#coin into name pendant

[that-basic-simp]

Girl With The Wave Tattoo

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: None WC: 1.5k+

"Hottie alert," my friend tapped me on the back of my arm.

My back was facing the customers as they were coming and going. I was doing my work while my friend was looking at the customers. I should be more specific. The attractive customers.

"If it's another athlete with the typical body, I am not turning around."

"No, it's your kind of hottie."

"If this is another prank I swear I am going to--" I immediately shut up as I was face to face with someone who was indeed my kind of hottie.

They were tall, tall for a woman. Or at least they appeared to be a woman. It was kind of hard to tell as they were wearing cargo joggers with high-top Converse and a white tank top. There was a long chain necklace with the sword as a pendant. Finally, to top off their appearance, they had orange tinted glasses covering their eyes and a bun on the top of their head. Running up both of their arms was a sleeve tattoo of what looked to be water in the traditional Japanese art style. Similar to that of the Great Wave.

"W-What can I get for you today?" I asked.

"What kind of tea do you have?" they asked, in a bit of a raspy voice.

"We have all kinds ranging from green, black, oolong. You name it, we probably have it."

"Do you by chance have any hot matcha green tea?"

"W-We do."

"Can I get that in a large?"

"Yes. Name for the order?"

"Mizu."

"Alright. That'll be about 500 yen."

Mizu handed me a small coin and I took it from them.

"It should be out soon."

"Thanks," they walked towards the counter and waited for me to make the drink.

"So, what do you think?" my friend leaned over and asked me, whispering in my ear.

"I don't know about this one."

"What do you mean?"

"Their appearance. I can't tell if they're, you know."

"Nondescript?"

"In a sense. The bun isn't helping, but their eyes," I turned to face them.

They were reading something on their phone. As I looked closely, which is an odd feature to stare at, their fingers were thin and slender to be a man's. I mean, depending on the man, they can be long and slender. But they looked oddly feminine for someone who is trying to be neither gender. Or maybe one more so than the other. It's hard to tell. But it didn't matter. They were attractive.

"Did you at least get their name?"

"Mizu," I whispered, not wanting to confuse them with thinking their order was ready.

"Interesting name."

"I think so. Unique."

I finished making the tea for Mizu and I set it on the counter.

"Mizu?" I called out their name.

Their head picked up and they walked over to me, grabbing the cup.

"Thanks," they said, placing a couple pieces of yen in the tip jar.

"Have a nice day."

They smiled before turning around, walking off towards the door. The chime of the bell rang as the door opened.

"Is this the first time you've seen them?"

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"I've seen them in this area. I think they work at a tattoo parlor just down the road."

"Huh, interesting."

"Thinking about giving them a visit?"

"Maybe not like instantly. I think I'll give it a bit and see if they come around again."

"If you want to know that answer, talk to Ise. She hears and sees everything that goes on here."

"She doesn't come in until three, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but if text her and say you need details on one customer, she'll be here in a flash."

"I kind of don't want to because I'd rather talk to her when she's scheduled to be here."

"Suit yourself. Oh, Mr. Watari is here again. Be careful."

"I'm heading into the pantry then."

"To do what?"

"Hide from him."

After waiting a few hours, Ise came in and that was when my friend dropped the bomb on her and she came rushing over to me, excited and happy as a clam. If she was a dog, her tail would be wagging so fast she could fly off into the clouds.

"I heard you want to know something about someone."

"Mizu. I was told they work at a tattoo parlor."

"Mizu is a woman. When she's out in public or when she's in the tattoo place, she binds her chest."

"Why's that?"

"Bad history with another work place where they would only hire her if she was more masculine."

"That's backwards."

"It was."

"Is there anything else you know about her?"

"Other than she can rock two arm sleeve tattoos and make it look attractive, no. That's really it."

"Alright," I sighed.

"Why? Are you interested in her?"

"I mean, I thought I was."

"Y/N, everyone here knows you prefer women over men."

"I guess I was just ready to open the door to Mizu if she was in fact a guy. I just didn't want to jump to conclusions when I wasn't able to tell."

"You wouldn't be the first. People here had issues with her."

"Why's that?"

"She was a regular here before you started working with us. That was when she was a bit more feminine presenting. But when she started changing into what we see her normally wear, she went into the bathroom one day. It was also before we changed it to be single stalls instead of multiple. She went in to use the restroom and a mother and her young child came out, screaming at us for allowing Mizu into the bathroom. The mother thought Mizu was a man, and when explaining it to her that she is biologically female, the mother did not believe her. You'll never believe what Mizu said to the woman."

"What?"

"'Want to check yourself?'"

I almost dropped over, both Ise and my friend laughing.

"The mother was so disgusted, saying that she was being assaulted now by what Mizu said. The police got involved and after some extensive and some invasive work on Mizu, they deemed she was in fact a woman. The mother still didn't believe it."

"I feel bad for Mizu," I said.

"We all did. So whenever she comes in here, which isn't as often as before, we give her a discount on her entire order. She doesn't know that and the other customers don't know it either."

"It's hard to believe that she doesn't know."

"I'm sure she does. But she hasn't said anything about it. Although, she does tip generously."

"I think she's making it up for the many times you discounted her order."

"We just all felt bad for her and what she had to go through. Oh! I know. You should do something for her."

"What?"

"Yeah. She's going to be coming here in a few days."

"How do you know that?"

"Ise is able to track people's schedules," my friend said.

"No, I just know that Mizu is going to be tattooing a friend of mine. She comes in here whenever she has to tattoo someone."

"So I take it she was tattooing someone today."

"Yes. This is my friend's first session," Ise said. "She'll be going back in a few days to do the second session."

"I see. What should I do for Mizu?"

"Chocolate can't go wrong," my friend said.

"But she does like tea," Ise said. "When my friend goes to get her tattoos done, Mizu is always drinking tea. Mostly hot tea."

I nodded my head, "I see."

A few days had gone by and when the day Mizu was going to be making another return, I was ready. I didn't want to come off as stalkerish, which was why I had to make this perfect. When the bell rang, I picked my head up and found Mizu walking to the counter.

"Same as before?" I asked.

"How do you know?" Mizu looked at me with suspicion.

"Your order stands out."

"Does it?"

"You're the only one who orders the hot matcha green tea," I said.

"Out of all the customers here?" she perked an eyebrow.

I nodded my head, "Most people here enjoy coffee. You're the only tea person."

"Huh. I see."

"And some people here thought it would be nice to give you this," I pulled out a small bag and placed it on the counter for her.

"What's this? Was this Ise's idea?" Mizu asked.

"You know Ise?"

"She came in to accompany her friend one time. I tattoo her friend and she is getting her second session today."

"What is she getting?"

"Something similar to what I have."

Mizu turned around and moved her tank top down slightly. I poked my head over the counter and found there was a large phoenix tattoo on her back.

"It's not exactly a phoenix. Hers is going to be a turtle."

"Oh, I see."

Mizu turned around, "Thank you," she gestured to the bag. "If it was Ise's idea, I assume it will be tea."

"It was actually mine. Ise gave me the idea to give you something."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, but she told me what happened to you. About the mother and child here that caused you issues."

A small smile crawled on Mizu's lips, "It was a bit of an unfortunate situation, but it just showed me that people will think what they want to think no matter what."

"Even though I don't really know you, I think you're a great person. For persevering through all of that."

"Thank you," she said.

"I-I'll get your tea ready."

"What's your name?"

"Am I not wearing my name tag?" I looked down at my apron, noticing it was gone. "Shit, I'm not."

She chuckled.

"It's Y/N," I said.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," she said. "I hope to see you around."

[satyrmagos]

Devotional pendant featuring images associated with Hephaistos, the Greek god of metalwork, smithing, and craft. Hephaistos name is commonly transliterated into English as Hephaestus, and he is known to the Romans as Vulcan. The anvil, hammer, tongs, and elemental fire triangle were chosen based on my own decades of work with the god.

* One inch (27mm) in diameter, 3mm thick, with a bail suitable for a 2-3mm chain.

* Made of solid .925 sterling silver or shibuichi (an art metal alloy made of 3:1 copper:silver), yellow brass, or bronze.

* Available as a coin, with an upeye for use as a pendant, or with three jump rings for use in a rosary-style necklace.

Each piece is hand-made to order in my home studio, with unique variations and defects as a result of the fabrication and casting process.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

⚔Wouldn't You Like🏛 AU Fun Facts:

• Reader had a friend (Jason, William Stryker's son) who was their friend and who was super nice and hopeful (so, like Polites)

• Reader usee to be a very kind person, then became hardened and desperate and bitter, and then, after being freed from stone, is trying to do only good deeds for others, to make up for any wrongdoings or perceived skights they did in the past

• Reader carries a talisman, a triangular brown gem (can be set in a ring or necklace or bracelet or medallion) that hides the person holding it from the gods perception

• Reader uses to adore watching sunrises and sunsets; they still do, centuries later

• Reader used to wear a helm/helmet, a cape, and carried a long spear or sword, as well as a pouch of poisons + a pouch of different coins and gems (they also wore a pendant that marked them as a demigod)

• Reader, after being freed from stone, wears a tattered cloak, has a weary look, and stays away from large crowds when they can (they don't have a helm or weapon anymore)

• The teens all thought Reader was an epic, legendary hero, and always wanted to meet them, up until they were chosen/became demigods, and found out Reader was... no longer around...

• Reader meets the teens first, before the gods, after they're freed

• Reader always feels like they're starving after being freed, amd devours whatever food is put in front of them (as long as they know it isn't poisonous or rotten)

• The gods made the spear that froze Reader, but weren't the ones who threw it... (but it was someone else, who doesn't remember throwing the spear...) (guess who did it...)

• Reader has a LOT of legends behind their name, and a lot of people believed they'd existed, but no one can see present-day Reader (who looks... different) to be the grand, heroic, wise First Demigod and Hero of the Kingdoms

• Morph is also here in this au, they're the eight and final deity of the main pantheon

[tumblerose-art-studio]

Okay so On my main I made a chart for a potential Gravity Falls Swap AU and decided to draw this universe's Gideon, named Gulden Krypto, a Mind Demon, known for appearing to people in over their heads and need guidance, usually Fortune Tellers, Oracles, people with social anxiety, etc.

