#Churchwarden Pipes

[kultofathena]

MacQueen Smoking Pipes

The Mage Pipe in Briar Wood – Brown The Halfling in Cherry Wood The Barrel Rider – Birch The Traveler Pipe – Cherry

[being-the-bad-guy]

New pipe + new tobacco first try.

Ps. actually smells and tastes really good, it reminds me of marzipan bread.

[lifecyclesofmayflies]

Finished up mama's pipe! Again, not that she'll ever use it, but she is just now finding her love for LOTR and the Hobbit! So, I thought I'd make her something.

[nevertrulyset]

Assuming both of these are still available by November 8, 2023...

[blujayonthewing]

Aubree just bought a pipe of smoke monsters, because she's been wanting a new pipe anyway and Justin said the town we were in would probably have common magic items if we wanted anything in particular so I asked for them to have one of those please, but now I can't decide whether, design-wise, it should look like something with Aubree Vibes that she would usually be inclined to pick out and use or whether it should look, you know, like a novelty magic item crafted by an elf

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Sugar daddy x "pure"! Reader

EEEEEEEEE Time to write my baby, the fruit of my dark rofan loins (jk) Basically, this yandere is my first yandere OC and when I gave life (lol) to him in Char/ai yesterday, I just knew he had to be next.

Also, I contemplated what title to give him since he's also a mafia boss, but I decided to go with Sugar daddy since it's the most integral part of his story.

Also, "pure" just means that you dress light, really. But in Rowan's eyes, you were like an angel, a pure being that he needs to taint (oops spoiler)

Yandere! Sugar daddy name: Rowan Silas (Yes, he even has a last name)

notes: Rowan is not old, OLD. He's not a Dilf/Gilf level sugar daddy. In his lore with my other OC (his love interest), he's older by five years. Also, reader has a womb, due to mentions of pregnancy (why did I do this pregnancy shit twice? Dunno really.)

TW: noncon pregnancy, trackers, nsfw stuff

ALSO, REQUESTS ARE OPEN <3 (I don't even know if people will request but LOL just in case.)

The man only knew pain and crime all his life.

He never experienced anything good, apart from gunning down his enemies alive if that even means the same as what people deem as "good".

His life of crime was because of his adoptive father, who picked him up from the slums to become one of his personnel.

He was only seven by then. But his hands stained with blood as he killed the other kid who drowned his precious pet kitten in the lake. That's where his father knew that Rowan is not normal.

I mean, who would sport a smile while choking his fellow kid alive?

All Rowan said was "He deserved it though."

"He took what's precious from me."

That was enough to make his father set him straight to become the heir of the mafia family.

He grew up battered and bruised yet the vices he only knew is his smoking from his precious churchwarden pipe, and violence.

He told his father that it was enough for him.

Yet his body raged on, wanting more and more as greed consumed him for more.

Yes, he's a greedy man who wants more.

After all, he had nothing, then had one precious thing, then lost that thing. And then, when he eliminated the person who stole his precious thing, he got everything.

Did that make sense? To Rowan, it didn't.

He already got everything, but why does he want more?

So with a clean shot to the head, he killed his father and immediately inherited the family.

Now, he can spend the money and the resources as much as he wants. So he did. He went to casinos, brothels, luxury hotels and cruises. Everything he thinks that he needs.

But he still wants more. He still needs more.

And by god, he did get more.

He bumped into you one day, with you in your soft outfit of creams and pastels. Your pure, clean eyes made his heart skip a beat as you said sorry to him.

His greed triggered.

He wanted you so bad.

When he learned you needed a job when he saw your folder filled with resumes, he felt like he won the lottery.

"How about becoming my sugar baby? Don't worry, I won't ask anything. Much."

And as your cute figure pondered what to do, he smirked. You, in the middle of his dim office, in light clothing and an innocent face, was such a contrast in the dark office filled with his smoke from his beloved churchwarden pipe. You stuck out like a sore thumb, and he liked it.

He loved it.

And as your lips dropped the answer he wanted to hear, he shivered and gave you a lopsided smile.

"Good. Now, what do you want, love?"

Rowan sat down on his office chair, he cracked his neck and sighed.

He was bone tired. He just finished a cartel mission that he himself as the boss had to interfere. It was annoying because it was due to his incompetent new recruits.

At least they're sleeping with the "fishies", as what you call the finned sea creatures.

He grabbed something from his pocket and brought it up to his face. It was an intricate jeweled choker with a lot of rose gold arcs, jewels that match your eyes, and a diamond encrusted opal centerpiece.

He imagined you wearing it. Wrapping the choker on your neck himself, seeing your eyes flash in wonder and amazement. He imagined you also getting shy and saying that it was too expensive, and him saying that it was okay, and he wanted to give you this entirely by his own volition. And he got excited.

