’s ice-blue steely gaze if it weren't for the other guy always being on her tail like a fucking Hawk. But, he knows better than anyone that nothing burns like the cold does, and he’ll do about anything to have that attention averted to someone else rather him, and she looks like their favorite type of distraction, one they can both enjoy.

“Lookie here, Touya.” His voice drawled in thrill, whistling a sharp chirp, trailing behind the busy maid as she hurried through the hallways to reach the kitchens, hoping they’d give her a break just this once.

“Well if it isn't our favorite toy.”

But it would seem Todoroki was in a mood, and by the sound of his voice and no doubt his words, he was looking for some relief.

“Oh, sweetie, we’ve had such a boring day.” The prince’s pet slung his arm around her shoulders, playful golden eyes looking at her with a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “Mind helping us out?”

She shook her head, cringing under the boy’s heavy brazen touches and how his breath blew hot against her neck. “My apologies, my lords, you must excuse me, I have chores that need me.” She blurted in the most respectful manner she knew how, trying to scurry off, but their legs were longer and therefor carried them faster than hers could ever hope to outrun, not to mention the weight of her skirt laid thick with cloth, dragging her already tired limbs down.

“Are you saying chores are of higher importance than your Prince?” Keigo quipped, tightening his embrace just a little which made the girl stumble up into his arms, hands bracing against his chest as she looked up at him.

“No!” She shook her head, correcting herself as she dragged her weight off of the ward’s chest. “Of course not, lord Takami.” He couldn't describe just how much he loved seeing her squirm like that, trying hard to save herself.

“We’ve gone over this, pretty...” He cooed, stroking a finger down her cheek before grabbing her chin gently, Touya smirking on the side, watching Keigo play with their prey. “Call me Keigo.”

“I’m sure you can leave your pesky duties for some other time.” Todoroki spoke, stalking closer to where Takami was keeping her still, spinning her around in his arms and locking her tight to his chest, her ass pressed firmly into his crotch as she was made to look up at Touya’s predatory approach, jarring facial features adorned with that gentle sinister smirk he always had plastered on his face.

“Right now, we require your full attention.” Takami whispered in her ear as she squirmed in his hug, trying to shake off his strong arms that were snaked around her waist.

“Better yet, how about I relieve you of all other duties.” Todoroki’s voice scathed like nails being dragged against a board. “That way, you serve us full-time.”

She couldn't help but whimper a little at the thought as the tall dark-haired Prince took calm and steady steps towards her until he was almost budding heads with Keigo who stood behind. “That’s very generous of you, but-” She tried.

“It’s settled then.” Todoroki stopped her with a finger to her mouth, tracing her trembling lips.

Keigo snickered behind her, his chest rumbling against her back. “Come on, we’ll escort you to your new home.”

“Uhm-” She tried again to wiggle free from Keigo’s grip, but he wouldn't allow her to budge, not while Touya still was looking her up and down like a meal.

“Don't disobey us now.” Todoroki warned, to which Takami tightened his grip around her, holding her steady.

“Trust me, you don't want to anger your Prince, he doesn't play nice once you upset him.” The boy behind her spoke as though from experience, his voice breathy and strangely excited.

“Don’t scare her, Keigo.” The prince gave his dog a stern look, and she could feel something poking into her behind, Keigo’s ragged breaths hitting her neck.

“A little fear never hurt.” Takami whispered, breath unruly, his hand detaching from holding down her hip, raising it to grab ahold of her jaw, fingertips digging into the chubs of her cheeks. “Besides... just take a look at that face.”

“You’re right, Keigo.” Todoroki tilted his head to the side, icy eyes looking at her scared little face, seemingly radiating with frost, chilling her very bones as she shivered in Takami’s embrace, which was ironic given she’d seen him burn entire crowds to mere charcoaled mangled mockeries of the human form, where not to mention the cruel singe-brands she spotted running along the forearms that held her steady. “I’m already forgetting whatever it was that upset me.”

Keigo gave another sinister chuckle, as he placed a soft teasing kiss to her collar, one that had her heart getting stuck in her throat. “That’s what I’m here for, your Highness.”

TIP-JAR

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rubysunnday · 3 years

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Favourite brother - Part 2

A/N: well, part one went down surprisingly well!

“So, Daphne is now a duchess...”

Y/N raised her eyebrows expectantly at her brother, waiting for him to finish his comment. She looked back down at her embroidery and poked the needle through the fabric. “And?”

Colin leant forward in his chair. “Perhaps, now, the ton will be watching you.”

Y/N let out a unladylike snort. “Oh, please. As long as Miss Thompson is around and as long as Daphne and Simon are in their ‘newlywed’ bliss, I will always be the wallflower of the family.”

Colin eyed his sister with a sad gaze. He didn’t miss the way she stabbed her needle through the fabric a little harder than necessary nor the way she practically glowered at Anthony (probably hoping he would spontaneously combust).

“Colin, I can feel you staring at me,” Y/N said, looking up from her embroidery to give her brother a level stare. “What is it?” “You truly don’t believe you are worth anything, do you?”

Y/N paused, needle halfway through the fabric. She slowly pushed it through, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes.

Colin was right. She didn’t see herself as worthy of anything. Compared to Daphne who’d captured the eye of the ton and then a duke and a prince, she’d had nothing. Her three older brothers had always been swarmed with suitors and Y/N had truly believed that, maybe, one day, it would’ve been like that for her.

But apart from an almost marriage to Nigel Berbrooke that was out of spite to her brother and sister and was unwanted by her, she had had no proposals and no suitors.

A fact she wanted to blame Anthony for but that Y/N knew was down to nothing more than bad luck.

If she’d made her debut a year later it would’ve been the same story. Everyone would’ve been captivated by Eloise and she would’ve been forgotten. Or everyone would’ve been terrified of Eloise and been forced to look at Y/N.

Either or.

When you were a twin of someone who excelled in everything you didn’t, it was easy to be overlooked and forgotten - especially in a family of nine.

But up until she and Daphne came of age, she hadn’t felt overlooked. She’d felt loved and seen as an equal to her brothers. Anthony hadn’t been so protective (He'd always been protective of them all. But compared to how Benedict was when someone upset or threatened his family, Anthony was a saint.).

Everyone fawned over Daphne when she began courting Simon - and rightfully so. But Y/N’s prospects and potential suitors had become nothing more than polite conversation between her and her ladies maid.

“Y/N?”

Y/N inhaled sharply and jumped slightly at Colin’s voice. She looked over at him and gave him a somewhat unconvincing smile. “I’m fine. I just feel somewhat underwhelming compared to my sister,” she replied, turning her eyes back to her embroidery.

Which was beginning to look less and less like a violet and more like an oddly shaped duck.

Colin, sensing his sister wasn’t in the mood to be proved wrong, left the conversation there. He also didn’t want to end up with a sewing needle in his eye - the chances of which were becoming increasingly likely the more he poked and prodded.

It was a beautiful ballroom.

