#dulcimer plan

[dysphvric]

Farmhouse Entry Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[gpptraining]

Deck - Roof Extensions Deck - mid-sized country backyard deck idea with a fire pit and a roof extension

[euroskum]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[robertomusci]

Deck - Farmhouse Deck Inspiration for a mid-sized cottage backyard deck remodel with a fire pit and a roof extension

[vintagelivejournalrss]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[gallifreyfallsnomorre]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[jimbosplaidshirt]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[youknowyourefromsingaporewhen]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[ramosreport]

Farmhouse Entry

Mid-sized farmhouse porcelain tile and gray floor entryway photo with gray walls and a metal front door

[hanayoyos]

Dining Room - Farmhouse Dining Room

[alittleveggies]

Dining Room Kitchen Dining

[the-real-housewives-of-waterdeep]

The Rain Song (Gale x F!Reader)

Rating: Mature; NSFW

Pairing: Gale/Female bard Tav (Reader POV)

Summary: Gale always enjoys visiting you while you compose even when your compositions don't always come out the way you plan. The two of you decide to write your own duet amidst the Tarsakh rain that falls outside of your tent.

Tarsakh. The season of storms left the environs surrounding the camp smelling of petrichor, damp stones, and ozone. Everyone had grown accustomed to trekking through the seasonal rain, both drizzles and more substantial showers.

The perpetual dampness chilled you to the bone and, by nightfall, you had long since retreated to your tent. Although it was poorly insulated, you could at least find a dry change of clothes and a few heavy cloaks to nestle yourself in while you toyed with your dulcimer.

Gale liked to visit you when you wrote music. He found it soothing, even when your chords clashed and you groaned in frustration from composer’s block.

“I come bearing an additional garment for your warmth, my love,” Gale announced with panache as he entered the tent. He brought with him a thick woolen tunic that he found while scouting. He draped in around your shoulders, taking care not to disrupt the positioning of your dulcimer.

You looked up and smiled sweetly. He had broken your concentration, but it was no matter. His visits were worth a break from your intense focus. “Thank you for braving the rain to see me,” you replied appreciatively. Gale was always so thoughtful; he knew how chilled you got in colder weather and never wanted you to experience discomfort. Occasionally, he fussed over you a little too much, but it was never unwelcome.

Gale knelt beside you and tenderly draped the cloak around your shoulders, kissing you just beneath your earlobe. His nose jostled your earring, causing you to shiver responsively to his touch.

“It is my pleasure, always,” he murmured in your ear.

You giggled inwardly and set your dulcimer on your lap to reach behind Gale’s head to stroke his hair. You could feel him exhale though his nose, practically purring at your touch.

“I do apologize for interrupting your practice, my love,” he continued. “I wonder, perhaps, if I may borrow your attention.”

You groaned softly, a natural reflex to the gentle baritone of his voice. You chuckled, tilting your head back towards Gale. “I suppose I can oblige you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said enticingly as he pressed his lips to your neck once more. “We could compose something of a duet together. What do you say?”

You snorted. “You’re corny,” you teased, “but I do tire of playing alone.”

“Then you shall play alone no longer,” Gale replied as a smirk played at his lips, which began to travel from your earlobe to your collar bone, following the shape of your taut neck muscles.

You moved the dulcimer from your lap as Gale’s muscular arms reached around you. One hand came to rest on your breast while the other arm wrapped around your waist.

“So soft, so lovely,” Gale smirked, easing you back into his embrace.

You looked up at him, seeing his earth-brown eyes twinkle with a mixture of arousal and affection, love and carnal energy. Your lips parted gently in anticipation of a kiss.

Gale grazed his lips over yours teasingly. You could feel the warmth of his breath over the sensitive skin surrounding your mouth, causing you to shudder in response. You stifled a whine of frustration and Gale pressed his lips to yours, smirking through the kiss.

“You’re such a tease,” you whispered hoarsely as his lips separated from yours.

