#starlight express kin

[ciel-is-weird]

istg weirdest kinshift ever is the feeling of phantom roller skates… like dude why. i just tried to roll forward with roller skates that i 100% believed i had for a moment-

[otherkin-edd]

Hello!

My name's Eddie, and this is my kin sideblog!

**I AM A MINOR**

My Kins:

Vampirekin

Crowley fictionkin

Tenth Doctor fictionkin

CB the Red Caboose fictionkin

On this blog, you might see:

Media-related vampirekin things:

Dracula (1931 version)

The Lost Boys 

Tanz Der Vampire

The Fearless Vampire Killers

Media-related Fictionkin things:

Good Omens

Doctor Who

Starlight Express

Personal Tags:

askeddie - ask responses & ask games!

eddieyaps - usually goes with asks, or just my thought posts

srsvent - my vent tag, feel free to block! Will write down any trigger warnings needed

eddiekins - general otherkin/fictionkin

Text Post & Talking Tags

vamptalks

crowleychats

tenthslogs

cbbabbles

Aesthetic Tags

vampaes

crowleyaes

tenthaes

cbaes

Hope You Enjoy Your Visit! 

No Racist, Homophobic, Transphobic, Sexist Assholes Allowed 

(credit for the vampirekin, ten, and crowley userboxes go to @kthecritter and @goldtouchuserboxes. I made the CB one!)

[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.

[jellyfishsthings]

WARNINGS: reader is a Velaryon with some Targaryen features but not an OC, this is just some story building there will be other parts. I just finished the books and I am obsessed with GOT wither way I was bored and this is the result so beware ... I think that's it. Also Theon is a pookie in this fic because I said so

PAIRING: fem!reader x Robb Stark (romantically), fem!reader x Jon Snow (platonically), fem!reader x Theon Greyjoy (platonically)

This will be the last part... (it did go as planned)

part 1, part 2, part 3

In the heart of Winterfell, where the stone walls stood resolute against the biting cold and whispers of ancient lore echoed through darkened corridors, a storm was brewing. The air crackled with tension as flames flickered ominously in the distance, painting the night sky a hellish orange. Visenya Velaryon, an ethereal presence amidst the chaos, felt an inexplicable pull toward those flames—an echo of something buried deep within her lineage.

With her dark hair streaked in silver and violet eyes that glimmered like amethysts under starlight, she sprinted past startled guards and bewildered servants. Her heart thundered not just from fear but from an insatiable desire to protect. Children were trapped; their cries pierced through the cacophony like arrows shot into the night. The Lannisters had struck again—a diversion masked by fire and treachery.

“Visenya!” Robb Stark’s voice broke through her fervor as he raced after her, his expression a mixture of worry and determination. He caught up with her just before she reached the edge of blazing timber beams that collapsed like giants yielding to gravity.

“What are you doing? It’s too dangerous!” His hands grasped her shoulders tightly as he scanned for signs of burns or soot on her pale skin.

“I can’t leave them,” she breathed out desperately, pointing toward a group huddled together near what remained of a barricade—a few terrified children frozen in shock against rising smoke.

Without waiting for his response, Visenya lunged forward into the inferno's embrace. The heat clawed at her skin as if warning her away; yet somehow it felt familiar—as if it recognized its own kin in this girl who bore Targaryen blood beneath layers of Stark loyalty.

Robb followed instinctively despite every fiber urging him to pull back; he’d be damned if he lost another friend to flames. He found himself enveloping Visenya’s hand with his own as they pushed through searing heat and choking smoke until finally reaching those frightened souls—eyes wide with horror yet filled with hope at their arrival.

The children clung to them while Robb led them toward safety even as embers danced around them like malevolent spirits seeking vengeance upon all who dared defy their wrath. Miraculously unscathed by flame or ash, Visenya emerged alongside Robb into cooler air where snowflakes drifted lazily down from above—a stark contrast to what they had escaped.

Yet relief was fleeting; visions flashed behind closed eyelids—memories hauntingly vivid but distant enough that she could scarcely believe they were hers alone.

It was years ago when little Visenya had been drawn inexplicably toward warmth radiating from Winterfell’s great hearth—the very same fire now wreaking havoc outside these sacred walls. She stood there at six years old, small hands outstretched towards glowing embers shimmering like stars fallen from heaven itself when suddenly strong arms encircled her waist.

“Visenya! No!” Ned Stark's voice resonated deeply within those stone halls tinged by both love and authority alike while Catelyn rushed beside him—her face pale with concern etched upon delicate features framed by auburn locks cascading down one shoulder like autumn leaves surrendering to winter winds.