There were candles in every window and garlands of flowers draped across the walls with petals dashed across the floor.

The garden was a lit with numerous furnaces and torches that blazed in the summer night and the fountain set in the centre of the sprawling, immaculate hedges and flowers trickled away.

None of the beauty, however, was making Y/N feel any better about being left out of yet another ball.

She’d been standing on the sidelines watching ever since she’d arrived. Benedict had offered to dance with her but Y/N hadn’t wanted to be mentioned in Lady Whistledown for dancing with no one but her own brothers so had declined the invitation.

Instead she chose to stand and watch the beautiful couples dance around the room as she sulked and drank yet another glass of lemonade.

“Why are you skulking back here?” Anthony asked, approaching his sister with a confused, concerned and curious expression.

Y/N swallowed the rather large gulp of lemonade she’d taken and tried not to give her brother a glare. “No one’s asked me to dance.”

“I’m sure Colin -”

“That is not the point, Anthony!” Y/N exclaimed, cutting him off. “I’ve had no one to dance with apart from my brother’s and Simon, who is now my brother too!” She almost growled but remembered that half the ton were around and forced herself to calm down. “Daphne has been the centre of everyone’s attention and had the suitors falling at het feet. I thought that now she’s married, they’d look to me - but apparently no one settles for second best.”

Anthony stared at his sister. “Y/N, you’re not second best to anyone.”

Y/N scoffed. She set her empty lemonade glass down, slightly worried she was going to through it at her brother’s head. “Then why haven’t you looked at me twice all season, Anthony? You walked off at my very first ball, leaving me to flounder. You never escorted me - not even tonight! You have, so far, not cared about who comes calling for me - which was no one, by the way - and you don’t care that I have had no suitors, no callers and no proposals!”

She was breathing fast and could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She was angry. She was so angry and even though most of the anger was at the ton for being so vain, she couldn’t very well direct it at a ballroom full of people.

Instead she directed it at her older brother, the one who should’ve looked out for her and guided her through her first season in society but didn’t.

Anthony, for once, had the decency to look hurt by his sister’s accusations. He had a broken look on his face as he realised she was right and that he’d ignored her. He was stunned into silence.

But Y/N hadn’t want pitiful silence, she’d wanted an argument - for Anthony to get angry at her and prove her wrong but also right.

“Say something!” Y/N snapped, glaring at Anthony.

Benedict and Colin had noticed the, somewhat heated argument, and were trying to weave their way through the crowd to intervene before one of them snapped and punched the other.

Anthony opened his mouth and closed it again. He was speechless - a rare feat, indeed.

Y/N scoffed and shook her head. “Fine.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared through the crowd, heading towards the door to the garden.

Benedict and Colin made it to Anthony’s side and frowned.

“What was that all about?” Benedict asked, looking at Anthony expectantly.

Anthony swallowed and forced himself to look at his brother. “She hates me.”

Colin, who had sensed the argument was coming, put a hand on Anthony’s arm. “No, she doesn’t. She’s angry at the world and the expectations society place on her shoulders. All she really wants, Anthony, is you.”

“I’ve ignored her almost this entire season,” Anthony said, staring at Colin. “How...”

“There’s still a few weeks left of the season, though,” Colin reminded him. He gestured to the door that Y/N had fled through. “Go on.”

Anthony didn’t need anymore encouragement, he brushed past his brother’s and all but marched through the crowd towards the door.

Y/N had disappeared out onto the fire lit terrace of the house and was leaning on the stone bannister, trying to calm down.

She loved her brother. Truly, she did. She also knew that he would never do anything to ruin her prospects intentionally.

That didn’t, however, stop her from wanting to throttle him.

“Y/N?”

Y/N closed her eyes and inhaled. She could feel Anthony watching her and heard his footsteps approaching closer as he walked up to her.

“Are you alright?”

There was concern - genuine concern - in his voice. Y/N was usually good at keeping her emotions together and not breaking down until she was either with her mother or on her own.

But all it took was Anthony’s concerned question and a gentle hand on her shoulder for her to lose any control she’d had.

Y/N felt the tears drip down her face and turned to Anthony, practically throwing her arms around him and clinging on to him as if he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

Slightly surprised by her sudden change in emotion, it took Anthony a moment to catch-up with the fact his sister was sobbing in to his arms and needed, not Lord Bridgerton, but her big brother.

Anthony wrapped his arms around her and held her as she sobbed, waiting for her to speak.

Y/N eventually managed to get control of her emotions again and she stepped away from Anthony, wiping her eyes as delicately as she could to avoid ruining her make-up.

“Sorry.”

“Never apologise for being human,” Anthony said softly, sitting next to her on a bench.

Y/N sighed. “I’m just... compared to Daphne I am nothing. No one has even looked twice at me this entire season. I’m her sister and nothing more.”

Anthony put a hand on her knee. “Do you truly believe that?” He asked, looking her in the eye.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. All I wish is for someone, anyone, to look at me and call on me because they like me. Not because they wanted an easy way to my sister or to you or to Eloise or to anyone who isn’t me!”

“Y/N, you are a wonderful young lady and if those men can’t see it -”

“Then they’re not worth my time, I know,” she said, shooting Anthony an amused smile. “You sound like Benedict.”

“I believe you meant that Benedict sounds like me, he did come second after all,” Anthony quipped.

Y/N smacked her brother on the arm. She shook her head with a smiles she tried not to laugh.

“Come on,” Anthony said, standing up and holding a hand out to her. “Will you do me the honour of a dance, Miss Bridgerton?”

Y/N took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. “Of course, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Excuse me, Miss Bridgerton?” Y/N turned around. A young man, Lord Durrell if she remembered correctly, was standing in front of her looking slightly anxious.

“Yes, Lord Durrell?” Anthony asked, raising his eyebrows in his trademark brooding, older brother way.

“I was wondering if you would do me the honour of a dance this evening?” Durrell asked, looking directly at Y/N.

Y/N smiled and held out the arm that her dance card was on. “Of course, Lord Durrell. After I’ve dance with my brother, of course.”

Lord Durrell smiled and wrote his name on her card. “I look forward to it,” he said, bowing down.

Y/N curtsied slightly in response and watched as he left. She waited a few seconds and then squealed and jumped up and down.

Anthony chuckled, stepping back to avoid being hit by a flailing limb. “See, I told you.”

“No, you didn't, actually,” Y/N said, taking her brother’s arm. “You just repeated what Benedict said and gave me a hug.”

“Which is just as important.”

“Naturally.”

Anthony led Y/N to the dance floor and the two took up their positions.

“I don’t say this often enough,” Y/N said as they danced around the room, “but I’m so glad you’re my brother, Anthony.”

Anthony managed to concel his surprise by twirling Y/N around and using the brief moment she wasn’t looking to show his surprise before hiding it again.

“I’m incredibly lucky to have you in my life,” she continued, oblivious. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Anthony nodded and smiled, twirling her around again.