He meets Dr. Mason "Dipper" Pines when Dipper utters an ancient incantation and finds his mind invaded by Gulden in his sleep, claiming to be a Muse who will help Dipper unlock the secrets of Gravity Falls.

Gulden's Design is heavily based on Gideon's Pendant from The Hand That Rocks The Mabel, The Name Gulden derives from the Dutch and German word for a Gold Coin, I think it works rather well, I also gave him a Cowboy Hat because in the show Gideon wears those surprisingly often.

[hopefullyitsextensivebule]

Plus One { J.T.K X Reader }

Pairing: Jake Kiskza x Reader 

Writer’s Whining: Already hitting with the curve balls; I like it! Anon requested a possessive Jake smut. This is a slow build-up because I wanna give it some content before we get into the shit. This is also my first fanfic, so please, if I need to improve. I implore you to correct me. Warnings: Smut, Spanking/Smacking, Spitting, Unprotected Sex (No Glove, No Love) Minors DO NOT ENTER Word Count: 2K+

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It was no secret that you were the apple of Jake's eye.

Everyone saw how his eyes lit up every time you walked into a room; like a moth to a flame, he couldn't help but be allured to your light, and only wanting to be near it gave him ease. Since you were introduced to the group by a mutual friend, the guitarist and you shared a bond. It was refreshing since you have dealt with pricks left and right, but he didn't want anything from you, at least from what you saw on the surface.

It was the evening, and the venue was bustling. An old college friend of yours was celebrated for his glass ceramics getting into a city's permanent collection at a well-known museum. It was a momentous occasion; you were invited and could even bring a plus one. You wore a nice black dress and some heels but were still vertically challenged. People had greeted you, along with the star of the evening. 

"Eli! How are you?" you ask, hugging the male and pulling away quickly.

"I'll tell ya, Y/N, it feels good," the male said. He was a tall fellow with a short hairdo and an angled nose, nonetheless easy on the eyes. "Thank you so much for coming; I appreciate it."

"Are you kidding me? And miss this wonderful evening, I would never," you say, happy to be called upon such an occasion, "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you…" he said with a glint of humility, "And what about you? How's life for you going these days?" 

"It's good," you said, looking at your phone and showing a bit of worry, "it's all good."

"Waiting for someone, aren't you?" he asked, "a date, I presume?"

You scoffed at the assumption and playfully smacked the man on his chest, "stop it. You know I don't deal with bozos anymore. I'm all about me as of right now," you said proudly.

"That's nice, but wouldn't you want someone else to be all about you, too?" Eli asked, holding your shoulder, "You're always stressed and trying to be the do-it-all girl, but someone needs to love on you. You know what I mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought this evening was about you," you jeered, sarcasm a default in your personality. 

"You know I'm right," he teased, "now, whoever this person is is not worth your time."

And just like that, another party guest came through the doors. He wore a felt hat, a vintage pirate coin pendant decorating his neck, and sunglasses to finish his bust. You immediately knew your plus one had arrived by the comments and the smell of Dior's Sauvage filling the room. 

"Jake," you said as if his name was a breath of fresh air. “You came."

"You told me to come, so I came, love," Jake said, walking up to you and giving you a hug, to which you returned it with much enthusiasm. You pull away, seeing the tiniest hint of a smile behind those shades. 

Eli had cleared his throat, having caught your attention and Jake's. "And who is this handsome young man?" he asked, your cheeks turning red from the question.

"I'm Jake Kiskza," he said, offering his hand, Eli taking it and shaking it. "I'm guessing you're the artist of the night. Congratulations."

"Why, thank you. I see you're a friend to our sweet Y/N," he pushed; you have to hide your face from the embarrassment.

"Yes, I am," Jake stated firmly, a protective arm around you and even pulling you close to make the statement clear to the gentlemen, "a special friend." You nudged Jake on his side, trying to keep him at ease. He always did this, trying to size up on any guy that spoke to you, much less breathed the same particles in the air as you. 

"Is that so," Eli said, interested in getting to the tea. "Do tell me more."

"I would, but for tonight I'm here for Y/N, respectfully speaking," Jake said, his hand going down to your hip and feeling his thumb caress your side to keep you calm, knowing a fire had burned inside, and not for a good reason. 

"See you," Eli said before dismissing himself, leaving you and Jake alone in a room full of people. Chastened, you part from Jake and scoff, Jake, throwing his hands up and following you. You find an unused lounge room where you sit and scowl in the venue. 

Jake was right at your coattails, standing in from of you and having his thumb in the loop of his pants. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, sounding more accusatory than empathetic.

"Don't play dumb with me. You know what you were doing just now," you snap at Jake.

"I haven't the slightest idea of what you mean, Y/N," Jake said coyly, "be a good girl for me and do elaborate."

You stood up to Jake, snatching off his sunglasses and, chest out and ready to rumble, "Every time a guy talks to me, you come around and act as you own me. It never fails." Jake raised an eyebrow as you stood so close to him. "We're not dating, and you think you can act this way. Honestly, I don't know why I invite you to places."

"Watch that mouth of yours, little girl. Wouldn't want to punish it," he told you, chuckling a bit. 

You gasped in shock, "are you serious? Are you shitting me right now? I'm having a serious conversation with you, and you're trying to play up your sick daddy kink?"

"I am serious," Jake said, walking up towards you, forcing you to walk backward and leaving you no choice but to surrender down on the velvet material of the couch underneath you, "you know as well as I do that you belong to me. That you've always belonged to me. Every curve, every inch of that body belongs to me."

You sat there silent, your thighs pressing together to stop yourself from leaking. You were aroused by Jake speaking to you like this. You were no better than him. "S-Stop it…"

"No," he said shortly with you, "I'm not gonna stop because tonight, I'm going to show you who you belong to." 

You look up at him, feeling the apple of your cheeks swell up with blood and radiate heat as you see how close you two got. Jake sat down next to you, intimate and cozy, his hand on your thigh and his fingers trying to pry them over between. Your throat couldn't help but create a mewl, like a fearful yet anticipating whimper. It was as if you wanted it. 

And you did. 

By God, you did. You're pooling heat radiating like a pulsating heartbeat with a sting of a burn. "Come on, baby girl, you know you wanna give in, so why not do it," Jake said, trying to get you to cop out and give in to the game played. His fingers went up your thigh to find the pant of the underwear, searching for those shimmering folds. 

You gave in.

Your legs slowly but surely spring open, as if meant to be, and give him access to you. "Good girl," Jake had pushed the front of your underwear from under the fabric to make space for his work, the sound of shredding cotton making you jump. Jake didn't start gentle or soft. He had pressed his middle and ring finger deep into your wet and slick cunt and began to finger you and a moderately fast pace. Whimpers and curses escape your lips as Jake unleashes all his desire for you into your center. 

"Jake~," you say, your hips shifting height as you become overstimulated and restless. Just as he started, he quickly left, smacking your inner thighs and your vulva right. You let out a yelp and a curse.

"You call me daddy, understood?" Jake said, giving her another smack and teasing her hole. You push your hips off the couch, needing those broad fingertips using your heat. "Understood?"

"Yes… Daddy," you say with relief as you finally feel his back into you. You continued to give him a beautiful siren's serenade of moans and whimpers, his fingers stroking every wall of your center. 

It was like a dream to you. You never would have thought you'd become putty to a foolish man like Jake Kiszka. He was the same Jake that would pretend to be the British drunkard Oliver Reed. The same Jake would be offended but with the color purple. You couldn't comprehend it at all.

"Turn around," Jake ordered, holding himself up and skillfully removing his belt buckle with one hand. You stayed open for Jake, anticipating what you were working with. "I said turn around."

As if your life depended on it, you quickly did as told, getting on your knees and your elbows tucked underneath your chest and armrest of the couch. You presented yourself with your ass up and your face down. It was a sight to see, Jake showing his appreciation but slowly letting a sliver of spit drip onto your entrance. After a while, his fingers rubbed slow and steady circles around your clit and down at your desperate slit. A whine escaped your lips as the teasing and playing with your center made you restless. "Daddy…"

Jake leaned down to your face and kissed your sweet lips before parting, taking a good piece of your hair into his fist and pulling your head a bit, a yelp escaping you. You could hear him undo his zipper, your eyes looking around frantically as you didn't know how he looked.

You felt the head press into you, your mouth hanging open, and your eyes crossed as you felt him bottom out inside you.

"Jake!" You moan out, fingernails digging into the upholstery. A smack on your ass made you scream, Jake giving you his all.

"What's my name?" He asked as he held onto your hips and thrust into you at an unforgiving pace but still slowed to get you adjusted.

"Daddy—" you dragged as his thrusts changed the vibrations in your voice, a reaction to his hot movement. You felt his hand pull your hair up and have you flush against his clothed chest. "I'm yours, Daddy! And I always will be—"

He pulls out, leaving you aching for his member. He begins to maneuver your body and press you against the wall, your thighs cocked open. "And what do you think you're doing?" you ask, becoming bolder.

"I wanna see your face when you cum." He pressed himself back into you and began to thrust in and out of you. Jake pins against the wall of the lounge area. How dirty this was. Fucking in a lounge room while your peers drank and talked about art. You were having your body slammed into by your long-time friend, and you were enjoying it fucking so much.

"I'm gonna cum," you warned him, feeling your core build up to your release. His hand went to your neck, Jake leaning in to kiss you. And the both of you kissed hard, teeth clashing and tongues fighting to hold dominion over the other. You'd have swollen lips later, but it was worth it.

"Tell me whose pussy this belongs to?" Jake said against your lips, purposely slowing down to drive you insane. You whined, trying to push yourself down on his cock, wanting it. "Tell me, or else I'll leave you here looking ruined."