“But I want to feel it!” young Visenya protested defiantly even as warmth dissipated under stern gazes directed firmly towards danger lurking nearby—not merely flames but perhaps something more sinister hidden beneath layers woven throughout history itself…

Ned knelt beside his ward; brows knitted tightly together while Catelyn gently took hold of those tiny hands still untouched by fiery temptation—a miracle indeed given how close she had come just moments before!

“How did you not get burned?” Catelyn gasped incredulously after inspecting each finger carefully against flickering light illuminating their surroundings dimly yet beautifully—their world balanced delicately between safety inside these ancient walls versus threats lingering beyond mere physical dangers themselves…

That evening turned darker still once shadows crept deeper among candlelit corners where whispers carried secrets far heavier than any child should bear:

“She is Targaryen,” Catelyn argued fiercely later that night when Ned sat brooding quietly over matters weighing heavily on his mind amid familial disputes swirling around them all “We cannot keep putting our family at risk! She must go!”

“And who will take care of her?” Ned counter-posed calmly though tension simmering just below surface couldn’t be ignored “Her ancestry isn’t hidden nor forgotten… We might be all she has left.”

Each word hung heavy within silence thickening around them both—the weight borne solely upon shoulders already burdened beyond measure trying endlessly holding onto honor amid tides threatening everything they held dear… because in a few short days she would be loaded into a carriage and leave Winterfall for years to come, training along side Maesters and secretly learning how to fight. Fill her thirst for knowledge about her past and her long lost family.

Back in present-day Winterfell amidst chaos unleashed outside once more came realization crashing down upon Visenya: heritage wasn’t simply bloodline—it intertwined fate binding hearts together forevermore whether forged through flame or ice alike!

Emerging victorious alongside Robb now standing strong beside one another—both marked indelibly by trials faced bravely knowing darkness would never extinguish light ignited deep within their souls—they understood now what true strength meant: family chosen freely rather than simply inherited alone…

And so as dawn began breaking slowly over horizon lighting sky anew promising hope unyieldingly steadfast—Visenya Velaryon looked up meeting gaze unwaveringly locked onto vibrant violet pools reflecting fierce resolve mirrored equally back toward hers without hesitation reaffirming bonds created not only forged by fires endured but also cementing legacies built stronger than any flame could ever touch…

[shewhowas39]

sneak peek #2 of chaper 12!

i'm planning on posting the next chapter of Juniper & Starlight tomorrow, if all goes well. but here's another sneak peek.

***

“So,” he says, “the old bat thinks she can fix our pesky parasite problem. I mean, she’s loony, but might as well explore all of our options, right?”

“I dunno,” June says. “Something about her feels off. Can’t quite place it, though.” 

“Well I, for one, love her. And I think if we happen to pass by her house, we should stop by and pay her a visit.”

The corners of June’s lips twitch upward, and Astarion feels a wave of relief. It might only be a hint of a smile, but that was much better than tears.

“You only like her because she told you that you got gorgeous hair and gave you more free samples of her curl cream.”

“Yes, and if we visit her house, she might give me more.”

That even earns him a little snort of laughter. Astarion feels as victorious as if he just won a game of cards. And for this he didn’t even have to cheat.

June opens her mouth, as if she’s about to say something, but then she stops dead in her tracks. Astarion stops with her, not willing to accidentally leave her behind again. He’s about to ask what is wrong, but he immediately recognizes the look on her face.  Wide unblinking eyes, vacant expression, slightly parted lips.

She’s having another one of her visions.

He waits patiently, and about a minute later, June shudders and begins to blink rapidly. 

“Are…are we in the grove?” she asks, clearly confused. “Are all the tieflings still here?”

“Yes,” Astarion answers.

“Good.” 

And without warning, June spins on her heel and begins running in the opposite direction. 

“What the–? Where are you going?” Astarion calls after her. “Mad woman,” he mutters as he gives chase. 

June is faster than most people, but Astarion has no trouble keeping up. He follows her through the hollow, weaving between startled and disgruntled tieflings and druids, until June finally skids to a stop near a trio of arguing tieflings. 

“Hells, Rolan! We can’t just leave! They’re our kin!” the young woman in the group insists.

“I’ll not gamble our lives - our futures - on people who are as good as dead,” one of the men, presumably Rolan, retorts. “We need to leave for Baldur’s Gate at once.”

“Can we all just take a moment, please?” the younger looking man asks.

