#Vampire Fëanorians

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Caranthir

Introducing the beautiful artwork @noldorinpainter made for my fic

Blood

Here depicted,

Caranthir

fourth-born of Nerdanel and Fëanor - born a vampire - unwed as of yet - has laid claim to Agnes and has been cruelly foiled by King Thranduil

He's one of the antagonists who might well be redeemed in chapter 13 or so...remains to be seen.

Please give a hand to this amazing artist for bringing my silly little vampire vision to life.

Lots of love from me!

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Wednesday, July 31

WILLOW: Oh, hey, I have a name on my jacket. (takes off jacket to look) Harris. XANDER: Harris? That's my last name. Maybe I have a brother and you go out with him. (Willow looking uncertain) Or maybe you go out with me. WILLOW: Well, we did wake up all snuggly-wuggly. (walks closer to him) Maybe you're my boyfriend. XANDER: Either that, or I got one pissed-off brother out there somewhere. (both smile)

~~Tabula Rasa~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

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Gifset: He sort of admits himself that his motives are... spurious. by ladyverdance (Buffy/Spike, Buffy/Faith, worksafe)

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[Reviews & Recaps]

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What your favorite BtVS character says about you... by housedyke

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[last-capy-hupping]

Can't wait for your TRSB. Completely adore your writing! I really am so excited!

Thanks! 😍😍😍😍

For those interested, you’ll be getting close to 40k words of a Finrod/Caranthir heist drama featuring Fëanorian vampires, Arafinwëan werewolves, and Ñolofinwëan werebears, as well as 7.5k words of unhinged Ungoliant/Thuringwethil smut.

[apihtawtoussaint]

Okay, okay, okay. Hades 2 but Lord of the Rings?

Hear me out; Legolas in Aman going through the Halls of Mandos to meet with Gimli in the Dwarven Halls after his death for a few moments before being kicked back out for being a living Elf.

The hub would be in Aman, maybe on Ezellohar for the drama? Fingon Astaldo and Elrond would be initially Legolas' biggest supporters. Elrond just because he's like that, and Fingon has a vested interest in seeing if it can be done. Galadriel would be neutral initially, but Legolas would win her over and after a number of runs she'd arrange for armour and equipment buffs.

Daeron and Thranduil could also be around for colour commentary. Thranduil would disaprove and just be there to make it known how hard he was disaproving.

Boons would be from the Valar; Aulë would be the first to provide assistance. He'd be all for this nonsense. The others would join in once they noticed that Mandos was letting this happen, and isn't that just the darndest thing? The Doomsman must have some knowledge that he isn't sharing.

The first section would be the rooms of the main waiting area of The Halls. Where most Elves are waiting to be reimbodied. Most enemies would be Elves who had fallen in battle and haven't fullen become consicous again yet.

There'd be lots of colourful tapistries everywhere, and Vairë could serve as the merchant. You'd trad spider silk or some other weaving material with her in exchange for whatever she had.

I'm not certain who the friendly encounter would be, perhaps Gil Galad?

The boss at the end, Huan I think. We're just accepting he'd be here, magic dog. He'd be very conflicted, Celegorm is in the next section of the Halls and he wants to keep Legolas away from him. After the Luthièn business, I think Huan would disavow Celegorm but he spent centuries as his protector and friend; very difficult scenario especially for a dog. Caught between his warring instincts, Huan would guard this section and wouldn't let anyone in or out without a fight.

After beating him, the mid sectiom would be for those who will be in the Halls for a real long stint. The Fëanorian Section.

Parts would be in flames (the ships) and others frozen (the grinding ice). Enemies would be restless, angry spirts who had been murdered in some way because of the Silmarils.

The friendly encounter wouls be my guy, Maedhros, of course. Very similar path to Achilles and Patroclus in Hades.

Maybe Eöl or Maeglin as a miniboss?

At the end of the section would be Fëanor, chained up and very angry about it. He wouldn't be able to do much, but one of his C sons would also be there (Celegorm, Curufin, or Carnister) and would be compelled to fight you on his behalf.

Once Legolas was done with him, he's have to sneak around the edges of the Halls, close to the Void.

Here there be monsters. Werewolves, spiders, vampires, orcs, the whole gang's here.

The friendly encounter? You know what? Ungoliant.

And the boss to get through to get to the Halls of Mahal wouod be Durin's Bane himself. Big ol' balrog.

Then would be a shorter maze of Dwarven traps that were mostly made just to pass the time.

And then finally, biggest boss, Mandos the Doomsman (but he's not being super serious about it, Legolas still has a chance)

30 runs later, once you've finally beaten him you get to go through the door. On the other sIde? Gimli.

But Legolas can't stay long term, so he gets brought back to Aman where he can try again. Because it's a roguelite.

[tanoraqui]

Hi, Maedhros and Fingon from the superhero au make me feral, I love everything about them. if you feel like it I would love to see some more about Elros and Elrond from that au. Or alternatively, i was too shy to suggest anything the other week when you were doing the prompt list, but how about Elros and Elrond, the mafia au, library?

I’ll take “Elros and Elrond from the superhero au” for 500, Alex; thank you!

Elros’s Finwëan superpower is healing, because in THIS house we respect “the hands of the king are the hands of a healer” as an ancient truism of Arda and, accordingly, believe that Elros was the one with innate healing talent and Elrond only learned it later in life, likely in memory of Elros. Superhero au!Elros can heal others and himself by laying hands on them and willing it, though it does require energy from him and concentration. He gets much more efficient with both power and speed once he learns anatomy.

Elrond’s Finwëan power is the ability to radially radiate an aura of peace, in which harmful attacks are physically slowed and the will to violence, and all other negative emotions, are calmed. Ranged projectiles which enter the space also slow, though not necessarily enough to do no damage. He can push it farther out and/or more intensely the longer it goes, with limits. Elrond has to maintain his own sense of peace in order to do this, no anger, fear, desire to injure, etc. Elrond glows while he does this; the light marks the area and strength of effect.

Five generations down from Finwë, these powers are relatively weak compared to previous generations. However, their Maiaran blood means they both have a natural talent for Singing (ie, magic), which they can most easily use to augment their Light-based abilities.

These twins grew up in a post-apocalyptic hellscape timeline in which Morgoth conquered Earth and now most people are dead or, if unlucky, enslaved. The small group of free survivors which their parents led, constantly on the run, was luckier and more protected than most thanks largely to the Silmaril Elwing bore, but they were hunted fiercely by the small surviving band of the Sons of Fëanor (down to Maedhros, Maglor and Amrod) and their few remaining followers...while all were hunted by orcs, wolves, vampires, etc.

They found some sort of rip in reality, maybe caused by Morgoth's discordant war of conquest. Eärendil went through it to seek aid from the Valar. When the Fëanorians cornered them there, waiting for his return, Elwing tried to go through it with the Silmaril. Her sons tried to follow her, holding on to the back of her shirt, holding on to each other.

They got about 1.5 out of 3, and ended up by the side of a random freeway in modern America....

Maglor and Maedhros were driving (being driven) by on their way to a concert - Maglor to sing, Maedhros bullied into having a pleasant night off while supporting his beloved (annoying) brother and smiling for the cameras. Maglor saw 2 bedraggled 6yos trudging along by the side of this random freeway and told the limo driver to pull over...

In short order,

- the Fëanorians are like, 'holy shit, hitherto unknown baby cousins of some sort?!?' because these kids eyes definitely have Light in them

- Elros tries to stab Maglor, because Maglor reaches for them and these are literally the terrible monsters they were fleeing from 30 minutes ago, albeit much cleaner and less obviously scarred, and of course the 6yos from the post-apocalyptic hellscape have their own knives + basic combat training

- Elrond is too scared to stop anything with his power, see: previous comment about monsters.

Maglor's hand gets a little stabbed. Maedhros grabs Elros's arm and wrenches the knife away before he can try again. Elrond bites Maedhros's arm, like, really hard, the way you secretly always want to try biting someone just once, lots of blood.

- Maglor Sings the children to sleep with a hasty but strong lullaby (he was under stress, okay, and stabbed!). He and Maedhros look down at the uneasily-sleeping children.

- "They look a little Turgon-y," Maglor offers. "In the eyebrows?"

- "I don't even know if that's Light like ours," says Maedhros. He kneels down to frisk each boy for more weapons, then picks them up, one in each arm. "Remember Dior?"

