#The sun vanished kin

[darkwater-reservoir]

TSV: I'm just micheal who's a loner so he must be a stoner rides a pt cruiser god he's such a loser micheal flying solo who you think that you know micheal in the bathroom by himselfffff

Nat: TSV I love you and I don't think you have bad taste but even if I didn't already know you liked bmc. I would be able to tell.

Tucker: I call my microwave micheal wave

TSV, to Nat: WHY ARE YOU MEAN TO ME

[midnightsun-if]

DEMO — Chapter One: Part One [34K Words] — 11/12/23

FAQ || PINTEREST || SPOTIFY || DISCORD

Aurelian Academy, the pinnacle of evolution within the supernatural world; the first landmark to be erected after the Dark Ages— the time when supernatural races still lived within the shadows of the mortal world.

You’ve been prepared to go for your entire life— all one hundred years of it. Being the youngest child of a ruling vampire clan didn’t give you much choice in the matter. Going to Aurelian meant taking the next big step in your immortal life regardless.

Will you be able to prove yourself to your parents? To your siblings? Will you be able to uncover the mysteries that surround the ancient school?

Or will everything vanish as the midnight sun approaches?

Create your character. Customize your name, potential nickname, gender (male/female/non-binary), sexuality, appearance, and hobbies. (Note: The MC is a Vampire and is 100 Years Old.)

Choose from 3 Classes— Charmer, Shadow-Kin, or Warrior.

How does your character feel about humans? Are they simply ants that you don’t bother with? Potential allies? An intriguing conundrum?

Do you enjoy the modern world? Or do you miss the simplicity of the past?

Romance 1 of 8 potential romances.

Explore Aurelian Academy and uncover the secrets that litter the ancient halls. Just make sure you don’t miss class while doing so.

Koda Kingston — [He/Him] — Bear-Shifter — He’s a mass of muscle and warmth, eyes filled with good humor and overall joy. Might not have a lot going on upstairs, but he’s definitely got the spirit. [Male MCs Only]

Scarlett Voltaire — [She/Her] — Vampire — Cold as ice, ruthless to any that oppose her, with a flair of heated contempt at the people who annoy her, Scarlett is the middle child to the oldest ruling family within the vampiric race. [Female MCs Only]

Cyrus/Cyra Aurelia — [He/Him or She/Her] — Phoenix — Heir to the Eclipse Throne; they’re the eldest child of House Aurelia, Founders of Aurelian Academy. They’re the pinnacle of what an heir should be: dutiful, strong-willed, and loyal above all else.

Quinn Grant — [He/Him or She/Her] — Wolf-Shifter — An individual that’s been whispered about within the halls of your home; a prospected mate in the event that both your warring families wish to unite. Now that you’re meeting them, you may be able to see if that’ll ever become a reality.

Caden Randall — [He/Him or She/Her] — Phantom — Appearing on a random night five years before, they’re not exactly what someone comes to expect when thinking about a phantom: scared of their own shadow, fretful, and a complete neat freak. They’re tasked with ensuring your stay at Aurelian Academy goes smoothly.

Sloane Addams — [He/Him or She/Her] — Wolf-Shifter — A wolf-shifter without a pack, disgraced in the deepest way possible, they don’t seem to be that overjoyed at the prospect of attending Aurelian Academy, but that doesn’t mean they’re not set on proving themself and finding a pack once more.

Blake Herrera — [He/Him or She/Her] — Demon-Hybrid — Your best friend (and potential FWB). With a flirtatious air, a rebellious spirit, and an affinity at finding trouble, they’re a demon that takes a bit to get used to.

Reginald/Regina Presley — [He/Him or She/Her] — Human — A scholarship student to Aurelian Academy; the first of many that may be attending. With a thirst for knowledge, along with a devil-may-care attitude, they’ll try their best to fit in. Of course, that’s easier said than done. As they’re the first human to ever be admitted as a student.

PINTEREST (OTHER) || MALE ROS FCS || FEMALE ROS FC || FAMILY FCS || ROS SKIN TONES

[roselibrary]

𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐞 || 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon! Reader

Trigger Warnings: murder, targcest, eventual dark!aemond, yandere!aemond, obsessive behaviour, typical targ madness

Summary: Aemond would have his sea-nymph one way or another.

Requests are open!

Summer blossomed like the pink buds on a cherry tree coming to life the day the young Prince Aemond realised his affection for his niece. She had ensnared his soul and enraptured his heart like the vines of ivy devouring the exterior of a Keep. Silver locks and lilac spun eyes that beheld all the secrets in the world, it seemed. Soft-tanned skin – a perfect blend of her mother and father though the same could not be said for those she called brothers – that beamed soft gold in the light of the sun and lips that looked as if only the sweetest of fruits had kissed them. Her hair shone pearlescent in a similar fashion to the decorations often found woven into her curly smooth locks. They fascinated him; the way the peals glimmered in the light and emerged from her curls like the foam atop a crashing wave.

More Velaryon than Targaryen in truth was she. She, too, had no dragon to call her own but instead proclaimed the sea as her abode and its treasures her horde. He wished to be considered a valuable item amongst those she already kept. Soft-spoken and gentle in nature she was her mother's pride and joy – the image of her grandmother they deemed the sea nymph. Sometimes, he wondered if she could grow a tail much like the mystical mermaid on the sigil of House Manderly and if she could, would she finally join her beloved sea and leave them all to wither on land? Those thoughts never brought him any comfort. Instead, he remained grateful that for as much as she wished to join the sea in all ways; she simply was unable to.

He often prayed to the gods in thanks for her inability to simply vanish on the waves.

It became lonely, living in such cold solitude, after a while and none could deny the younger prince led a cold, solitary life. His other kin shone so brightly, vivaciously and with such vitality that it was easy for him to fall into the shadows, the darkness, and the madness. He was a scarred second son of a King who did not even deem his firstborn son his heir. Aemond believed deeply in tradition and the stability such a thing brought to the realm; he could not fathom his elder half-sister bringing chaos with her untraditional succession claim. His sister would openly have a bastard follow her on the throne. Perhaps that’s where his true sentiments lay; he did not despise his sister for being a woman with a powerful agency, or even for being the heir to the throne, but for what would come after his sister's succession. What precedent would it set if bastards could inherit before trueborn children? What chaos would that sow within the realm? Aemond was a man of routine, tradition, and unrelenting stability all of which Rhaenyra was inherently posed to ruin.

Aemond didn’t wish to see his little sea nymph fall with her mother, as she undoubtedly would, due to her unending loyalty and devotion to her catastrophic family. His Gentle Dragon had no qualms openly expressing her love and devotion to the young men that would steal her birthright; it was bad enough the elder prince Jacaerys would steal her place upon the iron throne but downright insulting that, the younger than she, Lucerys would steal the birthright of her father from her person by claiming Driftmark. Aemond wished to see her claim her rightful place as the heiress of Driftmark as the only trueborn child of its heir, however, he would not want to see her seated atop the iron throne.

The monolithic, fearsome work of art did not suit the gentle and ever-changing disposition that she carried with her. Unmoving iron and sharp-edged swords should be nowhere near the supple curves and smooth skin lining her form, instead – if it were not for his no-good elder brother – he would sit upon the iron-casted seat of death in her place. He would be her King and she, his Queen. He had only to find a way to keep her with him permanently.  

Perhaps his father's addled mind and desperation for peace would smile fortuitously upon the one-eyed prince, for once.

It had been many a year since his eyes last wandered upon the form of his beloved sea nymph – a name he only acknowledged in his mind's depths. The realm’s Gentle Dragon had returned to Kings Landing alongside the rest of her kin when protests were raised on the legitimacy of her younger brother's claim to Driftmark. Something many deemed rightfully hers. She glowed effervescent in her Velaryon blue and soft violet threaded gown the silk gently forming the curves of her body and flowing down the lengths of her arms and back. It seemed the dress also recognised the girl's call of the sea for it moulded like waves and rippled in each minuscule movement of her own. The train of the gown followed behind her like the sea lapping at the sand of the beach never quite reaching as far in as it wished.

She stood beside her mother with her head held high in pride as her uncle all but disparaged what remained of her mother's good name - if anything was left of it to begin with. It had delighted him to see the Strong princelings debased in such a public manner and their mother alongside them. He enjoyed much less the disparagement of the Crown Princess’s only daughter and the belief that she would fall to the same whims her mother had and beget only bastards for her future husband. No, that did not please the prince at all. He had observed and planned and waited patiently for many a year to gain his nymph and she would give him no bastards – he knew she wouldn’t. His nymph was too intelligent, dutiful, and self-aware of the consequences of such a thing to attempt such a crime.

Still, his blood boiled, and his hands clenched behind his back. It took an effort to keep his stoicism about his person in the face of his ever-present wrath but within a second his wrath was replaced with bewildered wonderment. Gone was Ser Vaemond’s head; instead the figure of his uncle stood tall, proud, and nonchalant in the face of such grotesque violence. Aemond felt the stirrings of admiration and conflict within his chest at such a sight. This man, his uncle, was a threat, an obstacle, his biggest unrelenting guard towards what Aemond had deemed his. All the realms knew of how Daemon favoured his girls over his boys, and none could deny how he had claimed the Gentle Dragon as much his own as his other brown-skinned, silver-haired darlings. He clenched his jaw. It seemed he would need to confide with another of his aspirations if he wanted to succeed where others had failed.

As if the man could hear the thoughts echoing in the princeling's brain the Rogue turned and leered. Aemond could see the taunt within his gaze, the dare for him to be as foolish as the man who kept his tongue but lost his head.

He could hear the whisper Daemon Targaryen’s eyes conveyed.

“Claim her, if you're bold enough.”