Later on, however, when he was in his own lodgings away from prying eyes, Anthony looked back on the moment and had to hide his tears in a bottle of whiskey and the mountain of paperwork he had to fulfil.

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton sister #sibling!reader #bridgerton sibling #bridgerton imagine

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warcraft-lore-archives · 3 years

Text

The Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth Lore Facts

Editor’s Note: “Some of the tales you’ll encounter here may be rooted in canon, or they may be another traveler just telling a tall tale.”

Eyes of the Earth Mother

Though the Earth Mother heard the whispers of the Old Gods, she could not be swayed by them (13).

Pregnant, the Earth Mother sought a place away from the Old Gods’ corruptive influence to give birth to her children. Unable to find such a place, however, she decided to shape the world and, in doing so, create her own safe haven (14).

All of Azeroth’s lands, waters, and even the elements themselves came forth at this moment. They were suffused with enough of the Earth Mother’s essence so soon after their inception that they kept the Old Gods’ powers at bay (14).

The Earth Mother gave birth to twins: first An’she, a beacon of life and warmth, then came Mu’sha, who was to bring rest, tranquility, and healing. The elements called them the “sun” and the “moon” (15).

Eventually, both An’she and Mu’sha developed connections with the elements. An’she found himself able to wield the light and warmth of fire while Mu’sha maintained some control over the tides and winds (15-16).

The twins even went so far as to use the elements to create weapons to spar with. Mu’sha opted for a bow and arrow, whereas An’she’s weapon of choice was a set of blades (16).

To keep her children safe from the Old Gods’ ever-present influence while she slept, the Earth Mother took both An’she and Mu’sha up into her eyes. Their power was so great that she had to keep one eye open at all times (16).

This, however, meant that Azeroth no longer received An’she’s warmth or Mu’sha’s guidance of the wind while the Earth Mother rested. Cold slowly spread across the land and blizzards raged until she finally woke again (18).

The Earth Mother’s cycle between periods of sleep and awakening would come to form the basis of the seasons as we know them, with her time of work the summer and her time of rest the winter (18).

As the twins grew in power, they developed the ability to bring on the change of seasons at will, though they took care to do it slowly and give the world time to adjust. As the Earth Mother rested, An’she and Mu’sha continued to tend to Azeroth from behind her eyes (19).

After waking at one point, the Earth Mother found that there was new life walking the earth. Plucking wheat from the plains to sprinkle over them, the Earth Mother called them “Shu’halo,” - the tauren (19).

Just as the Earth Mother taught her children, both An’she and Mu’sha taught the Shu’halo in the ways of the elements and caring for the land (20).

When the Earth Mother next slept, however, the Old Gods extended their influence to the tauren, causing them to grow violent and turn on their own kind (20).

Saddened to see the tauren fall to such corruption, the Earth Mother shed a single tear. She realized that the land was no longer able to hold the Old Gods’ power at bay, meaning anything it touched could be corrupted (21).

Knowing that she was not safe for her children anymore because of her own connection to the land, the Earth Mother removed An’she and Mu’sha from her eyes and laid down in despair (21-22).

The single tear that the Earth Mother had shed became a blue baby, later named “Lo’sho,” or the Blue Child (22, 24).

Seeking to put an end to the Old Gods after what they had done to the tauren and the despair they instilled in their mother, An’she and Mu’sha fought against some of the eldritch beings’ manifestations. During the battle, An’she was wounded grievously. Though Mu’sha sought to heal him with wind and water, he continued to bleed (24).

The Earth Mother, stirred by her distant children’s dismay, eventually found her way to them. She urged them to take Lo’sho and go to the heavens so they could protect Azeroth from above, while the Earth Mother chose to root herself in the earth and prevent the Old Gods from ever claiming her children (26-27).

Mu’sha, the moon, continues to follow An’she closely across the sky so she can keep tending to his wounds (26).

One Small Tuskarr

The tuskarr etch their clan and family symbols into their tusks. Though this is customary, some do engrave other symbols - such as marks indicating deeds of great distinction - into their tusks as well (32, 36).

The catch master, who weighs the tuskarr’s catches, has a counting staff adorned with cords in the colors of each of the clan’s active fishermen. In accordance with how big a tuskarr’s haul of fish is, the catch master ties a single knot or more into their respective cord. These knots can be traded for tools, weapons, and coins, among other things (32-33).

A single knot is customary for those who meet basic requirements, while additional knots are allotted to those who catch more (33).

One can also earn knots from other tasks, such as fine embroidery, though they do so at a much slower rate than those who fish (38).

Food is shared equally among the tuskarr (33).

The tuskarr perform nomadic journeys that take them to various kalu’ak towns. While the fishers take their own boats, most of the mothers, adolescents, and children trek across the ice (34).

Fishing practices are passed down from parent to child. Though it is unclear if that is “law,” some of the tuskarr refuse to teach others to fish if they are not their own blood, going so far as to withhold information about the currents and places fish gather (36).

Tuskarr sometimes dye their moustaches (36).

It never gets fully dark in Northrend (38).

Oacha’noa is the tuskarr’s deity of both the sea and wisdom. Her symbol is that of a kraken (39).

The spearhead on most tuskarr weapons is made of sharpened bone (42).

A type of manta ray known as the stargazer can be found in Northrend’s waters (44).

The tuskarr can survive in water so cold it would kill other races native to Azeroth in mere minutes (45).

The tuskarr typically fly kites for fun, though they have been known to use them to send signals to others at great distances (48).

Lay Down My Bones

According to Vulpera beliefs, the first of their kind was born from the magic of the desert. Though they are a nomadic people, an old tale about an artifact called the Wailing Bone claims the desert calls their bodies back to where they began when they die. To ensure they find their way back, the vulpera follow the Wailing Bone (55-56).

Once one of their own has passed, it is customary for the next of kin to carry the bone at the head of the caravan while the vulpera wander in search of the proper place to bury them. The journey may take anywhere from days to weeks, but when the Wailing Bone begins to cry, the vulpera know they have found their loved one’s final resting place (56, 61).

A poem is carved into the Wailing Bone: “Wander, roam; bring me home, / Down paths at my behest; / Among the stones, lay down my bones, / So I, at last, may rest”. Few can read the script it is written in, but most all vulpera can recite it from heart (54).

Two vulpera, frustrated at their inability to find their elder’s final resting place, neglected their duty and left his corpse in a river in the hopes that it would bring him there for them. Refusing to obey the Wailing Bone caused it to crack. From that night on, the vulpera of the caravan found themselves cursed for failing to heed the Wailing Bone (62, 65).

Cracking under the pressure of the curse, the two negligent vulpera ultimately died gruesome deaths at each other’s hands. One of their bones was made into the next Wailing Bone (65).

A caravan always needs a Wailing Bone (65).

The Uninvited Guest

One goblin adage goes like so: “Every great goblin invention was born from necessity, bubble gum, or an accident” (69).

The goblins have a nursery rhyme: “In the dark of night and bright of day, / Keep in your hand a tossaway. / Guard your fortune, mind your greed, / Or else the Uninvited Guest will feed” (70).