“Yall have to stay,” June interjects without warning.

“Gods below,” Astarion mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

The three tieflings turn to look at June. 

“And who the bloody hell are you?” Rolan demands.

[nico-villin]

Intro post

Hello I an Nico or Indigo, I used to be indigo-villin, indigo-puppet, multi-soup, indigo-rants, and had a doll account called dollie(insert numbers here that I can't remember)

This is my suddenly made in like 20 minutes backup account while I wait on Tumblr to respond to my termination reports/requests.

I'm an age regressor, a quoigenic system, 24 (will be 25 in April), use he/they/it pronouns, and post about puppets, animatronics, agere stuff, plushies, and anything else I find interesting.

BYF:

I love all mlp, any hate to any gens will be blocked

I love all of fnaf and the tales books are CANON, argue with the wall

I am a Starlight mlp kin, any Starlight hate will also be blocked

I do not like the DCA from fnaf, don't hate them by any means, just don't like their designs (canon ones, lil too creepy for my taste) and the way the fandom has taken the characters and essentially made their own community but still post to the fnaf tags irks me.

I'm ace (well technically abrosexual), don't care about other people's gender expressions (m-spec are safe here, I don't care as in live YOUR life it's not mine), use neo/xeno-pronouns (forget which is which, I use one of them but always forget), and endo systems (and others) are safe here

DNI: (The thing most people are looking for)

Radqueers (instant block), transID/transrace/transdisabled/etc You are NOT trans autistic or trans Asian, you either have autism or have Asian descent or you DON'T. (Not saying people say both together this was just 2 examples of what I'm saying to make it clear of what I mean)

Anti endos (this is an endo friendly blog, I do not care about what your system origins are and you shouldn't care what mine are)

Transphobes, people who say enbies and trans men are "just women who are kidding themselves" and call trans women "men in dresses", Homophobes, enby exclusionists, ace and aro exclusionists, pan and bi exclusionists, gatekeepers generally

Pedos, MAPs, whatever other terms, Zoos, basically anyone wanting to fuck someone or something that's morally despicable and don't recognize it or get some kind of therapy for it.

DDLG, Ageplay, ABDL, and any other very clearly sexual/kink based thing involving someone role playing as a child STAY OFF MY PAGE I do NOT want to see sexual content and people acting as CHILDREN in the same post/statement. Hate how I wrote this? Block me

Anti-therians/otherkin/etc, anti fictives/introjects/etc, anti agere/petre/etc

[fictionkinfessions]

how do you process being a fictive of one character but kinning another from your own source, asking for a friend-- (it's Pearl, i kin Pearl) - Dinah, Starlight Express [fictive]

placeholder text because tumblr wont let me post ask messages without something in the reply box

[polutrope]

Daeron + "the clinging mists"

Thank you! From this prompt list. Some Daeron headcanons in the form of a melancholy parting between Daeron and Olwë. 740 words.

There is no canonical ‘Great Journey’ Eldarin-Telerin and I’m not about to do conlang for a ficlet, so enjoy a blend of Quenya and Sindarin names.

* * *

A dense mist gathered about the edges of Nan Elmoth and clung to the tree roots. The open glade before the forest was filled with many clusters of elves, busy with final preparations for the journey.

Daeron would not be joining them. And, to avoid yet another plea to change his mind, he had retreated to the sparser woodland across the glade, where he sat upon his favourite rock by the stream. He chiselled a hollowed-out bit of wood. A few more cuts and it would be a whistle; but mostly, it was something to occupy his mind. Keep out the doubt that even now pressed at the fringes of his thought.

Absently, he glanced up from his work, and he spotted Olwë moving among the host. The chieftain paused to visit each group, his manner friendly and unassuming, as ever; yet he stood out like a beam of starlight against the indigo sky, his hair and raiment gleaming white amid the dull grey-green of the others. Small wonder there were so many prepared to follow him onwards to the Sea. 

Most, like Daeron’s closest kin, had been born on the march. Some had begun their journey at Cuiviénen—a place as distant and mythical as the realm of the Valar to Daeron, who had known no other land but here; no other life but uncertainty and endless seeking. 

Very few like Daeron were staying. Those born here felt no loyalty to a king they had never known, and they loved Olwë. As did Daeron.

Olwë passed close by now, and his gaze pierced the tree shadows where Daeron hid himself. Daeron kept his eyes on his work, pretending not to notice Olwë walking towards him.

“There you are,” he said when he was near enough to be heard. He took a seat on another nearby rock. “You are still decided then?” 