Just as he proved to his father when he claimed Vhagar; Aemond would once more prove that he was, indeed, bold enough.

[fortune-fool02]

Substitute

Bigby Wolf x Fae female reader

Summary: Settling into Fabletown was harder than one anticipated. Cut away from the forest was painful.

Warning: Very light angst, fluff, comfort.

Thank you for reading this. Please leave feedback and reblog as it's highly appreciated.

Thank you. Please enjoy.

It was becoming unbearable now. The aching itch under the skin that refused to settle or be sated, burning away at her inside and gnawing like some starved beast. The sensation of being torn away from something familiar, dropped and dumped into someplace she didn't understand nor like. [Name] hated the city. She hated its bustling streets, the bright street lights that blocked out the comforting flickering of the stars.

Heavy stench of the city made her throat burn. Rubbish tossed around, the fumes of vehicles poisoning the air; not to mention the dreadful sounds of cars, people, streets, all of it. She hated every bit of it ever since they were forced here.

[Name] longed for the forest once more, but even the parks here offered not even a wisp of what she once knew. A small cluster of damaged trees that hadn't tasted fertile soil in many a years, it was a wonder they still stood. Grass that was trampled and worn down to the point it could no longer grow in some places. And the flowers... Their beauty of vibrancy had been dampened heavily. The faintest of touches would cause them to crumble and shrivel away. Not like the ones she knew, the flowers that bore form fertile soil -given by both magic, blood and tears- flowers that could offer aid if one knew what to look for.

Others told her to suck it up and forget the homelands, but she couldn't. Could a fish forget the ocean if it was taken and put in a tiny tank? In the forests, [Name] felt steady and strong, grounded and secure. But out here, in the city of New York, she felt lost, uneven. As if her entire being was constructed of nothing but static, held together by weak string. A part of her feared she would vanish one day.

The sun had long faded at this point, leaving her accompanied only by the blinding glow of the street light in the park. She found a spot amongst the bushes, tucked in as if she could find home among them. Her knees up to her chest, her eyes closed as she tried to picture home. Fae and others along their great kin, were supposed to be in woodlands and other places of such. Places where nature ruled strong, the nurturing hand of Mother Nature, and the magic that ran through the lands and soil. Home.

"You know there's seating over there, right?" The sudden voice yanked her from the little bubble, dragging her back to this dreadful reality. Her eyes shifted up to him, and she let out a light sneer.

"I prefer here, Sheriff." She replied, keeping herself seated on the ground, making no attempt to move. There had never been any ill will or sourness between [Name] and Bigby, after all, they did live in the same forest once. A faint trail of smoke seeped from the man's lips, the lit cigarette glowing dimly as he flicked some ash aside, earning another little scowl from her.

"What brings you out here at this time?" He asked, his motive nothing but sheer, simple curiosity. A soft sigh pasted her lips, her shoulders slumping down. For a Fae, she looked almost helpless, no, lost was a better word.

"I miss home." [Name] replied. "I miss the forest. I miss that feeling in the air, where you knew you belong, you had a place there that was yours. No one else's. Here," She motioned vaguely around her, "There's no such place. There's too much, too close together, and I feel like I can't breathe." Her words grew faster, touched with that biting burning she could feel in her own veins, under her skin. Without realising it, she began to pick at her nails, nipping away at the skin of her fingers.

Bigby knelt down, the cigarette discarded, and gently reached out to her wrists, grabbing hold of them and slowly lowering them away from her. Her eyes locked with his, watching for any move of attack or hidden aggression, but there was nothing of a sort present in his eyes. Bigby simply looked at her, really looked at her.

"I know how you feel, [Name]. I really do." He slowly let go of her wrists and settled down in front of her. "But here, we're safe. We've all been through Hell." He spoke, trying to think of ways to cheer her up. He was never good at this but he would give it a shot for her.

"This place isn't home, I know that. But we've got to try and make it a home." Her eyes shifted away from him, looking around them with a slight uncomfortable look, and he continued, "Even if it means adjusting to things we're not used to. But we're all together, that's what matters."

A moment passed and she finally let out a soft sigh, almost defeated sounding. "Fine." She huffed out, standing upright and dusting herself off a little. "... you got a smoke?"

Bigby glanced at her, a light smile on his lips, "I thought you couldn't stand it?" He recalled a conversation they had not too long ago where she visited his office and made a comment about his smoking. [Name] shrugged her shoulders, "Do you have one or not?"

Pulling the packet from his pocket, he fished one out for her, handing it to her before getting his lighter out. Taking a drag from the cigarette, [Name] slowly pushed the smoke out past her lips.

"This really is a shit brand." The two chuckled softly, taking the moment to look up at the sky. The streetlights had dimmed down a little, allowing the night sky to finally show through. Warmth slowly seeped into her chest as she saw the stars once again.

[animatorweirdo]

The House Of Feanor Meeting the Embodiment Of the Void

The house of Feanor meets the embodiment of the void, who is not what they expected to be.

Requested by Anon

Hi there, hope you're doing well :)

May I send a request for the Feanorians, who meet the embodiment of the Void (reader) when they're in the Void after death, and after witnessing how regretful they were of their actions, reader pleads with Eru/Mandos to give them another chance and they do, but that would mean that the Feanorians have to leave her behind, so they ask to bring her along and she does get to go to Valinor with them?

It's up to you if you want to do a romantic pairing or go for a platonic route.

Thanks!

Warnings: mentions of Feanor and his actions, the oath, kin slaying, mentions of death, being disembodied spirits, Ungoliant, madness, eating itself, self-reflection, some soft moments, and Melkor being kind of an ass.

------------------------------------------------

- Darkness is what elves expected to meet once they damned themselves on the path of doom and their souls are banished to the void, beyond the doors of the night, where they might never return. 

- It was mostly true. There was no light like the stars, the sun, or the light of valars in the void, but most importantly, there was nothing. 

- One of the tales of the void shared that there were creatures of horrors who desired and envied the light of Eru, but surprisingly, there was none, and even when a soul sensed another presence, it would vanish or leave them alone. 

- However, one thing they did not expect was to dream within the void and meet a powerful presence. 

- So, when the house of Feanor had damned themselves into the void due to the oath, they did not expect to meet you, the embodiment god of the void itself. 

- It was unheard of that the void had its own god, but yet not many things were known about the void. However, you were not what they expected to be. 

- You were the twin of Eru, his opposite to his light. However, unlike Melkor to Manwe, you bore no hatred for your twin or his creations. On the contrary, you loved him and felt fascinated by the beings created by his songs. 

- He inspired you to create your own children that resembled you. Unfortunately, your creations became the very thing that kept you from ever taking a closer look at Arda and its wonders. 

- You shared with them how one of Eru’s first creations, Melkor, often came to seek imperishable flame within your domain. You tried to be welcoming, but his ambitions, hatred, and jealousy infected your children, causing them to hate Eru’s light and feel the desire to devour it, forcing you to trap them within your domain and keep them from ever escaping. 

- One of your children did escape, the great spider, the inhabitant of Arda called Ungoliant. It pained you to watch her hunger to make her suffer. You had tried many times to call her back to the void where you could null her hunger, but unfortunately, her hunger caused her to become beyond mad and eat herself. 

- The house of Feanor was baffled by you but felt gratefulness when they learned that you were the reason your children did not try to devour their souls and very existence. 

- You were curious about them and asked why they had been banished to your domain. Elves were supposed to be creatures of light. 

- As Feanor was first to be banished into the void, he was the first to explain what had come to happen in Arda, and you listened. 

- You felt astonishment and grief for the loss he had suffered and that it had driven him to commit such actions. However, your curious nature and questions made him think of his actions and family who were still alive on Arda. 

- If he and his family had committed to such an oath that the valars saw to fulfill their self-inflicted sentence should they fail to retrieve the silmarils, then there was nothing you could do but let them stay and fulfill their sentence. But knowing your children, it was still a very harsh sentence, as they did not know the void was filled with beings who were hateful and wanted to devour the light of life itself. 

- To give him the chance to wait and fulfill his sentence, you kept his soul close to you, keeping him safe from your children. 

- It would have been overwhelming for him for you to speak in your form, so you mostly spoke to him in dreams. He was willing to share what he had seen in Arda, filling you with delight while you two waited if his sons were to join him. 

- It was perhaps some centuries upon Arda and not too long in the void as there was no sense of time in the void, but three of his sons entered the void. They had committed another kin slaying and died, thus were banished into your domain. 

- You allowed Feanor to reunite with them before revealing yourself, allowing them to speak to each other in their shared dream. Many emotions were shed, mostly anger and sorrow as they had fought and killed for nothing. 

-  Two of the twins were next to join you, the youngest of the house. 

- The last to join was the eldest son. The second eldest was not to be seen, but since his soul was not in a void — it could only mean he was still alive. 

- Feanor’s sons were unnerved by your presence but became comfortable when you proved you meant no harm to them. 

- They were willing to share their stories with you and what they had seen in Arda, making you delighted. It allowed them to self-reflect and acknowledge the wrongs they had committed. 

- After many years in Arda, you decided that the house of Feanor had fulfilled their sentence and were ready to return to their hall of the dead. 

- You opened the path for them to go through the void. They asked if there was ever a chance of speaking to you again. You smiled, explaining you had to watch over your children. Perhaps once they had been cured of their hatred and creed you would be able to visit Arda once it was remade.

- With a farewell, they departed. 

- You were sad to see them go, but it was necessary as you were expecting the arrival of another. Morgoth, as the elves called him, had been chained and banished to your domain for his misdeeds. You welcomed him again and hoped he would self-reflect like Feanor and his sons, but unfortunately, he held stubbornness beyond his own good, and therefore, you could not allow him to leave till the fulfillment of Eru’s last song.

[predictablesloth]

High above the clouds, the sun rises.

