malkaleh

[malkaleh]

Somehow they manage to make it look graceful, the stumble into the room - arms wrapped around each other - Zigûr and his jewel smith. She had come to the alcove in this room because all her friends had managed to pass out - drunk on wine, on rich foods and scents and slaves and Aglaril had wished for a spot she might recover herself. And now she lies here, all unseen, watching this show.

One of Zigûrs loyal young adherents gets a show. In more ways than one. [A Gold Cages Verse Fic (or Sauron is in love with Celebrimbor, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond and Finrod and makes it everyones problem)]

Content Warning: rape, sex slavery, sacrifice references, some pretty gross attitudes, general fucked upness.

Taglist: @themalhambird @plotdesigner @kenobiwaned @nocompromise-noregrets @self-destructinganimal @seagull-energy @damnyoubishop @slightnettles

(also this is dedicated to @conundrumoftime specifically for the galadriel/celeborn/sauron and apologies if you weren’t wanting to be on the taglist and I tagged you/vice versa I am going off memory but if you do want to be on let me know!)

Somehow they manage to make it look graceful, the stumble into the room - arms wrapped around each other - Zigûr and his jewel smith. She had come to the alcove in this room because all her friends had managed to pass out - drunk on wine, on rich foods and scents and slaves and Aglaril had wished for a spot she might recover herself. And now she lies here, all unseen, watching this show.

For Zigûr never allows any to see his precious treasures so - they are not displayed in that way but here, here he is - and not so still perfection - not unfeeling at all. But only with them. The envy burns in her with the desire.

Do you recall the first time, the jewel smith says, that we did this.

Yes. She hears Zigûr say it, flame and shadow and sulphur and it’s beautiful and she’s so wet she can hardly stop herself from moving, from moving her fingers between her legs. I remember, my jewel - the way you melted into me.

Put your hands on the wall, he says and the elf is glorious - muscles and velvet and that mass of curls, Zigûr is flame flickering upon marble wrapped around him, lips upon his neck - what would it be like, she thinks, to be pressed between them - the elf was a smith, she remembers and he must be skilled, even with maimed hands. And Zigûr, to feel what the elf smith is - to be the focus of such devotion.

She watches and it takes her breath away - the lovely chains that ornament the jewel smiths hands, the way Zigûr is tender here in a way he has never been seen to be otherwise - that pretty mouth of the smith when he kneels, lovely noises and such eagerness to please - the moment that Zigûr enters him - he makes it so reverent, no sordid thing even though they are almost almost in public and it makes Aglaril gasp.

———————————-

Aglaril does not mean to come back - but she does - drinking her wine in peace and watching the others as Zigûr and his golden haired lady walk in - Zigûr has a fond smile.

“I called you a galloping horse love - liable to run wild and heedless if not held in the right hands.”

Her reply is too low for Aglaril to hear but it seems to please Zigûr for he laughs - tucks a strand of hair behind the elfs beautiful ear, lifts her up onto a bench and kneels before her in one graceful motion

“Get on with it” the lady snarls with impatience but Zigûr only smiles fondly, teasingly. Patience, my queen he says, mouth against her inner thigh - he’s been teasing her with gentle touches and kisses and it drives Aglaril wild - the elf is beautiful beyond the measure of envy - her black silk dress and golden hair and here, here as Zigûr kneels before her - reverent and loving and worshipful all over again.

He takes his time with her - teasing and stopping and fingers and tongue and their bodies fit into each other so very well - Aglaril wonders what they would look like in daylight - if the elf womans hair would shine in the same way, if Zigûr might be as bold.

She makes herself wait until after they have left to come but thinking about it, thinking about how the elf woman would feel - she would taste of gold, Aglaril thinks. Gold, gifts and sun fire.

———————————-

The next time Aglaril is at one of these parties she makes a deliberate choice when she sees the silver haired elf reach for Zigûr - she does not understand the look upon silver hairs face for a moment but she understands well enough the way Zigûr moulds himself to him - the way he holds him as a precious beloved.

