turgon

@oneringnet favourite character event ➺ Fingon

Of all the children of Finwe he is justly most renowned: for his valour was as a fire and yet as steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward.

M A G L O R

T h e  H o u s e  o f  F i n a r f i n

(Half)brothers - Curufinwë; Ñolofinwë; Arafinwë

Glorfindel&Ecthelion

I just created a ‘Which Fruits Basket Male Character is Your Soulmate?’ quiz

Please take it and reblog your result.

https://uquiz.com/EIFJq9

"You fools. What can two tiny elves against Morgoth's lieutenant? Come, and fall before me".

"Great is his power, Ingoldo".

"Fear not, cousin, for we have my strength and your voice which gave you the name of Mighty Singer".

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I finally managed to draw that Sauron vs Finrod and Maglor scene that I couldn't finish before.

It's more like the first encounter between them. I plan to draw the fight itself some day between tomorrow and the day I perish.

A stupid headcanon: the Fëanorians don't glow even though they are calaquendi lol, bc of the oath and those things. So Finrod's hair is as shiny as his extremely beautiful soul, but Maglor's power is "darker".

AND NO, IT PHYSICALLY PAINS ME DRAWING CLOTHES, SO HERE YOU HAVE *sighs* MORE NAKED ELVES.

Also, I'm still a bit anxious, but today I feel better. To everyone who cared, thank you, I love you 🥺❤️

Post-nirnaeth Maitimo 😁😁 boy I sure love pain and suffering

Labyrinth dir. Jim Henson | 1986

Egalmoth | Glorfindel | Rog | Ecthelion

Last but not least my third TRSB art for 2021! What are these lords looking at? Who knows! To find out you’ll have to read the fic written by the wonderful @torpi46 who graciously picked this up as a pinch hitter when the original fell through last minute. 💚

Fun fact I drew this before I figured out what my Egalmoth actually looked like lol.

ok first of all that would be SO COOL if you worked at a library GOOD LUCK!!

and secondly, yup! a lot of minors have jobs here! I started my job when I was 15, and I’m now 16. a lot of places do have rules that you can’t work until 16, but luckily for me my job and most of the jobs in my city don’t.

Hey, if you need any advice. I currently work at a library and started when I was 17. So maybe I can be of help 🤷‍♀️

~ Adrian Tepes

—PULLING TEETH

w/c: 4369

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, sickfic,

notes: i haven’t finished the third chapter of bne because WOW kurogiri you are hard to write man. in the meantime here’s this thing i wrote while i was at a hotel in yellowstone like two weeks ago.

You hadn’t ever put much faith in scripture when you were younger, much to the dismay of the pulpit and preachers in your hometown, you’re sure. But even you knew a truly biblical storm when you saw one.

The rain had soaked your clothes straight to the bone, the tense grit of your teeth all that kept them from chattering. It was painful to run through the cold even without clawing hooks of branches littered in your path; each finger, limb and joint frozen stiff yet forced by will alone to keep moving at the same breakneck pace through almost utter darkness.

Your stomach lurched as the ground was suddenly pulled away from under you, falling face-first into the wet dirt and leaves of the forest floor, lightning revealing the toe of your boot caught under a gnarled tree root. Without wasting a second you tried yanking your leg free to no avail, the salt of your tears indistinguishable from the ocean of rain weighing you to the ground.

It was then you heard it again, far closer this time. A guttural, whining howl that carried like the wind sent a newfound vigor into your thrashing. Sheer panic was all that gave you the strength to wrench your foot free from its hold, a sickening pop within your flesh clearly audible even through the roar of rain sending a shooting pain up your leg. Your mouth opened wide to scream but nothing could escape.

A part of you didn’t want to get up, couldn’t summon any second wind to keep running. By this point all it felt like was delaying the inevitable. You’d gone through so much only to die here...

But as soon as your eyelids fluttered shut the memory of what was chasing you flashed behind them, now wide open as you clawed your way onto your feet. The utterly hollow sockets unmoving in its cracked open skull, the leathery skin of its face peeled back to the bone showing off it’s rows and rows of teeth. God, the teeth. Flat, herbivorous molars guarded by pointed canines and concave, antler-like incisors that littered the roof of its mouth, with tusklike fangs almost glowing under spare moonlight and carved from the sharpest yellowed ivory.

When Dracula’s hoards began sweeping through the lands of Wallachia you’d seen first hand the slaughter that followed, but never before had you seen a night creature that liked to play with it’s food.