Ruination and destruction follow the fleeing Lord of Hells, ready to wage war anew, a war that is the greatest warmth that they will ever know. 6:00:55

"We had to try."

"I know. I know."

"Hope is a painful thing." 6:03:20

"You carry a weight much heavier than all of us. I don't know how you do it."

"It is the path I chose." 6:05:16

Why are your children bound by rules that you will not follow? We have broken this place. 6:06:36

Our efforts half been half measures. We seek to do as we did before, not to kill our kin who oppose us, to place them in realms of their own design that they craft into some torture, perhaps to torment us, I do not know. It will not last unless we close the door behind us. 6:07:38

We killed them for being good. My heart is tired. 6:09:35

"Please give them more time here. And if they should come to see you a little to early... send them back?"

"I cannot do that, even for you, sister. But... they will do great things. And then you will see them again."

"We talk about how- we talk about time a lot. How their lives are just a blip in ours, but having been here, it's not about the length of time in a life, it's how it's spent. And I would do it all over again. I love you all."

"We sacrifice much in these mortal forms, but I believe it was worth it." 6:13:36

"You know, in my heart, I knew this was all going to happen. I mean, they're our children, after all. Got to go out there, do their own thing-it's what we did." 6:17:02

He does not want to leave. But if his family is set on it, he cannot lose more. And, as he kneels there, on the edge overlooking the water and the sun, I think he hears in his heart: Ayden. 'It's ok, father'. And I think a final tear, a final part of Ayden that hoped falls into the sea. And he stands resolute, not quite sure, but with his family, a distance that he know how to traverse ahead of him. And he'll gaze up at the sun, and shimmer in its light, and vanish. 6:20:20

When first the gods came to Exandria, they came from a realm of eternal possibility, and their first and greatest sacrifice was to become real. And now, reflected in that first tragedy, that first Calamity, is a reflection. In short, brief life can even the infinite change, realize, recognize, commit to something new, singular. To move forward on the paths of destiny and fate, changed. Beautiful is the dawn. We do not see the gods. We only see light. 6:22:28

[kradogsrats]

Prompt from @dragonprincedrabbles: Ezran + Queen Aditi, No Time Like the Present

G, ~1K words

—

The night that Queen Janai officially becomes Aunt Janai, Ezran went to bed very, very late. He'd stuffed himself full of spicy Sunfire cuisine and rich Katolian sweets, all of it so delicious that every time he cleared his plate, he couldn't keep from trying just a little more—not to mention that he might have single-handedly put a visible dent in the mountain of jelly tarts Aunt Amaya had insisted on to honor his mom. He'd also danced until he was completely exhausted, whirled around the floor more times than he could count by Aunt Amaya and Aunt Janai, and then by Callum and Rayla, and by a half-dozen others after, and that was only the beginning. By the time he and Soren finally managed to wheedle Corvus into a dance, the party was really in full swing, and he'd dived right back in.

So in the wee hours of the morning, tired and full and—for just one night, even in the face of Aaravos maybe ending the world—happy, Ezran fell asleep.

He didn't know how long he slept before the space behind his eyes began to lighten, as if the sun crept across his sleeping face. He rolled over to escape the intruding light, but it did not dim—instead growing brighter and brighter. He could make out a figure striding toward him, not silhouetted against the brilliant light but made from it, part of it. The light continued to brighten, and for a moment the figure became too bright to look at, forcing Ezran to squeeze his eyes shut and raise a hand to block out the glare.

When he cautiously opened his eyes again, an elf stood before him, dressed in the manner of Sunfire royalty. Her brown skin was a shade darker than his own, and the thick braids of her hair glowed like embers, auburn shifting into gold where light shone through the strands. The golden armor layered over her blood-red tabard shone no less for being battle-worn, cleaned and polished with attentive care. A crown sat on her brow like a sunrise, and a crystal-topped scepter hung from her hand like a ray of light piercing some shadowy place. Something about her face was familiar, in the strong point of her chin and the almond shape of her golden eyes.

"Finally, we are able to meet—I was beginning to think dawn would greet your revels, first." Her lilting voice carried a warm note of humor, and her eyes crinkled slightly when she smiled. Ezran couldn't help but smile back.

"I... apologize for my lateness?" he offered, raising his hands in a sheepish shrug. "I didn't realize I had an appointment."

"I have waited a long time to speak with you, orphan king," she said, still smiling. "Long enough that having waited a few hours more matters little. With my daughter's daughter's daughter and your own blood-kin bound by love in the light of the Sun, I may now greet you properly—as my nephew. I am Queen Aditi."

Aditi. The beloved, long-ago Sunfire queen, a guiding light to elves and dragons alike. So powerful and wise that she was called to divine the true dragon monarch when the throne stood empty—then vanished, just as Aaravos's plans threatened to come to fruition.

"Your Majesty," Ezran said politely, placing his hand over his heart and inclining his head in respect.

She laughed, a low, rich chuckle. "Please, we are family, now—there is no need for such things."

"Would it be 'auntie,' then?" he asked impishly. Despite her imposing appearance, he liked her. "Auntie Aditi?"

"I admit, I like the sound of that." Her smile didn't fade, but a flicker of sadness passed through her golden eyes. "I saw so little of my daughter's life—I would have liked to know her children, and their children."

"Then why not talk with Janai?" Ezran asked. "She leads your people now, and I know she'd welcome your counsel." He winced at his own clumsy words, waving his hands. "Not that I don't! I'm just—why me?"

"Janai may doubt her footsteps, but they are guided by her heart, and that is truer than any counsel I could offer. Given the chance, she will become a great queen—far greater than I." Aditi's expression turned grave. "That she will have that chance is what I am here to ensure."

"I don't understand."

"Your path has been set to cross with with a great darkness. The choices you make in facing it will shape the future of both our peoples."

Ezran swallowed hard. "Aaravos."

"Yes... and no. He is the point on which this age will turn, for good or ill, but you are called from beyond. Yours is the flame that can forge the ruins of a fallen star into the brilliant sun that dawns on a new world. The future must be different than the past, or all will be lost—but you already know that." She tapped his crown lightly with the crystal of her scepter. "Just as you already know a thing or two about forging peace and hope from violence and pain."

Ezran lifted the crown off his head to look at it, running his fingers along the smooth edges of the steel. His father's sword, now his own burden of blood and history to carry—or to release. "Will I make the right choices?"

"I can only tell you this: do not be afraid to show mercy, but defend what you love without regret. Understand the need for sacrifice, but cleave hard to what you know you will not give up. Most of all, what others see by the shadow of Moonlight, you must choose to see in the full light of the Sun—even if it means your eyes no longer meet."

She touched a hand to his cheek, warm and soft. Despite all the regal pride of her appearance, she radiated the affection of a mother and a sister in one. "You are strong, brave, and wise. You will feel all the darkest sorrows of love and all the brightest joys of loss, and your light will not be dimmed. When the time is right, that light will be what leads the whole world."

"How?" he asked. He didn't feel particularly strong, or brave, or wise—just small, and worried, and confused. "When?"

"I have found," she said, her grin blazing so bright that Ezran had to shut his eyes again, "that when it comes to forging the future—there is no time like the present."

He woke to the first fingers of dawn creeping across the floor of his tent, and the ghost of a warm hand on his cheek.

[edosianorchids901]

Fortune's Star

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "broken moonlight"

Sonoran Desert, 1832

“I’m done with horses,” Crowley announced. He could hardly feel his legs at this point. “Gonna do a great big miracle. Vanish all of ‘em.”

“Don’t be rude, Crowley.” With an admonishing look, Aziraphale patted his horse’s neck. “It’s hardly the horses’ fault that your legs hurt.”

“It is when my horse kept trying to take off.” Wincing, Crowley tugged on the reins, steering his horse back onto the narrow, rocky trail that wound between the imposing saguaros. “No, you idiot, that’s just a rock. It’s not a rattlesnake.”

“I suppose it is reasonable for the horses to be suspicious, considering,” Aziraphale said. “We have seen five of your kin today, and that was before dark. There’s likely more now.”

“Rattlesnakes are not my kin.” Hissing, Crowley steered his skittish horse around another suspicious rock. “I don’t have rattles. You know I don’t have rattles.”

“Well, yes, but you are serpents.” Behind him, Aziraphale sighed. They’d been riding side by side earlier, when it was more open, but this area was like riding through a canyon of cacti. “I do think we ought to stop soon. Not simply because of your legs, so don’t get defensive. It’s just so dark. And-and-and I can’t see in the dark. I have no idea whether my horse is about to trod on something dangerous.”

That was why Crowley was out front. Demons could see fine in the dark. Mostly what he saw were rocks, scorpions, and more rocks. And the cacti, of course, along with little mouse thingies with fluffy bits on the ends of their tails. They were kind of cute, and Aziraphale would probably like them if he could see them.

Crowley wasn’t in the mood for cute. Or for being awake, honestly. “Nnnh, okay. I kinda wanted to get to somewhere with alcohol, but you’re probably right. And I could stand to get down.”

Except that getting down off his horse required moving his legs. That was gonna suck.

They finally found a decent campsite, a little hollow against a reddish cliff face. A shrubby tree grew nearby, which would be a little shade from the hot desert sun tomorrow. All in all, no bad.

Aziraphale hopped down from his horse with no problem and came over to Crowley. “May I?”

Grunting, Crowley let Aziraphale help him down. His legs buckled as soon as he hit the ground, and he hissed furiously. “No more horses. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley’s waist and helped him limp over to an annoyingly tartan blanket. There was a little more light now, a faint glow of moonlight. “I highly doubt you want to hike through the desert, either. Your legs would object just as much.”