The Uninvited Guest is a goblin boogeyman of sorts who is attracted by greed so egregious it offends even the dead. It is incorporeal, invisible, and has the ability to move through walls (76).

The Uninvited Guest feeds off of greed, but it can never be satisfied. It will latch onto its host like an invisible parasite to feed, inciting strange charitable behavior in them until they have given away all of their earthly possessions (76-79).

A “tossaway” is a shiny gold-painted coin stamped with the face of the very first trade prince. These fake coins get their name from the way goblins quite literally toss them away in a symbolically superstitious act to protect themselves and their fortunes from the Uninvited Guest (70, 74).

Tossaways were invented by Slixi Boompowder, the wife of one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel, after her own run-in with the Uninvited Guest. She only escaped from it because she distracted it with actual gold galleons, which inspired her to create the tossaways (83).

Legend has it that the Uninvited Guest still roams Azeroth to this day, looking to feed off of hapless greedy goblins (84).

Klaxz Boompowder was one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel. His rival was Rikter Hogsnozzle, the trade prince of the Bilgewater Cartel (70-71).

Tradition dictates that goblins are buried with their most valuable possessions so they can enjoy them at the Everlasting Party, the goblin afterlife. They are then given burial gifts by other goblins from their own riches, though most goblins are too greedy to truly part with anything important (73).

Once the coffin is sealed, goblins dance on top of it to usher the deceased on to the Everlasting Party (75).

Prominent goblins typically serve as pallbearers while goblins contractually obligated to serve as pack mules carry the rear (75).

The goblins used to employ golden galleons as their form of currency, but it fell out of fashion. Nowadays, they are incredibly rare and expensive (74-75).

Trolls have a tale about an invisible evil that sucks the souls from living beings and leaves them mad. It can only be seen in the light of a full moon (80).

Sister is Another Word For Always

Vereesa felt Sylvanas’ death at the hands of Arthas the moment it happened (89-90).

Sylvanas’ eyes were gray as a high elf (91).

In the midst of her sorrow at her sister’s death, Vereesa sought many escapes. At first she tried to sleep, but when rest and forgetfulness would not come, she embarked on a journey across deserts and forests with little in the way of proper food or nourishment except that which she found (90, 93).

It is very possible Vereesa perished at some point on this journey, for she came across a spirit healer, though she was told it was not yet her time. The spirit healer offered Vereesa a deal: if she could bring her the willing soul of Sylvanas without ever touching her, the spirit healer would restore her to life (96-97).

When Sylvanas first died at the hands of Arthas, it seems as though the Arbiter sent her to Ardenweald (98-99).

After she struggles to locate her sister in Ardenweald, Vereesa is inadvertently pulled into the Maw. There, she still has difficulty finding her, and is told by the Jailer that Sylvanas is not there - at least, not yet. He then urges her to leave, telling her she does not belong there (99, 102-103).

Eventually, Vereesa spots a silver glimmer she knows to be Sylvanas, though it is only a fragment of her soul (103-104).

Before she can escape with the soul of her sister, the Jailer stops Vereesa and inadvertently tricks her into touching Sylvanas, rendering her deal with the spirit healer null and void (106).

At the end of this journey, Vereesa awakes at the foot of a statue, her memory of the experience hazy (109).

The Paladin’s Beast

Uther is originally from Stratholme (117).

Introduced as a fable beloved by the princelings and princesses of Lordaeron, the Paladin’s Beast is a tale that follows a young Uther as he finds himself in a mysterious and unfamiliar land. Determined to prove himself and bring back a prize to his fellow paladins, Uther joins a tournament put on by a foreign kingdom despite the protests of its princess. Though he is a strong warrior, she insists the beast of the tournament kills every knight who challenges it. Still, Uther refuses to back down, confident that his faith in the Light will give him the strength he needs to prevail. However, the princess’ words hold true, as every knight who goes to fight the beast before him perishes. When it is his turn, Uther decides to stay his hammer rather than fight, remembering the princess’ words. The beast withdraws, defeated by his act of compassion. It is revealed afterward as Uther goes for his prize that the princess actually was the beast all along, cursed to fight in the tournament for disobeying her father and breaking the royal lineage. She casts a spell on Uther, making it so that when he returns to Lordaeron, he will not remember anything of who she was or his experience there until the day he finds himself in a fiery field. Though the fable ends there, it is said that Uther dreamt of the silver kingdom and its princess for many years to come. It was not until his final moments, trying to fell a beast with weapons rather than compassion, that he would fully remember the princess and her story (111-127).

For Lies and Liberty

Most undead do not get all of their memories back immediately once they are raised (or given free will). It takes time and encouragement (133-134).

On the long-standing issue of whether or not undead have ichor or blood running through their veins, it appears one Jeremiah Pall still has blood in his body, though it has stopped moving on account of his still heart (134).

The story of the “Fearless Flyer” - a man known as Captain Whitney - is famous among some of the Alliance forces. According to the man himself, Whitney and his outfit had been fighting orcs for months to no avail when he hatched a bold plan to launch himself by catapult into their camp and take them by surprise, hence the nickname the “Fearless Flyer”. This story, unfortunately, turned out to be nothing but hyperbole. As it stands, a drunk Whitney accidentally got tangled up in nets, fell in the catapult, and was unceremoniously flung into the orcish camp. Believing themselves to be under attack, the orcs retaliated and killed most of the unsuspecting humans while Captain Whitney hid (136, 142).

Stones, Moss, and Tears

Though female elves traditionally mark their faces after they have achieved a rite of passage, they can continue to add embellishments to commemorate any further deeds (155).

At least one kaldorei lorekeeper was charged with knowing the name of every Sentinel and recording details of their more noteworthy battles (156).

The Bloomblade druids were one of the oldest, unbroken lines of night elf druids (158).

A species of insect known as glowmoths migrate through Mount Hyjal every autumn (164).

The Embrace

The White Lady and the Sun were charged with keeping watch over Azeroth as it dreamed (171, 176).

Though she loved the people of Azeroth dearly, the White Lady found herself growing lonely and in want of a family (173).

The moon cycles are thought to be the White Lady turning away and hiding her face in her sorrow, though she would always look back upon Azeroth to watch over it (174).

It is said that the White Lady loved Azeroth and its denizens so much that a child - the Blue Child - was born of that love (174-175).

The Blue Child, ever curious, began asking the White Lady questions about the mortals that weighed on her heart, as she could not answer (176).

One night the White Lady woke up to find the Blue Child gone. Unable to find her, she swore off her charge until the Blue Child was returned to her (177-178).

Without her guidance, the planet sped up and the tides ceased. The White Lady was only convinced to return to her duty after the Sun urged her, telling her the Blue Child might return if she had the moonlight to guide her (178).

The White Lady began to glow even more brightly over time in the hopes that her child would see, her light quickly growing to rival that of the Sun’s. This, too, caused problems, for crops burned and navigators could not see the stars to travel by (179).

