#kindly old elf?

[obeekris]

Now that it's Christmas Eve, let's not forget to ask the big question:

[zwolfgames]

Goblin camp overtake (drabble) Platonic!Yandere!BG3 x Teen!Reader

(Hopefully it's a bit accurate because ive only played the story twice for now so i dunno all the posibilities.)

Summary: Teen!reader and the squad go take defeat the goblins. Therefore meeting Halsin, and Minthara again.

Warnings: Death (obv), mentions of gore, Goblins

Other related BG3 by me: Intro

The sun was shining, the flowers in the forest were blooming... On days like this, kids like you had been tasked with commuting genocide on the local goblins.

Not that you really cared. They were little shitheads... Stole your laundry once back when you lived with your mom... before all this...

But getting closer to this alleged camp wasn't making you any more at ease. You could already imagine the stench of those sweaty creatures when you have to inevitably walk into that camp. Which you've heard is actually just an old temple.

You've noticed over time that people in your little group have gotten... well, friendlier. For example: Lae'zel was no longer throwing you glares, Shadowheart remembered your name, Astarion has indoctrinated you into his schemes... Yea, the three most hostile people had warmed up to you.

And the other have just... always been quite nice.

Well, Wyll still didn't seem to approve of you, a minor, coming along. But he didn't really have a choice as the others were not allowing him to take you back to the Emerald Grove. Guess they really do find you too funny to lose then.

"Ugh, the stench is disgusting." Karlach waves the air under her nose away.

"It is the smell of a goblin camp. What were you expecting? Tchk. And I myself find this odor quite thrilling. It promises of a good fight." Lae'zel slightly smirks. Clawed hands flexing around the handle of her greatsword.

"Of course you do... Tough the smell of blood has never scared me away." Astarion, in turn, chuckles in that weird posh way. You raise a brow.

"So you're sure you're not a vampire?" You question sarcastically. The pale elf gasps in mock offense.

"Of course not. I merely like the smell." He huffs. Right, so that time you saw him hunt down a boar must have been make belief.

The rest of the party didn't comment anymore as you made your way to the camp.

Gale had thrown his arm around your shoulder to keep you at the back. He excused that as 'magic users stay behind so they can asses the battlefield'. But he probably just didn't want to accidently get Lae'zels sword through his back.

This mission to save some druid calmed Halsin was looking like a total hassle. But hey, why not do side quests while the worm in your head is ready to kill you?

Whatever person lives in your head didn't take kindly to your remark as you heard the voice say they'd protect you.

Right, bullshit. You're just developing pshycosis. A hundred percent that.

"Y/N. If they target you, I want you to run, alright?" Wyll speaks calmly.

"Well, I mean, not that I don't want to but were kind of in this together -" You start nonchalantly.

"Don't listen to the human. It is unhonerable to run from a fight." Lae'zel scolds like a lecturing general.

Well, do you really care about your honor? It's not like you're trying to capture the Avatar here-

"Yea yea, got it, boss." You sigh. The slight stress makes its way to your head. It's just some goblins, right? Nothing a good magic missile can't solve... Right?

You take back your words quite quickly when Astarion smooth talks his way past the outside security to let your group pass. There's like... at least fifty goblins here!

You feel an arm slitter around your shoulders. Looking up, you can see Lae'zels warry face.

She's gripping that greatsword quite harshly, a bit scared, maybe? Tough you doubt it, it's Lae'zel..

You ignore the stink eyes these little creatures are throwing you and walk along with your group.

"My, what a festive place, no? Look, they even have booze." Astarion muses with his typical smug grin.

"We're not here to party." Gale groans. The wizard stares at the goblins in distaste. You note that everyone is on edge

A goblin child sticks her tingue out at you, so you do the same, blowing raspberries for good meassure. This action earns you a dissaproving look by Wyll.

"So where's this druid? I don't want to be here any longer then needed." Shadowheart complains with a little wave infront of her nose to showcase that she thinks this place stinks.. Wich it does.

"Let's ask!" Karlach offers her idea.

"You've got to be the most optimistic person I've met and we have a literal child in the group." Gale groans.

"You can't miss any of the chances you take." Karlach shrugs.

"Let's just gut all of them. I'm sure we can search for the druid in peace then." Astarion smirks.

"For once, I agree with the pale one." Lae'zel sneers.

You watch your group bicker a bit longer as you wander out of the grip you had been put in. Walking around the goblin camp instead.

Mhh, a clear booze tub. They're drunk. Quite ideal.

You scan around the area, a certain tall woman catches your eye, seeing as she isn't a goblin.

Wait a minute, you've met her before! She almost killed you on the beach when the Nautiloid crashed!

The nerve of that woman, she doesn't deserve the same hairstyle as your mother.

Astarion had snuk out of the argument your group of idiots was having right in the middle of the goblin camp. He stuck himself to your side, observing along with you.

"You seem... focussed. You have an idea, do you not?" The pale elf asks smoothly.

"An inkling. They're drinking, and Nettie gave us wyvern poison... I mean...?" You let your gaze travel to the booze tub. Astarions red eyed orbs follow along. You can see a sharp toothed grin spread across his face.

"I just know we're going to be great friends, Y/N.." He smirks and puts a cold hand on your shoulder.

You just smile in satisfaction that your plan is apparently good. Before you know it, Astarions snatched the poison out of Shadowhearts pocket. You watch the man go invisible to presumably go dunk the booze in poison. Or maybe he's gonna drink it... But he never seemed suicidal... So it should be fine.

"Y/N, c'mon, we're going into the temple, the druid should be there." Karlach waves you over.

You nod and join the group again. Getting tucked back under someone's shoulder.

The first leader of the Goblins you had met was a priestess. And oh boy, defenitly not your favourite... She wanted to brand you! Is she nuts!?

So anyways, Lae'zel chopped her head off... Uh... props to Wyll for covering your eyes.

Then there was Dror Ragzlin. Scary guy that one. Almost twice your size, mean face and doing necromancy. Yikes.

Unfortunatly, you did have to help in this fight. There were goblins storming in through the door and well just that beast of an orc.

So you you just started blasting spells at the incoming goblins. Fireball and Ice Knife were a nice combo, no? Make em slip and then steam the ice and do damage? Sounds logical to you. Was anyone else smelling barbeque or just you?

When that got taken care of, Karlach strapped a helmet to your head and lead you back to the group.

The last leader was the same woman that had tried to kill you. Minthara, apparently. You've never seen a real drow, so this was cool. Except for the part where she tried to kill all of you. That wasn't that cool...

Just before she was supposed to just die, Lae'zel had accidently hit one of the wooden beams in the room. The ceiling collapsed right infront of you.

Well, maybe she's dead? Atleast it's not your problem anymore?

After all the goblins inside had straight up been slayed, Astarion joined the group once more, seeming quite pleased with himself.

"Where have you been?" Gale asks sternly. Raising an eyebrow in suspiscion. It's still quite annoying that nobody really trusts anyone here..

"Let's just say the situation outside is taken care off." Astarion boasts proudly.

"Really? And you did that, alone?" Shadowheart states in a disbelieving tone. Gods forbid the fancy man does anything impressive.

"Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" Astarion scoffs and crosses his arms.

"Very." Shadowheart argues back.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Lae'zel adds.

Wyll and Karlach just exchange glances. Well you know that he did it. So there's no need for your input-

"Ahhh!" You eep in fear as a large man had appeared behind you. Wich is very scary considering every one in this temple was supposed to be dead.

"Calm down little cub, I mean no harm." The large man smiles reasuringly.

You stagger back to Lae'zels side. This man... Elf ears.. Brown hair. Ah, druid attire? Halsin, perhaps?

"And who are you?" Shadowheart asks for all of you.

"Halsin. You were sent here to come chack on me, or are you just lost adventurers?" Halsin asks with that same smile.

"Well, we found him. Back to the grove-" Gale starts walking off before Karlach grabs the rim of his robes to keep him in the group.

"We did come here for you. Have the goblins hurt you?" Wyll asks calmly. Halsin shakes his head.

"Nothing I can't handle. Why the cub?" Halsin tilts his head at you.

"They're actually an immortal being in the form of a child. Wiser then any of us." Astarion makes up.

Halsin raises a brow. Clearly not believing that.

"Right. But like your little wizard said, we should get back. I am sure the grove has missed me." Halsin hums.

"Don't think so, they're closing it off frol the outside world." You mention calmly.

"What." Halsin stops smiling. You just shrug, that's all you picked up from it.

Halsin frowns and starts walking out. What determination.

Your group eventually exits the dead silent temple after having taken any valuables. Can't leave without some loot, who knows if you're getting paid!

As you walk out the large door, the death Astarion had caused is quite visible, dead goblins everywhere. R.I.P, you won't be missed.

Now that that's taken care of, who knows what adventures await you thanks to this stupid worm in your brain!

Not the best, but it's something. Yan feelings gotta develop trough the story but I'm not fully there yet.