"You, daddy~" you moaned his moniker. And with that, Jake gave you exactly what you wanted. His mouth found itself right where your earlobe and jawline met, your moans getting louder. It was a blur between you two, his pelvis meeting yours at an unforgiving pace. Your fingernails tugged into the back of his tailored blazer and soon released a sharp yelp, having released on his cock.

Jake had started to stutter in his movement, his cock releasing into you. He pulled his shirt up, seeing your abdomen and his cock twitch. The beautiful mess that you two made will forever hold space in your mind. He pulled out of you and laid you down on the couch. He fixed up his pants and sat down next to you. You looked angelic, from how your hair splayed out on the armchair to how your chest had risen and descended. It was beautiful. And it was all because of him.

Your eyes looked up at him, the guitarist looking worried. "Stop looking at me like that," you say, your arm over your eyes to break contact.

"You stop it," he said, removing your arm and leaning down to gently kiss either eyelid. You couldn't help but giggle at his affection. "You're beautiful..." You shake your head no, abashed, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. He leaned in and kissed you. It was a gentle and chaste display, his hand cupping your face and thumb rubbing your cheek to calm you. "Why are you crying, baby?"

"I'm not crying, I’m just tired," you lie, pushing Jake, to which he chuckled. You sit up and had fixed your hair. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful..." he said, his cheeks showing pink. You smiled, knowing what he said he meant it very much true. He had gotten up, fixing himself up and had extended his hand to you. "Come on, let's get back to the party," he told you. You look at his hand and smiled.

"Yes, Daddy."

[whoahoney]

Jake anon back with another thought 🫡

I feel like he cums a lot, and he seems like the type to fuck it back into you with his fingers if any of it drips out 😫

OMFG I AGREEEEEE I almost mentioned it in the last Jake Thots post but I felt it needed it’s own post to itself

So here’s this nasty filth, ya sluts 🫠❤️‍🔥

Minors DNI

(Tumblr won’t let me tag my stuff as mature?? So heed this warning before I fucking eat you)

Warnings: smut!! AFAB!reader, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, p in v, praise, cum play?, pet names, unprotected sex/cream pie, multiple orgasms and slight overstim,

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jake had some sort of… fascination.

Or was it a fixation?

Whatever it was, Jake really liked the way his cum looked when it dripped out of your pussy.

During sex, he’d watch your hips—if not your bouncing tits or blissed out eyes—no matter what position you were in. He watched himself piston in and out of you, the way your body would jolt upward with each of his thrusts, fucking you further into your bed.

He’d reach the deepest spot inside of you, finding that special place that made your walls clamp down around him, drawing out groans of pleasure from deep within his throat, “Oh, honey, fuck me…” he’d lament into your sweet neck, leaving a steaming kiss on his wake as he continues his thrusts.

You lay on your back and look up at him, at his majesty. His hair hung in front of his face, damp with the perspiration that clung to his whole body and yours. He only wore his necklace, the coin pendant brushed your nose every once in a while but you didn’t care, it was the farthest thing from your mind as his movements became more desperate.

“Tell me you want it,” he practically ordered as he straightened, wrapping his hands around your thighs and readjusting his grip on you before giving an experimental thrust that sent you mewling.

A smug smile crossed his face before his teeth sank into his bottom lip at the sight of you so desperate beneath him. “You want my cum? Spilled all inside you?” He asked, giving another roll of his hips. You nod vehemently, forgetting your words again before Jake chuckles, “Be a good girl and tell me.” He said slowly, his voice a hungry rasp for the sound of yours.

“—Yes!” You we’re quick to answer, “I want it, I want it inside, plea-please, Jake.” You whisper pathetically.

He leans down to brush his nose against yours before kissing your lips chastely—a reward. “Thank you, baby.” He whispers saccharinely before giving you a bolder kiss, practically a kitten lick.

You open your mouth for him and feel his hands grip your head, holding you still as his hips ground against yours, “Oh, fuck!” You cry out.

“Yes!” He mumbles against your lips and his languid thrusts intensify, the roll of his hips rhythmic and pulsing. “I wanna hear it,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna hear everything, baby.” He panted as he devoured you.

“Shit, oh, god—I’m gonna cum!” Jake realized and pushed your legs back towards you, his hips slapping against yours with the angle change that had you almost crying in euphoria.

Your hands grasp your breasts, massaging them as he fucks into you and watches your reaction— mouth open, eyes watering and lined with lust just for him.

“Pump me full, I wanna feel you dr—“ you sigh in release as your orgasm crashes upon you, just as you feel the pulsing of his cock inside.

“—Oh fuck, baby, keep, oh, shit!”

“—wanna feel you drip outta me, Jake.” You manage breathlessly as your high fades away and he rides his out with fervor, watching as your pussy weeps with your own release around his swollen member.

Jake slows to a stop as he pants and his chest heaves with breath. He glanced up to your eyes for the first time in a minute, your hand coming up to his hair to bury your nails in it and scratch against his scalp. He smiles softly, his brown eyes catching tones of amber in the fading light of the day.

He carefully withdraws from you, the loss making your hips twitch slightly as he keeps his hands on your thighs, holding you open. “What are you—“ your question is silenced when a string of white release oozes from your slit, Jake’s eyes shining in wonder and his mouth etched in a lustful smirk as he traces your labia impatiently.

You sit up and more drools out of you, giving him the perfect opportunity to use his fingers to wipe it up and plunge it back inside of you.

You gasp and fall into the pillow again with a sharp arch to your back as he uses his thumb to play with your swollen clit, “You were so good for me, baby.” He purred, using his other hand your draw adoring circles into the skin of your thigh.

You whimpered at the overstimulation, but it soon melted into that addictive fire that sizzled beneath your skin and deep in your core. The feeling that cried for more, more, more of him.

He watched his fingers come out of your entrance covered in his own release in excess. He could only smile at himself, looking at his masterpiece—Your ruined pussy, your ruined makeup, and your never ending beauty— just as he pushed them back inside and you came for him, again.

[astronomiaa]

Headcanon (theory?): Jacob's shilling necklace was actually Cecily's

It feels like there's always been a bit of a mystery to why Jacob wears the shilling necklace, ranging from it could just be a unique design choice or Jacob keeping a lucky coin on him since he has a tendency to try his luck. It's always felt like it's held some sort of significance - at least to me? Jacob's seen wearing the necklace even before he and Evie head to London, when he's still wearing his Simply Jacob outfit (his starter-mon outfit, if you will). A physical copy of the necklace was also included for anyone who pre-ordered Syndicate.

So it's kind of bumbled around in my head, until I discovered victorian love tokens while doing some research and it's like the dots have connected.

For anyone who doesn't know, like I didn't, love tokens were coins that were handcarved by a family member, a suitor to be, or friends, and given to a recipient to convey feelings. They weren't just romantic! They have a long history, but the victorians were crazy for them and love tokens became a pretty popular physical embodiment of ones love for another person. (Especially so, because they were usually made using coins - and the British already had a tradition of keeping lucky coins in their pocket? Fun!)

Most often they would be carved with names and dates, words to describe the relationship between the two, etc. In rarer cases (or at least considered rare to find for collectors of today), they would be carved with pictures that would be symbolically important for the giver and recipient.

I bring this up because for anyone who was lucky enough to receive an actual Jacob Pendant from ubisoft, or just bought of a replica off like... etsy or something, you know that Jacob's pendant actually has the Assassin symbol carved onto it.

In my opinion, this definitely makes the shilling a token of some sort! It could possibly be a token carried by all English Assassins, a way to recognize one another, but I like to believe that it may have been a romantic gift from Ethan to Cecily. After all, they were both two VERY devoted Assassins who were considered to have come the closest to freeing London from Templar rule before Henry, Jacob, and Evie. Whatever reason for the token, we can at least assume the token was Cecily's!

How do we know it's Cecily's? How it's meant to be worn!

Since tokens were made out of coins, which were in turn made out of semi precious metals, tokens could be turned into jewelry. It was common for women to wear them as bracelets, pendents, necklaces, and earrings. Men would wear them as cufflinks and put them on watch chains.

Jacob's shilling pendant is well... a pendant. It's traditionally womens jewelry (though I don't think Jacob could care any less about the way jewelry is meant to be worn in relation to gender).

So yeah! Even if I'm connecting dots that may not quite be there, the thought of Jacob having something of Cecily's is... nice. Especially since... Ethan and Jacob did not have uh, the best of relationships.

Anyways, thanks for reading my silly lil headcanon and have a nice day!

[defrostedvertebrae]

The celiac dreadful & the celiac hare

Celiac bun's name is Covrig (translated Pretzel because irony is nice) & he has a perforated 10 bani coin as a pendant.

Having a celiac lagomorph plushie has been nice for me as a lagomorph with celiac myself

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take Shelter 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, stalking, possessiveness and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You keep to yourself, until you can’t anymore. (another short reader because why not)

Character: Thor Odinson

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all the way to Asgard. Take care. 💖

Peter has a whole basket of candles and a few other goodies with them. He's good enough company, he does enough talking for the both of you. A skill you've never had. And he's tolerant of your silence, many people are more likely to take affront to what they mistake as indifference.

"So, what do I owe ya?" He asks with a grin as you hover by his shoulder, hands folded reticently.

"Owe me?" 

"For putting up with my mindless browsing. I saw you eyeing that opal pendant…"

"I was only looking," you squeeze your hands tight, "you don't owe me…."

"I do, you're just too nice to admit it," he insists. 

"No, really, I can't…" you wonder for just a minute at how adamant he is about giving you something. You think of the box on your counter but can't figure how he could be behind it. 

"I'm getting it," he sidles past you and goes to the shelf of dangling necklaces.

"Peter," you follow him hauling your bag higher on your shoulder.

"Too late," he says as he plucks up the oval pendant, "it's already in my hand."

You've never been good at confrontation and this is edging close to an argument. You clamp your lips and swallow your protests. You let out a hollow breath through your nose.

"Thank you," you murmur.

