#Nightly Chronicles

[quietpinkpersonette]

Time moves in a Year

It's been a year, with the doodles, but it hasn't been a year with the Nightly Chronicles, soon it will be, and this whole time is a testament to how I am a human worthy of love and a better future.

[scripture-pictures]

[drawnaghht]

SRTUC and the "3D vs 2D" toons

a little animation prediction:

...10-15 years from now, the kids growing up watching things from their parents' handheld devices are gonna be nostalgic for their cocomelon's and will be wondering, "why aren't there any good 3D cartoons like in their childhood??" just like how ppl in each generation have always been nostalgic for the entertainment of their own childhood haha x3

this little anecdote is smth I've slowly kinda realized after thinking abt the whole "3D vs 2D" mindset ppl have about animation in general. i've been seeing a lot of complaining online abt 2D cartoons and indie cartoons in general and I'm wondering.... when will the criticism end? Just 8 months ago, people would have shared the sentiment, "more indie animation! hollywood is starving our artists!" but now from online fans, I see a lot more of the sentiment of "this thing sucks" or in the case of Rise TMNT for example, "we were too late for this show".

People like 2D animation, but any time there's a new show out, people either don't give it a chance (thinking of my old faves, like Motorcity and Sym-bionic Titan, but also many others). Or like with Moon Girl, people seem to ignore it more than talk about it. Is it because it's a Marvel show? it's like the spiritual successor to both ROTTMNT and LMK, but also BH6 a bit?? it's good. animated by Flying Bark (known widely for Rise and Lego Monkey Kid) with supervising director Ben Juwono, story artist on BH6 and Glitch Techs. and there's lots of other cool ppl on the crew

also just, I'm thinking again abt how the 1st reactions from many different fans and viewers in general was so... strong. People reacted so badly to the 3D in SR, and it didn't make much sense to me, because personally, as someone who's seen many animated films and series since Toy Story in 96, it looks better than just "fine". the art direction in the show actually looks great to me. I do notice smaller animation or model/render mistakes but tbh they are so few and inbetween, that usually does not break enjoyment for me when it comes to 3D tv. So a lot of the hate that the "3D style" gets still doesn't make sense to me.

now I see that it's probably bc ppl are still used to 2D being their preference or something they see as better.... and maybe not entirely just ppl being tired of certain 3D rendering styles. A few thoughts...

So alright, it does not look like disney or like Sony artists' work with Spiderverse and later films. "Styles" or approaches to rendering which ppl are used to or have come to expect from all animated features and even animated series now. But it's still unique and strong in its own way. It doesn't look like Trollhunters either, 99 pictures' previous series of works, and I find that a good thing. it's been a long time since Trollhunters was in development to when Samurai Rabbit started 3D development.

The show is stylized in a way where it takes into account the work of all the visdev artists while also juggling the task of making anthro animals look animal-like and cartoony, but not too cutesy or too smooth either. It seems to follow the visdev art a lot. So there are many considerations to balance in the style. They also used many budget-saving methods, i.e. the changing walls of the city so they would have more variety without modelling a lot of buildings, or how scenes were rendered in a way to save time and space. Or cut character's legs off via camera view bc it's not important to see leg etc. So for the result they got on the show, it looks fine and quite often also nice. Again, the art directions saves the show from a lot of the smaller mistakes and ties it nicely together. One thing that did bother me a bit more was the crowd-characters style, both in 3D and 2D. To me they look a bit ugly and like they don't quite go together with the main cast "drawing" style, but again lol, you cannot splurge on everything when you're on a TV budget and imo it's not a huge loss.

I do like however how this show avoids what a lot of videogames do (for good reason), and what some 3D shows seem to also do. Everything looks like it's at the right size. Like the characters and objects/scenery/city they interact with feels tangibe, despite any technical shortcuts mentioned before. It looks really nice to my brain, especially knowing what many of these things look and feel like irl. I also enjoy that they've made the simple choice of making the characters more "furry" looking anthros and "less human" - so they don't feel awkward for having too many human traits and less animal traits. Or like animal heads with human bodies with the wrong proportions. Sometimes these things just work better in drawings and 2D vs 3D. Smart choice to not overly humanize them when they're already walking on their very human-like cartoon legs.

Lol maybe I've just seen much uglier things in 3D than what kids these days are used to. It does feel like with Samurai Rabbit in general, it's another case of a show coming out a bit too late for the changing tastes of viewers now. But then again, if we consider how many of these criticisms are coming from teens, who maybe just have a different taste and preference (e.g. they haven't seen maybe early 00s stuff so they judge all 2D to be superior bc they're tired of 3D? could be anything like that). And the other contingent I see are some older adults in their 30s/40s who are critical of animation in general, or they don't like how it's not a direct adaptation of Usagi Yojimbo. I remember a quote my sibling throws around about fans like these: "and baby food doesn't taste as good as it used to!!!" and I find she is right haha, some people have way too many opinions about shows which are not for them at all. Like, move on and watch something else x3 It seems it was popular with the indended demographic of kids ages 6-11, so, if that's something that helped the show, good. That's nice.

BTW, on that last note, been meaning to say this for a long time, but imo, it's actually good that the show wasn't a direct adaptation. Think about it. How many adaptations have you seen where people don't complain about how xyz part was left out? Or how they didn't capture the essence in their style? Stan and crew worked with what they got from Netflix, and I find that admirable on its own, seeing how Netflix treats many of their animated shows nowadays in general. Not just cancellations, but other things like contract disagreements and changes to a show. It seems with the last 2 years, the halcyon days of Netflix are over. Even though animation was the thing holding the entertainment industry in the US up during the pandemic, it and its workers are treated unfairly by the megacorp, who have also revealed that they're losing money in general. And from interviews and articles, it seems this show also had hard times, in terms of getting an adaptation at all (it was changed and NF asked them to do it about a younger Usagi instead, something like that), so they got the short end of the stick, but dealth with it. When Candie and Doug, the showrunners, were brought on board, they were told that it had to be for a younger audience, so a younger Usagi and the solution was to make a descendant. But that freed the show up a lot more than it would have been before. Now, instead of deciding on what favourite UY story to cut, the crew could instead focuz on making a complete story and rounded characters without stepping on Netflix's toes. It also seems the show had really enthusiastic execs and producers in general. So in the end we got a show with descendants of some of the comic's cast, who just happen to also be like retellings or their own versions of some of these characters (like Chizu and Kitsune for example)

saying all that.... lol if this show does come back, it'll be a while again and 3D preferences and styles would be changed again... I wonder what kind of visual style they would opt for if there was a new series based on Samurai Rabbit or based on other Usagi Yojimbo series, like Chibi Usagi or Yokai Hunter.

there's also of course just the factor that a lot of animation fans might be coming from a different place compared to fans of other media and are a lot more critical about what they watch. Never really been big on liveaction fandoms cuz I only watch liveaction stuff w my family as a fun activity to do, but i get sorta bored otherwise (so personal preference). I do know ppl complain abt their liveaction shows too but... it seems from this far away, much less whiney in some way. Like ppl being used to it and moving. But animation criticism always seems to be coming from an ungenuine or unfairly angry place. I don't know if it's the combo of "nostalgia nerd"-like youtuberisms having an influence on this, or just general negativity, but it's definitely something that's sorta become more boring/annoying to see. If you're critical of everything, eventually you sorta have nothing to criticise, or at least, nothing to enjoy.

but hey, if the general taste preference is still 2D, that's great! that's nice. I also still prefer 2D even if 3D is something I've worked with and something i've become accustomed to in animation in general. I just wonder where this mindset comes from that animated things have to be absolutely-infinitely PERFECT, or else it's not worth the watch.

I've definitely been in this camp of cartoon haters myself in the past... maybe not so much looking for perfectionism, but trying to see things I liked from an adult POV... but thankfully the early 00s we didn't have internet access i my family yet so no one else saw lol. As a kid, I genuinely thought that to be an animator, I have to learn how to be critical of every movie and animated thing I see. But animation brings me a lot of joy even when it's not "objectively" good... I wonder when more people will catch up and see their old mindset from a different point of view. I just find it sad that critics and internet drama seemingly have a much bigger impact on a show's success than say, the actual demographic watching it, or sales or whatever.

Anyway, if you read this far, thank you! I would offer an internet cookie, but it seems so here have a SR! Gen, representing how tired I am after staying up too late to write this haha x3

Anyway, good night, if you like a show or really enjoy it, pls watch it and share the word about it, that seems to do good.

Night!

[nicole-n-tha-middle]

Jeopardy with my golden girls…

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 7

Intro: Diasomnia in an isekai AU.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, ankle injury in Silver's part, Malleus being a cutie, also Silver's a fae

A/N: Diasomnia isn't my favorite dorm in the whole entire world, that's for sure. I tried though, but the ooc might be worse than usual. Enjoy.

Masterlist

You've made up with your friends, hurray! In exchange for some space, you fill out your calendar to hang out with them because they don't seem to want to do it as a group. Tonight, you've decided to take a stroll into the woods near the human dormitory to clear your mind. Things have just been far too hectic lately, and you don't really understand why the capture targets seem a bit overly fond of you, if not possessive. There seem to be fireflies in the distance, and you chase after it subconsciously, your feet leading you deeper into the forest. The lights coalesce into an intimidating figure with horns and one of the most beautiful faces you've ever seen. Malleus Draconia, right, the fae prince likes to walk around randomly in the middle of the night.

For all you've done to try and avoid the male leads, you sure haven't done a very good job.

He greets you and calls you 'Child of Man'. When you take a step back, you see a flash of hurt on his face, and it makes you take a few more steps forward to give him a rather shaky greeting back. You've promised yourself not to get closer to the love interests more than you already have, but he's rather pitiful like this, isn't he? You lend him an ear and talk quietly in the woods with him, and you think maybe it's time to give up your 'avoid the male leads to avoid the bad endings' thing, since it very clearly does not work. Malleus is rather eloquent, so conversation comes easily even though he starts talking about gargoyles. You don't mind gargoyles, and you've gotten really good at dealing with infodumps because of Jade, so you let him rant his endless amount of gargoyle knowledge while occasionally chipping in your own thoughts. And before you know it, it's somehow become a nightly thing, and he's teleporting you both to all sorts of random places so he can talk about ancient architecture. You find his infodumping to be rather relaxing, actually, as are your nightly walks, so you're not too against it. You even manage to rant to him about your own hyperfixations.

He's a very good listener and a very good friend, and at this point, you don't care about that stupid otome game anymore. No, seriously, it's almost been a full year and those main characters that are supposed to be flirting left and right aren't anywhere in sight.

One more male lead that's not going to kill you, yay! Though at this point, there's only one love interest left. Maybe, if you're real lucky, you won't meet him.

"Child of Man?"

You're a little nervous when you hand over the ticket for the culture festival. Sure he probably has a seat in the VIP section but, you hoped the ones you have are good enough for him. "Uh, Tsunotarou, you can use this to get a seat in that play I'm on. I know they're not the best seats in the house, but they're the show's family tickets, and I'd really rather not have my family see me like that." He looks expressionlessly at the ticket in his hands.

"I don't think any of my friends are too interested in the tickets, and you said you're upset you're never invited so—" You cut off your rambling with a defeated sigh. Maybe you're not as close to him as you'd thought.

"Thank you, Child of Man." At least, until he gives you the sweetest smile you've ever seen as he clutches the ticket close to his heart. "For inviting me."

Of course you're not lucky. If you were lucky, you wouldn't have gotten reincarnated into this game. You walk into the garden to try to find that pesky ingredient you were missing for Crewel's class, and you stumble right onto the last target. Literally.

You trip over Silver Vanrouge and fall very ungracefully to the ground, wincing in pain before the pretty man holds out a hand to you. You take his offer and stand up, and congratulate yourself for successfully managing to sprain an ankle. He's apologizing and offering to carry you to the infirmary which you initially decline. If any of your very clingy friends see you in the arms of Malleus' knight, they'll have very different reactions, but you just know none of them will be good! Still, you don't have much of a choice when you try to walk to prove to him that you can, and fall right back to the ground.

He's kind enough to lend you his shoulder once you explain about your friends, and you hop over to the infirmary while cracking stupid jokes that makes a pretty smile crop up on his pretty face. Why is this school just so chock full of pretty boys? He spends the better part of a week helping you because he insists that the injury is his fault. Though you try to tell him that he was just sleeping and had nothing to do with your own stupidity, he claps back with a 'I shouldn't have been sleeping in the gardens anyway', and you just can't argue with that. He's really good with a knife as he cuts you up some fruit that he bought for you, and you do your homework with him as company. Your first year friends gave you very unamused looks when you tried to ask them to help keep your senpais out of your room for fear of what they'd do when they found out you were injured, but they do it begrudgingly once you promise to make some treats for them once your ankle got all better. Even as your injury's all healed up, Silver doesn't seem too keen on leaving you be, and eventually, he's another friend to you.

Aren't you happy? Now all the capture targets are very unlikely to kill you.

The air is quiet, which isn't too unusual when you're with Silver. What is unusual, is the low, slightly sad mood he seems to be in. He looks at you when he asks a question. "Do you think that...humans and fae can be together?"

You shrug. This world's a romance video game after all, who are you to judge people's racial preferences?

"I think it doesn't matter who you want to be with. Especially when your lifespans are uneven. You already have such a short amount of time to be together, so you might as well make the most of it." You comment offhandedly. He doesn't respond, and when you look in his direction, he has an expression of shock and realization on his face.

"Right. What matters should be that they make the most of it..." He repeats in a soft whisper. "Love is a little less complicated than I thought it would be." 

[cheriladycl01]

I said don't peak C Long, you suck. Oscar/Lando/Liam/Logan x Streamer! Reader

Plot: You are a streamer and competitive Valorant Player for Fnatic, in the off season Lando reaches out after you win Valorant Champion's to teach him how to play as he's getting bored of Fortnite.

A/N: This is very Valorant heavy, if you do not like gaming proceed with caution as you may be a little confused but the good vibes are there!

You were part of the Fnatic Valorant team, in 2023 you'd helped them win back to back championships for Lock//In and VCT Masters. You were offered your seat at the start of 2023.

You were already very close with your IGL Boaster, being from the same area helped. But after meeting your other teammates, Derke, Chronicle and Alfajer you guys became amazing when playing together.

It was hard being the only woman on the team, you'd come from Game Changers being on an all female team to all of these men. However your stats were high and you were a massive part of the team.

You were a complete bombshell, people knew you were good from your IGL role and seeing you compete previously but Fnatic really lucked out having you on their team.

You often hung out with him and his girlfriend Yinsu. You felt bad when they'd offer you to crash their date and often it took hours of convincing you to come with them before you did.

But they got busier, and your other Valorant friends who you either couldn't see because they were on the other side of the world or they were also extremely busier you started to get into a bit of a slump.

You'd go to practice with the team, the only fun and exciting part of your day, before going choosing between a cafe, restaurant or bar to spend your evening in, hoping someone or a group of people would come up and offer you to join them on their nightly adventures.

After an extremely good start to 2024 with another Championship trophy, you'd been saying to stream how you wanted to start playing more games and make a YouTube account for IRL you...

They jumped at the offer, begging you in chat to do both. Apart from Valorant, which of course was your main game as a professional player, you played other games at the request of your fans. Sometimes being small niche indie games where you would just be able to chill with music and answer their burning questions or sometimes you'd play throw back games, like Minecraft, GTA San Andreas, Resident Evil 4 which would often be pretty chaotic but fun none the less.

You'd even once played FIFA... which was awful and you would not do well as a professional football player or a professional FIFA player. You were so bad that actual footballers had reached out to you joking around with how they'd stay clear of you on the pitch.

But it was when you were asked to play the new F12024 game that you looked at your chat as if they were crazy. The sim set up's were crazy expensive, not that you couldn't afford that. Of course you could. But you didn't want it to be a waste of room or parts for what could potentially be a one time use.

This is how Lando Norris ended up in your chat. He'd spent the start of his 2023 winter break playing Fortnite with AngryGinge, and even off stream in his downtime between races he would often still be playing it.

However, by the time summer break rolled around it was getting stale, and Tarkov was too. He needed something new, and Max kept trying to get him to play Valorant, Oscar did too saying it was a mix of Call of Duty and Overwatch and it was very fun to play.

So of course he did his research, being free he downloaded it anyway. It was free even if it sat there and never got played it wasn't like he was loosing anything. After doing research and watching some gameplay, he'd fallen asleep and the YouTube algorithm took him on his journey to you.

He slept peacefully despite the change in volume, gun sounds, voice lines and all the talking behind the videos that YouTube were throwing at him. When he woke up, he was graced with your, in his bold opinion, stunning face. He watched as you played, it was seemingly a montage of your best moments. The camera would often change from you being in a bedroom, to a stadium to a different room.

He was so so intrigued he just had to go down a deep dive of you content. He spent nearly a whole Tuesday looking into your content, from your old stream vod's to the Vlog's on your IRL channel. You just had this personality he assumed would draw anyone in.

I mean who wouldn't like you, you were young, funny, absolutely gorgeous and kind.

So he reached out to you.