[watcheraurora]

I know there probably won't be an Empires S3 and that's genuinely fine

But imagine with me for a minute

It's 1,000 years since the end of Empires S2, and the souls of the rulers are reincarnated yet again, fresh and new as before

And one of them in particular—a blond, brown-eyed young man—wanders the land with a pair of yellow-gold wings folded against his spine

Those wings bear him through the sky, soaring high above anything else. Sometimes he wonders if he could even fly so high that he would reach Stratos, the long-forgotten, mythical land of the gods. Or, according to myths and legends, the last god

With those yellow wings in the sun and his warm blond hair, he's given the name Canary King by his people

He builds his empire from scratch. He plants orchards in a plain biome—a canary's natural habitat. He trades honey and apples with the other kingdoms

He builds homes for his people with his bare hands. He builds his seat of power nearby. A palace for an Avian nestled in the branches of the tallest tree in the world. He made the tree himself, in a way. With the help of a little magic, he grew a sapling into a true marvel. A grand treehouse, high in the air, is where he builds his throne. The perfect fit for a wingéd king, born for the high blue skies

Sometimes he dreams of a homey swamp full of cod and slime. He dreams of gills in his neck and webbed hands. He dreams of a woman with blue skin and pink hair like Lizzie's in a light, flowy dress. He calls that woman sister, in his dreams. He dreams of an elf from the cold, high mountains—an ally. Sometimes he wonders if there was something more there. He dreams of the demon. The corruption.

Other times he dreams of a mesa—badlands. Exact opposite of that homey swamp. Instead of perpetual damp, the mesa is bone dry and blisteringly hot. He dreams of a brass badge on his chest. Tall boots to keep the sand out of his socks. He dreams of a hat to keep the sun off his face. The mesa is empty and lonely. He dreams of enclosed walls meant to emulate the blue sky and clouds the badlands are too hot to form. He dreams of mocking laughter. Shouts of "Toy!" He dreams of strangers appearing in the world, smaller than most everyone else. He dreams of the world the strangers—Hermits?—came from. A Rift in reality. He dreams of a funny old man with a grey beard teaching him to be "better" in his role

He dreams of a man with blue fire for hair, blue eyes with darker blue sclera, and a long black coat rarest of all, but they are always the sweetest dreams. The Canary King wears the brass badge and boots in those dreams, and the blue-fire-hair man isn't like the others—he treats him kindly. Even sweetly. In stark contrast to the mocking teasing of the others

The Canary King dreams he builds the two of them a ranch in the badlands, and then sees the fortress in the frozen norths of the Hermits' world that the blue fire hair man built himself

The Canary King always wakes up from these dreams feeling nostalgia. Like he misses something he never had, or lost something he no longer remembers

He serves his people and enjoys the company of the other rulers, his friends. He pretends he's not haunted by these dreams and the lives that seemed to be contained within them. No one else speaks of reoccurring dreams. No one else seems to notice the thousand-yard stare that he has when he thinks about them

Sometimes Scott smiles at him a little too fondly. Sometimes Joel's teasing needles him a little too deeply and he feels much smaller than he is. Sometimes Lizzie scolds him in a tone that sounds like the older sister the Canary King doesn't have—

And he remembers those dreams all over again

And his wings pull closer to his body, trying to protect him. He seeks comfort in the feeling of his feathers against his hands. He ignores the flashes of red-yellow-and-blue macaw wings on one of the Hermits in his dreams

So he flies. He flies and flies and flies. He sees the world whiz past below him. He flies so far and so fast, he tries to let the wind steal his thoughts and dreams from his mind. The skies are his home even more than the treehouse he poured blood, sweat, and tears into. The skies bring relief. And quiet. And solace. He still hasn't flown high enough to reach Stratos. He doesn't think he ever will

He doesn't want to anymore, with those dreams following him

The Canary King flies for days, barely sleeping, barely eating

He doesn't stop until he sees a mesa below him

It pulls him up short. He circles as he descends, eyes sweeping the land

He lands and kicks at the red sand here and there, thinking himself ridiculous for hoping to see—to find—anything

Until he slams his foot into something

He digs with a shovel and a pickaxe for what feels like hours. He exposes the ruins of an old town. He knows exactly where he's going to find the next building, somehow. As familiar with this town's layout as he is his orchards and the villages he built with his bare hands back home

He finds a small wooden sign with Welcome to Tumble Town! etched into the wood

He drops the sign and takes wing again. He deliberately ignores every swamp he passes over

He flies until he can't anymore. Until his beautiful, strong, yellow wings have no strength left and cannot bear him on the winds any longer. He crash lands in the snow and does not get up

The Canary King expects to freeze to death and never see his orchards or his treehouse palace ever again. He expects to finally be free of the dreams

Night falls. Creepers sneak around the mountains. Spiders spit and skeletons clank. Zombies groan

The world has grown dark, and the Canary King's vision begins to become even darker—

A blazing golden light flares. A voice cries out and then giggles

That same voice asks if the Canary King is alright. A warm hand rests on his shoulder

The newcomer has yellow fire for hair and red eyes with darker red sclera. He has the same face shape, the same nose, the same ears as the man in the Canary King's dreams

The newcomer is concerned and the Canary King is on the brink of unconsciousness. The newcomer promises that he's safe now—he'll be taken care of. It's the last thing the Canary King remembers before passing out

He wakes up in a cozy ranch house

He feels like he's home for the first time since the dreams started

[metalomagnetic]

I *love* your answer on the house elf lore. I have a few related questions, if you don’t mind LOL…

How long ago was the initial enslavement/Helix Black? And did Helix’s grandson know why his house-elves were treated differently than other families, was he told? Are the Blacks told all of this, or do they just learn to treat their elves with affection because that’s what everyone around them does?

We know that the Blacks have astral magic and that helped in the war effort, but did other families have specialised magic that helped as well? I know Voldemort doesn’t know how the Gaunts were tied to snakes, but will we ever find out?

And finally - does magic feed itself? You say that the wizards of the past were way more powerful and they lost some of that with the death of the High Elves; is that because there is a balance that needs to be kept? Does the wizarding world have a certain biodiversity LOL?

Again, I love all of your lore. It’s such a treat to hear any of it. I devour it every time.

I am so happy you're enjoying the lore!

So, the second (and last) Elvish War lasted for about twenty years, and Tessuth was born during it, as was Helix's grandson, since they are the same age.

The war ended when they were twelve, and that's when Tessuth was enslaved. Helix only lived five more years after that, waiting for his grandson, Cetus, to reach adulthood before offing himself.

Since Tessuth was a child, both by human and elven standard, she grew up with Cetus. Helix was very intrigued with her magic, different than wizard kind, and with no need of a conduit like a wand to work. He (and other wizards) attempted to replicate it, learn it, but no wizard was ever capable. That's how he spent the last years of his life, mainly shut in with Tessuth and Cetus, teaching his grandson about family affairs, and keeping a close eye on Tessuth and her sister, making sure the curse was working and that the elves truly couldn't disobey.

Of course, Tessuth, being a child, latched onto Helix as a parental figure, and onto Cetus as a play-mate and sibling.

Tessuth, her sister and Cetus are all told that Tessuth's relatives were Evil, tried to destroy wizards, but wizards were 'merciful' and didn't kill Tessuth and the others, instead 'taking them into their homes'.

Poor Tessuth, due to her age and also because of the complex curse and charms bonding her into submission, truly does feel grateful for the Blacks eventually, for sparing her and her sister's lives, especially when she sees how awful some other families treat their elves.

Cetus grows, learns everything about the war and his mind develops, understanding the complexities of what transpired, but Tessuth never quite catches up, never quite grows as she should.

She's confused when what she saw as a fellow child, a play mate, becomes her new Master, grows old, has children of his own, and then dies, while she remains unchanged.

From all the Blacks, she loved Cetus the most, and it was heartbreaking for her to lose him. He is also the only one that treated her like a true family member. Initially, she and her sisters were not used for house labour, mostly because what remained of the Blacks didn't trust them yet with their food, neither did the elves knew how to cook human food. I think it took them some years to figure out what elves could do. Years of Tessuth learning to cook from human servants, for the Blacks to see that when she made a mess she could clean it *much* faster and efficiently than wizards, with just a snap of her fingers.

I think with each generation she became more and more of a servant, and not much else. Yet since she raised so many Blacks, loved them, played with them, took care of them, even when the children grew into adults, they still viewed her kindly; most Blacks were never cruel to her, her sister, or their own children, when those came. It is sort of a tradition- yes, their elves are their property, but since the elves are such a huge fixture in their lives, and they aren't taught to despise them, they aren't the type to physically abuse their elves. Of course, there are exceptions, some Blacks are crueler than others, some grow resentful in childhood because the elves 'snitch' on them to their parents and so forth, but most never truly develop the pure disdain Malfoys have for their elves, for example. I also think Tessuth and the first generation of house-elves are much stronger magically than the next generations, simply because they were born free, and they were allowed to develop naturally at least for the first years of their lives. Their own children never had that chance, so their magic never reaches that of their ancestors.

Blacks especially like Tessuth because she's their living history, she can tell them so many things she witnessed during the centuries, stories that were never written down, secrets of former masters that were never meant to be found out, but Tessuth tells new masters everything, since she physically cannot hold a secret from her master.