...In one way or another.

He chuckled and shook his head, swinging on his swivel chair as he dialed your number.

After two rings, you picked up.

"Love, come here. I got a gift for you."

You whined, getting shy again. He chuckled.

"You know what I say, I don't want to hear you say no. So come here now."

So you did.

Once you got there, he smiled and kissed your lips softly, bringing you close to him by your waist and lifting you up easily with his tatted arms.

"Come, I'll give you the present myself."

You got curious naturally.

He settled you in front of the floor length mirror which also saw... Much more intimate and sensual things you both did other than this gift giving thing he's doing.

Rowan slowly grabbed your hair and raised it, making you shiver with goosebumps from the action. He smirked, seeing you so flustered from the simple act of him grabbing your hair.

Well, that, and he also liked to grab your hair a lot while fucking you senselessly. There's that too.

You closed your eyes when he told you too, and you felt the familiar cold sensation of jewelry resting on your neck. But this time, it hugged it, making you open your eyes. It was the beautiful choker he was admiring earlier.

"Do you love it?" Rowan asked, looking at you through the mirror as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You nodded enthusiastically and said yes. He smirked.

This was the first time you didn't say to take the gift back with such a flustered apprehensive look. You're starting to get greedy.

He loved that. A lot.

"Now, how about you kiss me in return, hmm?" You rolled your eyes and gently kissed him. You know this day is not just going to end in a kiss.

But you didn't mind.

And he knows that.

You went home that day with Rowan driving you. He gave you more gifts that you shyly accepted once more, making Rowan shiver in glee. Again, you didn't reject them at all.

You're slowly getting tainted by his greediness.

And hopefully, you will be greedy enough to bring up your relationship to him, and tell him that you wanted more to this.

That you wanted his love.

Oh, he trembles at the thought.

It's not a question of if, but when, after all.

But now, he's just slowly moving forward with your relationship. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. Despite him living such a fast paced life, he knows he's patient enough to wait for you.

But if you backtracked and got out of his tight grasp...

Let's just say that the tracker he planted on your laptop, your phone, and now your precious choker will help him find you if you ran away.

You were the light to his dark, dreary life.

He'll be crazy enough to let you go.

And he's already crazy about you.

That's why he's making you addicted to him also. Showering you with gifts and love. Praising your body, worshipping it, pleasing it until you reach the heavens like the angel you are.

And if you still didn't want him... Let's just say the condoms with holes in them that he himself poked will do the trick.

It was a dirty tactic. But who cares? He's a mafia boss for god's sake. Dirty tactics aren't new to him.

And if you still somehow didn't end up pregnant and got to run away, he'll use his influence to find you.

You got no escape.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

You were his love. His greed.

With a drag of his churchwarden pipe, he drove off to plan your wedding.

You were going to be his after all.

No matter what.

I don't know if I did my baby Rowan justice i'm going crazY FUCK.

Can you guys tell I have favoritism? Because I do LOL

[beardwrassler]

Received two tobacco pipes for Christmas. The first a Savinelli churchwarden and a Volcano shaped bowl on the second.

[valjeancrazylover2]

Wrote this entire thing in one sitting yesterday because i havent stopped thinking about or drawing Gérard and René. I literally cannot escape. My OCs but whatever. (ive given in, Gérard is basically my oc atp right...?)

Not putting it on AO3 so here it is! 3K words, a little bit angsty, not heavy stuff its for the gay shit setup.

Summary: Gérard drags himself to René's house late one evening to consult him about an issue he's having.

-

René had on his nightshirt, his warm stockings and his robe - it was a cold and windy evening, and he was settling down to retire for the night. Before he went to bed, however, he followed his daily routine of lounging in the salon with the fire, warming himself as he read a book. It was as he was about to put out the fire when the doorbell rang.

By some inconvenience, it happened to be his maid’s day off, so he grumbled and made his way to the front door, pulling his robe around him tighter as the draught from outside grew colder. The doorbell rang twice more as he made his way down the hall.

“I’m coming!” he yelled, both times.

When he finally reached and opened the door, there stood Gérard, who was perhaps the last person he would ever expect to turn up at his house. Perhaps he had something from the others to deliver, or perhaps he had thought of a better, particularly cutting remark from their heated argument earlier that day. What a thrill that had been. He almost looked forward to continuing it, before he realised he had been getting ahead of himself.

He looked at Gérard in shock. He was dressed in the clothes he had worn that day, but they were noticeably creased and careless, as if they had been taken off and thrown back on. His cravat was barely tied and not tucked into his waistcoat, which had only three buttons done. Thankfully, he had thought to do the fly of his trousers.

“Monsieur Ambroise,” René said. He was not sure whether or not it was the time to make fun of the man. The slightly satirical acknowledgement, however, did not seem to phase him.