At first you didn't see the DM and follow request as you rarely opened Instagram, but after winning your second Cup in 2024 and having spent time in America with some of your friends it was time to get posting.

Lando Norris... you were confused by the name. These day's anyone with some cash could have a blue tick, so you looked over his profile and was surprised to find an athlete.

An athlete in your DM's wasn't uncommon, but a young hot one asking for a Valorant coach for him and his racing friends... now that was rare.

You replied instantly, the thought of being able to hang out with new people and gain some friends was exciting to you. Lando asked if you would be willing to meet up with him, he thought discord was a little awkward and cringey for the first time meeting someone. He happened to be in London so it was sort of perfect.

You met, and he was a nice as you expected. He let you talk about everything you wanted to, never interrupting, never trying to one up your stories... just listening and adding his input where necessary. But you let him do the same, your eyes lighting up when you saw his passion for his career in racing and how highly he spoke of it.

It was just incredible. The way he drove round all of those corner at insane speeds that you'd never dare reach in your Audi TT! And when he went into the behind the scenes you were even more in wonder.

When it came to talk about coaching him in Valorant, at first he'd made a joke about learning so Quadrant could have a Valorant team and beat Fnatic in championships, to which you'd retorted saying Fnatic would become a constructor in F1 and make the fastest car on the grid.

However, he was being partially serious. He wanted to move quadrant forward and with all the announcements they had made at the start of the year, it was time to do more things that would get peoples attention from different places.

He was thinking of a Quadrant team of well of course 5 people with some reserves. Max was the best right now, not close to your Immortal level, peaking Radiant. But he was now in Plat territory whereas Lando dreaded to think of where he would be.

"So you want us to play, with your friends Oscar, Liam and Logan. In a 5 stack on stream..." you'd asked and he nodded enthusiastically. You'd grinned just as enthusiastic.

However, right now you were in the middle of crying from both laugher and frustration. They all played games, however you didn't know that none of them had played Valorant.

When you first started your chat was going crazy, not only was this great because your fans were seeing you coach, but it brought in all the F1 fans so they could watch their fave drivers play games.

"So, how about just a small little warm up with a deathmatch?" you asked them all, and the silence that came after was deafening.

"Guys?" you asked with an awkward laugh, checking you weren't accidently muted and talking to yourself.

"Sorry Y/N your gonna have to explain each thing to us" Liam laughed.

"Okay, Deathmatch is where you kill anyone and everyone. Might be hard for you guys, as it will be really mixed elo!" you explain. However doing a deathmatch just had them complaining, only Oscar and Liam had managed to kill you. Oscar having decent aim from his time on COD and catching you of guard and Liam being a sneaky rat, coming up behind you and knifing you.

"Okay that was so unfair... you've got like look at that she got to 40 in no time... that was the quickest game mode ever!" Logan complained, salty with his 5 kills.

"How about a team death match. We are all on the same team then, first team to 100 wins, so we are all winners that way" you smile, hoping they'd prefer it more.

Which they did, you chilled out a little, letting them practice and get the gist of things while giving them pointers, when Lando flashed you with his ability or when Liam chucked a grenade at you. Or littler things like their movement, and how to not sweep the floor with their cross hair. But it was hard coaching when you couldn't see everything.

"Okay, lets move onto some swift plays?" you ask and a chorus of agreements dound through the mic. You explained the game mode to them while you were all in agent select before explaining how a good team looks. It was hard where 3 of them only had the standard characters. You settled on Lando as Pheonix, Logan as Sage, and Liam as Sova. Oscar only had three other characters unlocked being Iso, the newest agent, KAY/0 because in his words 'cool robot guy' and then of course Skye because she was Australian. He ended up picking Skye which left you locking in Omen to smoke as you didn't trust any of them to smoke.

"I think this is the most busted team composition I've ever had" you admit.

"Well, the more we play with you the more characters we unlock, now which one is from America!" Logan asks and you explain to him Viper and Brimstone are both American.

"Any cool people from New Zealand?" Liam asks hopefully.

"No not yet but RiotGames if for some reason you are in the chat, or if you see this. Lets get a New Zealander agent and call it Liam!" you exclaim.

"They should get a female British Agent and call it Y/N and make it look like you!" Lando offers before saying one of Pheonix's voice lines that he just heard.

"That would be very cool, take notes Riot!" you smile widely.

"So like, do you ever sit there and think... wow i play games for a living" Logan asks, filter completely gone and out the window, making you choke on the sip of water you were having at the sudden and brash question.

"Do you ever sit back and think ... wow i drive fast cars for a living?" you try snap back but you realize his job does in fact down a lot cooler than yours.

"Nah, guys don't sell her short. From one YouTube Guy to a YouTube Gal, cough cough collab when ..., your doing great!" Liam jokes, thinking of his part-time YouTube career on the side of being a F1 reserve driver.

"Ohhhhh a collab with the Liam Lawson! I'm honored, but fr i would love to do Disney with you and Hannah!" you grin, having made sure to watch his vlogs in detail before you all played games.

"You watch my vlogs??" he asks screaming into his mic.

"On occasion..."

"Do you watch my LandoLogs" Lando asks interrupting the sweet and wholesome moment between you and Liam.

"No!" you exclaim before continuing your conversation with Liam making the others all snicker.

For some reason, Lando and Liam had taken the spike A while Logan and Oscar peaked B window. You jiggle peaked C long and narrowly missed an Operator. Seeing that you decide to rotate back to where Lando and Liam are rotating to Oscar and Logan.

"Don't peak C Long, its being held by an op" you let them know.

As you peak garage, you get the first kill. Then the round picks up, someone swinging out from B main giving you a quick flick and a head shot.

"What the hell guys, I said don't peak C long, you suck!" you exclaim, checking that both Lando and Liam were dead at the end of C long along with spike.

"Look, in my defence i heard 'peak C long" Lando says, with a mouth full of food watching you play.

"I just tried to reclaim spike after Lando died, i heard you loud and clear" Liam justifies whilst throwing Lando under the bus.

"Okay Oscar, you stay here" you ping the map where you wanted him to lurk until you got onto site.

"Logan, follow me and we going to go two separate ways" you explain where you want him to go. You both shift onto sight, you going through C window and Logan going through the short alley onto C. You catch a rotator killing them. Logan gets onto sight being the bait for the Sage holding site with the OP. She whiffs the first shot, however get's the neck shot.

"120, she's so low" he cries in frustration.

"Okay Oscar, get spike and rotate to A" you say as you come from behind killing the enemy sage. You take the op from them wanting the advantage of the better gun.

You send your smoke out to A before using your charged up Alt to get onto site before Oscar to secure it. You situate yourself up in heaven. Watching sight, you quickly ping where Oscar should plant they you'll both be able to see from A heaven and A long.

"We got this Osc" you say as he retreats from his plant. He knows exactly where he should be watching and before you know it he has the kill.

"Amazing stuff guys, apart from you Lando" you joke making him scoff and start to throw insults your way.

"Ah ah ah! Now i wouldn't ever dare criticize your driving now would I Lando! Lets stick to our professions yeah?" you tease him, he however changes conversation saying he was going to start streaming.

"You want me to end and raid you?" you ask, and he agrees greedily smiling. You guys had been playing for around 2 and a half hours so you didn't mind ending now.

You played for some more hours, people got very excited when they saw that Lando specifically started streaming. And now they could see the way he'd blush whenever you teased him or flirted, which wasn't even really flirting ... but chat deemed you to just have this natural rizz. They could see his reactions whenever Logan, Oscar or Liam would make fun off him.

His chat was going crazy, asking if he liked you and if you'd met.

"Me and Y/N have met chat" he offers and everyone goes silent. The others didn't know you guys had actually met up, they just knew Lando slung you a DM and somehow you replied and gave him your discord.

"You guys don't believe me?" he asks in shock, reading chat every time a round ends or when he dies.

"Even you Max what the hell" he cries when he see's Max type a snide comment in chat about how there's no way in hell you would have met up with him.

"Fine, you guys don't believe me! Here!" he says shoving his phone up the camera showing the selfie he had taken in a cafe the day you guys first met.

"Where did we meet. In London, I dm'ed her on Instagram and asked to meet her. I wanna do new things with Quadrant and further the e-sports that we do here so i reached out to Y/N as a friend to see how her org did stuff" he explains.

"Y/N to Quadrant? I dunno guys, she's happy in Fnatic right now and unless we got other players that were on a professional level, i don't think she'd give up such a good spot where she's in a winning team for people who arent even on a professional level right now!" he explains before unmuting himself again.

"So, everyone's saying you should come to a race!" Lando offers Y/N.

"I'll come to a race if you guys all come watch me at VCT?!" she questions and they all agree.

"Deal!"

Taglist:

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[lilyrachelcassidy]

The Cat

Mattheo Riddle x Reader 

Summary: The one where Mattheo welcomes an unexpected visitor in his dormitory, which eventually leads to a confession from his side. 

Warnings: yyyhhh, not really, no; some feisty cat tho 

Word Count: 1.2k 

xoxoxxoxoxxoxoxoxoxxoxo

Mattheo cranked the handle of the shower, releasing the hot jet of water on his body. Today was positively ghastly, and he wanted to wash the emotions and memories off of him. He planned on taking a few minutes of a good read of a Daily Prophet and then plunging under the blanket where he would be able to, hopefully, forget the horror of the day.

Life, however, had even more advancing events for him to deal with because when he finally shut the stream off, he heard a jangle coming from his bedroom, the room to which the bathroom was adjoined. He suddenly froze, stock-still. 

For a moment he admonished himself for being such a weakling, therefore, he quickly recovered from his momentary trans. On autopilot, and because he wasn’t sure what to expect, he threw on some robes and exited the bathroom.

Yet before he could take one step forward, something big and furry flung to his feet. He let out a surprised howl but soon discerned that the enigmatic object actually turned out to be a fat, shabby cat with flamboyant ginger hair and a bizarre froufrou collar on its neck. Quickly recovering from the shocker and the howl, which he definitely won’t be chronicling over his family dinner, he bent over the pet and took it in his arms.

“Well, well... if you aren’t a treat for heart,” he said with a few droplets of water trickling on the cat’s fur. It hissed in dissatisfaction at which Mattheo chuckled. He scrutinized the froufrou collar yet again and noticed the printed, golden word on it which showcased ‘Henrietta’ in the cursive. “Your owner clearly must hate you, Henrietta...”

The cat hissed again, and Mattheo wasn’t sure if it was a hiss of disagreement or not, but he liked to arrogate that as long as the cat was in his arms, it agreed with his opinion.

How had the cat entered his bedroom, or why would it do it in the first place, he didn’t know. But the bond between them flourished as Mattheo stroked it a few times and was rewarded with a great, vibrating purr in response.

“Okay, let’s get you on the bed, buddy.” Stiffly, he put it on the bed with which the cat seemed to be extremely dissatisfied as it hissed again. “You didn’t possibly expect me to cradle you around all night, right? The privilege is only reserved for my cigarettes...”

He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this situation next but the resolved it probably wouldn't help with him walking around butt naked. He almost reached the bathroom to change to his regular, nightly attire, but a knock came to the door.

“For Merlin’s Sake...”

As the door swung open, it revealed a girl, an absolutely dazzling one, who Mattheo had been pinning after for a few months now - Y/N. She still had the school robes on her which she enhanced with some sew-on, muggle badges, and she was wrenching both of her hands like a small child summoned to solve a task in from of the entire class. She smiled at him coyly, and Mattheo was suddenly very aware that nothing but a thin layer of cloth prevented him from fully stripping in front of her.

To be fair, he wouldn’t have minded that at all.

“Hey, sorry to... intrude. But I have been looking all over for my cat and-” She halted in the middle of the sentence as she noted Henrietta casually stretched on Mattheo’s bedsheets, staring at its owner as though it revealed a Royal Flush on the poker table. “There you are, you stupid creature! What are you doing here?”

She crouched down, evidently waiting for the cat to approach her but it made no move whatsoever nor expressed any desire of being relocated. When Y/N made the reproachful expression and hushed at it a couple of times, only then did it finally get a grip that there was no option of a sleepover.

As soon as the cat prowled over to her feet, Y/N picked it up and swiftly faced Mattheo in the standing position again. She smiled at him. “I’m sorry about that. I hope Henrietta didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

Mattheo leaned over at a jamb, arms folded together. “No, of course not.” He shook his head lightly, and they both stood there grinning at each other and the absurdity of the situation they were shoved into.

“So, I think I should get going...”

But before she was able to move, Mattheo spouted off: “Don't you think I should get some kind of reward for finding your cat?”

Y/N sniggered, looking at him with amusement in her eyes. “Did you really find her? Or was it just a stroke of luck that she sauntered into your dormitory?”

At that, Mattheo smirked. He loved that someone was able to match his level of teasing. And he loved the way the corners of her lips curved, exposing a little dimple in one of her cheeks. “Technicalities.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but decided to give in to his conditions. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Go on the date with me,” he said it. Matter-of-factly. It actually cost him a much greater deal than he made the impression of; his throat went dry, and his heart picked up on the rabbit speed. And yet he was still leaning on the jamb, a smirk adorning his countenance and daring to look Y/N straight in the eyes as if it was one of the most obvious answers to that question.

That she seemed to not expect because at first, she snorted, but then apprehended that Mattheo wasn’t going to join her in laughter, thus she started goggling with a jaw hanging in consternation. That had a strangely amusing effect on Mattheo who, despite his tense body, managed to look casual. “You? On a date? With me? Do you even know who I am?”

“You are Y/N, and presumably, you are the owner of the strangely-named cat...”

“Hey! Henrietta is a very beautiful name. Have you not read ‘Persuasion’?” When Mattheo shook his head, Y/N let out a little squeak of disbelief. The cat peered at her with annoyance. “It’s only one of the greatest books ever! It’s muggle but still, something to catch up on.” 

Mattheo contemplated her face for a few seconds before the idea sprung up to his mind. “How about...” he started. “I take you to ‘Flourish and Blotts’ this weekend, and we can go over a few chapters together. Or we can go to the ‘Three Broomsticks’ and then you would tell me all about Henrietta?”

The robust blush spread over Y/N's cheeks. She set her face downcast, but a grin, even from that cant, was visible on her lips. “Only under one condition.” 

“And what is that?” asked Mattheo with a brow raised.

“You won’t poke fun at the name Henrietta ever again.” She simpered at him and that, Mattheo thought, was the sight he could admire on a daily basis.

“You got yourself a deal there, Y/N.” He extended the hand on which Y/N shook, and they both beamed at one another.

Later that night, Mattheo thought that thanks to the bloody cat, his days turned out to be one of his greater achievements, after all.

[urhoneycombwitch]

Little thot for you...Steve getting into reading because of his gf's interests? Steve reading her to sleep?? T'is literally all I want pls let me know what you think he likes to read (English major here so it's a big part of my romantic fantasies I'm afraid)

okay as someone who desperately wanted to be a librarian at one point… 🤓👆 I think Steve could really get into a series that’s fantastical and engaging, like Lord of the Rings! Or Chronicles of Narnia! I think he’d also be into a good mystery or thriller, like a Stephen King, maybe Donna Tartt’s A Secret History…

hmmm

he sits up against the headboard, looking so soft and cozy in his pjs and under the quilt. golden light from the bedside lamp. leg bumping into yours under the covers, glasses perched on his nose. he reads in a low voice, trying to lull you into sleep but still using different distinct voices for all the characters (this is a theatre kid at heart I truly believe 🫡)

my personal hc is Steve has ADHD, which made school harder for him than most- he’s really smart but he has a hard reading and studying bc of that disorder. sometimes, during your nightly reading ritual, his eyes will skip over the lines one times too many and he’ll get frustrated. whipping off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh.

you kiss him on the cheek in sympathy and wind your arms around his chest 💖 and he gets all huffy like “can’t even read my baby a bedtime story 😖” but he’s letting himself be coddled. and after you kiss him again on the neck you’re taking the book from his hands, pushing at his shoulder to get him lying down, soothing- “it’s okay. I wanna read tonight anyways.”

and in minutes he’s asleep middle-aged-father style, glasses still on, mouth open, snoring 😴 just by the sound of your voice 😇

[fj0rge]

Little sketch from almost a year back featuring Mohammed (npc) and Dakota (my pc) from the VtM Chronicle I took a part in.

Being all rough and tough during their nightly life they are very gentle with each other in private.

[fellow-travelers-fic-recs]

All the fics that have been written using prompts from the Promise You WILL Write collection. This list will be updated monthly with anything new, most recent works listed first.

Please visit the collection to leave a prompt for someone to write or take one for yourself… All are welcome! You can check out their page @promiseyouwillwrite for more info.

✨ Be sure to show the authors some love and appreciation with kudos and comments on the fics you enjoyed!

*Authors: If your tumblr (or other socials) isn’t linked, and you'd like it to be, let me know and I'll be happy to add it. Or, if you're linked, and you'd rather not be, please contact me to remove it.

Most recent posted fics (new works this month, not WIPs) will be featured above the cut. ✂️

🥛 too late to run for cover by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords [NR, 3K] Lucy's done with Hawk's drinking and tells him to leave so he buys a house on Fire Island and decides to fully integrate into the lifestyle at great detriment to his own well-being.