She is a huge reason why Blacks never change their ways, never lose their way, because she's literally there to raise them all as she raised Cetus' children, with the same values and antiquated notions. If Sirius would have paid her more attention, she could have told him of ways Blacks practice astral magic. But, of course, Sirius would never think to ask her about that, since she's basically like taking furniture to him, not much else.

Kreacher is also very old, 600 plus years in canon, I believe, but the children he raised, for example, are more 'modern', as opposed to those Tessuth cared for. At some point, one Black favoured Kreacher over Tessuth and replaced her as Head Elf, simply because it was Kreacher that raised him, and not his great aunt.

Sirius, while he hates Kreacher for shit in his childhood that was in no way Kreacher's fault, but Sirius as a young kid couldn't grasp that, he still prefers Kreacher over Tessuth, trusts him with little Orion, simply because it was Kreacher that was always there beside him, and not Tessuth. And at this point in the story, as Sirius matures and comes to realise Kreacher is blameless, he does allow himself to appreciate his old elf, while Tessuth remains to him the odd, crazy elf his great grandfather and than his grandfather had around.

Malfoys, for example, lost their first generation elf pretty early on, and because they always mistreat them, their elves die much younger that they should, so they always end up with new ones like Dobby, that don't have the wealth of information Tessuth or Kreacher have, nor the emotional attachments to Malfoys, that Black elves hold for the Blacks.

Yes, I think more families had special magic that belonged to their bloodline, like the Gaunts and the Blacks. But many families died off entirely, or lost members too early to ever discover the 'secret'. That, and, as I said, magic itself became weaker, as magical beings are being killed off, and muggles advancing so incredibly fast, taking over everything.

That's not to say there aren't still secrets old families hold. Black astral magic is technically a secret- there are rumours about it, but it's not a known fact anymore. And the same could be said by other families, who might be hoarding knowledge from the rest.

I do think the wizarding world has some biodiversity, and as muggles encroach more and more in their space, this diversity is dying off, little by little. Like the Elves, the centaurs I imagine are very few in numbers now, dragons that aren't allowed to roam free and multiply so muggles won't spot them, giants etc. And with every species wiped out, magic slowly dies, and will eventually give way entirely to the technological area of humanity. Of course, that will take another millennia probably, but eventually magic will die off entirely.

And, who knows, at some point, thousands of years into the future, probably humans will die off to make way for robots or god knows what else.

[mushroomates]

frodo headcanons:

has a pickleing cabinet. sam knows of this. merry and pippin do not. frodo is very paranoid and worries about them finding out.

reads multiple books at the same time and sometimes combines elements or characters when referencing them and creates a new, better story

enjoys embroidery. likes to do little plants and animals over small holes, makes patches for friends.

tries to coerce nearby cats to come to him for pets. he is mostly successful.

feeds the strays of the shire (they’re not strays, mr. frodo, and the proudfoots kindly ask that you refrain from fattening up their cat)

has a old quilt that he’s very fond of and guards with his life. it’s made by some great aunt or another, and is terribly comfy.

horrible sleep schedule. almost non existent. will wander around the shire in the dead of night for “a breath of fresh air”

has scared many families while doing this and has been threatened several times

used to call gandalf grandpa. actually did on the fellowships journey. was mocked relentlessly for it.

falls asleep to the rain rather quickly. any bodies of water make him sleepy. he enjoys ocean waves, rushing rivers, babbling brooks and the quiet patter on his windowsill.

loves the beach. collects sea shells.

can not keep plants alive. does not bother, as sam steps in anyways.

has nicknames for people, mostly in his head. sometimes will let them slip. sam is sammy-boy, pippin is pipper or pippy, gandalf is gander. always refers to merry as Meridoc in his head as it’s somehow funnier.

he gets this from bilbo, who also gave his friends/relatives nicknames behind their back. they’d giggle and gossip together using said names.

used to call bilbo “bibbo”. uncle bibbo was all the shire referred to him for a while before the threat of no more bag-end parties was made.

he likes oranges and nuts, but in the summer he likes a good plum.

favorite seasons are winter and the beginings of spring when it’s still rainy. hates the heat.

might be allergic to pollen and/or lavender. still keeps flowers by his bedside and eats lavender tarts.

all couches, chairs and daybeds are piled high with throw pillows and blankets. it’s hard to sit down without being swamped by them.

used to pretend to be an elf as a kid. was horrified to learn bilbo spread this information to the rivendell elves.

sings songs frequently and in public. no one minds this.

likes the idea of hats, looks horrible in them and they mess up his hair anyhow.

cannot wrap presents well

[cilil]

Brief summary of what I think of Elven ages/what I use as a basis in my writing and headcanons

@eunoiaastralwings kindly asked me to share my thoughts which I'll do in my own post since it felt impolite to place it underneath hers :)

When it comes to Elves aging and the like I usually go off of what's written in Laws and Customs of the Elder (LaCE), though please keep in mind that I don't treat LaCE as gospel, not just because it's debatable how "canon" the writings in Morgoth's Ring and other similar sources are, but also because there are elements in it that I don't like too much.

LaCE states that Elven children grow more swiftly in mind compared to mortal children, so that they learn to speak within a year or so and with their "will" also master their bodies faster, as seen with things like walking or dancing that they also learn this early.

However, they take more time to fully grow in body; by the time a human is fully grown, an Elf is stated to physically resemble a 7-year-old. Elves are fully grown at around 50, though it can take up to 100. I see this age range as comparable to 18-25 in humans. It's also around that time that Fëanor and Nerdanel married, so they were young, but not kids anymore. It was also fairly common for Elves to marry "in their youth".

From that point on, Elves do age in a way - despite their immortality - but it's a verrrry slow process. There are three cycles of life that can be loosely defined as childhood & adolescence, adulthood and, for lack of a better term, old age. This third cycle is only for extremely old Elves like Círdan and with the exception of Mahtan also the only time they can grow beards. This "aging process" of Elves is not temporally fixed and correlates more with "world-weariness" brought on by grief than any physical aging (Elves do not age physically after reaching maturity) or passage of time; once again Círdan and especially Gwindor serve as examples.

I get the impression that, due to the rarity of bearded Elves, there aren't many that reached this third cycle, at least not that we see. So in my eyes an Elf can be several thousand years old and still be comparable to middle-aged and even young human adults, depending on how much grief they experienced or how sheltered they were. Lúthien for example was over 3000 years old at the time of her first death, but lived the vast majority of her life in Doriath where she was well taken care of and protected by her mother's power. Her Elven aging may also have been even slower to due her Maiarin heritage (also if anyone wants to hear my thoughts and headcanons on Ainurin aging, let me know).

So yeah, these are my thoughts and what I make of the information I've encountered. I also just want to say that while I do like joking about the age gaps in Elf/human or even Ainu/human pairings, I don't think we can go by numbers only if immortals are involved. As always, everyone has their own level of comfort with shipping dynamics and that is alright :)

[seriousbrat]

why I don't think the Blacks were actually that wealthy is this:

"A reasonable amount of gold."

So, Harry inherits ALL of Sirius's money, house, his House-elf. Since Grimmauld Place goes to Sirius after the death of his parents, it's fair to assume that he also got all their money. He also, as we know, inherited a good chunk of gold from his Uncle Alphard. Being in Azkaban for 12 years and later living in hiding/at Grimmauld place, he probably did not spend much of that money. His one big expense is the Firebolt, which, yeah, is expensive but if the Blacks had been uber loaded like they're portrayed in fic, I don't think Dumbledore would have used the word "reasonable" to describe what was left to Harry.

Reasonable suggests to me that yeah, it's a decent amount. But it's not MORE than what Harry already had. It's not an EXTREME amount.

Another thing for me is the matter of Bellatrix's marriage. Narcissa and Lucius seem to genuinely be in love, but I don't think Bellatrix mentions Rodolphus, her literal husband, ONCE (correct me if I'm wrong but I'm fairly certain) in the ENTIRE series. She was in love with Voldemort. She probably didn't want to marry Rodolphus and clearly didn't care much about him. This suggests to me that the motivations behind this marriage were financial rather than romantic. Even Narcissa's marriage to Lucius was probably financially motivated, even though they were lucky enough to actually be a good match. Walburga married her own cousin- again, this was likely financially motivated.

The other clue is Grimmauld Place itself. Historically wealthy/aristocratic families would have a london townhouse for the season, but reside most of the time in country estates or manor houses. There's no mention of any Black family estate at all, and if there was one Sirius being the eldest male heir would have inherited it, as would Harry later. The fact that the Blacks live only in their London house (which is not even that ostentatious, it's terraced and between Muggle houses. why would they choose this.) suggests to me that any country estate they might have had was sold. I guess you could argue that Cygnus and his daughters lived there, but he was the youngest so i find this unlikely. If anything, it would have gone to Alphard. It might have passed to Cygnus upon his death, but that still leaves Walburga without.

What I think happened was that the Blacks were a typical old money family with dwindling resources. Likely Orion and Walburga did not work, and yet still clung to a lavish, aristocratic lifestyle while burning the galleons they had. Grimmauld Place is in a state of disrepair, and yeah it's been abandoned for 12+ years imo it probably started before that. Kreacher is OBSESSED with Black family heirlooms, which suggests that Walburga probably was too- likely she clung onto them as signs of her family's wealth and status, which was fading away before her eyes.

