#let some elves be short and small. LET THEM BE SHORT AND SMALL

[chargenmorphed]

Drow are short. Don’t come to me saying they tall, they’re short af

“They’re elves” fuck you

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

By Moonlight

Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader

Part One- Babes in the Woods

Summery: Reader finds Uruk children alone in the forest and returns them to their own meeting their "Adar".

Warnings: cannon typical violence

Only a little Adar in this first bit but this will be many parts of pining for Lord Father of the Uruks. So enjoy time with the babies for now!

Druadan Forest was the farthest west you'd ever been. The pine trees cast their needles to the uneven path, wind wiping them around your aching feet. You pulled your thin cloaks hood tighter to your face as a harsh gust sent them to your exposed skin. The last warmth of summer still clung in the air and you were thankful for that.

Avari elves were few and far between these days. After kin had been stolen by Morgoth many hid away farther South, deep in forests or caves. For you this was an impossible ask, to spend your millennia without a glimpse of starlight or another kindred soul to watch the ages pass with. Your wild flee into the moonlit night from everything you'd ever known had been the most terrifying moment of your long life. Though to this day you could not regret the action, not even as the hunger pains hit once more.

You stopped by a gnarly felled tree, tucking yourself and your knapsack low in the cover of its exposed roots. The ground was softer here, a patch of moss that you rested your weary legs on. Your water skin was nearing empty but you drank your fill regardless. There was a stream or river close enough you could hear its rubble from your resting spot. You let your eyes drift closed against the golden rays piercing through the canopy and tried to hold off from eating the last of your last catch a little while longer.

The sound that startled you from your rest was unlike anything you'd ever heard. Loud, piercing and in an extreme state of duress. Your body seemed to react to it of its own accord, slinging your bag to your back and leaping into a run in one swift motion.

A part of you feared it may be some kind of trap. You'd encountered enough slit throats and wolves to feed that concern. That you'd be sprinting headfirst into your own death here but the wail only seemed to get more pained the closer to the river you ran. You made your mind up when you finally recognised the sound. You'd been the youngest of your kin and had never actually beheld an infant before but you were certain that's what it was. A baby.

The forest thinned by the river, earth turning to stone but your feet were light and made not a sound as you caught sight of an over turned caravan. It seemed made of scrap material and brittle wood and now laid on its side with two more coming into view in much the same state behind it.

You stopped your approach on the edge of the trees as a jeering laugh broke out. The wailing had stopped a abruptly and in its absence you were able to focus on the group ahead. Three men around a large fire. There were body's already burning upon it, filling the air with its acrid, metallic smell.

They seemed to be celebrating, this their enemy's pyre and not one for their own. Still it hardly seemed the place for a baby to be and you set your keen eyes to the men themselves. Each had sheaved weapons, bows strung to their backs. A mousey blond swiped dark blood from a long dagger onto his sleeve as his broad companion tossed something to the fire.

Then you saw it, the little bundle hanging in its tattered blanket from the fist of the smallest man. He sneered wildly at his companions before bringing the child back to him and removing the blanket.

The screech pierced the world again, an excruciating wail as the low sun's orange rays beat against ashen skin. Again your body moved before your mind, short sword drawn and sliced through the man's wrist. You caught the babe rolling with it pressed to your chest before the severed hand hit the ground.

The small man brought his bleeding stump to his face, screaming and stumbling back into the pyre. His wails turned shrill as he fought the spreading flames. His kin turning to your hunched form and drawing swords.

It was at this moment a stone whipped past your hair and struck the blond on his temple. Using the distraction your surged forward, driving your blade under the larger man's leather armor and to his heart. You spun as you pulled your blade free spraying crimson across white stone.

The blond met your eyes, a hand over his eye were blood trickled down. He had his own blade in hand now, a broadsword that seemed too large for his frame. Still with unexpected strength he swung it one handed were you had been. The blade just catching against the hem of your dress and tearing the fabric. Not for the first time in your journey you'd cursed the thing.

The baby you held cried out again and you risked a glance down at it, eyes widening as you finally took in its form. Pale skin, paler even than you'd first seen, rendered reddish by the suns exposure. It's ears tucked in wisps of white hair were pointed like your own but turned slight downward. It was an orc child.

You didn't have time to take it all in as a nearby squeak altered you to the swords stroke coming down to your head. You just managed to lift your own to meet it, metal clashing and sparking as you used it's momentum. You slid with the force pushed atop you between the assailants legs, orc again pressed against you. Then with a cry of your own you raised up and stabbed through the blonds back.

The world seemed to hold its breath then with you. Silence ringing in your ears as you looked to the setting sun. You turned your back to it, letting your shadow cast over the infants form as you held it out from you again. The cries were nothing more than burbles now, residual pain from its burnt skin being forgotten as it blinked large amber eyes at your own. Tiny hands reached out to you as grumbling sounds of discontentment fell from the baby's lips. You brought it back to your chest, its long nails grasping the neck of your dress as it settled.

You stayed like that a moment, blood dripping from your sword against the pale stone before your ears twitched. You'd almost forgotten about the other. The one who threw the stone and called out to rescue you from that sword. There was a shuffling of feet, worn fabric soles shifting against stone and earth. Not just the one set either, it sounded like several sets from one of the over turned caravans.

As slow as you could you flicked the blood from your blade, not missing a sharp intake of breathes. They didn't exhale when you returned your blade to your belt. Carefully you moved your cloak from your shoulders draping the hood over the baby's head and making sure its little body remained covered. You stepped hard on the stone, ensuring your approach would echo out.

"Greetings?" You called out, cringing at your hoarse tone. You'd not spoken a word to anyone since you'd left home in spring save a little song when you were deep in the woods. Now with autumns turn you weren't sure how to make your watchers feel safe. There was no movement from the torn fabric door of the cart, no sounds of their flee either.

"They're alive." You spoke again, clearer this time but again you flushed at your failing words. Staring again into the dark where you could now hear breathing. "Your baby, they're... I'll just place them here then."

You knelt by the caravan as a gust of wind shifted what you now could see was animal skin from the darkness. There you were met with 3 pairs of yellow eyes staring wide out at you. Children. They were all children but all bared fanged teeth out at you.

"It's alright, be at ease." You tried, smoothing your voice the best you could. You moved to pull the baby from you to return them to their kin but tiny nails dug further into the linen of your dress. You looked to the infant brows knitting together at the situation.

"Please little one. To your own." You coaxed, pushing a finger to their palm to release their grip. They protested still grabbing more fabric in their firsts and gumming it in their mouth. You looked back desperately to the orc children.

In turn they'd moved closer to the edge of their sanctuary and now watched you with softer eyes, almost mirthful. The eldest it seemed, or at least the largest of them, moved past the other two. The trees provided more shade here and they pulled a worn hood over their ears. They reached forward with shaking arms and spoke to the infant in words you didn't understand.

It took a moment but they were able to pry the protesting baby from you and pass them back to the other two children. Though you suddenly felt the cold space the baby had been so sorely. It was then the eldest pulled a wicked knife from their layers and pointed it crudely out at you. They spoke but seeing your knit brow they started again.

"Leave us be or i'll gut you!" They demanded now in shaking westron. Close you could see this child was a young orc boy. He'd shed tears recently and the track marks through the grime on his face were stark even against his more mottled skin.

You cast your eyes over them again. Children. They were just children, now alone as their kin burned in the fading light. How could they possibly make it alone? With such a small one in tow as well? You weren't even sure they'd be able to carry the baby themselves not for far at least.

"Do you know what an oath is child." You said. His face scrunched in anger.

"Of course I do!" He huffed, still waving his blade at you. "You swear something, then... then there's blood and..." he seemed paused in thought as he wasn't sure what would come next.

Though the metal of his dagger was ragged it was a clean blade and it looked wickedly sharp. You took his hand despite his protestations and guided it to your palm. He stopped fighting you as you drew the blade across your own skin, biting your cheek against the sting. You held the hand up, palm to the others as you dropped your head.

"You have my word, on my life I mean you no harm. I will deliver you to your kin if that is what you wish." Your voice finally sounded your own again. Certain and strong.

The children seemed to contemplate it a moment in their own tongue before the eldest nodded to you. All at once the sun now hidden behind the horizon the orc-lings poured from out of their shelter. It was hard to tell on ones so young but you think the one with a shock of red fluff atop their head was a girl. The other younger boy had sparse black hair but eyes so deep in their colour they almost looked red in the firelight.

"Where can we find other orcs..." You began.

"Uruk." Three little voices grunted at you in unison.

"Uruk." You returned, testing the word. "Sorry, where can we find more Uruk then. Your kinsmen."

The children weren't much help on the matter, only voicing that they wanted to go to their "lord father". You set them a small fire further from the bodies and set about the caravan. There were no maps but there was food so you brought it to your young traveling companions. There were water skins, that you filled for them and a small cart that must have been dragged along with them. It didn't take too long to have it covered in the caravans skins.

The girl, Tûkâ, and eldest, Thrak, walked alongside you for a time, her small claws poking holes in your torn skirts as she held to them. The smaller boy who'd introduced himself with a flourish as Torz sat inside the cart, cradling the baby. It wasn't long after you'd crossed the river that the other two joined him, though Thrak held out until he'd stumbled into your side.

When light came you drew the skins tight around the cart, only peaking in when you were sure the shadow of the high trees would be enough cover. The baby stirred, crying out and causing you to halt the journey. In shade you stooped low, poking your head into the cart entirely. The baby cried harder still, reaching arms up to you. Thrak passed them up to you, still wrapped in your cloak. The cries continued as you bounced them gently, singing a soft lullaby you remembered your mother singing to you. It helped a little but their tiny face was still screwed up and they were restless in your arms.

"He's hungry." Torz offered, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Will he not eat?" You ask, cooing as he took a finger into his mouth.

"...He's a baby." Thrak frowned, crossing his arms. "He's got no teeth."

You thought a moment before turning your knapsack round your body. You had cooked potatoes you'd taken from the caravan, if you mushed them up in a bowl maybe the baby could eat it then. Thrak watched displeased but his expression softened when you were able to spoon a bit into the babies mouth.

"We must move quickly, I fear for this little one." You sighed. The baby's hands seemed weaker in its grasp than before, loosely curling around your bloodied hand. The reddish skin where they'd been burned seemed to be pealing at the edges and weeping into your cloak. You pealed it back gently before tearing your chemise to make bandages. You hoped they'd help until your could get him to his own.

For the next two days you ran the cart as fast as you could, pushing it as smoothly as possible through the now rolling hills. The raw wound on your hand ached and bled against the rough wood but you had to keep moving. The sun lost its warmth and without your cloak the chill hit you hard. The little ones huddled under the covers of the cart, taking turns with the baby and singing your song to him.

The woods grew back up again, oaks and sycamore dropping a carpet of brilliant leaves matching the children's eyes. When night fell you had to stop, your lungs burning and your legs like lead. Thrak brought you water with and the others curled around your fast cooling body. Their warmth helped block out the icy chill of the night but you could not find rest. Your mind churning in anxieties as you held the baby between your bodies. He was so quiet and though he breathed his skin felt cold.

You set out again a few hours before dawn, Thrak insisting on pushing the cart with Torz after you and Tûkâ. Hope swelled in your breast as you spied the faintest glow over the next hill. When you were sure they'd see it as well you pointed it out to your companions. They seemed weary at first, the memories of men still fresh in mind but soon their ears flicked. You'd heard it too, the gruffer voices speaking in their language.

Without thought you hurried ahead, the boys abandoning the cart and rushing faster to your side. They called out to their Uruk elders in their own tongue as you reached to top of the hill. Bellow you could now see a great score in the earth. A trench leading as far back as the mountains and covered with cloth animal skins to keep the light out.

The Uruk's that approached drew weapons, arrows nocked and aimed at you. The children huddled to your skirts, Thrak moving ahead to shout something to the adults. They paid him no mind, brushing past him as they drew closer.

Fearing for them you passed the baby down to Tûkâ and raised your palms. You were brought to your knees by a jab to your leg, cold mud seeping through your dress. Thrak continued to protest on your behalf as your belt and sword were taken from you and iron shackles were snapped in place.

You were pushed down the hill towards the camps of Uruk by the one you assumed to be their captain. He was mottled skinned like Thrak but with none of the kindness in his eyes. You were pushed down into the trench, falling hard onto the turned over earth. A chorus of cruel laughter broke out as you scrambled back to your feet.

"Better take this one to Adar." The captain growled. He pushed your back with the tip of his blade, forcing you forward. Over your shoulder you spied the children being taken the other way, Thrak still fighting to get back to you.

...

Adar stood alone in a dug out room, running his gauntlet's spiked fingers over the map. By winter they'd reach the Southlands but it would take into Summer before their work would be done. He'd labored for centuries to give his children a home, what was a few more months.