“Yes,” said Daeron.

“We will miss your songs.”

“You will make others.”

Olwë breathed a little laugh. “No doubt we will. And yours will be sung still, across the Sea.”

Having cut the last notch in his whistle, Daeron brought it to his lips to test its sound. It had a mournful tone, but Olwë was smiling as he watched him set it down.  

Daeron inhaled deeply. There was a cool bite to the air; strands of mist were creeping outward from the dark woods, towards the stream. 

A confession floated up then, one that Daeron had guarded close to his heart for some time. “I do not think we will ever follow after you.”

The words were barely a whisper, and having spoken them Daeron feared to meet Olwë’s eyes. He was not the first to express such doubts, but to say it directly to Elwë’s brother was overbold. 

“No, I do not think we will see each other again,” said Olwë, then, “You are surprised?” in response to Daeron’s expression. “You do not remember, of course, but it is not the first time that our people have been sundered. We left Enel at Cuiviénen, and Lenwë over the mountains. In truth, I have long been prepared for this parting, though I thought it would be my brother who went on and I who stayed. A great part of me is as loath to depart as you are. But wherever Elwë has gone, I believe he would have wanted us to continue onwards, before it is too late.”

“He will return,” Daeron said. 

Olwë nodded. “Yes, that is my hope.” He reached to take Daeron’s hand in his. “When he does, stay by him. Sing for him as you have sung for us. Guide him with your Song as you have guided me. Preserve the stories of this land in your memory, and perhaps many long ages hence we will meet again on the same shore—then I will look to you to hear the tale of all that we have missed.”

Daeron nodded, but could speak no reassuring words in response. He had seen visions in the Song, and he did not believe that they would ever meet again.

“Here,” he said at last, pressing the whistle into Olwë's hand. “It is not much, but take this. To remember the sound of this place.”

Twirling it between his fingers, Olwë thanked him. Thus they parted. 

The fog was spread over the whole glade now, and so thick that Olwë’s retreating figure was entirely swallowed up in its blanket of white.  

[peerlessscowl]

"You know, the more you pout and scowl the uglier the face gets." The goddess of beauty would know a thing or two, but this was more to get under the skin. Freyja is an observer, she picks and chooses thoughs who look the easiest to piss off, which isnt the greatest idea in a boat where they'll be stuck together for awhile "Why the long face? Got people who hate you back home" she asked, faking innocent.

As it always did at such nags about his expression, Raven's brow furrowed, deepening the grimace on his face as he turned to regard the woman who had set herself before him. It always seemed to be beautiful women lately who took such issue with his face, apropos of nothing - not merely beautiful, but exceptionally beautiful.

"If my face bothers you so much, you don't have to look at it." Were they not on a boat, he would have offered, helpfully, to remove himself from her presence, but for the moment, and for the foreseeable future, they appeared to be trapped together.

But then she continued as though he had not spoken, and her words made him grit his teeth. Not simply the needling, the tease of someone who merely wanted to be annoying, to get a reaction, but the sheer wrongness of the statement caused his gaze to frost over as he considered her.

Hated? No, he'd no one remaining at home at all, and those who might have known him by name, nevermind by his face, would have all but considered him a ghost, a phantom that haunted them, if not in their guilty consciences, then by stalking the battlefield, the thorn of his rage in the paw of the Lycian Alliance.

If he were thought of at all, and not pushed restlessly into the afterlife along with the rest of his kin, a mere footnote, an afterthought in the annals of Lycia's long history.

He said none of this to the woman, for his eyes had alighted on the most prominent feature she bore - a set of wickedly curved horns, nestled, camouflaged amongst the thick tumble of her starlight hair.

Raven's eyes narrowed. "You'll want to cover those before we reach land, my lady, lest you see how hateful my countrymen can truly be."

[diegeticdivinity]

Bathed in the rays of its adjacent star, the world almost seemed to ripple gently in a breeze of some great cosmic kind; not a roughly spherical planet, as some beings may come to expect of worlds, but a ribbon-like wave of matter that coiled around the star like the last remaining petal enveloping a fruit. The shape brought back the memory of forming its every gentle slope and crease, within one of which the being he was observing stood.

Nao’ki had not noticed his presence yet, all six of its eyes fixed on a set of structures in the distance, the only unnatural form in the valley littered with ruins that hadn’t yet been worn back down into something resembling a natural form again. Its jewel-bright form glittered in the crimson starlight, delicately crafted from a dust only a little different from that beneath its four feet, its horned head held high. He had always admired the Okkina’s creativity.