“Can I come in? I know it’s late, and you’re... a-” he snarled, biting back whatever he was going to say. “It’s cold. I need some help. If you would be so kind,” he spat.

Unbeknownst to Gérard, René did, in fact, hold some degree of pity for him. So, René pulled his robe further around his waist and stood aside to let in Gérard without a word. The other man looked at him in something like surprise, as if he had been expecting to have the door shut on his nose, but stepped in anyway. He followed René’s lead down the hall.

René took a churchwarden pipe from the pocket of his velvet robe. “You don’t mind if I smoke? It’s just, I usually do on cold nights like this, on my way to bed. Warms the soul. Ah, that reminds me, I’ll feed the fire.”

They reached the salon, where the fire was near embers, and René gestured for Gérard to sit while he took a few logs from the basket next to the mantelpiece and tossed them onto the coals. Then he lit a match while the embers were still tame and lit his pipe.

When he turned back to Gérard, who had for some reason seated himself on a footstool, he looked like a frightened little animal, pulling his clothes about him and trembling with moussed hair. René got the urge to pat him on the head and say, There, there!, but he did not. Instead, he sensibly took his place on his favourite chaise-lounge, pipe in mouth, getting a good smoke going.

It was strange, seeing the man who stood taller than the rest of the group, looking so small. Something must have really been the matter. 

He was yet to say anything since he had entered the house, so René decided to lead.

“So, dear, what is it you need so urgently that you pull yourself together and drag yourself to my home, of all places?”

At first, Gérard seemed preoccupied in his own thoughts, before the sound of René’s voice broke the barrier and he turned with a jolt to look at him. As the fire was beginning to breathe again, the room warmed up, and he hugged himself less tightly.

He stammered. “I- I don’t know.”

René sighed. “Well, there must be something, darling. We all know I’m the last person you’d come to for any sort of issue.”

Another pause as Gérard fell into his thoughts. This did, in fact, worry René - normally Gérard was so present, with something to say, and when he had nothing left, he would mouth wordlessly until someone interrupted and he could breathe. Then, he’d start again. But now, his mind seemed distant.

Eventually, he spoke. “With exception for this sort of issue. It’s a little, er- taboo, so to speak. And I figured you were the only person who might be able to help me.”

René sat up in intrigue. “Me? Why? Dear Albéric probably has far more experience than I do with most things, he’s frightfully well learned. If it’s a problem with pests, François can probably recommend some bird to lure into your house. As for Marius- um. Well, he’s definitely got some expertise. Perhaps his wife-”

“Only you,” said Gérard firmly. “Well, I’d...” he cleared his throat. “Assumed.”

“Assumed what?”

Gérard, now warm enough to put his hands in his lap, looked at René briefly before returning his gaze to the floor. He took a shaky breath.

“Well, as you say, Marius has his wife, Albéric has barely left his bourgeois circle, and François - God knows, bless him - probably doesn’t see many people, excluding us. And you... have a way with people.” He glanced back at René. “With men.”

Now René understood. Or at least, he hoped he did. He took another drag of his pipe, chewing on the end thoughtfully. 

“Ah,” he said, and dropped the hand which held his pipe to his lap. “What seems to be, er, troubling you about people?- About men?”

There was yet another pause as Gérard fell into thought. The longer he thought, the more he seemed to become almost volatile, chewing on his knuckles, frustration rising as he could not find the words to say.

In Gérard’s mind was a storm. It was typical for someone in distress to bear a storm in their mind. He knew not how to navigate it. He had known others who might have, who might have even navigated the same storm, but they were now gone. It was true that René was not, ideally, the person to consult on this matter, especially seeing as he had some direct part in it - but Gérard was desperate. Eventually he gave up on subtlety and spoke his mind the best he could.

“I feel... things, sometimes. I’ve read in poetry or heard people talk about feelings like this - in fact, Marius doesn’t seem to shut up about it - but this... this feels different.” Gérard buried his long fingers in his hair and removed his glasses in frustration. “It’s- you! It’s always you!, when you... do things,” he spat. Clearly he had lost the gift of eloquence, and decided his dignity had left him the minute he decided to drag himself here in the first place.

René’s brow furrowed and he pouted in thought. “Like what, darling?”

Eyes wide, Gérard sat up straight suddenly. “Like that! When you call me names!”

“I call everyone darling, darling.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t call Marius darling.”

“Naturally! He’s married!”

“Then what about Albéric!”

René paused, smirking. He raised the long pipe to his lips. “Not while you’re around, I wouldn’t want you to be jealous.”

In Gérard’s chest, he felt the pot of fury threaten to boil over and he contemplated taking the pipe from René and snapping it in two. Instead, he took his hands to his hair once more and tugged in irritation. René looked at him and his smug face shifted, concerned. 