He's unfazed by your reluctance as he sweeps over to the counter and greets the cashier. The same blue-haired girl that welcomed you in. You watch her ring him up, her long clawlike nails painted a shining silver ombre and her hands and arms decorated with intricate tattoos. You were never cool enough to pull all that off.

"Awesome," Peter says as he takes out his card, "the necklace is for her, can you wrap it separately?"

"Oh, that's sweet. You two are such a cute couple," she preens, "oh, beautiful stone."

She admires the stone as your mouth drops open at her insinuation. Peter just laughs lightly, "friends but I'm flattered."

You give a nondescript mutter and sway nervous. Your shoulder is starting to hurt from the weight of the bag.

"Ah, my bad," she says as she folds brown paper around the necklace and slips it in a small bag, "opal symbolizes hope. It's supposed to be lucky."

She holds out the bag and you take it with a quiet thanks. Peter steps up to pay and you wait awkwardly, staring at your feet anxiously. When he's finally done, he lifts the heavy bag of candles as if it's nothing.

"Onward, companion," he declares  getting a chuckle from the clerk.

He leads you to the door, holding it for you as you emerge onto the street. You drop the necklace into your bag and squint at the sunshine. You stop on the pavement and turn back to him.

"Um, I should…" you begin, looking down the street.

"Yeah, sorry for keeping you," he says, "maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," you shrug, "er, bye, uh, have a good day."

"You too." 

You slowly turn and slink away. You feel awkward as you sense him watching you. You only get a few steps before he calls your name.

You stop and face him as he bends and picks something off the sidewalkm he holds up the gleaming shape and examines it.

"You dropped this," he nears and offers the coin. That same damn coin.

You take it from him, not sure what to say. You give a tight smile and back up. "Thanks."

"Cool coin. Is it a collectible or something?"

"Something like that," you utter, "uh, see ya."

Abruptly and nothing less than awkwardly, you spin and flit away. You scurry down the block and don't stop until you're around the corner. You open your hand and look down at the coin. It's almost glowing against your hand and warm. A sudden crack of lightening ripples in the clear sky and you look up at the deafening clap of thunder.

But all is calm. No one else is affected by the noise and the sky is unsplit by the furor. You wince and clasp the coin tight, pressing your hand to your chest as you quickly carry on. You just want to be home, safe and alone.

🌩️

You go along the shelves, slipping new tags on as you go through the list of price changes in your hand. Another tedious but mindless task. The sort you enjoy. You don't have to talk to anyone, you don't have to fake anything, you can just put your head down and get it down.

Eli yawns loudly and tries to drink from his empty coffee cup. You peek over at him as he pouts at the plastic lid before tossing it in the bin behind the counter. He looks up at you and sighs.

"You mind if I go grab a refill?"

"Go ahead," you say as you peel off another sticker.

"I can grab you a tea," he offers.

"I'm okay," you assure him, "pretty slow."

"You're telling me."

He comes out from behind the counter and shuffles out of the store. He leaves you in the low buzz of metal music coming from the Bluetooth speaker. You go down the aisle, searching for skus and rearranging some misplaced product. As you get close to the door, a shadow approaches but you don't look up, assuming it's only Eli.

"Hey," Peter's chipper tone draws your head up as you nearly drop your clipboard.

Your voice catches in your throat as he's not alone. You look between him and the much larger man. Broad and blonde and blue-eyed. You recognise him. He came to but dice a few weeks ago. Eli said he was famous... what was his name?

"Thor," the man offers as if he can see your confusion, "lady. We did not have a chance to introduce ourselves upon our last meeting."

"Oh, uh," you look between him and Peter, "hi?"

"We're just here to look at gaming mats. This guy," he points at Thor with his thumb, "some king or whatever, thinks he needs all the fancy things in the world."

"I am only excited for your game. I love gaming. On Asgard, I did much of it."

Peter gives a look like he's heard it all before. You bite your cheek sheepishly. Thor reaches up to toy with the string of his grey sweater and you follow the gesture with your eyes, realising too late that he's watching you too. You back up, hugging your clipboard tight.

"The gaming mats are down here," you stand flat to the shelves on your other side, "right by the plushies."

"Come on," Peter nudges Thor with his elbow and pass you in the tight space.

It takes a moment before the other man moves. You keep your gaze on the floor as the turns sideways and slips past, brushing you slightly. You face the shelf again and check your list. You pause before you can start again.

"If you need anything..." you say quietly.

"We'll let you know," Peter assures you, "pick a colour."

"Hmm," Thor hums thoughtfully.

You go back to the price changes as you let their chatter fade to drone in your ears. You get to the end and flip the page. Before you can go on to the next aisle, Peter comes down towards you and calls your name.

"Actually, I did want to ask you something," he nears as you see Thor examining a bright pink dragon plushy behind him. He smiles at it and makes it fly. Your attention is quickly drawn back to Peter, "we kinda need a healer for our part. We had a drop out and... yeah, no one else thought to get any healing spells."

"Um, you mean, er..."

"If you're free, yeah. You could come play. I have a premade character but if you want to make your own, that's cool too."

"Oh, uh," you're surprised by the offer. "I haven't really played in a while. I'm not the best."

"There's no way you can be bad," he counters as Thor comes up behind him.

"She'll join our party?" Thor asks hopefully.

"I don't know," Peter says over his shoulder, "we were just discussing that."

"Ah, sorry, sorry, I was distracted," Thor looks away guiltily.

"Anyway, you don't have to answer now. But you can let me know. I can give you my number."

"Um, okay," you tap your fingers on the back of the clipboard, "my phone is behind the counter."

"I'll just write it down," he offer points to your armful, "if that's easier. I'm sorry to get in the way of your work."

"It's alright," you assure him and flip the clipboard and slide out the pen, flicking towards the corner for him to write.

He scribbles down his number and grins. You stand cluelessly and turn the board back around as you take the pen back. Thor plops the dragon plush on Peter's shoulder and bounces it.

"Can I have the dragon?" He asks.

Peter's forehead creases and his cheek dimples. He gives an amused snort and shakes his head. "I think we're gonna look around a bit more."

"Okay," you say as you tuck the pen back under the clip.

"Thank you, lady," Thor bows his head at you.

You meet his sky blue eyes and feel a zinging sensation up your spine. Gersamr... the word crawls behind your ears, not a whisper, just a memory. You wince and back away. A stirring starts in your stomach as you tuck your chin down and retreat. He stays as he is until Peter pokes him.

"Better wall than a door," Peter grumbles.

Finally they go back down the aisle and you let out a willowy breath. Your hair feels like it's standing on end. Your fingers are tingle so much you can't even peel away a sticker.

Eli comes back in as you try to hide your confusion. He greets you but stops short as the smell of coffee wafts in with him.

"He's back," he hisses as he stands at the end of the counter, "God of Thunder.... wow, should I say hi?"

You peek up at him and give a shrug. He takes a deep gulp from his cup and pushes his chest out, "yeah, I'm gonna."

He steps around you and you sniff as he boisterously offers his help. Thank god. You don't know how much longer you could've managed on your own.

🌩️

You come out of work, headphones in, mind off. 

As you cross the large grey parking lot, the sky seems to reflect the grim asphalt and ripples darkly above. Another storm is coming. You never minded them much, almost found them comforting before, but now there's something about the roar of thunder that makes you want to shrink into nothing.

You can smell the rain as you cut behind the grocery store and see your building just beyond. It's like deja vu. The almost mirror reflection of the past makes your ears ring and your skin burn. You break into a run without thinking, hurtling towards the brick facade until you're breathless.

You unlock the door and fall through. You drag yourself up the stairs and to your apartment. Inside, you slide the chain into place and let out a heave. You drop your phone, your headphones, and your bag on the counter, staring at the emptiness there.

The box. It was there. When you left this morning it was exactly where it has been since you brought it home. You shake your head and back away, turning as you search the room. Maybe you moved it. You were tired and sometimes the small things can just fall through the cracks.

You enter your bedroom and find the dress spread across your blanket. No, no, you didn't do that. You know you didn't. You don't understand.

You go to the window and try to open it. It's locked. Your heart pounds as you spin around and rush back to the front door, making sure it's locked. You go from the front room, through the kitchen, around to the bathroom, and back to your bedroom. Nothing! You even tear open all the closets. There's no one there. You're alone but why is this happening?

"Who are you?" You cry out desperately, "what do you want?"

You stare at the wall. It stares back. Nothing. Silence. You don't know what you expected.

A sudden boom and a flash followed by a shatter. You spin as the glass litters the floor and a spray of rain blows through. You cover your ears as you watch the storm invade the space, sweeping around you violently, swallowing you up in a cyclone that's suffocating, circling around and around until all is dark. Until you feel yourself plummeting into an endless void.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

The Bargain (ao3)

People whisper about the god that lives in the forest, that grants wishes to the desolate and the desperate, but when Nesta Archeron takes it upon herself to enter the forest and ask the god to save her family, she gets much more than she bargained for. (For @cassianappreciationweek day 4)

In the darkness, something cracked.

Something snapped beneath her feet, and in the thin shafts of moonlight that broke through the stretching, reaching branches of the trees overhead, she caught sight of the forest floor, littered with sticks and stones— with things that glowed white, luminescent in the dark. Things that might have been teeth, might have been bones. 

A shiver crawled down her spine, a cold touch that was light and terrible and enough to make her shudder. There was another crack, another splinter in the silence, and somehow the forest seemed to grow denser, the woods pressing in on all sides. The darkness was a shroud, thick and cloying and almost impenetrable, and yet still Nesta walked— one determined foot in front of another. The branches caught on her cloak as she went, like aged and crooked fingers— snatching, grasping, hungry.

Still— she walked, her stomach aching with hunger and her bones aching with cold. In her hand she clutched her mother’s iron pendant so hard it left marks in the soft skin of her palm, its bite a reminder, a warning. She hoped it would protect her— hoped it would save her. As she took each misbegotten step, inching her way deeper and deeper into the dark swell of trees where only the truly desperate dared venture, she recited her mother’s old warnings, too.