Oh my sweet silver prince - I’m going to make you feel perfect, my own love - you’ll forget anything else - look at us, Zigûr says - they stand in front of a mirror here, the silver haired elf and the golden Zigûr - such perfection as Aglaril has never seen in all the glorious of Numenor she has seen with Zigûr and his consorts. The silver elf only turns and says - show me - there is something in his tone, something underneath she cannot place but Zigûr only looks at his love in delight.

———————————-

Her friends, Aglaril thinks are so vapidly silly sometimes - not that she doesn’t think that they shouldn’t be - they are all young, all rulers of their destinies - beloved disciples of Zigûr and the Lord of Darkness but they do gossip and gossip.

Something about missing Faithful alongside who will be wearing what, who is feuding with whom and some such. Truthfully she’s only thinking of well - the way the jewel smith looked against that wall, the elf maiden with her golden hair and body, the silver haired elf and his melting into Zigûr.

———————————-

Aglaril hadn’t meant to see the other golden haired elf - she’d been finding some pleasure of her own (one of the faithful girls - she imagines it’s Earien between her legs and it’s so good) but she sees them - that glimpse of him and Zigûr - and Zigûr tenderly dropping his lips to the golden haired ones neck.

Oh love, this is what you should have had from me - devotion entire, my sweet once king who waited for me.

———————————-

None of them ever see the final one - the mirror of the king unspoken of. Oh they see him but they do not - it is a discomfort and a desire all at once for that face. Aglaril thinks it is a thrill and a horror all at once - all the others are elves and that is different but he, he is not.

And yet, yet you cannot not yearn after him - after all that he is. Dark hair, olive skin, star grey eyes just as his brother was in the paintings that had once been. But other again - starlight and power and half and half. It makes me feel sick, one of her friends says - that pretty freak but Aglaril knows she wants him. They all do.

How would it be - she wonders at the next gathering, watching as Zigûr runs his hand gently through that cloud of curls, presses a kiss to those sweet lips, holds him so gently - how do you have him? She wants to know it.

[malkaleh]

Spring Awakening.

[malkaleh]

"Please. I need you to believe me." (Andy & Matt Santos (optional - Matt Santos Abuse Survivor AU)

Ficlet prompts!

I did try to think about the abuse survivor AU but while there are a lot of things I feel like capable enough to comfortably write about no matter how heavy, that particular one is not one of them (yet). So instead this? Became very silly?

It's based on a headcanon that at one point during her first trimester Andy did have some hormone-fuelled surprisingly erotic dreams about best friend Matt Santos. And he's a little smug about that.

“It’s nothing,” Andy tells him, weaving through the staff in his office with a stack of papers in hand. “Drop it.” Matt follows her into his own office, the bastard. He’s laughing, and that’s charming, and that makes it worse. “Andrea, you can barely look me in the eye, what’d I do?” She rolls her eyes even though she has no right. “Andrea…” he repeats, as she sits down in his office despite the strictly unwarranted sense of deja vu that gives her. Andy purses her lips. He makes her sit in a ridiculously tense silence in a suit that makes him look too handsome. She hates him. She blushes at the sight of him. “Andrea?” “Hm?” “What is it?” She shrugs. She meets his eyes, looks away, considers bringing up the bill they’ll be having an official meeting about soon, and decides against it. Instead, she takes a deep breath, places a hand on her stomach, and almost casually tells him “I’m pregnant.” She’s pleased to see he had not expected that answer. “I— wow,” he starts, a wide grin breaking out on his face. “That’s incredible news. I— Andrea. How far along are you? How are you feeling?” “Nine weeks now,” she says a little nervously with no other explanation. Matt offers a sympathetic smile. She’s told him enough about the lead-up to her divorce to know she’s not truly celebrating until week thirteen. Then his expression shifts, his eyes light up in an excitement she’d describe as boyish. He has no right to pull it off. She glares at him before he’s said a word. “Helen had the most… suggestive dreams about this elderly neighbor of ours. In her first trimester with Miranda.” Andy’s well-aware she’s beet-red now. “Did she?” He nods. She nods, too. She smiles despite herself. “Andrea…” Matt’s grin is repulsively smug. It’s hard to look away from. “Did you..” “Don’t read into it.” “Okay.” He does not stop smiling. “But you did,” he states. She doesn’t deny a thing. “And now you have a little crush.” “Please,” she scoffs, much less red now. “No.” “No?” “Believe me on that at least. No.” Matt nods solemnly. “I wasn’t very good?” “Sit still, I’m going to throw my shoe at you,” she warns, but makes no move to take her shoes off. She’s thrown up in her office thrice this morning, but she has some decorum left. He laughs. He doesn’t make a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. “I’ll be a gentleman then, pretend I have no idea?” “Please,” she says again. She hands him the top of the stack of papers she’d been holding. “Try to do your job? “You got it.”