“It was a joke, love.”

With a deep sigh that came from every muscle in his body, Gérard slumped forward, elbows on his knees, defeated. He did not look back at René as he put his glasses back on his nose.

Gérard continued in a small voice. “There is some truth to it - I think I might be jealous. I know the affection you hold for Albéric. He is a handsome man. I am no competition. Is that jealousy?”

There was no sound from René for a few moments, but it felt like hours, and Gérard suddenly felt sick. He did not dare look back up, as he would have expected to see René stifling laughter behind his hand. It was embarrassing and unfamiliar to be vulnerable like this, and in fact he wished René would take that slender wooden pipe, as long as a large dagger, and drive it between the ribs of his back until it splintered.

Instead, René spoke again, gently. “You said you feel... ‘things’, as you put it, when I call you like I would a wife?”

“Yes,” Gérard snapped. He was not in the mood to repeat himself.

René made a noise of acknowledgement. “And what about,” he continued, “when you saw me answer the door in this robe? In such a state of undress? Did you feel ‘things’ then?”

Gérard froze. His hands went cold, and he felt the urge to shove them down the collar of his shirt, to cool down his neck which had suddenly become very hot. This was the sort of thing he had tried to describe. He felt it when René challenged him on his politics, making stupid remarks typical of the bourgeoisie. But he did not suppose that this was anger, or irritation, or frustration. There was nothing to be angry, or irate, or frustrated about. 

He found he could only turn to look back at René, who was leaning against the head of his chaise, staring back patiently with his pipe in his mouth, waiting for an answer. Gérard cursed himself for not allowing enough time to mould his face into something that was not so... scared.

For a moment he did not answer, could not answer. In his mind he ran various scenarios, pulling for something to respond with. What was the right thing to say?, he asked himself. When he could not find the right answer, it troubled him, so he answered the closest he could; truthfully.-

“Yes.”

With a soft smile, he leaned forward to meet Gérard’s level on the footstool. He raised his hand and rested it on the other man’s back. It slithered to the shoulder nearest René as he spoke.

“If I touch you affectionately?”

It felt like fire. Gérard wanted more.

“Yes.”

René raised his pipe again. “Does it happen with any man?”

For this, Gérard had to think. He supposed, maybe, when a particularly handsome man brushed his shoulder, he might turn his head. There was one man he often thought of, an older man on the barricade. He had been kind to Gérard, shared wine with him, passed his wishes of good fortune and luck shortly before the final attack on the barricade, before Gérard had fled. When the man had put a hand on his shoulder before he had disappeared, Gérard might have felt similarly then. He could not remember.

He could remember, however, that it was nothing like the burning he felt now. With some difficulty, he met René’s dark eyes.

“No. Not like this.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answers, René took a drag from his pipe. He did not move, nor break eye contact. Normally, Gérard would have found something else to look at by now, but found he could not, or perhaps he did not want to. He did not have time to think about which it was before René parted his lips and exhaled the smoke gently into his face, stinging his eyes and causing him to blink.

“So, I’m exclusive.”

They were awfully close by now. René seemed to have been leaning towards Gérard, as he held his elbow on his knee, bent sideways so that their faces were closer. Their voices had been barely above a whisper.

The fire crackled indifferently as Gérard let his gaze leave René’s eyes, and explore the rest of his face. He found a faint freckle, and got the absurd idea to brush it with his lips. Like a marionette, as if strings controlled his body, he moved to do so, but it was too late when he realised the freckle had in fact been on René’s bottom lip. Gérard jumped back in shock with a gasp, causing René to stumble forward as if to follow the kiss.

“I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean-” Gérard tugged at his hair again as René pulled himself back straight, eyes wide and blinking. Did he mean to? “Well, I, um... it was, er...”

He grappled desperately for words. Something inside him willed him to run, to leave and pray René would understand and let it lie, never to mention it or bring it up with the rest of their friends. But another part of him missed the jolt of energy that had sparked through him. The contact of lips on lips, from his heart to his brain - to his gut. It made him feel nauseous. He wanted to chase it. Instead, he spat out whatever random string of words he could until he felt a dainty hand on his collar, a thin finger working its way behind the messy, half-finished knot of his cravat. His attention turned back to René, silenced.

“You talk an awful lot,” René purred. The sound sent a shiver up the other man’s spine. The kiss, as brief as it was, was like the striking blow to an axe on firewood. Something in Gérard had splintered. He could not ignore the want he felt, that he had never felt before. Gérard hated it. He hated that he could feel something like this, for René Gignac, of all people - but he did. His chest heaved.

René spoke again. “I can take you home, if you want. But it’s awfully dark, and you seem unwell. Perhaps you should stay the night.”