The storm had robbed you of your senses, the downpour feeling as if you were being held beneath the ocean; rout screaming through the trees, making your eardrums ache despite the palms pressed firmly against your ears. Adrenaline pumped so thickly through your veins that you couldn’t feel the pain you’re sure should’ve been coiling around your ankle, instead there was only a numbing panic that swallowed up any thought or feeling that didn’t keep you moving forward.

All at once you felt gravity betray you, the ground turning to a sheer drop as your back was met what must’ve been hard stone; jagged outcroppings of rock carving cuts alone your spine and shoulder blades. Luckily your hands were already shielding the sides of your face, saving you from any permanent damage, but the same couldn’t be said of your body. Freshly splitting gashes dug like rivulets down your legs and stomach, a long cut up the side of your arm that snagged on a pointed outcrop of the hill. For a horrified second you weren’t sure just how far this drop would go.

Thankfully not far, it seemed. Just as the thought took root your crumpled form made contact with silken grass, catching you almost tenderly after your fall. Bleeding, trembling hands slowly released themselves off your head, eyes uselessly trying to adjust to the dark through the warm blur of your tears.

At that moment a clap of lightning ripped itself through the black canvas of the atmosphere, illuminating the unmistakable silhouette of a monstrously imposing castle.

In the midst of panic you hadn’t spared a single thought as to who the castle might belong to or the very likely possibility that whatever baron or lord had taken up residence inside might actually prove more dangerous than the night creature itself. You weren’t even able to see it, not after the lightning passed and the towering structure flickered back into the darkness that surrounded you. The thunder that followed shook the ground and grassy stems you clung to; finally chasing you off the earth and sending you stumbling forward once again, only this time in the vague direction of a castle.

You almost slipped when the footing beneath you turned from wet dirt to slick stone but you managed to catch yourself before falling this time. Half walking, half crawling, you made your way up that waterfall of a staircase to the doorway which stretched above you so high you couldn’t see where they ended and the night sky began.

You practically threw yourself onto the doors once you reached the front gate, the broad archway unyielding as you banged your fist on the hardwood. The voice that escaped your lips didn’t sound like your own— far too high-pitched and shrill but it would have to manage as you screamed till your throat stung for anyone inside to open the doors that barely budged under your relentless shoving.

The stone beneath you was slick with water, making it impossible to get the foothold you normally needed to push the doors open, each failed attempt and unheard plea only making you feel all the more powerless, yet still your bloodied fists beat against the irreverent doorway.

You heard it then, the carnal, delighted howling of the beast stalking you. Whipping around, even through the darkness you could see the creature’s blue sockets alight with whatever magic that sustained it. Two beacons of azure light in the middle of a torrential rain from the other side of the clearing, quickly getting closer.

With a manic strength you didn’t know laid dormant you tried your damndest to shove it open, frantic looks behind you only proving what you already knew. It was almost on you, so close that you could start to hear its ragged breathing over the rain.

In one last, desperate bid for life, you took a running start and shouldered a crash into the unyielding door, the massive entryway budging open just far enough to throw yourself inside.

You were far too delirious to properly take in your surroundings, the entire room a dizzying mess of lavish and muddied colors. Instead, with the door closing behind you like a lock, leaving you utterly exhausted, you collapsed onto the floor.

There you lay, bloodied, broken, and sporting a new dislocated shoulder on what felt like carpet, the sensation almost enough to make you vomit. You were probably in more pain than you’d ever felt in your entire lifetime but all you wanted to do was cry with hysteric joy at escaping that monster and its teeth. You were safe.

You weren’t spared even a single moment to breathe before the night creature slammed itself into the towering iron doors, dislodging its weight but not by enough to pull its lumbering body through the doorway yet.

Like before, you tried to get up, tried to keep running, but with a fresh horror you realized you couldn’t summon your body to move save for a few twitching limbs, blood loss finally taking its toll. The carpet beneath you began to stain a far darker red under your half-dead form, but still you remained aware of each painful second, each slam of the monster’s body on the doorway budging open more than the last.

One wiry hand clawed itself from between the door’s gap, the sound of its claws scraping against its surface was like nails on a chalkboard as it pulled its hulking, gnashing appendages through the doorway. As the shrill noise carved its way into your eardrums, you finally went limp. Not unconscious, but loose as a rag doll and without an out of resistance left to give, finally resigning yourself to the fate you’d fought so hard against. With weary eyes beginning to grow heavy, your final thoughts were of wondering if maybe the universe is at least kind enough to let you bleed out before the creature finished dragging itself inside the castle to finish you off.