Always wear iron, Mama had said when Nesta was young. Hang rowan by the door. Never enter into a bargain with a stranger, and remember— the fae can’t lie. 

Nesta had them memorised, clung to them as animal eyes glinted at her through the trees. 

She shuddered. Monsters lurked in these woods— everyone knew that.

But the baker’s boy had told her of an altar hidden deep within, where the lost go to pray. The blacksmith’s wife had been so desperate for a babe, the boy had said, that she’d made the trip in the dark, when the moon was full. She’d found the altar and laid out an offering, begged on her knees for the gods to answer her prayers. Two months later, she knew she was with child. The baker’s boy had whispered it as Nesta had pleaded with him for his last loaf of bread, bartered for it with the last coin they had. The gods live there, he’d said, handing over a small, half-burnt loaf. They take pity on those who dare to find their alter— on the cold and the desperate and the hungry.

Nesta was all of those things. 

And so she walked— through a blackness so thick she stumbled over tree roots breaking through the earth, through the branches that scraped her skin and the nettles that clawed her ankles as if in warning, bitter warning— an omen, not to take another step. Through the old graveyard, past the ivy devouring old tombstones; names and dates worn to dust. Vines snagged underfoot and yet still she walked, unable to face one more sunrise in the crumbling cottage she called home— unable to sit around an empty table with her sisters and their father, with empty plates and an empty hearth. It was dangerous, to go alone into a darkened forest filled with monsters, but dangerous too, to sit at home and starve. Maybe the gods would take pity on her. Maybe they’d listen to her.

After what felt like hours of walking, finally the forest thinned.

She emerged into a clearing bathed in the white light of the moon, and in the centre stood the ruins of a temple. Cold grey stone shone almost luminous beneath the starlight, and broken arches and vaulted ceilings spoke to a lost grandeur, a beauty in decay. Still it towered above her, walls stretching skywards even as they crumbled, and as Nesta stepped over the fallen stones that littered the clearing, she found the three steps that led to the remains of a door— beneath a sweeping, curved archway that might once have been grand. 

And inside…

There was an altar.

In that, at least, the stories had been true,

A great slab of whitened stone, worn smooth with age, sat in the middle of the ruin, open to the air. The roof had collapsed, leaving the temple exposed to the elements, and a fine layer of moss coated the debris that lay abandoned, almost forgotten. Only almost— because Nesta spied the offerings left, clustered at the base of that alter. Pomegranates and flower petals were left scattered, coins and jewellery and all the tokens left behind by the desolate. Nesta felt unconsciously for the bag hung over her shoulder, carrying her own meagre offerings. She’d brought some wildflowers that Elain had grown, along with one of their father’s little wooden carvings. He couldn’t make any money with his work, but perhaps the little carved bat might be enough to earn the mercy of whatever deity lived inside these woods— called this deserted temple home. 

A soft breeze ran through the ruins as Nesta kneeled by that altar, and a chill ran through her as she delved into her bag and pulled out the flowers, carefully wrapped in a length of cotton she’d cut off the bottom of an old dress. The scent was sweet, and even though the stems were a little crumpled, the petals were intact, all muted pinks and purples in the low light. She breathed it in, almost saccharine in the darkness of the temple, and willed herself to think of sunlight and bright places as she pulled out the tiny wooden bat next, setting it down on the white stone of the altar steps. It was stark against it, and as another - colder, much more ominous - breeze brushed the back of her neck, Nesta swallowed. Her every nerve screeched to a half as ice clustered along her spine, freezing the air in her lungs. The silence in temple shifted, making her hair stand on end, and that breeze didn’t feel pleasant, didn’t feel natural. Still, she forced her hands to steady as she set about arranging the flowers on the altar, surrounding the little wooden bat. She kept her eyes down, but she knew, somehow, that she wasn’t alone— that someone, or something, was watching her from the shadows.

Tentatively, Nesta looked up.

Her fingers stilled over the petals, her hand trembling. Behind the altar, close to the ruined temple walls, there was a shadow. A large shadow, lurking in the dark corners the moonlight couldn’t reach— the corners the light seemed to shy away from. She heard the whisper of a breath, saw a glint of silver, and as Nesta’s heart began to race hard in her chest, the last of Elain’s flowers dropped from her fingers, lying in the dust as the shadow moved.

It was nothing but a shifting of the darkness, a movement so smooth it was imperceptible, but as Nesta fixed her eyes on that dark, dark corner… 

Footsteps sounded against the stone, slow and steady and purposeful, and she caught the scent of cinnamon and leather and something… other, carried to her on that strange breeze. It was something like petrichor, like the earth after a heavy rain— something ancient, something dark, that made her think of tales and myths and legends, something that made her every hair stand on end.

Was this the deity rumoured to live in these woods?

Was he here to bless her— to grant her wish?

The shape in the darkness emerged slowly from the shadows, becoming more discernible, and still Nesta kneeled. She looked up, tried to see the god’s face, but the darkness still masked it so completely that all she could see was a broad outline. It was vaguely human— she could see two arms, two legs, but nothing else. A dark hum echoed on the stone, deep and low and entirely male, and it had something inside her coiling tight, a shiver running through her as the sound skittered across her skin. It was smooth and dark and weighted somehow, decadent, and it had her looking up, searching in vain for his face, desperate to find his eyes… but he was still cloaked by the dark, and as that hum died away, an echo fading into nothing, something stirred inside her. Some ancient instinct began to awaken, some primal sense that something was… wrong here. 

He took another step, a single move that resounded on the stone.

The silence was suffocating, pressing, and still the god hid his face, lingering in the shadows until Nesta was convinced he was borne of them, at one with the dark. She couldn’t speak, the words trapped in her throat, and as her heart pounded in her chest, unease sluicing through her, the god took another deliberate step forwards, purposefully slow and almost mockingly meandering, as if he had all the time in the world. 

Nesta knew then that he was toying with her— playing with her, with the fear that hammered through her veins. She thought she heard a low chuckle, but it was stolen by the wind, and as a shaft of moonlight at last touched the edges of that shadow…

A talon glinted in the silver light, right above his shoulders.

Brutally sharp, it shone like an onyx and Nesta knew, suddenly, that this wasn’t a deity at all. 

He took another step forward, and Nesta could suddenly make out wings spreading behind his shoulders, as black as the night itself. The great membranous things stretched out, and the scream got caught in her throat as she blinked, her heart thundering and her breath falling short. She couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, and oh, his face. Her mouth turned dry as she watched the moonlight filter across sharp cheekbones, glinting in eyes that gleamed with menace. She took in the swell of his mouth, generous lips parting as he gave her a wicked smirk, and her skin erupted in gooseflesh, something inside her seeming to shrink, to shirk, as she felt his presence swallowing the space between them, devouring it. The air began to thrum, and Nesta’s pulse raced as warning bells begun to ring and ring and ring out in her head, clamouring and clanging through her as every single sense she had begged her to run.

“You’re not a god,” she whispered.

Her voice was a whisper in the darkness, soft on old stone. The creature took another step forward, all predatory grace and terrifying, rugged beauty, and suddenly he was close enough to reach out and touch the flowers she’d left scattered across the altar.

“No, sweetheart,” he said, in a voice so delectably smooth that Nesta could almost feel it melting into her skin. He ran one long fingertip across Elain’s petals before lifting his head. His lips curved into a menacing smirk, making her shiver as he tilted his head and added, slowly, “I’m better.”

His lips split, revealing rows of white teeth— elongated canines, so sharp they could sink through skin as easily as a hot knife through butter. He was grinning now, in a way that threatened to devour her, and though fear ran rampant through Nesta’s chest, she found herself frozen on the steps of his altar, unable to run, unable to look away.

He was beautiful.

Monstrously, terrifyingly beautiful.

“Pretty,” he murmured, dragging his thumb across the petals she’d left— but his eyes weren’t on the flowers. They were on her, on her face. His gaze dropped to her lips, hungry as that smirk continued to curve a mouth crafted of pure sin, and Nesta felt her heart kick an unsteady beat as she studied him.

Dark eyes looked back at her, reflecting the silver light of the moon. Equally dark hair hung in waves to his shoulders, framing a face so ruggedly handsome Nesta almost thought it was a pity that he lived in the woods. A scar cut through his eyebrow, but his bronze skin was otherwise smooth. She swallowed again, taking in the bulk of him, the languid spread of muscle that corded his arms, his chest. He was wearing a simple black tunic but it clung to his chest, leaving little to the imagination. He tilted his head, almost cat-like, and as his hair fell forwards, Nesta caught sight of his ears. They rose to a sharp point, small tufts of fur crowning the tips. Silver glinted there, a chain earring crossing that pointed tip, shining almost sinister in the dark. He was the most brutal and beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and as his broad hands stroked the petals of Elain’s flowers, she knew that he could break her neck in a heartbeat if he wanted. 

Fae, she thought, suddenly cold all over. He’s fae.

“Tell me, love,” he purred. “What brings someone like you out into the deep, dark wood on a night like this?”

Nesta swallowed. “Isn’t this your shrine?” she asked, looking at the offerings left. The creature snorted and rounded the alter, suddenly close enough to brush her skin with one of those large hands, those fingers that might have been claws.

“No,” he answered. “But perhaps it could be.” He hummed again, low and dangerous, the sound seeming louder than it should, echoing on the expanse of empty, desecrated stone. “Perhaps it should be.”

“Why are you here then?” Nesta asked sharply, and distantly she realised it was probably incredibly stupid to be rude to a creature that could kill her with no effort at all but— she had walked for so long in the hopes that she would find a god to answer her prayers, and all she’d found was an empty sanctuary and a creature that looked like he might devour her.

The smile he gave her was cruel and cunning, chilling her blood even as his beauty threatened to steal her breath. Those wickedly sharp teeth bit down into his bottom lip as he dragged his gaze over her, assessing. His wings flared, sharp talons winking in the moonlight, and when he blinked, it was with all the practiced study of a predator sizing up its prey. She was nothing but a rabbit to this creature— a doe that had wandered too far into the dark parts of the forest. 