“Fair point.” A breeze blew across them here, and Crowley tilted his head back to gaze up at the stars. They sparkled high above, not even a hint of a cloud to disturb their spectacle. “Gosh. I don’t like traveling through this area sometimes, especially when it’s hot, but it’s damn gorgeous. Look at my stars.”

Aziraphale fussed with his pack, pulling out a bottle. But he spared a quick glance up and smiled. “Goodness, yes. They’re really quite striking.”

“And we’ve got some moon, now.” Crowley pointed to it. The barricade of jutting saguaros blocked most of the view, but bars of broken moonlight illuminated the ground in front of them now. “See those mouse thingies? I wanted to point ‘em out to you earlier, but it was too dark.”

“Oh, they have little tufted tails,” Aziraphale said with delight. He passed the bottle of whiskey to Crowley, then laid a hand on his leg. “They’re awfully cute, and I do believe I could watch them bounce around all day. But I suspect you’re in a rather horrific amount of pain, and I wonder if I might help?”

It was still hard to accept help, even after all their years of the Arrangement. But Crowley dipped his head, unwilling to protest. “Yeah, if you like. I’m pretty stiff.”

He was more than stiff. He could hardly even move his feet now, let alone his legs. A few feet away, his horse was eating a shrubby bush, totally unconcerned about Crowley’s discomfort.

“Well, we’ll see if we can at least get you a bit more comfortable.” Drawing a long breath of the night air, Aziraphale massaged carefully up and down Crowley’s right leg, the one that always hurt the worst. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Crowley considered it. He did feel bloody awful—but actually, he wasn’t in a terrible mood anymore. The soft moonlight added ambiance, as did the call and response of owls and their mates. Stars wandered across the inky sky above.

“Honestly, no,” he finally said. “I’ve got you, whiskey, and a really competent massage. I’m set.”

Aziraphale smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with fondness. “I am as well.”

Tomorrow would be another long, uncomfortable ride. But it was a nice night, with a cool breeze, gentle moonlight, and good company. All things considered, Crowley felt pretty fortunate.

[rynneer]

Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Six: Broken Crown

We all knew this scene was coming.

so crawl on my belly ‘til the sun goes down, i’ll never wear your broken crown. i can take the road, and i can fuck it all away—but in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.

-Broken Crown, Mumford and Sons

The commotion on the rampart grows louder as you rush up the stairs, going as fast as your diminished stamina lets you. You arrive at the top with a gasping breath, seeing Thorin already holding Bilbo atop the wall, staring down at Gandalf approaching from the gathered troops.

“If you don’t like my burglar, please, don’t damage him!” he booms. “Return him to me.”

God bless that wizard, you think to yourself. God bless that fucking wizard and his timing.

“You’re not making a very splendid figure as King Under the Mountain, are you, Thorin, son of Thrain?” Gandalf observes.

Thorin looks at him for another moment before letting Bilbo slip from his grasp. Balin and Fíli help him to his feet. The hobbit flings a rope over the wall, Bofur pushing him forward urgently, and scurries down.

“Never again will I have dealings with wizards,” Thorin shouts. “Or Shire-rats!”

You flinch at the venom in his words. Thorin’s eyes find you lurking by the wall. “What?” he demands, storming forward. “Do you have something to say?”

He’s nose-to-nose with you, daring you to defy him. You search his face, hardly recognizing the dwarf who who begrudgingly accepted you into his Company, who shielded you from fire and wargs, who welcomed you into his family.

“This is wrong,” you whisper. “This isn’t you.”

Thorin is silent for a moment. “Then go,” he spits. “Go join your kin amongst Men. You are no Durin.”

Though you know his mind is twisted by the dragon-sickness, it doesn’t soften the blow against your heart. The other dwarves look at you in dismay.

After a moment, your face hardens, and you stand tall, standing exactly level with Thorin. “Fuck this,” you say quietly, pushing past him, rougher than necessary, towards the rope. “I’m not dying over a fucking rock.”

He sneers at you and turns on his heel to storm back into the keep. The dwarves pat your arm firmly as they pass, Balin squeezing your shoulders. “Be careful,” he murmurs.

Fíli and Kíli stay put, looking at you helplessly. Kíli grips Fíli’s arm. “Fíli…” he trails off.

Fíli turns to his brother. They stare at one another wordlessly, then he grabs Kíli’s hair and pulls their foreheads together, whispering something in Khuzdûl.

Kíli nods, pulls back, and wraps you in a tight hug. “Be safe, little sister.” He withdraws and starts down the stairs, turning back one last time before vanishing.

It’s just you and Fíli on the wall now, watching the backs of Thranduil and Bard’s troops as they make for their camp. Tiny flakes of snow speckle Fíli’s armor, and his breath billows out in frosty clouds.

“Now what?” he asks.

Your mind whirls. In the book, the Durin clan dies standing together. In the movies, they die standing alone. I don’t know if I can save them all, you think, but I know can save one.

“Come with me,” you urge, grabbing Fíli’s arm.

He tenses. “Y/N, I… I can’t just leave him… I’m his heir, the crown prince—it’d be the highest betrayal!”

You lean in close. “He’ll forgive you for leaving,” you whisper in his ear, voice trembling. “But I won’t forgive you for staying.”

“He’s family,” Fíli pleads.

Your heart twists in your chest, but you know you need to hit him where it hurts. You seize his hand and put it to your belly. “We are family too,” you insist. “Please, don’t leave me to raise our baby alone.”

Still, he hesitates.

One final weapon. “Fíli. If you stay, you die.”

Fíli’s eyes widen. “You said you’d never tell us our fates—you wouldn’t change the story!”

Your hold on his wrist tightens to a death grip. “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not part of this world,” you hiss. “I’m done acting like I’m not part of the story. I’m not going to let you die here, Fee.”

A look of anguish crosses his face. Your vision starts to swim with tears as Fíli looks from you, to the rope, to the doorway Thorin had stormed through, to your stomach. The anguish hardens to resolve, and he nods slowly. “Alright,” he says with a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright.” He shifts his belt so his sword is along his back and wraps an arm tightly around your waist, hoisting you onto his hip. “Hold on tight,” he grunts.

You cling to his neck and he grabs the rope, throwing a leg over the wall and slowly belaying down. Heights don’t normally bother you, but you bury your face in his shoulder, unable to look at the ground far beneath you. Your bag sways and bumps against your back with each of Fíli’s bounces downward. The descent lasts far too long, but at last you feel solid earth beneath your feet.

No sooner than you land does a hand seize your collar and pull you into the shadow of the wall. “What are you doing out here?” a voice hisses in your ear.

Tauriel! “I thought you were dead!” you choke out.

She releases you and Fíli, who grabs your upper arm tightly, ready to flee. Tauriel looks down at you grimly. “It will take more than dragon-fire to put an elf of Mirkwood down.” Her eyes shift to Fíli. “So, you abandon your kin, dorn?” [dwarf]

Fíli bristles, but you place a hand on his chest and push him behind you gently. “We need to get somewhere safe. Can you help us?”

Tauriel regards the pair of you with a measured gaze. “Is Kí—is your brother safe?”

Fíli nods, and Tauriel visibly relaxes. She looks back up at Erebor, then across the field in the distance where the white top of Thranduil’s tent is just barely visible in the quickly fading light. “Follow me. Quietly now, and swiftly.”

You make your way across the frozen ground until you come to a halt in front of a pair of elven guards. They seem astonished to find Tauriel standing before them, intact, if a bit charred. Nevertheless, they cross their spears to block your path. “Daro!” they cry in unison. [Stop!]

“We seek an audience with the king,” Tauriel explains.

“The king has no interest in communing with traitors,” one snaps. “Perhaps the gornoth will take pity on your plight.” [dwarves (derogatory)]

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward. “At least let us talk to Bard, or–”

“My goodness, could that be the voice of Lady Y/N that I hear?” A wizened hand sweeps open the tent flap and Gandalf steps out, his eyes twinkling in the torchlight.

“Gandalf!” You duck under the spears and rush forward, throwing your arms around him in sheer relief.

Gandalf seems mildly surprised by the gesture and pats your back. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he notices Fíli, and pushes you back gently by your shoulder. “Does Thorin send you to parley?”

“No, we come of our own accord. To seek refuge,” Fíli adds, indicating your belly. He swallows. You know how hard this must be for the proud dwarf prince.

But as you await Gandalf’s response, it occurs to you now that he has no knowledge of you and Fíli’s relationship, and certainly not of your pregnancy. You hold your breath.

The wizard looks down at you, then back to Fíli with a frown. “Come in from the cold and we shall discuss this… development.” He ushers you inside, where Bard, Thranduil, and Bilbo sit at a small table.

The elven king is on his feet immediately. “Why have you brought a–” but his demand ends in a sputter when Tauriel enters behind you.

She meets the king’s eyes steadily and dips her head. “Your highness.”

A small smirk crosses Fíli’s lips at Thranduil’s stunned face.

Gandalf brings forward a small chair, gesturing for you to take a seat. You do so with a grateful smile. Fíli moves behind you and rests his hands on your shoulders. You take one with a squeeze.

Gandalf sits as well, leaning forward with his hands folded. “Am I correct in assuming that…?” he waves a hand in Fíli’s general direction.

You swallow hard and nod. “Things… things happened.”

“And what of Thorin and Company?”

“We can reason with him,” Fíli cuts in. “Now that you have the stone, there’s some bargaining power, surely!”

“It’s dragon-sickness, Fee, there’s no reasoning with dragon-sickness!” you snap.

“Y/N?” It’s Bilbo. “Do you know what comes next?”

You frown and dig in your bag for The Hobbit. Thranduil and Tauriel exchange looks of confusion.

“It’s a… power of prophecy, of a sort,” you mumble, thumbing through the pages. “We’re only a few pages into chapter seventeen…” you trail off as a dark word consumes your mind. “Orcs!”