- (Dior, son of Lúthien and Beren, had time-travelled back a comic books time!couple years ago from a terrible future in which Fingon was actually for real and ever killed this time so the House of Fëanor went to war with the magical isolated island of Doriath, in the name of retrieving the one Silmaril free of Morgoth, to the detriment of most of the rest of the world. That terrible timeline averted, Dior had stayed in the present and (re?)married his non-future wife, a millennia-old Iathrin forest ranger named Nimloth. They'd just recently had twin sons, though clearly not these ones - those were silver-haired rather than dark, and this one who'd just stabbed Maglor definitely had Fingolfin's nose.)

- (So the Fëanorians both knew that all-out war was to be avoided at almost all cost. But Doriath actually now had two Silmarils, or rather, the same Silmaril twice over, and Maedhros didn't need to say it aloud for Maglor to understand: ransom.)

[incorrectdarklords]

How would you rate Tolkien 'bad guys' according to their aesthetic?

Ok I’m only doing a few

Mairon

- 10000000/10, digging the whole eye thing mate, Fire aesthetic is cool af, I’m biased because he’s my favorite . Also goth aesthetic. And his EYES

Melkor

- 10000000/10, the dragons are COOL also the angbang ice/fire thing is cool . Goth aesthetic af also vampires work for him

The Dragons

- 100/10 big boys

Gothmog

- 10/10 diablo vibes

Thuringwethil

- 10000000/10 I’m lesbian and vampire aesthetic is *chefs kiss* (mairon still my fav tho)

Saruman

- 5/10 the wizard aesthetic is the only thing I like about this bitchass fucker bitch

Ungoliant

- -100/10 fuck bigass spiders

Shelob

- see above

Gollum

- -1000000000/10 ew.

The Fëanorians

- WHO AM I KIDDING THESE GUYS ARE ANTI-HEROS

The Nazgûl

- 100000/10 I’m a witch-king simp also the cloak shit w the horses ? Grim reaper lookin fuckers ? HOOOOOOOOOOOO BOY

Maeglin

- 10/10 he’s trying his best to do the goth aesthetic!!!

Im bad at rating aesthetics and I know I missed some people but I just woke up

[legendariumladiesapril]

Legendarium Ladies April - Prompts for April 27

Dear everyone, it’s our second-to-last prompt set, which means we’ve almost made it through April. If you’re still working on something that’s not quite finished yet (like yours truly; I haven’t managed to create a single thing for LLA in spite of my best intentions), you can still submit them during Amnesty Week, which is running until May 10 this year. I’ll continue checking the tag during that time, and I’m looking forward to seeing more from you! ♥

________________________________________________________________

General Prompt: Animal Companions

Lúthien and Huan, Thuringwethil the vampire bat, Berúthiel and her cats, Eärwen, the Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë, Nessa who outruns her deer, Erendis and the lovebirds she and Aldarion were gifted... many of Tolkien’s female characters come associated with animals, with more or less special connections. Are there other female characters you can think of, or those who might have animal companions even though they are not named in the texts? Aredhel was a huntress with a skill that is widely understood to rival her Fëanorian cousins, perhaps she had an affinity for animals herself? What about Éowyn’s horse Windfola, or her name which connects her strongly to Rohirric horses? 

For this prompt, create a fanwork about a female character and her animal companion(s). 

________________________________________________________________

Picture Prompt: The Dangerous Journey, by Tove Jansson

________________________________________________________________

Poetry Prompt: Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Here comes the big surprise @mismaeve...hehehehe

@heilith :)

Words: 1,6k

Warnings: Injury, blood, blood-drinking...(also, the ship is a half-cousin ship in canon, even though they're not closely related here)

Chapter 6: Fingon

He was riding too fast and too recklessly, Fingon knew, but he was running late, and his bride was waiting for him.

As he had never met the woman on account of her having been chosen by his father for him, he was fiercely aware of how bad it would look if he failed to present himself to her in a timely manner. Hence why he had chosen the shortcut through a wood that was said to be “haunted” and “cursed”.

Fingon did not believe in such things; if one was to ask him, people were merely bored and that was why they came up with that kind of ridiculous story. These were only dark trees having grown wild for too long so that their boughs were hopelessly entangled; there was nothing inherently sinister or threatening about them.

Brave as he was, he was not daunted by the night and its wavering shadows either even though he had to concede that it might have been imprudent to traverse an unknown and wild forest without the bright, merciful light of day to guide him along the paths that now all seemed hidden and shifting under the bleak gleam of the moon.

A flash of flame shot past him and just as he turned his head to catch a better glimpse at the fiery ball that had passed his peripheral field of vision, his exhausted horse reared up and threw him. Usually, he was an excellent rider, but he had been so distracted by the potential fire that he had not been bracing for the eventual fall and consequently, he tumbled off the back of his trusty steed in a tangle of flailing limbs.

His head smashed into an unfortunately placed rock and his vision went white for a few moments; when he blinked frantically to regain control over his mind though, an angel was bent over him in visible worry.

Long, fiery red hair – falling in soft waves around the most gorgeous face Fingon had ever beheld – bracketed an otherworldly glow such as he had never seen before.

He was also incredibly tall, Fingon realised in a daze, and his bright grey eyes kept returning to the spot where the sharp edges of the rock had torn the skin as if inexorably attracted by the warm blood seeping into the fertile earth beneath him.

Fingon made to speak but the pained neighing of his horse made the strange apparition whip around at such a speed that he seemed to blur before Fingon’s burning eyes; before the injured man could so much as sit up to lift a hand, the angel had vanished and the noble steed had relapsed into silence.

It took a few moments, but – at long last – Fingon scrambled back to his feet and groaned as the world started spinning madly around him. He had hit his head harder than he had surmised and the probing fingers he brushed along the pulsating ache at his temple came away blood-stained.

He knew not how long he had stood there, desperately embracing a young tree to avoid falling back to the ground but – when a young woman collided with his immobile form – the moon had already passed its zenith in the sky.

“Ey!” he called out, transferring his iron grip from the trunk to her shivering body. “Where do you come from?” “Don’t ask, you don’t want to know,” she replied breathlessly and threw a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Come away from here, it’s not safe.”

“I was thrown by my horse and now I can’t find it,” he babbled, looking down into her frantic eyes and frowning in confusion. “I am Fingon by the way.”

“Agnes, Aggie if you want,” she panted and started to tug him along, but his staggering feet kept getting entangled in the undergrowth and stray roots. “Your horse is dead and gone, believe me! You’re bleeding!”

Her voice was so shrill and panicked that he touched the wound again; the sickly trickle had already slowed and lessened and he offered her a warm, encouraging  smile.

“Are you afraid of blood? I am so sorry; it’s nothing though, don’t worry.”

For a second, Aggie just stared at him before barking out a short salvo of derisive laughter. “Afraid…me…no,” she wheezed and kept pulling. “Come now; the night is waning fast and we have to find shelter until the sun comes up.” “Did you see the angel?” he asked as he tried to keep up with the scrabbling frenzy of her tiny feet. “I saw an angel, just after I was thrown off the horse.”

Again, she gave a bitter laugh that was hacked off at the end as if she had simply bitten down on it and choked it.

“You saw no such thing, you bloody fool,” she hissed, looking back over his shoulder as she turned to face him and lead him away walking backwards. “If you don’t want to share your horse’s fate, I’d urge you to save your breath and start running. There are no angels in this wood tonight. Only death.”

She shivered, evidently overcome with a traumatic memory, and drove Fingon on even more insistently.

“You’re not from here, are you? Otherwise, you’d know that one does not bring dumb beasts into this forest,” she ground out between gritted teeth as she steered him towards a cave in a small rocky formation at the end of a steep incline.

“No, I was just passing through,” Fingon admitted. “I am expected at home by my father and my future bride.”

“Oh wonderful,” she sneered, “if you want to see your beloved ever again, you’d better hasten!”

“She’s not my beloved and I’ve never seen her before,” Fingon, still somewhat foggy-brained, mumbled. “I was to meet her tonight but…”

“Yes, yes,” Aggie groaned, “your horse was startled, you fell, and then you just stood there hugging a tree.”

“Also, I’ve seen the most incredibly beautiful creature. Are you sure that he was not an angel? How can you know?”

They had almost made it to the mouth of the cave now; Aggie had switched their positions again and was now shoving Fingon up the hill as if he was but a cart stuck in the mud.

“He was bent over me when I came to,” Fingon went on dreamily, “but then my horse neighed in the distance and – in a flash – he was gone.”

This gave Agnes pause.

“You were bleeding then? And he just…Never mind. You’ve been extremely lucky!” she muttered and sighed deeply as they entered the cold, clammy hole in the rock wall. “We’ll stay here until the sun comes up.”