Part 1 of and so with the sunshine: the fire island chronicles Prompted by: @beyondxmeasure

🥛 right or wrong i can't get along without you by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords [NR, 3K] Jackson Fuller disappears and everyone fears the worst - until he turns up in San Fransisco asking Tim for help. Prompted by: @arbor-tristis

🥛 i've got my love to keep me warm by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords [T, 6K] Mary brings Tim to a Christmas party at Hawk's mother's house. Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 Kiss of Fire by drabbleswabbles* [NR, 2K] Tim pays a matchmaker to set him up on a blind date. Things do not go according to plan. Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 hold on (i'm coming) by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords [NR, 2K] Hawk's nightly phone calls become increasingly desperate until Tim has no choice but to go to him. Prompted by: @lispenardst

🥛 my boy by @promise-you-wont-write | masterwords [G, 783] Tim wants to know who Hawk belongs to. The answer isn't what he expects. Prompted by: anonymous

🥛 Within The Heart of Me  by drabbleswabbles* [NR, 9K] Lucy goes to the hospital to talk to Tim. When she arrives, Hawk is already there.

Otherwise known as a prompt fill that wanders a bit off the mark, but is close enough in spirit to give credit where credit is due as far as inspiration goes. Prompted by: @beyondxmeasure

🥛 Darkness Before the Dawn  by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [NR, 1K] It’s June 1944, following the US offensive against the German-led Caesar line that tore through a small squad of the 141st Regiment, killing two men and wounding others, along with Sergeant Hawkins Fuller. Following the blast of the Nazi’s K5 railway gun, he underwent surgery to repair sustained shrapnel damage and is now recovering in the Army’s 32nd Evac Hospital. In the bed next to him lies Corporal Marcus Gaines from the 85th Infantry Division, also wounded in action.

Or, the story of how Hawk and Marcus met. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 you just make my whole world weep (i'm at your feet)  by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [E, 1K] Even now the thought of the shape of his mouth imprinted on Tim's skin makes him shudder as he slides down Tim's body past his ridiculous Christmas sweater.

Or, a blowjob scene that went very differently. Prompted by: @startagainbuttercup

🥛 Let Me Shower You With My Love  by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [M, 7K] Hawk helps Tim in the shower.

A 1986 canon divergent fix-it. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 like being home  by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup  When Hawk turns eighteen, he expects the name of Kenneth Willard to appear on his skin, tattooed on his arm or his leg, a soulmate mark that bonds you forever with the person you belong to.

Hawk doesn't know what you're supposed to feel for your soulmate, but what he feels for Kenny, his sweet Kenny must be very close, or at least Hawk thinks it is.

Or, a soulmate AU one person asked for and I still managed to do it wrong. Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 I Belong to You  by @beyondxmeasure | Cyantific [E, 2K] This isn’t even close to how he saw their night ending, but here they are, and if Tim wants it rough, who is Hawk to deny him?

Or, the ‘Hit me.’ scene… but a little different. In which Hawk still hits Tim, just not where you think. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 Please Ease My Pain.  by Southernkiss* [E, 3K] As the four men shed their clothing, their motivations varied. Some sought to satiate a thirst that could never be quenched, while others craved the rush of dominance. But little did they know, their desires would lead them down a path of self-discovery and into a twisted reality they never could have imagined. The darkness that resided within them and in this new world consumed them, tainting every aspect of their beings. And as they delved deeper into this abyss, they soon realized the true consequences of their actions. Prompted by: @doodlingawaits

🥛 gold-skinned, eager baby  by @lispenard-street | lispenardstreet [E, 10K] Tim sets out for Fire Island with a single goal: to dig Hawk out of his pit of self-destruction.

As it turns out, Hawk is after something else entirely.

A 1979 fix-it… of sorts. Prompted by: @lispenard-street

🥛 you should be in my space (you should be in my life)  by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [E, 3K] What if Tim let Hawk touch him during their mutual masturbation session. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 In my nothing, you meant everything to me.by @in-our-special-place |  Cupping_Cakes [M, 636] Her body trembled with conflicting emotions—a slight tingle of pain for being unfaithful, but also a wave of happiness for finally feeling desired. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 make sure he knows by b3y0ndm3asur3* [G, 693] “How did you manage it?” Marcus asks Hawk, not making eye contact.

Hawk squints at him, head pounding from the amount of liquor he’s consumed over the past couple of days. “Manage what?”

There’s a pause. Hawk watches Marcus swallow. “Losing a kid,” he says eventually through gritted teeth, like he has to force the words out. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 is it over now? by @satelarry | satelarry [M, 42K] Seeing the love of your life walk away without being able to tell him that you love him has to be one of the worst situations a person can go through. But Hawk decided to fulfill Tim's request, knowing it will be the last.

What happens when he wakes up, 18 years before, with the knowledge of what's going to happen if he makes the same decisions?

Does the ending always stay the same?

Or, the Time Travel AU in which the only thing ruining Hawk's plan is Tim's stubbornness. Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 In his voice I heard decay, the plastic face forced to portray. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [M, 557] Marcus finally broke the silence, his voice heavy with sorrow. 'Hawk,' he said, his gaze fixed on his glass. 'I have something to tell you.' Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 So simple now by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [G, 581] Hawk has loved Tim his whole life, too. He's loved him since the minute he saw him smiling adorably on that election night. He's loved him since the moment he felt him writhing in his arms, lost in pleasure. He's loved him for thousands of years, even before he was born. He loved him every second of every minute he spent with him, and he loved him even more when they were apart.

Or, the "I have loved you my whole life…" scene, but in Hawk's POV, a lot of overwhelming feelings. Prompted by: @lispenard-street

🥛 I'll follow you down and I am here right beside you. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 1K] Tim's eyes were filled with a mix of satisfaction and sadness, as if he too felt the ache of their lost connection. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 There’s no place I'd rather you be than with me. by @in-our-special-place |Cupping_Cakes [E, 719] Their embrace was raw and primal, fueled by the angst of wanting each other but being afraid to admit it. Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 something i can't go without by @satelarry | satelarry [E, 7K] Hawk goes to Fire Island to escape dealing with his feelings but that isn't far away from Tim's kind heart. Perhaps he doesn't want it to be.

Or, The Meat Rack AU. Prompted by: @beyondxmeasure

🥛 Just keep on usin' me Until you use me up. by Southernkiss* [E, 1K] Tim could feel Hawk's hot breath on his neck as he whispered in his ear, 'You want to be loud, Tim? Well, go ahead. I want to hear you.' Prompted by: @deputy-buck

🥛 Yours forever anyway by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 733] Hawk and Tim dance together. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 Until next time by @lovebunnie | space_kid [T, 1K] There was a moment in time where he could have run into Tim in this hospital with his newborn baby. He could have seen the devastation in his eyes as the betrayal became real, no more an abstract concept born in the early hours of the morning. Hawk had just missed watching Tim lay eyes on his son for the first time. He itched for a cigarette. Prompted by: @feelingpure

🥛 He calls late at night by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [T, 1K] Hawk calls Tim after Jackson's death Prompted by: @lispenard-street & @ishipallthings

🥛 Love is an angel disguised as lust by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [E, 2K] Hawk's eyes darkened, from outshining the daytime sky to rivaling the night. His lips curved into a wicked smirk. If Tim didn't know better, he might suspect he'd just played right into Hawk's hands.

"Educate me." That wasn't exactly what Tim had intended. But, his attention caught by the glint off Hawk's wedding ring, Tim decided he could work with that. Or, the edging fic that's probably sixty percent soft. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 My religion is you by Southernkiss* [E, 734] Tim bit his lip; his body was already aching for more. 'You spank them,' he whispered, his voice trembling with desire. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 I wave my hands and I got you by Southernkiss* [E, 616] He belonged to him, ring on his finger or not. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 I’ll become the sea and the sea will come to kiss me by @in-our-special-place |Cupping_Cakes [M, 1K] Tim's voice was a gentle whisper. 'I know, Hawk. But I'm here. You're not alone in this.' Prompted by: @ishipallthings

🥛 We’ll be on the road like jack kerouac by @jesterlesbian | captainquint [M, 4K] He tried to think of what Tim would do or say. The man who had only spoken to his son a handful of times over one weekend in 1968, but had seemed to understand him far better than Hawk ever had. The business card felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. An idea burst to life in Hawk’s mind. This was an emergency if he’d ever seen one. “What would you say to coming with me to San Francisco?” Or, Hawk and Jackson go on a cross-country road trip to San Francisco. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 Like to make you comfy cozy by @bluebellsinburbank | ConsumingLove (Bluebellstar) [G, 1K] During a lazy night in bed together, Tim sings Hawk to sleep. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 So give me just a little, baby Just something to get by. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 1.3K] Tim couldn't help but think that this was the best milk delivery he had ever received. Prompted by: @beyondxmeasure

🥛 You take my body I give you heat. by @in-our-special-place | Cupping_Cakes [E, 1K] Without hesitation, Tim bent down and began to lick the milk off of Hawk's body, savoring the taste and feel of Hawk's skin under his tongue. He traced every muscle and curve, his lips and tongue sending waves of pleasure through Hawk's body. Prompted by: @startagainbuttercup

🥛 champagne lovers  by @satelarry | satelarry [NR, 12K] It's awards season, and what better way to celebrate than with a Hawk/Tim awards AU. Whether they're strolling the red carpet together, supporting each other as they're up for awards, or just presenting something. It's up to you. Just 'tis the season for this kind of AU! Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 You taste divine  by @carnivalrow | nightfall_in_winter [E, 1.3K] Hawk joins Tim in the shower in episode 6 because he wants to kiss him…there! Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 A Star To Steer Her By by Anonymous [NR, 6K] Tim is a starship captain, Hawk is a diplomat. Things happen when Hawk arrives on Tim's ship. Or, the Star Trek AU one (1) person asked for. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 Beautiful Things by @carrotcakecrumble | LuxLox [M, 1K] I turn away from the radio I’d just been tuning, there’s a crackle and pop on the wave, but Miller’s ‘Over the rainbow’ is just about spattering through in tune. Kenny says something about how he loves this one. It could be the first time he’s hearing it, for all I know. He falls in love with everything.

A multi-chapter fic following a young Hawk and Kenny throughout their relationship, from beginning to end. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 the thrill of your sweet embrace  by @redmyeyes | redmyeyes [E, 4.4K] "Somewhere, a butterfly opened its wings."— Erik Larson, Isaac's Storm

Let's see if we can make this a fix-it. Part 5 of Fellow Travelers. Prompted by: Anonymous

🥛 all those letters unsent and that garden ungrown by @startagainbuttercup | startagainbuttercup [T, 1.4K] Dear Tim, I know I promised I won't write, but I believe what I really promised is not to send you letters, and this one I'm not going to send, so it is not a violation of my promise. Skippy, I miss you more than I thought I could. It's your birthday and I can't help but think about you the whole day, you consume my every thought and I can't stop wondering, what would it be like if you were here. Or, the letters Hawk never sent. Prompted by: Anonymous

[scripture-pictures]

[the-vampire-queer]

The Vampires Digital Media Poll: Finals

Please reblog for bigger sample size.

Results get posted on January 11th at 5PM CST. (I am aware that this is two days after the end of the poll.)

If you wish to learn more about your options, either as a refresher or an introduction, press the "Keep reading" button.

What is Interview with the Vampire (2022) about?

Summary: "In the year 2022, the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac lives in Dubai and seeks to tell the story of his life or afterlife to renowned journalist Daniel Molloy. Beginning in early 20th-century New Orleans, Louis' story follows his relationship with the vampire Lestat [de] Lioncourt and their formed family, including teen fledgling Claudia. Together, the vampire family endures immortality in New Orleans and beyond. As the interview continues in Dubai, Molloy discovers the truths beneath Louis' story." Source: Rotten Tomatoes

Note: Rotten Tomatoes incorrectly labels Lestat de Lioncourt as "Lestat du Lioncourt". This is corrected by me via brackets.

Source: Interview with the Vampire (2022)

Cast:

Jacob Anderson - Louis de Pointe du Lac

Sam Reid - Lestat de Lioncourt

Bailey Bass - Claudia (will be replaced by Delainey Hayles in the next season)

Eric Bogosian - Daniel Molloy

Assad Zaman - Armand

Note: Cast lists provided here are not complete lists of people and characters featured in the media being listed. These are partial lists that include some of the main characters and their actors.

Additional information: This tv show is based on the Anne Rice novel of the same name. Anne Rice was an author who wrote 13 books for her book series The Vampire Chronicles, which starts with the book, The Interview with the Vampire. Previously, in 1994, a movie of the same name was created, also based on the book(s).

What is What We Do in the Shadows (2019) about?

Summary: "Based on the feature film of the same name from Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi, "What We Do in the Shadows" is a documentary-style look into the daily (or rather, nightly) lives of four vampires who've "lived" together for hundreds of years in Staten Island.The self-appointed leader of the group is Nandor the Relentless, a great warrior and conqueror from the Ottoman Empire. Then there's the British vampire Laszlo -- a bit of a rogue and a dandy and a fop, he might say. He's a lover of mischief and a great soirée, but not as much as he loves seeing Nandor fail miserably in every attempt. And then there's Nadja: the seductress, the temptress, the vampiric Bonnie to Laszlo's Clyde. Also cohabiting in the vampire household is Guillermo, Nandor's familiar; and Colin Robinson, an energy vampire and day-walker of sorts -- he feasts on humans, but not on their blood." Source: Rotten Tomatoes

Source: What We Do in the Shadows (2019)

Cast:

Kayvan Novak - Nandor the Relentless

Matt Berry - Laszlo Cravensworth

Natasia Demetriou - Nadja ...

Harvey Gullién - Guillermo de la Cruz

Mark Proksch - Colin Robinson

Additional information: This tv series is based off of the 2014 Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement film of the same name.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part XI: Cat

ao3

masterlist

first | previous | next

Author's note: All right, here you go: The first part of Season Unending, in which Leara is not as together as she'd like to be following the disaster in Solitude.

Tag list: @ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality @singleteapot @aardvark-123 @blossom-adventures @argisthebulwark @inkysqueed @average-crazy-fangirl @the-tuzen-chronicles @shivering-isles-cryptid @orangevanillabubbles @cosmermaid @thelurkershideout

Content Warning: This time, it's not Bishop. Look out for Thalmor wearing dark robes.

#######

The claw traced an electrifying trail down the side of her face, nipping at her lip before cutting down her neck. 

“Oh, my pet, but you’ve been a terribly bad girl, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Ah!” The claw tapped her collarbone, sharp and piercing. Sparks sprang up in its wake, hissing as they kissed her skin. “Don’t speak. I’ll not have another lie off your pretty tongue tonight.”

Iron and ozone clogged her nose. “Please—”

The claw dug deeper, joined by others, and bit into the bare swell of her chest with the shocking teeth of the mythic swamp dragons in the south. Pain seared through her veins, eroding her heart and boiling her blood. Leara screamed.

Hard stone met her, and she jerked up. Something heavy drug her arms down, and with a cry, she pushed and thrashed. Then it was at her feet, and she saw it for what it was in the dim light of the white mage’s candle. Her blanket.

At the end of the bed, Karnwyr whined. 

“I’m sorry,” Leara gasped, voice hoarse. Dry, as if she’d really been electrocuted. 

She shivered.

Lifting the blanket from the floor, she wrapped the heavy wool around her shoulders. She felt Karnwyr’s eyes follow her as she slipped her stockinged feet into the shafts of her silver and leather boots. “Go back to sleep, I’m okay,” she whispered and, for good measure, gave the wolf a reassuring scratch under the chin. Karnwyr’s brow creased, clearly skeptical. Still, he huffed and lowered his head back on his front paws. “Shh,” Leara soothed, giving him all the comfort she couldn’t feel. “Sleep.”

As if against his will, Karnwyr was lulled back to sleep by the gentle affection. He was snoring as Leara slipped out of the room. 

It wasn’t yet dawn. No light teased the eastern horizon to proclaim Magnus’s rise. She hoped it would be a bright, sunny day. She wished to feel the touch of magic on her skin before she plunged into the pending maelstrom that would be the peace conference. Yet with every breath, she could almost taste the approaching storm, hard and cold and as real as the chaos that would soon house itself in High Hrothgar. Even in the silent hallway, lit by nothing save faint starlight and her own trailing candlelight spell, she could feel the bitter wind bite at her cheeks and stir her unbound hair. Was it a bad omen, or was she still shaken from her nightmare?

What did she dream, anyway?

A cooing voice and an electric touch. Leara swallowed, her throat tight. Some variation of the same nightmare that haunted her sleep since the night of that thrice-cursed ball. Sometimes, there were other voices, and sometimes, there were knives or harp strings. Burns and smoke. But always, always there was the voice and the lightning. White hot and cloying in her veins. The stuff of nightmares that never ceased to dog her steps in the waking world. 