Personally I think Alphard probably inherited the bulk of what was left of the Black fortune, possibly an estate which he then either sold or gave to someone else- but presumably not Walburga, as she blasted him off the tapestry.

And the blasting of Alphard itself. Yeah Walburga hated Sirius and anyone who looked kindly on him, but imo if had she been rolling in it and money was of no concern, Alphard leaving Sirius some gold might not have been especially noteworthy to her. I believe that she was hoping that either she or Regulus would inherit the gold, and when he left it to Sirius she reacted VERY angrily. Because tbh, it might have just gone to him by default as the eldest male heir if Cygnus was dead by that time, which if this is the case seems likely because Alphard DID leave Sirius money. If it was just about him being fond of Sirius she likely would have blasted him off earlier. It seems to me like it was about the money, and to me explains why Walburga was so bitter and so possessive over her legacy.

[noirbriar]

Glorestor: 5 Times They Denied (1)

+ 1 time They Did Not.

Its t-t-time for more ramblings from me

From the POVs of the various folks around the 2 elves who are convinced they are courting, or betrothed, even though they were told otherwise. Starting off we have Erenion Gil-Galad.

--- 1] Gil-Galad

Erenion prides himself as an observant individual.He has to, as High King and ruler of Lindon. Especially with a large overly complicated court such as his.Even more so now with whispers of darkness rising quickly upon Arda once more. Now proven true by word from Cirdan, who is arriving to Lindon with an emissary of the Valar. The crown he bears is getting heavier, but Erenion trudges forward still, as he sits upon the throne with his Herald beside him.As he awaits for the arrival of their important guest.

The welcoming horns sound as the grand doors to his throne room opens, time crawling as each creak forces his court's mumbles to cease. "Lord Cirdan of Mithlond!And- ah! T-the - Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower!"

His court is now in uproar, whispers and gasps flying across his hall as the newly arrived Lords greets him. Dressed in simple traveling garb with long golden tresses flowing past his shoulders, a gentle light emanates from his being.This is the balrog slayer reborn, by the grace of the Valar.

As Cirdan ends his introduction, Glorfindel steps forward,the strong tenor resounds clearly in his hall, announcing himself and delivering words of his duty from the Valar. At the same time, Erenion begins to ponder in his mind.Even with Cirdan here to vouch for his identity, a skeptical part of the King wonders if he is truly Glorfindel of the legend with little to none of Gondolin survivors remaining-

"...Its truly him." The accented quenya was barely a whisper amongst the humming noise of his court, and the High King had to stop himself from physically turning to the voice coming from behind Elrond. From his Herald's advisor and shadow, Erestor.

And it seemed he was not the only one to notice the old feanorian general either as he notices Glorfindel's gaze was not at him now, but to where his Herald was- Dear Eru above...what is this?

---

"I give my thanks, Your Majesty, for this feast in my honour. Even though I wish my arrival was with better news-" Glorfindel bows humbly, the sindarin flowing stiffly from the Lord. A glass of cold wine in hand as he addresses the High King in the quiet alcove away from the crowd.

"Do not dwell on this, Lord Glorfindel, be at ease. It is with you here that we are now embolden, and ready for what may be ahead." Erenion smiles, noticing the uneasiness of the warrior. It looks like the Golden Lord is having a hard time in this strange era, and sadly, it shows.

Every elf who has heard the songs and tales of Gondolin had been so eager to meet Glorfindel and in return, the famed Lord of old returns each greeting kindly without pause with a smile. Though over the days, there is an air of detachment and emptiness he senses from him as time drags on.

It seems unfortunately, politics will soon claim another victim first before even darkness approaches.Yet there is little Erenion is able to do to ease the weary elf reborn. There is an awkward air but thankfully, Elrond approaches the duo. His entrance as timely as ever, dressed in elegant earthy hues that he favours.His ever dutiful guard trailing behind draped in his usual black and a touch of silver jewellery, almost as an afterthought for the festivity.

"Your Majesty! My Lord! I hope everything is well! " Ah, that eyebrow was a sign that his Herald is rather displeased that his King have abandoned him to the wargs that are the new Ladies of his court eager for their King's attention.

He'll get over it.

"Indeed, we are just taking time to acquaint ourselves better, Elrond. Come, join us." Erenion greets joyfully, "You both have met but we had hardly the time for more with all the dreadful meetings back to back for weeks!" "And I'm certain my Grandmother Idril and my father Earendil will be horrified by my lack of manners too! For Lord Glorfindel will always and forever be, a honoured elf in my family." Elrond adds with a light polite laugh.

"It is I, who is blessed to meet the grandson of my once liege Turgon and son of my dear friend, Idril." Glorfindel replies lightly before quietly withdrawing back into himself as inconspicuously as possible.

A soft cough brings the 3 high born elves' attention to their fourth.

"Ah!And look how terribly remiss I have been in my manners! Rude I am once again to have missed out in introductions. Lord Glorfindel, this here is Erestor, my faithful assistant and advisor."

Erestor steps forward and bows in greeting. While Glorfindel stares at the shorter elf in wonder.

"Ai! Don't be fooled by his quietness, this one has a sharp tongue, let me tell you that." Erenion quips wryly, in effort to lighten the unusal mood. "I believe you both might be acquainted?"

It was a peculiar thing Erenion had wondered since Elrond has mentioned that evening after Glorfindel's arrival. Was the fact that his advisor off handedly mentioned he recognises the Lord of the Golden Flower and is absolutely certain of his identity. The first though that immediately came to mind is that the two interesting individuals apparently have a history-

"We aren't." Erestor's accented quenya shakes both the King and Herald out of their little popped bubble, like eager birds appalled as they watch their seed bowl stolen away right before their very eyes. "Erestor...? Erestor." Glorfindel finally whispers under his breath, as if he is trying out the feanorian's name on his tongue, " So that is who you are. We finally meet, Lord Erestor."

"I am but no lord, Lord Glorfindel. Though I am honoured to meet the famed Lord of Gondolin properly this time around. Proud as I am to know you have remembered a mere soldier of Lord Maedhros and Lord Maglor. " Erestor answers smoothly in old quenya.

"Your dance with your swords was not something a mere simple soldier can accomplish." Glorfindel's melodious quenya flows, his eyes glazing over as memories washes over him," and your eyes shine then even in through the darkness of that dreadful day." "I must be honest, Nirnaeth Arnoediad was my first true battle unskilled as I was, we simply all did what we must," the Feanorian admits softly," It was much thanks to the host of Turgon and your warriors that day. We had all...lost too many."

"Aye...that we did, and it seems we will still do." Glorfindel mourns softly.

The advisor steps closer, snapping Glorfindel out of dreadful thoughts by being so close in his space with his intense presence. As Erestor always does, both on the battlefield and in a council meeting.

"Yet we endure. For those we lost and those who still live."

Glorfindel straightens up and stares at the shorter ellon before him intently. His eyes filled with tree light studying this curious advisor with unwavering grace.

Meanwhile, all Erenion and Elrond could do, is stare on silently, observing the two before them like strangers behind a veil.

It was a while, before Erestor finally blinks slowly and breaks the gentle cradle of silence around them.

"It might be presumptuous of me, a mere underling. I came with a motive,Lord Glorfindel."

"Oh?How bold.What may that be?"Glorfindel press on with a tilt of his head.

"By the permission of my Lord," with that Erestor gave a nod to Elrond who quickly nods back in acknowledgement to hide his poorly hidden distraction, "I have arranged a small meeting with civilians I know who have hailed from the White City who linger on these shores still. Perhaps, my Lord, tired and busy you must be with your schedule, you would like to meet them?"

"Truly!?" Glorfindel's eyes shine brightly for the first time since his arrival to Lindon as he clutches Erestor's shoulders eagerly.His wine glass almost meeting a dreadful end in pieces on the ground if not for Erestor's lightning quick reflex,catching and pushing the glass back into the excited warrior's grasp.Although unfortunately, much of the wine now decorates the floor.Erestor can only blink owlishly back at his sudden enthusiasm.

" Then, please, Master Erestor! Do arrange it at your nearest convenience! It pleases me greatly to meet my fellows once more!" "Certainly, with permission of His Majesty? I'm afraid I may have caused chaos to any of the planned meetings you may have with Lord Glorfindel." Erestor turns to Erenion, switching back to sindarin, who then gives the unpredictable advisor a tired look.

"I expect nothing less from you Erestor, because that is what you do for me. Chaos. But yes, by all means." The High King has to admit begrudgingly, the sly feanorian always seem to know what to do. More than his own advisors it seems...a pity his loyalty is only to his Herald. Though he is uncertain how much he can reign in that wild impudent spirit anyways.

With a bow, Erestor excuses himself in the name of duty. He lays a hand over the large palm hand resting on his shoulder gently. While the dark haired ellon's other hand glides over the Golden Lord's fingers, plucking the now empty wine glass away with care as he slowly turns around. The dark figure leaves, fading into the crowd, with Glorfindel's bright gaze lingering on as the ellon glides away with a whisper of dark robes that leaves not a trace behind in his wake.