[malkaleh]

Giambattista Valli | Fall/Winter 2025 Couture

[malkaleh]

@taibhsearachd

She was a 50 y.o. Siberian woman from 2500 years ago, living a nomadic lifestyle, and look at her tattoos...

Look...

I'm going to cry

[malkaleh]

Somehow they manage to make it look graceful, the stumble into the room - arms wrapped around each other - Zigûr and his jewel smith. She had come to the alcove in this room because all her friends had managed to pass out - drunk on wine, on rich foods and scents and slaves and Aglaril had wished for a spot she might recover herself. And now she lies here, all unseen, watching this show.

One of Zigûrs loyal young adherents gets a show. In more ways than one. [A Gold Cages Verse Fic (or Sauron is in love with Celebrimbor, Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond and Finrod and makes it everyones problem)]

Content Warning: rape, sex slavery, sacrifice references, some pretty gross attitudes, general fucked upness.

Taglist: @themalhambird @plotdesigner @kenobiwaned @nocompromise-noregrets @self-destructinganimal @seagull-energy @damnyoubishop @slightnettles

(also this is dedicated to @conundrumoftime specifically for the galadriel/celeborn/sauron and apologies if you weren’t wanting to be on the taglist and I tagged you/vice versa I am going off memory but if you do want to be on let me know!)

Somehow they manage to make it look graceful, the stumble into the room - arms wrapped around each other - Zigûr and his jewel smith. She had come to the alcove in this room because all her friends had managed to pass out - drunk on wine, on rich foods and scents and slaves and Aglaril had wished for a spot she might recover herself. And now she lies here, all unseen, watching this show.

For Zigûr never allows any to see his precious treasures so - they are not displayed in that way but here, here he is - and not so still perfection - not unfeeling at all. But only with them. The envy burns in her with the desire.

Do you recall the first time, the jewel smith says, that we did this.

Yes. She hears Zigûr say it, flame and shadow and sulphur and it’s beautiful and she’s so wet she can hardly stop herself from moving, from moving her fingers between her legs. I remember, my jewel - the way you melted into me.

Put your hands on the wall, he says and the elf is glorious - muscles and velvet and that mass of curls, Zigûr is flame flickering upon marble wrapped around him, lips upon his neck - what would it be like, she thinks, to be pressed between them - the elf was a smith, she remembers and he must be skilled, even with maimed hands. And Zigûr, to feel what the elf smith is - to be the focus of such devotion.

She watches and it takes her breath away - the lovely chains that ornament the jewel smiths hands, the way Zigûr is tender here in a way he has never been seen to be otherwise - that pretty mouth of the smith when he kneels, lovely noises and such eagerness to please - the moment that Zigûr enters him - he makes it so reverent, no sordid thing even though they are almost almost in public and it makes Aglaril gasp.