Now was the time.

The Overseer gently pulled back reality as if it were a curtain and stepped out onto the sand.

It felt him before it saw him, the presence startling yet unmistakable. Turning around to meet him, its body language displaying nothing short of awe, Nao’ki bowed so low the tips of its horns almost touched the sand.

“Starman Eternal! It is an unimaginable honor!”

Though his features were not quite distinguishable to Nao’ki, as though its mind were struggling to grasp what it was seeing, his own form expressed nothing but playful amusement.

“It is an honor to me too, my friend, yet I simply must ask: what brings you to a place so lonesome?” He paused, and added “You may rise.”

Standing back up, Nao’ki kept its motions as graceful as it could.

“I was assisting my kin, O Starman. I had set out on a journey here to assess the condition of this world. I have found a civilization restarting its development after a crisis of undocumented origin, but little else. I hoped that out here in this valley we would find a place to build a new settlement and assist them as neighbors, or begin to plant a garden to fill their world with more life, perhaps… though if you ask me, my Creator, I would say that I have found little more than a wasteland. My kin will be disappointed in me when they arrive to meet me… first Zik’xue leaves, and now this…”

It hung its head dejectedly, self-doubt clouding its eyes.

“Do not be so harsh on yourself, young Nao’ki. I see your journey here. Aside from giving the residents quite the scare, have you not learned a lot from your encounter with them, hm?”

It did not sound like a test, if anything, it sounded like a genuine question.

“I have, O Starman! I feel as though I have gained a greater understanding of younger beings… they seem so determined to make a difference for the better, and yet…”

It trailed off, its eyes wandering off to the structures nestled among the distant dunes, so small from here that they would disappear into the wavy desert had it been looking at them from just a little further away.

Placing something that may be a hand where Nao’ki’s arm began, the Overseer spoke again.

“Yet even after catastrophic destruction, their will to make a difference for the better has not wavered.”

Nao’ki did not feel a physical touch, per se, but it did feel a gentle, cosmic warmth settle at its joint. The sensation jolted its body into a slight double-take.

“And that, young Nao’ki, is why I’m here.”

Removing his hand from Nao’ki’s shoulder, he slowly and deliberately rubbed his hands together. Like ripples in the clearest of waters, something began to take shape between his fingers, just a light at first. Then, as he pulled his hands further and further apart, an array of smooth coils and closed eyes came into reality in the bubble between his hands. He cradled it in his arms like a child as Nao’ki stepped closer to examine it.

Nao’ki had seen Brights before; though the many-headed, pure-white invaders typically stayed clear of universes such as this one, vivid memories flooded its mind, of jaws like icy comets that punctured the boundaries of space and the terrible, light-headed sensation of everything that made it conscious beginning to leave its body as it struggled to fly off with but one thought to cling to: warn the others. They may be able to escape, but lesser beings may not be so lucky.

The being in the bubble, however was much smaller, however, comfortably fitting in the Starman’s arms as it rested in its bubble, evidently asleep. Only one of its heads was visible, and a tiny stream of pink and acid green bubbles drifted lazily from its mouth.

“This little one is also looking for a new beginning, and I believe this may just be the perfect place.”

Nao’ki was too stunned to speak.

“Once your kin arrive, you will take her to the residents of this world together. Some may be frightened at first, but they will grow used to her, and she will grow alongside them. You may help take care of her whenever you feel the need to… I trust that you will know when those times come.”

“B… but… why, and why me?”

“Because after everything, even after the most terrible destruction has passed, not only is change possible, it is quite inevitable, and that, in the most profound of ironies, is the one truly, conclusively unchanging constant of our Worlds, and…”

An echoing sound comprised of countless voices emitted from the Overseer’s form, unworldly but lighthearted and pleasant; had he just laughed?

“Because you, my friend, have an eternal, unflinching desire to understand others more than you already do, and, despite everything, nothing will ever that away from you.”

Something at the back of Nao’ki’s mind stabbed at the inside of its head.

“But I couldn’t understand Zik’xue, and because of that he’s… he’s left us and fled the universe…”

Nao’ki could have sworn it felt something change in the indescribable features of the Starman.

“Perhaps it is true that you could not understand Zik’xue enough to make him stay, but you understood him enough to let him look for a place where he would be happier, and in the event that our little new beginning finds her path elsewhere too, you will understand her enough to let her make that decision for herself. Of course, I have no intention of pushing such responsibility on you. If you would like, I may find her another caregiver in another place. The choice is yours, dear Nao’ki. It always is.”