Erenion Gil-Galad is High King of Lindon and ruler of the elves.Though in that moment, as he shares a look with Elrond before sipping his now warm wine, he felt like an intruder in his own domain.

---

A/N: I have no idea where this is going but somewhere?

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

[all-things-skylanders]

Could I request some boom bloom headcannons and share one of them (she’s bisexual )

Yeah, looking her over, I can definitely see that Boom Bloom has Bi Energy. This is actually the first requested character I don't have in my collection, so I'm relying on the wiki alone.

Updated Lore:

Boom Bloom was a sentient tree at one point, helpless and yet peaceful. She had no name, and yet everyone in the grove knew her, and she knew everyone else. Of course, that was because her only neighbors were other sentient trees! Boom Bloom lived for over a thousand years, meaning that she had watched the fall of the Arkeyan empire at the hands of the Giants, though she had never learned what it was like to meet the fabled Tree Rex.

After nearly twelve-hundred years of life, Boom Bloom found herself growing increasingly bored of the status quo. She had counted the leaves of every tree in sight a thousand times over, watched blades of grass wither with unwavering focus, and survived locust attacks for generations.

When change finally came, it was in the form of an Ent Ninja and his apprentice. The ent was the supposed Guardian of the Forest, though he mostly stuck to the more populated areas. The grove however, was the perfect spot for him and the little elf girl with him to train. For years, Boom Bloom watched as the elf grew into the future warrior, Stealth Elf. Boom Bloom herself watched the ninja training every day as well, soaking everything that she needed to know up, unlike the other trees who didn't care for learning such frivolities that they would never use.

When Stealth Elf graduated and moved on, the status quo set back in, but only for a short while. The villanous Dr. Krankcase dug up the entire grove of its trees and brought them to his lab for experiments, mutating each of them into what were intended to be his minions. The trees didn't take kindly to this, and were quick to rebel with their new bodies. All of Boom Bloom's old friends quickly were destroyed, as they knew nothing of using their physical forms, but Boom Bloom had learned of combat through watching the ninjas train, so with the help of her mutated powers, she destroyed Krankcase's entire laboratory, where the villain only escaped by a hair.

Boom Bloom's ancient wisdom and prowess rivaling the most decorated skylanders in the team, Boom Bloom was quick to become a Sensei when she sought out the famed Master Eon, teaching giddy recruits in the pursuit of patience.

Other Stuff:

Boom Bloom is Bisexual, though not towards other creatures. Boom Bloom has been caught flirting with flowers and shrubs around the academy, and has yet to exhibit any attraction to something capable of returning those feelings.

Due to their pasts as mutated trees, and similar ages, Boom Bloom and Tree Rex share a connection, and are commonly paired as duos when big guns need to be called in.

Boom Bloom sees Stealth Elf as something like a daughter, and tries to go on bonding activities and hang-outs, only to confuse Stealth Elf more and more, since the elf herself never knew Boom Bloom had been watching, and therefor felt none of the bond that Boom Bloom did.

Boom Bloom has next to zero social understanding. While she talks very formally and is seemingly polite at first, she can be blunt, emotional and easily confused, since she knows very little of her world beyond what she eavesdropped. She also has next to no concept of mortality and time, so she's given quite a few skylanders existential dread over their short lives.

Boom Bloom has severe survivor's guilt, as she knew her grove mates for nearly twelve centuries, and now she is the last one left. On late nights, she may be found in the middle of Life Zones, mourning her kin.

WOAH! That was a lot more than I expected to write, Boom Bloom really spoke to me a lot! She has a really solid concept that lends itself to my favorite brand of angst quite well, so I guess I kinda went overboard.

That's what I could come up with for Boom Bloom. Do you like it? I'm always down for feedback, as long as it's polite ^^

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 21

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter NC-17)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary:

“Who the hells are you?” The elf turned to size up the duo. “Family from out of Baldur's Gate.” Rugan supplied. “Ah, Zarys' crew. She said you were halfway competent.” “Probably the closest thing to a compliment we’ll draw out of her.” Muttered Rugan.

Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.  Being the Southern Deliveries Manager for the Baldur's Gates Zhentarim is not an easy job. Between mentoring new recruits, juggling vicious coworkers and whip-cracking bosses, bandits are the least of Rugan's troubles. An encounter with a charming stranger on the job serves to only complicate his life all the more.

Notes:

Part three of... ok I said it was split into three but it ended up being four... sorry... As always thanks to my kindly betas: @fistfuloftarenths who wrote the lovely Rugan x Tav fic isn't it a marvel, and can be found on AO3 as fistful_of_tarenths.

@dustdeepsea who wrote an adorable Olly story somewhere I have never travelled , and can be found on A03 as dustdeepsea.

@captainsigge aka @captainsieni author of A Devil's Folly and who can be found on A03 as CaptainSigge.

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 with excerpt below the cut~

New Tricks - Chapter Twenty One

By the time they had reached Goulcrest, Rugan's patience was wearing thin. He had known barmaids less clingy than Grim.

What the town passed off as an inn had in reality been little more than a barn-cum-hostel. Entirely too small to accommodate eight people, as such, he had insisted Grim’s crew take it. At least they would be out of his hair and away from Izzy for the night even if it meant Rugan had to spend it on the hard packed earth.

The Zhents had instead set up camp at the town's regular field for passing merchant caravans. It had been in use for so long none of the townsfolk remembered who had chosen that particular location. 

Situated on a hill overlooking the town, the site had fair warning of any unwelcome visitors for a ways off, which suited the Zhents just fine. There was also a ready fire pit rounded by old logs and a small stream at its base. No grass grew on the hilltop owing to the ground’s steady use over the years, but it was as fine a spot as any.

Rugan wasn’t sure the needy Grim would stay away for long, but he allowed himself to steal glances at Iz all the same. Admiring the curve of her rear as she went about hammering the pegs of her tent, the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, the upturned corners of her mouth when their eyes met. Finding excuses to brush up against her or bump into her with a feigned apology of “sorry, lass”. She sometimes rolled her eyes at that but she laughed more often than not.

Come evenfeast they were sitting side by side around the fire, knees touching while they listened to the boys complain about the journey.

“And what's with that big bastard always staring at us?” Bellar asked. 

“Very observant-like. It's unsettling,” Olly agreed.

“Observant-like? Olly you need to stop picking up vocabulary from Brem,” Sal chided.

At last Amaunator began to dip below the horizon, and Rugan felt confident Grim's crew wouldn't be leaving the relative comfort of the inn for the night.

When he said as much to Iz she took his hand in her own and wordlessly led him back to her tent.

[raiden-makoto]

Last edit: 13|07|24. In purple

~Intro post~

Hello everyone !!

So I started to write my first ever wip! And I’m having so much fun!!! So, I wanted to introduce you all to it! (sorry I wrote a bit too much).

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

First, here are some infos about it. Let’s discover my wip :) :

-The wip doesn´t have a name yet 😭 but I usually call it « our Harmony »

The genres are fantasy, adventure, LGBTQ+ romance for now.

-It takes place in a world with two realm :

•Elfs —> Capital: Ereta

•humans. —> Capital: Phocée

They are enemies and in war called "Harmony war"

Each Realm has a god, 3 in total worshiped by their people : Mother (the main god), Poko and Aqua.

The elf realm has two queens, a prince and two princess (little sister and big sister).

The human realm has a king and two prince. The Queen and the princess (big sister) are dead.

- The mcs are :

•Hane the prince and heir of the human realm.

( His name is pronounced as Ahnei or Hané)

•Noi the prince also heir of his realm (elf).

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

Here is a quick resume of what I’ve done so far:

So, at the capital of the human realm…

We meet Hane (mc) who is 19 year old. He is extremely down, his sister passed away not too long ago and the war which he is against with, destroyed the capital of the Elf realm.

His father doesn’t care about his last living child. Moreover he is the one who started the war which his deceased mother, her sister are all against with !

"Why do we have to kill a friend ?"…..

One day, his father had a visit and tell the maids to inform Hane that he has to go out because he doesn’t want him here. Hane can’t argue with his father so he did. He walked to the Parc of the Elfs. Where he remembers all his good memories with his family.

After a while, he felt followed…..

-Trigger warnings so far:

Blood, Domestic Abuse, Death, Death of loved ones, Violence, transphobia, Homophobia, suicide, war.

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

•Feel free to ask questions ( please do, I would love them !) and would kindly anwser.

•(Tell me if you want to get tagged for more of my wip content/stuff I will add you on the list !)

•Register of the persons who will be tagged for wip infos :

@thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling

[emmanuellececchi]

Pasting here my take on the end : Arwen and Aragorn

(because comments were not available...) First of all thanks for this one OP, I loved it! (A strange thing happened... I wanted to link to the original post and couldn't because "Fantom blog" 😳😱😶)

*roll sleeve* bitching time (it's going to be a long one, brace yourself)

This is one of the aspect of the book that I NEVER understood or accepted. And bits of it had confused me. You are absolutely welcome to answer, add details, not agree and explain, argue. But with respect and kindly, please, that's all I am asking. (putting behind a cut)

Let's begin with Arwen:

For what I understood she choose the fate reserved to human. Which, to me, even after reading Luthien and Beren, means she is mortal. So... she is not stuck to roam endlessly in an abandonned Lorien. She will die of old age.