———————————-

Aglaril does not mean to come back - but she does - drinking her wine in peace and watching the others as Zigûr and his golden haired lady walk in - Zigûr has a fond smile.

“I called you a galloping horse love - liable to run wild and heedless if not held in the right hands.”

Her reply is too low for Aglaril to hear but it seems to please Zigûr for he laughs - tucks a strand of hair behind the elfs beautiful ear, lifts her up onto a bench and kneels before her in one graceful motion

“Get on with it” the lady snarls with impatience but Zigûr only smiles fondly, teasingly. Patience, my queen he says, mouth against her inner thigh - he’s been teasing her with gentle touches and kisses and it drives Aglaril wild - the elf is beautiful beyond the measure of envy - her black silk dress and golden hair and here, here as Zigûr kneels before her - reverent and loving and worshipful all over again.

He takes his time with her - teasing and stopping and fingers and tongue and their bodies fit into each other so very well - Aglaril wonders what they would look like in daylight - if the elf womans hair would shine in the same way, if Zigûr might be as bold.

She makes herself wait until after they have left to come but thinking about it, thinking about how the elf woman would feel - she would taste of gold, Aglaril thinks. Gold, gifts and sun fire.

———————————-

The next time Aglaril is at one of these parties she makes a deliberate choice when she sees the silver haired elf reach for Zigûr - she does not understand the look upon silver hairs face for a moment but she understands well enough the way Zigûr moulds himself to him - the way he holds him as a precious beloved.

Oh my sweet silver prince - I’m going to make you feel perfect, my own love - you’ll forget anything else - look at us, Zigûr says - they stand in front of a mirror here, the silver haired elf and the golden Zigûr - such perfection as Aglaril has never seen in all the glorious of Numenor she has seen with Zigûr and his consorts. The silver elf only turns and says - show me - there is something in his tone, something underneath she cannot place but Zigûr only looks at his love in delight.

———————————-

Her friends, Aglaril thinks are so vapidly silly sometimes - not that she doesn’t think that they shouldn’t be - they are all young, all rulers of their destinies - beloved disciples of Zigûr and the Lord of Darkness but they do gossip and gossip.

Something about missing Faithful alongside who will be wearing what, who is feuding with whom and some such. Truthfully she’s only thinking of well - the way the jewel smith looked against that wall, the elf maiden with her golden hair and body, the silver haired elf and his melting into Zigûr.

———————————-

Aglaril hadn’t meant to see the other golden haired elf - she’d been finding some pleasure of her own (one of the faithful girls - she imagines it’s Earien between her legs and it’s so good) but she sees them - that glimpse of him and Zigûr - and Zigûr tenderly dropping his lips to the golden haired ones neck.

Oh love, this is what you should have had from me - devotion entire, my sweet once king who waited for me.

———————————-

None of them ever see the final one - the mirror of the king unspoken of. Oh they see him but they do not - it is a discomfort and a desire all at once for that face. Aglaril thinks it is a thrill and a horror all at once - all the others are elves and that is different but he, he is not.

And yet, yet you cannot not yearn after him - after all that he is. Dark hair, olive skin, star grey eyes just as his brother was in the paintings that had once been. But other again - starlight and power and half and half. It makes me feel sick, one of her friends says - that pretty freak but Aglaril knows she wants him. They all do.

How would it be - she wonders at the next gathering, watching as Zigûr runs his hand gently through that cloud of curls, presses a kiss to those sweet lips, holds him so gently - how do you have him? She wants to know it.

[malkaleh]

Fëanor slipped away secretly with all whom he deemed true to him, and went aboard, and put out to sea, and left Fingolfin in Araman...But when they were landed, Maedhros...spoke to Fëanor, saying: 'Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?'

The Silmarillion, Chapter 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor

I finally finished this arduous chapter. There are a lot of things that I could say (my Ch. Nine annotations are robust), but most of them are sad.