“What are we hiding from?” Fingon asked drowsily; the trek to their sanctuary had jolted him and he was bleeding profusely once more.

Agnes just shook her head and motioned at a heap of dead leaves and moss in one corner. “Lay down and rest. We might get you to your bride yet.”

Somehow, Fingon instinctively knew that she did not truly believe in her own words, but his head was pounding painfully now and all he wanted was to close his eyes and visualise that worried, stern face he had glimpsed earlier once more.

He was dimly aware that the strange woman by his side was afraid of something, but he had the instinctive, unshakeable impression that she was not worried about herself. Maybe, he thought languorously, it was she who was the danger and he’d die where he lay.

At least he wouldn’t have to face his father’s disappointment; Fingon was not afraid of death, he was merely scared of not having lived as well, as earnestly, and as fully as he might have.

When he awoke once more, it was to a low, slurping sound.

His eyes felt as if they were filled with sand, but he forced them open only to see Agnes – pale and weeping – sitting propped up against the cave wall. A tall, silver-haired creature was cradled in her arms and its blood-smeared mouth was sucking eagerly at a spot just beneath her collarbone.

“Aggie,” he cried out in alarm. Immediately, the being spun around, eyes ablaze with a strange, cold light, and bared its teeth at him.

“It’s fine, Fingon,” she slurred weakly. “I’d explain, but my mind is swimming and my tongue is heavy. Everything is all right though, worry not!”

Pushing himself up on his wobbly arms, Fingon discovered that the mysterious, flame-haired angel he had seen earlier was crouching only a stone’s throw away from him; the ethereal being looked badly beaten up though and its lids kept fluttering as if it was struggling to keep its eyes open.

“There,” Fingon cried, “that is the angel I have told you about.”

The creature having latched on to Aggie’s skin again gave a wry chuckle at his enthusiastic cry.

“I know,” Aggie whispered, “but that is no angel.” “What is wrong with him?” Fingon asked, feeling his pulse beat against his injured temple like a hammer; already, he felt weak and disoriented once more.

“No time to explain,” Aggie replied softly and then, tilting her head down to the entity in her lap, she hissed: “I invoke your debt to me, Thranduil. When you carry me out of here, we shall take them with us. The man is injured and needs rest and I won’t see my Master’s son burned to a heap of ashes come morning. I buy your strength with my blood. You owe me this much.”

Fingon didn’t hear the reply as blessed oblivion fell over his mind once more.

They are my blorbos and I will smuggle them into everything...I am sorry...

So...small intermezzo from the other side lol

Lots of love

-> Chapter 7

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 9

By the request of my husband, I shall post Chapter 9 :)

@mismaeve, @heilith...here comes the next chapter!

-> Chapter 8

Words: 1,7k

Warnings: Blood, injury, threats

Chapter 9: Thranduil

“You cannot do this to him!”

Aggie burst into the throne room and stared Thranduil down mercilessly.

Waving his guards and counsellors away, Thranduil strode towards her, taking care not to move too quickly or too aggressively. He had expected her and her just fury and so, he merely smiled when he felt the blood rushing to her face to paint it an enticing crimson.

Though he would not have readily admitted it, he was pleased to see that she cared so unreservedly for a creature she was supposed to fear and loathe; he would not have believed it possible that one such as she was – young, alive, thriving – could ever see beyond the glaringly obvious monstrosity of his kind.

In truth, it made painful, all-consuming hope blossom within his cold, unmoving chest.

Of course, he had no intention of kicking off a major conflict and – had it not been for her stunt – he would certainly have been torn apart by Maedhros sooner or later; before meeting Aggie, Thranduil might not even truly have regretted seeing his torturous existence terminated at last.

As things were though, he would be more than willing to grant her wish and let that insolent pup return to his insufferable litter of heel-nipping, yapping siblings if that pleased her. Making her smile had quickly become addictive in the highest degree to him, and he was surprised and alarmed enough by that development to clam up all the more decisively.

“I have saved him from the sun,” Thranduil drawled, revelling in the flare of ire in her eyes and the way her hands curled into fists as if she believed that she could do any real damage to him. “What more would you ask in the name of one who came here to murder me?”

“Did he though?” Aggie shot back shrewdly; after the night she had had, she was not easily cowed or misled by cryptic assertions and half-truths anymore.

“I guess not,” he conceded with a swirl of his hand. “Nonetheless, he almost succeeded.”

“But he didn’t,” she spat, tugging the archaic shift she had been given aside to make him look at the bruises and bite marks marring her skin. “Did he? No, he didn’t for you stand there, alive still, and argue with me!”

“It was not he who saved me,” Thranduil hissed; he felt a pang of guilt at the sight of her mistreated body and the bad conscience – another new and entirely unpleasant sensation – made him defensive. Unfortunately, he seemed momentarily unable to dig into his own reserves of anger and dissatisfaction.

“You know that you cannot save us all,” he said in a much softer voice, cupping her flaming face in a cold palm. “We are beyond rescue. We have been for longer than your family tree has blossomed.”

When she threw her arms around his icy neck fitfully and pressed eager, soothing, imploring kisses onto his stony cheeks though, Thranduil felt as if he might have wept if that had still been within his power.

“I will not give up on any of you,” she asseverated passionately. “Not until my own heart stops beating in my chest. Let him go!”

“The sun is up, darling Aggie,” Thranduil murmured against her warmth, “and he is too weak to travel. Would you have me personally escort my foe and would-be assassin back to his mother’s apron strings?”

“If need be,” she declared haughtily; Thranduil’s predatory senses caught the flash of unease passing through her eyes like a shadow though and his interest was piqued by the tinge of guilt he had picked up on.

“What have you done now, Agnes?” he asked in a forbidding tone even as he bolstered her behind with his arms and carried her out of the throne room over into his private quarters. It had been quite a trial, but one of his captains had unearthed an old stash of healing herbs they had been given by some poor soul trying desperately to save their life through entirely misguided blackmail.

A bath would do Aggie good, Thranduil decided, she had not slept, and her body was weakened by how much she had been willing to give him to restore his flickering, failing vitality.

“I’ve sent Fingon to check on him,” she admitted in a small voice, not struggling or objecting as he bore her away swiftly down dark corridors she didn’t even see.

It was only due to his superior reflexes that Thranduil could avoid crashing into the nearest wall in shock at this revelation.

“You’ve sent the poor man to his death? Oh, you’re a dangerous woman, Agnes.”

Her eyes were soft and pleading in the lightless depths of the hallway and her mouth curled into a half-smile. “If he really is that weak,” she murmured pensively, “I am sure that Fingon can hold him at bay long enough to flee, if he so wishes.”

This speech only deepened Thranduil’s confusion; Maedhros was a prisoner in these halls and the king had not expected that he’d try to deploy his nasty tricks of seduction in a place heavy with spells that were anathema to his own.

Pushing open a heavy stone door, he set Aggie down on a soft bench and bent over the large bathing pool, dug into the very floor and taking up the better part of the room, to fill it with warm, soothing water for her. All the while, his mind was racing though, considering and weighing the possibilities her words had painted in his imagination.

“You’d strengthen the enemy?” he finally asked as he led her over and held her hand as she walked down the few steps into the restoring brew of herbs and heated spring water. “You’d invigorate Maedhros the tall so he can have another go at me?”

“No,” Aggie cried out, her vehemence dampened by the relief sloshing against her bare skin. “I want him strong enough to travel back to whence he’s come. He shan’t…”

“Queen Agnes,” Thranduil mocked tenderly, “mistress of the undead, chiding them like naughty schoolboys and making them behave according to her rules.”

“Well someone has to,” she scoffed and leaned back in the spacious pool with a contented sigh. “All shall be well.”

Her blind, unwavering faith was disturbing to Thranduil, especially as it made him secretly wish he could be the being she clearly seemed to think he was capable of being instead of the mean, destructive abomination he knew himself to truly be.

“Your friend is going to end up dead, Aggie,” he then imparted the hard, deplorable wisdom of truth in a mournful voice. “Fëanor’s pup will suck him dry and leave only his cracked bones behind.”

“We’ll see,” Aggie replied, her eyes closed and her face incongruously relaxed in the given circumstances, “I have faith in Fingon. It doesn’t hurt all that much and I’ve told him so to hearten him.”

“You want him to be murdered?” Thranduil exclaimed; he could not understand how she had gone from crouching over that man’s unconscious body like a feral animal, ready to die to defend him, to sacrificing him to a known atrocity.

“Of course not,” she giggled. “Dear king, you are alive, I am alive, Maedhros is yet alive…what makes you believe that Fingon will surely die?”