Thranduil leans forward. “What?”

“Orcs. That’s—that’s it, that’s all I can think about—fuck!” You bury your face in your hands. “I can’t see it. I’ve changed the story.” You take a deep breath. “Orcs are coming. I don’t know when, I don’t know how many, but they’re coming.”

Gandalf rises swiftly, retrieving his staff from the corner of the tent. “Then we must be ready. Is there any possibility of reasoning with Thorin?”

You rub your temples. “I can’t be sure. I think he recovers—maybe Fíli leaving will speed it up?”

Fíli flinches slightly.

The wizard nods. “Ready your troops. Be prepared for battle by dawn. We will not be caught unawares.”

Thranduil and Bard offer their agreement, Bard standing to leave for his own lodgings. He pauses, glancing at you and Fíli with a curt nod. “Congratulations.” With that, the archer is gone. Thranduil is swift to leave as well, Tauriel falling easily into place behind him.

“Someone needs to warn Thorin,” Fíli says. He places a hand on the hilt of his sword and makes for the exit, but you snag his wrist. He twists against your grasp, and you hold tight, fingers digging into his skin.

“You’re staying here,” you insist.

“I’ll go,” Bilbo says quietly.

Fíli scoffs. “They’d skewer you with an arrow as soon as you’re within sight of the gates.”

“Well, I did manage to sneak in and out of Erebor without a terrible dragon noticing,” Bilbo points out. “I think I can get past a few dwarves.”

The dwarf just snorts in response.

Gandalf regards the hobbit curiously, watching Bilbo’s fingers fidget in his pocket. “Very well then, Bilbo. As for the pair of you,” he raises an eyebrow in your direction, “I was just about to put on a pot of tea, and I believe Lady Y/N and her little one are sorely in need of some proper nourishment.” He dips his head and ducks out of the tent.

A long, shaking sigh escapes you. You lean against the back of the chair, weariness plaguing your bones. Fili returns to your side and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Then, he separates out a thin section of your hair, carefully beginning to weave it into a braid.

You let out a small gasp, covering his hand with your own. “Fíli? Now?”

He smiles, gently pushing your hand aside and continuing. “If I’m to go into battle at dawn, I want everything to be proper.” The braid complete, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny, wooden bead with delicate etchings.

You take it from his outstretched hand. The wood is rough and unsanded, but you can make out a crude attempt at your and Fíli’s initials in English, as well as runes you vaguely recognize as Khuzdûl. You blush, not thinking your brief alphabet lesson ages ago had taken hold.

“I may have nicked your book to practice,” Fíli says with a wink. “Took me ages to get your silly runes right.” He folds your fingers around the bead and sinks to one knee in front of you—you didn’t think your human courtship lessons had taken hold either. His eyes sparkle as he gazes up at you. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes fill with tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Fíli grins and takes the bead back, securing it in your hair and kissing it gently. You yank him in by the collar and press your lips against his. He melts into the kiss, fingers tangling in your loose hair.

Applause from the corner makes you pull back with a jump. You had forgotten Bilbo was still in the tent. With a lopsided smile you stand and push the hobbit out towards Gandalf and the fire. “Give us some privacy!” you chide good-naturedly.

Fíli chuckles and rises as well, pulling you close. He kneels back down, lifting your tunic and kissing your stomach, making you flush even more. “You take care of your amad,” he whispers to the unborn dwarfling. “Adad’s got to go scout out the perfect place for our wedding.” He grins, and you grunt, when the baby kicks against your stomach.

You sigh again and kneel with him, leaning into his arms. You’ve changed the story so much, the future is dark to you now—all that is left is to place your faith in the strength of the dwarves.

[imakemywings]

Asphodel

On AO3

The field upon which their last great blow against Morgoth had been turned aside was a barren expanse of sunbaked mud. Dust blew up from the cracks in the earth and whipped through the air in a thousand tiny storms; heaps of remains, of armor, of weapons, dotted the landscape, and reigning over all, the putrid Haudh-en-Nirnaeth.

Daeron had heard already of the fate of the high king of the Noldor, and he knew this wasteland had nothing for him, yet he came, unable to sever the cord of destiny around his throat. He trudged across the desolate land and each rusting trinket he passed stabbed at his heart, for it seemed to him that the fate of Middle-earth was now written, and no hope remained to them.

Because there was nothing to find, there was nowhere to stop; he only came as close as he dared to the Hill and sank down onto his knees, the gritty breeze stinging his dark cheeks. Had it been here, he wondered? Was this his resting place? It might as well have been.

Daeron had never seen a skull split with a single blow, but his imagination worked wonders in this regard: of splintered bones and rent muscles and ruptured organs, of blood pouring forth onto thirsty soil, of the obliteration of a person.

Daeron bent forward until his forehead touched the desecrated ground and a low moan trailed from his throat; he tried to subordinate these thoughts to the memory of Fingon as he had been at the Mereth Aderthad, how he had allowed Daeron to coax smiles and laughter from a heart wearied of tragedy, but he could not do it. The only other thing on which his mind would focus was his own desperate pleading just before battle: at the edge of the woods he had relinquished any remaining shreds of dignity to grasp at Fingon’s doublet, begging him to forget it, to forget his kingship and his kin and Morgoth most of all, and come into the wood with Daeron, and leave the rest behind.

In a tiny pocket Daeron had sewn inside his tunic, over the left side of his breast, was a loop of wavy black hair which Fingon had given him when he said goodbye in favor of his duty. This Daeron could still remember: How Fingon had smiled when he pressed it into Daeron’s hand, assuring him that all would be well, and when they met again, it would be under a sun which shone not upon the Enemy, and then Fingon would take Daeron to Hithlum that he might partake in the grand celebrations of the Noldor.

Seeing that Fingon could not be turned from his course, Daeron had said no more of it, and allowed Fingon to make his promises and embrace him that he might go to his end at least assured of Daeron’s affections. Now was come the shadow Daeron had foreseen, and there was nothing left over which he might mourn; there was not even a suggestion of the final resting place of Fingon Fingolfinion, prince from across the great wide sea. Once again, Daeron found himself merely tangential to another’s tale, sitting in the ruins of all that had been at the start of the tale and now was no more.

Sitting back on his heels, Daeron turned his face up to the sky, and his tears ran back into his braids.

“What I have done to make you so despise me, I repent of it,” he said to the merciless sky. “I would that you might tell me my proper penance, for I cannot bear this endless sorrow. You made me not with such strength to endure.”

The battlefield was silent; not even the buzzards lingered there.

There was nothing for Daeron in the Anfauglith, it was true: but it was the last place he had hoped to find something. In absence of meaning, of purpose, of comfort, he tore a strip of one of the banners of the Noldor, and told himself it had been the one Fingon had carried, and tucked the scrap into his pocket with the hair.

Where Daeron went when he drifted from Anfauglith none could say, for he vanished then into complete obscurity and the tales tell no more of the loremaster of Doriath and his silent flute, nor does his name cross the memorials of Fingon son of Fingolfin, the shortest-reigning of the high kings of the Noldor.

[secret-third-thing]

Chapter 4: Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters

Another Eris chapter. I swear this isn't filler. Lot of fun lil details for the people with their conspiracy boards at home 🧡

Eris x OC | Rated E | Read on AO3 | Read on tumblr below the cut

Read on Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Gianna of Montesere's life is shattered when her family becomes the target of a chilling assassination attempt. Forced into exile at her estranged father's side in the Autumn court, she embarks on a journey that thrusts her into the treacherous depths of Prythian's most perilous family. Amidst the dazzling highs and heart-wrenching lows of cutthroat politics, Gianna discovers an unexpected love in Eris Vanserra that turns her world upside down.

Warnings: Typical violence and scheming, gambling, old-school slut shaming (nothing in this chapter other than more dead bird talk)

If you want to be on a taglist, let me know. I forgot to start one earlier.

No one stopped Eris as he left Forest House and walked to the estate’s perimeter, where the trees of the old Autumn Wood gave way to his father’s home. Here, the trees sparkled in the waning sun of the day; the leaves glimmering brilliant reds, oranges, and greens.

The forest was far older than his ancestral home, far older than the fae themselves. While there were various settlements throughout the Court, they had not been founded through some resource-based strategy, instead emerging where the trees had yielded to the fae. Any place the woods did not want them, their kind did not survive.

Advisor Bassell had not been wrong about what haunted the woods. A handful of Autumn’s tomes, located deep in the royal archives, documented ancient creatures that had once ruled Autumn. Eris had only seen the documents once when he had accompanied Beron into the deep recesses of the archives to search for mentions of some ancient artifact - a sword. From what he recalled, most of the ancients here had been the Daglan, the deathless monsters who had hunted his kind for sport. Several fae in Autumn would swear they could hear the call of the hunting horn echoing within the wood. And many young fae who had wandered into the thicket at night had never been found again. Beron insisted there wasn’t anything notable to report, of course.

Eris walked along the edge of the trees and past piles of birds until the servants removing the creatures were far behind him. He’d ask them questions later when they had finished and weren’t working under the pressure of his father’s watchful eye.

The songbirds that usually warbled at the end of the day were silent, now lifeless on the ground, leaving the surrounding area unusually quiet. Though he wasn’t frightened, Eris wished he had brought his hounds along. Even if his father didn’t believe in ancient beings, he certainly did; He knew what creatures roamed the woods of Spring. He had heard of what monsters the Night Court’s prison held. Eris was certain their kin were here as well.

As the mossy roof of the Forest House vanished from view, Eris noted less fallen birds in the area. He was confident that the servants had yet to make their way out here. It was as though the animals were aiming towards the estate. The cicadas had emerged and perished rather quickly, but the birds…. They had all been swarming Forest House. Something for him to investigate later.