So instead, I wanted to focus on a little spot of wholesomeness amid all this tragedy. Maedhros calls Fingon 'valiant'.

Which doesn't sound too strange because it's a common descriptor for him? However, the timing makes it almost adorable.

When I thought about it, I remembered that this is PRE-Fingon rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim. Probably most elves started using the epithet regularly post-Thangorodrim, but this suggests that Maedhros had been using it regularly in Valinor, long before any of the Noldor even thought about travelling back to Middle Earth.

The text implies that Fingon is one of those people who regularly pulls a lot of brave (and reckless) stunts. But I love the idea that Maedhros himself came up with the epithet in their childhood.

I'm just imagining Maedhros and Fingon are both around eight in-elf-years and getting ready to play together. Nerdaniel very sternly tells the boys that they are not to go into Oromë's woods because there are plenty of dangerous things in there, and they could get hurt.

Maedhros, being the Responsible Oldest Child™ agrees, and the boys run off.

Things are fine until their ball gets kicked into the woods.

Maedhros: "I guess it's just gone forever."

Fingon: *walks into the woods, grabs the ball, and comes back in the space of five minutes*

Maedhros: *totally shook* "Finno, you're so BRAVE!"

Fingon: "Russo... I only went about ten feet inside the forest."

Maedhros: "Exactly! You are Fingon the Valiant now. I've decided."

Fingon: *blushes, but he secretly loves it.*

Maedhros: *Proceeds to call him by that epithet until the Breaking of Arda.*

@malkaleh

[malkaleh]

Whovians, reblog and put in the tags a Doctor and companion that haven’t interacted, but you think would make a great duo

[malkaleh]

it’ll never be like this again

[malkaleh]

I was tagged by @erulasse23 to share a snippet from a WIP This is from a continuation story of my AU called the light of hidden flowers:

“In answer to your question. I want you to have it because I understand,”  Celebrían states.   

Elrond sucks in a breath and doesn’t bother asking her to explain. Celebrían knows how love can develop between a child and an adoptive parent. Just as she knows the hurt that can twist its way into what should have been a pure bond. Though, in her case, it had been her sire by blood that taught her those painful lessons. Perhaps their circumstances do not align perfectly, but their feelings are in accord, and he has not felt this seen since before his brother died. 

[malkaleh]

u ever wonder if ur associated with a character forever to someone else. like. when ur scrolling ur dash and u see a url u don't recognize and after going to their blog ur like ohhh this is the Character person. yeah ok i remember now.

[malkaleh]

u ever wonder if ur associated with a character forever to someone else. like. when ur scrolling ur dash and u see a url u don't recognize and after going to their blog ur like ohhh this is the Character person. yeah ok i remember now.

[malkaleh]

u ever wonder if ur associated with a character forever to someone else. like. when ur scrolling ur dash and u see a url u don't recognize and after going to their blog ur like ohhh this is the Character person. yeah ok i remember now.

[malkaleh]

reblog to remind prev they're not a bother and their presence is wanted <3

[malkaleh]

I bet Dwarves give excellent cuddles. I mean they are made of pure CHONK, and probably extremely warm and cosy because Aulë gave them forge-level body temperature.

Yeah. Excellent cuddlers. :)

[malkaleh]

🎧 for the silly artist asks. Please & thank you.

So a lot of my drawing lately has been in my class and it’s ‘random spotify playlist’ but my music for writing and the times I’m drawing on my own:

[malkaleh]

silly artist ask game based on inspirations!!

💡what artist/artists inspire you most?

🔎who’s inspiration is most obvious in your artwork?

🖍️what was the first big artistic inspiration you can remember having?

📺what media inspires your work most currently?

🎧what music do you most like to listen to while creating?

🎬what was the last song you imagined an amv to? what was it about?

🎨favorite medium to work in?

💭do you like it when other people get inspired by your work?