“And yet, you always come back for more.”

You carded your fingers through his hair. “I don’t think you came here to listen to me practice, did you?” you purred as a smile played at the corners of your mouth.

“Perhaps not.”

Gale lowered you onto the bedroll, stroking your cheek. “How in Toril and all of the planes of existence could I resist the song of my muse and lover?”

“I’m not that skilled of a bard,” you giggled, rolling your eyes playfully as Gale straddled you. He rested one knee beside your hip and laid the other between your thighs.

“And still you lure me in without fail,” Gale murmured, his voice as smooth as fine leather. His grey-streaked hair hung loose around his face as he planted his hands above your shoulders. He smelled of old parchment, ink, roses, and petrichor. His hair was still damp from making the dash across camp from his tent to yours.

Gale leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. He sucked gently at your lower lip until you opened your mouth to allow his tongue to enter. Your tongues eagerly explored each other’s mouths, as if it were the first time that the two of you had ever kissed. Your fingers found their way up his neck and into his hair, carding through it with care. Your other hand slid underneath his tunic, feeling the warmth of his skin against the subtle roughness of your callused fingertips.

Gale’s breath hitched as you reached beneath his clothes, lifting the tunic off of his body. He pulled his lips back just enough to where you could feel the warmth of his breath, teasing you affectionately as his hands began to wrest your shirt free from your torso. Your chest was exposed to the cool night air that permeated the poorly insulated tent, causing your nipples to harden.

Gale took note of this and smirked inwardly. “Did you catch a chill, my love?” he purred, dragging a finger along your chest until he reached your nipple.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice growing husky with enjoyment. Your back arched responsively to his touch. “Your hands are warm.”

“I have something warmer still.”

You pursed your lips into a firm line, stifling a smirk. You were tempted to tease Gale about being corny again, but the thought was quickly interrupted by the sensation of Gale’s mouth against your nipple, forming a gentle suction between his lips and tongue. He lapped at it gently before trailing kisses down to your hip. He slid your tights and underwear down over your thighs, gently setting them aside.

“Get back up here,” you instructed, nodding him back towards your face. Gale’s eyes flashed in recognition of your request.

“With pleasure,” he replied. His voice was low and soft yet still dripping with carnal hunger. He planted soft kisses up your calf and thigh, once more returning to your hip.

Gale eagerly slid his own trousers and briefs off, setting them next to yours. “If I may,” he began, “I would suggest a reversal of our positions. I believe it will be more comfortable.”

A half smirk alit on your lips. “As you wish.”

Gale laid down beside you, beckoning you towards him. His eyes glittered with excitement of what was to come. He subtly licked his lips, an allusion of what was to come.

You carefully straddled Gale’s face in a reversed position which allowed both of you equal access to each other. His cock, already erect and ready, pulsed eagerly in anticipation of your touch.

For all of your carefulness, Gale was growing impatient. The scent of you, the shape of your lips and their fullness were intoxicating; you were spread on display for him and he wanted to enjoy you. He whimpered and gripped your hips, his typical show of eagerness.

You smirked to yourself. He was always so antsy, so keen to taste you. If you weren’t so eager for his touch you’d tease him further, but tonight you were just as hungry as he was.

You leaned forward and came to rest on your forearms, just close enough to Gale’s thick cock to give it a little caress with your tongue. Your warm breath against his bare skin was the final straw, however.

Gale grabbed your hips with more force, lapping his tongue over the outside of your pussy. You shuddered at the sensation as your breath caught in your throat. You preferred to take your time usually, but neither of you had the patience.

Starting from the base, you dragged your tongue languidly up the shaft of Gale’s member. You felt his body tense beneath you, something that always brought you a sense of pride. He moaned against the lips of your pussy as your tongue caressed his cock.

Once you reached the smooth, delicate head of Gale’s cock, you flicked it teasingly with your tongue before taking it into your mouth. He moaned once more as his voice adopted a more strained quality reserved for moments of pleasure.