“He cannot…” Thranduil spluttered, crouching down by the edge of the tub. “You must be jesting, Aggie. You sent the man to Maedhros’ bath in hopes that he’d join you in your selfless sacrifice? This is folly!”

Sitting up brusquely, Aggie dragged a wet hand across Thranduil’s cheek, half-expecting it to congeal into a layer of glittering ice on his lifeless skin and smiled.

“Thranduil, I am not insane despite what you might think. I am aware that both you and Maedhros could have torn me apart like a ragdoll…but – let me reiterate – I am very much alive. Actually, I am presently sitting in the first proper hot bath of my life and – I am sure – if I asked for a cup of water, you’d get me one. Is it so absurd of me to base my expectations on my own experiences rather than some old folk tales?”

“Water or wine?” Thranduil inquired instinctively, already turning to call for one of his servants when Aggie grabbed his hand and pulled him back to face her.

“You’ve been nothing but good to me thus far,” she said insistently, “and it really is a small sacrifice. I do not know what will happen to Fingon, but I am comforted by the fact that he will get to make up his mind about it on his own.”

“You underestimate our powers of seduction,” Thranduil groaned, exasperated with her unexpected, unquenchable optimism.

“Ah poppycock,” Aggie laughed. “I am aware of your powers of seduction, and I am counting on them. Now, I wouldn’t refuse a glass of wine.”

As he summoned one of the discreet shadows flitting around his halls, Thranduil wondered how it had come to this; he profoundly disagreed with Aggie on every count, but a part of him was almost convinced that she’d end up being right.

After an eternity of sullen silence and morose loneliness, he was particularly ill-equipped to be hosting an old foe, a complete stranger, and a woman who was on her best way to revive more than his desire to live. Indeed, he was growing increasingly fond of Agnes’ ludicrous bravery and stubborn but utterly skewed morality; she was life itself – temperamental, random, and unstoppable – and the more he indulged, the more he craved to let her chase away the dust and the cobwebs.

“Your wish is my command,” he sighed, “my midnight sun.”

Her joyous chuckle and the muted splashing sounds made Thranduil’s fossilised heart soar and so he gave the order to prepare a feast for their two mortal guests; if Aggie’s prophecy came true, they’d both need all the strength and nourishment he could provide.

“I’ll send Fëanor a bill for my nanny services,” Thranduil muttered and froze upon realising that he had almost made a silly joke, something that had not occurred in thousands of years. “Strange things are happening,” he told the dumbfounded vampire in front of him. “Very strange indeed.”

“Why don’t you join me here?” Aggie called from behind him and Thranduil froze; how many more of his weaknesses could he reveal to her before she’d stumble across one she found accessible enough to use it against him?

New title style and lots of love from me! <3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 7

Chapter 6

@mismaeve, @heilith here comes the next chapter...

Words: 1,7k

Warnings: Fight, injuries, near-death experience, blood, blood-sucking

Chapter 7: Thranduil

“Oh, they’ve sent you?” Thranduil laughed mirthlessly as he saw the tall firstborn of his inveterate foe striding into his halls with such understated but pervasive confidence as if he owned every branch and leaf within them.

Maitimo – such an arrogant name – was a marvel many a vampire had risked life and love to see when he had been born; he went by “Maedhros” now, but he was still as blindingly, disgustingly beautiful as the day Thranduil had first laid eyes on him. The miracle child who’d herald a new era, Thranduil remembered not without biting sarcasm as he appraised the timelessly gorgeous apparition in front of him.

Though pale, Maedhros looked much less lifeless than most of their kind and the slight flush tinging his high, well-sculpted cheeks filled Thranduil with insane, boundless ire. It was entirely unfair that this unworthy interloper had gotten both the boundless strength of the undead and the charming testaments of such an exertion that were usually reserved for the living.

“You’ve taken what was not yours to claim,” the intruder declared with self-assured calm. “I’ve come to negotiate the terms of the return of the girl. My brother is rather set on having her. I’ve brought you a horse as a gesture of goodwill; I am inconsolable though for I had to put it out of its misery.”

The triumphant grin tugging uncomfortably at the corners of Thranduil’s mouth was as sharp as his fangs. “I am afraid you’re too late for that and I have no use for your stolen, dead horse!”

Maedhros’ eyes bulged in shock. “Not even you would dare! That is preposterous!” he spluttered, what little colour there had been draining from his face instantly. “What did you do to her?”

“I took what was offered to me,” Thranduil purred, “nothing more and nothing less.”

“You’ve seduced the poor maiden?” A slight tremor rippled through the tense frame of the copper-haired youth.

“Ah, don’t be a hypocrite! Isn’t that your usual spiel? Tricking and coercing virgins into giving up their blood willingly?” Thranduil sneered. “She’s quite positively denied me her life and her soul, but she has offered me her body. And I am not fool enough to refuse such a sacrifice!”

He spread out his long, elegant fingers, remembering how it had felt to have warmth tingling at their tips once more.

“I’ve caught on to your little secret – your father’s that is, I heard your brother had much less success – and I have to tip my hat to Fëanor; it’s incredible what difference it makes if the blood is consciously and willingly proffered.”

With a feral hiss, Maedhros bared his teeth at him, his lean body shifting ever so slightly; he was ready to strike, and he would give no quarter.

Thranduil smirked and flung his arms out invitingly. “Come on then, big baby, let’s see what you’ve learned!”

As Maedhros moved – swift as the river and just as unstoppably – the horse and all the polite words he had been preparing in his mind were soon forgotten; Thranduil’s body was solid and cold as they collided, sinking fangs and sharp claws into unyielding flesh until they felt the satisfying rending of living rock being torn asunder.

In his long years of existence, the elven king had faced many an opponent in his wooded realm and yet, he did not know if he could have withstood the savage onslaught of a vampire much younger and evidently well-fed if it hadn’t been for the remnant of Aggie’s blood coursing through his veins.

Within mere moments, a hauntingly beautiful dance of unfettered, precise violence was unleashed in the spacious chamber. Blurring shadows of silver and copper clashed and separated in a cacophony of feral growls and bursting stone.

Attracted by the noise of wilful destruction, the guards drew closer to the door, ready to come to the aid of their king and – when they pushed into the next room after a particularly sonorous bang of shattering glass – Aggie slipped out a side-door unnoticed.

“Stay back,” Thranduil hissed, his pride stung by the mocking leer on his adversary’s face, when he saw his men surround the fighters, weapons drawn and ready. “I can deal with the pup on my own.”

He was lying through his teeth; his strength was failing fast now, and he gave a wry chuckle as he remembered how he had predicted his final demise.

“Would you die to keep your ill-gotten loot?” Maedhros sneered, panting heavily and cradling an injured arm in the crook of the other one; he looked worse for wear as well, but his eyes shone bright with determination and almost reluctant aggression.

Suddenly, as his eyes fell on the shredded fabric hanging pathetically off his shivering limbs, Thranduil had a terrible premonition. “The girl,” he cried out and whirled around to face his men, presenting his enemy with his unguarded back. “Where is she? Didn’t I tell you to protect her with your life?”

“She can’t have…” the captain sneered but was soon interrupted and corrected by someone farther back in the throng of onlookers. “She’s…gone!”

Thranduil didn’t even take the time to acknowledge how honourable Maedhros had turned out to be, refusing to attack someone who had their back turned to him before he rushed back into the chamber in which he had left Aggie.

“Maybe,” Maedhros now gurgled, amusement colouring his warm, full voice, “she didn’t care for you all that much after all. Don’t worry, I’ll find her.”

“The hell you will,” Thranduil spat back, limping towards the second exit; the door was ajar, and a cool breeze caressed his throbbing face. “Clever girl,” he praised under his breath, “very clever, little Aggie. You meant it when you vowed that you’d not see anyone die because of you!”

Barking an order for his men to go procure fresh venison – for he had every intention to bring Aggie back or die trying – he took off, Maedhros hard on his heels; they would not risk bringing anyone else along for fear of being double-crossed by the sheer power of the torturous thirst that plagued everyone in these halls.

They were much slower than they were used to – hampered by their grievous injuries – and their pride took another hard hit as they found themselves reduced to sniffing the air like beaten dogs in search of the small woman.

“Incredible,” Maedhros huffed. “My brothers would never let me live that one down; pursuing some mere mortal on foot and being unable to locate or overtake her.”

Thranduil felt weary and stiff which only made him moodier; he knew Aggie’s scent well and could tell that she had passed through this part of the forest not too long ago, but already, her sweet smell was waning, torn from his desperate senses by a cold, cutting wind.

“There was a man here,” Maedhros suddenly declared as if deep in thought.