The last thing you saw before blacking out was a pale figure with golden hair; and as you let your eyes shut, the shrill scream of the night creature carved itself into your eardrums, following you down into blissful unconsciousness.

Alucard was having a hard time admitting to himself just how dreary he found the book he was reading. It was an old thing he’d loved when he was a teenager, and the pages were still yellowed and dogeared in those same places he had indented what felt like only yesterday. Those memories of his “before” were still painfully clear, so vivid he swears he could sometimes catch a glimpse of his mother’s smiling face as she stood in the doorway and Adrian wondered if this was in part what drove his father mad. The fact that waiting would in fact not heal his wounds, but keep them open and festering as he stood the test of time.

Every adventure that used to keep him up until the early hours of the morning, reading with rapt attention by dying candlelight, now seemed dull in comparison to his own plights that transpired only a few months ago. Each conversation between the characters felt so bland, taunting him with their sham of a life, reminding him all too well that they were just ink on paper. He had been staring at the words for so long, his brain had tricked itself into believing they were spelled incorrectly.

Alucard snapped the book shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and knocking his head against the back of his chair, lacking the energy or motivation to do much of anything else. Part of him was exhausted, too tired to move. But he knew all too well what awaited him in his nightmares if he was unfortunate enough to finally get some rest.

It was then, as he slumped forward to rest his achingly empty head in his hands, he heard a scream.

His eyes blinked open, the sound, however distant, sent a spasm of adrenaline through his limbs and he’d leapt from his chair, his nails lightly digging into the mahogany as he heard it again. He would’ve simply written off the noise as the wood of an old house settling during a storm if it weren’t for the torment in the muffled cry.

The study he found himself taking residence was in the east wing of the castle, several floors away from the entrance hall, where he swore that the faintest squeak had come from. One disadvantage to only being half-vampire was that his senses weren’t as sharpened as his others. He barely even registered the sound, buried beneath several layers of rubble and carpentry.

Still, he did. And hearing it made him come to a very rational conclusion.

“Goddamnit,” He had shot up out of his seat at the noise like a startled cat but after a moment of distended silence he sighed, resting his weight on the chair’s crest rail, squeezed his temples, and decided, “I really am losing my mind.”

It was bound to happen eventually. It had been almost two months since Sypha and Trevor had gone off on their merry way, leaving him an ancient relic among his own kind. He hadn’t seen another soul since, not counting the various animals or night creatures that stalked through the underbrush near the grounds, though it was debatable whether or not they even had souls.

He’d stopped denying his loneliness weeks ago, around the same time he actually considered sewing a few cloth scraps and spoons together to make doll-like replicas of the two who’d left him behind. The idea might’ve seemed mad to him a couple months ago, but then again, it at least gave him something to do. The boredom was perhaps the worst part, among many others.

But when he heard it again, that high-pitched scream, Alucard stopped to consider if maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

He was out of the study in an instant, taking long strides down the winding corridors, one hand running along the wooden inlay of the wall beside him. He might’ve not been a full vampire but he still had some measure of his father’s senses, and through the imperceptible rumble of the structure beneath his fingertips, he could feel the most infinitesimal reverberations of something bashing repeatedly against the castle doors.

It almost sounded as if someone was knocking, banging their fists at the doorway, but he quickly squashed the notion as soon as it bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up again, not when the crushing weight of having his optimism dashed was such a tangible fear.

This wasn’t the first time one of the forgemaster’s pets came sniffing around his father’s castle and it wouldn’t be the last, but Adrian was finding it difficult snuffing the small spark of hope that had lit inside him. For a moment he’d let himself wonder if someone instead of something was at the gates for once, some traveller or grave-robber that might’ve relieved him of his endless solitude, however briefly.

He could sense he was getting closer when the sounds of the front doors rattling filled the half-destroyed remnants of the hallways. But just as he’d reached the fourth floor, Adrian found himself almost tripping over his own feet, halting dead in his tracks at the heavy scent of iron in the air.

Human blood— but more than that, uncovered from the deafening curtain of the rain, he heard the wild tremor of a very human heartbeat.

Eyes wide but body still stiff, he was finally snapped out of his daze by the feeling of cold steel, his sword cutting through the air and into the palm of his hand.