If this is the case: Why don't you stay with your children and grandchildren? Taking care of them, being like all grandparents and taking a bit of the weight of the kids while they do and have "gondorian" fun or spend some time in Rohan with their cousins or in The Shire? Why don't you go and visit all those people? Why don't you discover this world?

If this is not the case and Arwen is just stuck, an immortal elf in the mortal world: Why Lorien if everyone has left? Why not go with Thranduil (@sotwk : how long did he stay? I'm sorry I don't remember). Why not Ithilien? The Shire? One again, if you're immortal go and visit! and why not stay a bit and enjoy those kids and grandkids? I can udnerstand it might get weird being immortal and seeing your kids and grandkids becoming older but... You could at least have stayed a bit. Or become an archivist?A librarian? Go to Dol Amroth?

I mean, there are sooooooo many possibilities for this lady to finish/not finish her life rather than roaming endlessy in an empty Lorien, like WTF?

Aragorn:

First, yes, I love Aragorn (like really). But... Why did he do this? Oh yeah. Don't want to stay and be overbearing over your kid, uh? Ah yeah, because you don't want to become an old man, shaked by old age, and everyone seeing you becoming frail? Sorry but isn't that your (sorry for the word) F*****ng ego speaking?

I mean, it's the fate of all men to age and die. But you, you have this choice and then, you abandon everyone, including your wife, just because you don't want to show what old age could do to you?

Okay, Arwen knew what she had signed for... Although she said it, she understood at this moment what was the real meaning.

But one : Aragorn, why didn't you discuss this with your lady wife? Like "hey sweetheart? how do you feel if I would stay a few years more? Maybe I'm going to become frail and a bit shaky and maybe forgot people but... What d'ya think? Getting old together?" She could have decided herself, it would have been her choice. Not the first time she would make a hard choice (just so you remember).

Two: speak to your kids "Hey, by the way, mind if I stay a while?" Maybe they would have say no, or yes. But even if it has been a no... There a whole world to explore with your lady! Why not go to the Shire and have a few last years with them? Or Rohan and end under a barrow like the Rohan kings (hey, wouldn't be something rather than asking if they want Theoden to stay in Gondor ? - This one's for you @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras)?

Rambling's almost finished. Essentially, there could have been a different ending for those two, if Aragorn has discussed it and not choose all alone what was best for everyone. And if Arwen had realized she was free to do whatever she wanted. I suppose I felt a bit insulted that, because Aragorn was dead, her own life must end. And maybe her love for him was that strong, maybe she was just so heartbroken that she couldn't stand being without him. But then, why didn't Aragorn stayed?

So, here it is, my rambling/ranting for Saturday morning. Once again, feel free to argue, discuss, exchange, bring more info, etc...

[searchingforserendipity25]

More precious was the light in your eyes. ao3.

Many thanks to @welcomingdisaster and @outofangband for inspiration on how to tackle the 'dusk' prompt!

The first woman of the Edain Daeron loved was a milkmaid and cow herder late in her years, all wispy age-streaked braids and fat arms

He sought out her shadow rustling in the aldar leaves, in the laughing of a hidden brook. Running, leaping, whenever he thought he caught her scent of starlight on mossy ground - like a hound sniffing for its mistress, like a madman gathering thorn-scratches and losing the course of the years.

It was not madness, though it sounded mad, and foolish, and pitiful. 

There were tales told of him. Because even the oldest forest and the darkest waters were no longer unpopulated, and mortals bred fast and grew covetous, there were made old trees thorn down; it happened at times that he would leave a meadow for a time, and find it turned into a hamlet on his return, or a town.

His heart grew hard as stone, inside him. In the worst winters, when there was much cold to be fought in Mannish homes, and fallen elms and firs and birches were too many to name, Daeron thought only bitterly of Lúthien's escape. Lúthien's Choice, a choosing of cruelty, a renouncing of the true face of the world.

He withheld his songs from her, as if she heard him in truth; and gathering himself in a cold cave or hollow stump, his sleep was thin and unhappy, with no memory of spring.

Regret came with the first thaw; but then, like always, it was too late to find any solace, any satisfaction. Lúthien was in the forests, at times; but she never did turn to look back, to see if he kept to her tracks.

The first woman of the Edain Daeron loved was a milkmaid and cow herder late in her years, all wispy age-streaked braids and fat arms, pail carried steadily on her head even as she let out her loud graceless laugh.

Before her narrow cabin she set a basin, and a handful of seeds; in this way she had small wood birds near her house often, and some of their pretty singing.

It was a kindly trade; that it had brought her an elf as skittish and fond of fennel seeds as any sparrow did not daunt her in the least. In the evenings he came, sometimes, by her door; she played a flute, a small and ugly thing, not well and not badly.

Daeron had forgotten. The songs of others were lovely still, in their way; even the ones Lúthien had never heard.

Soon enough she she set him to fixing the thatch roof and mending the crane mechanism in the water pump- also gathering new rushes for the floor.

"As thou art a wood-sprite, and stands sense that rushes are sweeter for thee," which was true enough; he brought new smells into the damp shelter of her house, a little green wildness.

He did as he was told out of bemusement, and surprised himself in accepting her bowls of gruel, her warm blankets, her warm legs wrapped around him upon a straw mattress, a grass mound, the shade under the tall chestnuts where the cows grazed. 

"Look at this mad thing," she said, tripping rough fingers up his ribs to test if he would quiver, running them through his hair - picking off bits of dead grass, shreds of ivy. "I knew there were birds that turned into spirits in the woods, but most birds are much neater than this!"

She laughed at his indignation, and pressed him down, and laughed further at how he did quiver, nose against her bosom, mouth opening with kisses.

Reluctantly, in fits and starts and incidents, he came to know their ways.

The first winter he spent in a human village was an error; the second there was a plague, the sixth it was razed by the neighboring kingdom - or might have been. If not for Daeron singing terrors out of the mists; if not for the growing of briars sharp as daggers, and wild barking in the wild.

Melian's teachings were in him still, half-dormant; and if he told none whom it was that kept danger away, still his lover teased him while plucking briars from his hair, and grew even more shameless about sending him off to scare away wolves and bears and annoying tax-riders with his mighty powers.

Lúthien's choice grew less repellent to him, in time. But he would not have chosen as Lúthien might have, after all. 

He could only be himself, one of the Quendi; the last of them, he thought, perhaps.

He stood by the mounds where roses grew from his lover's bones. Her laughter, gone thick with age and then silent, was a biting grief, a cutting thing; and he had to be glad for it, too, for he had not thought to grieve a thing besides Lúthien, and it was good to love, after all, even a thing that died.

O, but it was bitter! A long winter of the heart, and a winter that always came back.

That much Lúthien had taught him, and his cow-herder; and the forests, too, where saplings grew in the place of old giants, and shrubs ate away even the roots of Ents.

This relinquishing come no more easily, not more easily was he at peace with it. Still he knew then it would happen again; many times, perhaps.

He swept the house, brought in new rushes, and left the cows grazing, and filled the basin, where sparrows and jays and plain nightingales came to sate their thirst. Some winters he went onward, deeper into the forests, to scare the wolves, the bold mountain lions, the king's riders.

But the house was his now, and the roses were not as stout as niphredil, and wanted tending.

-

It was not madness. Daeron saw her in every flower that bloomed at dusk, the sweet haze that rose over the world in the first days of spring. Lúthien was there.

He saw her, now. Not at first, when he was younger, and caught in grief and regret such that no consolation could be found.

He saw her in the small pale flowers that were not niphredil. He saw her in the lined faces of old women weaving by the hearth during the long winters, and in the maids dancing round the summer bonfires. In all things mortal, in all blue twilights; and he loved Lúthien the better for it, in time, with a love that was an aching sweetness, not the last of its kind.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Owl Fae/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,332 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You start a new job at the Reader's Garden, a twenty-four hour library with a secret resident. As you get to know Anjouan, you can't help but fall for him.

You stepped into the Reader's Garden twenty-four hour library, nervous and excited for your first night shift. The towering shelves and musty smell of old books filled the air, creating an atmosphere of mystery and wonder. Rumours of supernatural beings inhabiting the library had always surrounded the place, but you dismissed them as mere stories meant to keep people entertained.

The clock struck nine as a friendly colleague greeted you with a warm smile; she was a beautiful elven woman with thick black curls and a bright smile.

"I'm Nousha," she said kindly, "want a tour of the Reader's Garden?"

You beamed right back. "You bet."

Nousha led you through the labyrinth of bookshelves, pointing out the different sections and areas you'd be responsible for. Her voice echoed softly in the vast space as she explained the library's layout and rules.

As you walked, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching you. You glanced around the dimly lit crevices and caught glimpses of shadows shifting in the corners of your vision. Your heart raced, but you reminded yourself that it was just your imagination and focused on Nousha's words.