As you attentively created gentle suction on his cock, running it along the roof of your mouth, you stopped short and gasped. Gale had curved his tongue around the entirety of your inner lips, cradling them as he grabbed your asscheeks. You uttered a ragged whimper of enjoyment as Gale spread you wide.

His the rhythm of his licks and caresses accelerated as he delved deeper. Gale loved this part the most — the part where he got to tease you before sending you into the depths of pleasure. The tip of his tongue traced the soft pink delta of your clitoral hood. Your whimpers crescendoed into whines and mewls as he edged around your clit, giving just enough pressure to stimulate without overwhelming you. Even still, the pleasant heat of mere arousal began to burn harder and faster, stoked into a veritable fire of pleasure.

You hadn’t forgotten about Gale’s enjoyment, however. Even amidst the pleasure he gave you, you maintained a consistent tempo, stroking his cock with one hand while your mouth did most of the work. You alternated between suction, pressure, depth, and gently teasing the frenulum of his cock with your tongue.

As your tongue slid over the head of his cock, Gale let out a breathy and desperate moan. “Tav…” he gasped, his usual baritone voice now sounding strained and frenzied. “By the Weave…”

Your rhythms managed to sync as the two of you moved in concert, your vocalizations growing more desperate. You could feel your climax rapidly approaching. The sensation was almost too intense.

“Tav,” Gale breathed desperately. “Tav, I’m — I’m about to —“

Before Gale could finish, he let out a deep groan as cum erupted from his cock, filling your eager mouth. You received it so gratefully, swallowed it so perfectly.

Gale wasn’t done with you, however. You weren’t finished, so neither was he. He continued to lick around the inner vestibule of your pussy, sliding his tongue inside of you for extra measure.

Your moans grew more plaintive, bordering on cries of desperation. “Gale… Oh, Gods…” You struggled to stifle yourself, dampen the impending moan signaling completion, but you could not restrain yourself with Gale’s lips still sucking at your clit.

Your cries of pleasure came out in pitchy, staccato bursts, eventually becoming a low pitched growl of satisfaction as your climax faded.

You dismounted Gale and flopped down beside him, both of you sweating and dazed. Gale bore the same self-satisfied smirk he often displayed after pleasuring you so extensively. You leaned in and kissed him tenderly, feeling the lingering wetness of your pussy on his lips. His scent harmonized with yours to create its own aroma of love and lust.

“The song of our bodies and the song of the rain,” you mused, staring at the tent beams.

Gale exhaled softly and pulled you into his arms. He kissed the crown of your head affectionately before resting his chin on your head. “There is nothing quite so beautiful.”

Beyond the sounds of your breathing and your still-racing heart, you could hear the soft Tarsakh rains plinking against the waxed canvas of your tent.

[keepingeahalive]

Lizzie Hearts Headcanons

Her full name is Princess Elizabeth Bicycle Hearts.

Her official title is Princess of Hearts, but she prefers to be “Queen and King, best of both hearts!”

Her favorite tea is cardamum. 

She likes to use nonce words in her speech.

Lizzie has her own Itsy shop where she sells her dresses.

She was mad at Daring for cheating on her with Duchess, but she realizes that they never made anything official. They didn’t communicate well about their dating situation other than keeping it a secret. After cooling down, she wanted to talk to him. But he ran away from her because he was afraid she was going to chop off his head. They’re on good terms now, and she still has some feelings for him, but they both agree that they’re better as friends and fellow Royals. 

She, like the rest of the Wonderland refugees, has a close relationship with the Mad Hatter. Having been her guardian for several years, he developed a fatherly relationship with her and Kitty. Lizzie plans to knight him when she becomes Queen. 

The Mad Hatter and Lizzie’s mother have a complicated relationship. She once planned to have him executed for “murdering the time”, but she has since pardoned him because he took Lizzie in. He is now set for execution again, this time for “murdering the space”. Lizzie plans to pardon him for this as well.