Upon seeing the terrible effect this was having on Azeroth’s denizens, the White Lady dimmed her light and retreated (181).

The Blue Child ultimately returned from her long travels to her mother. They embraced in the sky, creating a beautiful eclipse (182).

Ever curious, the Blue Child was bound to grow restless again and leave for the stars, but the White Lady knew she would always return (183).

When the moon turns red, it is a sign of her anger (177).

Why the Mermaids Left Boralus

Back when Kul Tiras was still a Gilnean colony, Boralus had hardly any walls or structures protecting it from the wind or sea. More often than not, when the Great Sea churned at the city’s edge, it took houses, ships, and even men down into its depths. So many would drown in these incidents that those remaining covered them with weighted nets, causing them to sink to the seafloor (187-188, 190).

Many of the roads out of Boralus flooded during great storms, making it deadly to try to leave the city on foot or by ship (198).

The Kul Tirans declined to build a seawall for fear that it would have done nothing and also because repairing it after a storm would have been just as dangerous as the storms themselves (188).

Most of Boralus’ early inhabitants were seamen of some sort, whether fishers, sea priests, sailors, or pearl-divers (188).

During storms, the tidesages would act as a makeshift seawall and use their power to cut the waves before they made it deeper into the harbor (199).

Mermaids appeared quite openly near Boralus in its early days. Though they lived much deeper than most could naturally dive, they liked to sit on the rocks and watch ships go by, among other things. Most lived in temples beneath the sea that belonged to Kul Tiras’ former inhabitants (189, 191).

According to superstition, sighting a mermaid was bad luck and presaged many inauspicious things including a doomed voyage, a brutal winter, and poor fishing. They were also seen as the harbingers of storms (189-190).

Tidesages were (and still are) always the first and last to disembark from a ship. As a result, they usually went down with their ships (191).

The tidesages’ unrivaled dedication, combined with the frequency of drownings and shipwrecks, often meant they died young (191).

Mermaids are spawned from eggs and leave no corpses when they die (191, 203).

The mermaids had very little understanding of the Kul Tirans’ mistrust towards them (191).

Mermaids have some power over the rocks and water - granted to them by the Tidemother from birth -, but they use it sparingly because it is finite. Once a mermaid runs out of magic, they die. As a result, mermaids can live up to five hundred years (192).

Mermaids consider sirens lazy and murlocs deplorable (192).

According to legend, the bubble seaweed in Boralus Harbor is actually discarded pearls. A mermaid by the name of Halia fell in love with a tidesage and kept secretly gifting them to her as a token of her affection. The tidesage, Ery, was far too pragmatic for such a gift and dumped the pearls back in the water every time (195).

The mermaids believe that the Tidemother will give tails to those who slit their feet from toes to heels and walk into the harbor at dawn (197).

According to legend, Boralus’ great stone seawall was formed through the combined efforts of dozens of mermaids and one lone tidesage. A virulent tempest had come upon Boralus one day, taking men and ships alike with it. Though the city’s tidesages gathered to push back the waves, all but one were lost to the storm over the course of five long days. The last remaining tidesage, Ery, persisted despite her exhaustion while the mermaid Halia, too afraid to watch her lover perish, began using her own magic to craft a seawall. Though the storm repeatedly broke it down, her fellow mermaids joined her, ultimately expending their magic and sacrificing themselves to raise a wall so grand it towered over even the mightiest of ships and waves. Ery herself nearly died after this, though Halia saved her by invoking the Tidemother. She cut Ery’s feet from toes to heels and dragged her into the harbor, performing the ritual necessary for her transformation into a mermaid (198-203).

All but one of the mermaids - Ery notwithstanding - perished to save Boralus, which is why none are seen there today (204-205).

As a result, the sailors of Boralus now see mermaids as a symbol of the highest honor, good luck, and sacrifice (205).

During calm sunsets when the red of the sky is reflected in the harbor, sailors refer to it as “Ery’s blood,” after the tidesage who fought the storm so valiantly. Ery’s blood is a sign of good weather to come (205).

The Courageous Kobold and the Wickless Candle

Kobolds tell a sleep-time story (209).

Kobold families live together in caves. They have their own nests, but congregate in common areas for stories, among other things (210).

Some time ago, the Whiskersnoot kobold tunnels crumbled, submerging the Whiskersnoots in total darkness. They lived like that for generations, having decided it was no longer safe to dig higher after the cave-in. This spawned a saying: “Never pick above your snout, else the darkness snuff you out!” (210-211).

Granny Whiskersnoot, however, dug just a little bit upward every day until one day she broke through to a light above. She intended to lead the other kobolds to it, but could never find her way back through the tunnels again. It wasn’t until her granddaughter persisted in finding it that they made their way back above ground (211, 222).

The kobolds think of the sun as a “Wickless Candle” (211).

Visage Day

On a dragon’s Visage Day, they choose what mortal form they will take. This is significant, as it shows the Aspects trust them to adopt the guise of one of the mortal races and walk among them. It is the dragons’ hope that through choosing a form to embody and relate to mortals, the more mortals can understand dragons in turn (228, 234).

Onyxia, on the other hand, maintains dragons choose visages that allow them to control the mortals (241).

In accordance with tradition, the Visage Day ceremony occurs on the uppermost level of Wyrmrest Temple. Each of the Aspects are usually present for members of their own dragonflight, though Alexstrasza herself has been known to officiate on occasion. It is also customary for each flight to send emissaries (243).

During the ceremony, all attendant dragons take their own mortal forms in honor of the dragon whose Visage Day it is (245).

Before they publicly choose their form, the dragon in question traditionally makes a proclamation (245).

The Visage Day ceremony can be delayed (244).

Nozdormu has helped many bronze dragons prepare for their own Visage Day (230).

When Nozdormu sits in the sands at the heart of the Bronze Dragonshine, intricate patterns form around him (233).

Both Kalecgos and Chromie performed a short incantation to assume their mortal forms, though Nozdormu did not appear to need to (234, 236, 246).

Kalecgos says that he chose a half-elf form - which he calls a “blend of mortal worlds” - in order to symbolize his own attempt to blend together the dragon and human worlds (237).

Onyxia, on the other hand, opted to take the form of a beautiful human woman to better manipulate mortals (241).

The dragons often go by nicknames in their mortal forms because they find their full names sound too formal to humans (238).

The drakonid were fashioned by the dragons to be helpful and loyal (238).

The black dragonflight practices how best to inflict pain (239).

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laurfilijames · 3 years

Text

Talk You Out Of It

Pairing: Fili x female reader

Words: 4708

Warnings: 18 + Rated E. Explicit content. Oral sex (M/F receiving), M/F intercourse, unprotected sex. Slight asphyxiation. Blindfold used during sex.

Summary: You and your irresistible husband Fili are meant to be getting ready to attend a royal feast, but manage to talk each other out of going. Basically p*rn with a smidge of plot.

A/N: I still flush every time I read this over. Please indulge in this delicious filth that I can’t seem to stop writing. I’m sorry it’s so long.

