So, I was looking over all the submissions we’ve got so far for Ages of Arda and its made me teary eyed for the past 10 minutes.
I’m really proud of you guys. Like seriously this book is going to be so fuckin beautiful. I can’t wait for the other submissions to be submitted this week.
meme: If it was my muse’s last hour alive, what would your muse say? for @misbehavingmaiar
Bile in his throat. A bitter flavour that seemed to choke him on its own. There should be, there was, an answer on the tip of his tongue; an answer as sharp as the dagger now embedded in his chest. Then the knife twisted and a wave of blood rose to his lips, smothering any word in a gurgle. A corona of blinding light circled his sight, growing like a livid halo surrounding the Maia’s grin. The Noldo opened his mouth again, a last desperate attempt, but his mind itself seemed to fade, to unravel like an incomplete weave: the words lost in the curves of warp and weft sliding away from each other. Then there was no need for words anymore.
He takes the little box carefully, as if it might bite. “Cousin…? To what do I owe this welcome, if exceedingly unexpected, gesture of goodwill?”
“I fancied a visit,” Ossë replies simply, lips curling into a faint grin. He paces a small bit around the area, curiously inspecting the forge. It has been literal ages since he has last willingly entered such a place. “You had a tour of my home and my workplace; do I not get that same honor?”
He gestures towards the box and chirps in amusement. “Go on, it is nothing that wondrous. I thought perhaps you would like some pearls and abalone shells to work with.”
Sauron gave pause, eyeing Ossë and his train of waterweed-tangled hair as the dripping visitor picked at his rows of tools, arranged by purpose and size. “Naturally the same honor is extended, Cousin. I am only curious as to why… you have never taken an interest in my habitation before. I assumed it was distasteful to you.”
He lifted the lid of the chest gingerly. He seldom worked with pearls. They rolled pleasingly around his fingers, clicking against the nacreous abalone.
“I have no idea how to work with shell,” he proclaimed, raising one to the light, “I assume they turn to a pile of quicklime if you fire them… Are they especially fragile? Hells, what fiddly work these must make to carve! I’m going to need a very small file, and a very gentle clamp…” He stopped himself, rubbing his chin. “Well! You’ve set me with quite an interesting challenge. Shell and pearl– very different from what we are used to here,” he shut the lid, making short bow, “I thank you for the gift. They are beautiful. Is there… anything in particular you wish to see while you are here? I would hate to be a poor host.”
Ossë, someone needs to explain to you that a “kiss of life” is not technically the same thing as a snog. Having oxygen forcibly delivered to your non-aquatic lungs via fishmouth isn’t necessarily everyone’s idea of a hot date.
||For Wesley’s #SilmSelfiePrompt, have the mun freezing zir hand off contemplating some ice?
Bless you for finding ice in your inhospitable and baking country
What yon pale and shimmering visage appears upon my dash– a fey immortal being? Ah! ‘Tis Langon-mun in their fair splendor, making the Feanorians jealous again.
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 