Do not mistake her for the Red Queen’s daughter. Then she really will cut off your head.

She loves botany and horticulture. She personally tended to the gardens outside her castle in Wonderland (to make sure all her roses were red) and the Wonderland Grove to stay closer to home. She also tends to the Garden of Live Flowers. 

She’s constantly losing her voice from yelling so much. She has Maddie or Kitty on speed dial for when she needs tea, because putting tea in a thermos would be blasphemy.

She hates Duchess’s trumpeter swan, Pirouette. She may be a morning person, but she doesn’t appreciate being woken up when everyone else is still asleep. She doesn’t say anything for Duchess’s sake, but she is this close to turning that swan into a croquet mallet.

Lizzie has a little brother named Timmy, and he would annoy her to no end. After fleeing Wonderland and leaving him behind, she found herself missing his annoyances, and chasing him around the castle. 

She once built an entire house of cards out of the Card Soldiers when she was nine. Unfortunately, a strong gust of wind blew them away. They were all found eventually.

She had a childhood crush on Alistair. 

Of the three who took refuge in Ever After with the Mad Hatter, Lizzie had the most trouble adapting to her new environment. She felt guilty for leaving her family and kingdom behind. She sometimes has nightmares about her home’s suffering and her loved ones blaming her for leaving them. 

She has a musical side to her that she never shows people. She can play the dulcimer, the calliope, the glass harmonica, and the hurdy-gurdy.

She takes competition very seriously, especially croquet. It is Wonderland’s official sport, and she will not see anything less that perfection and victory from her family’s sport. 

She and her mother are the owners of the vorpal sword. The original White Knight used it to defeat the Jabberwocky the first time and left it in the Queen of Hearts’s care. It is now only used for knighting ceremonies and slicing cakes.

@janellemeap

[annemarieyeretzian]

bell’s hells planning a party for the cursed skeleton pirates,,, chet setting up a caricature station,,, imogen casting colorful dancing lights for party lighting,,, laudna taking her red thread and leftover fabric and bones and making garlands,,, fearne playing her dulcimer and her pan flute,,, fresh cut grass recording fearne’s music and remixing it,,, fresh cut grass baking brownies,,, imogen setting up as a fortune teller,,, orym suggesting a games table and laudna suggesting prizes and fearne saying she has a ton of stuff they can offer for prizes,,, laudna setting up to do face painting,,, ashton providing alcohol,,, orym using seedling to create a vine they can use as a limbo line,,, I love them so

[dustedmagazine]

Water Damage — In E (12XU)

Anyone who plays guitar or bass is familiar with the key of E. It’s the lowest string in standard tuning, so if you’re planning on jamming, E is a pretty safe bet to get the blood racing and the air waves humming. On their new 80-minute, four-sided album In E, Texas instrumental noise-rock collective Water Damage explore various grinding permutations of the key of E, recorded live to tape. The result is a seething, sense-obliterating squall, to which the listener must willingly submit.

With the Velvet Underground’s seminal White Light / White Heat as an obvious precursor, opener “Reel E” features violin as the main texture of variance, sawing and screaming over the churn of electric guitar, bass and drums, all throbbing in the red. There are several minutes of respite at the start of “Reel EE” as the bass and drums slam out a minimalist groove before a wave of guitar feedback sweeps up the remainder of the track’s frequency range. There’s more breathing room again on “Reel EEE,” with some almost-pretty dulcimer glimmering in the mix at points. And finale “Ladybird” is a cover of a song by Shit & Shine, featuring indecipherable vocals that sound like they’re being emitted by a broken radio.

Though it’s difficult to discern the individual contributions of the 11 listed players — including Thor Harris (Swans) and Jonathan Horne (Jana Horn) —  that’s beside the point. What matters here is the collective maelstrom, the saturated tape, the surrender to the void. If you’re in the mood to lose yourself in the sound of a jam-room burning to the ground under the intense pile-driving weight of volume and distortion, look no further.