Editing/Beta courtesy of the wonderful @guardianofrivendell 💚

—————

You didn’t really want to go to the feast, but as the wife of the Heir to the Throne of Erebor there was a very high level of obligation.

The day had wearied you, full of duties and tasks that had left you uninterested and you just didn’t have the energy to endure the raucous of dwarves and make niceties with- well, anyone if you were honest.

It was a big event, an engagement announcement for one of the Princes from the Iron Hills, and you knew it would be loud and exhausting. You were typically always keen to attend a celebratory feast, being able to eat and drink to your heart's content, dancing and laughing with your closest friends, but tonight you didn’t feel up to it.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you wished more than anything that you could stay locked away in the comforts of your chambers with your husband.

You greedily eyed Fili through the mirror attached to the vanity in front of you as he walked out of the bathing room, his skin and hair still wet from his bath.

Gods, was he ever a sight for sore eyes.

Your thighs instinctively squeezed together and you tucked your lower lip in your teeth in an attempt to compose yourself, but to no avail. Fili was naked and practically parading around your chambers, searching for items of clothing to don for the evening's festivities.

Focus, Y/N.

You looked back at your reflection as you continued to weave intricate braids throughout your hair, knowing your attendance was mandatory tonight so you needed to continue making yourself look presentable. There would be no getting out of this without repercussions, that much you were certain of.

Reaching for another bead to clasp around the section you had just finished intertwining, you smiled when you noticed it was your courting bead; the one-of-a-kind piece that Fili had engraved himself with his signet for you. But even thinking of the wonderful night Fili had presented it to you and commenced your courtship wasn’t enough to hold your concentration.

You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to drift over to where he stood beside the bed, hands on his hips, making a decision between two formal robes.

His gleaming eyes met yours in the mirror and you flushed all over at acquiring the attention of your half-naked husband.

He smirked at you and made his way over to where you sat, trousers now covering his legs but unlaced, revealing coarse, dark blond hair and barely containing his large member.

Oh. This was not helping your case.

Drops of water remained on his skin, not having dried yet, highlighting the hair on his chest and adding to his overall appeal.

“Do you think the blue or green one would go best with your gown, Amrâlimê?” Fili asked, now standing behind you.

He rested his hands on your shoulders, firm but gentle, and you closed your eyes as the contact instantly increased the tension growing in you.

“Y/N?” he prompted, and you opened your eyes to see him smiling at you in the mirror.

“The green one,” you finally answered in a low tone.

His dimples deepened as his smile widened, which didn’t help with your not wanting to go to the party.

You tried to convince yourself that it would turn into one of those situations where as much as you didn’t want to attend, you would end up having the best time. With Fili by your side, you were guaranteed to be happy regardless, but all you wanted was for him to tear this fussy dress off of you and become tangled up together in your bed.

“You seem distracted, my love,” he cooed beside your ear, causing your breath to hitch and you cursed him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re distracting me from getting ready, Fili,” you chided, needing him to create some space between you or you would never be able to finish getting ready in time.

He planted a whisper-soft kiss on the space between your neck and shoulder, looking at you in the mirror through hooded lids as he did.

You could not be held responsible for what happened next if he continued on like this.

But, as he usually did, Fili proceeded to place his lips on you, covering every available spot of your skin that was exposed to him. It seemed he could never get his fill of you, not that you minded.

“Fili, we’ll be late,” you pleaded, although a bit unconvincingly.

“Then we’ll be late,” he pressed his hot lips against the spot just behind your ear and you were done for.

Now his arms were around your waist, his hands trailing across the detailed embroidery stitched on the material and you longed for there to be nothing between your skin and his anymore. Again, your eyes closed and you allowed your head to fall back against his thick torso, getting lost in the sensation of his hands dancing over you. One moved up to palm over your breast, brushing your nipple through the fabric and extracting a breathy moan from you.

Fili needed to either stop what he was doing immediately, or call the night off altogether because there was no way you would be able to sit politely through dinner being as worked up as you were now.

Tempting as it was to blurt out your wishes of abandoning your plans, you would let him decide, allowing him to be the one responsible for causing any drama that would ensue from you and Fili missing the event. You knew Thorin would be livid and Fili would have to spend the next couple of days trying to make it up to his uncle, but you could sense it would all be worth it. The tension that hung in the air between you and Fili was so charged, hinting at what could be, and you couldn’t deny yourselves the right to find out all that was possible.

As anxious as you were for a verdict, you weren’t about to interrupt your husband who was planting kisses across your upper back where you hadn’t yet fastened the buttons of your gown.

“Are you going to do those up for me?” you asked, your voice heavy with lust.

Fili looked at you in the mirror with his lips still lingering on your skin and ever so slightly shook his head ‘no’.

A shiver coursed through your entire body and more desire flourished in your stomach.

Mahal, you were putty in his hands and so easy to submit to his touch.

You felt his absence immediately when he stepped away from you, straightening himself and rubbing his hand over his face, trying to make up his mind whether he was going to force you both to finish getting ready or abandon the idea of leaving your chambers completely.

Remaining seated, you proceeded to work at your hair, trying your best not to let your mind wander to the salacious thoughts that kept persisting for your attention.

But that was easier said than done.

Fili’s strong torso was perfectly in your eyesight and you couldn’t help but stare, taking in the creases on his stomach and especially the growing bulge in his trousers. You knew he wanted to give in to this temptation as much as you did and you couldn’t help but slightly influence his choice by draping your hair to one side and slowly trail your hand down your neck and chest.

Catching Fili looking, you stood from the bench and leaned forward, reaching for nothing in particular, giving him a view of your breasts down the top of your dress through the mirror.

Fili all but hissed, making you turn around to look at him, his chest heaving and expression hungry.

“What’s the matter, Fili?” you asked as innocently as possible.

He took a hold of your waist and moved you against the wall, your back colliding with the cold stone that caused your breath to leave you and a mischievous smile to cross your lips.

His lips crashed into yours, rough and demanding, the urgency matching that of his hands. They groped at your body, tugging and pulling at the dress that kept you hidden from him. The gown was new, but at this point you didn’t care if he ripped it to shreds.

Fili pulled your bottom lip in his teeth and stepped away from you again, only this time with a growl, still having an internal battle with himself of whether to stay in or not.

“We need to go to this dinner,” he said out loud, but more to himself.

You were left yearning against the wall as you watched him pace in front of you for a few steps, still weighing his options.

He had been dreading the evening as well, admitting to you earlier that he didn’t even like the couple who was to be married. It wasn’t as though you were shrugging off the actual wedding ceremony, this was simply an engagement party and there would be more important functions to attend in the future, so what was the harm in missing this one?

“Yes, we need to go or Thorin will have my head,” he continued, but still not entirely convinced. You remained quiet, thinking how you weren’t going to be the one to talk him out of it despite how much you wanted to.