Bishop’s solution to her nightly awakenings was to sleep through them. In the near fortnight since leaving Solitude, Leara began to wonder if anything short of a rampaging mammoth or a legion of Daedra could be counted on to wake the ranger from his deep sleep. It worked in her favor, though. He didn’t ask about the thrashing or the crying – he didn’t know about them. Rudimentary Illusions, the kind every girl in High Rock learned to use, covered up the signs on her face. Illusion itself was never her strongest school, save her practiced Muffle and Clairvoyance, but hiding the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin was becoming second nature. It wasn’t the first time she’d used magic to disguise her appearance. In a twisted way, it was almost a comfort.

The door to the courtyard opened noiselessly under her hand. The frigid air didn’t bite her as hard as she might have expected, but her system was still flooded with adrenaline from the nightmare. Overhead, the thin forms of Masser and Secunda cast distorted shadows over the snow and stone, twisting the world into a vision of another world. She remembered the dancing auroras overhead when she’d left Paarthurnax that first time, back when he’d directed her to find the Elder Scroll. Now, the skies were shrouded in clouds through which only the brightest stars could pierce. All around her, the world was haunted, holding its breath on the edge of doom. The last sigh before the final plunge. 

Creeping across the barren snowscape, Leara eyed the archway and the path to the top of the Throat of the World. High winds howled against the mountainside, barring the way to Paarthurnax. Yet Leara wanted desperately to make the climb to meet him. Do dragons sleep? Would he be curled against the ruined Word Wall, lost to dreams, or awake in silent contemplation of the heavens? Would he welcome her company or turn her away at such an unholy hour?

Her legs trembled beneath her. Leara collapsed to the flagstones, her back against the unlit brazier stand. The blanket fluttered around her. Her chest ached. Burned. Froze. Then her head rolled back against the stand, her eyes sliding closed. 

She was so tired. So tired. She couldn’t make the climb.

Tears froze on the ends of her lashes.

“Paarthurnax, please . . .”

·•★•·

A gentle hand shook her awake. 

Predawn was sweeping in across the sky, depthless midnights touched here and there with the golden pinks of pending morning, mixing in a dappled grey and bruising violet off toward the west. It wasn’t yet half after four in the morning. 

Blinking in a slow haze, Leara peered up to find Master Arngeir standing over her, a frown set on his weathered face. 

“Are you well, child?” he asked, worry set around his mouth. Leara supposed she’d worry too if the prophesied hero she’d had to nurse back to health went and froze to death on the back porch before fulfilling her destiny. If her face wasn’t numb with cold, Leara imagined she’d have blushed with shame. 

“I’m all right,” she whispered. She wasn’t, but it was fine.

Master Arngeir’s frown deepened, probably because he wasn’t foolish enough to take her words at face value. He offered her a hand, and after a moment, Leara took it. Some other time, she may have been alarmed by how easily the elderly Greybeard pulled her up, but she already knew she hadn’t been eating well since long before Solitude. Maybe since before Mirmulnir. She wasn’t sure anymore. “Good morning.”

“Let us hope it will be,” said Arngeir, grim. “There are many hours still before our guests arrive, but there is much to prepare.” His hand on her shoulder, her teacher guided her back toward the monastery. 

An early breeze swirled the edges of her blanket, brushing her bare legs. Leara cast a longing look to the mountain peak, hidden as it was by clouds and the vanishing night. Her gaze fell, and she found Master Arngeir watching her, knowing. 

“It isn’t forbidden for you to make the climb whenever you wish,” he told her.

“I was worried he was sleeping,” she blurted, not willing or able to admit the exhaustion gnawing her limbs, rooting her to the earth when she sought the sky. “Have you ever seen a sleeping dragon?”

To her surprise, Master Arngeir laughed. Full of the same light, wry amusement she could almost recall in her grandfather’s voice from her earliest childhood memories. “I imagine that even dragons must rest sometimes.”

Good, maybe when this was over (if she was even there when it ended), she could rest, too.

·•★•·

Master Borri spied the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations coming around the curve of the mountain near noon. They were maybe around half a mile apart from each other, neither party daring to get too close to the other. Each was mounted with additional guards and pack horses. Amid the snow and ever-present ice on stone, it was a slow climb to the monastery. 

Even from the table where Leara sat with a light lunch of dried berries and herbal tea, she could feel the tension growing like a tightening bowstring. Or perhaps a noose, growing tight around her throat as she fell through the gallows—

No, she would not think like that! This was an opportunity, a hope to forge peace – if not a lasting peace, then perhaps a peace that could pave the way for a stronger, more steady solution down the road. Skyrim was in turmoil, and if she could in any way soothe the gash made by the Civil War while tending the burns from dragon’s fire, then she would do her best. As Dragonborn, she could only succeed or die trying.

Of course, it was as impending death crept back into her mind that Bishop finally made his appearance. Yawning and stretching, he gave his side an absent scratch as he sauntered over to Leara’s little table. Snagging a fistful of berries off her plate, he threw them back, chomping down with a short cough.

Leara winced behind her teacup. “Lovely for you to grace us with your presence.”

Beside the table where he was gnawing on a cow bone, Karnwyr grunted.

Bishop burped. “Took me forever to get comfortable on that damn cot,” he grunted. He plopped into the chair across from Leara and reached for her plate. 

She smacked his knuckles. “Oi! Let off! You snooze, you lose!”

“Please, woman, I catch most of the food you eat!” Bishop snorted. 

Leara withdrew her plate from the table, holding the remaining fruit out of Bishop’s reach. “I’m afraid you don’t have time to filch off my plate. You need to get ready!”

“Ready for what?” he asked, wiping crust from his eye.

A grimace twisted Leara’s mouth. Bishop was a frightful sight: His hair stuck out in nearly every direction, and his night clothes were in equal disarray. She was glad none of the Greybeards were there at the moment to see him. As dignified as they were, Bishop was just as frightfully embarrassing to look at. 

“The delegations will be here within a half hour or so. We need to be ready to open the doors and get the peace talks underway.”

Bishop flapped his hand in mimicry of her talking. Leara pursed her lips in a tight line. “This little tea party of yours has nothing to do with me, sweetness. It's all you and the old windbags, thinking you can get everyone in Skyrim to kiss and make nice.”

Leara ate a berry, grinding the semisweet fruit into shreds. 

“What are you going to do?” he went on. He pushed the chair back on its rear legs and leaned against the wall, his arms behind his head. “Are General Troll Face and the Stormdrain going to sit around the campfire and braid your hair? Will you do each other’s nails and makeup, too?” He leered at her, “Can I watch?”

Silently, Leara drained her teacup. Then she set it down. “You will not make a fool of me in front of them,” she said, voice cold. 

“Me? Make a fool of you? No, darling, you do that all on your own!” Bishop laughed. “What are you even trying to accomplish here, anyway? Because you sure as Hell aren’t going to establish a lasting peace between those two warmongers.”

Scooping the rest of the berries into her hands, Leara restrained the urge the throw them at Bishop’s head. Instead, she dropped them one by one into her mouth, methodical. She was too tired for this. So little sleep and such a long time before she could try to get more. The day stretched miles onward in front of her, but her patience with Bishop was growing desperately short. She was done tiptoeing around him.

“I’m trapping a dragon in Dragonsreach.”

Then she walked away, the clatter of a falling chair and broken pottery behind her. 

·•★•·

Leara was careful to avoid Bishop in the intervening time before the Imperials and Stormcloaks arrived. After leaving him in a spluttering mess of chairs and pottery shards, she’d disappeared into her cell. Her blue gown hung on the wardrobe where she left it the night before, freshened and primed for the council. Wearing armor to conduct peace talks didn’t sit right with her, so the blue dress it was. Running her fingers, still tinged pink from frostbite, over the lace, something in her chest loosened. She made it this far. She could do this.

She had to.

Once dressed, she went to stand in the foyer of High Hrothgar, her hair carefully pinned and her hands folded before her. Nerves ran electric up her arms and around her ribs, but she pushed it away. She had to. This was for Skyrim. Her discomfort wasn’t even worth considering.

The heavy doors opened, and she heard Master Arngeir greet Ulfric Stormcloak and his party. Leara’s hand tightened over her rings, the enchanted bands biting into her skin. Master Arngeir said something. Ulfric replied, his voice humming against the stones. They exchanged words that she couldn’t understand, but she remained in place. 

The thump of heavy footsteps came down the corridor, and then Ulfric Stormcloak entered the hall beside Master Arngeir. His gaze wandered over everything but her, for which she was almost grateful. Let her be a backdrop. He was taking in the ancient stones and carvings that formed High Hrothgar. Oh, yes, he lived here once, didn’t he? He was supposed to be a Greybeard a long time ago. Before the war. Odd that that slipped her mind. She needed to remain focused. It wouldn’t do for her memory or attention to slip during the peace talks. Things were tense enough as it was without her issues getting in the way. Leara swallowed, her eyes trailing from the Jarl to his party. There weren’t many of them in reality, just Ulfric, one of his generals – Galmar, wasn’t it? – and some guards. A few carried bundles of supplies on their backs; these followed Master Borri into the west wing, where the parties would be housed in empty cells for the night. The couple that remained stood near to their Jarl’s back. 

A blond head caught her eye, and Leara blinked. Then, a genuine smile blossomed over her face. 

“Ralof!”

All heads turned toward her, and Leara’s ears grew warm as she realized that, yes, she did call out her friend’s name. Her smile curved bashfully as one of the other guards elbowed Ralof, snickering. Ralof gave her a jaunty wave, and she relaxed. 

“Ah, Dragonborn,” Ulfric Stormcloak began. He stepped forward, his attention on her. “It seems your efforts have paid off.”

“That remains to be seen, Jarl Ulfric,” she said. She squeezed her rings, the black band hot. Meeting his eyes was incredibly difficult, especially after the incident with Bishop in the Windhelm Jail. Mara’s mercies, she managed it, if only because of the iron stiffening her neck and spine. “Thank you for making the trip.”

“You made a convincing argument. I’m hoping your position at the negotiation table will be as credible.” He didn’t appear quite as hard as before, but Leara remained on guard. 

“I hope not to disappoint.” 

The General, Galmar, grunted. Leara recalled how he initially scoffed at the idea of the peace council, though he gave Ulfric his support when the Jarl asked for it. She found herself glad that Ulfric brought him and not the other general, Yrsarald. Both were opinionated, yet Galmar gave the impression of being a little deeper in thought than Yrsarald. “Make it worth our time, then. The road from Windhelm was too long for us to come here to be made fools of.”

Leara’s smile was thin. “I wouldn’t dream of it, General.”

Beside them, Master Arngeir held out his hand. “Dragonborn, if you would, perhaps it is time to show Ulfric and his party to the meeting hall.”

“Of course, Master,” Leara bowed her head. “Please follow me.” 

Up the steps and down the wide stone hallway, she led them, Ulfric and Galmar at her shoulder and the guards behind. This close to Ulfric, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Did any escape her bun? She’d need to duck out and get another pin before they opened up the peace talks. Maybe two, just to be sure. 

“Well, Dragonborn, I trust there will be a point to all this,” commented Ulfric.

Leara cleared her throat. “We haven’t discussed the terms yet, Jarl Ulfric. You may not like them. Besides, General Tullius isn’t even here yet.”

“He can take his time getting here,” Galmar scoffed. “Damn faithless Imperials. Can’t even get to a meeting on time.” 

One of the guards chuckled. Ulfric’s wry face caught in her peripheral. Leara stared resolutely ahead. “They should be here fairly soon. Only, their party is larger than yours,” she said. “It’s slower going on the steps with so many.”

“Aye, too many. They can’t go anywhere without their Thalmor handlers holding the leash, and Talos knows those elves are dragging their feet every step up this mountain.”

The Thalmor . . .?

If Ulfric and Galmar hadn’t been at her back, Leara would’ve frozen in place. As it was, her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle under her. The Thalmor? She shoved her right foot forward, continuing her walk down the corridor. The Thalmor were coming? Electricity stung the too-raw nerves of her hands, biting and itching under the skin as it crawled up her arms. The Thalmor were coming. Anxiety and lightning gathered in her chest, burning and binding. 

Elenwen. 

There was the door to the meeting hall. It was a wide, low-ceilinged room with a large round table dominating the center. Its shape rather resembled a horseshoe, with a low hearth burning between the table’s arms. It was empty: Master Einarth had gone to help Master Wulfgar with the delegations’ animals. “If you’ll please be seated on this side,” she said, indicating the left. To her ears, her voice was high away and cool, lost in the clouds her head was threatening to dive through. “Would you care for some mead?”

“Yes, if you please,” Ulfric said. He was watching her. He knew. He knew. He knew—

“For me as well.”

“Right,” Leara nodded. “I’ll be back.” She turned and left. 

But barely had she stepped into the hallway when a large hand slipped around her arm, encircling her small wrist. Panic seized Leara’s heart, squeezing harder and tighter than before. She whirled around, free hand freezing over with frost magic. 

. . . and then it dispersed just as quickly. 

“By Shor, you’re still as flighty as a pine thrush!”

“Ralof!” Leara scoffed and swatted his arm. But the relief that eased her heart and muscles was visible in the small smile she shot her friend. 

“I figured you might want some help,” Ralof shrugged. 

“Sure!” 

Her arm linked with Ralof’s, Leara guided him down the monastery corridors to the kitchen. High Hrothgar was ancient: From what Leara understood, the monastery once housed dozens of disciples and students to Jurgen Windcaller’s Way of the Voice, as well as masters of the Voice and clever arts (or whatever it was the Old Nords called their magic). It was an old building, very cold, but made of a sturdy dark stone that blurred the building’s silhouette from afar during snowfall. It was tranquil and distant, far apart from the world below and full of peace. Despite the turmoil twisting in her soul over her destiny, High Hrothgar held in its walls a centered grounding that reminded Leara of her youth at Cloud Ruler Temple. Reminiscent, but calmer and heavier, too. Heavier with the weight of the world. Leara couldn’t help but hope that the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations would feel some of that peace mingled with purpose when they met at the negotiator’s table. 

“How have you been?” she asked Ralof. 

“I can’t complain. No more near executions, so I’ve had that going for me,” he laughed. His golden hair and sunshine smile were a bright spot in the dim halls. “Can’t believe I’m actually here at High Hrothgar. But you’re used to it now, right?”

“Hardly,” Leara echoed his laughter. 

Ralof grinned, “It’s hard to believe that scrawny elfling from Helgen turned out to be the Dragonborn.” 

There’s a good-natured disbelief in his voice that reassured her. Ralof’s was a genuine and kind character. Without him, she’d have never made it out of Helgen. His company on the road to Riverwood and the invaluable aid his family gave her once they got into town were vital components to her journey into Skyrim, without which she would have been in dire straits. Leara smiled softly. She’d missed Ralof. “Yeah, it really is.”

Earlier, Master Einarth had set a pot of spiced mead on the hearth to warm. It was meant to be served when both parties were present, but Leara needed space from the anxiety of Ulfric and the Thalmor pressing into her lungs. A platter of goblets sat on the heavy wooden table that served as both a counter and dinner table. Passing these, Leara took up the ladle to gauge the mead’s temperature. 

“I don’t mean to pry—”

“You do a little bit.”

Ralof chuckled. “All right, perhaps I do. But what is this meeting about? How is peace going to stop the World-Eater?”

Her hands stalled their stirring. “Did Jarl Ulfric tell you it was Alduin at Helgen?”

“Aye, he did.”

“Ah.”

“Leara,” Ralof hesitated, “what are you planning?”

She pressed her lips together, hard. Was it only over an hour ago that she fired the answer off in Bishop’s face? Her throat tightened. She’d need to get a hold of herself before the meeting began.

“I need to go to Sovngarde,” she whispered to the hearth. 

“What?”

“I—” Am going to die. “Need to trap—” A dragon, a live dragon. “I need to use Dragonsreach. Peace is Jarl Balgruuf’s price.”

Large hands gently pried the ladle from her brittle fingers. Ralof hooked it on the pot’s handle. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, not unkindly. “I’d just like to know you’re taking care of yourself. You look tired.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, but it wasn’t as full as before. “I’m fine, really.” She wasn’t, but she would be. She had to.

Carrying the platter of goblets, Leara led Ralof back to the meeting hall. Entering, she found Ulfric already seated at the table, a frown creasing his face. It smoothed out when he looked up at her, a cloud passing from in front of the sun, but Leara could only offer a small smile in return. Galmar stood beside him, talking lowly, though, on Leara and Ralof’s entrance, he went silent. Akatosh, please let me make it to Sovngarde. If she was to die, it’d be far more beneficial for everyone if she did so while defeating Alduin rather than if Ulfric exacted revenge for her Thalmor past and her role in the war. 

“We’ve prepared spiced mead,” Leara explained, gesturing for Ralof to set the pot on the stone sideboard rather than the hearth. Best to keep it out from the middle of the potential battleground. Lips pursed, she cast a subtle warming rune on the bottom of the pot to keep the mead hot. She took a goblet from the platter and ladled it full of mead, then she faced the table. The guards were watching her, and Galmar, his arms crossed, was eyeing her, too. Was Skyrim much like High Rock? It was better to be safe than sorry. She brought the goblet to her mouth and swallowed a mouthful. Master Einarth’s spice blend was warm and comforting and left her chest warm for a blissful moment. 

Then she handed the goblet to Galmar, and the feeling was gone. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, gruff. 

“It’s not poisoned,” she replied. 