His hand had withdrawn from Gérard’s collar as he spoke. There were no words in Gérard’s head that he thought he could say, so instead he stared stupidly, letting his glasses slip down his nose, slick with sweat. The strings of the marionette took over once more, and Gérard covered René’s hand with his own.

“I think I’d rather stay.” 

René hummed, with a coy edge as he nodded his head slightly. “You would?”

“I would. The, uh,” Gérard felt René’s elegant hand snake its way up his side until it splayed out across his chest; “The streets are quite dangerous at this time of night.”

“Oh, yes,” René murmured, “absolutely crawling with filthy beggars who’ll want your valuables.”

The face Gérard had pulled in response to this made René grin broadly. He seemed to cycle through several different reactions, each bringing a deeper shade of red to his face, and each bringing René closer and closer. His hand had reached Gérard’s cravat once more, and he tugged on it as Gérard opened his mouth to speak. He did not kiss him, instead breathing teasingly across his lips.

“Never-! The-!”

“You’re right, best to stay here -” he removed Gérard’s glasses, as they were threatening to fall to the floor and shatter, “- or the commoners might pick you to bits like dogs.”

In a moment they crashed together again, lips parted and breath heavy. Gérard exerted the angry, passionate storm inside him as René clung to his cravat, the other hand tossing the glasses safely onto the rug, and swung round to find a hold on Gérard’s shoulder as he was nearly bowled over when the other man surged forward.

René tumbled to the chaise on his back, Gérard following, on his hands and knees above René, who pulled him down with a hand on the small of his back until he was laid flush on top of him. He even dared to trap Gérard with a stockinged leg, and moaned when their hips pressed together.

Truthfully, Gérard did not know how to kiss someone. His life had revolved so strongly around politics and fighting for the rights of the people that he had assumed he would never, ever, pursue romance. It would have distracted him from the cause. He had read about it in books, of course, but thought it frivolous. Other men he had fought alongside he observed fraternising with girls, but that too he had shaken his head at.

He did not think about this in the moment, however. All he could do was follow René’s lead, and any remaining thoughts were practically purged from his mind when René rolled his hips at the same time he opened their mouths and deepened the kiss. Gérard had let out a slightly embarrassing noise of surprise, but it was quickly swallowed as René explored Gérard further. He pulled back for breath when he felt another leg swing itself around his waist. René leaned to follow the kiss, letting his head fall back down when he could not catch Gérard’s lips again in time. They were both panting.

Gérard swallowed. “I don’t-”

“-Know what you’re doing? I know,” René huffed, and reached up to lick, bite and kiss at the other man’s jaw. The fire burned stronger. There was nothing else in the world that Gérard could think about other than chasing the heat, and it was leading him to René. He was below him, clinging to Gérard with arms and legs, with their hips pressed together. Gérard had never seen him anything but pristine, and seeing his hair crumpled and misshapen drove him even wilder.

René pulled him into another kiss, quick and deep, before breaking them apart again. His face was flushed and sultry.

“Since you’re staying the night-” he brushed their lips once more, “- I’ll show you to the bedroom.”

As he sat up, Gérard’s face flickered between nervousness and anticipation, but he followed in tow eagerly regardless. They abandoned the warmth of the living room, but found their own fire underneath the lavish silk blankets and woollen quilts of René’s bed.

[mare-crisiums-manual-controls]

I haul the long bundle wrapped in canvas onto my shoulder, my leather satchel slipping down the other, and head out the door. Down the rough cobblestone street I carefully dodge passers-by, dive out the way of the occasional horse and carriage clattering down the street, and studiously avoid the stare of a small group of city watchmen smoking their long churchwarden pipes around a disused well, pulling my hat down low to hide my eyes in shadow.

After weaving through the chaotic din of the Brickgate Market, eventually the town gives way to individual houses with thatched roofs, then to large rolling fields and pastures, and finally to the edge of the forest. I breathe a sigh of relief, happy at last to be surrounded by the dark, primeval forest, as I head deeper in amongst the trees, trying to retrace my steps. After a few wrong turns causing me to backtrack, and the occasional growl when the hem of my long lightweight coat snags on a thicket of thorny branches, I find the entrance to the cave I'd been to a week or so before. I readjust the heavy parcel on my shoulder and venture in, coughing a little self-consciously and calling out into the darkness.

"Hello?"

The greeting travels through the dark, and quickly finds its recipient. A deep rumbling, and a scraping sound similar to fallings beads fill your ears as a shape emerges from the dark. A great grey head emerges from the dark, eyes as bright as flame. The dragon opens its mouth.

"Hello! It's good to see you again friend. I hope your journey was not too difficult, I know these woods often confuse." The dragon grins as it looks you over, its gaze landing on the shouldered mass. It tilts its head in though, before its eyes light up in silent query.