He didn’t answer her question.

Instead, the creature plucked up the little wooden bat, stroking one long finger over its wings.

“You need something,” he observed. “Perhaps I can give it to you.”

Nesta hesitated.

It was a moment of reckless stupidity, a moment that could cost her her life— you didn’t make a deal with the fae, everybody knew that. But she was desperate, and well…

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

In the silence, she could hear the wind drifting through the ruins of the temple, whistling through crumbling arches. Her heart stuttered. She had come in the hopes of finding somebody to answer her prayers, and though this creature wasn’t at all what she’d been looking for… perhaps he would do for now.

Slowly, she asked, “what would you want in exchange?”

He dropped the bat back onto the altar, against the bed of flower petals. He waved a hand.

“Oh, nothing you won’t want to give.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Nesta said curtly, and he laughed— so loudly the sound bounced on the cracked and broken stone.

“Well, aren’t you a fiery little thing.” He laughed again, and in a blink he had moved closer, so close that he was right beside her now, towering above where she remained on her knees. She hadn’t even seen him move, but he was there nonetheless, almost pressed against her, and before she could move away, he dropped into a crouch beside her.

“I like it,” he added in a low murmur.

Nesta felt her blood rise to her cheeks, her breathing become laboured. She should be running, should be screaming, and yet… she didn’t have it in her to rise to her feet, to draw away from the creature with the wings and sharp teeth and piercing eyes.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, princess,” he continued. “All I want from you is one word in return.”

“…A word?”

He hummed again, rising to his feet in one smooth, lethal movement. He extended a hand to bring her up too, an assortment of rings glinting on his fingers. She wondered if they had been offerings once, too. If he had plucked them from the altar as easily as he now looked to pluck her, his fingers stretching towards hers in a silent offer that Nesta knew she shouldn’t take.

She hesitated.

He grinned, teeth gleaming sharp and wicked, his hand lingering in the space between them for a moment more before—

Nesta took it. 

His fingers curled around hers, her hand so small within his own. It dwarfed her, made her feel as though her life were the most fragile thing in the world, the most tremulous and brittle piece of glass. She forced herself to remain calm, steady, and his dark eyes glimmered. With mischief or something darker, she wasn’t sure. 

“Just one little word,” he promised smoothly, squeezing her fingers within his palm— like he owned her already, had laid claim to a piece of her soul.

Nesta frowned. “Any word?”

He shook his head, dark hair falling over his forehead as he did. The talons at his back winked, and when he tilted his head to the side, he looked more like an animal than anything even remotely human. Like a cat, his eyes glinted in the darkness, green and gold when the moonlight touched them. 

“No, sweetheart. A word of my choosing.”

“What could you possibly want with that?”

He grinned again, a smile that said he would ruin her. Trepidation crawled through her, her blood turning sluggish in her veins, and he didn’t answer her question.

Never enter into a bargain with a stranger.

Her mother’s warning rang through her, a warning bell, but Nesta shook her head and chased it away. Mama was gone— dead, long ago. Papa might as well be gone too, with all the effort he made to keep them alive, and with Feyre out hunting in the forest for their meals, there was nothing Nesta could do to make sure they didn’t have to spend one more night in that cottage. If a bargain with this creature would save them— she’d pay the price, whatever it was.

Still, she hesitated.

“You can’t lie,” she said carefully, remembering her mother’s warnings. “So tell me— is this a trick?”

The creature only smiled in the darkness, that generous mouth parting in a slash of white, wicked teeth. The fae can’t lie— she’d had it drilled into her since before she could walk. The fae can’t lie. She held onto it now, clutched it like it might keep her safe as the creature before her, this false god, looked at her with eyes that suddenly seemed… hungry.

“Can’t I?” he purred, his voice a low rumble through the night. He tilted his head, cat-eyes sparking like embers. “Tell me, sweetheart. Who’s been filling that pretty little head with such tales?”

He laughed then, and ice bloomed in her chest, spreading until every inch of her was cold. His eyes dragged over her, and she felt every place his attention lingered. Over her neck, her collarbone, down her arms until he reached her waist. Something thawed— something heated, the ice within her turning warm and curling deep in her stomach as those predatory eyes lingered, snagged at her hips. 

“So you can lie?” she asked, her voice hard even as she began to feel a little breathless. He grinned again.

“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

Silence followed, where he looked at her with that predatory gaze. Nesta had always been stubborn, always been able to hold her own with her sharp tongue and sharper nature, but now she felt like little more than a mouse writhing beneath the claws of a wolf. He grinned still, revealing the teeth all too equipped to tear her apart.

But as she turned her face away, her eyes alighted on Elain’s flower petals.

“What word?” she asked.

The creature tsked, dragging a thumb across his lips as his eyes turned molten in the darkness. “Ah, ah.” He shook his head. “Not before you agree.”

“So I’m supposed to go into this blind?” Nesta asked flatly, and though wariness still cloaked her like a second skin, the fear was beginning to subside, beginning to be replaced by… something else. His teeth shone white through the black, sharp and menacing and oh, so delectably dangerous.  

“Not blind,” he said with a shrug. The movement shifted the wings behind him, catching in the moonlight and reflecting silver on those sharp, sharp talons. “You know exactly what I want from you. A word.”

“But not what word.”

The beast shrugged again. “Life is full of surprises sweetheart. You can’t ever know everything. That would leave no place for…” He grinned, his eyes sparking as he looked at her like he was about to eat her alive. She felt his attention, his gaze like a physical touch he dragged languid over every single inch of her. “…Fun.”

Silence followed— one where the world seemed entirely too quiet, not even the trees rustling in the breeze, like nature itself was holding its breath, waiting to see which way she would fall. The creature in the darkness was so close— he was all she could see, all she could hear, all she could breathe, and he was like the most potent kind of poison, the most delicious. She was losing her mind, slowly falling into madness, but he smiled at her, and Nesta felt something inside her shiver, but not at all from fear this time.

“Tell me princess,” he murmured. “Are you going to take my offer, or are you going to break my heart and turn me down?”

His smile was menacing, feral. Nesta scowled.

 “Do you even have a heart?” 

He tipped his head forward, lips brushing her ear. “Why don’t you come closer and find out?” 

Her heart stuttered, and she drew back an inch. It was impossible to come closer— he was so close to her already, she could feel his heat. But she couldn’t go back to that cottage— she couldn’t go back and watch her sister starve. She could embrace death here, in his arms, feeling its bite as he sank his claws into her skin, or she could meet her end in that cottage, slow and drawn out and aching as starvation took them all. Either way, Nesta figured, she would end up damned— so she swallowed, steeled herself, and found her resolve.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Alright.”

Cat-eyes glinted through the dark, a low hum reverberating through his chest and echoing in Nesta’s very bones as he dipped his head, the tip of his nose brushing her jaw. There was a scrape of teeth, a hand winding possessively around her waist as he stepped behind her.

“What is it that you want from me then, princess?” he asked, his mouth at her throat. “What have you come to take?”

“I don’t want my family to starve,” she began slowly, ignoring the hand that splayed over her stomach, drifting towards her hips. Beneath his teeth, her pulse fluttered. “I want my father’s lost ships to be found, with all his treasure and gold intact. I want us to be able to leave that cottage in the woods and live the way we did before, with no need to worry about where our next meal will be coming from. I want…” She paused, swallowed. “I don’t ever want to go back to that cottage again.”

She looked up over her shoulder and saw the creature grin, an almost feral look in his eyes. A hollow feeling spread in her chest, and briefly Nesta wondered if she ought to have been more careful with her wording— if she not had just unwittingly signed away her soul. She watched his wings spread behind him, so large she feared he was going to enclose her in them and suffocate her, but after a moment he closed them again, tucking them back against his spine, and when he looked at her Nesta forgot that she was supposed to be afraid.

“Done,” he purred.

Nesta blinked— as if it were that simple, all of their troubles erased, just like that. She let out a breath of relief, feeling it wash over her as she turned to face him, studying the lines of him that melted into the darkness. In her hand, she still held her mother’s pendant, the one she’d been clutching tight ever since she’d left the cottage. 

“And now for my half of the bargain,” he whispered, and his voice set her on edge, made her hair stand on end. Using one broad hand, he dragged his touch across her neck, over her collarbone, claws at her neck edging pain with the most beautiful kind of pleasure. Shivers erupted in his wake as he brushed her hair back over her shoulder, baring more of her skin, and Nesta felt herself grow dizzy. She should run— should have been running ever since he’d opened his mouth and spoken, but she couldn’t move.

Didn’t want to move.

Something about him was alluring, drawing her to him, and she didn’t know if it was some spell he’d worked on her or whether it was just something about him that spoke to her— the way he looked at her like he appreciated her sharp tongue and stubborn nature.

“Just one word,” he said, his voice deep and low and seductive.

“What word?” she asked once more, tipping her head back as his thumb skated up from her collarbone and rested beneath her jaw. He smirked again, dipping his head to whisper against her skin. With warm lips he pressed a kiss to her jaw, dragging his mouth up to her ear. She shivered, and one large hand came to rest at her waist, a firm presence that held her in place. Almost unconsciously she leaned into it, her chest brushing his as he let out a low rumble of approval, of appreciation.

“Tell me your name, princess.”

“That’s what you want from me?” she asked, breathless as his hand began to skate over her hips. With those lethally sharp teeth, he nipped lightly at her ear. She let out a small whimper, but as a warmth ignited deep within, she couldn’t say for certain that it was a sound of pain rather than pleasure.

“No, that’s not the word I want,” he said idly, almost lazily, as his tongue danced across her neck. “But I’d like to have it all the same.”

And Nesta knew she should have lied, should have given him a false name, but she found herself opening her mouth as his hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more fully against him as she breathed, 

“Nesta.”