Tim Clarke

[lordgrimwing]

Friends And Family #06

Rain drummed against the roof in a steady rumble. Outside the old and wavy glass of the window panes, a summer storm drenched the land in sheets of rain. Grasses and brush not flattened by the downpour danced in the wind. The creaking of the trees couldn’t be heard over the wind and rain, and the heavy clouds forced the day into a premature dusk so forest was hardly visible beyond the yard.

Elros sat cross-legged on the rug next to Elrond and Celebrimbor, elbow on his knees and chin propped up on his hands. He disliked storms like this. He no longer had nightmares about the storm that swallowed his parents when storms raged outside, possibly because he couldn’t fall asleep with all the noise. At least the rain and wind were bad enough today to keep most everyone else inside too. 

Elrond leaned his head against his shoulder and yawned. “I’m bored,” He murmured.

Celegorm sat in a chair next to the fire, taking advantage of the light it cast to whittle away at a block of hardwood that was starting to look like an animal. He nudged Amrod with his bare foot.

The redhead looked up from the peas he was shelling into a wide bowl. “No,” He said, knowing exactly what his older brother was conveying. “I’m doing the peas. If Mae and Pa survive this and make it back home, I’m not going to be the one he accuses of having idle hands, again.”

“Yeah, we’re busy.” Amras agreed after swallowing a mouthful of peas.

Celebrimbor elbowed Elrond. “Sheesh, not so loud next time. Are you trying to get us put to work? This is the longest I’ve sat down all week! Pa’s had me digging out a spot for the new kiln so much I think he’s decided I’m some kind of mole. I didn’t think that’s what Papaw meant when he said I could start working with him at the forge.”

He glanced furtively toward the kitchen where his father was sharpening and cleaning an assortment of knives, from heavy ones used to butcher animals to the tiny, curved blade Nerdanel used to unpick stitches (usually when it was time to unhem clothes as the three children grew up into their uncles’ hand-me-downs). He sent him scouring the house for an hour to find any lost knives that somebody forgot to return to their proper places. Luckily, Curufin gave no indication that he was listening to them.

Maglor walked out of his and Maedhros’ bedroom. His braids, done in two loose lines down either side of his head, were still damp from his dash to and from the barn to tie the doors and window shutters closed to prevent the wind from blowing them open. He'd changed to dry clothes that gave every indication that he planned to spend the rest of the day relaxing. He had the soaked shirt and pants draped over an arm. Dragging a chair over from the table, he joined his brothers by the fire. 

“Ma wants those for supper.” He reminded Amras as he laid the clothes over the back of the chair to dry.

The redheads looked at each other.

“Shell faster.” Said the younger twin.

“Eat slower.” Suggested the other. 

Maglor shook his head and took his fiddle and bow down from the mantle above the hearth. He looked down at the children on the rug, “What are you three doing?”

Elros shrugged.

“Nothing,” Elrond said.

Celebrimbor groaned. “You’re the worst,” He muttered, standing and mentally preparing to be put to work around the house.

“Well then,” Maglor continued. “Brimby, since you’re up, bring the music box out here. This kind of weather calls for some entertainment.”

Finding this task far less onerous than what he expected, Celebrimbor hurried off to do as bidden. Maglor leaned against the wall and began testing the tune of the old instrument. Elrond and Elros moved over to sit by his feet. 

“Can I play the dulcimer?” Elros asked, perking up from the slump he’s been in since the clouds rolled in.

“Certainly,” The musician began sawing out a simple tune to warm up the fiddle and the audience. 

Celebrimbor returned then with the box Maglor kept his collection of instruments in to avoid them getting lost or broken in the often boisterous home. He’d already claimed the pair of joined wooden spoons Curufin carved a few years ago to replace the pair ruined by one of Celegorm’s half-feral dogs after someone—Celebrimbor—forgot the instrument outside. He left the box in the middle of the half circle around the fireplace. 