He spotted a finch splayed out on the ground. Eris picked up the tiny thing, cradling it gently in his hands. The feathers of its wings were soft against his fingers. And yet Eris could sense some kind of magic on the bird, like residue. Something old… deep magic… Daglan magic. Bassell’s words echoed in his brain. Once his father’s meeting was done, he’d need to follow up with the advisor, probably tomorrow.

A rustle in the woods interrupted Eris’s train of thought. The male froze, still as a predator, and scanned the woods for any sign of movement. No other animals were in the area, nothing climbing the trees or leaping from branches. Eris stepped forward to the edge of the wood, almost at the threshold, where the roots of the trees emerged from the ground and twisted around each other.

The noise happened again, and Eris gazed into the depths of the forest beyond where he stood. He felt something staring back. Eris lifted a foot to step on a root and approached the creature, but the air seemed to crackle around him. Not quite a warning, but not an invitation. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and his legs were unable to move him forward or away - he was stuck.

“Show yourself,” Eris said, his own voice wavering. He willed his hand to move to the pummel of his dagger belted at his waist, but his body was frozen, still grasping the bird. There was no response. Instead, a gust of wind blew out from the forest, nearly knocking him back, and the scent of oak and sweet moss curled around him.

Eris scoured his brain for a reason, to understand what was happening, but almost as soon as he felt the thing’s presence, it vanished. The only evidence of it being there was a patch of dead foliage on the ground turned a dark, sooty black, as though someone had set the forest floor alight. The air now smelled of smoke. Eris dared to step forward and nudged the soot with his boot. It seemed like simple debris, save for the circling of magic, bitter and earthy, swirling around him.

Eris wasted no time, winnowing back to Forest House and shutting himself away in his study. No creature of the wood would find him here. The study was small, tucked away in a less used area of the manor, but it offered him respite from the endless pestering of courtiers and servants. He sat down in the plush chair of his desk and took a moment to appreciate the solitude.

Soon, Eris examined the finch, turning the creature over in his hands. The bird was still intact, with no apparent harm. If anything, it seemed like it had been frozen in time when its little heart stopped. Eris stroked its head gently. Had it known it would die, a soldier in some death god’s game? Or had it been a surprise?

As Eris sent a tendril of magic into the bird, he encountered resistance, as if the deep magic, as the advisors had dubbed it, wanted him out. He retreated and frowned. Eris tried his magic again, this time ever so gently, letting it seep in rather than prod. He felt the threads of the other magic open until it started weaving with his, trying to pull him into the tapestry of whatever spell had enthralled and killed the creature.

Someone knocked on his study door, and Eris yanked his magic from the bird. It felt like he was ripping a cloth in half, an unsettling, tearing sensation. Eris furrowed his brow and grimaced, wondering if it was safe to have the bird in here at all. After a beat, he set the bird on a cloth and then removed his gloves.

“Come in,” Eris said. The door creaked open, revealing Bassell. The brunette male stole a glance behind him into the hallway before stepping into Eris’s lavish study.

“I was hoping to have a moment alone,” Bassell said softly. Eris flicked his hand, and the door sealed shut, a protective ward shimmering so no one could walk in or listen to their conversation.

“What is it?” Eris asked. Bassell settled into the other chair at Eris’ desk, his eyes fixed on the brown bird between them. He reached to touch the creature, but then hesitated. Gone was the fierce debater from his father’s meeting.

“I stand by what I said before,” he murmured. “The magic in these animals predates the fae. It’s ancient. But why it’s woven into such common creatures, I can’t fathom.”

“Whatever the magic, it’s still active,” Eris said, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. “It reacts and attaches to living magic.”

“Like an arcane parasite,” Bassell said. “May I?” He gestured to the bird.

“Be my guest,” Eris replied. He cocked a brow and watched the male hover his hand over the creature. Bassell closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in concentration. Not a minute later, his hand wavered, and he pulled it back quite suddenly.

“Fascinating,” he said with a shiver. He massaged his palm, likely having experienced the same ripping that Eris had.

“Is it?” Eris asked. “I’d think you’d be more concerned.”

“My apologies,” Bassell said. “It is concerning, but this kind of magic differs from what we know and use. I’m surprised your father isn’t more interested. This power is difficult to control, and more difficult to counter.”

“Give him time. My father will be if he isn’t already,” Eris said, as he watched the male continue to prod at the finch. “How much more do you know?”

Bassell paused, the bird giving off an eerie glow from whatever magic he was using.

“Not much at the moment, but I can send a report when my healers finish their research.” Bassell pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wrapped it around the finch and bought it closer to him. He scanned its body, then turned it over. The eerie glow on the bird stopped. Eris sighed. He might as well give the finch to Bassell.

“I expect you to keep what you relay to my father to a minimum. And if you cannot, let me know what he knows.”

“You have my word.” Bassell replied. He was staring straight into the beady, black eyes of the creature. He didn’t seem like he was leaving any time soon, so Eris cleared his throat.

“Is this really why you’re here? Certainly, this conversation could have waited until tomorrow.”

“Well, yes… and no,” Bassell said. His eyes flickered away from the bird to the portrait of the Vanserra family hanging on the far wall behind the heir and then back to Eris. He gave a thin-lipped smile.

“What is it?” Eris pressed again. Bassell was always so hesitant.

“My daughter...” Bassell began, “She’s coming to Autumn.”

“I didn’t know you had a family,” Eris stated plainly. Well, most of his father’s advisors had a family: a wife, children. It was the respectable thing to do - something the Autumn Court valued. But Bassell never brought a wife with him to court. No children, young or grown, had been introduced to the Vanserras. It was unusual, but Eris hadn’t found a reason to pry until now.

“I don’t. She’s the result of an affair. Her mother is... noteworthy, and I was a fool for not marrying her,” Bassell said. The male possessed the slightest tinge of pink on his cheeks. His eyes were dancing across the room, hiding from Eris’ narrowed stare.

“I hope you are not implying what you seem to be,” Eris said.

Bassell put his hands up, horror plain on his face. “Oh, absolutely not,” he sputtered. “I-I would never presume -“

“Then do get to your point. It’s getting late and I have other things to do, Bassell,” Eris interjected, his voice even and cold.

“Gianna,” Bassell said. “Her name is Gianna.”

Eris frowned at this, waiting for Bassell to continue. It did not matter to him what she was named.

“Gianna is coming to Autumn sometime next week. Her mother is the spymaster,” Bassell said. “But she’s being accompanied by the emissary, not her mother.” This fact obviously meant something to the advisor. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed almost frazzled by the information.

“And does my father know?”

“He informed us after you left.”

Eris paused at this. It was peculiar for his father to allow a strange female from the continent into their court, especially one from Montesere. He recalled from several meetings ago that his father had been in contact with emissaries from the kingdoms on the continent, but a Gianna was not mentioned as someone of interest. It was equally strange that this news had not come from Bassell, the female’s father, but from his father... unless the advisor really did have an awful relationship with his former lover, something that Eris could at least understand.

“What else did he say?” he asked Bassell.

“Nothing. Only that she was staying at Forest House. I’ll be staying here as well.”

“How is this, at all, relevant to the birds?” Eris asked, suspicion lacing his words.

“I want to make a deal,” Bassell replied.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Ensure my daughter stays out of trouble, and I’ll use all my resources to help you understand what’s happening in Autumn.” Bassell shifted in his seat. His shoulders were now squared, eyes boring into Eris’s with such confidence Eris hadn’t seen in the male before.

“I am not babysitting a spoiled brat from the continent,” Eris said, his patience wearing thin.

Bassell leaned over the desk, dangerously close. His eyes gleamed. “I know your goals. Use her as leverage, if you must. She has her family’s ear,” Bassell urged, barely above a whisper. Eris refused to acknowledge the implication.

“And did you offer this deal to my father as well? Is this why you sit at his table?” Eris asked. “Did you sell your daughter’s freedom for a chance at power? I recall you come from nothing.” Bassell flinched at Eris’s words.

“I did what any good father would do,” Bassell said. His jaw was set, and he grasped the arms of his chair.

“She was likely fine in Montesere,” Eris spat back. “What does my father intend now you’ve dragged her into this?”

“He only knows her heritage and offered her a place to stay. What else he plans is beyond my knowledge, Eris.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of their unspoken agreement settling between them. Either Bassell was the worst politician he had met this century, or his father set another scheme in motion, one Eris somehow missed.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t get herself killed,” Eris said. The only kind of agreement he’d willingly make. Bassell seemed satisfied with this and leaned back in his chair, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I think you’ll find the Monteserrans more interesting than you think.”

“If by interesting you mean scandalizing,” Eris said. “I can’t think of a group my father would hate more.”

“But what will you think?”

Eris scoffed at his answer, but Bassell simply hummed, lost in thought. 

[moonpool-system]

hiii. so, i have a big question here.

can i, a fictionkin person, be labeled plural?

as far as im aware, plurality just involves having multiple...consciousnesses? i'm obviously not the best person to define plurality, but. that's not the point.

my kins are not just characters that i shift into sometimes. they're whole other people. take one of my most recent kin discoveries, jax (not tadc, they're a noncanon fnaf sb sun and moon handler). he's completely their own person. they have memories, their complete own personality. all of my kins are separate people, and we experience species dysphoria (for characters like parappa and josé carioca), race dysphoria (for characters like kamal bora and alberto scorfano), voice dysphoria (for characters like colin the computer and vox), and all sorts of stuff like that. offiz (another oc) has a stutter. we also (as you can see) refer to ourself as we/us. they all have varying degrees of source memory. we also have a few otherkin, like two gods, a pixie, and a being who saw the vanishing of the human race.

could we be considered plural?