“Nesta,” he repeated, his thumb rubbing circles along her spine. His other hand was still at her hip, but he grew daring, drifting lower with a touch so maddening Nesta understood, now, why there were so many warnings of the fair folk. He was going to be the death of her, and when he slowly bit down once more on the skin beneath her ear, Nesta fought back a moan, and the hand that she’d had clenched ever since she arrived suddenly slackened. The iron pendant she’d held onto like a lifeline tumbled to the ground, and against her skin she felt him smirk.

“You won’t be needing that,” he whispered.

Once more, a bolt of caution ran through her. He was fae, a monster lurking in the woods, but still Nesta didn’t leave, and as he kissed his way down her neck, his hands bunched in the fabric of her dress, she found she really didn’t want to run, as stupid and as reckless as it was. She wanted to let him carry on kissing her, wanted to find herself drunk on the pleasure he could give her, and as she tilted her head back even further, he hummed again.

“Good girl,” he said as she melted into him, the angle of her neck giving him better access as his teeth scraped across the skin at her throat. 

A breathless, disbelieving laugh left her as she looked up at the sky littered with stars. Her hands came to rest on his wide chest, hard and firm beneath her fingers.

“What word?” she asked again.

He nipped at her skin once more, his hands finding the hem of her skirt and dipping beneath, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of her legs, her thighs. She gasped.

“Yes.”

Nesta blinked, swallowed. Some of the elation, the ecstasy, dimmed as she shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she managed, but her breathing was more laboured than ever, because she was pressed so fully against him that he engulfed her, and his hands were at her thighs, his teeth at her neck, and his wings had spread above them, blocking out the sky above.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he said lowly, his voice almost sultry. “And you will say yes. That’s the bargain.”

Nesta blinked again, but something other than horror ran through her— in the places where fear should be, in the gaps between terror, there was something else, something distinctly different, something thrilling. Even though her stomach twisted and her heartbeat tripped, she looked up into those luminous eyes, caught sight of the talons and the wings and the lightly-furred ears, and found herself nodding.

“You said you don’t ever want to go back to that cottage. I have made it so.” He pulled back just enough so that she could see his face in the moonlight, his devastating smirk. “I will take you away from here and make you mine. Neither you nor your family will want for anything again if I take you here and now, if I claim you as mine. All you have to do is fulfil your half— let that one word fall from those pretty little lips.”

“Why?” Nesta breathed.

“Because,” he said simply. “I want to keep you.” His head dipped to her neck again, teeth grazing across her skin. “Let me have you.”

And Nesta thought of the cottage waiting for her— and the life waiting for her when the cottage was gone. She thought of the dreary life set out, winding before her, the one her mother had wanted— balls and society gatherings and polite conversation that would kill her soul long before death stopped her heart. And then she turned her attention to the monster in the dark, the stretching wings and sharp talons and pointed ears with soft patches of fur. She looked at his big hands and long fingers, almost like claws, and all of it belonging to a creature with a face so beautiful it made her heart ache.

“Let me have you,” he repeated, bringing his mouth lower.

Nesta couldn’t catch her breath, but she let herself lean more fully into his arms, letting him take her weight entirely. He hummed, satisfied, and the sound of it rumbled through her. His hands wandered, finding their way back to her hips, down— dipping once more beneath her skirts. Her skin suddenly felt tight, too hot, and when those damned claws dragged over sensitive flesh, her breathing stopped, her mind emptied. His hands rose higher, her back arched, and at her neck his breath danced, his lips pressing against the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“Let me have you,” he said once more. “Let me keep you.”

His fingers skirted the very centre of her, right where she was suddenly aching, burning. He hummed against her once more, a sound of approval as she pressed against his chest, and oh gods— he was overpowering, overwhelming, and her entire world had shrunk, encompassed within the space between his wings. She could practically taste him on the wind, and as his hands grew more daring, roaming across the bare skin beneath her dress and sliding up her stomach, she felt herself falling, felt herself losing whatever grip it was that bound her to reality.

“Nesta,” the beast chided, nipping at her ear. “Answer me.”

And this time, Nesta gasped and breathed at last, a desperate, aching,

“Yes.”

[gamerknight7310]

Collab Box: Electric Bugaloo

Hey y'all, me and @celestiall0tus have collab together and have made a box of miraculouses filled with random concepts that we spun on a wheel. We had so much fun making this box, and I hope you like the chaos that we have created.

Jellyfish Miraculous

Pearl Necklace

Hush

Silence

Quiet - When activated, the user creates a bubble void of sound.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Silk Veil Fans

Owl Miraculous

Coin

Stolas

Death

Judgement - When activated, the user writes down the name of a target and the cause of death in their grimoire and eventually the target will die.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Grimoire

Cicada Miraculous

Diadem

Vida

Reincarnation

Expunge - When activated, the user erases the name in their grimoire in order to bring that person back to life.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Grimoire

Ant Miraculous

Circlet

Civitas

Order

Conform - When activated, the user sets things to their standard of Order.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Sword

White Butterfly Miraculous

Earrings

Luminara

Soul

Deliver - When activated, the user can receive and deliver messages from either living or departed souls.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Offering Bowl

Orangutan Miraculous

Necklace

Sage

Enlightenment

Awaken - When activated, the user is in a state of hyper awareness that allows them to remove mental boundaries and limitations to carry out whatever they put their mind to.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Staff

Lion Miraculous

Ring

Regal

Ambition

Fulfillment - When activated, the user becomes an unstoppable force that can't be defeated unless their purpose is fulfilled.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Shield

Automaton Miraculous

Googles

Ethos

Morality

Shift - When activated, the user can shift the morality of their target.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Wrench

Sloth Miraculous

Armlet

Lethara

Loneliness

Isolate - When activated, the user banishes their target into the void.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Ice Axe

Mandarin Duck Miraculous

Hair Comb

Aurelia

Beauty

Mesmerize - When activated, the user put their target in a stupor.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Fan

Manatee Miraculous

Shell Necklace

Serena

Peace

Serenity - When activated, the user creates a field of tranquility which negates all hostility.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Whistle

Dolphin Miraculous

Bracelet

Amica

Friendship

Befriend - When activated, the user can make an ally out of a target, seeing the user as a friend.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Ribbon Wand

Spider Miraculous

Anklet

Weavira

Destiny

Negate - When activated, the user can negate powers in effect.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Lasso

Honey Badger Miraculous

Pendant

Vex

Contempt

Berserk - When activated, the user becomes filled with hatred and tunnel visions on their target.

"Transform Me!" "Turn me Back."

Brass Knuckles

[satyrmagos]

Two-sided silver talisman with an image of Hekate on one side -- "O Six Hands crowning a flaming eye,/ Extending in every direction;" from Jack Grayle's Hekataeon, Rite 4: De Forma -- and her crossroads sigil, name, and six epithets in Greek -- "Hekate, Atalos, Apotropaia, Soteira, Rexichthon" -- on the reverse. * Made of solid .925 sterling silver, shibuichi (an art metal alloy made of 3:1 copper:silver), yellow brass, or red bronze. * Available as a coin, with an upeye for use as a pendant, or with three jump rings for use in a rosary-style necklace.

Each piece is hand-made to order in my home studio, with unique variations and defects as a result of the fabrication and casting process.

These talismans are NOT consecrated. That is your responsibility.

[divine-crows]

✨️'Seasoning' your Tools✨️

What do you mean by "seasoning"?

I'm referring to whatever method(s) that are utilized to help get your magical tools up to whatever standard you prefer before utilizing them. To be blunt, the term I've coined is synonymous with consecration of an item.

This honestly is just a personal preference thing, but I highly recommend it especially if you like to use "mundane" objects for witchy purposes, or even if you're kind of a beginner and you're not quite used to using your own magic it might help build some confidence.

- Tarot cards/playing card decks

If it already has a name, why coin a new term?

When I started as a beginner, there wasn't a lot of information for solitary practicioners-- either that or I was shit at finding the information I needed. Most information was presented in a "you must do it this way because this is how the main crowd does it" sort of way so I was always under the impression that every item absolutely had to have a consecration and it had to be the most beautiful, most perfect ritual ever.

Referring to it as 'seasoning' the items is just a way for me to destigmatize the purpose of consecrating tools while also utilizing a comparison I like. Some people like their things heavily seasoned, some people don't... it just feels fitting to me I guess.

What type of objects can you "season"?

- pendulums/necklace

- pendants with spiritual significance to you

- head coverings

-Wands, athames, besoms, etc.

-your grimoire, Book of shadows, etc.

How do I decide on a method to 'season' my tools?

The method you decide on may depend on multiple factors:

1) Level of Importance

For example, if you're using a tool for a very important and specific purpose you may feel called to using a special consecration ritual.

2) What type of item you're working with

Some items just aren't compatible with specific methods. For example, you wouldn't want to enchant a deck of cards with moon water because it may run the risk of damaging them.

3) How easy it is for you to 'season' them

Being someone who can't safely do certain methods, I find this factor to be quite important. Some methods may be harder than others, some may be so easy that anyone could do it.

What are some methods?

Here are some ideas, please note that you can use multiple methods if you'd like and you can also do any of these methods regardless of how long you've owned the object.

"Sleep" with the item

This is one of my go-to methods. Especially with divination tools and my grimoires. Just stick it under your pillow/under your bed/etc. then go to sleep. This method might be your best friend if you love working with intuition, the 'unconcious' mind, and dreams.

Enchanting with water

Pretty self explanatory, in this method you'll gather some form of charged water (Sun, Moon, storm, etc.) and then use it to enchant an object to hold magic for a specific purpose. Admittedly I've only been able to use this method once but I loved the outcome I got.

"Play games" with the item

This may not work on every item, and doing this on it's own will take more time to imbue the item with magic, but I especially reccomend it since it'll help you connect with whatever magical tool you're working with. I like to practice card tricks on tarot cards, watch pendulums spin after I "wind" them up, etc.

Practice your hobbies, watch TV shows, listen to music with the item near you

This is another method that's heavy on the "bonding" aspect but I really reccomend it. I find it nice to experience emotions and formulate ideas while getting a feel to how my magical tool reacts to it. You can also "talk" to the item while doing whatever task if you enjoy talking to yourself.