“Why would it be poisoned?” 

“Galmar, don’t torture the woman,” Ulfric said, sitting sideways in his chair so as to face his general. 

The grin that curved across Galmar’s face ruffled his mustache and crinkled his eyes. “I’m only putting her through her paces.”

Leara tried to muster a light smile, but she was sure it looked like a grimace. “Perhaps that’s best left for the peace talk.”

“Perhaps,” Ulfric said, accepting the goblet from Galmar. 

Perhaps. Leara nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be ready to greet the other delegation.”

“Of course,” Ulfric lifted his goblet. 

Skirts brushing around her ankles, Leara forced herself to walk sedately from the room. Ralof shot her a quick, reassuring look, and some of the renewed tension in her chest eased. Once in the corridor, her shoulders dropped, and she heaved a sigh.

“Having fun playing hostess?”

“As much as I can, I suppose.”

Bishop pushed off from the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his face dark. “We need to talk about this circus of yours.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Aside from the litany of issues she needed to address this afternoon alone. 

He followed her down the hall. “You want to trap a dragon in a damn castle, and for what? So, you can fly off into the sunset and die?”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

Bishop caught her wrist in his. His hands were harder than Ralof’s. “You know why I worry about you, woman. You know why—urgh!”

Resigned, Leara came to a halt. “Bishop, please. Whatever concerns you have, can we please discuss them after the meeting? I’m pressed for time now.”

“You sure as Hell weren’t pressed for time when you were avoiding me all morning,” Bishop grumbled. “All right, fine. Have it your way. But when they hang you out to dry because even your demands are too much for those egomaniacs, don’t come crying to me!”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Pulling her wrist from Bishop’s grip, Leara continued down the hall. She wasn’t surprised when, a moment later, his footsteps echoed after her. 

“Where’s Karnwyr?” she asked.

“In your room, out of the way.”

Oh. That was probably meant to be considerate. Still, she missed the wolf’s comforting presence by her side. 

“I saw you getting friendly with that guard. What was that about? You taking in any man who bounds after you like a lost puppy, or do you just prefer blonds?”

“What, Ralof?” Her head twinged. Lovely, on top of the discomfort from sleeping outside, she was gearing up for a headache. “He was helping me with the mead. Which, by the way, I didn’t see you offer to do.”

Bishop barked a laugh. “Me? Serve mead to the Stormdrain himself? Listen, sweetness, you and the old windbags can play political nursemaids all you want, but I’m not getting involved.”

Not getting involved, her right hip! Bishop had done nothing but insert himself in her business since she met him! And, all right, she did allow him to after the entire Blackreach incident, but still. His definition of non-involvement was clearly from a different dictionary than hers. And it was wrong. 

She moved to tell him so, then paused. A familiar voice caught on her ear, and Leara spun, her eyes blown wide. “By Akatosh.”

“Now what is it?”

Ignoring Bishop’s question, Leara lifted her skirts and hurried down the corridor. She rounded the corner, only to freeze at the top of the stairs, a confused Bishop at her heels. There, in the foyer, were precisely who she didn’t want to see standing in the middle of the Greybeards’ home. 

Delphine and Esbern. 

The Thalmor were coming. The Blades were here. Ulfric Stormcloak was down the hall.

Nausea rolled in her stomach. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her attempts to keep the Blades and the Greybeards apart in the course of her destiny were in vain. Delphine would figure out how much she sympathized with the Greybeards’ philosophies over those of the Dragonguard that Delphine sought to restore, and Arngeir, Arngeir would learn of her red past as a Blade, and the Greybeards would banish her from High Hrothgar. The sanctuary at the top of the mountain would be lost. Paarthurnax’s guidance would be lost. She was going to be ill. She couldn’t afford to be. Akatosh.

Master Arngeir towered over Delphine, though he stood eye to eye with Esbern. For a peace-loving monk, he looked ready to toss the two Blades out on their rear ends—violently. “You were not invited here. You are not welcome here."

Delphine was dressed in Akaviri armor; prim and put together, she looked every inch the Knight-Sister. Conversely, Esbern was in warm wool, making no distinction toward his affiliation to the Blades. But his Thalmor dossier aside, his association with Delphine was enough. 

“We have every right to be here for this council,” Delphine said, glaring down her nose. Watching a small Breton glare down a venerable Nord was jarring enough to be funny if Leara weren’t agonizing over why they were here. “Actually,” she went on, “more so, since the Dragonborn is a member of the—”

Esbern, who was busy studying the architecture of the monastery, caught sight of Leara at the top of the stairs. “Ah, Elanor! There you are!”

It was like watching a train of merchant wagons piling up in the marketplace, unable to prevent the accident and unable to look away from the disaster. Master Arngeir’s frown turned to her, and Leara’s heart sank. 

She descended the stairs. “Good afternoon, Esbern, Delphine. How remarkable to find you here, seeing as I didn’t invite you.”

“An oversight on your part, right?” Delphine lifted an eyebrow, as pale and condescending as ever. “You look comfortable.”

Stopping short of standing by Master Arngeir, Leara was keenly aware of the room’s tension settling on her shoulders in a heavy shroud, all attention on her. “How are you here?”

“It’s no secret that you fought Alduin and lost,” Delphine sniffed. She cast a wary glance over Leara’s shoulder at Bishop, then, ignoring the darkening glare on Master Arngeir’s brow, she went on, “Just because we packed up and moved shop doesn’t mean I don’t still have my contacts. I’ve not been on the run this long making stupid decisions like completely cutting myself off.”

“Of course not,” Leara smiled, gritting her teeth. 

“I still have my contacts in Whiterun. You’re not as subtle as you think. I’ve known about this little council meeting for nearly a month.” Which meant as soon as Delphine found out, she was ready to make the trek to High Hrothgar. Wow. “We have just as much right as anyone else to be here, seeing as we’re the ones who helped you get this far in the first place, Elanor.”

Leara spluttered. Arngeir’s scowl deepened. “Is that so? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds.”

“If it were up to you people, she would stay sitting here on your mountain all day with her head in the clouds!”

It was Bishop’s hand on Leara’s elbow that kept her from popping Delphine in the mouth. Absence, it seemed, made the heart grow fonder. Leara felt better about Delphine and the Blades’ contempt for the Greybeards when she wasn’t in the same Hold as her. 

“Delphine, please,” Esbern said, speaking for the first time. “We didn’t come here to debate the philosophies of Blade and Greybeard. Remember the issue at hand: Alduin must be reckoned with.” Then he turned to Master Arngeir, a tired look on his weathered face. “You called this council for that reason. You wouldn’t have done so otherwise. We have much information on Alduin and the crisis at hand.” There was a glimmer in his eyes. “You’ll need us here if you want the council to succeed.”

Despite this, Master Arngeir’s scowl did not relent. However, after a long moment, he bowed his head—shallow but acquiescence, nonetheless. “If this is how it must be, then so be it. You may attend the council.”

Esbern nodded his thanks, but Delphine only smirked. 

Leara wanted to scream, and they hadn’t even started the damn meeting yet. “If you’d please follow me—”

“Actually, Dragonborn, I would like a word,” Master Arngeir went on. He did not look at her. 

Oh. Her throat tight, Leara turned to Bishop, who, by some undeserved mercy from the Divines, had kept whatever snide comments he usually had to himself during the exchange with the Blades. “Escort Delphine and Esbern to the table.”

“Are you serious?” said Bishop. “Did we not just have the conversation about why I’m not getting involved with your little—”

“Bishop, please.”

He quieted. Then, casting her a shady look under pinched brows, jerked his head toward the stairs. “C’mon,” he told the Blades, “What her ladyship decrees.”

A harsh breath pushed through Leara’s nostrils as the Blades followed after a grumbling Bishop. As he passed, Esbern clasped her shoulder, but it did nothing to settle her nerves. Actually, Leara was feeling too much. She knew it. Too much was happening. She thought she could handle it, but . . .

No, she had to handle it. She would. It was fine. 

“When you told us that it was the Blades who showed you Dragonrend, I knew to worry about what other counsel you might take from them,” Master Arngeir said. He did not look at her; instead, his gaze was fixed on the tapestry above the entrance. Leara remained silent. “Their claim that they are responsible for you traveling the course of your destiny should be laughable.” Then he faced her, his eyes tired. “I have told you before how the Blades use the Dragonborn, but it seems you already know it.”

“Yes,” Leara said. She recalled the lessons, the stories. Watch for the Dragonborn. Protect the Dragonborn. Follow the Dragonborn.

“I did not fathom that the Dragonborn was a member of the Blades, and yet, all this time, that is who you are.”

Leara lifted her eyes, her shoulders set though they wanted to sag. “What do you want me to say, Master? That I should never have joined the Blades? That I regret the years of service I gave and the lessons I learned? That I renounce them?” And hadn’t she thought of it? If Delphine’s dismissal of Leara’s standing as a Knight-Sister wasn’t enough, the fact that she abandoned her post during the war was enough. She all but did renounce the Blades, for all her delusions on the contrary. 

Master Arngeir’s countenance was grim. “I would know that we can take you at your word, but now I see that we have reason to question, not only your means, then your intentions as well. We must take you for what you are, Dragonborn.”

“And what am I?”

“A charlatan.”

·•★•·

His thumb stilled on the goblet’s rim when she entered, followed by the Imperials.  

He stood at her entrance, Galmar following suit. His eyes met General Tullius’s over the Dragonborn, Leara’s shoulder, and his jaw tightened at the sight of the towering forms of the Thalmor ambassadors behind him. A smirk cut across Elenwen’s face, and Ulfric’s scowl deepened. So, they expected him to sit down and treat with the Thalmor today. 

They were wrong. 

In with Tullius and Elenwen came a host of others, a great number that drowned the small company Ulfric selected for his entourage. Ever present at the General’s side was Rikke, as fierce and hawkish as he remembered her. There was a storm in Rikke’s eyes that seemed determined to strike him across the room. After Rikke’s gale came the slight figure of Jarl Elisif, barricaded by her ever-present housecarl. The would-be queen was wide-eyed and still, almost as if being in High Hrothgar, in this room, drew her into her shell. Mousy, he thought. 

Two legionnaires trailed the group, a small blonde woman and a taller Nord with a dark mustache. They, like he and his men, were disarmed, their weapons likely in the antechamber with the Stormcloaks’. After them came two guards with the golden horse of Whiterun on their armor. Balgruuf came between them, apart from the Imperials, but clearly of their delegation. Even if he would not choose a side, Ulfric questioned whether Balgruuf could ever truly be persuaded from the safe path laid by the Empire. It was the type of safety that bore complacency from the familiar, refusing the call to action from conviction. Balgruuf knew what was right. Ulfric knew this. But Balgruuf would sooner turn to the familiar for the protection of his people rather than risk all for his convictions. This was the truth. 

And yet. And yet, for the sake of their old friendship, Ulfric hoped Balgruuf would find the courage to follow his convictions, to join the cause and free Skyrim from her bondage. That alone would carry more weight than any peace treaty that the Dragonborn thought she could orchestrate. 

After the delegation came Master Arngeir and the other Greybeards. Not for the first time, Ulfric wondered why they agreed to host the war leaders in their monastery. High Hrothgar, always remembered as a bastion of peace, was now the host to warriors and their opposing views. How Leara convinced the Greybeards to open their doors to this council, even to discuss the dragon threat, Ulfric didn’t know. But no, one glance at Master Arngeir’s face showed a lingering shadow in clear eyes. Arngeir, at least, was not happy about this turn of events. 

At once, Leara returned to the pot of spiced mead and prepared the tray. Ulfric only caught a glimpse of her pale eyes as she passed in a swirl of blue. 

“Take your seats, and we can begin,” said Master Arngeir, sitting himself at the head of the table. Off to the right, Delphine huffed. “Now that everyone is here, the Dragonborn will serve the mead. We offer this in goodwill, in the hope that everyone has come here in the spirit of—”

As he spoke, Elenwen sat down at the table. Ulfric, on the cusp of sitting back down himself, stiffened to his full height. 

“No, we will not sit at the same table as that woman!” he said, forceful. “You insult us by bringing her here as if you expect us to just accept the presence of your chief Talos hunter!”

Legate Rikke scoffed. “Here we go.”

Galmar growled, eliciting an eye roll from Balgruuf. Elisif sighed. 

“Now, Ulfric, I have every right to be here,” Elenwen said, poised like a serpent on the edge of her chair. “It is in the best interest of every party for a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion to ensure that the terms of the White-Gold Concordat are upheld. Particularly given the history of certain local governments in disregarding those terms as they see fit. Such a breach of treaty is a reason enough to be concerned, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ormand?” 

The air stilled, cooling. “Yes, Mistr—Madame Ambassador, perhaps.”

Then the room warmed again, but a chill ran up his spine.

Her head bowed, Leara returned to his field of vision, her tray laden. In silence, she served the mead. 

“Look here, Ulfric,” Tullius said, pointing his hand. “You cannot dictate who I bring as part of my delegation. If you can’t accept that, then there’s no point in us going any further.”

Ulfric gritted his teeth. Beside Rikke, the Dragonborn stilled. Across the table, he saw her purse her lips. Elisif took a goblet, and Leara moved on.

“If we must negotiate the terms of the negotiations, then we will never get anywhere,” Arngeir said. There was a rumble in his voice. “Perhaps this is a matter best addressed by the Dragonborn.” 

Standing between Balgruuf and the Thalmor, Leara’s cold eyes flicked from Tullius to Ulfric and back. “I believe—”

The nerve of those Imperial bastards, Ulfric brooded.  

“As Ambassador Elenwen said, we are discussing matters that may encroach on the terms of the White-Gold Concordat. It is to the benefit of all that we respect the existing treaties so that we can work out an agreement that works for everyone.”

And here was the Dragonborn, with her half-answers and line-walking. The chill curled around his spine again, sharper. He did not expect this, not from her. But what does he really know of her? “Either she walks, or we do,” he declared. “If you think I will sit at the same table as that Thalmor bitch—"

Leara’s chin was defiant. “You misunderstand me, Jarl Ulfric. It is imperative that we observe the existing treaties, but I don’t think we need the Dominion to hold our hand to do so.” She turned to Elenwen, who was within arm’s reach of her. Behind Elenwen’s chair, another golden-haired Altmer woman stood, her statue’s face unable to conceal the heat as she stared down the Dragonborn. Leara merely smiled. “If you’ll pardon us, Madame Ambassador, your presence may do more harm than good here. Please, excuse us.”

Elenwen stood. She was taller and darker than the Dragonborn, Ulfric noticed. He had never used magic himself, but there was something in the air that left an electric film on the back of his throat. He wondered if anyone else could feel it. 

“Very well, Miss Ormand, you may conduct this meeting as you see fit.” Elenwen’s eyes cut to Ulfric. “Enjoy your petty victory, Ulfric, as long as your Dragonborn is here to win the battles for you. The Dominion will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not dream of interfering in your civil war.” Turning on her heel, she beckoned her lackey. “Come, Hindalia,”

Tearing her glare from Leara, the other Altmer followed her mistress. 

“Run away!” cried Galmar, slamming his fist on the table. His goblet wobbled. “We’re not as easily culled as your Imperial pets! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor!”

Rikke charged to her feet. “You’re lucky I respect the Greybeards’ council, Galmar, or I’d—"

“Legate!” Tullius’s hard snap cut her off. “We’re representatives of the Emperor here! Act like it!”

Her dark scowl carved a harsh line across her face, but Rikke obeyed like the good legate she was. “Sorry, sir.”

Leara placed a new goblet in front of him, removing the old one. She did the same for Galmar. 

Arngeir cleared his throat. Despite the Thalmors’ exit, the tension in the room was heavy. “Now that that is settled, may we proceed?” 

Ulfric cleared his throat. “I have something to say first.” 

“Are you serious?” muttered Rikke. 

“I agreed to attend this council to come to an agreement about this dragon menace. That is it. Beyond that, we have no interest in negotiating with the Empire over any terms.” After all, hadn’t the Empire denied them in the past? Turnabout was fair play. “I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture on our part. It’s only a matter of time before they’re driven out of Skyrim.”

“Are you done? Or did you want to continue dictating from your soap box?” Tullius asked, eyebrow raised.

Galmar bristled. He moved to speak, but Ulfric held up a hand. “Fine, let’s get on with it.” 

On the other side of Galmar, Leara sat in the empty chair. Intention lit up her face, but there was a shadow lurking there, under the blue. She watched them. 

Master Arngeir stood. “Good. General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric, this council is unprecedented in nature. Never before has High Hrothgar opened its doors to mediate a war, yet we stand here now at the Dragonborn’s request. I would ask that you respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and its history of peace and benevolence. Your being here brings the hope that we can find a lasting peace for the good of all Skyrim. Dragonborn?”

“Yes, thank you, Master Arngeir. Jarls, Generals, Legate,” she nodded to Rikke, “I have asked you here to discuss the present dragon crisis. The Greybeards have been generous enough to open their halls to us, allowing us a neutral meeting ground where we might discuss terms for a truce that would allow for a swift handling of the dragons’ threat.” Perched in her chair, Leara leaned forward as she spoke, straight-backed and still. “Jarl Balgruuf has agreed to allow me to use his palace Dragonsreach to capture a dragon, but it is imperative that we first reach an agreement that protects the people of Whiterun in such a delicate situation.”