"Lord father." One of his children broke the silence. Adar turned to him, darkening his face when he saw the Elleth. One of his children held her sword in his fist, whilst his scouts captain hit her on the side of the head with his. She groaned dropping to her knees in front of him, her head remaining low as Adar stalked forward.

"Found this one on the border with youngins' Lord Father." his child continued. She remained still on the ground as Adar appraised her. She hardly seemed like a scout herself. Her dress was almost formal though it had seen far better days, now caked in grime and blood. Though its style was all too familiar to him.

"Lembi... What brings an Avari so far from home." Adar rasped watching her stiffen at his words. Her hands clenched a moment before Adar watched her turn them, bloodied palm now resting on her knees. Her eyes turned to his and he was struck by the sight. Even with the mud on her face and on her knees, she looked fierce. A strength in her gaze like the rivers themselves.

"An oath." She said.

[shirefantasies]

Hello! I love your work so much, I hope you're doing well! I have an ask for you, whenever you get around to it 🥰 Could I please see the elves react to a reader that just tends to draw wildlife to them? Almost Disney princess style, maybe they just have a calming sort of aura about them. Thanks so much!

The Elves When You Attract Wildlife

Thranduil

The elven king is simply watching you as you stroll through the forest, his eyes following your movements idly. Until, that is, he sees the way you slow. A smile spreads across your face as you excitedly wave him forward, stepping along gently with a flat, inviting hand extended. Its recipient? A slender, graceful white deer lowering its head slowly your way. Such hinds are rare to the forest, revealing themselves most often to elven royalty, and yet here this one was wholeheartedly embracing your presence. Thranduil is reminded all over again how blessed your relationship is as he watches your effortless commune.

Feren

His steps slowed on patrol the first time he caught sight of a bird lighting on your finger, bringing a grin to your face. He sheathed his blade to approach you, each footfall near silent. Head tilting with gentle curiosity, you reached up to stroke its feathers, and it was Feren’s turn to smile, gaping faded in favor of pure admiration. “The forest does not give up its secrets lightly,” Feren told you. You started, but quickly shifted back to a smile upon sight of him, and the way his heart flipped told him everything he needed to know: no discipline would come your way from your distraction. Not when his feelings were growing so strong.

Legolas

Running effortlessly on the snow, Legolas typically does not look back, but the lack of footsteps crunching at his side brings him pause and has him turning around. When he does, his brows raise at the sight a distance behind him. There you are knelt in the snow, seemingly unbothered by the way its cold seeps into your legs, extending a hand. Its recipient? A short distance a way curls a snow-white fox, its form opening as it tentatively steps your way. Smiling, Legolas moves and short distance away, crouching and watching as the fox even lets you stroke its pale fur. Your gentle treatment of animals is exactly why he loves you. Perhaps he should tell you such…

Haldir

The night is cold, wind rushing past your form and whipping through every loose article of your clothing, fabric rapidly brushing skin. Your head is covered with a hood, through which wind whistles into your ears. At your side runs your companion, large furred figure loping against the rush. You do not stop until a voice manages to cut through the wind. "What is that?" Haldir. "I told you I had friends in these woods," you whirled around, answering with a grin. "So I was wrong in taking that to mean allies?" "Only because you haven't seen him hunting," you replied, venturing a tentative stroke of the wolf's head. You had been taming him for some time since you saved him from a trap, so he had grown used to your touch- not quite like a pet. Not yet. "How?" He asked, shaking his head. "How do you do it?" "How I try to do anything, Haldir. With kindness." At that, Haldir's stoicism dropped, finally giving way to a smile.

Galadriel

Seeing you knelt upon the dirt, the Lady of Lórien creeps closer, bare feet making next to no noise as one inches before the other. Tilting her head, Galadriel reaches out a hand, but she never gets a chance to as you turn around. Turn around, in fact, with a small, dark-scaled snake curling up your bared arm. Her lips arced slowly upward. Gradually. Galadriel's face does not often betray her thoughts, but you know her well. She is less guarded with you, so the surprise is clear enough for your own face to fall, to hesitate. "I know some find this strange," you say. Quickly, though, she closes the gap between you, stopping you with a finger to your lips. "All life has a purpose. Your appreciation of it is dear."

Lindir

A tree stump serves as Lindir's seat as he softly plays his flute, eyelids fluttering open to peek at his audience of one: you. There you stand, hands clasped and lips curved in a smile of joyful serenity, as you take in Lindir's composition. Notes flutter on the wind, but that is not all. Your grin widens as a little brown bird dances in the air, flapping closer to you as you extend a hand, one finger out. You are not expecting much, but to your delight and surprise the bird proves you wrong, lighting on your finger. Your eyes only lifted from this unexpected gift and its tiny taloned grip on you when the sound of music faded away; looking up, your eyes met Lindir's, which were looking at you with such adoration as to bring a flush to your cheeks.

Elrond

"Where are you, meleth nîn?" Soft words alert you to the presence of another emerging at your back, but you do not turn, do not alarm the approaching set of hooves. Soft eyes flutter at you from below, where the deer remains with lowered head and tentative stance. Beckoning with your hand, you keep your eyes forward and offer promise of grain. Elrond's hand falls upon your shoulder, lightly, affectionately, and there he stands in comfortable silence until the deer has nibbled its fill from your palm. "I love it here," you whisper, eyes finally rising from their fix upon the woods to meet a pair of warm blue ones. "And I love you," Elrond replies with a soft smile.

Arwen

"So this is where you go to hide away?" Arwen teases, hand gently squeezing the one you lead her by. For your part, you simply giggle and guide her further along the little-worn dirt path. Its end culminating in a pond dancing in the sunlight and lined with rocks and cattails. "Are we hunting for frogs, then?" "No," you grin and shake your head, "Watch this." Cupping your hands in the cool, clear water, you hold them out and wait. Wait and feel Arwen's hand gently upon your waist, holding you in anticipation. Anticipation gratified by the slowing of glassy wings and lighting of a thin red figure upon the edge of your hands. Drinking slowly and rubbing its arms together, the dragonfly looks away from you and drifts through the air to the cattails. A blue one emerges some time later, follows a similar process. Blue, green, and red dance in the air as they dart over the water, sometimes to that which you hold for them. Turning back to face Arwen, you feel yourself flush at the awe alight in her blue eyes. "Care to try?" As soon as she nods and cups her hands, you hold them in yours, plunging all four of them back into the glistening water.

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[weclassygirl]

deception

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: years pass in Eregion and reader learns how much connected she is with Sauron

warnings: some blood, but none really

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: finally the fun begins. also keep in mind this is a story that spans over hundred of years. enjoy! (previous part -> visions)

It was no secret why you pursued the dark arts in the first place. A forgotten book in your father’s library when you were a child. A child. Who in their right mind would let someone so young to read upon the cursed texts? But what happened could not be undone.

You learned in secret, became obsessive at times, your family believed you to study, to one day become a respected diplomat for the realm. How disappointed they were to hear what you have done from the mouths of others.

Cast out and alone you made your new life. You never saw them again and yet you knew them to be long gone.

It became your solace, powerful and unpredictable but you preferred it that way. You had your days when you tried to leave it behind, stop this pursuit but it always lingered, drew you even more back in.

You look up from under the tree and up into the sky, your hand picks at the skin on your palm unconsciously.

The faint scar on your finger makes you wonder what his intention was. He drew blood that day in the cell and you never questioned, never thought that there may be an intention behind it.

The man you saw in the garden looked nothing like the Sauron you knew, but you heard he could take whatever form he liked.

He survived then. That beam of light was his doing, the pain you felt was his work, but how? You trace the scar and head to the library.

It’s been some time since that day in the forge, the High King has been informed and you’ve been confined to the forge, cleaning rather than creating. Celebrimbor saw with time how quickly the blackened fingertips faded with each good deed and requested for your freedom to be expanded.

There were some Elves who deemed it uncertain of what your time would be like if you started to dwell into Eregion‘s tomes and scrolls. Celebrimbor assured them that it would be supervised. And so you took out every piece of parchment you could find, book and a passage to ensure he did not do it.

You spend a whole evening in the library when you come across it. A short mention but nevertheless clear as day. He planned it, he smiled when you healed the small cut and there was this gnawing feeling within you when he did so.

The black blood looked indistinguishable from the one over your darkened fingertips.

You rush out of the library and the guards barely catch up with you, but let you be as they see you heading to your bed chamber. You lock the door and lean against it, your breathing heavy. Your feet carry you to the bathroom and you rub at your fingertips where the small scar is left, you move so harshly that you draw blood.

It drips down and you stare in horror, black mixed with red.

He bound you… to him.

You’ve heard of rituals involving exchanging blood but for this one you hope he did not speak the vow that sealed it.

“It suits you.” you turn startled to see him standing before you. A shadow this time, almost human like, not the man you saw before.

“Get out of my head.” you snap and storm out of the bathroom, he follows you and leans against the doorframe. You hope there’s no guards outside if they were to hear whatever you would say to a ghost in your mind.

“I told you we’re bound.” his voice is distorted, like a spell cast over it.

You scoff at his words and speak through clenched teeth. “To path to darkness, not to each other.”

“Not yet.” he moves closer.

You step back until your back hits the wall, he’s not truly there but his presence alone makes you move according to his rhythm. “You cannot think I would willingly give myself to you.” it’s a twisted thought and you tip on the axis of whether you want it to come true or not.

“With time, perhaps.”

Your eyes go ever wider. “You’re insane.”

He leans above you and you avoid his gaze as his phantom breath lands next to your ear. “One day, you’ll need me just as I’ll need you.” when he pulls back he looks at you with such adoration. If he were truly here, people would mistake you for lovers.

He’s right though, you will need him. Who wouldn’t want the help of a feared sorcerer? The one person who can show you the craft you so longed to learn.

A knock comes at the door and you tear your gaze from him, he vanishes in your mind and you run your hand down your face. Persistent shadow.

You open the door to a guard. “Lord Celebrimbor wishes to see you.”

You give him a short nod. “I’ll come by the workshop later.” you start to close the door but his spear stops you from doing so.

“He wishes to see you now.” you sigh but follow his lead.

When you walk down to the forge a distinct conversation dies down as you enter. You see Celebrimbor standing with… the High King. You march closer to them, the forge is quiet, the fire crackling in the pit.

“High King.” you give him a nod. It’s been a few hundred years since he sent you to Eregion, you wonder if he comes to judge your progress or to put an end to it.

“Lord Celebrimbor has informed me of your growth in your punishment.” he starts, though his voice sounds as if the words were poison on his tongue. You knew he never took liking to you and you never hid your disdain. His next words make you rethink that perhaps he had a heart after all. “We’ve decided to free you of your confines.”

You stare agape. “What?”

Celebrimbor steps closer. “Your hands are clean, have been for many years now. I believe this could be a start of something new.” he says as he takes your hands in his and cuts the metal around your wrists.

You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your soul, like you can finally breathe. You pinch yourself, this could be another dream, another illusion from Sauron but you feel the sting on your arm.

Gil-Galad comes closer. “This does not mean that you will be less watched. The moment you dip back into your old craft, the archers will kill you without hesitation.” a threat and you see the honesty in it.

“Of course.” you respond. The High King bids goodbye to Celebrimbor and you don’t know whether to feel elated or frightened. You’re free, no more chains to hold you down, after so many years. You look down at your hand and hesitate to conjure up the smallest speckle of light. Celebrimbor notices it.

“Go on.” he encourages you. “I must admit, I’ve never seen a wizard, much less a witch to create something without using a staff.”

You gather the courage and bring up a small mist of light, scattered across your palm. You laugh and your eyes fill with tears.

“Freeing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” you whisper. You form an orb of light and almost caress it. You close the palm of your hand and the light that illuminated your face fades out in the wind. You feel a presence in the back of your mind but pay it no mind, you turn to Celebrimbor. “Shall we continue with our work?”

He smiles. “We shall.”

Time passes as you become a well-respected Elvensmith of Eregion and in those years you learn to create a perfect illusion of the effects from using dark magic. It didn’t take you long to be pulled back into it, a scroll here and there, you took many notes, crafted your own spells for your needs. Celebrimbor never suspected. Gil-Galad never knew.

And your shadow remained and with time you started to tolerate his presence but still refused to bind yourself completely to him.

You used him as much as he used you. You were his eyes in Eregion whether you liked it or not, you could not avoid it. He was a cunning sorcerer, that much you knew from your time under Morgoth’s and yet you never realized how inventive he could become. You’ve learned more from him than in all your years of studying the craft.

“Focus.” he tells you as you try to form your own illusion over your body. Your bed chamber is quiet, no guards posted outside, the balcony slightly opened to let the fresh air of the night. You pin your attention to your hands, the dark fingertips motionless in the air as they glide over your other hand.

After a moment your hand once youthful and smooth turns wrinkled with speckles of old age. “Good. You listened for once.”