Customize the item

This may not be applicable to every item, but in the occasions that you can customize a tool it can be a very powerful method. You can decorate it with colors and symbols that speak to you personally or you can even pick symbols and colors that fit the purpose of the tool.

Bury the item

This method is one that may not be accessible to everyone, but throughout my years as a beginner I heard of it so many times and it's always stood out to me so it felt wrong not to include it. Personally I've never been able to try it, but the concept of imbueing an item with the energy of the earth sounds beautiful.

Bring the item out while on a nature walk and ask 'the Earth'/nature around you to help you bless it

This is my workaround for the whole "can't bury an object" issue. I mainly do this for objects I want to use that came from nature as a 'thank you' gesture to nature for allowing me to use it.

Create/utilize a special ritual for the purpose of dedicating the item

This is a more traditional route that can be simultaneously more accessible than some methods while also being less accessible depending on what type of ritual you follow. Especially if you follow a specific belief, path, or way of life that includes these rituals this experience may be the best for you.

And there is much, much more you could possibly do! Hopefully, my ideas have given you some guidance on consecration and made it seem a little less rigid or intimidating and a lot more relaxed and simplistic. As always I'd love to see some reblogs with more ideas!

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

34. bauble for the micro story prompts?

ohh thank you! some wotr with Georgie... went a little diffrent with this one but i do love looking at georgies 'i love everyone except the rich' morality, as well as how it feels to be catapulted to fame and riches.

-

So many odes to precious jewels were sung in all their variations across Golarion, yet even after singing so many of them he was still in shock at the gilded baubles he carried with him with such ease.

Wars won and fought over the rights to mine, and different wars fought between nobles on who could collect the most. song after song about which lady shined the brightest, verse after verse in bawdy bars about how their hard earned money was paying for the indulgence of fools.

Cloudy and blue, as the pendant hung from his hand, he thought back to the lengthy conversation between Daeran and Woljif about its sordid history and worth, words flying over his head as his little brothers estimates and Dae's egging on surpassed amounts of money he hadn't even dreamed of in his wildest fantasies of childhood, where it was all a misconception and he was the son of a king, protected by his noble blood from the cruelties of people.

A similar amount of coin that was in his name now, scrounged from corpses and donated by the nobles he once wished he was and then hated with a burning passion in turn, a sum he tried not to think about.

Sure the trinket looked like the sky captured in a stone, but he had seen master glassmiths work, or even just the work of a bored little girl with more talent than sense borrowing her fathers paints to decorate a bottle she found.

He hung the bauble over his head, leaning back, staring at it as if it would reveal its true worth to him. if it would stir his heart or give him respect for the makers craftsmanship.

It did neither. A priceless stone, and all he could think was how could it be worth the suffering and coin he heard tales of?

It slipped back into his pocket easily, silver backing scraping against loose coin, a far cry from the carefully wrapped and stuffed bottle in his back, covered in whimsical flowers by a child's hand.

[agathne]

CHAPTER FIVE | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

Description: Thranduil and Legolas are transported to the past - where the late Elvenqueen was still alive - minor hiccup, she doesn't know who they are.

series masterlist | chapter four

"Where are you going, naneth?" the young elfling asked while attempting to bury his head on your skirt. "Off to war, my darling." you reply, kneeling down to his length. Oh, there were millions of things that an elfling was supposed to do with his mother - watching her go to war wasn't one of them.

"And will you return?" he inquired, playing with the silver necklace on his neck. You reach for his chin, lifting his face with a false smile. "The question my elfling is; will you?" you whisper - placing a kiss to his forehead. "I am always here, do not worry." you add, while rising to your full height. "This isn't goodbye, my leaf." you remind with the wave of a hand.

Legolas plays with the same necklace - inching the pendant in between his fingers while the pressure relieved his palms of the itch. He couldn't believe that he was in Lindon - he couldn't believe that he felt alive at the smell of real flowers.

"A silver coin for your thoughts? Legolas." you lean on the pillar beside him - watching as a smile stains his lips.

"I was thinking of my mother," he admitted - refusing to stare at your features, as they were too familiar. "I'm sure that she longs for your return," you comfort - looking up at the balcony above you - seeing the shadow of your Adar and his newfound friend.

"She was taken by war," he informs, feeling his heart drop to the floor. "- I was an elfling then. I wouldn't stop crying for her." he bites the inner corners of his lips. Legolas knew that he was nothing compared to the thousands of children that the war orphaned - nor was he anything out of the ordinary - but his grief was far too strong. He longed for a mother that he knew in the earlier stages of his life.

You place a hand on his shoulder - a silent gesture of comfort. "She waits for you in the shores of Valinor, I'm certain." you comfort again, feeling his posture soften at your words. "I can only hope," he breathed - eyes interlocking with yours. You always told him that he had the same hues as his father's - it was his first time in a thousand years to gaze upon your eyes once more.

"I- this may seem strange," he began - throat threatening to release bile. "What is it mellon?" you frown and he takes another breath. "Can I request your embrace?" he pleaded, and you open your arms - wide and welcoming him.

He has forgotten this feeling.

Thranduil swears to all his subjects that he has no memory of you - that he cannot remember the sound of your voice. He lies to his subjects. At night - he is forced to relive the memory of everything - forced to stare into your eyes, to hear your voice, to see your smile. He often wondered if the memory serves to give him bliss - or the darkest of agonies.

"You do not understand, Galion." he clawed at his chest, unbuttoning his robe. "I-I cannot remain in Arda - the sea calls for me." he breathed - not understanding why he longed for the Shores of Valinor. "She calls for me." he added. His entire room was in disarray - entire shelves taken down, and paper scattered everywhere. It resembled a pigsty more than the King's bedroom.

"She does not, sire." Galion answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What you feel is longing and grief - but the Queen does not desire to see you this soon." Galion replies - taking another step forward. "She would want you to take care of Prince Legolas - to rebuild the Kingdom that the darkness has destroyed. She wouldn't want you to join her - because she knows that there is a greater destiny for you here." the butler explained, squatting down.

"Adar Elrond can raise my son - he does not deserve a father like me. An ada who allowed his mother to die at the hands of -" Thranduil ranted, unable to utter the name of Sauron. "Thranduil," Galion refers to the King in his elven name - void of any titles. Thranduil. The name he bore when his father was yet to be king.

"Ada!" Legolas yells with tears running down his eyes. The King's door was ajar, leaving enough room for the elfling to enter. "Legolas," he whispered opening his arms to provide his son a deep embrace. "Naneth," he cried while burying his face deep in his father's chest.

Galion and Thranduil exchange a meaningful stare.

"Do not cry, my leaf." he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead.

Galion was right, he couldn't leave.

Thranduil opened his eyes again, mind floating back to reality. "You used to be older than me," he began with a chuckle - fingers playing with the stem of his goblet. "- and now I am older than you, yet my wisdom does not allow me to grapple the calamity of the situation." he adds, taking another sip of his wine.

"I need to return, Ad-Lord Elrond - we know nothing of what my return has brought. What lesson it stands for." he added - tongue leaking with wisdom of old age. He stands up while dusting his robes.

"If you will excuse me - I wish to pray to the Valar."

next chapter>>

@murder0fcr0ws @cheyxfu @8hgel

[gardenofkore]

When Gelon became tyrant of Syracuse (485 BC) the productivity of the Syracusan mint was enormously increased in order to provide a great stock of such coins for the warchest, with en eye to the inevitable struggle for power against Carthage, which came to a head in 480 BC. Gelon’s victory at Himera in 480 is supposed to have occurred on the same day as the defeat of the Persians at Salamis. Whether or not this was so, it was a victory which in the words of the poet Simonides ‘rescued Hellas from the heavy yoke of slavery’, and ensured the safe development of Greek civilization in the west for at least a couple of generations. Perhaps in connection with this victory, there were minted the famous quasi-metallic coins known as the Demareteion. This was a large decadrachm or ten-drachma piece, similar in essentials to the ordinary coins of quite extraordinary quality. On the obverse there are the slim lean horses and eager charioteer; below them, in separate panel, a running lion which, it was formerly thought, symbolyzed Carthage in defeat, but whose precise significance is somewhat still elusive. In a similar position on a later tetradachm, there is shown a sea-monster or ketos which may allude to the Syracusan victory over the Etruscans off Kymai. On the reverse of the Demareteion, the head of Arethusa is crowned with laurel wreath to signify victory. Firm and precise in modelling, there is almost and ethereal delicacy of touch which extends to details such as the eye and the pendant necklace. The dolphins go clockwise round the head but the descriptions runs the other way. Here beyond doubt a great and sensitive artist bas able to use the accepted forms of the Syracusan coin to create a masterpiece, the surviving specimens of which are extremely few. The splendid preservation of the British Museum’s example enables us to appreciate its quality to the full. The name of the coin, the Demareteion, is taken from that of Demarete, Gelon’s wife. Our sources relate that she interceded with Gelon to moderate the terms imposed on the Carthaginians vanquished at Himera in 480 BC, and that their envoys in gratitude presented Demarete with a golden crown; and that subsequently she had made coins each worth fifty litrai, that is ten drachmai. The coins in question were identified as such by the Duc de Luynes early in the nineteenth century and his theory has generally been accepted. Recently, however, it has been argued from circumstancial evidence that we should reject this tradition and place the coins ten years or more later, which would of course change their historical significance. The controversy continues, but it is difficult simply to reject the tradition outright. Whether or not the date can be fixed accurately, the so-called Demareteion, forms a notable landmark in Syracusan art. the lovely head was not of course in any way intended to be a portrait of Demarete, though it does give a vivid impression of an individual model, meditative yet hinting at reserves of strong personality. Although Gelon and the other Sicilian tyrants of this time were virtually kings, neither their names nor portraits ever appear on the coins; indeed, portraits occur on coins sporadically only from the end of the fifth century and regularly only after the time of Alexander the Great.

Jenkins, G. K. Coins of Greek Sicily, p. 20-21