#jolie filles

[miaestrellabr]

[cesttresdur]

Putri et son amie

[sassouna]

[huhihuhuu56781]

[theharellan]

written for @ancientimpudence. a memory of the ancients, tucked in the deepest fade, when the earth had not yet been brought to heel and the people still stumble without the hands of gods to guide them.

“What is it?”

Fear asks the question with an air of revulsion and fascination as the gathered party gazes upon the creature that sits on the table. They look first to Creation for explanation, for in Ghilan’nain’s company she had witnessed the birth of a whole host of beasts to lay claim to the earth. Yet she has no answer for what crawls towards her.

Its keeper rights it before it falls, hissing punishment as the creature struggles against their grasp. Fat legs strain, helpless. It is both like and unlike them, squat and round, but with ears that taper towards the heavens the elves emerged from. Muttered observations converge towards concordance: it is horrible, it is hideous, it is—

“It is a child.”

It is Wisdom who answers the question Fear hesitated to ask, unshirking as he sweeps through the crowd. They part with the deference due Mythal’s second, his late coming unremarked upon (for Wisdom can never come too late to an immortal people). He stops before the creature— the child— who stills in the newcomer’s presence, eyes wide as they look upon him.

“I have seen them before. The dwarves begin as them, and some of the People now bear them. They are the same manner of being as what made them, only smaller.”

“The dwarves are already small,” Observation, of Dirthamen’s court, remarks.

“Smaller, then,” says Wisdom. He looks to one of the parents, and the air stirs with the promise of a question: “What is their name?”

They falter, frown. When Wisdom approached with an answer, they had hoped for understanding (perhaps approval) as to the nature of this experiment. “We, too, saw the fledgling elves, and asked if we could perfect that dream. All the power of—”

“— You may wish to consider something shorter,” Wisdom snorts. “A nickname, perhaps.”

Their grip on the child falters and it, undaunted by the hands that had tried to still it, crawls towards the table’s ledge. “Miolvun,” they say, their own names stricken from all narrative, all story, yet their creation’s persists, if only in memory.

“Miolvun.” At the sound of their name, the child veers towards where Wisdom stands, mindless of the drop.

His heart jumps as he catches them, clumsy as his hands fumble with them, four squat limbs seeming suddenly endless as he rights them in his arms. They laugh, ignorant of their brush with danger, little legs clinging to his waist. Wisdom’s body had been set for a darker purpose since Mythal first grounded him, yet somehow it seemed the shape had been made to hold this weight. They beat their fists on his chest, and he stays them with one open palm, little fingers pulling at his, trying to make as much sense of him as he is of them.

“Fascinating.”

Miolvun’s creator shines at the compliment, although it is not truly theirs he credits it to. As they weary of his left hand, they look at him; in the wisplight, wide brown eyes reflect aimless lights, like fireflies in a summer’s field.

“What can it do?” flies the voice of Andruil’s Discipline, seeking purpose in every corner of creation.

“Everything,” answers Wisdom, hiking them closer to his waist.

The room murmurs with conversation, steadily louder as each party debates what their best use would be. A wail pierces the party, and Wisdom’s ear. Too young for language, Miolvun shrieks, perhaps cognizant enough to be aware that the commotion is on their behalf.

Wisdom, wincing, reaches to the answer he knows best. The deeper Fade answers, summoning songs which soothe the child’s crying.

As the tears turn to shining pinpricks in the corner of their eyes, Fear remarks disparagingly, “It will do nothing with those tears.”

“They will learn,” Wisdom protests, “as we did. Or do you not remember the terror of your flesh, Fear?” A tinge of envy tugs at his words, wondering if they will remember what he can never forget: the horrible pulse of a heartbeat, the tearing of an empty stomach, the tremor of his lungs.

As the room falls silent, reflecting upon the trembling of the earth, a lone Hope lingers:

They will do the People proud.

[fauxreveur-young]

[yocopoco]

[itsbarbiebiiittchhhhh]

« qu’elle était jolie, la fille avec toi »

[phosphorus-noodles]

HIII guess who just posted the fic they've been writing/talking about for the past month?! it's me :3

special thanks to @eevee-eclair and @mushroommushy for coming up with the original au concept before i snowballed it into what we have now 👍

[thierry1970]

[miaestrellabr]

[cesttresdur]

Café

[lucyshypemaster]

I've been defending sophie so much for the past few days that I've completely forgotten that jolie is actually my no. 1 bae

[whoworewhatjewels]

Ghoulish Glam: The Spookiest Jewelry Worn by Celebrities"

Ghoulishly Glamorous: Celebrity Jewelry That Gives Halloween a Sparkling Twist!

Celebs aren’t immune to the bewitching charms of Halloween; they embrace the spooky season with just as much enthusiasm as we do! In the spirit of this eerie holiday, we’re delving into the crypt of celebrity fashion, unearthing some of the spookiest and most hair-raising jewelry moments. From Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thornton’s infamous vials of blood, which took “commitment” to a whole new…

[fauxreveur-young]

[yocopoco]