“Believe it or not but your instructions sometimes prove useful.”

“Sometimes?”

You tilt your head at him. “Don’t mock.” your hand returns to its former beauty, the effects of dark magic visible in the comfort of your own chambers.

“You could leave Eregion. The High King has pardoned you, Celebrimbor believes you pose no threat. Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You could, but you needed to stay, you knew he would come here in the future.

“I can bide my time here a bit longer.” you admit. You did not wish to part from Eregion yet, you waited until Greenwood had all but forgotten your name before you could return to the calmness of your cottage. It may take years but you could wait, time was at your side.

You stand up from your spot on the bed and close the journal that lay beside you. You go over to your desk and hide it from any prying eyes. Your spells, your creation, your precious.

“Tread carefully.” he says and you turn to face him. He stands right next to you and you could almost feel his breath on your face. “They may have fallen under your deception but sooner or later you’ll slip.”

You lift your hand, the scar barely visible on your finger. “Then I’ll need you more than ever.” he looks down to your finger and gently takes your hand. Even through the illusion, the shadow you can feel the dulled touch.

“And you claimed you’ll never give yourself willingly.” he teases and raises your hand. You tilt your hand and move your hand further to place it where his cheek would have been. For a moment you think he’ll melt into your touch, a Dark Lord at your mercy. You grab his jaw forcefully and bring it down to you, even as an illusion he complied with whatever you wanted to do with him.

His gaze is unyielding and he smirks. “I won’t. At my deathbed I might, but not before.”

“I can arrange that.” you let go of him and his hand goes over his stubble. “In time, you will beg me to.”

He disappears once again leaving you alone in your chambers. This man… you grunt in annoyance and close the door to the balcony. Your sight lands on the desk, you’ve grown quite irritated at his constant disappearances. You lock the door to your chambers and sit up on the bed, your journal lays before you once more with hopes of mastering the spell once and for all.

You concentrate and lay back on the bed, you close your eyes trying to pin point where he is. You hear the water surrounding him before you see him. He lays there or so you think, below the deck, his eyes open as he senses you. The old man sees him looking around, not aware of your presence.

“Nightmares again? What haunts you so?” the old man asks. It’s then he notices you, you never sought him out that was his task but there in the shadows you stood just like he has before.

“I’ve done evil.” he says while looking at you.

The old man leans closer. “All of us have done things that we care not to admit.”

“Not like I have.” the silence weighs, you dare not to respond. The old man lectures him about choosing good, you scoff. You could never imagine him being in the light, every good act he’s done has been for his own gain. You understand, you’ve done the same.

You come closer and kneel before him. He watches you and when you try to speak to him the words caught up in your throat. He smiles for a moment, such a fleeting expression. You may have learned how to reach him but conveying a message would take time.

His eyes grow wide when he feels the beast beneath the deck and he aims for your head as if to push you down to the side. You disappear from his sight as the water crashes through the boards.

You gasp as you sit up on the bed and your hand flies to your head. You curse under your breath and try to get back to him but you’ve reached your limit.

You’ll have to wait until he reaches out again.

next part -> scheme

[faeriichaii]

hii, how are you? It’s me again. Could I request a Legolas x reader again? something funny and very fluff with a Legolas a little bit jealous because the hobbits stole all the reader’s attention, would be fun if she made them braids (feeling like a old sister taking care of them, not other intention i swear🙏), hope not to bother you and wish you a lovely dayy, thank u💗

Braiding Together ~ Legolas x Reader

A/N: Heyyy :) I'm fine and you?? I love it omg I really am a big fan of the little hobbits and I just want to hug them close and never let go 😔😔 I hope you have a nice day as well and enjoy the story <3 (I'm so sorry that it is like a lil short and that it kinda is bad djsifeh)

⇢ ˗ˏˋWarnings: fluff ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋWords: 910 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋRequest: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋMeleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: You have always received compliments for your cute braids, so you decided to offer the hobbits to braid their hair. However, Legolas really doesn't understand, why you would do that.

You laughed softly at one of Pippins jokes, as he sat in front of you. Fingers nimbly combing through his wild hair. The hobbits have complimented your braids so so many times, so you decided to offer to braid each of their hair. All of them nodding in agreement and sitting down around you, almost building a wall, and waiting for their turn patiently. “Say (Y/N), do you redo your hair every day? Or do you keep some braids in more than just a day?” Pippin asked you, while his gaze was focused on the fire in front of him. “It depends. Sometimes my braids open up a little during the day, so I redo them the next morning. The only braids I never redo myself, are the ones Legolas does.” You said, while weaving the small strands of Pippins hair into a braid.

“Are they important to you?” Sam asked, as he intently watched your fingers. A small blush dusted your cheeks, as you thought about the night Legolas first braided your hair. You sat at a bonfire, much like this one, as he suddenly turned towards you and asked you if it would be okay to braid your hair. You remember being very surprised and overwhelmed, but in the end, you gave him your approval. Since then, it has been an almost daily occurrence for the both of you, to sit down somewhere secluded and start braiding each other’s hair. “Yes, they are very important to me.” You answer Sam with a gentle smile. Finishing the braid, you give Pippin your small pocket mirror, so he can take a look at the neat braid you have done. He turned around with a bright smile, until his eyes focused onto the something behind you. He quickly stood up, thanked you for the braid and left you alone with the others. Turning around confused, you raised an eyebrow as you spotted the elven prince. A scowl was present on his face.

“Meleth Nin, what are you doing?” He asked while looking at the three remaining hobbits around you. “I am braiding their hair.” Gesturing Sam to take the space in front of you, Legolas decided to join you on the log. “But… why are you braiding their hair?” Your eyebrows scrunched together at his question. “Well, they always compliment my braids and I thought I could braid their hair too. Plus, they look so adorable with their new hairstyles.” A hum left his lips, as he watched you brush through Sams hair gently. You felt the elven princes gaze on your fingers, as you parted the hair into the sections you needed. Taking a quick glance into his direction, you notice a confused expression on his face.

“My love, are you alright?” You asked, stopping your task at hand and turning a little towards him. He let out a little sigh. “I just am confused as to why you are braiding their hair. Elves tend to only braid their own hair or the hair of the person they court.” A gentle smile adored your lips, as you let go of Sams hair. “I apologize my love, I didn’t know. I just wanted to do it because they always look at me so sweetly when I do mine and so I wanted to offer them to braid their hair.” Legolas nodded understandingly, moving a little closer towards you. “You did this row wrong.” He pointed at the mistake you have made. “And this one just looks like a mess.” He pointed at another strand you have just finished. Rolling your eyes at him, you opened the braid again.

“Well, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-Better, how should I braid his hair?” A chuckle left Legolas’ lips, as he took your hands in his. “First off, you will start with this hand.” He shakes your right hand softly. “And with that hand you will grab a good amount of hair. Not too much though.” Guiding your right hand back to Sams head, you take a chunk of his hair. Apparently though, you had a little bit too much between your fingers, hence Legolas began to shake your hand once more. “Now you will part it into two sections and use your left hand...” He began to now shake your other hand. “…to pull a small strand from the right strand and pull it over it and under the left strand.” Your eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, trying to understand what he meant. He guided your hand around with his, until you finished a few rows together. A soft ‘ahh’ escaped your lips, as you finally understood the braid you were working on together with the elven prince. The both of you quickly finished the hairstyle and handed Sam your small mirror.

“Thank you so much (Y/N) and Legolas.” He said, before leaving you with Frodo and Merry. The struggle of brushing and braiding passed quickly, as you both finished off the last remaining two hobbits. A smile formed on your lips, as you watched each of them flaunter their new hairstyles. Legolas put his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. Leaning towards him, you gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for helping me my love.” “Of course, anything for you Meleth Nin.” Laying your head onto his shoulder, you both continued to watch the hobbits like proud parents, as they still sauntered around with cute little braids in their hair.

[fumifooms]

Marcille’s dungeon lord outfit is about being stuck in an inbetween

Kui combined a dress from her mother with a hat for children. It’s adulthood vs childhood. The dress is tallman fashion while the earmuffs are elven. It’s about emotions and maturity. Stability and instability. Growing & potential vs having grown & knowing yourself. It’s about her cultures and expectations and how can she possibly keep up with all of them, like the genius child she was portrayed as? It’s duality it’s conflict it’s being pulled in opposite directions. It’s about identity.

Marcille wants to have all the answers and wants them all already, she already acts like she has everything figured out more often than not, when it comes to ways to harvest mandrakes or her image of Falin and Chilchuck and orcs or her rigid sense of ethics, but the story does show that she had growing to do, plus her main goal beyond keeping her friends safe and near her is that pursuit of knowledge for what she doesn’t yet have answers for— rewriting the laws of life and death. But, as we’ve all been told before, death is simply a part of life and we have to make our peace with that one way or another. Like Marcille says in the last chapter, this was in large part the lesson and arc she’s had to go through. A lesson that Marcille’s mother has learned herself, one that she has accepted and tried to pass on to her daughter, which didn’t work and kickstarted Marcille’s pursuit of extending lifespans. Marcille has to settle with uncertainty, with knowing life can end at any moment and knowing this is who she is even if the world has no answers for her as to what that means, she has to come to terms with ambiguity and inbetweens.

Marcille’s relationship with her mother is very interesting because it’s shown all in small moments and implications, but we do see that Marcille’s mom is arguably her biggest role model.

She’s the one who shows up in Marcille’s nightmare about monster food early on, she is who told Marcille she’ll have to bear loss througout her life due to her lifespan, Marcille wears a choker like she does, it’s debatable that Marcille mimics her demeanor to seem more elven and dignified, in Marcille’s true nightmare she hides behind a portrait of her, she was the only living elven role model Marcille had around. Mother, who didn’t let grief over her husband rule the rest of her life, having even remarried, mother, who’s a court mage, mother, who pursued a life she wanted even if it cost her. And we do know being an elf is important to Marcille! She seeks to conform to elven beauty standards rigidly, both in gender presentation and things like facial hair, and she’s masked as one since she was enrolled in the magic academy, as far as we know her first time away from home and her first big period of social contact since she isolated herself with chickens and books when she was younger, because she had no peers. Books like the daltian clan, with an aestheticized all elven cast with the one exception of the half-elf character she deeply related to.

Marcille’s bangs are also half down and half cut. Before she had to cut some hair to make familiars, long bangs were what Marcille wore for years, meanwhile in all of Marcille’s childhood flashbacks including at the magic academy her bangs were always cut short. As we know, hair is important to elves. Her hair is elfness. Her hair is elegance. Her hair is her age. Her bangs are uneven now. It’s part of accepting her precarious weird spot in an inbetween, half up half down haircut. Acceptance on her own aging, that there’s no empiric answer for what Marcille’s equivalent age is in elf or tallman or other, maybe just a ballpark if even that. Answers which are what she’s most desperate to know. What do you mean that student over there has got an astronomic result on her dungeoneum and what do you mean she doesn’t really care for how you did it? Falin who’s thus showing her another way to be, with less self-made pressure, that you can just go with the flow- that you can just… Be.

Her hair being all down and messy as a dungeon lord is part of making the characters and audience understand that Marcille is out of it, but… Like her barefootness there’s some flexibility it implies, for Marcille who’s so rigid on appearance. Accepting her hair to be messy, a sort of shedding of who she is even as she’s overdressed and trying so hard to look like something she doesn’t feel as.

That’s why her outfit makes her feel courageous. Because it makes her feel different from who she is otherwise, because it grants her a look she feels naked without, even with barefeet and messy hair. It’s externalizing how she’s been trying to hold it all together and all her confliction and her feelings, offering some catharsis, no more hiding herself, she’s a half-elf trying to do dark magic. Clean Marcille, clean clean Marcille— Overthinking the dressing, the superficial the aesthetic, without looking enough at the body it’s covering up, the laws of the world the ecosystem of the dungeon the opinions of her friends’— what’s standing right in front of her face, the underlying thing holding up the rest of what she’s trying to change, what’s truly important. She’s back to being like with meeting Falin, overfocusing on the details and the nitpicks and the theorics while oblivious to the slimes and the bats and the balance of mana in that small cave dungeon. She has the dress and the hat but as a whole she doesn’t look like a slay queen or a princess or a cool sorceress or even like her mother, she just looks like a mess. 

Ultimately after calming down, she takes the earmuffs off. She lays down her childhood trauma and leaves behind its grip on her and moves forward in the dress, with maturity and emotional intelligence and logic to deal with her current situation instead of coping mechanisms and desperate grasps for control. And then when the dungeon lord becomes Laios her dress poofs, she’s in her very plain pajamas, plain Marcille, and it’s that Marcille who goes forward to help Laios save the world and defeat the demon. Hence why post-canon she starts dressing in similar dresses to her mother as well, and starts wearing more black. Black here is a color associated with her mother. She keeps her own touch and color here and there, like her red choker instead of a black one, but it’s a stark and sudden difference. She’s matured.