Finally, Nousha brought you to the back of the library, where a dusty old door creaked open to reveal a hidden, ancient section. "This area is rarely visited," she murmured, "but you'll need to check on it occasionally. We have a couple of regulars who could disappear in here for hours." She paused, brows furrowed. "Some say this part of the library is haunted, but I've never seen anything myself."

You chuckled nervously, trying to brush off the eerie feeling that settled in your chest. You knew it was just a job, and there was nothing to be afraid of. The two of you spent a few more minutes exploring the older section, with its rows of leather-bound books and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

After your tour, Nousha wished you luck and left you alone in the silent library. "That's pretty much it," she admitted with a smile. "If you need anything, I'm just a phone call away. Sorry to leave you on your own for the first shift, but we're so understaffed..." she trailed off with an apologetic wince.

Honestly, the peace and quiet was half the reason you chose this job to begin with. You offered a smile and replied, "it's no problem, honestly. Get home safe, Nousha, and thanks for the tour."

Nousha left with a wave and a kindly grin, leaving you alone in the cavernous library foyer. The shadows seemed to grow longer, and the air felt colder as the night deepened. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and turned to the stacks of books that needed put away.

It was well past midnight when you first heard it – a soft rustle, like the flutter of wings, followed by the faintest whisper. You froze, listening intently, but the sound didn't come again. You brushed it off as the wind or the creaking of old wood and continued your work.

But as the night wore on, the whispers grew more persistent, and you couldn't ignore them any longer. With your heart pounding, you followed the sounds, which led you to the dusty old door Nousha had shown you earlier. You hesitated, hand on the doorknob, wondering if you should venture into the ancient, secluded section. Curiosity got the better of you, and you pushed the door open with a long creak.

As you stepped into the ancient part of the library, the whispers grew louder, and you felt the tickle of a gaze watching you from... somewhere. You searched the dark corners, shining your flashlight into the shadows, until you finally spotted a figure perched on one of the shelves. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized it wasn't a human, or even an elf or orc – he was clearly fae, with large, luminous eyes and a cloak of feathers draped over his shoulders.

You offered a gentle smile, hoping to convey peaceful intentions. The fae's eyes seemed to search your face for any signs of deceit or danger. His features were a blend of human and owl, with a sharp, angular face and large, expressive eyes framed by an array of intricate feathers. His white wings, a magnificent sight to behold, spanned several feet, their tips touching the bookshelves on either side of him. He was like nothing you had ever seen before, leaving you breathless.

Fae were uncommon enough in Oceanhall town, but someone as magnificent as this was even rarer. Standing face-to-face with this strange owl fae, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over you.

His eyes narrowed as he continued to study you, head tilted to one side. You could tell he was skittish and unsure of how to react to your presence. You decided to break the silence, hoping to ease his concerns.

"Hi," you whispered softly, keeping your voice low and gentle. "I didn't mean to startle you."

His wings twitched again, and he tilted his head to one side, as if contemplating your words. You took another step back, giving him more space, and noticed that he seemed to relax, if only slightly.

You tried to come up with something else to say, something that might help bridge the gap between you. "I've always loved this library," you continued, your voice filled with sincerity. "There's something magical about it. It's why I wanted to work here. Well, that and the fact the night shift is always quiet. Who comes to a library at one o'clock anyway?"

He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and the books that surrounded him. It was clear that he, too, felt a deep connection to this place. Just as you thought he might respond, a sudden noise from elsewhere in the library made him tense up.

He looked around nervously, and you could see the fear in his eyes. He was afraid of being discovered, of being forced to leave the sanctuary he had found within the library. Before you could say anything more, he spread his magnificent wings and took off across the cavernous library, disappearing into the shadows like a phantom.

You stood there for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to process what had just happened. The encounter had been so brief, so unexpected, and yet it still left you reeling.

As you turned to leave the ancient section of the library, your mind raced with questions. Who was he? Why had he chosen this library as his refuge? And, most importantly, would you ever see him again?

***

The next day, as the sun cast its golden rays through the library windows, you found yourself unable to shake the memory of your encounter with the owl fae. Your mind was consumed with thoughts of him, and you felt an inexplicable need to learn more about his presence in the library. With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you approached Nousha, who was busy sorting through a cart of books.

"Hey, Nousha," you began hesitantly, "I wanted to ask you something. Do you know anything about an owl fae living here in the library?"

Nousha looked at you, a puzzled expression on her face. "An owl fae? I've never heard of such a creature in our library. We have a few fae regulars, but they don't live here?"

You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should share the details of your encounter. "Well, last night, during my shift, I saw something... unusual. Maybe I imagined it."

You knew you hadn't, of course, but if Nousha didn't know then maybe it wasn't sensible to tell her too much. You thought of the fear that flashed across the fae's face when you first saw him, and sympathy twisted your heart.

Nousha's eyes widened in surprise. "I've been working here for years, and I've never seen anything unusual. Maybe he's just a shy visitor who usually stays hidden."

You nodded, considering her words. "Yeah, maybe... if you see anything weird, can you let me know?"

"Sure, of course."

You thanked Nousha for her help and went back to your work, but the mystery of the fae continued to gnaw at you. If no one else had seen him, then perhaps he had a reason for remaining hidden. Was he in danger, or was he simply distrustful?

As the day wore on, you couldn't help but let your eyes wander to the dusty old door that led to the ancient section. You knew that the chances of seeing the owl fae again during the day were slim, but you couldn't help but hope that you might catch a glimpse of him.

When your shift ended, you lingered in the library, reading up on fae lore and legends in the hopes of finding some information about owl fae. The books offered a wealth of knowledge on various fae species, but there was no mention of any creature resembling the one you had encountered.

As the night unfolded, you discreetly searched for the elusive creature, hoping to catch a glimpse of him among the towering bookshelves. After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, you found yourself back at the entrance to the ancient section. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the dusty old door and stepped inside, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You moved quietly through the dimly lit room, your eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of the owl fae. Then, you spotted him – perched on one of the highest shelves, his wings tucked neatly around him as he peered down at you with curiosity and caution.

Determined to coax him into conversation, you approached him slowly, speaking in a soft and gentle tone. "Hello again," you said. "I've been hoping to see you. Are you all right in here?"

The owl fae tilted his head, considering your words. After a moment, he hesitantly replied, his voice barely audible, "What do you want with me?"

You paused, searching for the right words. "I'm curious," you admitted, "and I want to understand why you're here, in the Reader's Garden. I promise, I won't harm you or expose your secret."

He seemed to ponder your promise before finally speaking again. "My name is Anjouan," he said softly, "and this library... it's my sanctuary. It's the one place where I feel safe."

As Anjouan spoke, you could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and you felt a sense of protectiveness towards him. "I think I understand," you said, "I promise, I won't tell anyone you're here."

Anjouan's eyes shimmered with gratitude, and for the first time, you saw a hint of warmth in his gaze. "Thank you," he whispered.

You offered a smile, inching towards where he perched high above you. Although a part of you didn't want to scare him off again, the larger part of you wanted to get closer. "Do you mind if I stay a while?" you asked.

He spread one enormous wing as if beckoning you closer. "Yes, please do."

The two of you sat together in the dimly lit ancient section of the library, surrounded by the comforting scent of old books and the hushed whispers of stories long forgotten.

As the night wore on, you and Anjouan spoke about everything and nothing – the books you loved, the worlds you dreamed of, the little things that made life worth living. The more you learned about Anjouan, the more enchanted you became by his gentle nature and the wisdom that seemed to flow from him like the ink on the pages he cherished.

You noticed a change in Anjouan as well, a few minutes at a time. After a while he shifted closer to you, bent low to meet your gaze despite his towering height.

"I want you to know how grateful I am to have found you," he murmured, making you shiver. "For so long, I've been hiding here, isolated from the rest of the town. I know that my kind are more accepted now, but when I first went into hiding... anyway, you've shown me that maybe I don't have to hide anymore."

You felt your heart swell with affection for the tender-hearted man before you. "Anjouan," you replied, reaching out to gently touch his feathered arm, "I'm grateful too.."

Anjouan's eyes softened as he leaned into your touch, clearly moved by your words. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you waved gentle fingers through his soft feathers.

As the night drew to a close and the first rays of dawn began to filter through the library's windows, you knew that your time with Anjouan had to come to an end for now. But as you said your goodbyes and returned to the foyer, you already felt a pang of reluctance at having to leave him.

***

Over the following weeks, you saw Anjouan more and more. When you weren't dealing with the odd nightly regular, you spent countless hours together in the library exploring the hidden nooks and crannies of the Reader's Garden. As the days turned into nights, the library became a haven where you could leave the worries of the world behind and immerse yourself in the magic of each other's company.

One morning before your shift ended, you decided to surprise Anjouan with an early breakfast. You had noticed that he was often so absorbed in his reading that he would forget to eat, and you wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself. It didn't occur to you that he didn't actually need to. So, with a steaming thermos of tea and a basket filled with an assortment of pastries and fruit, you made your way to the ancient section, where you knew Anjouan would be waiting.

As you entered the room, Anjouan looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes lighting up with surprise and delight as he saw what you had brought. "Evelyn, what's all this?" he asked, a touch of wonder in his voice.