[mandareeboo]

Weird take but smoking is super important in writing. It's a common habit a lot of people share, but it's also got a lot of thematic stuff added to it that can help flesh out a character.

Focuses on your character's hands. You can say a lot about someone from their hands. Rugged, scarred fingers from a lifetime of work. Thin, delicate wrists and well-done nails. Swollen and bloody from a bad fight.

Smoking can also imply a certain economic background. Historically, hardworking laborers smoked cigarettes. A rich man may invest in cigars. The often-unmentioned cigarillo can imply that they have a certain taste preference.

Changes the environment of a room entirely. Readers feel very differently about a "normal" room compared to one choked with smoke from the people within.

Different pipes also mean a lot imo. Not in real life, but in shaping a character for a reader. Readers will garner different ideas of someone if they're smoking a corncob vs. puffing on a churchwarden (the really long ones)

Most smokers are sharers. If you're writing a time period that has a lot of smoking in it your character will be offered at least once. This can give you both a more fleshed-out feel to the world AND a reaction from your character to build them- and the offeror- more.

Some people just aren't sharers! That also says a lot about them if everyone else offers but they don't.

Gives your characters something to do while sitting down that's not inherently plot-relevant but is something other than waving their hands everywhere.

[calamity-calliope]

Moffett sleeps soundly. So soundly that it would take nothing more than a point-blank blast from a Napoleon howitzer to wake him up. Jimmying the lock on the window is the easy part. The hard part is looking over his sparse belongings to guess what he'll miss the least.

[boredkaiju]

My Pipe Collection

No one will remember that I said this because it was ages ago and only one person replied to it, but the reason I like drawing Kaiju with a pipe is because I collect them irl! Fun times :D Anyway, thought it would be fun to show off my pipe collection and share a bit about them. Without further adue: First off, the first pipe I ever got! This style of pipe with the long stem is called a "Churchwarden". This is aesthetically my favorite type of pipe because it reminds me of Gandalf, and I absolutely love anything with wizard vibes. I also really like the name for it. What makes this pipe nice is that the longer stem allows the smoke to cool more before it reaches your mouth, so it's easier to avoid getting tongue-bite with it (a sort of feeling of having burned your tongue a bit; it often happens if the tobacco gets too hot). The main drawback is that, because the bowl is further from your nose, you can't really smell the tobacco as much, which is a bummer because I think the scent is one of the many reasons I enjoy pipes. (If you've smelled cigarette smoke and not pipe smoke, I assure you that pipe smoke smells more pleasant; there's not any chemical additives in pipe tobacco and they burn a little cooler I think. But it's also kind of subjective, anyway.)

(That bit of metal sticking off the front isn't part of the pipe, it's my pipe tamper, which I just used to prop the pipe up with; you'll notice it in a few of the other pics because I don't have a proper pipe stand :')) Don't know the company that made this one, but it's probably the most expensive pipe I have (it was about $80). I remember the day I bought it; I went to a cigar shop shortly after I turned 18 (which was then the legal smoking age in my state). There was a bunch of old guys with big beards sitting around a table and playing poker. Scrawny 18-year-old me felt very out of place, but the gentleman behind the counter was very helpful. I picked this pipe because it was the cheapest one they had at the time. I have since found cheaper ones, but I suppose they only had pricy ones at that store.

These next two I shall present together, as they're both from the same company; these are Missouri Meerschaum pipes! It's a nice company because all their pipes are turbo-cheap (these were each about $10). The corn cob pipe is a classic, often sported by popeye and random famers! I like the corncob because it's lighter than my other pipes, so it's a good "walking around" pipe since I can hold it with just my teeth easier, rather than having to hold it in my hand as much. I think the other is called an "apple pipe", lol. Not much to say about it. It's nice, I suppose.

I don't like the stem color on these; the transparent orange just looks out of place to me. You can buy replacement stems, though, and I plan to get a couple black ones at some point. I bought the corn cob from Amazon and the Apple from Missouri Meerschaum's website. I am docking points from these two because they're a bit of a pain to clean. Where a better-made pipe will be completely smooth inside, you can see the stem in these ones is clearly just jammed into the side. Tobacco gets stuck in the little gaps around it and it can be a tad annoying to clean out as a result lol.