Her dungeon lord outfit is a coming of age outfit in a very literal way. A bridge between childhood and adulthood. We see her struggle metaphorically between the past and the future, moving on or holding onto trauma. The dress, from her mother, with cleavage and low cut sleeves and a lace gap going down to her stomach and a very short risqué skirt cut, represents maturity but it was very purposefully contrasted with the earmuffs, a childish piece of accessory associated with youth. This shows her mental state, battling with her emotions, wildly fluctuating between her academic put-together powerful self and the childish emotional outbursts the pressure is causing. Time moves on too fast but she’s not growing up fast enough to keep up or make the academic breakthroughs she wants— time is always running out and she’s both too young or too old she’s pulled in both directions and she can never be up to standards. It represents her struggle with her lifespan, her struggle to fit in, to know who she should be and what she should be doing.

Her friends aren’t afraid to say it like it is and bring back her feet to the ground instead of up in the clouds of fantasy and power, from where she was, her feet back on the dirt of where they are right now instead of the theorics of "when" and "then" and "forever". She’s weird, she’s unique, in some ways she doesn’t fit in with any group anywhere, and that’s ok and she’s accepted that it doesn’t mean she can’t feel belonging and joy as herself with her flawed friends in a flawed world. After all they did stick with her even after seeing her whole tantrum and embarrassing breakdown makeover. Personally I do say, slay queen.

You’re still here? If you’d like a full look at Marcille’s dunlord outfit, I made an entirely too long analysis of it here, this is just an excerpt of the most canon section.

[novella-november]

Fantasy Discrimination, and The Implications

A post on my dash reminded me to share some more writing advice, so here is a very good article by @mythcreantsblog , about how to make sure you're not dehumanizing a species or culture in your writing, which is a good guide on how to avoid accidentally writing racist or ableist tropes:

In particular, I want to talk about the ever-present racist trope in a lot of fantasy and scifi fiction, and that is the decision a lot of creators make where the villains are not just a single person, a faction, or a kingdom -- *its an entire species* who is not only the villain, but are outright, inherently *evil*.

To start out, here's a political cartoon by Tom Gauld you've probably seen all around tumblr with the name cropped out:

[ID: a political cartoon by Tom Gauld, showing two identical cities and boats mirrored on a river, each with a purple or yellow flag; one side is labled "Our Blessed Homeland, Our Glorious Leader, Our Great Religion, Our Noble Populace, Our Heroic Adventuerers", The other side is labled "Their Barbarous Wastes, Their Wicked Despot, Their Primitive Superstition, Their Backwards Savages, Their Brutish Invaders. End ID]

This political cartoon is a very good tool for testing your writing for the trope of demonizing/glorifying your fantasy/scifi species.

Let's use a classic example: your fantasy setting is made up of the following species: Elves, Dwarves, Humans, and Orcs.

Your Elves are a long-lived, ethereal people who live in secluded, perfect cities, all of them tall, blonde, and blue-eyed, who are extremely wise and making plans that can stretch out over dozens of human generations, and they're the deciders of 90% of politics in your world. Your Dwarves are a short, squat, species who spend their lives working in forges, mines, and laboratories, tirelessly toiling (because they enjoy the hard work, of course!) and selling their products to the Elves who are their largest and wealthiest customer base; Dwarves work hard and studiously for decades at a a time to complete a piece of work in order to fufill the intricate orders from their Elven customers, which is how the majority of them provide for their families, working 16 hour shifts each day for decades per order. Your Humans are far more seperated, and often live on the fringes of what their longer-lived compatriots consider "Civilized Society", often living as Subsistence farmers and hunters, not out of choice, but often due to poor land and lack of resources; the wealthiest of Human cities are usually the capitals where the royals reside and may live in luxury with rich markets and high-quality products and running water, but the vast majority of Humans live in small, poor villages that must rely on traveling merchants to sell what produce and livestock they can spare from their farms in order to buy the supplies they need to live out another year. Your Orcs.... well, they don't really live anywhere, do they? Orcs strongholds can only maintain their grip in hellish wastelands where living is nigh impossible, with all food and water only obtained from outside sources; occasionally, Orcs will attempt to establish base camps in more fertile land, invading neighboring Human, Dwarf, and Elven territory to do so, who quickly unite to expel these vile, dark, brutish invaders lest they steal their daughters, destroy and taint all of the natural resources and steal the few jobs available to the Humans in Dwarven and Elven cities as manual labour and servants.

And Now, take a step back from this world, and take a long, hard look at these species (outside of humans who are just kinda there in the middle and the only ones capable of change because Humans Are Always Special) and societies and what ideas are being reinforced here, especially when the above descriptions are framed as Hard Facts which are both Just and True?

(archived read-more Here)

Elves are morally superior and are always Perfect and Correct,

Dwarves are happy to spend their entire lives toiling in the forges and mines to please their Elven patrons,

and Orcs are Evil Monsters who will rob, murder, and rape any hapless victim who comes their way, so it's better to slaughter them all on sight and kick them out of your cities and towns, and this is the 100% correct morally right choice every single time and the narrative and characters themselves support this?

Did you spot them already, or does the above just seem like a cool, fun fantasy world where Elves are the cool wise good guys and Orcs are the devil's army and can be used as canon fodder any time your main character needs to mow down some enemies for a Badass Scene?

Let's retrace our steps a bit, shall we, and examine this "perfect" world through a critical lens?

When your elves are all portrayed as Perfect Ethereally Beautiful Blonde and Blue-Eyed wise leaders of the civilized world, what idea is being reinforced here? Who does it harm, and what real world ideas is this mirroring and enforcing? Who is going to have their own biases reinforced by this narrative?

When only the longest-lived people are allowed to decide politics, what group biases are being enforced? Is portraying "young people" as "being incapable of making political decisions" as a correct, logical choice in your story something you wish to enforce? Are there any real world issues this trope mirrors?

When your Dwarves are all Happy Workers and Slaves, bound to and reliant on the superior Elves to live, spending the majority of their life purely in service to these Superior Beings while happy to do it, what idea is being reinforced here? Who might see themselves in the plight of the Dwarves and feel alienated and insulted by the Dwarves happily slaving away in the dark? Who might have biased ideas reinforced by seeing the Dwarves treated in such a way?

When your Orcs are portrayed as evil, dark skinned, brutish savages who will kidnap and rape poor helpless women from the "pure" species, when Orcs are incapable of creating anything of their own and can only steal, what racist messages are being enforced and upheld? Who are the real people and cultures being demonized when you perpetuate this? What real world peoples and cultures have faced *decades of propaganda framing them as such*?

If you spotted these harmful messages in the initial indented description, good job!

But if you didn't, it's time to find and read critical reviews and essays written by marginalized communities of works that include these damaging tropes, because if it your Evil Species are Weird Aliens, because when you characterize and describe your Evil Species, you are undoubtedly going to be drawing heavily on your own internal biases of what makes people Other and Wrong.

Are your Evil Species all dark-skinned, physically-strong and animalistic? Congrats, you have just regurgitated centuries-old racism that justifies slavery, segregation, and discrimination *to this day*

Are your Evil Species all nomadic ~cannibals~ who are incapable of creating anything of their own and have to loot and steal from others to have anything of value? Congrats, you are once again regurgitating racist propoganda that has been used against countless cultures and minorities for centuries.

Are your Evil Species reknowned for kidnapping and raping the women of your Good Guys in order to create Evil Twisted Halfbreed Offspring for ....uh, reasons? Congrats, once again, this is literally just racist propaganda being reinforced by your writing.

Anything you come up with to make your Species Inherently Evil is going to most likely be something that is weaponized against real world minorities that you are now reinforcing with your writing, from racism to ableism to queerphobia and all the ways they intersect.

How do you fix this?

It's incredibly simple!

Don't make an entire Species be Inherently Evil.

They need to be just as varied as real living people.

Your Species should not be a Monolith, let alone of *Evil*.

Your Species should not have their only "decent/civilized/kind people" examples come from ""crossbreeds"" [and this term itself should be used only by bigots as a deragatory term] or random orphans who were raised by one of the Good Species(tm)-- this is how your story starts advocating for *eugenics*, which is not something you want to do!

So, instead of having an entire Species be "Inherently biologically" Evil, consider instead:

Making your villain group diverse instead of all one Species.

if your villain group is a Species Supremacist, they're probably still going to have underlings and lower castes who do their dirty work, or have been taken in by the cult ideology.

Making the villains of this Species be a small fraction of a larger whole, who are part of a violent cult, ideology, or political party that not only puts them in conflict with your main characters, but also with the rest of their Species.

Having your main character or their friends be the same Species as your villain group, and they represents the vast majority of the Species, instead of hailing them as "the Paragon of Goodness who emerged somehow pure from of a species forged in hell" or anything similar.

You should also sit down and not only think about the harmful, racist tropes that would come from writing Inherently Evil Species, but also consider:

Why do you want to include an entire species of people who are inherently evil in your novel?

Is your novel gaining anything for including these tropes uncritically?

Does it make it a better, more interesting story to include these tropes uncritically?

What message are you trying to send with your story?

Does including these tropes uncritically in your story *undermine* your intended message?

Another trope in the opposite direction, is talking about "Oppression" and "Fantasy Racism" from the perspective of a character who is part of the oppressed minority, only to spend the entire novel talking about how your Opressed Class are Literally and Factually threats to the population that "discriminate" against them, usually by being rightfully wary in their prescence.

if the Oppressed Minorities in your story in anyway resemble the Orcs in Bright, the Predators in Zootopia, or the Khajiit in the Elderscrolls, where the Racism these peoples face in based on hard proven facts that these people have been and still are threats to most of the population..

... you're less writing a story about how "Racism Against Vulnerable Minorities is Bad"

and sound more like you're saying

"It's bad to be "mean" (afraid of) Nazis who literally want you dead and who can kill you with impunity and no consequences."

If you are writing a story about Fantasy Discrimination, and the basis of your Fantasy Discrimination is based on *cold hard facts that your narrative supports and upholds*, instead of actually basing it on and talking about what leads to discrimination in the real world

(xenophobia and the fear+hatred of The Other, economic gain, mainly),

then you are not making the progressive stance that you think you are, and instead are enforcing the ancient propoganda that racism is based on fact, that racism is "for a good reason", and you need to take care that you are not upholding this idea in your works.

TL;DR:

Instead of making an entire Species of people a trope of Wise Good Guys or Evil Incarnate, consider using *Factions not Races* for your groups, and think long and hard about the implications of your world's politics and how it mirrors our own world, especially in ways *you may not intend it to.* If your story is meant to be progressive and inclusive, but your villains are an entire race of black orcs who slave and rape the good guys species, you need to go back to the drawing board.

[redlittlefoxari]

Astarion Epilogue An Adventure in Making Life: Chapter Nine: Secrets Don’t Make Friends

Relationship: Astarion X Tav

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, blood, violence, sex, blood drinking, pregnancy.

Summary: Karlach barges in on Tav while she's about ready to come down for dinner. Spotting a Fully naked, and pregnant Tav.

Master List

People who wished to be tagged: @ofmyth-andmagicart @lunaredgrave

If you want to be tagged in future updates send me a message

12 weeks pregnant

Karlach’s eyes moved from your small baby bump to your face and back to the bump. There were so many emotions on her face, warring for control, the most prominent ones being hurt, confusion, anger, and happiness. They all tore across her face, and seeing her in this state broke your heart.

“What the fuck is going on.” Karlach walked further into the room, raising her voice as she did. “I thought you said that it was hard for elves to get pregnant? All that on the road earlier, and here you are, Pregnant.”

You quickly picked up a towel to cover yourself. “Keep it down.” You hushed her. “I know this looks bad, but let me explain.”

“Keep it down? Keep it down!?” You hushed her again. “You better get to explaining why didn’t you tell us? Does Astarion even know?”

“Oh, he knows…” You walked over to the bed where your clothes were laid out and sat down.

“So what, the two of you decided to have a child and found a sperm donor or something?” She waited for you to reply.

“No, it’s his child one hundred percent. Long story short, if a vampire has had enough blood and is sated, they can produce children.” You placed your hand on your stomach. “And if everything alines with elves, we can produce children, so one night about twelve weeks ago, Astarion had enough blood, and an elven soul was looking to be reincarnated. So now I am pregnant with a half-vampire baby.”

Karlach’s jaw hung open in surprise. “So why didn’t you tell us? That's amazing; we should be celebrating!”

Karlach closed the distance between the two of you, taking a seat on the bed next to you. She was a good foot and a half taller than you, so her tower form loomed over you a bit as she waited to hear why you and Astarion felt the need to keep this from them.