Hey there! So this one's actually very open and shut- what you're describing is very blatantly plurality. Members of a plural system will often have the own wills, identities, and feel as if they're separate entities to others in the body. The type of headmate many of these are could be an "introject" or "introtive", which means a member that is "sourced" from something or another. "Fictive" is a term for an introject that comes from a fictional source, which you all might find more comfortable than the term kin/kintype.

We wish you happy trails! Socialize with your headmates and get to know them as people, though it sounds like you already have! As someone with both kintypes and headmates this is 100% plural

[youareunbearable]

I've been rereading Here Be Dragons by thorinoakentwig and I've been daydreaming of the concept of Maedhros (after his death and being sent to the void) begging for redemption, if not for himself then at least for his brothers and father for failing to complete the oath. Eru listens to him and grants him his wish, allowing his family to rest in Mando’s halls instead of the void. Feanor is furious, not for being upstaged or whatever, but at the idea of his son suffering for him, more than he already has

(Fingon got to see a glimpse of red hair that burned like molten lava in the Halls before Maedhros was taken again. He closed his eyes for just a moment to feel and settle his grief before moving into action once again)

As per their agreement, Maedhros must save a life for every one he and his kin have ruined, however, he is not sent back as an Elf, but instead is reborn again and again in the form of Men and Dwarves and Hobbits with their mortal lifespans and limitations. He struggles with each rebirth to remember the last one, for mortal memories are so flawed compared to those of the Elves, but he gets the sensation of deja vu often and has strange dreams, and knows he has a Purpose.

But no matter the life he lives, he always has brilliant red hair, his eyes are always light in colour if not grey, he is always tall for his race, and at some point in his life he will loose a hand. Its not always in response to the Enemy- one lifetime he was whittling a toy horse and cut his palm, which became so infected that it had to be amputated.

He goes around helping people, as a doctor, a smith, a teacher, but more often than not he feels at home with a blade in his hand and the burden of responsibility for a people on his shoulders. He has led armies, villages, bands of mercenaries, counciled lords and ladies, and on one occasion commanded a ship full of Men. He never knows why he has such a drive to help people, why helping makes him feel so guilty, why he has nightmares of dark shadows and pain and three brilliant lights, why the chill of winter makes him feel safe, why he's always wanted a large family yet never once in all his reincarnation has had any desire to marry.

That is, until one day when he is reborn as a Man by the name of Doegred, he is take to the sea side by his parents as a gift for his 6th birthday. He looks west and is filled with such a profound longing that when asked whats wrong, he points towards the setting sun and says "i used to live there. I miss my home." As the sun sets, and as his parents digest the strange statement of their son, a voice comes floating by on the wind.

Its melodic, but melancholic in such a profound way that it moves all those that hear it to tears. Young Doegred tears away from his parents and races down the sand towards the vpice, red hair snapping behind him like licks of flame. Once his parents catch up to him, they are met with a strange scene.

An Elf, for no other being is as tall or looks as beautiful even in such a neglected state, is knelt on the shore, weeping and clutching their son to him as if he is afraid he'll vanish if he lets go. Doegred, for all that is worth, is making calming soothing croons while patting the matted hair of the Elf. He looks up at his parents, and with a glint in his blue eyes that almost makes them look grey, says "this is my younger brother. I left him behind once and I dont plan on doing so again."

(When they go home, it is with a much cleaner elf named Maglor in tow and much confused acceptance as two exasperated parents of a strange child can bare.)

Maglor stays in their village for a time, helping Doegred help others, until the Man becomes 18 and is leaving home for an adventure. He takes Maglor with him to the Elven city of Eregion, where they meet with the Elven lord there and much tears are shed. Doegred slowly begins to remember his past lives, reliving moments in dreams and second hand from tales told by Maglor and Celebrimbor. They in turn start to learn the full details of his agreement with Eru, of the burden he placed on his shoulders for his kin.

He helps his former nephew with the more political side of running his city, and tries his best to ignore the reverent whispering of the Feanorian Elves. Celebrimbor, not wanting to the news of his guests to spread, shuts his city's gates to outsiders and turns away a slightly peeved Maia in the process.

Doegred ages, as all Men do and it isn't long by Elven standards that he is once again on his deathbed and soon ready to start life once again, to have another turn at penance for he and his family- even if he still does not fully remember them. When Doegred closes his eyes for the last time a city wails at loss, and scouting parties are sent out in search of a red haired babe.

A red dawn breaks with a hobbit babe opening grey eyes for the first time. Black smog forms from the mountains in the southeast. War is the horizon. And a boat sailing from the west comes with two passengers bearing ill tidings and offering support against the growing Evil.

One has hair of spun golden silk, the other with braids of thick ebony ropes. One carries a sword and a flag with a golden flower. The other has only a harp and a bow.

Within the safety of Gladden Fields, the new Hobbit mother adorns her baby's swaddle with a golden ribbon. It seems like it will bring good luck

[carashirai]

The girl in white

She was like a feather, elegant, delicate, with almost ethereal beauty.

Birds singing, bees buzzing, sun burning.

Garden like Eden, unnatural peace, a song.

She was dancing, jumping on the ruined walls, on the sunkissed warm grass, spinning wildly, arms like wings, bare feet contaminated by dirt.

She almost seemed wild, in her lightheartedness, without fear of being seen, being heard, being corrupted.

A melody about loneliness, in her eyes an incommensurable void, an uncomprehended light, a dance of freedom, desperation, acceptance.

Her hair tried to follow her movements, it was useless, it was like her body couldn’t keep up with her being, a fighting soul in a crystal cage.

Extremely beautiful, a prison she couldn’t escape.

A dress made of cotton, simple and with the color of the clouds, it whirled along with her limbs.

Outside the garden there was a manor, he looked at her, envied her, hated her.

He was holding on to the railing of a small balcony, fingers candid like marble, not even a stain on his clothing.

The sun warmed his skin, clothes the color of obsidian, absorbed the sunrays.

The heat didn’t confuse him, his eyes were set on her, his ears tried to hear the sound of her voice.

His heart wanted to reach her, but his body was like a statue, he was about to approach her, eternally unable to end his action, his will, his deepest desire.

Face of an angel, sharp gaze, an exchange that will never happen.

Kin worlds, never meant to meet.

Nothingness at the end of everything, resignation and hope.

He returned within the walls of the mansion.

She danced until sunset, then vanished under the stars.

[mommy-medusa]

All of a sudden, the grove lit up in a flash of golden light. Apollo was standing there, a look of panic on his face.

“You’re needed on Olympos,” he said to Artemis, his expression grave. “It’s Athena.”

No other words were spoken as the twins both vanished from the grove, leaving Teddi and the other huntresses behind in confusion.

It wasn’t until much later that they returned, when the sun had already left the sky. The huntresses were already tucked up in their burrows, and the grove was near silent.

“I swear, at this point, he’s doing this just to spite her,” Artemis said, her voice the growl of a bear in the dead of night.

Smiling ruefully at her side, Apollo said, “No, yeah, that is exactly what he’s doing. A few months back, she finally came outside again, and he loudly made some snide comment that had her turning around and marching right back inside before she even left her courtyard.” He took a moment to try and smooth out his chiton, which was torn up around the edges and looked slightly singed. Artemis’ clothing was the same. Both twins smelled strongly of lightning, too.

When Apollo failed to fix his clothes, he dropped his hands and sighed. “I just can’t believe he brought up Pallas.”

Artemis nodded with a grimace. “And what he said about her maidenhood?” Deep disgust flashed across her features, and Apollo set a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“We should have let her maul him,” Artemis said mournfully.

“Agreed,” Apollo said.

The twins shared a moment of silence before Apollo took a step back. “Well. I better go check on the damage done. See if I can treat ‘Thena’s burns before she goes back into hibernation. And if she’s already in her sadness coma, then I’ll just do it while she’s asleep. If anything, it’s easier that way.”

“Need any help?” Artemis asked.

Apollo shook his head, waving a dismissive hand. “No, I’ve got her. Hera already offered to aid me.”

Artemis’ eyebrows raised in surprise. “Look at you two.”

“I know right? We shall bond over our mutual concern for the owlet.” He smiled softly. “Goodnight, my starry night.”

“Goodnight, my sunny day. If you need me, call upon me again.”

“I will.”

After bumping his forehead with Artemis’, Apollo disappeared in a flash of light.

The moment he was gone, Artemis released a large sigh. She rubbed a tired hand over her face sluggishly.

“You can come out now,” she said. “I know you’re listening.”

Teddi’s head, along with several others, popped out of the hollows in the great tree. Artemis turned to all of them, smiling slightly.

“I can’t possibly blame any of you,” she said. “Is there anything more interesting than the divine drama of the gods? I’m afraid that’s all for tonight, though.”

The audience mostly dispersed, but Teddi climbed down from her hollow to confront Artemis.

“You were talking of Athena?” she asked.

“Indeed,” Artemis answered.

“Is she…alright?”

To that, Artemis hesitated. Then, she beckoned Teddi to follow her away from the prying ears of the huntresses, and Teddi did. Chrysaor flapped after them, while Pegasus remained soundly asleep.

“I don’t know how to answer that, but my best guess is no, she is not alright,” Artemis finally said. “She has not been close to ‘alright’ in quite some time. I haven’t seen her this distraught since Pallas died.”

“Pallas?” Teddi tilted her head.