"I thought we could share breakfast together," you replied with a smile, setting the basket and thermos down on a nearby table. "I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself."

Anjouan's eyes shimmered with amusement as he looked at the spread you had prepared. "Thank you," he said softly, his voice gentle. "No one has ever done something like this for me before."

You reached out to squeeze his hand gently, your fingers brushing against the soft cream feathers that adorned his arms. "You're important to me, Anjouan," you said earnestly, "and I want you to know that you're not alone anymore. I'm here for you."

Anjouan looked into your eyes, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world ceased to exist. All that mattered was the sparkle in his eyes, the gentle flush of his cheeks where the feathers were thinner.

Slowly, Anjouan leaned in towards you, his breath warm and sweet as it mingled with your own. Your heart raced in anticipation, and as his lips finally met yours, it felt as though time itself had stopped,.

The kiss was tender and sweet, leaving you breathless with giddiness. As you pulled apart, your eyes locked with Anjouan's, and you could see the warmth reflected in his gaze.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "for showing me that there is still love and kindness in this world. You've shown me more in our short time together than decades of hiding here."

His voice was soft like the rustle of leaves, his large eyes glittering - but the moment was cut short when you heard footsteps approaching. Nousha entered the dimly lit room, her eyes widening in shock as they fell upon Anjouan.

Her gaze darted from Anjouan to you as if questioning her own sanity. Her face paled, her lips trembling in disbelief. You could see the panic rising within her, her breaths shallow and rapid.

In an instant, she turned heel and darted from the room. Her heart raced, her fear almost palpable. You knew that you had to act quickly to calm her down before she ran off and alerted the whole library.

You rushed to Nousha's side, gripping her arm gently, yet firmly enough to halt her escape. Her eyes were wide, searching yours for answers.

"Nousha, wait," you pleaded, your voice low and soothing. "It's okay. He's a friend."

You gestured to Anjouan, who tilted his head, observing the scene with quiet curiosity. Nousha's gaze returned to him, her body trembling as she struggled to comprehend the extraordinary creature before her.

Seeing her continued distress, you guided her to a nearby chair, urging her to sit down. She complied, her legs wobbling beneath her.

"Take deep breaths," you advised, demonstrating the action. "Anjouan is not here to harm anyone. He's been living in the library for a long time, and he hasn't caused you trouble yet."

As Nousha attempted to steady her breathing, you shot a reassuring smile towards Anjouan. He nodded, understanding the need for patience. Although his gaze shone with hesitancy, he didn't try to disappear.

Gradually, Nousha's breathing returned to normal, and her body began to relax. She continued to watch Anjouan, curiosity now replacing her initial fear.

"Really?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "He's... friendly?"

You nodded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, I promise. Would you like to meet him?"

With a cautious nod, Nousha agreed, and you led her closer to Anjouan. As she took her first tentative steps towards him, you felt a sense of pride in her bravery.

Anjouan ducked his head, and Nousha hesitantly shook his outstretched hand. Bit by bit, they both began to relax.

"See?" you offered kindly, "he's no different to any other fae."

"Yeah," she murmured; and although she was still pale, she didn't look nearly as distraught. "Sorry I freaked out."

After Nousha's initial introduction to Anjouan, she decided it was time for her to leave. Maybe she was still processing everything that had happened. With a shaky smile and a whispered promise to keep the secret, she exited the ancient section of the library, leaving you alone with Anjouan again.

As the door closed behind her, you felt a sense of quiet intimacy return to the room. The soft amber light filtering through the dusty windows cast a warm glow over the countless tomes and scrolls surrounding you.

Anjouan's eyes met yours, and his angular features creased into a soft smile. You moved closer to him, your footsteps barely audible against the worn wooden floor. His feathers shimmered in the dim light, and his gaze held a gentle warmth that made your heart swell.

You reached out a tentative hand, and Anjouan leaned into your touch, allowing you to stroke his soft feathers. His eyes closed, and a contented sigh escaped his beak. In that moment, you felt as though you shared a bond that transcended the barriers between your worlds, a connection built on trust, respect, and mutual curiosity.

You sat down on the floor beside him, your back resting against a bookshelf; and Anjouan nestled close to you, his warmth and presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The silence between you was comfortable, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of a page turning or the distant footsteps of library patrons.

As you sat there with Anjouan, you felt a profound sense of belonging, as if you had found a hidden sanctuary within the walls of the library. It was a place where you could be yourself, free from the judgment and expectations of the outside world.

You shared a smile with Anjouan, his eyes filled with gratitude and affection. In the soft, hushed atmosphere of the ancient library, you leaned in for another kiss.

[sufficientlylargen]

Merry Crit Miss

'Tis the night before Crit Miss, and all through your house, not a sound can be heard save the click of your mouse. You scroll through your dashboard with nary a care; you've no clue that Saint Nicholas soon will be there.

You reblog your 500th Goncharov post, and continue to scroll, completely engrossed. When, from up above, there arises such clatter that you leap from your bed to see what is the matter!

In your haste, you forget you were browsing your dash - your laptop is hurled 'cross the room in a flash! It lands on its corner; you're sure it's just broke - with a crunch and a flash the machine belches smoke.

The cloud makes you dizzy, your vision gets blurry, and you lurch through the door to escape in a hurry. You misjudge the door frame, trip, stub many toes, and fall face-first forwards to land on your nose.

The main room is dark but stars flash in your vision and you feel blood drip from the site of collision. Dazed and confused you sprawl out on the ground, when you suddenly hear an odd rapping sound.

It sounds like… A horse? Or some other hoof? It's prancing and pawing up there on your roof? Oh right! You remember that something had clattered! That's why you'd jumped up, why your laptop was shattered!

And now there's a scraping noise from near the flue - Is this some weird break-in? What should you do? You grope for a lightswitch and just as it's hit, a kindly voice booms "HO, HO, OH HOLY SHIT!"

In a twinkling you realize your awful mistake as the room fills with screams and the air starts to bake. The switch which you thought ought to turn on the light was instead that which makes the gas fireplace ignite!

And now you can see, by the light of the fire, the shape of a man wrapped in flames like a pyre! He's trying to open the grate to get out, but it's stuck - rusted shut through neglect, you've no doubt.

You take up a poker and rush to the grate, Prying and trying with all of your weight to force it apart! SNAP! It breaks from the wall! And you and the flaming man to the floor fall!

The grating is hot, and it burns at your skin as you work your way out of the heap that you're in. One last shove and you're free! You stand up, and look down at the stranger who's lying, too still, on the ground.

He's dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, though a lot of it's now turned to ashes and soot. The stump of a pipe still protrudes from his teeth, While ashes encircle his head like a wreath;

The beard of his chin, once as white as the snow, is stained red with blood in the embers' dull glow, And his blankness of eye, and the twist of his head, Soon give you to know that this dude's super-dead.

With horror you notice, right in this man's chest A long metal rod is quite firmly impressed. The poker you'd grabbed when the grating was stuck! It went right through his sternum! Oh shit, you think, fuck!

In shock you lurch back, but your foot hits a snag - It's caught on the edge of late Santa's toy bag. You trip and expect to land flat on your back…

But instead you plunge into the toy-toting sack…

And that, I'm afraid, is the end of this tale, For my observational powers here fail. The toy-bag of Santa's a curious place Where infinite gifts drift in transfinite space

But without good Saint Nick there to tend to the mess What happens within it I only can guess. Perhaps you keep falling. Perhaps ground you hit. Perhaps you awaken some Thing in the pit.

The things that I do know: your house does burn down, And in its remains just one body is found. It's chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, (now stabbed and flambéed by your since-vanished self).

A lot of deer droppings are seen the next day, But nobody sees a reindeer, or a sleigh. And so this poem closes, we've come to the end. Merry Crit Miss to all!

You are not seen again.

[eupheme]

During your journey through Middle-earth, you stumble upon an old chest filled with old artifacts and treasures. There’s a rumor that each piece holds an echo of blessing from the one who last held it.

👑 - The winged crown, shining silver and inlaid with gold, rests heavy upon your brow. The voice of a kind and just king echos throughout the woods, telling you, “There is always hope.”

💎 - The jewel glitters brightly, and you can’t help but reach out and touch it. “Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” You hear, spoken by one who was the mightiest and fairest of them all.

🪓 - The pair of dwarven axes call to you - intricately made and well used. The voice that fills the glen is gruff, one of a warrior, “Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”

💐 - Your fingers brush over the petals of a dried bouquet. “There’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo… and it’s worth fighting for.” The words are kindly spoken, by someone more important than they’ll ever know.

🔮 - The crystal orb catches your attention - the stone smooth beneath your touch. The voice that rings out after is warm and old and full of wisdom, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

💍 - The light glitters off a ring, such a small thing. A voice echoes as you slip it on, “It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing.” Spoken by one who had faced many hardships, and met them with kindness.

📚 - The pile of manuscripts call to you, each lovingly inked and hand-bound, filled with truly incredible stories. The voice is pleasant and good-natured, telling you, "It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life."

🏹 - A bow fits in your hand, strong and beautifully-crafted. “Oft hope is born when all is forlorn.” The words spoken by an elf-prince, one who found friendships along the journey that were more precious than gold.