Capturing a dragon! So, that was her plan. Ulfric wasn’t sure what to make of it. When he agreed to the council, he knew it was an opportunity to confront Tullius without a battle’s bloodshed, but even when the Dragonborn insisted this circus was necessary to defeat the World-Eater, Ulfric never expected her solution was to capture a live dragon! Did she hope to ensnare the World-Eater himself, or was this dragon a rung in the ladder as she ascended toward the top? What did she hope to gain from capturing a dragon, information, allies? Ulfric sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

Around the table, the other reactions varied. Balgruuf, knowing Leara’s plans from the start, simply stared ahead, determined. Galmar, however, and Rikke too, it seemed, were more affected: Galmar’s loud splutter over choked mead nearly drowned out the Legate’s heated swear. Her General, it seemed, didn’t quite catch the ramifications of such a declaration. This was to be expected. Ulfric didn’t imagine an Imperial like Tullius would realize the meaning behind holding a dragon in Dragonsreach, much less comprehending the threat of the World-Eater himself! But it was Elisif’s reaction that caught Ulfric’s attention. Her hands pressed to her mouth, the Jarl of Solitude was wide-eyed and speechless. 

Good, Ulfric thought. Perhaps with the legend of Olaf One-Eye brought into the modern age, she might learn a new respect for Nordic history and tradition. Somehow, though, he doubted it. 

Delphine’s near-silent “Damnit” against the whispering of the guardsmen pricked at the edge of his attention. When the Blade appeared in the doorway, clad in her Order’s armor and shadowed by the old man, Ulfric hadn’t known what to make of it. Hers was a face he’d never expected to see again, and yet here she was at the Dragonborn’s peace council. He half-wondered why she was here. 

After the initial reaction, Leara continued, “In light of this, I would ask that the members of the council look beyond things such as territory and resources in order to help ensure the dragons are dealt with swiftly. Thank you.”

“Yes,” Arngeir nodded. “Now, let us open the floor. Who would like to start the negotiations?”

The muscle worked in Ulfric’s jaw. Until now, he fully intended to open his position by demanding Markarth be handed into Stormcloak hands. Still—

Tullius held up his hand. “Our terms are simple: Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That is our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Elisif’s eyes darted to the General, wide, then, finding Ulfric’s gaze, they hardened. Her mouth thinned.  

“By Talos, he’s got stones!” gristled Galmar. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to us, Tullius! If you think we’ll turn Riften over just because you barked an order, then you overstep yourself!”

Crossing his arms, Ulfric leveled a look at the Imperials. “That is quite the opening demand. Tullius.” One he was loath to meet. 

Galmar’s scowl was fierce. “Ulfric! Don’t say you’re considering accepting this demand! It’s outrageous! We can hold Riften against these milkdrinkers, and Jarl Laila—”

He could see Rikke bristling. For all that he appreciated Galmar’s gumption and tenacity, it could easily lead them into trouble. Ulfric was no fool: He knew good and well that there was little stopping Tullius from making another attempt to capture him on the road from High Hrothgar. It was only the respect held by Skyrim’s people for the Greybeards that stayed the General’s hand. But respect could only be stretched so far before it snapped with tension. Ulfric’s men were outnumbered here. Their cards needed to be handled with care.

 Ulfric held out his hand. “Peace, Galmar. We’ll do whatever I find to be in the best interest of Skyrim, understood?”

Still glowering at the Imperials, Galmar nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

“Come on, Tullius, do you really expect us to simply hand over Riften? Just like that?” A wry smile tugged at Ulfric’s mouth. “Because your legion has failed to take it by force, do you think we’ll surrender our hold if you ask instead?”

“I’m sure that General Tullius does not expect something without discussing a price,” Arngeir said, voice hard and peaceable all at once. 

In the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Leara cross her hands. Her face was closed. 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Galmar barreled on ahead. “What are you willing to pay for Riften, Tullius? Empty promises and more Imperial bluster?”

“That’s enough, Galmar.”

“Jarl Ulfric, in exchange for the Rift, what would you want in return?” asked Arngeir.

Now, since they were asking. “First, let me be clear: The sons of Skyrim have learned from bitter experience that talking to the Empire is a waste of time. Their promises are always punctuated with a sword and a shackle.” The memory of the betrayal at the Markarth gates still gnawed at him decades later. “However, I accepted the Dragonborn’s invitation to this council, and so, whatever the Empire does, I will negotiate in good faith.” Galmar nodded his agreement. 

Turning to the Dragonborn, Ulfric found himself met with a cold blue stare. Unlike a month ago in the Windhelm jail, when she would no longer look him in the eye, she met him head-on. But there was an edge to the ice that he hadn’t seen before in their previous encounters. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he might have wondered if it had anything to do with that fleabag, Bitchup, or whatever his name was. He would have wondered if the man was still hounding Leara. He may even have spared half a thought toward the woman’s dog. But they were fleeting curiosities. This truce and its potential ramifications dominated his attention, and he couldn’t spare much more from that. 

“Well, Dragonborn, this is your peace council, right? Tell us, what do you think the Rift is worth?” he asked.

Tilting her head, Leara regarded him from the end of the table. “The Rift has its own advantages that would be hard to match from another Hold,” she said. “If you were to trade Riften for, say, the Reach, that would split the holdings and scatter both sides across the map. No matter how you cut up the map, problems rise up.”

“This whole Civil War is a problem, Leara, or have you forgotten?” Tullius asked. 

Leara’s lips thinned. “I am keenly aware of what’s at stake here, General, but I don’t consider tossing Holds back and forth like some kind of game to be a productive use of our time here. The Stormcloaks cannot surrender the Rift.”

“You’ve disappointed me,” Tullius grumbled, brows drawn low. “I agreed to attend this council based on your good name, but it seems you’re determined to favor Ulfric at every turn!”

“You’re mistaken, I do not—”

“Markarth is our price,” Ulfric stated, coming to a decision. He did not want to give up the Rift. That would put the Empire right on his southern flank. But if he could gain the Reach from it, the silver mines and its proximity to Solitude would soften the blow. And who’s to say they couldn’t retake Riften in the coming months? His soldiers knew Riften and its advantages better than Tullius could ever hope to! The sons of Skyrim would shatter the Imperials in a siege. Of this, Ulfric was certain. 

“Are you serious?” Elisif said, speaking up for the first time. “This, both of you—you disrespect the Greybeards and the Dragonborn by using this council as a means to advance your war engines! We are here to negotiate a truce, not draw new battlelines!”

“Jarl Elisif!” barked Tullius. “Let me handle this!”

“But General!” the woman persisted. “These demands are outrageous! Did none of you hear what the Dragonborn said?” 

“Jarl Elisif—”

“I can’t believe this,” Balgruuf said, half-rising from his chair. “This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty? By trading us like playing cards?” Ulfric moved to speak, but Balgruuf jabbed a ringed finger at him. “And don’t you start on how your cause is any better! That’s a load of sheep’s dung! You came here intending to barter for Markarth, consequences be damned!”

Ulfric ground his jaw.

“General Tullius!” cried Elisif, refusing to back down. Over her shoulder, her housecarl lurked in threat. “You don’t intend to go through with this! You can’t trade Markarth for Riften! Not to that, that traitor!” Well, the girl had guts, Ulfric could give her that. If only she’d found them before. 

“Enough!” Tullius snapped, rubbing his temples. “That’s enough!”

“What’ll it be, Tullius?” demanded Ulfric. “Markarth for Riften? Or is that too steep a price for your vanity?”

Galmar huffed.

“Don’t try me, Ulfric! The day is coming when I’ll have you back under the headsman’s axe, and there will be no dragons there to save you!”

With a shout, Galmar shot to his feet. “I’d like to see you try, leech!” 

“That’s IT!” Rikke was out of her seat. “Keep your tongue, Galmar Stone-Fist, or I will take it from you!” 

Noise sprang up around the room. Ulfric was on his feet. The cries of his men and the legionnaires joined in a maelstrom of sound, drowning Galmar’s shouts and Rikke’s threats. Balgruuf was on his feet, but Ulfric couldn’t understand what he was saying, though the red in his cheeks hinted at his explosive anger. Elisif’s housecarl had a hand on the back of her chair; his Jarl pressed backward as Tullius leaped up beside her. 

“Never trust an Imperial!”

“Have you heard nothing—?”

“—will not stand by while you—"

“Damn faithless—"

“Oh, I should’ve expected this!”

“—nothing left to say to—”

“We will WALK!”

“This is a farce!”

“How dare you—”

“By Talos!” Delphine swore, “Can you hear yourselves?” She was drowned out. 

“This is no negotiation at all!” yelled Tullius, voice loud above the din. 

“You’re losing the war, and you know it!” Ulfric retaliated. His fingers itched for his sword. 

“How many lives must be spent before you see the cost of this war?” Elisif cried out, rising to her feet. Her housecarl hovered nearby like a mother hen.

Galmar’s snarls filled Ulfric’s ear.

“You always were a fool, Ulfric!” Rikke’s voice went shrill.

“The Empire’s pretty words are worthless!” 

“Says the speechmaker!”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!”

“QUIET!”

A thrill of chilled air curled through the chamber, dowsing the storm of voices in cold silence. Ulfric turned, words caught in his throat, to see Leara at the foot of the table. He was alarmed to see frost creeping along the tabletop from where she’d braced her palms against the stone. A lock of hair curled from the braided bun at the base of her neck, as frozen still as the rigid set to her thin shoulders. He caught her eye, then, as she stared down everyone at the table. The guards behind him shifted in discomfort, and Ulfric couldn’t say he wasn’t unsettled himself. It was like looking into the Sea of Ghosts in the dead of winter: Desolately cold and inhospitable. The caress of frost from her glare was as bitter as the icy mists of the northern waters. 

“Be quiet,” she said again, tone level. Power hummed in her voice, even at a lowered volume. “Please. You’re acting like children.”

Arngeir let out a weary sigh, his hand over his eyes. Guilt and embarrassment niggled at Ulfric at the sight. Despite his leaving the Way of the Voice and his future as a Greybeard to fight in the Great War, he still held the utmost respect for Master Arngeir. It was not lost on Ulfric that he’d spent more time with the elder Greybeard than he had with his own father during his childhood. 

Clinching his fist, he held his tongue, but he stood his ground.

“Is this what passes for diplomacy in Skyrim?” Leara sniffed. “I expected better.”

Ulfric rounded on her because, Ysmir’s beard, she wasn’t helping, despite Tullius’s assertions, but then the old man beside Delphine stood. There was a shift in Leara’s posture then, almost imperceptible as she drew back from the table. Her hands fell to her sides, drawing the frost away with them. Ulfric turned away. 

The man tugged at his wool scarf, sorrow written in the lines of his face. “You are all so consumed by your hubris that you are blinded to the real and present danger! What do wars and territories matter when the doom of creation hangs by a thread? Nothing!” 

“Is he with you, Delphine?” Ulfric asked, crossing his arms. “If so, I’d advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

Short though she was, Delphine forced forward an imposing figure in her armor. “He is with me, and I would advise all of you to shut up and listen to what he has to say before this gets any more out of hand.”

Across the table, Tullius rolled his eyes. 

Squaring his shoulders, Delphine’s friend stepped closer to the table. He was tall. Ulfric imagined he’d been taller before age set into his bones, but there was a spark of wit about him that pushed back the years. Long ago, Ulfric recalled learning that the Blades Order consisted of more than just knights and warriors. Throughout their vast network were spies, scholars, and scouts, among other things. Although the Empire dismantled the Blades after the war, leaving them to be picked off by the Dominion’s hunters, the infamous Order’s operatives were no strangers to hiding. Or so the stories told. But looking at Delphine and her companion, Ulfric wondered how many Blades really evaded the Thalmor. He hoped more were as successful as Delphine and the old man seemed to be. 

“Don’t you understand why the Dragonborn must capture a dragon? Don’t you understand the reason why the dragons are such a threat to us?” the old Blade said. “Alduin the World-Eater has returned! He is here, now, at this hour, and he devours the souls of the dead, of your fallen comrades! Every life lost in this pointless conflict only adds to Alduin’s power. If it goes on, his strength may become unmatched.” The Blade’s focus centered beyond Ulfric, and he knew the man was watching the Dragonborn. The woman who had offered hope. “Can you not, just for a moment, set aside your anger and hatred in the face of this mortal danger?” 

Isn’t that what the Dragonborn asked when she met with him in his war room? And he agreed to come, didn’t he? He knew what the dragon threat meant—Leara told him then, and since Ulfric found himself dwelling on it when his mind should be on the movements of his troops and the planned attack on Fort Snowhawk. Yet field reports and casualty lists struggled to hold his attention when contending with the World-Eater’s shadow. Every soul in Sovngarde fed the World-Eater’s strength; whether it came from an Imperial or a Stormcloak, every child of Skyrim whose spirit sought the solace of Shor’s Halls was lost to the black dragon’s maw. 

It was sickening. 

“I don’t know about the end of the world,” Tullius began slowly. He rubbed his chin in thought. “But these dragons are getting to be more than the Legion can handle. If this truce can help the Dragonborn eradicate this menace, then we all benefit.” Lifting his gaze, Tullius sent Ulfric a hard glare. “It would do you well to remember that, Ulfric.”

“If he’s right about Alduin,” and Ulfric was sure the old Blade was, “we each have just as much to lose as the other. Remember that, Tullius. Now,” his hand on the back of his chair, Ulfric sat back down. “Back to the matter at hand—”

“I would like to call a recess.”

Almost as one, Ulfric and Tullius turned toward the Dragonborn. Leara was sitting back in her seat, prim yet for her drawn face and the still-frozen curl. Her gaze glossed by his to meet Master Arngeir’s. 

“I think a break might benefit us all,” she continued, straightening. 

Master Arngeir nodded, slow and tired. Ulfric could see the exhaustion creeping across the elder’s face. This council was wearing on him. Part of Ulfric regretted that. Another part wished to have things over with so that he could return to the Palace of the Kings and plot his next course of action during the intermittent peace. “We will adjourn,” Master Arngeir said. “The council will reconvene in an hour’s time. When we do, may cooler heads prevail.”

This time, the scraping of chairs was loud against the silence. Properly chastised, the council members stood. No doubt, each would go off into their corner to discuss new terms and unravel the reasoning of the Blades and the Greybeards. 

And the Dragonborn, Ulfric thought, watching her disappear through the doors in a swirl of blue skirts.

Ulfric didn’t understand her at all.

·•★•·

The echoes of the fight rang through her head as she darted down the hall, away from the meeting hall and the crowd gathered there. She needed a minute. She needed water. She needed sleep. She needed, she needed to breathe. 

Bursting out one of the side doors, she entered the courtyard. The sun glittered off the surrounding snowbanks, lighting the area a brilliant white. It was perhaps a little warmer than it had been during the night, but Leara didn’t pay any attention.  She fled toward the overlook near the edge of High Hrothgar’s mountain shelf to a half-moon of stone benches facing out toward the Whiterun Plains below. She collapsed on the middle bench, half laying, half reclining on the cold stone. With a shaking breath, she pressed her forehead into her arms.

Elenwen, Elenwen was here. And so were Delphine and Esbern. 

And the peace talks!

Arngeir thought she was a liar. 

Leara’s chest constricted. She forced icy air into her lungs. Her hip ached where it dug into the bench. 

What in Akatosh’s holy name were they doing? What just happened? As soon as she gave either man the floor, Tullius and Ulfric made grabs for the other’s land. What they could not take by force in battle seemed like fair game at the negotiating table. But didn’t she tell them this wasn’t that kind of negotiation? They were here for the good of all Skyrim—all Tamriel, and yet they used their compliance as a shield to guard their true purpose: They both sought power over the other. 

That’s the way of war, Leara reminded herself. Just or unjust, to show weakness to the other side was a risk most didn’t recover from. Was leaving Whiterun alone a weakness? She didn’t think so. She knew Balgruuf agreed with her. Whiterun’s safety when Leara captured the dragon was his utmost concern. But how far would Balgruuf go to ensure Whiterun’s safety and neutrality? Further than she would, Leara mused darkly. She wasn’t willing to appease egos just for her own benefit. Balgruuf, loath as he might be to surrender to either side, would make concessions if it was for the wellbeing of his people. But Leara couldn’t choose the people of Whiterun over the rest of Skyrim. She didn’t have that luxury. She needed an agreement that took care of everyone, or if not that, at least one that didn’t put them into a worse position than they were already in. Trading Markarth for the Rift was not the answer.

Hard nails bit into her palms as she squeezed her fingers into fists. No, she and Balgruuf might have a similar goal, but even he wasn’t on her side. He didn’t owe it to her to be. Neither did Tullius. Certainly Ulfric didn’t. 

We must take you for what you are.

A charlatan.