“I was scared.” You looked down at the floor. “Elven pregnancies are already high risk. and you mix that was a Vampire where we don’t have a whole lot of information… I don’t know.”

“But you're okay now… aren’t you? You’re so far along now; wouldn’t it be okay to tell us.” Her voice was low, an attribute that you didn’t see often in her.

“I don’t know. I’m still scared something could go wrong.” You could feel tears in your eyes starting to form. “What if I tell you all, Put it out into the universe, and something bad happens… what if I lose them and have to tell you all that they're gone…. I have to go through the loss of telling you over and over again.”

There it was, the fear that you kept to yourself. Not even Astarion knew why you were so adamant about keeping it a secret till you hit fourteen weeks. You just kept telling him you didn’t want to overshadow Gale’s celebration, but the truth was you feared that once you celebrated with friends, some cruel god would take the baby away from you.

You remember stories your mother had told you growing up that she herself had suffered three miscarriages until she finally conceived you. She had kept you secret until she couldn’t anymore, and that was well into her second trimester. It was just something that elves feared since it was a rare gift to have children, and most elves never got the chance to experience it. With the added factor of the baby being Astarion’s, your fears skyrocketed.

“Hey.” Karlach placed her hand on yours; it was warm, whereas yours was cold, the water on your skin making it hard to get warm.

You looked up at Karlach, her smile reaching her eyes, which also had tears in them.

“If any god even thinks of doing that, I’ll go to whatever plane they're on and kill them myself.” You let out a small laugh at her declaration. “I get why you did it… Gods, so when that arrow hit you… the two of your reactions make sense now.”

“We were terrified that we lost them…” The thought sent a jolt of fear to your heart. “I don’t know what I would have done if Astarion didn’t hear the heartbeat.”

“The little guy has a heartbeat…” Karlach stared at you in wonder. “Gods, that’s amazing…. You're amazing. May I?”

She gestured to your stomach, and you nodded. Her warm hand slipped beneath the towel to touch the swell of your bare belly. She wouldn’t feel anything, nor would Karlach be able to hear the heartbeat, but it felt nice having her be a part of the secret and her support. It also didn’t hurt that you were freezing, and she was nice and warm.

“You won’t be able to feel them kicking for a while, not till the third trimester.” You smiled at Karlach’s wonder.

“I just can’t believe that there is a child growing in there. What do you suppose it’s going to be? Boy or Girl?”

“I’m not sure. There is no way to tell short of asking a divination wizard, but I don’t want to know… I like to be surprised.” The thought of a boy scared you, though. You knew nothing about being a boy, and the idea of Astarion teaching them all his ways of being mischievous was scary.

“They are going to be beautiful judging by who their parents are.” Karlach pulled her hand away. “I understand why you kept this a secret, but why not tell us now? We’ll all help you keep this little one safe. Auntie K will be its number one bodyguard.” Karlach puffed out her chest.

“You are right, I suppose I should let you all in on the secret now since you know.” You reached for the white dress that would show off your bump and hesitated.

“I know you’re scared, but you got this. Astarion would never let anything happen to you or the baby.”

“I know. I just don’t want to mess anything up… He hasn’t really had a family. At least not one that he remembers.” You grab the fabric and bunch it up on your lap. “He doesn’t remember his mother and father. the family Cazador made was not even close to something that resembled a family; he just beat them and used them as slaves.” The thought burned white hot in your mind as you thought about everything that monster put him through.

“But now he has you.” Karlach’s voice was comforting. “And the baby.”

“And if something happens and I lose the baby, It’s like I’m taking another thing away from him.”

“You wouldn’t be taking anything away from me.” Astarion said in a quiet tone.

The two of you jumped as you turned to see Asatrion at the door, leaning on the door frame. He pushed off of the frame using his shoulder and entered the room, stopping just a few feet from where you and Karlach were seated on the bed.

“Karlach, would you give me and my fiancee some privacy? I need to remind her of something important.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke.

“Fiancee?” She looked at you.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that part too… sorry.” You didn’t look away from Astarion.

“We’ll you told me most of it.” She stood up and walked past Asatrion, reaching the door and pausing. “I won’t tell anyone… that’s for you to decide when and where you want to do so.”

She shot you one last smile and walked out, closing the door behind her as she did. The two of you stared at each other for several moments. You spoke first, not wanting to be in silence any longer.

“Were you listening the whole time?”

“Yes, When I noticed Karlach was gone, I hurried up her to get her before she got to you, but I was a few minutes too late.” He took a seat next to you. “Now, what is this about you keeping the baby a secret because you don’t want to take another family away from me?”

“It’s more than just that. So many things can go wrong, and if they do, I’ll be responsible for taking another family from you.” You spoke, and Astarion laughed. “How's that funny?”

“Because that is a silly thing to think and say, my love.” He cupped your face with his hands. “Karlach was right. I would not let that happen.”

“You can’t know that We attract bad. luck everywhere we go, pretty much. You’ve already lost so much of the family before you were a Vampire… the one when you were.”

“That one wasn’t a family. Cazador made us to be his slaves to make a small man feel big.” He scoffed. “The rats and bugs that often crawled around me were more family than he ever was. As for my family, before I was a vampire, I don’t remember them, so I have no comment on how they treated me.” He kissed your lips gently. “You and our child growing inside of you are my family, and there is nothing anyone will do to take that away from me. I would rip whoever apart if they tried.”

“So you think we should just tell everyone?”

“I think it is time to stop being so scared, darling, and start living; you are not your mother and are far past the point of losing this child. For gods sake, you got shot in the stomach, and our child shrugged it off like it was nothing. They are far stronger than you give them credit for.”

His statement makes you laugh. “You are right; they are. Just like their father.”

“Don’t forget their mother, too. How many arrows have I pulled out of you these past fifty years? Probably hundreds. The sacred tissue alone was probably enough to keep our child safe.” The two of you laughed lightly.

“What if we lose them?”

“Darling, it was a miracle that we conceived this baby, to begin with, so there must be a god out there that wants us to grace this realm with our beautiful child.” He kissed between your brows.

“I didn’t think of that…” You were beginning to feel foolish. Pregnancy brain, along with the fears your mother placed in you all those years ago, probably didn’t help you think clearly. “Next time, just hit me over the head when I’m not thinking clearly. “

“Will do, but it’s not entirely your fault. The standard practice for elves to keep this sort of thing a secret is kinda hammered into you.” He stood up and walked over to his bag. “Now, if we announce that we are going to be parents, I want to be a little more dressed up than this.” He gestured to what he was wearing. A white flowy shirt and standard black pants he always wore.

Asatrion reached into his bag and pulled out a red embroidered top. Gold was sewn into the top in a pattern that looked like dragons fighting amongst fire. It was gody and over the top and something that screamed for others' attention.

“Do you have anything else?” You also stood, dropping the towel from around you, and stepped into the white dress you were holding.

“What’s wrong with this?” He looked offended.

“It makes you look less like soon-to-be father and more like douchy Vampire lord.” You turned towards him, doing a twirl. “Something subtle like this, maybe?”

“Fine, I’ll wear my dark blue doublet.” He put the gody monstrosity back and pulled out a blue doublet with gold stars sewn into the fabric. He put the doublet on and huffed at you. “Happy?”

“Very.” You wove your arm into his so that the crook of your elbow was touching his. “Now, let's go; our child is telling me it's time to eat, and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Of course not, the others certainly, but not our child.” Asatrion said as he smiled down at you.

The dress put you on full display. Your once smaller breasts were accented by a low neckline that plunged down past the bottom of your breasts. The fabric was smooth over your belly and showed the bump of where your child sat in the safety of your stomach. And a long slit just the length of your dress where you could feel the coolness of the tower.

“I’m never wearing pants again.” You said, reveling in how you felt free and not constricted by any waistband.

“And I told you that I’m fine with that it makes it easier to have you whenever I would like; all I would need to do is bend you over and pull up your skirts.” Asatrion leaned down and bit your ear.

You shuddered. “I don’t think we have time to test that… Our baby needs substance.”

“Of course, But after we are fed, I’m going to eat you alive.” He growled his statement into your ear.

A wave of heat went through you. Astarion kindling your arousal. “We better eat fast than.”

You began moving to the dining hall. Each step becomes more complicated than the last. You fought with every fiber of your being to go towards the Dining hall wearing this dress. To tell your friends that secret that the two of you had been keeping all this time. The questions that they would surely ask. You stood at the door and hesitated.

“Are you ready?” Astarion looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I will be once my heart stops beating so damn fast.” You took a few steading breaths and then nodded to him to open the door.

Astarion flung the door open wide, and you watched as everyone stopped their conversations to look at the two of you. From where everyone was sitting, they would not be able to see the bump that was protruding out from your dress. You watched as Karlach was practically buzzing next to Wyll in excitement. She really was trying her hardest not to let your secret out.

The two of you walked forward toward your friends slowly, fear still gripping your heart. Astarion reached with his other hand and patted your arm. “Everything will be fine.”

“What took the two of you so long?” Gale sounded annoyed as he stood from where he was sitting. “I thought when Karlach went up to get you, you would come down, but then she came down and has been acting like that every since.”

You looked towards her to find that she had a hand placed over her lips and looked like she was going to explode.

“I’m sorry, Gale, it’s my fault. I was having some personal issues I needed to work through.” You had reached the head of the table where your friends were sitting.

You unlaced your arm from Astarion’s and made it easier for everyone to see your baby bump. The whole table stared in shock as Astarion pulled out your chair so that you could sit down. You took your seat. and the table was still silent as Astarion also took his next to you.

Astarion looked around at everyone’s faces. “Well, go on, one of you say something. It’s almost as if you’ve never seen an elf pregnant with a Vampire’s child before.” Astarion grabbed a wine glass and took a long sip as the table erupted with questions.

[spasmsofthought]

starlight (legolas x reader)

A bit (or a lot) philosophical. Indirect allusions to depression/melancholy. Please take care reading and take care of yourself.

IDK word count LOL but not super long, I think.

This idea has been in my drafts for a while, but inspiration came this evening. I hope it's executed well for you. I haven't felt so creative in such a long time and this piece was such a treat to write.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, and reblog xo

+++

“My friend, what ails you?” Legolas has not been sure of you, try as he might.

Even though it is just the beginning of the Fellowship’s journey, you walk already battle-weary. You are heavy, it seems, in comparison to your fellow human companions. Aragorn nor Boromir carry themselves this way. Even Frodo, despite the responsibility he carries, retains some of the Hobbit carefree way. It had caused Legolas to wonder, apprehensively in the beginning, if it was the Ring. The more he watched and waited, the more clear it became that it wasn’t. Relief then became mixed with confusion, for if it wasn’t the Ring, what could cause such weight for you to carry? The brief conversations he has shared with you so far have not provided him further insight.

You turn towards him from where you sit. Your face is not unhealthy in anyway, but your eyes are not bright. There is something deep in them for which Legolas does not have the words to explain. You are close enough to be seen from camp, but far enough away that no one has had the heart to disturb you. It is a quiet evening, but even as he approaches, there is something that mixes in with the stillness that is foreign to him.

“Hello, Legolas,” He stands for a moment, unsure. “Please, you are welcome to join.”

You pat the stone next to you as if it is an inviting cushion. It is not.

“Thank you for your inquiry. I am only sad, Legolas.” Your hands settle in your lap. Legolas grows even more confused. Often human weep to express their grief, in his understanding. He has not seen, or heard, you cry once.

You clarify after a moment, sighing and then glancing at him. “There is no cause for it, unfortunately. Otherwise I would ask aid of our Fellowship. It is simply a—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It takes your brain a short time to unscramble to find something suitable, “condition I endure.”

“The understanding of the complexity of human nature escapes me at this time.”

You laugh is small, “It confounds me often.”

There is a moment, halfway between awkward and friendly, in which you sit together. Trying to explain your feelings to an Elf has not been something anyone ever thought to prepare you for.

Legolas has been an intimidating individual to try and engage for yourself. It has been your own inexperience and reluctance that has caused some of your avoidance of him. Elves had been figures of myths and folklore in the small village where you had been raised. To confront your youth’s inadequate tales against a far different reality has already been mentally exhausting. You always thought Elves would be the kind of stern and serious beings that immortality seemed to produce. Instead, Legolas was often cheery, reveling in merriment.

“There is a type of sadness for humans,” You try to explain. Legolas pays attention, “that can come for us regardless of circumstance or atmosphere. It is different than missing one’s family or saying goodbye, and it is hard to explain and justify even amongst my own kin. What I am feeling now is not something that carries a name for my people; there are a lot who do not try to understand. Some types of human sadness come and go. This type of sadness can be long-lasting. I carry mine with me, it seems, no matter what I go. It stays, though I do not ask it to.”

There is a little bit of shame to your countenance it seems to Legolas, as you glance down at your hands. You are meek in the fading light of the evening.