Now that he pointed it out, Thranduil could indeed detect the faint, mouth-watering aroma of blood having been absorbed greedily by the ever-thirsty roots of the dark trees. “There was an injured man, a virgin, here and you brought me a horse?” he scoffed in disgust.

Aggie’s floral, sweet aroma was mingled with the siren song of that blood – pure, strong, and alluring – and Thranduil quickened his pace in all-consuming eagerness; he was a sophisticated being and a monster at the same time and he yearned as much for Aggie’s conversation as for that new seduction.

After years of deprivation, he could hardly believe that two exceptional virgins would find themselves entangled in this old, voracious forest within so short a time span; maybe, his luck was truly turning.

The sharp pain of Maedhros’ hands digging into his collarbones as if to tear him apart where he stood came as a fascinating surprise though.

“Oh,” Thranduil wheezed as he wrenched himself free, “that is how it is then? You’ve come to free your brother’s prey and found yourself ensnared instead?”

“Be quiet,” Maedhros barked, lifting his shapely head and tuning out his own laboured breathing in search of the frantic beating of two mortal hearts. He was convinced that they’d fall into headlong flight, stumbling over roots and potentially splitting their precious heads open on yet another rocky outcrop.

Imitating and joining his foe’s efforts, Thranduil let those familiar surroundings guide his supernatural senses in search of Aggie.

“The cave,” he whispered as if to himself, “you’d hide and wait for the sunrise? Who are you so worried about? It surely cannot be you for otherwise, you’d have fled without looking back.”

As he dragged himself towards the slope, he could distinctly hear her heart now – steady and calm – beating next to another.

“It cannot be,” Maedhros gasped, “are they dying?” He could not bear the idea of telling Moryo that he had failed to bring the woman back alive and breathing.

“As I told you, Agnes is a very special young woman,” Thranduil snapped. “She’s found your horseless rider and dragged him to what she might have naïvely believed to be safety.”

They entered the cave noiselessly and froze.

Aggie was crouching over the sleeping man, teeth bared and snarling as if she had turned into a feral creature herself since leaving Thranduil’s halls.

“Leave him alone,” she hissed, “he has something to live for and I shan’t let you have him.”

Thranduil expected Maedhros to scoff at her delusional speech but, when he looked over at the younger vampire, he had sat down by the cave mouth and nodded ponderously. “I finally see what motivates Moryo,” he mumbled hazily and let his head drop against the cool, moist wall behind him in resignation.

“Oh, just look at you!” the woman then cried out, coming forward and undoing her laces. “What have you done to one another?”

Pulling Thranduil – fatally weakened by the fight and the pursuit – down to the ground with her, Aggie brought his face to her skin. “Drink now,” she hummed seductively, “and heal.”

Unable to withstand the draw of her life-giving sacrifice, Thranduil did as he was bidden, all the while feeling like the lowest of creatures in this old, cruel forest.

Well...what will happen next??

Stay tuned and I'll let you know :D

Lots of love <3

-> Chapter 8

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 8

-> Chapter 7

@mismaeve, @heilith

I had a very intense week this far and have not been able to write much, but tonight, I thought I'd at least post something so you know I'm not dead lol

Words: 1,7 k

Warnings: Blood, injuries, seduction

Chapter 8: Fingon

Fingon woke up with a start; he couldn‘t really understand why he kept falling asleep all the time and it made him nervous to realise that he was in a completely different place than when he had closed his eyes. „Oh good, you‘re awake,“ a soft voice beside him said. „We were starting to get rather worried about you.”

Struggling to keep from drifting back into blissful, cool oblivion again, Fingon lifted his head off the soft surface on which it had been resting only to see that strange woman who had dragged him into a hidden cave standing by a carven door. Apparently, her mad flight had not availed her of anything though as they no longer were in the cold, clammy darkness. He could only surmise that they had been recaptured and were awaiting their death.

Her relaxed smile and overall unperturbed demeanour made this bleak suspicion all the more frightening; had she finally given up?

“Who is we and where am I?” Fingon asked, unnerved by the images that now started flashing through his mind. He thought that they might be memories, but he could not be entirely sure.

Moreover, the woman – Aggie, he remembered suddenly, coming over with a tray laden with food looked entirely too healthy and happy to have nourished some unholy demon at her literal breast.

“I guess you’ll have a lot of questions,” she murmured as she motioned towards the offerings encouragingly. “I’ll do my best to answer them as truthfully and carefully as I can. Many things are not entirely clear to me yet either, but I'd willingly share what little knowledge I have obtained with you. Be advised though that my explanations might induce more confusion than you’re already in now.”

Looking at her for a long, breathless moment, Fingon weighed his options. “Am I dead?” he then asked, patting his chest as if to check whether someone had ripped him open while he had been out.

“No, you’re not,” she replied with an indulgent smile, evidently deeming his question much less ludicrous than he thought it to be. “Nobody has touched you.”

“Did you let that creature drink your blood?”

Aggie flinched violently.

“Yes,” she then admitted. “I wish I could say that it’s a long story, but it is not. I have recently learned that there are other things in this world than just birds, beasts, and boring humans. I was a guest in these halls, and I’ve traded – for lack of a better term – my blood against my very life.”

She smiled wistfully. “I have also offered my blood to save his life.”

As Fingon’s face shifted into a mien of outrage and chivalrous anger, she lifted her hands placatingly. “It was my choice,” she specified, “and – man of standing that you are – you might not understand this, but it felt good to have agency.”

“Why did you flee then?” Fingon asked, still frowning fiercely.

“To protect them,” she chuckled wryly. “Idiotic, I know. The one you took for an angel is one of the masters of my town. He’s come to retrieve me and – as you might remember – his negotiations with our host have taken a rather bloody turn.”

“Good,” Fingon cried out, interrupting her tempestuously, “let them tear each other apart.”

“I’d much prefer if they wouldn’t.” Aggie mirrored his frown, visibly disagreeing with his stance. “They’ve done me no harm and I wouldn’t want them to be hurt on my account or my behalf. May I also remind you that they’ve not hurt you even though you were leaking blood all over the floor?”

“They…Oh they would smell that, wouldn’t they?” Fingon said breathlessly; by now, he entirely accepted that he had been captured by blood-drinking monstrosities and was already planning his escape to be sure that he would also stay as hale as possible.

It was incomprehensible to him how Aggie could be so calm and collected about her situation as a living, walking blood bank.

Pensively, Aggie pushed the plate full of delicacies closer to Fingon and once more nodded at him encouragingly. “You might be right about my Lord, by the way, he has behaved very decently towards you indeed. They are…more than what they seem to be, I think.”

The memory of that fire-haired beauty made Fingon seek her evasive gaze. “Where is he? What happened to him?”

Fingon had only half-listened to Aggie’s further explanations after she had divulged the awful truth about the two strange beings who had found them in the cave; nonetheless, he couldn’t disregard the sensation of dread that had clung to her rosy skin ever since he had first seen her. Finally, he understood that she had been afraid for these creatures rather than of them.

Consequently, Fingon deduced that there must have been some danger to their immortal selves, and he yearned to know whether that peril had indeed passed or if they were still in the midst of a conflict that far surpassed his level of wisdom and skill.

“He has been made prisoner of my…of our host,” Aggie replied, her mouth tight with displeasure and her eyes bright with determination.

It gave Fingon a considerable jolt to realise that she intended to challenge that decision; he had thought her slightly peculiar from the start, but even her wildest previous behaviour could not have made him suspect that she’d dare confront a vampire about the way he treated his foes.

“At least he’s been given acceptable quarters,” she griped under her breath and then her shrewd, sharp eyes returned to Fingon’s face intently. “Why don’t you go check on him? I have a self-proclaimed king to deal with?”

Fingon nodded dazedly and placidly took the hand stretched out to him to be led down a long, lightless corridor.

“Fingon? It doesn’t hurt, you know?” she whispered as she pressed a hasty kiss on his cheek and ran back the way they had come.

He was surprised to find himself in a vaulted room, lit by flickering torches, which contained a shallow, steaming pool.

As his eyes grew used to gloomy atmosphere, Fingon could make out a tall, slender figure sitting hunched over in the farthest corner of said artificial body of water; it seemed to him as if what little light wavered in the cavern was attracted and bundled by the shimmering white of its skin.

Stepping closer though, he could also discern the angry red gashes of wounds he would have known to be lethal to any other man. To his astonishment, they looked more like tears in fabric or cracks in stone than like actual injuries on that pristine canvas of marble and milk.

For a long moment, he simply stood in the shadow of a large pillar and observed the surmised angel, ladling warm water over his shapely flesh idly.