(Corn cob pipe is on the right; did my best to show what i was talking about but it was hard to get good lighting. You can *kind of* see it though) Next up, this pipe shape is called a "Diplomat" I think. This was the third pipe I bought, and I got it off of Amazon. If you look closely you can see it has "Free Boy" inscribed on it. For the brief period where I had a fellow pipe smoker living down the road from me, he poked fun at me for it because it sounded kind of funny (and I agree with this assessment lol)

Not a whole whole lot else to say about it. Some pipes let you use filters in them. You'll find debate on pipe forums over weather it's better with or without them; I always use a filter in my pipes that allow it because it's supposed to get rid of some of the tar and other nasty stuff that comes in tobacco. Some folks claim that filters remove the flavor but I haven't personally noticed a difference. The Free Boy pipe requires these big fancy filters; there's some kind of pellets inside it so it rattles if you shake it. Shown compared to the filters I use in my Missouri Meerschaum pipes (the longer filter), which are just some kind of rolled-up paper-y material.

And that just leaves my clay pipes! I absolutely love these things. I wasn't too interested in clay pipes at first, but wanted to get one after watching a video that talked about the history of clay pipes. I found it really fascinating; I didn't expect to actually enjoy using it, but I thought it would be neat to have in my collection as a cool novelty. After trying it out, though, it became one of my favorite pipes! For some reason I find these are easier to pack right and keep lit than my other pipes, and I really love how small and lightweight they are. I liked that first one so much that I got a second; it's cool because it looks like an eagle claw! :D I find them really easy to clean, too. I've been told that you can apparently "deep clean" a clay pipe by tossing it in the oven and heating it up for a while. I have never tried this but can share the results if I ever do (I probably won't tho ngl). Both of these were purchased from a website called PipesAndCigars, which has since been my go-to site for these sorts of things. For some reason every package I've gotten from that site came with like four coupons for other things, including Doordash and some kind of wine-store site, none of which I ever use, lol.

I have all sorts of fun facts about clay pipes I could rattle off but I will spare you that and maybe save them for a future post. For now I'll say this: the biggest drawback on these is that I have to resist the urge to bite down on the stem. Besides the fact that it feels unpleasant (go bite a rock sometime if you're curious how it feels), it's really bad for your teeth. Fun fact: a large amount of skulls from Victorian-era England have giant gaping holes between the teeth from where people were biting down on their clay pipes. I do not want tooth-holes so I just hold these with my hands. The bowls occasionally get too hot to hold so you have to hold them by the stem sometimes, though. Which isn't a huge deal but feels a bit wrong to me for some reason. Ah well. Anyway, that about does it for my pipe collection. I'm eyeing another churchwarden pipe made entirely out of wood as one of the next ones to get. The wizard vibes will increase exponentially! :D Anyway, for all 2 people who actually read me rambling about my little hobby, cheers! Hope you enjoyed it, and i'm happy to answer any questions you may have about it. Hope you all have a swell day!

[being-the-bad-guy]

Got myself my first tobacco pipe (pretty old but reconditioned) and I obviously had to make the perfect satchel for easily carry it around.

I also sew a matching burgundy satchel for my best friend for when I'm going to visit him in Scotland (hope to see him soon after summer break). Just ordinary sentimental dudes.

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

Tav | Wood Elf | Bard-Lock (College of Valor/Archfey) | She/They | 157

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: Hammer of the Just, for swift sun-powered ass-whooping

style of combat: Mostly ranged spells or running up and slamming her weapon into the face of her enemy or whoever pissed her off most

most prized possession: her da's old churchwarden pipe

deepest desire: at first it was to see the world and stir some loins in the process, now it's become see the world and find the cure for vampirism

guilty pleasure: that good druid kush

best-kept secret: she has sun elf ancestry and a connection to a noble elven house

greatest strength: shit-talking her way out of bad situations. high Charisma stat has gotten her out of so many bad situations it is insane

fatal flaw: short fuse and low tolerance for stupid bullshit

favorite smell: the air just before a rain storm

favorite spell or cantrip: Vicious Mockery ("you miserable, vomitous mass!")

pet peeve: anyone that holds back information or keeps her from achieving a goal, especially if the information could have been useful.

bad habit: lying out her ass about her backstory. She changes it each time anyone asks her

hidden talent: barrel dancing, as in she can dance on top of a barrel or multiple barrels without missing a step

leisure activity: stealing wine, collecting poisonous plants and flowers, assisting Astarion in annoying the shit out of Gale

favorite drink: hard booze, Orcish in origin

comfort food: Buttered buns, or any breads

favorite person(s): Astarion (partner in crime/hot elf husband/best friend), Karlach (immediate new best friend), Lae'zel (scary guard dog friend, but adorable too? would stab a thousand Vlakaaths for her)

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): loves to have Astarion's head in her lap so she can stroke his hair, chivalrous knuckle kisses to make him blush (she loves how pink his ears get when he does). For her, she likes when he nuzzles into her neck and soft kisses against her temple

fondest childhood memory: when her mother gave her the special red ribbon she wears in her hair for her nameday.