It only paused for only a second.

Reaching forwards, Nao’ki hesitantly took the bubble from the Starman’s hands. It was lighter than it expected, and felt like a curving gust of misty wind against its hands. The sleeping Bright took no notice of the movement, its, no, her, singular visible eye remaining firmly closed.

A quiet breeze had started in the dusky valley, picking up handfuls of sand and tossing them up into the air to glint in the fading starlight like sparks from a fire. The Starman plucked one such wandering grain from its windy course and turned it gently between his fingers. It glowed softly for only a few seconds before bursting into bloom, turning to a white flower spreading its petals, a flower that, in some distant world or other, may have been called a ‘snowdrop’. He then lowered it through the bubble and let it rest atop the Bright’s head as she adjusted the position of her spiraling coils ever so slightly. Almost endearing, this tiny movement was.

“I bide you good luck, my dear Nao’ki, and I believe it may be… time for me to disappear.”

“Your wisdom knows no bounds, O Starman. I am immensely grateful that you would entrust this task to me, and I will fulfill it to the best of my ability!”

Another light, many-layered echoing sound.

“Sometimes I do wish you would dial back the formalities, if only a little.”

He paused for a second.

“And as for Zik’xue… I would not worry for someone who shines as bright as him. The time… will come when he has made a some of his difference and the two of you will meet once more. As for the when, where and how of the matter… I would not want to ruin the surprise now, would I?”

His presence vanished as smoothly as it had come. Nao’ki held the bubble in its arms closer as the ever-rotating ribbon of matter it stood on turned to face away from its star and towards a universe filled with millions of them.

🌌

@gmilfwhore I wrote a thing

Author’s note: pink to lime means it’s sleepy time!

[profiction-edits]

Kin assignment for me maybe? I never looked into kins etc. but now I'm highly curious about that. Highly spiritual, I LOVE astronomy, It's my main hyperfixation and literally my life revolves around it 100% all the time, my trips are planned with Bortle Scale and stargazing in mind. LOVE to express my femininity in a more mature and nurturing way, especially by gifting people who I love or having tea parties with them. Hopeless romantic, really, always daydreaming about love. I'm also a writer and artist, sometimes I play games but when the atmosphere is too toxic I leave IMMEDIATELY. I'm also highly sensitive to ambients and that's why I tend to prefer everything in my life to be "pretty" in some sort of way, house decorations, art, etc. Curious about what you're going to come up with, hehe!

I’m giving you Olympia from Pokémon!

Her gym is themed around galaxies, and she wears star earrings. She’s known as "The person who makes paths with starlight.”

She has psychic powers that are made stronger by the zero-gravity space nature of her gym.

She’s described in-game as “beauteous,” and her outfit is topped off with a cape that looks like the night sky inside.

[ciel-is-weird]

sigh got a new musical hyperfixation and LIKE CLOCKWORK discovered a new kin

sup yall it’s me.

the caboose.

[gods-for-a-dollar]

Got kin assigned The Deep. Started watching The Boys. Quickly expressed distaste for Starlight. Quickly ate my words.

[pavitrtimes]

Magical Birthday Scrolls: A Creative Spell for Summoning Wishes from Indian Celebrities

In a realm where birthdays are not merely celebrated but enchanted with the dust of stardom, the quest for a spellbinding element leads to the discovery of a magical pathway - how to get birthday wishes from Indian celebrities. Imagine a scroll, unfurling with a message not scripted by ink, but voiced in the melodious tones or vibrant expressions of India's cherished stars. This narrative delves into the art of conjuring a birthday video from a celebrity, transforming your celebration from the mundane to the extraordinary.

The Gathering of Stars

Embark upon this enchanting journey by summoning your constellation of beloved celebrities. Let your quill hover over parchment, drafting a list that transcends realms - be it the cinematic universe, the athletic arenas, the lyrical forests, or the literary heavens. This gathering of stars forms the celestial body from which your birthday wish will be granted.

Charting the Celestial Map

To navigate this quest, one must seek the celestial map - the online platforms that serve as portals between fans and their luminary idols. These mystical domains are where dreams intertwine with reality, offering a catalogue of stars willing to bestow their blessings through personalized video messages, thus revealing the secret to how to get birthday wishes from Indian celebrities.

Casting the Request Spell

Upon pinpointing the star whose light you wish to capture in your birthday scroll, the next incantation involves casting the request spell. This spell is most potent when whispered into the portal with ample time before the day of celebration, for the stars too need moments away from their celestial duties to craft your message.