His heart clenched as he realised that the nefarious creature looked positively depressed.

Nevertheless, he – for Fingon was entirely sure that the shape of this body, supernatural as it might have been, was that of a man – was of a mind-numbing beauty. His long, unbound hair fell across broad shoulders and the muscles rippling with every movement reminded him of avalanches of snow tumbling down a mountainside in an elegant symphony.

Everything about him seemed to draw Fingon in. He halted, digging his heels into the hard floor vainly; of course, a refined predator such as this one would attract his prey easily and Fingon was not about to be led to his doom without so much as putting up an honest fight.

“I can feel you there,” the being then spoke softly, its voice warm and melodious despite the audible weariness. “You may draw closer. I am too weak to do you any harm.”

In spite of his previous thoughts and resolutions, Fingon shuffled forward eagerly, walking right into the pool and feeling the water saturate his clothes until they hung, soaked and heavy, from his own shivering frame.

“What?” The vampire lifted his head quickly, blazing eyes drilling into Fingon with something akin to amusement. “Are you trying to drown yourself?”

In a flash, his speed belying his assurances, he was by Fingon’s side and steadied him as he slipped on the smooth tiles.

“What is your name?” Fingon asked breathlessly. “Who are you?”

The lethal prisoner – was this what Aggie had had in mind? – smiled indulgently before offering up “Maedhros” as a reply to his question in a tone that suggested that he had more than one name and merely suggested this one because he thought it easiest to remember or pronounce.

“I am part of a neighbouring coven and the other vampire, Thranduil, has taken something that belongs to us,” he then explained calmly.

“Aggie?”

“Yes.” Upon seeing the struggle between pugnacious bravery and primal fear in Fingon’s eyes, Maedhros drew back slowly. “She’s a peculiar one, I have to admit. She’s defended you quite impressively.”

“Me?” Fingon was aghast by that revelation as he stood still in the middle of the pool, his eyes never leaving the marred being whose pulchritude was only heightened by the brave pathos of its gaping wounds. “And you complied?”

Maedhros cocked his head thoughtfully and nodded. “You’re…special too. Thranduil got what he needed from your little friend and I would not have harmed you. You are in no danger. I am sure that he’d let you go if you asked courteously.”

“I won’t,” Fingon heard himself say as he shrugged out of his dirty tunic to alleviate the drag of the water sloshing softly when Maedhros started to pour it over himself again. He was entirely naked, Fingon then realised, and a wave of heat surged from his stomach into his head.

“Why?” A quizzical smile appeared on that unbearably handsome face, turned up confidently and inquisitively.

It was then that Fingon realised that he did not truly know why he suddenly no longer cared about his father’s expectations or his future bride…not when those captivating eyes roamed across his bare chest with unguarded hunger and desire.

“You called Aggie my friend,” he mused aloud, “and I’d want to be a friend to her. Explain to me what I saw when I woke up in that cave, please.”

Maedhros sighed deeply and then his eyes closed as he slumped against the wall of the pool.

So, new dividers and some tension...

Lots of love from me <3

-> Chapter 9

[i-did-not-mean-to]

NaNoWriMo 2023

Here are the prompts for this month!

🍂🍂November🍂🍂

𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓎 𝑀𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - Ori x OC for husband

𝒞𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 - Námo & Melkor & Fëanor (aka Moggy and Feener get a candle)

𝐵𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝐻𝒶𝓇𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉 - Aulë x Yavanna (because of this art by @elanna-elrondiel)

𝒥𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁/𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒲𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Caranthir x Finrod for @dreamychaos

𝑅𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝒟𝒶𝓎 - Ori (because @elanna-elrondiel did this to me)

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒫𝒶𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 - Glorfindel x reader for @elanna-elrondiel

𝒯𝑒𝒶 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓎 - Elrond & Galadriel (because I am terrible at gen!fic)

𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 - Russingon for @thatfeanorian

𝒲𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓌𝑜𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓈 & 𝒱𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈 - Fëanor x Fingolfin, Turgon x Finrod for MoonLord

𝐹𝓊𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁/𝒞𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓎 - Haleth (because she's queen)

𝒮𝑜𝒻𝓉 𝒞𝓊𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈 - Glorfindel & Legolas x Gimli, Glorfindel & Elrond + kids, Glorfindel x Erestor for my various servers

𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝑀𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Firebird for @cilil

𝒯𝓇𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 & 𝑅𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓈 - Russingon with art by @the-red-butterfly

𝒲𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈 - Nerdanel (to process stuff in my life)

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 - Varda x Manwë & Irmo

𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈/𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝐿𝑒𝑔𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈 - Vampire!Elrond for @maglor-my-beloved

𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓉 - Halenthir for @elentarial

𝐹𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 - Kíli x F!reader for @fandomfaeryreads

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓂𝓃 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓂𝓈 - Ulmanwë & Celegorm/Aredhel

𝐹𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝓃 - Amras x Finarfin x Argon

𝑀𝓎𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒫𝑜𝓃𝒹/𝑀𝒾𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇 - DaeMags because of this art by @elanna-elrondiel)

𝒜𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓃 - Námo & Gorgumoth

𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈𝑔𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 - Ñolofinwë & his descendants for anon

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 - Bagginshield for @lordoftherazzles

𝑀𝒶𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝓅𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 - Celegorm x Eöl for the server. (Dark!💀 mpreg)

𝐹𝑜𝑔𝑔𝓎 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 - Caranthir x reader (because of this art by @sortumavaara)

𝒫𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓈 - Gondolin OT3 for @jaz-the-bard

𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎 - Elenwë x Turgon x Finrod for @elentarial

𝐹𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 - Fingon and the seven dwarves Fëanorians for MoonLord

𝒮𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇 - Varda x Nienna, Eärendil & Elrond & Maglor

As always, I'd be happy and honoured to get requests for pairings and ideas from you all!

Lots of love!

Explanation: in red the nsfw, in orange fluff, in green dark (and nsfw) fics, blue for sadness

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fic-year in review

Thank you @cilil for tagging me. I've taken some days so think about it...so, here we go.

Rules

post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year,

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

Tagging: @lordoftherazzles, @laurfilijames, @last-capy-hupping, @lathalea, @polutrope, @cuarthol, @heilith, @mismaeve, @scyllas-revenge and everyone else who wants to do this. (Again, I've tagged a few people who I think might tag all the others :) )

Five works I'm proud of

The Silm/Hobbit crossover because it shows the change I've undergone this year. (Maglor & Ori)

Sic vita est because it is - in my opinion - one of the best representations of who I am as a writer. (genderbent Fëanorians, multi-ship)

Some say the world will end in fire because it was one of the hardest things I've ever written. (In-universe Russingon with a twist)

Blood because it is very different from what I usually write as well. (Vampire Elves)

Song as old as rhyme because it proves that I can update and adapt my HCs and the way I write characters according to new stuff I wanted to try out.

Four new WIPs I am excited to release next year

My (as of yet) untitled MSV fic (I am sweating bullets over it, but I am giving it my best shot)

My art exchange fic with @sortumavaara (Glorestor)

My calendar fic for @frosticenow's calendar event

Different Disney/Musical AUs where I don't know yet which one will make the cut. Depends on how I feel and what people would want to see the most.

Top three improvements

I've taken part in about every event I could get my hands on and I've worked hard on overcoming (or at least challenging) my profound fear of being impertinent by being everywhere all the time.

I don't know if that is an improvement (some people might disagree), but I've taken on a whole slew of new characters. I now write canon x canon, LGBTQ+, queer smut, and an alarming number of elves and Valar.

I have ventured into new (and sometimes uncomfortable) styles, genres, tropes this year. I've dared trying to write some really explicit smut and some profound angst for example.

Top two resolutions

Actually finishing something (really, I just want to bring 1! of my longfics to a close without it fizzling out, lol)

Furthering my nefarious AU propaganda...and maybe letting people in on a broader All-Tolkien (timeline what timeline) AU where I get to play with ALL my blorbos.

Favourite line

How easy it had been to give up the crown of fire and wrath and hand it over to temperate wisdom instead; he could never have been the king Fingon had become and his ultimate failure to defend the one who had shielded him through perils galore was a proof of his ineptitude too terrible to bear.

(I chose one at random, even though I dare say that my favourite line is probably: I love you)

Masterlist

Ao3

Lots and lots of love from me!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

What’s the Vampire Story wip about?

Well...to be honest, there are three (four? five?) of them.

🩸The main one is Blood (a Thranduil/fem!OC | Russingon | Fem!OC/Caranthir(?) story). I've just...let that one die...