It was almost as though the threat of aggravating Thorin humoured him and he looked at you with a naughty smirk, taking in your disheveled state. The neckline of your dress had fallen to rest just above your breasts and you stood there ready and waiting at your husband’s mercy.

Fili couldn’t resist you any longer. The sight of you like that alone was enough to sway his decision and he lunged at you, taking your mouth in his with a bruising kiss and grinding himself up against you.

“We’re not going,” he declared between kisses, making you smile against his lips.

Guilt filled you for a brief moment at breaking your commitments, but it was fleeting, the sensation of Fili’s teeth pulling at your earlobe replacing that remorse with wanton need.

In no time your dress was left discarded on the floor, nothing standing between you and Fili aside from his trousers that were only being held up by his erection.

One of your legs rested in the crook of his arm as you proceeded fondling each other, Fili grinding hard against your mound and your hands tangled in his unbraided hair.

His mouth traveled down your neck at a delightfully slow pace, savouring every bit of you until he landed on your breasts. His tongue flicked against your nipples, sucking and pulling them taut in his mouth as he alternated his attention between the two.

Fili was determined to provide you with every intense form of pleasure he was capable of, that much was clear already.

He continued to rub against you in a slow rhythm, his cock still straining painfully against his pants in an attempt to break through, while his hand trailed up your body and rested on your neck. Fili gave gentle squeezes to the sides of your throat with his thick fingers as his mouth returned to yours, swallowing your moans.

Within moments you felt consumed by ecstasy and knew you were about to give each other unbounded pleasure for the rest of the night.

You moved your hands from his wild hair down to his chest, carding your fingers through the abundance of curls that decorated him and it made you even happier that his body wasn’t currently being covered by stifling robes. Just as you began to venture lower, Fili took hold of your wrists and pinned them over your head, holding them firmly against the wall.

“Fili, I want to touch you,” you growled out of frustration.

“Patience, Amrâlimê, we have all night,” he told you in an unwavering tone.

A fresh wave of wetness pooled between your legs at his words and your body relaxed into the restraint he still had on your wrists. You supposed you could wait for a little while.

Fili’s exploration of your body continued, enjoying the taste of your skin with his tongue and feasting on you with gentle nips from his teeth.

Then he finally rewarded your patience by reaching between your legs, sliding his fingers against your slick folds. The contact made you shudder, and you knew Fili was appreciative of your desire for him by the way he huffed a grunting breath and dragged his teeth across your collarbone.

Two fingers slipped into your heat, pumping in and out of you at a careful pace before pressing onto your clit with his thumb.

You wrapped your leg tighter around his waist, pulling him closer to you as he continued to work you with his fingers, the angle allowing you to match his thrusts with your hips and ride against his hand. His other hand released the hold on your wrists to allow your arms to fall onto his shoulders, and you gripped them for support.

Though as good as this felt, you were eager for more. You desperately wanted to touch Fili, to put your hands and mouth on every inch of his body and make him feel as incredible as he was making you feel right now. Unwrapping your trembling leg from his body and standing on your own, you hooked your thumbs in the waist of his trousers and began to tug at them, anxious to gain access to what they were concealing.

Fili reluctantly removed his fingers from inside you, stopping only to assist you in freeing him from the binding laces that were failing at keeping his manhood contained. He impatiently yanked them down, his cock springing out and slapping his lower abdomen, bouncing up and down from the momentum of his hurried actions.

The sight made your mouth water and caused that familiar weighted ache to pull deep in your center.

You dropped to your knees and splayed your hands across his wide thighs, allowing your fingers to admire the defined muscles chiseled into his flesh. Your lips followed the path of your hands, landing in every notch and indentation that were formed from years of bravery on the battlefield and brute labour in the forges. Roaming your hands over to his backside, you squeezed his ample, yet firm cheeks while your lips remained on the sharply cut line that separated his leg from his groin. Each time your mouth threatened to make contact near his throbbing shaft it twitched in anticipation, causing the corners of your mouth to turn upwards in amusement.

Mahal certainly broke the mold when creating this dwarf and you couldn’t help but take your time in worshiping his body. You were going to go as slow as Fili would allow, but judging by his ragged breaths and grunts each time you made contact with his skin, it wouldn’t be for very long.

You grazed your lips along his length, the heat from his swollen flesh radiating onto them and making you eager to swallow him, but you proceeded to tease him, having your mouth land on him with peppering kisses but never taking him in.

Once you decided it was enough torment, you placed your lips on his smooth crown and flicked your tongue over the leaking hole, enjoying the saltiness of his precum.

Fili bucked into you harshly when you finally allowed him access to more of your mouth and you gladly took the full size of him, the tip of your nose now buried in the dense patch of coarse hair on his lower belly.

When you weren’t able to handle having him consistently press against the back of your throat, you recruited your hand to fist around his girthy base, pumping in time with your sucking. The combination had Fili moaning above you and his hands weakly combing through your hair, his hips slowly rolling with your movements and completely lost in a daze.

You could have done this all day, tasting him and inhaling his musky scent, but Fili soon interrupted you.

He tipped your chin up with his finger for you to look at him, watching your innocent eyes stare at him while your mouth hid and revealed his member as you bobbed back and forth, the sight quickly turning his relaxed manner into frantic lust. A look flashed in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, something along the lines of playfulness and intrigue, and it made your stomach tighten in anticipation.

A strand of silk ribbon remained in your hair, having placed it there earlier to help hold the sections you hadn’t been braiding out of the way, and that was what Fili was regarding curiously. He took hold of the fabric and pulled, untying it with a wicked grin on his face. He ran the silky material through his fingers, and a darkness replaced the spirited look in his eyes that had been there moments before, causing you to falter slightly with your lips still wrapped around him.

Then everything was dark.

Fili tied the sash around your eyes, robbing you of sight temporarily.

More excitement flowed through you and you felt your abundant arousal drip down your leg as you remained kneeling on the floor, your tongue continuing to roll over his swollen tip.

A chuckle rumbled through Fili, having taken notice of your readied state, the sound even more clear to you than usual with one of your senses taken from you.

“Stand up, Amrâlimê,” he requested, helping guide you to your feet. Your legs felt shaky from how stimulated you were and you gripped his arms tightly, appreciating the strength in them and feeling the veins that weaved under the skin on his forearms.

You could still sense his presence near you, but it was difficult to tell exactly where he stood, having removed your hands from him and leaving you standing on your own. A shuddered breath left you when you suddenly felt his hand trace across your hip, slowly sliding up your waist.

“Shh, it’s okay Y/N, I’m right here,” he said against your ear, making goosebumps erupt across your skin.

Now his lips were on you, kissing over your shoulder, and even though they had been there earlier the addition of the blindfold made every touch from them feel all the more intense. The hair on his chest tickled your back and his cock brushed against your bum, feeling achingly hard from your previous attention.

“Fili…” you breathed out, appreciating every moment of heightened touch from your One. You felt his hands move lower, clutching both sides of your upper thighs as he knelt down to you, ready to give his own worship.