A dry sob seized her ribs in a vice. After today, she wouldn’t have the Greybeards either. Despite everything she’d done to follow their teachings, her past as a Blade won out. Arngeir no longer trusted her. Oh, he put on a good show for the negotiations, but there was a weary shadow over his shoulders. She knew what he wasn’t saying. She was a monster—

Not even Delphine and Esbern could be counted to side with her. Delphine never made her distrust of Leara a secret, and Esbern’s proximity to the other Knight-Sister cast his friendship in doubt. She missed Cloud Ruler Temple. She couldn’t trust the Blades. 

There was no one’s side for her to be on, because no one was on her side.

“Akatosh, don’t let me be alone,” the sob broke from her throat, rocking her body in its wake. “Don’t let me be alone!”

“Oh, but my pet, you are alone.”

Leara stilled, her muscles tensing. She didn’t dare raise her head from the nest of her arms.

The whisper of boots on stone was her only warning before a familiar hand trailed long fingers through her hair to the coiled bun. The nails dug into the back of Leara’s skull, drawing out a gentle pain. Leara inhaled, breath catching in her throat. The hand left her skull for her neck, trailing lightning to her shoulder. Her nerves burned. 

“What do you want, Elenwen?” whispered Leara, holding herself still. She could not defend herself. She couldn’t even move from the fear freezing her blood. 

But she could still hear the smirk in Elenwen’s voice. “Is it too much to believe I might wish to speak to a very old friend?” 

Her fists tightened. “We are not friends.”

“Oh, but weren’t we?” Then Leara was wrenched into a sitting position, Elenwen’s thin arms disguising the strength in her hold. Leara was pulled up to face her and found herself powerless to stop it. But that’s how it always was. 

When Elenwen and her newest protégé had swept into the foyer behind General Tullius and Jarl Balgruuf, effectively ending Leara and Arngeir’s conversation, an iron corset had laced itself over Leara’s lungs, pulling her inward and stealing her breath. The haunted memory of the Aldmere’Loren weaving its darkling shroud over the ballroom at the Blue Palace asserted itself, drawing with it the sight of hundreds of devastated faces, each wrecked with emotion too deep for mortal hearts to comprehend. The image shadowed Leara’s gaze as she greeted the Imperial delegation, spine stiff, face frozen. Night terrors full of cooing whispers and crackling electricity threatened to take her in the light of day as she led the group to the meeting hall. The entire time, Leara could feel the pinprick of lightning on her skin, a shadow and a threat, ever real, never sleeping. Elenwen knew, and what was more, the Ambassador had told her companion. One needed only to meet the younger Altmer’s burning glare to know this. 

Yes, Mistress.

Where Leara found the strength to deny Elenwen’s attendance to the council, she wasn’t sure. But if she took nothing else from him, she could thank Ulfric’s adamance that the Thalmor be denied presence. And he had every right to do so. How could any of them fathom what Elenwen had done to him during the war?

What Leara did to him.

She shuddered. 

The golden iron of Elenwen’s grip held Leara’s wrist in a snare. “Considering all the years we spent together, I had hoped you would think differently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but don’t you, Vilya?”

Leara twisted back, tugging at her wrist, but Elenwen’s grip remained firm. The other hand came to catch her chin. Again, Leara threw herself back, but Elenwen was firm. Then her thumb and forefinger cradled Leara’s chin as the other fingers, long and biting, splayed across the side of Leara’s neck. She could feel her pulse drum against the steal hold. 

“Don’t be a brat, Vilya. You know how I hate your childishness.” 

The fingers tightened, pressing into her windpipe. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl.” The hand did not relent. No, instead, Elenwen leaned closer still, lips so close to Leara’s ear that she could feel the cool breath brush her skin. A shiver ran down her neck and into her chest. The corset tightened. “This is how it is going to be. Your little charade is over. This defiant streak you’ve fostered will be pruned. Perhaps you believe you’ve been clever in your evasion of the Aldmeri Dominion, but no one can run forever, not the Blades, and certainly not you, my pet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Elenwen regarded her with green-gold eyes, as bright and acidic as any ripening citrus fruit. Unbidden, a memory of someone in her class comparing Elenwen’s eyes to Lady Finduilas’s citrus orchard rose up. Their glower was just as sour. “The only reason you will walk out of here alive,” Elenwen said softly, poisonous, “is because intelligence reports you are the only one capable of ending this little dragon crisis. Certainly, those fools you’ve invited to this mockery of diplomacy seem to think so. Once it is resolved, expect to be visited by a Justiciar force. Resistance is futile.”

Leara tried to swallow, only to gag against the collar of flesh around her neck. 

“I don’t know how a half-breed such as you managed to infiltrate the ranks of the Thalmor and ascend to such a high position,” Elenwen continued, low in Leara’s ear, “but believe me, we will find out. When we take you, you will beg for death before the end. We will unmake you, and when at last you die, you will not know your own name, Vilya, or any other.”

The mechanical “Yes, Mistress” clawed its way up Leara’s throat, but she fought it down. She fought Alduin—and lost—but she survived the first encounter. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t let Elenwen leave here believing she had the upper hand. Again. Leara tricked the Ambassador for years, back when she was not nearly as important as she was now, and hadn’t Leara done it again just months ago at the Embassy party? She was a Blade first, and hiding was in her nature. 

You are the one who revealed yourself to the Dominion, you bloody bimbo.

Wasn’t she? The pieces didn’t all fit within her mind, but then, Elenwen’s intelligence network was more than Leara could keep up with amid the dragon crisis. The Thalmor had agents hunting her for months. Every move she made was chronicled by their eagle-eyed spies. And she’d made some bad moves, her encounter with the wizard Ancano, for one, and the performance in Solitude, for another. And then she answered to Vilya. Yes, Leara passed the point of deniability long ago. It seemed Elenwen anticipated that, or else she wouldn’t have touched her. She knew Leara for what she was. 

Hopefully, hopefully, Leara could pull the wool back over her eyes when she came for her. Or, if not, daze the Thalmor enough so that Leara could once again escape their grasp. 

The defiance strangled the old compliance. “Surely you realize I will go to someone and tell them what you’ve said. You’ve promised me death. I don’t think the Nords will take kindly to their Dragonborn being threatened by the Thalmor.”

But Elenwen only smiled, flashing pearly teeth in a predatory gleam. “Who would you run to? After all, you said it yourself: You’re alone. Tullius is mine, and Ulfric won’t help you once he realizes what you are. Sooner or later, the Jarl of Whiterun will ow to one of them, and you’ll have nowhere to turn. Not even the old men want you here.” Her thumb stroked along Leara’s jaw. “I do hope you’re not counting on that little ranger of yours. He will soon flee than fight for you.”

Tears bit at the corners of Leara’s eyes, icy as they wound down the side of her face. Cooing, Elenwen released her wrist and brushed them away. “Now, now, my pet, don’t cry. You knew this was inevitable the moment you crossed the Dominion. Perhaps if you hadn’t left, I’d have kept your secret. After all, you always were my most promising instrument.” 

Then Elenwen drew Leara forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was dry and hard, just as it always was. Her thumb brushed the lingering tears on Leara’s still face, and then she stood. The sudden cold was a relief from the intensity of Elenwen’s proximity, but still, Leara couldn’t breathe. She would relearn to breathe soon, but for now, she was still choking on the doom in her chest. The bands of iron did not release her lungs. 

“Compose yourself quickly, my pet,” Elenwen sang, saccharine. “Didn’t I teach you not to fall apart outside closed doors?” Her laughter was light and high. “Don’t fret. I will see you again before we leave High Hrothgar. And after that,” her eyes softened, but not truly. It was a false gentleness. Infantilizing and demeaning. “It won’t be long until I have you again.”

Like that, Elenwen was gone, leaving Leara in a huddle of gooseflesh covered by too-thin clothes. Her hair was a mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. The iron corset encasing her lungs was freezing over, binding hard around her. Was this what others felt when she cast the Frozen Façade over them? Her fingers jerked, painful as they unwound from the tight fists, but nothing happened. Not even her magic could banish the feeling. Feim. Zii. 

Pressing both palms over her heart, Leara pushed against them, panting. Air trickled into her lungs, painful against the force Elenwen exerted on her throat. Just enough not to leave a bruise but enough that Leara wouldn’t forget the touch too quickly. She kept panting, and soon, her lungs were working against the fear strangling her. Feim. Zii. 

Once she felt she could breathe, Leara wavered to her feet. Her mind reeled at what Elenwen had said. The Thalmor weren’t just coming for her. They were going to kill her, and now there was no doubt. And there was no one to help her. No one.

She was alone. 

But hadn’t she always been? It was foolish for her to ever think otherwise. 

Yet that never stopped her from surviving, did it? She had until she faced Alduin to decide how best to evade Elenwen’s agents. But such a decision hinged on Leara’s surviving the battle in Sovngarde in the first place. More and more, she was starting to think that it may be best for her to die facing Alduin, so long as she took him down with her. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of surviving indefinitely but surviving until she faced Alduin for the final time. 

Because that was her destiny, wasn’t it? She was Dragonborn. By the grace of Akatosh, she was born to face the World-Eater in this twilight hour. Everything before that a stepping stone needed to reach that point. 

Dashing the remnants of half-frozen tears from her face, Leara turned back toward High Hrothgar. And then, the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled as if there were eyes still on her. Eyes that never left her. Lifting her skirts, she hurried back toward one of the side doors, the closest to her bedroom. 

But even in the shadow of the monastery, the eyes never left her. 

[lu-fic-recommendation-of-the-day]

Hello! I don't know if you still do fics, but I recommend "The Dear Four Chronicles" by Illegible_Handwriting!

I don't know if you're caught up with something irl, busy, or perhaps burnout, but I hope you are doing well! (⁠っ⁠.⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)⁠っ

-👻

Summary:

"Everything stays right where you left it Everything stays But it still changes Ever so slightly, daily and nightly In little ways, when everything stays" Rebecca Sugar, "Everything Stays"

Letters from post-LU heroes to pre-LU children, the struggles those children face, and the enduring love that Links have for others in their Chain.

Tags:

Sky/Sun

Angst

Fluff

Hurt/Comfort

letters fic

Four Needs a Hug

everybody needs a hug

Four-centric

Time-centric

Time Needs a HUg

Letters

Fairies

Angst With a Happy Ending (sort of)

Minor Swearing

Platonic love confessions

Word count: 18,776

Finished: No

__________

Quick note: I'm alive! Just forgot about this blog sorry. Thanks for checking in!

[kaelio]

Hi everybody! I've compiled, with our old-man-boy loremaster Armand here, the Interview with the Vampire (Vampire Chronicles) worldbuilding information in a relatively easy-to-read format, and now, it's time to pass it along to you! If you haven't read the books, this is a guide to basically the "rules"/mechanisms of what's going on under the hood. Surely, the show will change a number of these. But at least now you can learn the majority of it without having to read all the books right away. Enjoy!

Okay so:   Vampires do not need to be invited into homes. Vampires can enter churches and places of worship without being harmed; similarly, crucifixes and holy water do not harm them. Prayer does not harm them. That said, some vampires do not enter churches or engage with certain religious materials as a matter of practice, and there were some cults/covens who believed they could not enter churches without being harmed, as discussed between Armand and Lestat. Vampires as a group, and some vampires specifically (such as Pandora, Mael, and Marius) precede Christianity and have differing views about it.

Vampires cannot shapeshift. Vampires cannot turn into mist, or wolves, or bats, etc. Vampires cannot inherently find or indicate buried treasure, but they can potentially read the mind of someone who does know where it is. Vampires cannot speak to animals and do not have animal familiars. Vampires can see their reflections in mirrors. Vampires cast shadows. Vampires are not affected by religious imagery, prayer, or religious practices (except for personal reasons), including piles of salt or sand. Some of them enjoy counting, but they are not compelled to count objects. Vampires are not averse to garlic, or any other foodstuff, although non-blood food is unpalatable and they cannot digest it. Vampires are not affected by running water or by silver. Rice described the Vampire Chronicles vampires as “preternatural not supernatural”. (Later, she introduced clearly supernatural things such as ghosts, but this sensibility generally holds for vampires.)

Vampires are “static” in appearance but not in capacity. Vampires increase in strength both inherently, over time, and as a result of feeding on blood. Vampires can become slightly stronger or at least persist feeding on animal blood, and become stronger yet feeding regularly (usually nightly) on human blood. However, a key capability is strength by consuming the blood of other vampires, which is usually a shared act ranging from a favor to an act of intimacy, but is occasionally applied purely mechanistically. For example, when Lestat is gravely afflicted, he seeks Armand in Paris for the favor of Armand’s blood to assist in his healing; this is a favor. Meanwhile, Marius offers his blood to Zenobia in order to meet what he feels is an obligation in leaving a newly-created vampire without its sire. Access to Akasha, the original vampire, is access to the most powerful vampiric blood. Eudoxia, Lestat, Bianca, Pandora, Khayman, and Marius were all given implicit permission by Akasha to feed on her blood and therefore become significantly more powerful than vampires who have not done so.

The strength of the vampire which created a fledgling vampire will also define a recruit’s initial strength. A stronger vampire will create a stronger fledgling. Furthermore, it takes vampires time to “recharge” this capability. The longer it has been since a vampire has created another vampire, the stronger the recruit will be. Armand, for example, explains to Lestat that Nicholas is perhaps only half as powerful as Gabrielle initially, and Louis at best half as powerful as Nicholas.

Vampires have a range of powers they tend to accrue over time as they become older and consume more blood (particularly the blood of other vampires, particularly the blood of other powerful vampires such as Akasha). These are usually referred to as Gifts, such as the Mind Gift (psychic abilities) and the Cloud Gift (levitation). These are nonlinear and seemingly depend on the individual vampire as well as their specific preceding experiences. Psychic communication with other vampires is immediate. Others, such as the Fire Gift (pyrokinesis) take more time and not every vampire will develop them. Some abilities, such as inhuman strength, are intrinsic. Louis, a weak vampire especially for his age, cannot even hypnotize humans effectively (as noted by Armand in “The Vampire Armand”). Others, such as Marius, might have powers that outstrip even older vampires, such as those of Avicus, and significantly outstrip those of equal tenure, e.g. Mael. I forgot what umbrella the ‘can explode rats with your mind’ talent is, so I will call it the Explode Rats with Your Mind Gift, which Marius possesses, allows one to explode rats with his or her mind. These terms are invented by vampires to discuss their powers and aren’t intrinsic, nor do they derive from any established “rulebook” of any kind. Vampires are forever iteratively attempting to figure out what their powers actually are, and many are unaware of certain skills they may have.

The ability of vampires to speak to one another telepathically is a major feature of the Dark Gift (the term for vampirism overall). However, sires cannot speak to direct fledglings. This mechanism is incredibly important in the books, as vampires are often made by people who have a pre-existing relationship of some kind with that person. Marius makes Sybelle a vampire for Armand, which means Armand can speak to her, even though Marius cannot, as a way to bypass Armand’s inability to communicate with her telepathically if he were to make Sybelle a vampire himself. Meanwhile, Marius and Armand cannot communicate telepathically which probably would have solved a lot of problems. This can be circumvented by using another vampire as a conduit, as Armand points out that Gabrielle could help Lestat more often, even though she cannot hear him and he cannot hear her, just by routing whatever he is trying to communicate through a third party.

Many vampires feel ignorant and purposeless and are thus susceptible to cult mentalities. For example, Santino established a number of Satanic cults before losing interest and eventually being destroyed by Thorne. However, there is never any indication that these cults are more than a coping mechanism for the vampires who are members. These cults however often policed the creation and existence of vampires within certain territories.

Vampires are generally territorial and often do not like the presence of other vampires. To the extent they interact, it is usually fleeting, which is to say either incidental meetings (as with Bianca and Armand in Paris) or a cat-colony-esque gathering that comes into being and disperses without an obvious hierarchy or purpose. (Vampires are so regularly described feline terms that their behavior is honestly best explained as “becoming a vampire makes you a cat”.) The population of vampires is often controlled by younger vampires killing older vampires, especially in cult settings, once they go mad, and older vampires killing younger vampires for being verminous. Armand, for example, explains the necessity of killing Alessandra for having lost her mind due to her age, and then later explains he enjoys “clearing out” cities of younger vampires as well (“Queen of the Damned”), and that he is forced to steer clear of the rare vampire who is even older than he is, lest they decide to kill him in turn. Vampires are not generally incentivized to make other vampires except as lackeys or via an established cult pathway.

Vampires may turn people they knew in life or get to know later, but this requires vampires to show interest in specific living persons which happens but not necessarily often. New vampires have very high attrition rates. All “successful” vampires are essentially mentally ill in personally-tailored ways. Vampires tend to be very emotional and rather reckless, though there are semi-exceptions like Gabrielle. Vampires will also cycle through fixations or obsessions to help pass the time, as is implied to have happened to Santino despite the devastating effects of having conscripted Armand during his Satanic promotion phase. Some fixations can be considerably more benign, like Louis rereading Keats, Marius copying paintings, or Daniel’s basement of model trains. Some vampires are numb (Pandora), some withdraw entirely from the notions of human civilization (Gabrielle), some assign themselves seemingly benign if useless causes (Marius), some indulge in fashionable depression (Louis), some are fanatically insane (Armand), and some are forever whacking the metaphorical wasp’s nest just to see what happens (Lestat).