🩸Congruent with that one is Glorfindel/Erestor.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

🩸Then, there's Blood of my blood, bone of my bone which is a Fëanorian (FëaÑolo, don't get me wrong) vampire story.

🩸Tying in with that second one, there's Elrond/Erestor. (addendum)

🩸Loosely tying in with the whole universe there's also Finrod/Turgon (vampire/werewolf story).

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When I said I would not work on the Vampire WIP anymore, I meant Blood.

The others have seen updates in other events, I think lol

Thank you for asking, anon, as you can see, I am very fond of vampires lol

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 4

-> Chapter 3

Nice, tame little chapter about the opposite side of things...

@mismaeve @heilith thank you so much for reading, my friends <3

Words: 1,5 k

Warnings: Vampires, threats, stalking

Chapter 4: Caranthir

“Ding Dong, the old hag is dead,” Celegorm declared joyously as he strode into his brother’s room with the self-evident confidence of an older sibling. “You can go get that maiden you had your eye on for so long.”

Caranthir grimaced uncomfortably; he had been derided cruelly – and unfairly by his reckoning – by his siblings for having agreed to the period of grace the ailing woman had begged for. What difference would a few months or even years make to one such as him after all?

Generally, the townspeople were rather forgiving when it came to their young daughters and sons being called into the mansion, never to return to the familial fold. Not all of them were dead, of course, but those who had survived their arrival in the household had long outlived their own parents and siblings and were changed beyond recognition.

It was practical and efficient to wait until Agnes – the maiden he had chosen after seeing her strolling along the forest edge one evening – would not leave behind any witnesses who could get it into their heads to come looking for her.

“I’ll go get her then,” he grumbled, pushing aside his annoying older brother. No doubt, Celegorm had informed the others before telling him and the pressure to dutifully reel in the young woman was on.

Impatience and a gnawing sense of foreboding plagued him the whole day as he glared at the walls, waiting for the merciless sun to go down so he could sneak down into the village and remind Agnes of the promise her mother had made.

When he arrived at the deserted cottage though, the whole extent of his own foolishness hit him like a slap in the face. She was gone.

“Looking for the girl?” an old, toothless crone asked without meeting his cold eye. “She’s gone to visit an aunt after her mother died. Dear Aggie was expected back yesterday, but she’s never arrived.”

“How do you know?” Caranthir hissed sharply; the dull grey of dusk was quickly darkening into shades of blue and black and he should have been able to breathe better.

“She’s sent a message with one of the travelling merchants,” the woman informed him in a clipped tone, evidently ill at ease to be addressing one of the fine folks who were seldom seen in their simple, rustic village. “I hope she’s not been turned around in that accursed forest. Nobody will go in there to go look for her and it is said that horses and other beasts lose their nerve under those evil trees.”

Spinning around too fast for her dim eyes to follow – a dangerously careless action – Caranthir pulled back his clawed hands at the last moment before he could strangle the crone where she stood. “Worry not,” he purred in a frighteningly smooth voice, “if she’s in the forest, we shall search and find her.”

Without acknowledging her trembling words of gratitude, he turned on his heels and headed back home.

“Why the long face?” Curufin sat on the wide stairs, fiddling with something at a dizzying speed. “Where is the girl?”

“She’s missing,” Caranthir growled. “One of the townswomen thinks she might have lost her way in the forest.”

At that, his brother looked up sharply and – setting down whatever it had been he had been deconstructing and putting back together – he inserted his fingers into the corners of his mouth and gave a sharp whistle.

“I doubt that you’d send Celegorm after her,” Curufin explained with a knowing smile before turning to their youngest brothers – infamous twins and apt hunters – to task them with finding any traces of the misplaced quarry.

“What is the matter?” Maedhros strolled into the foyer, the very picture of self-possessed calm which made Caranthir loathe him intensely.

“Moryo has lost that girl from the village he had his eye on,” Curufin tattled carelessly. “The twins will see what they can find out. In the meantime, what’s for dinner?”

“Not good,” Amrod whispered as they stepped out onto a bright clearing; the night was fading fast now, and they needed to get back to the safety of their mansion if they didn’t want to risk spending the whole day in some nearby caves without ascertaining first that there would be no sunlight filtering through crevices in the rock in the most uncomfortable patterns.

“If he has her,” Amras agreed, “then we have a serious problem on our hands.”

They exchanged a long look as they crept a bit closer to the hidden entrance to the halls of the Woodland King; something in the air told them that their quarry was alive yet and the fact that she was just beyond their reach filled them with frustration and maddening impatience.

Nonetheless, time was running out and so were their options at the given moment.

“That’s beyond our competencies.” They shrugged in perfect synchronicity; conflicts with other covens were for their older brothers to deal with and they would not even try to convince the master of this enchanted realm to hand over the prey of another vampire just because his brothers said so.

“Moryo will be so terribly cross though, no matter what he actually wants her for. He can be stubborn like that!” It didn’t matter who had voiced their shared thought or if it had been spoken aloud at all, they both knew that they’d be the bearers of dark and distressing news.

Flitting homewards, they didn’t spare a single glance backwards; the girl was not theirs to chase nor secure and thus, they had no qualms about leaving her to her fate deep within the bowels of an underground kingdom in which they’d find no sanctuary from the burning day.

They arrived just in the nick of time to find their brothers assembled, sated and yet tense, in the gloomy salon of their mansion, evidently awaiting their return and their assessment of the situation.

“Thranduil,” Maglor mused quietly as soon as they had finished their report, “interesting! I wonder what he wants with that insipid, little creature.”

“Defying us,” Celegorm spat; he had been locked in for too long and was spoiling for a fight. “He is disrespecting our family and our claims.”

Immediately, loud and belligerent discussions broke out that were cut off abruptly by Maedhros lifting his hands – tense palms outwards – and clearing his throat a few times.

“Brother,” he then asked Caranthir, “do you insist upon your claim? If so, I shall go and try to reason with Thranduil. No doubt, he has been aware or was made aware of our claim on this woman’s blood and life. It would be callous and outright treasonous to deny our rights.”

Gratitude flooded Caranthir’s face in a hot flush as he nodded gravely; he could not explain to the others what he had seen and still saw in young Agnes but he wanted her for his own. Maybe, it had been her melodious chuckle – surprised but exempt from terror – upon seeing him lurking in the shadows.

There was a fearlessness in her calm, acquiescent demeanour that had intrigued him and – if he was completely honest – her headlong flight only made her more interesting to him. What had she thought she’d achieve?

“So be it then,” Maedhros sighed. “I shall go and see if I can get her back. You stay here and keep out of trouble while I am away!”

Another long day of pacing and waiting was upon them during which Maedhros locked himself in the library to discuss his battle plan with Maglor; while his oldest brother was the most diplomatic, Caranthir could not deny that Maglor was probably the most charming and had a vast array of rhetorical skills that made people believe that they were acting in their own best interest when it was really he who was leading the dance.

Despite being truly thankful, Caranthir also resented the fact that he was not consulted on the matter; Agnes was his prey after all, but he was sent away like an unruly child who had made a mess of things. He hated the quiet suspicion that this was actually the case; it hurt his pride to know that his older brothers would have to intervene on his behalf, but he also had to admit that he would not have been able to approach this matter with the delicate tact that undoubtedly would be needed if they didn’t want to cause another nocturnal war to break out.

“Nelyo will get her back,” Celegorm grinned; it was a sharp, cruel smile that didn’t even try to dissimulate the unspoken threat of what he’d do if their elders were to fail in their quest.

Caranthir found himself hoping fervently, childishly, desperately that, indeed, Maedhros would succeed for Curufin had been right when insinuating that Caranthir didn’t deem his chosen prey safe within the merciless clutches of Celegorm the hunter.

“I am almost hurt I was not asked to retrieve her,” Celegorm quipped as if reading the thoughts behind Caranthir’s stern brow. “I am the one with the hound after all.”

“We know where she is,” Caranthir shot back acidly. “There is no need for tracking anymore. We just need to get her back. I just need to get her back.”

So, that was a tiny insight into the motivations and sorrows of the other side.

Lots of love from me <3

-> Chapter 5

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Blood - Chapter 5

-> Chapter 4

Ah, a bit of background info...on the rivalry.

@mismaeve @heilith here we go! Thank you for reading :)

Words: 1,7 k

Warnings: Vampires, blood, sordid details

Chapter 5: Thranduil

Aggie stirred in the lightless eternity of Thranduil’s bed-chamber; her limbs were cold and stiff but she was alive. Periodically – much too often for his own comfort – he had pressed his fingers to her pale brow to check whether warmth and colour were slowly returning to her skin.