With an energy long since missing from his veins, Adrian threw himself down the foyer, his feet not even touching the ground as he dashed through the corridors known to him like the back of his hand, spurned to go faster with each resounding bash of the monster’s claws against the doorway. By the time he’d reached the second floor the smell of blood was almost overpowering, but his steps, or lack thereof, didn’t falter. It wasn’t hunger that drove him, but instead his mother’s and his own will ringing through his ears to at least try to help people.

He willed himself to look away from the grotesque sight on the floor, this was no time for sympathy. Instead he honed his nerve as he leapt from the railings just as the night creature managed to pull itself inside. With one sure stab of his sword he’d split down the middle of its decaying, deer-like snout. From beneath the pulsating mass of reanimated flesh, Alucard could hear the collagen of its frontal lobe audibly snapping and splintering under the weight of his sword.

The shriek it gave as his steel was driven into its inverted head was enough to make his ears sting. Twisting his wrist for good measure, he kicked himself off its flayed head and landed neatly on the stone below. But just when he turned his head to take a step towards the human barely clinging to life, boney talons came whirring through the air straight towards Alucard’s skull. If he had dodged even a few milliseconds later, the creature would’ve carved him cleanly in two, its claws near enough to slice a few unfortunate strands of golden hair.

The dhampir turned narrowed eyes towards the night creature who seemed to be paying no mind to the gaping hole he had made in its head or the pints of tar-like blood that spewed from the laceration, pooling at its feet. Its jaws unhinged like a snake, rows of jagged teeth unfurled before his eyes, and it broke into a running start before moving to swallow him whole.

Drawing his sword arm back, he flung the blade straight down the monster’s throat, its hollow eyes expressionless even as its body contorted in unimaginable pain while his longsword internally sliced open a gash from its throat to its intestines, blackened blood bubbling from its pulled back lips. Alucard took another pitiful look at the figure lying half-dead on the floor, then back to the night creature that still clung to its wretched existence. Even after all he’d seen and been through, he still felt disgusted at the sight of human skin and blood caught between its twitching claws. Loneliness must’ve unhinged him a bit, as the sight made Alucard sure to call his blade back slowly, vengefully, no longer wincing at its last sounds of gurgling anguish.

It was a young woman, skin pale with blood loss and features almost indistinguishable through centimeters of caked on dirt and gore. She was breathing, though barely, covered in heavy, ragged clothes soaked through with rain. Her cuts were an infection waiting to happen and at the sight of them he spared no more time before scooping the human’s limp form into his arms and spiriting them away to his mother’s old medical wing. Her study was a place Adrian would often find himself visiting ever since he was stranded here, perhaps in some masochistic endeavor to feel something other than boredom or guilt.

It helped that it was close to the entryway, and within moments he was throwing open the doorway, supporting his charge so she’d rest them above his thudding heart.

With one hand Alucard swept away the books and pencils that were left scattered on the work table and with the other he gently set the unconcious girl on the bench, turning to rummage around through the drawers that were scattered nearby. He’d need tongs, bandages, disinfectant, and warm water. Luckily a sink sat in the corner, as his mother might’ve used this room for medical purposes eerily alike to his own and had been in need of similar things. As quickly as time would allow he drew a vat of warm water and swiped a rag from its hook, rushing back to his patient’s side with a purpose he hadn’t felt in months. Once he’d gathered the few tools and supplies necessary he settled on first getting them out of those rags, otherwise she was sure to catch hypothermia if she hadn’t already.

He used to be embarrassed about this part of the work, the thought making him scoff as he tossed cut strips of muddied fabric to the side. Alucard was at least thankful that both her bindings had escaped relatively in-tact and he didn’t see reason in stripping them, for this stranger’s sake as much as his own. Any optimism on his patient’s condition was cut short, however, when he looked up along her collarbone, noticing the bulbous indentation beneath their shoulder, bone clearly dislocated from its socket.

How much had they struggled to get here? The thought was enough to unsettle him, all too aware by now of the mountains of corpses who hadn’t managed to escape his father’s hoards; who either hadn’t fought as hard as you or had simply been unlucky. It made him all the more determined to save you, so desperate to clear some of the red from his ledger.

He softly felt his way along your clavicle, touch gentle as if he were apologizing for the pain he was about to cause, before resting his other hand below your shoulder blade and reset the bone with a fleshy pop.

When you had no reaction to the pain other than a fleeting series of twitches on your face he felt his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He’s glad that you were knocked unconscious, if only to spare you any more suffering for the night. You had earned that at least.