Weaving Personal Enchantments

For a scroll that resonates with the very essence of the recipient, imbuing it with personal enchantments is key. When dispatching your request to the star, embellish it with tales, desires, and the unique spark of the individual whose day you wish to illuminate. This not only guides the star in their message but also weaves a connection between realms, making the birthday video from a celebrity a tapestry of personal touch and starlight.

The Revelation Ritual

The moment of revealing the birthday scroll to its intended is a ritual in itself. Should it unfurl amidst a gathering of kith and kin, under the glow of twilight, or in a serene moment shared between stars and earthly beings? The setting of this revelation is a canvas, awaiting your brush to paint the perfect picture of awe and delight.

Preserving the Celestial Wishes

Unlike the ephemeral nature of time, a birthday video from a celebrity is a piece of eternity, captured and preserved. It becomes a relic of joyous moments, a beacon of cherished memories, and a testament to the spellbinding adventure embarked upon to secure such a treasure.

Sharing the Stardust

In the afterglow of celebration, sharing the stardust contained within the birthday scroll with the world not only multiplies the joy but also sends forth gratitude into the universe, reaching the star whose message adorned the day. It is a circle of joy, unbroken and radiant, echoing through the social realms.

In Conclusion

So ends our tale of how to weave a spell to receive a birthday message from the pantheon of Indian stars. It's a journey of imagination, connection, and the magic of making a birthday not just a day marked by time, but a timeless celebration adorned with the warmth and dazzle of India's brightest stars. On this adventure, remember, it's not just about securing a birthday video from a celebrity, but about crafting a moment of wonder, cherished across the ages.

[gobboguy]

Chapter 57: On the Verge of Home

Under the faint light of the moon, outside the fortified walls of the city, the Orcs gathered in a circle, surrounded by the wilderness. Count Edon had provided them with gifts of food and supplies, signaling their departure. Gelbeg, their stalwart leader, stood tall, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Count Edon may think he's using us to strike at his enemies," Gelbeg began, his voice carrying the weight of his people's hopes, "but mark my words, we'll do more than that. We'll make a home of this land, a place where Orcs thrive, where our strength and honor are respected."

Saera, her eyes reflecting the starlight, stepped forward, her voice choked with emotion. "Gelbeg speaks true," she declared, her hands gripping her son's shoulders, pride shining in her gaze. "He's led us well, and we'll build a future for Orcs here, a future where we're not just conquerors but builders, creators, and defenders. Gelbeg, our leader, our strength, we follow you, and we believe in the vision you have for our people!"

The Orcs roared in agreement, their cheers echoing through the night, the promise of a new homeland filling their hearts with hope and determination.

Under the ink-black sky, illuminated only by the fading embers of a dying campfire, the Orcs assembled in eager anticipation. The night air was thick with the musky scent of sweat, leather, and the smoky residue of the dwindling fire. The distant chirping of crickets mingled with the low murmur of voices, creating a hauntingly beautiful symphony that resonated through the wilderness.

Gelbeg, their revered Warchief, stood tall amidst his people, his silhouette flickering in the dying light. His voice, gravelly yet commanding, cut through the night's stillness. "Orcs," he called, his words ringing with authority, "listen well to the words of your Warchief."

The Orcs hushed, their eyes fixated on Gelbeg, waiting with bated breath for his guidance. The night seemed to hold its breath, the world silent and expectant as Gelbeg began to speak, his words weaving tales of strength, honor, and the promise of a new homeland for their kind. The embers glowed brighter, casting a warm, amber light upon the faces of the Orcs, their expressions ranging from fierce determination to quiet reverence. In that moment, beneath the vast canopy of stars, the Orcs found solace and unity in the presence of their fearless leader, Gelbeg, the embodiment of their hopes and dreams.

The night was alive with the crackling energy of a thousand fires, each one casting flickering shadows upon the determined faces of the Orcish tribe. Their camp, nestled beneath the vast expanse of a starlit sky, hummed with anticipation. Gelbeg, their esteemed Warchief, stood tall, his silhouette outlined against the radiant backdrop of a million shimmering stars.

"My fellow Orcs, my kin and warriors," Gelbeg's voice resonated, carrying the weight of generations and the fervor of countless battles. "Tonight, beneath the stars that have witnessed our trials and triumphs, I bring tidings that shall ignite the fire of our spirits!"

Around him, the Orcs gathered, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of what was to come. Gelbeg's words hung heavy in the air, pregnant with promise and possibility. A murmur of anticipation rippled through the crowd, the restless energy of warriors ready for their next conquest.