[oelnet]

Churchwarden-Pipe à tabac coudée à longue tige, accessoire propre, un corps de tuyau + deux embouts interchangeables

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Just read yandere sugar daddy AND GOD!! Plz do part 2. I want to see them dating🫣

One order of Rowan coming right up!

Yandere! Sugar Daddy x "Pure"! Reader part 2

Part 1 here!

An opulent outfit of pure white stood out as it draped on a person in front of a mirror. The hands that caressed it's folds and seams trembled a bit as they tried to calculate the numbers that must have cost to come up with such an intricate piece of clothing. Their face, flushed with a tint of bashfulness, looked like an angel on earth. The way their aura and pure look awed the man sitting on his desk, his eyes ravaging on their form, pure hunger in them.

"You look absolutely stunning, love." His deep voice rang around the dark and dreary office room. "An angel, sent to me, and only me."

His fingers twitched slightly as he grabbed his churchwarden pipe, inhaling a drag and exhaling out the grey, slightly purple smoke that smelled of lavender and mint.

"What do you think? I had to pull quite the strings just to get that dress made." Rowan chuckled a bit. "What did the designer said again? Ah, the sheen on the outfit is apparently crushed pearls and opal."

He had a hard time convincing the dressmaker, but it's nothing a few... Threats won't do.

"It's beautiful..." Your voice let out an airy response, still at awe at how the dress looked good on you.

As you twirled around the mirror that witnessed different sides of your relationship, Rowan observed your form.

He always loved how you stand out of the dark office. You, and your pureness was something he craved, wanted, obsesses with.

Authentic. Uncontaminated.

In his eyes, you were something unattainable, something so holy that he shouldn't dare to even lay his bloodied hands on you.

But he dared to, and he wants to paint your white dress with his red and blacks. His blood, sweat, and tears on your body so soft and refined it's almost too daunting to glance at. He wants to sink his teeth on your untainted flesh.

"Come here, love." Rowan stretched his hand to you and you walked up to him. He whirled you around and made you sit on his lap, resting his chin on your exposed shoulder. His lips, dauntingly pressing against your neck, threatened to place salacious marks of belonging.

That you are only his.

"Stay on my lap, love. I want you close to me as I work." He whispered, his breath hot on your ear as he started to work on his papers.

You only nodded, flushed from head to toe as you tried to focus on something other than him.

You could feel his hardened body, his calm heartbeats, and his deep exhales and inhales as if he was taking in your scent and ingraining it in your mind.

The necklace he bought you before was hanging on his monitor, taken off earlier in order for you to wear the dress much easier.

Were you bored out of your mind? Absolutely. But can you really do anything other than obey the man that spent so much money on you that you swore it can almost make you live up to your 70's without worrying about money and inflation? If you're a brat, probably.

But your nice and innocent nature didn't dare to.

"You know, you can search up things you want to buy, love. If you're bored, at least." Rowan suggested, urging, coaxing. It was weird how he's so adamant at making you spend his money, like it was a weird fetish he had.

You aren't wrong.

You were like an unspoken prayer on his lips, a saint on his sinful tongue he wishes to pleasure and please.

At first, you were always rejecting the idea of spending his money just because you're bored.

But now you didn't even shrug as you daintily grabbed his phone and typed out your birthday as his password and went to an online shop of your liking.

Oh, how he shivered at the sight.

You're tainted with his colors.

His red and blacks.

His greed.

Now, he just wishes for you to get so greedy you wanted more of this relationship.

If not, his efforts of isolating you slowly from your family and friends will be all for naught. And he doesn't like it if his efforts are wasted.

Your fingers hovered over his gallery as you finished your shopping, and you were so tempted.

Usually, he doesn't like it if you try to look at his gallery. It's as if it was totally forbidden to look at it.

But you can't contain your overwhelming (Greedy) curiosity.

So, with a slight twist of your torso, covering the phone, you opened the gallery.

Rowan smirked as he knew what you did, no matter how much you try to hide it.

And as your gasps of fear and shock filled his ears, he chuckled and placed a lustful kiss on your neck. You took the bait.

"Did you like the candid photos of you in your home, love? I especially love the photos of you in your apron." His tongue, the work of the devil, trailed along your jaw as he kissed it. "If you wanted, you could cook for me. Just staying in our home as I shower you with affection and money. And you can just devote yourself to me. As I to you."

Your lips trembled at the suggestion. You wanted to say no. You really do.

You should be creeped out by how he took these photos. It looked like spy cameras. You really should.

But do you, really? But should you, really?

It was so tempting. Like an oasis in the middle of the desert, and you, the unfortunate person to see the mirage and think of it as a haven to rest your weary form on, and not a trap set to ensnare you for life.

And, as your mouth opened to reply, Rowan's lopsided smirk appeared on his devilishly handsome face.

He won.

He finally satisfied his greed, and yours.