It was then the thought of a coma or some long-lasting head trauma came to his mind. But he’d seen one such patient alongside his mother when he was fifteen and he’s sure he’ll never forget the disturbing sound of that man’s heartbeat, no trace of vitality in the constant metronome. There was no such stillness in your chest. Calm from sleep and blood loss, yes, but far from steady, pulsing in defiance at the helplessness of your species.

The more skin revealed to him made the twisting feeling in his gut worsen, counting three deep lacerations along her back and forearms, stomach damn near plummeting when he cut along the seam of your trousers, revealing the swollen, blotchy inflammation of a broken ankle.

As if to make up for the cruelty they were dealt, Alucard was gentle with every inch of bleeding skin as he soaked away the traces of dried blood and soil, wringing it out until the water he’d drawn turned sour and had to be constantly rinsed out. By the time Alucard was finished he’d actually managed to uncover a human being under all that filth, light snores falling from your parted lips. Most of your injuries weren’t severe, bruises assembled into a painting on her ribs to her back, along with dozens of scrapes and surface-level cuts adorning the revealed skin; but nothing that proper disinfectant and bandages couldn’t fix in three or four weeks.

But your ankle was another story entirely. As the night carried on he’d routinely changed the rags he’d left on your inflamed skin, cooling down the swelling well into the evening until his fingertips were pink and sore. The bone near the ankle was still painfully distended, easily reset, but the unconscious sounds of pain that slipped from your parted lips made him almost feel guilty while healing your wounds; as if he was sorry to cause any further pain, even if he knew the sentiment was futile. Thankfully, he found some spare ankle splints in a supply closet nearby, proving that even after death his mother was a far more prepared doctor than he could ever be.

Something he tried to keep firmly at the back of his mind was the exact length of the healing process, one that would leave his charge bedridden for at least four weeks straight, more so if he calculated in the physical therapy afterwards. Either way, the rains had just begun to set in and it was clear that without any carriages or horses to take them into town, he had managed to acquire an unwilling house guest for the foreseeable future.

And Alucard hated himself for the spark of joy that idea lit in his chest.

It was an awful thing to be thankful for, that someone else’s suffering might inadvertently lead to the lessening of his own.

By the time he was finished the sun had already begun to creep above the horizon, the torrential rain weakening into a sunshower as morning light shone through the window onto him and his patient. Despite the sinking guilt at benefiting from his company’s trauma, when he looked at their sleeping face he was hit with the burdening truth that they had lived to see another day because of him. It felt good to help people, not through some violent proxy like how he’d killed his father to save the country, but through saving a single human soul with nothing but his own skills and shaking hands.

Shaking they were; sore and reddened from wringing out the towels he’d laid to cool down your swelling, cloth turning hot almost the second it touched the blistering skin. Once he was certain the bleeding had finally stopped, he’d given you a healthy dose of painkillers that would hopefully numb the inevitable shock when you woke up.

On that note, Alucard thought that perhaps allowing his charge to wake up in a hospital wing, surrounded by scattered, bloody tools amidst the smell of their own gore might not be the best way to calm down someone’s nerves after such an ordeal.

He held you like you were made of glass as he took you from the medical table, resting your sleeping head on his shoulder before leaving the ward behind. There was an abundance of spare bedrooms lining the halls and all he had to do was pick the first one he came across for his new guest. They were still on the first floor and with your ankle so badly damaged it’d be best to keep it that way for the time being.

The room he’d chosen at random seemed fine enough. Pale yellow walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows gracing him with a view of the sunrise even he couldn’t deny the beauty of. After he’d tucked them into the king sized sheets, however, Alucard found himself at a bit of a stand still.

Should he leave? It’d be best to, wouldn’t it? And yet, after the weeks spent in isolation, Alucard hadn’t realized just how much he missed the simple chorus of another person’s breathing. It was a hypnotic thing that tricked his own pulse into falling in line beside it in tandem. For the first time in days, he was genuinely tired, exhausted from the hours he’d spent trying to bring his patient back from the brink of death.

Across from your bedside, Alucard saw a furnished loveseat practically beckoning him to rest, and he found no reason to deny himself sleep any longer, despite whatever nightmares he might face. Besides, he told himself, it was best to stay in the same room to keep a close eye on your condition, should anything change.

Because when you woke up he’d have more than a few questions to answer, and several of his own to ask.