The sound of his breath seemed louder to you, coming in ragged pants, an indication at how excited he was to reciprocate the pleasure you had given him.

It was difficult to know what to do with yourself, standing slightly awkwardly and unable to reach any part of Fili with him on his knees behind you. But after a moment he gave you guidance, instructing you to bend forward slightly and press your hands against the wall in front of you.

His tone was rough when he gave his direction, and you shivered again, your body even more responsive to his voice with the absence of sight.

“I think you’re enjoying being blindfolded, Y/N,” he pointed out, and you could tell he was smiling.

You attempted a response but it came out as a cry when you felt Fili’s face meet with your core, his nose spreading your cheeks open to access your heat. His tongue slid between your folds and licked at you hungrily while he brought a hand around to your front to toy with your pulsing bud.

The uneven stone on the wall bit back at your fingertips as you clawed down it’s surface, desperate for something to ground you.

Agonizing pleasure ran through you as Fili probed his warm tongue into you, every pass of it feeling harsh but exquisite, and you no longer had control over the sounds spilling from your mouth or the convulsions of your body.

“Is this w-what you’re going to say we were doing when you explain to your uncle why we weren’t there tonight?” you panted out as Fili’s tongue drilled deeper into your heat.

He gave a muffled laugh that vibrated through you in response, but never paused in his mission. He dug his fingers into your flesh, giving a tight squeeze to your bum with the hand that wasn’t pressing circles on your clit, seeming to grow more ravenous the longer he dined on you.

Fili increased his pace knowing you were close to the edge, determined to make you come apart around his mouth. The sensation of his beard scratching over your most sensitive area combined with the smooth lapping of his tongue and the pressure of his nose on the taught area between your two holes had you shattering within seconds. Tremors vibrated through you and you pushed back harder into his face, riding out your accelerated high. Fili drank at your essence as it flowed from you, his moans of satisfaction drowned out by your unrestrained cries.

You opened your eyes when you landed from your peak, only to have your vision still compromised by the sash you had forgotten about in those moments of intensity. A dizzying sensation washed over you, feeling unable to get your bearings, but Fili was there to support you, standing and gripping your body in a reassuring way.

“Are you well, Y/N?” he asked huskily. You followed the sound of his voice as he moved to stand in front of you, it being the only thing to steady you, your body feeling weak and dazed from your orgasm and lack of sight.

You nodded as a reply, still working on catching your breath, knowing Fili would be watching for a response.

“Good,” he stated, attaching his lips to yours quickly and forcefully, catching you by surprise. “Because I’m not done with you yet,” he added when he parted from you momentarily.

Teeth and lips crashed together as your tongues sought to taste each other, your desperation building rapidly. You moaned into Fili’s mouth, relishing in the feel of his rigid shaft pressing against your tingling bud.

Fili growled, the sudden noise startling you slightly, but adding to your amusement. It was an act to restrain himself and you knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. You could feel his excitement radiating off of him, his skin almost vibrating as your hand grazed over his belly.

With a strength that would always amaze you, Fili lifted you and tossed your body onto the bed, the act making you laugh as you settled into the plush furs. Tucking your lip in your teeth and feeling your husband crawl over top of you, you imagined the level of ferocity that was about to be unleashed.

He settled himself between your spread legs, taking in the sight of you before him. The silk still covering your eyes, a bold smile breaking across your face, your chest rising and falling heavily with anticipation, and your wet core, primed and ready for him to plunge into.

No warning was given before he impaled you in one swift motion, his size filling and stretching you completely, your cries echoing through your chambers once more.

His need emanated through to you and your hips met his with hard thrusts, the sound of your bodies slapping against each other loud in your ears. Your hands clawed at his shoulders and back as you brought yourself closer to his body, not needing to see to know exactly where he was on you with his form engraved in your memory.

Desperate to taste him again, you found his lips with yours and he stole the breath straight from your lungs with every press to your mouth.

Fili had you so close to the edge again, your walls squeezing him tight with every push, a signal of your imminent release.

Fili gripped onto your hips and pulled out of you almost completely, looking down to see his member disappear again as he slammed back into you.

“Mahal, you should see how good you look taking me like this,” he grunted out, sounding feral.

He repeated the process multiple times, enjoying watching your folds slide over him, revealing and then encasing him again as he pumped in and out of you, fuelling your lust and a bit of frustration that you also weren’t able to enjoy the view.

Although your body was being jostled against the bed, the covering over your eyes remained securely in place, the elimination of sight allowing you to still feel every contact even more than usual.

A gasp left you as Fili pulled your hips up off the bed and further onto his lap, spreading you wider and reaching even further inside so his tip was now bombarding your deepest spot with every blow. Your fingers tore into his thighs that were supporting beneath your own, craving your next release. His mouth covered yours, wet and rough, the beads in his moustache tapping against your chin with his movements.

You could imagine what he looked like now, his face dripping with sweat, his brows furrowed and the most intense gaze from his blue eyes burning into you with his efforts. As much as you were enjoying the benefits of the blindfold, you couldn’t help but feel robbed of seeing your husband in all his glory of providing you flawless ecstasy.

Fili was ready to take his fall with you, the evidence clear in the loose moans coming from him and the sloppy kisses that landed across your chest. The sounds he made pushed you to your second climax, knowing he was fully indulging in everything you offered him and completely intoxicated by you. He drove into you with one last hard push, twitching against your walls as he filled you with his thick seed, the feeling of his hot spend and friction on your clit igniting another orgasm more intense than the first.

Fili collapsed over your torso, his skin sweaty against yours and body exhausted, trying to catch his breath as you both recovered from your peaks. Still remaining inside you, he carefully pulled the silk ribbon away from your eyes, revealing the soft illumination of your room to you again.

You blinked slowly as you adjusted to the glowing light, smiling as Fili came into focus above you, his blue eyes shining and dimples set deep in his cheeks. You reached your hands up to cup his face and kissed him lovingly, lost in the after-effects of your passionate endeavour.

Although you could never forget his face, you missed being able to see it even for that brief amount of time.

You continued to take him in, running the tips of your fingers over the lines on his face, stopping to press into the crease on his left cheek. It made him smile bigger at you and you automatically matched his grin.

“What are you thinking, Y/N?” he asked inquisitively.

“How this was far better than going to the feast,” you giggled.

Fili hummed in response as he rested his head on your chest and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking his hair and back languidly.

“Aren’t you glad I talked us out of going?” Fili asked, teasingly.

“I don’t think neither of us needed much convincing, my love,” you cooed to him, feeling his laugh rumble through you.

“Now to deal with the wrath of Thorin,” you added.

He sighed loudly against your chest, “Don’t remind me, Y/N.”

“I promise to make it all worth it.”

Fili turned his head to look at you and you flashed him a smile and a wink, letting him know you wouldn’t be having an early night despite staying home from the festivities.

#fili durin #fili the hobbit #fili #fili imagine #fili smut #fili x reader #fili x female reader #smut #talk you out of it #one shot #fili fanfic #blindfold #fili friday

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