Legolas is not sure he has seen someone who looks as human as you do, against the backdrop of the trees and earth.

“Your mind seems fragile,” He says.

His words come as a frank observation, although gentled in tone. It is a paradox for something so piercing to be soft. Legolas takes great care to not offend you, even now. You would be offended if another of your race said the same, but there’s something about the way the words come from his mouth that do not make them a personal affront. These words do not seem to change whatever opinion he has of you. (An opinion that seems more positive than one you would give of yourself to him.)

“I suppose you could say that,” Your eyes drift up again to look at the dark sky, small glinting stars beginning to appear through the cracks of the trees. “Most human minds are fragile in some way, I think. We are not made to endure the long passing of time the same as you and your race. We are more effected… more vulnerable, I think. Or rather, vulnerable in different ways.”

Your words are met with Legolas’s silence. The light-hearted elf has turned contemplative. “The burden of human life is not what I have thought it was.”

“I don’t think I quite fully understand it either, thought I bear it,” You respond, lips quirking to the side for a moment. As they meet yours for a short time, Legolas’s eyes shine in the dark. “Although I fear comparison will still leave us lacking. I know little of what it is to be an elf, but I know you and your kind carry grief of your own. It is hard for me to conceive of what it must like to see so much, for so long, and still remain so physically unchanged.”

Legolas hums but then chooses to say nothing about the subject.

“I love the stars,” You say after a brief pause. Legolas does not object, so you continue to talk. “Even in the darkness, when I have had no one else with me, they have comforted me. Sometimes, like tonight, when my heart pulls me inward, they seem to whisper to me and cause my gaze upward.”

There is a companionable silence that follows. You sit next to Legolas, he next to you, as you stare up at the stars glittering across the black expanse of the night.

There is scant touch that comes across your cheek, like a breeze against your skin. A brief warmth follows, fading as quickly as it comes. As you turn your face, Legolas’s hand comes to rest against his side. Your eyes meet and he nods towards the forest path that leads to the camp where the others rest. His gaze is soft on your face.

You don’t think anyone has looked at you as he is now.

“Sleep, ithildin nîn.” You do not know what the words mean but they feel as a balm does, only for your heart and not for your body. “I will keep watch.”