Even, or especially amongst the undead monsters, a promise was binding and breaking his word would have distressed and destroyed him more than all the threats of rivalling covens; he had sworn that he’d not taint the blooming life within her and – as he looked upon her serene face – he had to confess that it would have dismayed him terribly if he had failed in that endeavour.

“Thranduil?” Aggie’s eyes opened haltingly as if her lids were weighed down with all the years he might well have robbed her of in his demented frenzy. “What did you mean when you said you’d keep me?”

“We’ve touched on the subject,” he said softly as he held out another goblet, filled with refreshing, cool water, to her patiently. “How many of the distasteful lordlings do you know?”

Aggie took a deep drink and let her eyes wander around the persistent gloom of the chamber as she tried to pull together her scattered thoughts. “The tall red-haired one and the humming, smirking one; they both strike me as agreeable enough.”

Thranduil made a face but didn’t interrupt her.

“The one who came to call me to the mansion, oh and the silver shadow of the trees,” Aggie went on counting the progeny of the elusive master of the town on her fingers like a child.

“There are three more,” Thranduil let her know with a sharp, disdainful smile, “inconsequential but dangerous.”

“Are they…are they what you are?” Aggie asked, looking up at his renewed pallor with shrewd curiosity.

“They are.” He made a choked, gurgling sound at the back of his throat.

“What do they want with me then?”

For a long while, she thought that he would not answer her question as he merely stared at her with unblinking, unfathomable eyes from which the light was draining in invisible tears of dust and ash; it was a heart-wrenching sight and Aggie yearned to reach out to him to cradle his cold, stony cheek in her moist palm.

“Have you ever seen her? The one they call mother?”

Aggie shook her head; she had only ever caught a single glimpse of Lord Fëanor and that had been so long ago that she hardly remembered what he had looked like anymore. Nevertheless, she was sure that she had never seen his wife.

“She is their mother, she has carried and birthed them,” Thranduil ground out almost reluctantly. “Nerdanel is a legend.” He placed his icy hand on Aggie’s and smiled sadly when she flinched under his glacial touch.

“You have seen the change your blood has provoked in me, we both have,” he went on resolutely, “and it is believed that, if one was to keep up this rhythm of feeding on fresh, human blood – given willingly – for long enough, other functions might return. It has only been done a few times.” He paused, his eyes widening dramatically as he made an artful pause for effect.

“Nerdanel has managed it 6 times; the last of her progeny – the twins – almost killed her though, and she had to be changed in the nick of time. In hindsight, nobody can truly comprehend how Fëanor – the most impulsive and least rational of us – has achieved this, but he and his wife have 7 perfect hybrid children.”

Aggie’s mouth fell open in aphasic shock; it was one thing to learn that the elusive gentry in whose shadow she had grown up was made up of immortal beings and another to accept that they were even more than that. A living mystery, a puzzling contradiction, a ghastly perversion of life itself…

“I never put much stock in these stories; blood was a means to sustain my endless life and not much beyond,” he went on sombrely, not meeting her inquisitive gaze. “Now that I have felt the difference a willing sacrifice can make, I’ll have to rethink my whole stance on the matter.”

“And do they…what…how does that make them different?” she stammered.

“What do they eat, you mean? Can they eat human food?” Thranduil stroked his chin pensively, his eyes roving hungrily over the nervous blush on Aggie’s face. “They could. If they satisfy their father’s heritage thoroughly so to say, they get close enough to what their mother once was to feast and even go out at dusk.”

Envy burned in the depths of his glassy eyes as he felt a leaden paralysis engulf his limbs, progressing quickly now; his body and mind struggled against the age-old shackles though and he felt a sense of primal panic he had not experienced for many long years.

“So you are all prisoners of your curse?” Aggie inquired softly, stretching out her arm invitingly at the sight of his vain struggle. She had seen the ferocious blossoms of happiness when he had drunk deep from her veins, and she could understand that he’d crave another taste – no matter how fleeting – of the echo of life.

Thranduil grasped her slender hand tenderly and merely breathed a kiss onto the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, revelling in the discreet drumming of her pulse just underneath it before tearing himself away from that seductive source purposefully.

“So, they want me as cattle? An incubator? A concubine?”

“Yes,” Thranduil acquiesced, “and – loath as I am to admit it – they were right in choosing you. Look at you, Agnes, already sitting up and offering your blood once more. You’re stronger than you look and enchantingly discerning. They tirelessly lure, seduce, and compel innocent mortals into doing their bidding in megalomaniac, egotistical hopes of recreating the miracle of their own birth.”

“You hate them, don’t you?” There was no judgment in Aggie’s voice, only detached curiosity; after what had transpired only mere hours ago, she felt comfortably numbed when it came to the grotesque extent of the nightmare fairy tale she had stumbled into. “Enough to pilfer me?”

Thranduil shrugged uncomfortably before admitting in a low, vibrating tone that Fëanor’s sons could see the sun. “You don’t understand how long it has been since last I’ve truly seen it and breathed the warm air vibrating with its golden rays. Sure, it is weak still or already dimming when they behold it, but – to an extent – they can stand in the sun’s glow and yes, I envy and hate them for it. I’d gladly deny them the strength your virginal blood would have conferred them.”

He paused and then smiled softly. “That was before I learned how delightful you are, of course, and now, they’ll have to win you back by killing me for I enjoy your presence – your light, your life, your resilience – too much to give it up. At the end of the day, I guess I am a monster after all.”

Shivering, Aggie drew the luscious furs tighter around herself; she knew nearly nothing about this creature in front of her but the idea of seeing him torn apart by the young men she had seen from afar a thousand times filled her with reluctance and dread. She didn’t want any of them to come to harm and she wondered if her mind had been addled by the wine or the poison dissolving slowly in her system for her to care thus for murderers and abominations, but she couldn’t help disliking the notion of them getting hurt despite her better knowledge.

Morality, she knew, was nothing like the straight, virtuous path the preachers described and much more like the treacherous swamp it led through.

Thranduil had been good to her and – even as she mused about this – he was calling for a repast and some more water on her behalf; surely, it was only natural to feel a smidgen of loyalty to the first soul – dead or alive – that had shown any kind of true interest in her well-being since her mother’s passing.

As she ate, Aggie felt new strength invigorate her body and her resolve hardened further.

“Am I your prisoner then?” she then asked in a matter-of-fact tone after putting aside her plate; Thranduil had watched her dig into the offered dried meat and fresh berries his servants had retrieved from the storehouse for her with such riveted fascination that he didn’t seem to notice her shifting mood.

It was – so he had informed her almost defensively – common to entertain some reserves to feed emaciated prey; Aggie could not help but chuckle at the idea that poverty and misery sent ripples of deprivation even into the darkest and most impenetrable of shadow realms.

At her sudden inquiry, he flinched minimally as if moving his body was becoming increasingly difficult as the seconds ticked by.

“No,” he answered after a long moment of quiet contemplation, “you may leave this place whenever you choose. I will not keep you against your will.”

This proclamation surprised her, and she cocked her head, motioning with a strip of salted rabbit, still clasped between her twitching fingers, for him to go on.

“There are enough hapless fools getting lost in the forest,” Thranduil smiled apologetically. “We all have our legends and covers. I would not starve, and I admire you too much to do what I said I’d protect you from.”

“The Lord who came to my house invited me,” Aggie corrected him gently. “He did not take me by force and – when my mother begged him to let me stay with her until she passed away – he agreed readily enough. I wouldn’t want to see any of you hurt! I won’t watch either one of you die because of me! I won’t!”

Her voice rang like unsheathed steel now and her eyes shone, hard and resolved.

Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “You are decided to find forgiveness and excuses for the most wretched creatures under the moon, I see,” he then murmured pensively. “You truly are a marvel!”

Before he could say more though, an armoured guard entered briskly and exchanged a few whispered sentences with Thranduil.

“Stay with her,” the king barked and waved another slew of unnaturally pale warriors to Aggie’s side. “We’ve got a visitor,” he then informed her, “and he’s brought a dead horse.”

Aggie opened her mouth to protest and offer her own blood to strengthen her host, but he had swept out of the room before she could even find the words.

Worried beyond what was recommendable or even warranted, she turned her attention back to the feast she had impatiently discarded and silently decided to do whatever was necessary to ensure the survival of everyone involved, herself included.

They would have nothing to fight about if she was gone, did they? Thranduil had said that she was not held here, so – in the name of misplaced but inescapable compassion – she’d slip away. All she had to do was to get rid of her guards now!

As promised, here's the next chapter!!!!

Lots of love!!

-> Chapter 6