“Oh, you don’t know? Then again, I’m not surprised that it’s been buried in obscurity. It’s a rather tragic tale,” Artemis said. “Pallas was the daughter of Triton, who was the son of Poseidon, and was Athena’s greatest and closest friend. Those two were like Apollo and I—they practically kin. The Athena with Pallas was much different than the Athena we have now. She was less stressed, less stoic, less—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—uptight. But she was also still very young, even when she was born fully grown. By all accounts, she was a child—or as close to a child she could be considering, again, she was born a fully grown adult. She was an owlet, if you will, as Apollo and I affectionately refer to her as.” She paused for just a moment. “Ah. Do not— do not call her that to her face. She will probably smite you. But Pallas was her childhood friend.” She then laughed as she seemed to recall something. “She couldn’t walk when she was first born.”

“What?” Teddi said.

“You didn’t hear this from me,” Artemis said, “But after springing out from Zeus’ head, donned in full war gear and wielding a spear, she took a long look at all the gods gathered around her, very regal and mature, took one step forward, and WHOMP, fell flat on her face.”

Teddi couldn’t contain her giggles. “Really?”

Laughing, too, Artemis said, “Really! Just picture a baby horse trying to walk for the first time- that was Athena for at least an hour after she was born. Apparently, the heads of baby owls are too heavy for them to hold up, so, naturally, Ares, Apollo, and I kept making jokes about that. All that wisdom was just too heavy for Athena.” She tapped her temple with a chuckle.

“Wait,” Teddi said. “You were around when Athena was born?”

Artemis gave her a confused look. “Yes?”

“Oh,” Teddi said. “I always assumed that—”

“She was the oldest?” Artemis finished, and Teddi nodded. She chuckled again. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. She certainly asserts herself like she is the eldest of our kin. But no, she isn’t. The little owl is actually the third youngest out of the main lot of us, if you will believe it. She’s only older than Hermes and Dionysus. You have no idea how many ‘I cannot believe you are all older than me’ comments I have had to endure from her.” She then waved a hand. “But I’m getting off topic! Back to the matter at hand, Pallas was Athena’s greatest friend, and the two of them were trained in combat by Triton. They were raised beside each other, as close as sisters. And then, without warning, tragedy struck. Pallas was killed at Athena’s hand in an accident during an athletics festival. Stabbed through the stomach with a spear. Athena remained on this beach for several days until Hestia and Demeter, our aunts, came to retrieve her, and they found the same spear impaled through her stomach, like she had tried to make away with herself. When she was brought back to Olympos by the two of them, her gut gouged open and spilling ichor everywhere, Zeus just— he just sneered at her. As though he was more concerned with the pavilion getting dirty from her gore rather than his own daughter being badly injured. And he said, where everyone could hear, that she was acting like a child. He humiliated her. And I suppose Athena took his words to heart because, after she had recovered, she was different. Steely, jaded, calm. Whatever playfulness she had was now locked up somewhere inside of her. And Zeus was so pleased. He now had the perfect dog to lick all over his boots. I’m sure you’ve heard that Athena is his favorite out of all his kids?” When Teddi nodded, Artemis went on, “I do not envy Athena’s status. I would rather live in the shadows than stand in the light if it’s Zeus who casts such a glow. And yet, somehow, with Zeus’ spotlight constantly shining down on her, she’s become a shadow herself. She is constantly thinking, planning, scheming. All of us are, in some way, but she is the only one who acts on it. She is the only one who is constantly at work. She is the only one who takes the consequences. She barely ever stops to rest, and there are times where I don’t see her for an entire year because she’s rushing around all of Greece, aiding mortals in any way she can. And that’s—” She sighed, rubbing her forehead with two fingers, and Teddi could tell this was something she had discussed several times before. “That’s fine. Really, it is. If she finds joy in helping mortals, then who am I to tell her that it’s wrong? The thing is, I don’t think it brings her joy. Not exactly. Maybe it does, sometimes, but I feel like it’s just a way to make ends meet. A way to distract herself. Or maybe it’s just her feeling the constant pressure put upon her by Zeus, so she’s desperately scrambling to try and claw her way up to his unreasonably high expectations for her. She hardly trusts anyone at all, doesn’t talk about her problems, doesn’t even have her mother to turn to because Zeus ate her! Medusa was the first time since Pallas that Athena well and truly settled down enough to make a relationship with someone, and that was taken from her. She’s alone, and that is not a good place to be when you’re immortal and live forever.”

“Because of how lonely it can get?” Teddi said.

“Precisely,” Artemis confirmed. “The novelty wears off after a few decades—and that’s usually before you even reach the centuries. Why do you think I make it to where my huntresses don’t age or can’t die from natural causes? It’s a vain attempt to keep other people around. Because, after they die, there’s a good chance that I will never see them again. And when I saw what Pallas’ death did to Athena, I was afraid of going through the same grief. Unfortunately, not even my divine protections can stop whatever the Fates have in store for my pack. If they are meant to die, then there is nothing I can do about it.”

Chrysaor lifted his snout to nuzzle his nose against one of Artemis’ hands, and Artemis smiled softly, giving him a pat on the head.

“But at least I have them,” Artemis went on. “Athena… Athena doesn’t really have anyone. However…” She crossed her arms firmly over her chest. “I suspect this goes deeper than even Medusa and Pallas.”

“What do you mean?” Teddi questioned, tilting her head.

“Athena has always been walking over hot coals,” Artemis said. “As the years went by, she became more and more frustrated with everything, but especially Zeus. Never had the courage to actually make a stand against him. Until the day Medusa died, of course. I wasn’t present for the battle, but Apollo told me it was terribly destructive. Lightning, fire, ichor spraying everywhere. And after it was over, she went into this ‘dormant mode.’ I think she finally realized the futility of it all. She had spent so long bowing beneath a man who could care less about her, and everyone she has loved has died brutally, so she just…stopped. Now, she just exists in this state of nothingness. And she’s so scared, I think.” She shook her head. “We gods are not good people, Teddi. That much you must understand about us. None of us are good.” She paused. “Well— slight addendum to that, Hestia is good. I don’t think she’s ever done anything bad in her entire life. But aside from her, none of us are good. Our morality is entirely ambiguous and constantly fluctuating, and we only act civil because we choose to, not because we have to. I’m not going to act like I’m innocent. I’ve done terrible things that I am not proud of, and there are even more terrible things that I am proud of. But Athena… Athena, at the very least, tries. She tries to be good. If there is anyone who does not deserve this cruel hand that has been dealt, it is most certainly her. I just hope that, one day, she will learn to forgive herself.”

[jander-sunstar]

Jander’s Expanded Guide to Vampires: the Elven Strain

One could write a book on the whole of the Vampire condition. In fact, one has! Our friend Doctor Van Richten spent quite a lot of time researching his Guide to Vampires (and I count myself an uncredited source, for some of it), and the result is as reliable as any bestiary ever was. 

But, comprehensive as the Guide is, the good doctor focuses primarily on the Human strain of Vampirism. This is understandable, seeing as that’s the most common strain available - I myself am of the human variety, despite being a sun elf in origin. I am a rare example, though, as multiple other strains exist in these lands, and each one tends to favor a particular race.

Thus I will begin by describing what I consider to be true Elven Vampires, and compare them with the more standard human variety with which you might already be familiar.

Hunter’s Rating: 🦇 🦇 🦇 🦇

The stereotype that elves are all, what was it, tree-hugging granola freaks (thanks, Soth), is perhaps an unkind one, but not strictly inaccurate. So, of course, when these misty lands decided to craft a Vampire to specifically target elves, they did so by turning nearly every aspect of our natures on its head. Elven Vampires inhabit the same forests that their living brethren adore, but slowly corrupt the landscape by their very presence. They share a cruel attunement with forest animals, and can summon and command swarms of small mammals, or birds of prey, or, of course, wolves. Many of the spell-like abilities an Elven Vampire possesses mimic druid spells, in how they shape and control plant life, and a hunter must always be wary of having their environment turned against them in this way.

Other considerations for the aspiring hunter include the naturally frightening affect these creatures have, beyond that of ordinary undead, and their terrible Black Thumb curse. This is the one point of commonality I share with Vampires of my own race; no living plant can bear my touch, and withers dead on contact. This is the cause of no small grief in myself and my similarly afflicted kin, and it even extends to one of the most powerful abilities a true Elven Vampire possesses, which is an innate ability to treewalk. Through this skill, an Elven Vampire might simply walk into an appropriately sized plant, and appear walking out of another plant of the same type elsewhere in the world. This action instantly kills both plants involved, and cannot be used to cross Domain borders, but good luck pinning one of the bastards in place when they can just vanish into the nearest tree.

Rather than feeding on blood and physical health, as human-derived Vampires do, Elven Vampires typically feed on charisma itself. This manifests as disfiguring marks and scars resulting from contact with the creature - although one must wonder if this isn’t a case of poor data collection, given that physical attractiveness is but one aspect of one’s charismatic charm, and victims of Vampire attacks really have enough to worry about already without knee-jerk ableism dropped on their heads as well.

And on top of everything else, a true Elven Vampire diverges from one’s expectations by being diurnal. Really! Diurnal! I’ve been struck with their Black Thumb curse, for the crime of having too good a time gardening, but they get to keep the sun!? Unreasonable! Inconceivable! I want to speak to a manager!

Ahem. Excuse me. The strange fact of the matter is, true Elven Vampires physically cannot tolerate either the open night sky, nor the presence of earth over their heads. They are restricted to daylight hours, and abhor underground spaces. It is as though the rules are utterly reversed for them -- which makes hunting them as a human-derived Vampire a chore and a half, let me tell you.

If you seek to destroy such a creature, know that the typical trifecta of repellants (mirrors, holy symbols, and garlic) will do you no good. Instead, reach for fresh flower petals to create a line on the ground that the Elven Vampire cannot cross, and season your stakes in the fire until they become as charcoal. Once paralyzed by staking, sever the head and burn it in a fire built of flowers and flowering plants for at least twenty four hours. A lengthy process, but an aromatic one, and the reward you will reap is the freedom from undead tyranny - at least, for now.