For a little while, you hold his eyes. Legolas does not shy away even though he does not know what the immediate future holds; though he does not know what will become of you, or of him. You nod at his words, gathering your things and standing. You feel his gaze, even through the path you take to camp, on you until you fall asleep.

~~~~

Translation: Ithildin nîn — my starlight.

[whereserpentswalk]

There's a plane that exists just for people passing through to other dimensions. It's this sort of liminal zone. Most people don't stay there for long, but almost every planner traveler has, for some amount of time, stayed there.

It's shaped like places that people only stay for a short amount of time. Most of it looks like a giant hotel, pale walled and well cleaned, with rooms and pools and the like. Though other places look more like a massive airport of train station, with all those little shops and news stands. It's nice, a place where you can spend time for a little while, but only for a little while. The entire dimension is mabye at best the size of a small city, and entirely indoors. Beyond its walls there's only Astral Choas, the doom between all planes.

The host is something ancient and powerful, older than most planes even are. Few mortals have seen him. He's mostly known by his staff, these androgynous humanoids that don't eat or sleep, sown into their uniforms. The staff are alive and sentient, but they aren't born, just created. Those who project their spirits beyond planes but not their bodies are often given similar forms to the staff when they come here. Those who attempt to harm the staff will end up seeing security, beings who are far less freindly, and far less humanoid.

There's something strange to having so many dimensional travelers in one place. Especially with no base culture to speak of amoung them. You'll see an advanced group of human scientists, walking by an adventuring party containing elves and orcs. A mysterious gentlemen from the fae in a suit and top hat, may be making conversation with a lost starship captain who just escaped a warp storm, as a horror beyond mortal comprehension plays a game of chess with a group of sentient mice. Everyone sees it differently, it's technologically advanced to some, primitive to others, familiar to some, and inhuman to others.

And you only ever pass through. Even the exiles and refugees can't stay forever. It's nice, perhaps nicer than your world, and comfortable, a place to rest without war and horrors around you. But it can never be forever. You have a plane to go to, and it isn't this one. Nomatter how comfortable the bed is you must someday awaken from it.

And not to mention the way people interact with those who they'll never meet again. The paladin who befriended an astronaut who was lost there, and who wept when he found out she didn't know if she had a soul or not. The brass armed steampunk professor, considered young for his mission at forty, who became horrified to talk to a team of superheros whose oldest member was sixteen. The cloned soldier, born to die, too afraid to take off it's gas mask, who met an elven warroir, and let her tell it there was more to life then war and pain, and tell it of beautiful things throughout the multiverse, and let her touch it's breasts, and see it's naked body and face, and both of them knew they'd both be gone when the morning came, but they'd remember eachother, and the soldier for the first time yearned for something beyond death.

[dontfearrr]

for my good friend ! this isn’t silly at all i think it’s so endearing :) @legolas-fan-blog

short and sweet as some would say

Lion and the lamb…or fawn?

gif not mine:)

summary: Reader comes across an injured fawn, Legolas is quick to assist his lady.

Pairing: Legolas x f!elf!reader

Warnings: none

Category: fluff

Word count: still working on this💀

—————————-

The crisp air of the morning kisses your pale cheeks, blowing back your long white locks as your eyes fell shut at the content feeling. Though elves weren’t prone to the cold or anything of that matter, it still was nice to experience every now and then. Your bow was in your right grasp while your head was pointed upward to the sky.

That was until you got a feeling that ran through your abdomen all the way up to the tips of your pointed ears. It took you no more than a blink of an eye to nock an arrow. Pointing in the direction of where your nose told you to. You saw nothing, even your elvish eyes couldn’t see anything near or around you.

WHOOSH.

Your eyes widened at the fallen object in between your feet, it was a bright red apple, pierced by an arrow. Your eyebrow lifted in curiosity seeming as it didn’t look like a threat.

“it would seem as if you’ve let your guard down little one!” a familiar and eye rolling voice shouted as his figure hopped branch to branch until he landed in front of you on two feet as if he was a swift cat. You drew your bow back, placing the arrow back into its holster that was latched to your back along with your bow as you crossed your arms.

“Legolas, you should know it is rude to sneak up on a lady.” you spoke to the white haired ellon with amusement laced in your words. He flashed you a playful smile and reached for the arrow that pierced the apple and pulled it free, taking a large bite of the juicy fruit before stretching his arm toward you, offering it.

You took the apple, copying his actions then handed it back, more like pushing it into his chest with fake arrogance. You heard him chuckle behind you, followed by light, nearly silent footsteps of the princling while you continued your walk through the green forrest. You were there out of boredom, wanting to wonder around and find things you could take back home to add to your collection. So far you’ve found a rock in the shape of a star and a perfectly shaped acorn.

“what brings you out here, my lady?” Legolas spoke as he caught up to your side, beaming down at you like a sweet child with his bow in hand still, a habit the young prince has picked up over the many years he’s been alive. “simply boredom. Elrond has been quiet these days so i’ve had much free time on my hands. i come here to collect meaningless trinkets.” you said, glancing up at his smiling figure, returning a smile.

“care for some company? i’ll be as least annoying as i possibly can, my lady” he teased, knowing he knew how to strike a few nerves in you, never upsetting you but as if he was a lost puppy perhaps. He was a good friend of yours, though you cannot deny the small feelings your heart bared for him.

“i’d love some company, however i better not see anymore rogue apples flying my way.” You giggled a little half way through your sentence at his childish manners but it never failed to entertain you, and he knew that. “deal” he never dropped his proud smile as the two of them walked through the soft evergreen.

You two made conversation until your ears perked up at a sound of displease. You laid your arm across Legolas’ chest to halt his movements and he raised an eyebrow in confusion until he too heard what you had. You jogged toward the sound, hopping and swinging on branches to fasten your movements, Legolas followed suit. To your surprise you spotted an injured fawn laid across the forrest floor, blood pouring out of its leg as it cried in agony. Your heart poured into the scene as you carefully approached the gentle creature. You examined the fawn, making sure it had no other injuries.

There was an arrow pierced through its small thigh, it quivered and jerked at the pain. “god damned hunters” you grimaced at the thought of those wretched beings, cursing your beloved woodland.

“Legolas do you still carry those healing herbs on you?” He nodded and swiftly unbuckled his belt that held his leather pouch and handed it to you. He crouched on the other side of the fawn and looked up at you in worry, he knew how much the forrest meant to you, along with everything in it. He would be damned if he were to stop you from doing such. “i’ll break the arrow and carefully remove it, you’ll need to hold the creature down.” Legolas said in a hushed tone, rubbing your arm gently to comfort you, noticing your obvious sadness, your lip beginning to quiver.

You simply nodded and searched through the princes pouch, finding the herb you were needing and laid it out. You bit the bottom of your dark green undershirt, ripping a long piece of it and laying that out as well.

You took a deep breath and ran your hands down the poor creatures torso, putting enough weight to hold it down but not enough to hurt it. Legolas gripped the arrow and snapped it as if it was merely a twig. He slid the arrow out of the wound of the leg and tossed it elsewhere and your eyes squeezed shut, wishing to block out the sounds of the suffering fawn. You then opened your eyes and looked up at Legolas before taking the piece of cloth you ripped from yourself and cleaning up the blood that spilled then taking the healing herbs and took Legolas’ bow from the ground since it was the closest thing and used the end to crush the bright green herb. Once it was a paste you spread it across the wound of the fawn and Legolas held the leg for you so you can tend to the other side as well.

The wound visibly already began healing and you used the same cloth to wrap around the wound to keep it from getting infected. Legolas gave you a smile and helped you clean up the supplies. You stood and whispered a few words in elvish and watched the fawn stand up on its own and run off into the greenery.

Legolas stood next to you and placed a hand on your waist, you jumped in surprise, not ever having been touched in a way by Legolas. “i admire you, little one. you have a good heart.” he looked down at you with his sweet smile. Your eyes lit up in appreciation and it was almost as if you felt yourself blush. Legolas’ eyes visibly widened and his teeth appeared in his smile.

“i may be a fool but i know when someone is flustered.” his thumb ran across your reddened cheek and you huffed. “you’re a good friend Legolas, i don’t think there’s anyone else that would’ve helped me do such a thing. you, my prince, are the one with a good heart.” you said to him and took the hand that occupied your cheek and held it to your mouth, kissing his porcelain fingers.

“well…i smell quite the grapefruit tree near by, shall we?” the tips of his ears heated and he held out his arm for you and you latched onto him, continuing your walk through the forrest with no other than the prince of Mirkwood.

[eri-pl]

A crack origin for Hobbits

Warnings: high levels of crack, Elf-Dwarf relationship, mentions of Sauron.

So my husband asked me how strictly canon is "Hobbits are just Men, but short" and we talked and yes, Hobbits do have some Dwarflike traits but also some Elflike traits—

OK. so, Eregion.

I could go with Celebrimbor, but Maglor is funnier. And he is the only Elf in the Silm said to be married but not any details about it. And Silm was redacted later, I can very well see Maglor marrying someone really inaproppriate in SA and Elrond noting it down as "Maglor was wed."

So, Maglor is taking a break from beach hermiting and visiting his nephew (I don't care the book says "he never came again among the elves" — Elrond wrote the book and I imagine they were on speaking terms and more close than resentful. also, he never officially did, but I imagine it wasn't a big secret in Eregion that he's Maglor. Yes, it freaked the jewelsmiths out.)

And Celebrimbor gets a mysterious visitor and Maglor doesn't like him (and when Maglor agrees with Galadriel, it is something), and Sauron is quite terrified that his plan will go into pieces. So he decides to get rid of Maglor, Maglor's credibility and some of the meddling Dwarves.

Now, in the Legendarium love potions etc don't exist, so I would assume more like "Sauron made them get lost in some mines and confused them with magics, and Maglor falling in love with the Dwarf was a side-effect". Anyway, Maglor falls in love with a Dwarven lady, and she with him (other Dwarves are fine, maybe even survive too). And it's Sauron's fault.

Anyway they marry, and even after their minds clear, they are still in love, because they did build ahealthy-ish relationship in the meantime (let Maglor have some happiness), and, well, they have kids. Who are weird and small and less hairy than Dwarves.

Depending on your preference, it may end with Maglor running away to the beach (especially after learning what happenned to Celebrimbor), or with his wife dying peacefully of old age in his arms or whatever. Or less peacefully but at least they both fight in the war against Sauron.

Anyway the kids are there, and they have marry some Dwarves and their kids are still very similar to the strange mix, and don't look like normal Dwarves, so after a few generations they are their own tribe and leave.

And yes: they are the hobbits.

Cons of this theory:

More tragedy for Maglor and other Elves would laugh at him

Elf-Dwarf relationships.

Hobbits are descendants of a doomed kinslayer (but does that matter?)

Where do Hobbits even go for afterlife??? (New Zealand)

Pros:

More tragedy for Maglor and now we know why he doesn't want to return

Hobbits have an explanation. Also, Hobbits being musical, hard to corrupt, and having a knack for finding treasure has an explanation

Sauron's evil schemming is an important factor in the emergence of the race which later will lead to his downfall. And that's just too good. I almost can ignore the Elf-Dwarf thing for this.

It gives Námo a headache? (I like him, but I also like to make him confused and that's hard XD )

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 4 – Caranthir – Childhood, Appearance

For @feanorianweek You can also read on AO3

Life in Valinor for someone like Caranthir was an overwhelming existence. His dark eyes never quite got used to the brightness of Laurelin, like most babes usually did after some months. He ran away so fast on his short legs from the clanging of forges and choirs singing, the sounds too loud for his sensitive ears. He screamed and cried when certain fabrics and textures touched his skin, blotchy red patches and rashes forming inexplicably after an hour of wearing new clothes.

Caranthir didn’t like going outside. He especially didn’t like going out for chores. However, Ammë and Atar were busy with their work, and Maglor and Celegorm had their studies, so he was left in Maedhros’ care while he did chores that needed to be done. Like shopping.

Caranthir trotted after his eldest brother, small hand clutching large hand, as they waded through the noisy market. He was mostly being guided by Maedhros, for the elfling was left half-blind from the mid-flowering light of Laurelin. Caranthir alternated between staring down at his feet, squinting with tears obscuring his sight, or just simply closing his eyes.

Maedhros stopped by some vegetable stall, leaving Caranthir to hold on to him and be bored. The swish of fabric caught the edge of his sight, a rich dark purple in colour, yet so thin it let light peek through its weave. Letting go of his brother’s hand, he went closer to the textile stall curiously. He slid his little fingers through the dark fabric, unfortunately it was itchy and burning, but he lifted it over his head.

Caranthir could perfectly see right through it, he could see the market, the elves milling about, everything. The only difference the fabric made was that the light and colours were muted. And most importantly, it didn’t bother his eyes.

“Nelyo, Nelyo!” he bounded over to his brother, purple textile still on his head. “Look, Nelyo! I can see and my eyes don’t hurt!”

Used to his little brothers’ oddities, the strange image Caranthir made didn’t even phase him.

“You can see everything?”

“Uh-huh,” Caranthir nodded.

“And there is no pain at all?”

“Nuh-uh,” Caranthir shook his head. “Well, the fabric is itchy.”

Maedhros looked at his little brother for some time, deep in thought. Then he removed the fabric from Caranthir’s face and after returning it to the stall he led them to different part of the market.

“Come, I have an idea,” he said, stopping in front of a vendor selling glassware.

Maedhros talked with the vendor for a while, then the elf rummaged for something underneath the stall, finally producing a small sheet of glass. Maedhros took it then handed it to Caranthir.

“Try looking through it.”

The glass was almost completely black, but it still let a little bit of light through. He put the glass up against his eyes, and relief flooded him as the stinging sensation abated.

“It doesn’t hurt!” Caranthir exclaimed, his hands fluttering about him in a rare show of joy.

Maedhros ordered a full sheet of coloured glass to be delivered home, and the very next day Caranthir was gifted with dark spectacles that protected him from the light.

-

Caranthir liked sitting with Maglor. The harp had a gentle sound, not too loud, and his brother practicing his scales and harp solos made for enough repetition and predictability that he could read or do his numbers homework in peace.

Maglor’s voice was nice too, but not up close. There needed to be at least two walls dividing them, so his singing didn’t hurt Caranthir’s ears with its loudness. Usually, when Maglor reached the place in his practice where he’d start singing with his harp, Caranthir would pack his books up and leave Maglor’s room for his own.

Noticing the pattern, Maglor once asked his little brother about it, and once hearing the answer he fell into silent contemplation.

The next time they were comfortably doing their own thing in Maglor’s room, his older brother gave him something.

“Try it on and tell me what you hear,” Maglor said, and helped Caranthir put the thing over his head, two padded pom-pom-like balls covering his ears.

“Can you hear me? And is it itchy at all?”

“You’re all muffled but I can hear you a little. Not itchy, but it tickles.”

Maglor just grinned, and later when he started to sing during practice, Caranthir stayed and continued his studies, unbothered by the loud sound.

-

The itchiness he partially figured out on his own, when a bit older Caranthir ironically got into fibre crafts. He now knew which fabrics his skin tolerated and which ones he didn’t, yet from time to time his hands would still turn red with rashes. An occupational hazard when working with all sorts of textiles.

[denofbloodandlove]

DRAGONS PET

She was dreaming again, she knew she was. Or at least she had to be. It started out like any other night, falling asleep alone on the couch, alone, dreaming of some kind of far away land. A land filled with monsters and beasts that made her blood heat. But there was always one, at least in her dream that called to her, beckoned her. A great black and red dragon, he, at least in her dream, always seemed to find her every time she closed her eyes. Every time she fell into that deep sleep, his great black scales would envelop her, surround her like a giant coiling snake intent on wrapping around her, squeezing her, taking everything from her.

His heat would make her skin sizzle and her blood to turn into a molten lava, but always right when she would wake up. Tonight she thought it would be the exact same thing. A new dream but with the same outcome.

Her small frame curled up on her black leather couch. She had always been tiny, a small thing with too many curves and what she thought of as being too chunky. Short and stacked. Short hair, short legs and short patience. Snuggling on her couch, she began to watch some sci fi b rated horror flick, and soon her eyes were dropping, her lids too heavy as sleep pulled her under.

The dream started like every other one. She was wandering down a dark long tunnel, one that had a proverbial light at the end. But when she reached the end, a giant green forest greeted her, one with trees that were as big as the apartment she lived in. They were scarce but were so massive that enough of the canopies covered much of the ground. Farther in, this is where she began to see the dens or homes, the creatures, the beasts moving about. Walking, running, and talking amongst themselves. Living as humans did. Tonight, she walked further in, closer and closer to the village. She could smell cooking meats sizzling, the juicy bits of fat dripping, splattering into pans. The sounds of sizzling foods met her ears as she walked closer still. Her hands rose to touch everything, the feel of the thick bark under the tips of her fingers. The feel of soft debris under her toes tickled the soft pads of her feet. Staying hidden behind the trees as best as she could, she watched in awe.

Centaurs, minotaurs, elves, and other mythical creatures walked about. Some were fully clothed and some…..some were completely naked. Her eyes grew wide as she watched a centaur paw its way out of what she assumed was his home with a human strapped to his underbelly. Her eyes widened as she watched his hips move, a massive cock was inside of her!

The woman tied to the belly was being fucked, used as a warm place for his cock. Her dreams had always been borderlined sexual but this….this was new. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked around more and realized, that there were more. Much much more. Humans were in stockades, bent over at the waist and being bred by a line of creatures. There were more centaurs with others strapped to their bellies. Orcs walked around with the same. Some were screaming to be let go while they were stretched, used, fucked and others moaned and enjoyed their predicaments.

It was time to wake up. Wake up. Her eyes closed but when she opened them, she was still in the same market. Against the same tree.

“Like what you see little one?” She heard a low soft slither against her ear. Before she could really gasp, black scales took over her eyesight, thick claws grabbed her about her middle and she felt a hard yank, pulling her away from the tree and into nothingness.

Her eyes flickered open, her eyesight trying to focus, she looked about a room that was not hers, Stone walls greeted her, sconces were dug into the stone where a bright orange fire raged in an unnatural way. And she felt something. Something was in her……

Looking down, she realized her clothing had been removed, her legs open, splayed and a fucking tongue was inside of her. Lapping, licking, flicking. Screaming in surprise she watched as that same tongue recoiled and a giant black, scaled head lifted from between her feet, Its green eyes staring at her as the dragon of her dreams stared back.