To be a vampire, an individual must have in some way or for some reason a cavalier approach to the value of a human life, although quite a few of them would attest otherwise. However, when the cards are down, basically any vampire will kill any human in a pinch. Many are utterly indifferent, such as Claudia and Gabrielle, and remain utterly indifferent. Some cycle through how much they do or do not pretend to care about human beings. Even vampires who are characterized as “more reluctant”, such as Louis, are regularly highlighted for essentially playing games with themselves, as noted by Akasha. The extent to which they police their hunting varies book-by-book.

Vampires reproduce by sucking the blood from the recruit, mixing it with their own blood within their own body, and then sharing that mixed blood with the recruit. There is no requirement that blood comes from any specific font on either the giver or receiver. The receiver will then later die and spew whatever had previously been in his or her digestive system. From that point forward, the receiver is a vampire and will have basic vampire skills such as improved strength and reversion to one’s default physical state during the day. There is no technical limitation requiring this transformation to be consensual, and in key examples, such as Claudia, it is not.

Vampires are not supposed to turn children into vampires, although there isn’t an overarching authority that establishes this beyond other vampires choosing to individually become involved. It’s self-evidently cruel towards someone who is extremely young, which is not to imply that vampires do not do it anyway. Marius specifically warns Lestat not to make vampires as young as Armand (17), which Lestat later does with Claudia (5) regardless, and then Marius later converts Benjamin (14). Eudoxia was also a similar age as Benjamin, approximately fifteen, and conversely maintains that only the young should be made into vampires, such as her fledglings Asphar and Zenobia. The Satantic cult in Rome, for a time overseen by Santino, never made vampires of those over thirty. Pandora and Marius are relatively unusual for being older when they became vampires.

Vampires are generally very good-looking, largely for cultural reasons, which is to say that some cults had rules about only making vampires from attractive humans but it really seems that these “rules” to whatever extent they existed generally derived from vampires being incorrigibly vain. (The Doylist reason of course being the likelihood said vampire would feature in erotic passages in the novels.) Even vampires that are considered especially attractive also seem to become easily infatuated with one another if only for brief stints.

As vampires cannot have sex, vampires have odd relationships with one another that are by necessity described in human terms but clearly do not quite map to human terms, which in part is established by often listing different human relationship types in sequence when trying to characterize relationships to one another. E.g. the terms “paramour” and “lover” show up even for characters who don’t have what would regularly be considered romantic much less sexual relationships.

Vampires can engage in some sexual activity, in that they can provide manual stimulation or oral stimulation to living people, but they do not have “sex” as such (*reminder that this is a books 1-8 summary). As a result, the “sexuality” of vampires is difficult to define. Armand specifically notes that Lestat was actively sexual with women and men before he died, but that is considered noteworthy vis-à-vis his or any other vampire’s relationships postmortem. Of course, Armand also had sex with women and men pre-mortem so this might again be one of Armand’s tangents about how he isn’t sure why Lestat won’t be his companion, completely ignoring the fact that Armand is markedly mental even by vampire standards and that surely has more to do with it. Owing to their inability to have conventional sex, this means some implicitly sexual activity toward a vampire includes licking the blood out of a vampire’s eyes.

One would think the absence of “sex” would make vampires less weird about sex and suffice to say that would be a misapprehension.

Vampires are casually violent, again like cats. Vampires that like one another will often have beaten or otherwise injured one another, often many times. As a result of their long lives and the strangeness of their existence, vampires tend to be very forgiving of extreme behavior but still sensitive to more human slights. For example, Lestat and Armand are on good terms and are strong allies even though they beat the daylights out of one another now and then. By the time Louis and Lestat reunite in Los Angeles, Lestat is ambivalent about having been set on fire several times. Meanwhile, Pandora and Marius had fairly normal arguments and have been unable to reconcile for over a thousand years.

Vampires do not need to sleep in coffins, and some don’t. The coffin or sarcophagus is traditional but it exists primarily to block out light. Gabrielle, for example, sleeps in the dirt, and Lestat in a pique has done the same. Marius at times sleeps in a regular bed in a lightproof room. A sarcophagus can also offer some protection, as a vampire is strong enough to move a stone lid that a lone human could not. Some vampires have been instructed to use a coffin by other vampires, but it isn’t necessary. Speaking of vampire sleep, vampires choose when they go to sleep but they do not choose when they awaken.

Vampires are insensate while they sleep. Some vampires wake earlier than others and this is implied to depend more on the person than his or her intrinsic power. For example, Lestat canonically wakes about an hour before most other vampires and simply ascribes it to being an early riser. During sleep, vampires will return to their default physical status. For example, if a vampire cut its hair during the day, it will regrow that night. Armand has video recorded his hair growing during the day while he is asleep. (Of course, if a vampire is grievously injured, this return to their fixed status cannot happen in only one day.)

If a vampire is made while the person is wounded or dying, their condition will improve as part of becoming a vampire, as with Gabrielle. That said, vampires have been known to heal persons who are about to be turned before turning them, as with Marius’ turning of the wounded Armand. Vampire blood has a mending effect on wounds, and it is not uncommon for vampires to use this to disguise the damage their bites leave on corpses to help keep their murders or other feeding inconspicuous.

Vampires do not inherently need to kill the people they feed on, but they usually do. The practice on non-lethally drinking from a human is difficult and requires practice and power—power that usually derives from having lethally fed on thousands if not tens of thousands of people. The vampires who care about human lives at all, or the potential moral implications of feeding, generally resort to the idea that feeding on “bad people” isn’t quite as morally awful, but the reality is that no vampire described in the series has ever represented a remotely moral existence. Vampires such as Lestat might reach a point where they suspect feeding is no longer necessary for their survival, but they kill and feed nevertheless because they enjoy doing so.

Children are even more pleasurable to feed on than adults, according to Armand. It is taboo to create a child vampire, but children are routinely fed upon.

Vampires usually feed and kill every night. Many vampires prefer to kill early in the night as this makes them appear more passably human. Vampires flush with vitality after they feed. This can stack, as vampires who feed on multiple people in one night will appear more human than those who have only eaten one or two. When Marius slays the banquet, Armand notes that he appears afterwards nearly human.

Vampires must stop feeding before the person they are drinking from dies, or they become seriously ill. Vampires can be made ill by poison in the blood of the person upon which they fed.

If a vampire starves or is seriously wounded or burned, it may appear skeletal or otherwise scarred and strange. Vampires recover by drinking blood, either the blood of animals or humans or the blood of other vampires. The blood of other vampires is much more effective than the blood of humans, which is more effective than the blood of animals. The more powerful the “source” vampire, the more powerful the healing effect. For example, Lestat seeks out Armand when he is wounded for Armand’s healing blood. Vampires can recover from virtually any injury. A “stake through the heart” would be essentially irrelevant although potentially annoying. Vampires do not turn to dust when they die, although, as fire and sun are the only ways to kill a tenured vampire, many die as ash.

Vampires can be killed by beheading, sun, and fire, although with age a vampire becomes resistant to all three and impervious to the first. Mael, even then a well-tenured vampire, is beheaded and his arm is severed, and Avicus and Marius are able to reattach both by re-severing them and attaching them again properly. This process is described as essentially the operation room scene from John Carpenter’s “The Thing” but in reverse, with tendrils reaching out to join the various components. The sun becomes less effective over time, with several vampires (including Mael again) finding the process too long and agonizing as a means of suicide. Fire is apparently always a mechanism, although vampires can survive being severely burned provided they are not fully carbonized (such as Lestat, Marius, and Teskhamen, as opposed to Magnus). Vampires are also said to die by starvation, but it’s suggested this is reversible if their mummified remains are exposed to fresh blood.

Vampires commonly terminate via suicide and particularly for the eldest vampires, nothing is likely to ever kill them aside from another more powerful vampire, or self-immolation.

Vampires become increasingly plasticky over time. Their skin also tends to whiten, although many vampires are described as very ashen essentially right away. Even early in the series, Akasha and Enkil in particular are described this way, as appearing to be made of a strange polymer or mineral. The extent to which vampires become increasingly inert is not clear, or whether this is a response to outside events. Vampires can become comatose, and they can also leave this comatose state, and it does not appear to be dependent on blood the same way as recovering from skeletal starvation. Thorne, Marius, and Lestat all have noteworthy coma periods.

Vampires can experience injury, including fatal injury, if the holder of the Sacred Core (this core also being known as the Amel) is correspondingly wounded. For this reason, Akasha and Enkil are referred to as “Those Who Must Be Kept”, despite appearing as statues and only rarely moving or communicating. This stems from a misunderstanding of the couple, as only Akasha actually holds the core and eventually kills Enkil with no consequence. When Akasha is killed, the Sacred Core is eaten out of her body by Mekare, although later books indicate it was damaged during transfer.

As a result of vampires originating in Egypt, vampirism has largely radiated out from Egypt. Particularly in accounts of the early existence of vampires, e.g. the First Brood, vampirism is an Egyptian phenomenon which then spreads out to incidents within territories bordering the Mediterranean.

Vampires are often described as having unusually pretty eyes, though the extent to which this is true depends on how much is assigned to the author’s description versus objective reality. However, it is clearly true that vampires have strange fingernails which appear perennially lacquered. There are the prettier traits. Vampires also weep in a mix of blood, and they sweat blood. Vampires can make themselves appear “more human” by slaking their faces in human blood which temporarily makes their skin appear more human.

Though vampires, broadly speaking, don’t tend to fear humans very much, they can be captured by humans. Magnus captured a vampire to steal the Dark Gift, for example, and some druidic cults had a practice of keeping starved vampires under trees to exploit their powers, as with the Gods of the Grove Avicus and Teskhamen.

There is a secret society with knowledge of vampires, the Talamasca, but they are not vampire slayers. They catalogue the actions of vampires and help them disguise their existence in the world, as well as offer other services like research and acting as a point of contact (as with Raymond Gallant). Members of the Talamasca have been known to become vampires themselves, such as David Talbot.

Sometimes vampires to choose to change the names by which they are known. The vampire known as Pandora was, in life, “Lydia” and Armand in life was originally “Andrei” and then in Italy known as “Amadeo”.  

(Created with the help of @thecactifindahome 🌵!)

[letmebehuman16]

Dear Diary.

Amid nightly storms only they can hear, a narrator chronicles a decent into fear and paranoia. Stalked by eerie figures, and strange events that haunt their daily life. What begins as as a personal diary, quickly turns into a disturbing list of events, documentation of the unexplainable.

(this is an ongoing project.)

27/10/2006

Dear Diary,

It happened again. This is the fifth night in a row that I’ve been caught in an unexpected thunderstorm. Every night, right at midnight, the sky comes to life, jolting me awake with insanely loud thunder. 

What’s so strange is that it doesn’t last long—exactly 10 minutes. Just enough time to make me question reality. No one else seems to experience it. I’ve asked around, but no one mentions waking up or even hearing anything unusual. It’s as if the storms are meant only for me.

Despite the oddness, I’ve found comfort in them. Every night, I’ve been making myself fancy hot chocolates, piled high with whipped cream and marshmallows, sitting by the window and watching the flashes of lightning dance across the sky. The rain taps gently against the glass, and the thunder rolls in the distance—it's a strange sort of calm. There’s something almost intimate about it, like a secret ritual between me and the storm.

As for everything else, things are... well, usual, I suppose. Austen and Ruby broke up, which isn’t surprising. My dog died, which has left an emptiness in the house that I haven’t quite processed yet. And my mother—well, she’s still as crazy as ever. A few months ago, I caught her having a full-on conversation with a betta fish. She swore the fish answered her back. Then, just a few days later, she was convinced the TV was talking to her, giving her life advice. I really need to call her therapist.

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31/10/2006

I’ve been absent the last few days, and I’m sorry about that, but I have a lot to report.

Something... strange happened last night. It was during one of those thunderstorms again, but this time, there was no rain. No clouds, either. The thunder cracked through the sky, and the lightning flashed as brightly as ever, but when I looked outside—nothing. Just the clear, starry sky. How can there be thunder without a storm? Lightning without clouds? Maybe there’s a scientific explanation, but it felt wrong. Unnatural, even. The storm still began at midnight, exactly like before, but this time it left me feeling unsettled.

Something else strange happened. On my way home from work, I noticed a man standing just outside my house, lurking in the shadows of the tree line. I acted like I didn’t see him—I mean, what could I do? I live in the middle of nowhere. The nearest neighbour is a ten-minute drive down a desolate road, and I’m certainly not running that far in the dark. I couldn’t make out his face or what he was wearing, and I didn’t want to linger long enough to figure it out. My gut told me to lock the doors and windows, so I did.

I’ve been telling myself that maybe he was just some random guy passing by, or maybe he wasn’t even looking at my house. People stare off into space all the time when they’re bored. Right? But a part of me can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. Maybe I should buy a rape alarm. Or make some pepper spray. I haven’t looked out the window since. What if he sees me? 

On another note, I called my mum’s therapist today. She assured me she’d arrange to see her soon, but let’s be real—my mother is unpredictable, and her therapist isn’t exactly a beacon of stability either. The irony is almost laughable. A woman who makes a living by giving advice, but can’t seem to follow her own. How does that even work? It’s absurd. Honestly, she’s just as much of a mess as my mum is, which makes me wonder... is there any hope at all? 

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4/11/2006

Happy November! Spooky season is officially behind us. November always felt like a filler month to me. Not much happens, and the days seem to drag. At least the air is crisp and the surplus of rain feels like a prelude to winter. It’s all fine, except I think I’m coming down with something. My head feels like it’s being split in half, and I’ve been coughing non-stop. Of course, just as the thunderstorms stop, I get sick. Sleeping’s going to be a nightmare. Again.

The man outside my house hasn’t shown up since, which is a relief. I was probably overreacting—he was likely just waiting for someone or taking a shortcut. Who knows. 

Speaking of weird, Ruby’s birthday is coming up soon. I have no idea what to get her. Maybe I should buy her a self-help guide on relationships. She could definitely use it. Austen’s the fifth guy she’s been with this year alone, and to be honest, her taste is... questionable. The last guy she dated before Austen actually tried to get her to dress like his ex. Who does that? Insane, right? But Ruby didn’t see the red flags at the time. She was happy, and no matter how much I tried to tell her it was unhealthy, it was like talking to a brick wall. She’ll figure it out one day, I hope. 

Maybe I’ll just get her some flowers. 

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10/11/2006

Rubys birthday was really fun! We went to this local bar in town and got absolutely hammered. I had to call in sick for work because I was so hungover, but it was worth it. I ended up getting her a bunch of roses and a CD from her favourite band, Muse. She was really happy with it. 

My cold has gotten worse, though, that may be because I was drinking, but that was 4 days ago. Today I've had this strange fever that won't go down. Working with a fever isn't fun-- I don't recommend it. It got easier to deal with as the day went on, and right now it's not so bad, but it still sucks, ibuprofen has been my best friend for the past few days. It should get better soon. 

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Mum was hospitalised today, something to do with her mental capacity. I don't really know what's going on with her, but her therapist called me 5 minutes ago to tell me that she had to section her. I’m planning to visit soon, hopefully I can get some answers. My mums always been strange, but she's never been a risk to herself. It's worrying and I can't help but feel guilty, what if she's just lonely? I've been too caught up in my own mess to even see her. 

I need to do better.

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21/11/2006

I went to see mum today and as I am writing this I'm fighting the urge to break down into tears. She was completely unresponsive and muttering to herself, I don't think she even knew I was there and I sat in front of her the entire time. I was shocked at how fragile she looked, skin and bone, bags under her eyes like she hadn't slept for weeks, her hair was thin and straw-like and her eyes were bloodshot. She was staring through me the entire time, completely unaware of her situation. I guess that's a good thing, mental hospitals are a terrifying place to be, but at least she has care now. 

As for the strange and unusual, not much has happened. Though, I had a suspicion I was being followed a few days ago-- even though there was nothing there, I just couldn't shake the weird feeling I got, the type of feeling you get when you're in serious danger, my palms were covered in a cold sweat, my heart was racing, I kept looking over my shoulder. I feel like I’ve just been stressed, work, my mum, it's a lot to deal with and I’ve not been sleeping because this cold still hasn't shifted. I just need a good night's sleep and a day doing nothing. 

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1/12/2006

I completely forgot this even existed.

 I did not manage to get a day to myself, or a good night sleep. It was definitely wishful thinking on my part, but hey! It's Christmas time. It started to snow around the 27th and now it's been consistent. My door was blocked by snow and I couldn't get my car out of the drive for an hour. It was a struggle. 

Work is going… somewhere, Christmas has made everything busier and honestly it's becoming difficult to even move around the shop floor. Not to mention I have been forced to listen to Mariah Cary every day for the past week. I'm getting sick of her voice. 

Ruby's family invited me over for Christmas. Which was really nice of them, but I also don’t want to feel like a bother.

I'm still sick and haven't had a decent night sleep in a while. I must've had a nose bleed during the night because my pillow was completely stained, and I still feel weird. I asked work to reduce my hours so I'm not working when it gets dark, and I'm driving everywhere. I don't know why I'm feeling so off. I'm certain something is going on, but anytime I manage to think of reasons my mind goes blank. I'm so tired.