"Count Edon, the Snaga Lord of this realm, has seen in us what we see in ourselves: the unyielding might, the undying spirit, the unmatched bravery that defines us as Orcs!" Gelbeg's voice boomed, carrying his words to the farthest corners of the camp. "In recognition of our strength, he has granted us a land, a patch of earth on the border of the Dwarvish kingdom of Bhia."

The announcement hung in the air, a momentous revelation that held the power to shape their future. The Orcs exchanged glances, their tusks glinting in the firelight as they comprehended the magnitude of the offer.

"But this land is not merely soil and stone; it is a promise, a covenant between us and our Snaga allies," Gelbeg continued, his eyes blazing with conviction. "In return for this sacred ground, we are entrusted with a vital task: to guard this border, to shield these lands from the foul claws of the Dwarves, and to wreak havoc upon any incursion they dare to make!"

The impact of his words resonated deeply within the hearts of his people. A surge of pride and determination coursed through the camp, uniting them in a singular purpose.

"We, the proud children of Mog, have long yearned for a place to call our own, a land where our banners fly high, where our clans multiply, and where our people thrive," Gelbeg declared, his voice unwavering. "Is this the land we have dreamed of? I do not know, my brethren. But I do know this: as long as there is an Orc breathing, we will carve our destiny into this land!"

The air vibrated with the collective resolve of the Orcish tribe. Their fists clenched, their chests swelled with pride, and in that moment, they were not just a group of warriors; they were a nation, bound by blood and purpose.

"This is not merely a piece of land; it is a promise, a testament to our enduring spirit, to our unyielding will," Gelbeg proclaimed, his words echoing across the camp. "We, the Orcs, shall make this soil ours, and in the face of any challenge, we shall stand tall!"

A deafening roar erupted from the Orcs, a primal, thunderous symphony of determination. The night trembled with their fervor, the sound of their unity reverberating through the very earth beneath their feet.

"Tonight, my brothers and sisters, we feast not only on the spoils of battle but on the promise of a homeland, a sanctuary for our kind," Gelbeg's eyes glinted with unwavering determination. "Let this fire burn in our hearts, a beacon guiding us to a future where Orcs stand proud and unbroken! For Mog! For our people! For the land we shall claim as our own!"

As the echoes of his words faded into the night, the Orcs stood as one, their hearts ablaze with the promise of a homeland. The stars above seemed to shimmer with approval, bearing witness to the birth of a new chapter in Orcish history.

[fromthemouthofkings]

Now that the poll is over, I will share my thoughts. I think the Dark elves are super normal about it. The Grey elves too, they're probably fine. They have songs celebrating all the seasons, calling in the turning of the year, honoring the fallow times, whatever.

The Noldor in Beleriand, I imagine, are making art about the ice/snow/the Crossing of Helcaraxë left right and center, full of traua-fuled angst, but I think it is seen as at least mildly edgy, kind of shameful, not something that good/true art is supposed to be made about, not something that should be shared in polite company.

Meanwhile, I think the faithful of Aman Do Not make art about the cold, At All. I think it would be seen as deeply shocking, maybe even a little bit suspicious, to express an interest in any form of ice. Some, perhaps those who turned back before the Crossing? might make art about it, I think, but I think it would be something kept private and hidden, and only shared with close friends and kin, so as not to appear to the rest of Aman that you have doubts/that you think Melkor/Fëanor/the rebels were right. (The Valar for their part are probably gently baffled and amused by this position, if anything.)

I imagine this would all calm down a bit after the War of Wrath, but how long would it take for the stigma/trauma to fully fade, if at all? Like, by the Third Age I'd imagine that most elves are perfectly happy to sing a little "Let It Snow" now and again, but there are a few hold outs in Rivendell, like Aegogogolfin (formerly of Fingolfin's host) who hears Bilbo caroling merrily over the Yuletide and goes >:( in my day, we sang odes about nice, healthful things like the starlight and the sea >:(

I have a question. Do we think that First Age elves would have made a lot of art (jewelry, sculpture, architecture, song) with ice and snow motifs, or do we think that would be considered too edgy? On the one hand, it is a nice beautiful natural feature, but on the other, I have to imagine that the North/cold was pretty firmly associated with Morgoth/Angband within their symbology, and that especially the Noldor—and especially especially those who didn't make it onto the ships—would have some pretty traumatic associations with the cold.

Feel free to explain your answer in the tags. I'm interested to see what people think 👀