“Welcome to your new home, pet. You finally wandered into town, your human body is never allowed back into the mortal realm and since I found you first. I claimed you. Now lay back so I can take my prize.”

His dark, raspy tone floated against her ears as he spoke into her, not out loud and she tried to scramble away. But one giant clawed hand grabbed her, pinning her down and she watched in terror as its forked tongue flicked out and slid into her exposed pussy. Lapping up it was so large, it engulfed her pelvis, covering her before actually sliding inside of her. Her gasp was natural, terror and horror at the thought of what was happening changed into pleasure mixed with her horror. But this was a dream right? Had to be. Her mind was always overactive and maybe she was just REALLY horny when she fell asleep. Swallowing her terror she looked down and………. Fuck she could see his tongue in her, slithering up her channel, coating her insides with his saliva. Her lungs began working as her body heated, her need rocketed from a low feeling to an absolute feral need. Her legs fell open as she began pumping her hips up and down, fucking herself onto his tongue. His saliva dripped down her ass in a pool beneath her.

She could feel the dragon pushing more into her, his thicker tongue stretching her, but the pain was nothing as it speared her, coiled into her womb and flicked, trembled as her body clamped down. Her orgasm hit her like a truck and she felt her pussy tighten around his tongue, clamping on her as she screamed and thrashed .

Her body collapsed as his tongue slid out of her pussy, and she barely registered her being moved. Her body was languid, her limbs numb as she felt as if she was flying. Blinking slow, she glanced down to see three giant claws holding her torso. A giant clawed hand was holding her, wrapped around her, moving her. Slowly she felt her legs being pried apart, a thick head was pushing into her core.

Her tiny hands wrapped around the claws as she glanced down, his giant body was massive. Twice the size of a van and his cock jutted out, large, what she thought was the size of her fucking body. Her eyes grew large as she tried to get away, but pleasure still coursed through her. The dragons saliva still dripping from her swollen cunt as he pushed further in, spreading her. Her back bowed as her head tilted back as a scream erupted from her. He fucked up, pushing himself further into her and she felt a loud pop as his head entered her. It felt like she has a tree trunk in her, using her too tight pussy as a cock sleeve.

“Don’t worry little pet, your body will take me, my magic will make it so. Take all of me, every thick inch into your body.”

The dragon whispered again against her mind as his clawed hand actually moved her tiny frame up and then down. She looked down as his claws moved, his cock pushing into her, fucking her like a fuck toy. He was using her body to jack off. With each downward thrust he moved more and more into her belly. She watched as her torso bulged out, her skin stretching, molding to his thick cock. Up and down, faster and faster he moved her, her body a sleeve for his cock.

With each thrust he moved further, into her belly, her chest and eventually her throat. Her hand moved from his claw to her own throat where she felt is bulge out. Expand and release as he moved her. His hips thrust as his dark growls took over her mind. Smoke flared from his nostrils, as he moved his jaws cracked open and his tongue slithered out, the tip trailing down his body to lap as her clit. Flickering and moving it hard, making her body seize.

“Thats it little pet, come for your new Master.”

His words flitted through her brain as she began to come on his cock, she felt her whole body being pushed down, her orgasm took over her body, her spine straightened and her head tipped back as a gargled scream came out her throat. A beastly roar sounded around her as the dragon began to come. She felt his thick ropes coat her insides, his hand pulled her up, his thick come pooled out of her,dripping down his cock as he pushed back in, deeper and deeper, with every thrust his cock spasmed in her body, pumping more and more into her expanding belly.

Swelling her, filling her, breeding her womb until it was too much and it began to rise, spouting out the corners of her mouth. Thick white rivers of come flowed out of her as he used her body as a breeding toy. He used her until she passed out, her body left bred and gaping, used and fucked raw.

When she opened her eyes, she expected to see her b rated movie. Smacking her lips, the lingering taste of something salty at the corner of her mouth she looked around at the sconces still lit.

“Good morning little pet, are you ready for your new life?”

[istaricelebelasse]

Based on the post about the Fingon and Maedhros story being shared and edited by all the peoples of Middle Earth

If there was one thing that Bilbo enjoyed about Rivendell it had to be the Hall of Fire. It was grand to share and listen to tales and songs, and there was always an appreciative audience when he wanted to debut a new work.

Not that the tale he wished to share on this particular evening was one of his own. Instead it was a traditional tale, one normally shared around a winter’s hearth or underneath the Party Tree.

He readied himself to recite the words, as comfortable with the paths of the tale as he was with those of the Shire. His audience was a rapt and attentive as any group of faunts, for if there was one thing that Bilbo had learnt of the elves, it was that they adored new tales.

(He supposed that the same stories became boring after a few thousand retellings.)

A final puff on his pipe and he was ready to begin

—

Once, when the sun and the moon were new, there lived a fair maiden. She was as beautiful as she was kind, with long red curls she let tumble down her back. She was as apple cheeked and stout as any good hobbit lass should be, and every lad from miles around was enamoured with her.

But she only had eyes for one: a prince (for it was in the days when kings and princes still lived) who had once been her closest childhood friend. He was brave, and true, and could often be found speaking to all manner of bird and beast.

They planned to be wed, and their love was so great that even the flowers themselves bloomed brighter for joy.

Yet there was another. A wizard, cruel and jealous, who did not wish for anyone but he to set eyes upon the beautiful things in the world.

He saw the love shared by the lady and her prince and wished to hoard her beauty all for himself.

He sent his spiders and wolves to capture the lady one day as she gathered flowers, and they bound her up in ropes of silk to take to a tower. There she was locked away, away from the sun and the moon and the growing things of the world.

When his lady love did not return from the woods, the prince worried. He had heard the howls of the wolves and feared the worst.

He gathered up his fiddle and sling and ventured into the woods to find his lady, yet when he reached the glade she loved he found but her kerchief and basket.

The prince would have fallen to despair, but for a starling who had seen the spiders and wolves and shared this with the prince.

He followed the starling through the woods, the trees arching overhead.He called out to his love as he walked, playing his fiddle and listening for a response. But no response could be heard.

Deeper and deeper he ventured into the woods, until at last he came to a valley where the trees were ancient and hunched.

And so the prince called out to his love again, yet no response was there, until at last he started to sing a song. It was so beautiful that even the birds joined in, and finally so too did his lady love.

It echoed across the valley so sweetly that even the wind itself seemed to dance to it.

The prince followed the sound of the singing to a great tower, where his lady love could only be spotted by the shine of her red hair in the sunlight.

He hunted and searched for some way to reach his lady love, but to no avail. The walls were too smooth, the trees too short, and the vines too weak to support him, and with no way to reach her, the prince finally asked one of the birds for help.

First the robins tried, but they were too small. Then it was the doves, but they could not work together. Next a swan tried, but he could not fly high enough.

Finally an eagle stepped forwards. “Step on my back,” He said, “And I shall take you to your lady.”

And so the prince climbed onto the eagle’s back and it carried him up, up, up to the top of the tower where his lady love resided.

Their reunion was sweet, and neither could have said who was more glad to see the other. A final obstacle lay before them though.

A rope of silk bound her wrist so that she could not climb down the tower, so for all that he had reached her if he could not break the rope then all would be for naught.

First he tried to cut the rope, but it was too slippery and his blade would not work. Then he tried to untie the knot, but it would not be undone. Next he tried to argue to rope open, but it would not move.

Finally a tear slipped down his face and splashed onto the rope. Moved by the love between the prince and his lady, the rope untied itself and coiled into a neat pile on the floor.

And so the prince and his lady love flew away from the tower on the back of the eagle, back to their home. They were wed and lived happily ever after to the end of their days.

—

Bilbo leant back in his chair, content with the applause and compliments paid to him by the elves. His version would never be quite so good as that of the Old Took’s, but he did a good job of it if he said so himself.

In fact, the only one who did not seem utterly enamoured with his story was the Lord Elrond himself. His host had a queer look in his eyes that did not match the smile upon his face, it almost looked pained.

But then he blinked and it was gone, and Bilbo decided he must have imagined it.

After all, everyone knew the story was completely made up.

Didn’t they?

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Uniquely recognizable

a post on making fantasy people species that stand out but still feel enough like their mainstream counterparts that your audience won't get confused.

Like me, a lot of you want to use the standard fantasy people in your projects. gnomes, orcs, elves, goblins, dwarves, etc. But you don't want to use the same old typical designs you see in every fantasy roleplay game, movie, show, book, video game, whatever. Those designs have become iconic and ingrained in the common understanding of what those fantasy people are supposed to look like.

But it gets tedious, doesn't it? Sometimes it feels like the only difference between elves in different media is the size of their ears. Sometimes it feels like every fantasy people group is designed to be as close to human as possible and then their fantasy traits are just an afterthought. You're tired of it! You want to do something new!

But where is the line between a unique looking elf and a personally unique fantasy people that need their own name? How far can you alter the standard orc before it stops being an orc? And what are gnomes, anyway?

in this post, I'll be showing off a few of my own fantasy folks and talking about the balance between a recognizable design and a unique design. Including one of my own folks that began as something typical and gradually became something else, until I had to come up with a new name to avoid confusion.

first up: Goblins! what are goblins? if you asked a handful of random people, what traits would they consider the most typical of a goblin?

small, usually green, big ears, lanky limbs? frequently a large nose, sharp teeth, and yellow eyes? those are all common traits for goblins in media across the genre. here are a few sketches of easily recognizable goblins: (including one of my favorites, the goblin design of @pocketss)

(image description: three sketches of goblins. The only one directly labeled is the pocketss goblin, which is very small, has a round head and thin pointy nose, and large leaf shaped ears. it is wearing a little coat. the other two goblins are more typical of fantasy roleplay and video games, having large noses, crooked ears, and short bodies with long arms. one of them is wearing a mechanic outfit with overalls and goggles. the other is wearing a hooded rogue outfit. end description.)

these are all different from each other, but they're similar enough that you could glance at any of them and say "oh that looks like a goblin!" You've probably even seen similar goblin art from other tumblr artists, or your favorite fantasy media.

so now let's look at how I draw goblins:

(image description: a frog-like goblin standing in a cheeky pose, leaning on an invisible surface of some kind. They're nude, but have no external sexual traits. Their belly is a pale yellow while the rest of their body is light green with darker green stripes. They have a round face, yellow frog-like eyes, a small nose, long whiskers, and big bat-like ears. next to them on either side are lists of traits that are common for goblins in fantasy media, contrasted against the more unique traits of this goblin design. end description)

this is one of my fantasy people that I consider the most recognizable. They've got a lot of standard goblin traits! green skin, yellow eyes, sharp teeth, big ears, lanky limbs, and they're rather small. On the other hand, they also have several traits that make them stand out from the common depictions of goblins.

They're amphibious, they have whiskers and a frog-like vocal sac in their throat. their skin comes in different colored patterns like real life frogs. and they're also hermaphrodites in the scientific sense. my goblins don't have set biological sexes from birth. they change between laying eggs and producing sperm based on various environmental factors.

But I think it would be hard for anyone to take a glance at this design and not recognize it as a type of goblin. it strikes a pretty good ideal between the typical and the unique, in my personal and somewhat biased opinion.

Moving on from this, let's look at my depiction of gnomes. They're kind of on thin ice with that title, I don't think they're as easily recognizable. But at the same time, I'm not sure I can come up with an alternate and more fitting title. Gnomes are weird. I see them depicted in only a limited handful of ways in mainstream fantasy, and far more varied ways from independent artists. Gnomes come from a mythology where their name could have referred to several small fae things, or been easily exchanged with other small fae things and similar creatures. The most common depiction of them is probably the garden gnome, which has little in common with how gnomes are depicted as a playable race in roleplay games. but here are three ways I usually see them depicted:

(image description: three sketches of gnomes. the first gnome is labeled "dwarf lite" and resembles a short humanoid with a sturdy body, pointy ears, and a short thick beard. they are wearing a pointed cap and a durable work outfit with gloves and boots. the second gnome is labeled "mousey" and resembles a small humanoid with a hairy face, larger semi round ears, and a long skinny tail. they also appear to have small claws on their fingers and toes. they're wearing a collared shirt, vest, and simple pants. the third gnome is labeled "elf hobbit" and resembles a short humanoid with pointy ears and long hair, wearing a cloaked adventure outfit. end description.)

common gnomish traits include a larger nose, pointy ears, some form of facial hair, and a short torso with somewhat longer arms. The most common versions in mainstream media are the "dwarf lite" and "elf hobbit" versions, like no one can quite decide if gnomes should primarily be tinkerers or spell casters, and which role they're depicted with determines whether their design is more dwarf-like or elf-like. But the mousey with a tail gnomes are more common from independent artists. It reminds me of some illustrations of the Borrowers, and I do wonder if the artists had them in mind.

here's my gnome design:

(image description: a gnomish woman sitting casually and looking upwards with a smile. she has a pig-like snout and ears, as well as four-digit hooved hands and feet, and a stiff short tail. she is wearing a wrapped head scarf over her hair, an off-the-shoulder shirt, and long pants with a climbing belt. on either side of her, there are trait lists comparing the expected gnomish traits with my own different gnomish traits. end description.)

My gnomes do match the concept of being small, agile, magic using folks with a prominent nose. But mine are also not as small as typical depictions of gnomes, and I've gone the porcine route to connect them with my orcs rather than leaning into the typical dwarf lite or elf hobbit depictions. I would not expect every new viewer to see this design and say "oh, obviously that's a gnome." because the pig-like traits are very atypical for depictions of gnomes. But at the same time, they have enough in common, and gnomes are varied enough in other media, that it doesn't take too long to adjust the audience view so they accept this as a gnome. at least I hope it doesn't lol.

and finally let's look at a fantasy people design where I got too into my unique ideas and had to rename them because they just lost the most recognizable traits of the original thing.

I will admit that in middle school I was a Twilight fan and I thought the vampires in that series had a lot in common with elves, so I decided I also wanted elf vampires. Cringe, I know. But the elf-vampires kinda got away from that origin as I built up my world and characters, and I just couldn't keep calling them vampires! I had to think of a new title. But I also didn't want to work too hard at that new title, so I just took some letters out of "strigoi" and I'm going to say it shares in-story linguistic origins with the word "drow", so both of these groups were named after an old elvish term for "those who live below/ in the dirt/ at the roots". Stroi and Drow almost sound kinda similar. Close enough to claim linguistic drift, at least! So they are vampires no more, and I am quite happy with how they fit into my worldbuilding.

for comparison, here are a few typical vampire designs:

(image description: three bust portrait sketches of different vampires. First is an undead human, looking like a common human man wearing a coat, but his eyes are red and he looks very tired. second is a nosferatu, who is bald with crooked pointy ears, a sunken face, and big sharp teeth and clawed fingers. he's wearing a dark robe. third is the fantasy dracula, looking more similar to an elf with sharp teeth and red eyes, but his features are more angular and he has more facial hair than the typical elf design. he is wearing a fancy cloak. end description.)

and here's the elf-cousin stroi that just stopped being a vampire a very long time ago:

(image description: an elf-like man with curly red hair and a long tail. He is standing on his toes. His outfit consists of a simple pair of pants, a shirt with a broad neckline, and a slouchy square cardigan. on either side of him, there is a list of common vampire traits and a list of stroi traits. end description.)

vampires are typically some form of supernatural immortal being, usually undead, often having fangs and venom and special weaknesses. They usually have magical powers like shapeshifting and entrancement. They pretty much always survive on a diet of blood and nothing else and they're generally nocturnal.

when I created the stroi as vampires at the start, I designed them as blood drinking elves who came from a cursed bloodline, all descended from some revived dead warriors. In concept, this is a pretty cool idea! but as I got more and more into speculative evolution and fleshed out my world and characters and all my story ideas, I ended up changing a lot of details for these folks and eventually they just no longer resembled vampires! I don't think a single person would look at this design and think "that's a vampire". no, they're more likely thinking "that's a funny looking elf", and they're right.

my stroi are living creatures in a perfectly normal way, though they have long lifespans. Unlike the elves, they live on the ground and are primarily carnivorous, so they do have sharper teeth and they do consume blood as a result of consuming raw or less cooked meat. They are not strictly nocturnal or diurnal, taking their own shifts to be awake at different times of day, taking oddly timed naps as all carnivores do. They can use magic, like anyone in my setting, but they have no powers unique to them, and certainly no special weaknesses. They don't even have venom, unless you count normal mouth bacteria. So you see, they just don't share enough traits with vampires to justify the title. People see the word "vampire", and it gives them some very particular expectations that my stroi simply cannot fulfill. Their lore has changed too much.

and sometimes this is necessary for the creative process. coming up with a new title for your fantasy people when you realize they no longer fit their origin can be very difficult! but it's so much worse to keep clinging to that origin and trying desperately to maintain the traits that people expect to see even though it doesn't work for your project anymore. I couldn't even stick with my idea that the stroi could still be vampiric if they were brood parasites for the elves. it's another cool idea, but it doesn't fit what I'm writing at all.

Learning to let go of your old ideas and move forward with the new ones is an important skill. Maybe you really really wanted to have elves in your story, but you leaned so hard into some new traits, got invested in all of that, and months or years down the road you look back and realize your elves aren't so elf like anymore! you wanted them to be wolf-like, but you got so excited for your wolf-elves that you ended up with something else entirely. it happens! and it's okay to let go of the elves and move forward with your awesome wolf people. maybe you just have to go do some research on wolf people in mythology now and figure out if there are any other non-werewolf creatures you can take the name of and use as further inspiration to flesh out your wolf people. or maybe you'll have to come up with a whole new title from scratch.

the most important thing to remember is that you should be enjoying your creative process! whatever that ends up looking like.