Elrond and Elros came over to claim their favorite instruments. While they were distracted, the youngest child stole Elrond’s spot closest to the warm bricks around the fire.

The kitchen door banged open and a sopping-wet Maedhros and Fëanor came in with an angry wail of rain-soaked wind. The eldest son’s thick hair was plastered to his face and back as though he’d gone swimming fully clothed. Their father didn’t look any better, summer linen shirt clinging to his arms and chest and clutching the satchel of tools in a white-knuckled grip. 

Celegorm looked up from his whittling as they entered. Amrod and Amras kept their intense focus on the shrinking pile of peapods. Curufin paused sharpening long enough to glance over at the pair. Maglor lifted his bow in greeting, letting his young accompaniment take over for a few moments.

“How was it?” He asked.

“Wet,” His father answered laconically, dripping all the way to Nerdanel's and his room. The door closed with a bang behind him.

“That bad?” Maglor asked his older brother.

Maedhros nodded. “You know Pa.”

They were not prepared for this degree of downpour when they left to check the charms and sigils placed at important locations around the homestead and other areas and trails the family frequented. Nerdanel warned they could expect rain in the afternoon, but Fëanor was confident they would return well before that. 

They had not. Several charms needed to be repaired, the feathers and string worn away by the weather and small, nibbling animals. Then Maedhros’ large gelding became oddly spooked by something hidden in a dark thicket. After investigating the spot and finding nothing out of the ordinary, Fëanor insisted on building a basic sign to keep foul presences away until he could craft a proper charm to block the beast from its newest foothold on the mountain. The rain came as Maedhros hung the twine and bone charm high in a tree. The horses made their displeasure with the turn of events clear on the ride back to the barn, the patriarch muttering with them.

Fëanor did not like getting wet.

His hair leaving a thin stream of water behind him, Maedhros sloshed across the main room to his bedroom to change. “I like how that’s sounding,” He added over his shoulder, nodding to the fiddle as he disappeared to get dry clothes. 

“There’s more where it came from!” Maglor called after him before turning his attention back to the song. He tapped his foot to help the children keep time with him.

Amrod drummed his fingers on the bowl. Amras shelled peas in rhythm. Celegorm murmured his version of the lyrics as the wooden dog took shape in his hands.  

Maedhros came back wearing only his damp underpants, wet boots held tightly in his hand and dripping clothes thrown over his other arm. Clearly having the same idea as Maglor, he tossed the clothes over the back of a chair and then carried the chair over to the fire by slipping his arm between the slats in the back. Celebrimbor scrambled aside to make room for him and almost dropped the musical spoons. The boots went on the hot bricks, though not so near the flames as to risk damage. In no hurry to leave the warmth of the fire or the companionship, he sat between Elros and Celegorm, long legs filling up the space as he crossed them.

The music picked up as they settled down. Celebrimbor caught the rhythm again after giving a few spoon taps at the wrong time. Elros leaned his shoulder against Maedhros’s side as he strummed the dulcimer’s strings and picked out an occasionally offkey accompaniment to the fiddle. The large elf smiled and wrapped an arm around him, careful not to bump the instrument with the end of his arm. He combed out small tangles from his hair with his fingers.

The music bounced along.

“Curu,” Celegorm called, having run out of his crude version of the song. He tossed the block of wood at his younger brother after he didn’t look up when called. 

Curufin rubbed his head and shot the blond a mildly peeved expression.

“Get over here.” 

Celegorm skillfully caught the rag his brother balled up and threw before leaving the knife sharpening behind. Tucking his knife into his breast pocket, he unfolded the oily fabric and laid it out on his knee. Smirking, he patted the knee and looked up at Curufin, inviting him to take a seat. Uninterested, Curufin slapped the back of his head where he kept his hair shorn close to the skin and leaned against the way instead, arms folded across his chest.

Celegorm put on a hurt look. Curufin threw the wooden dog at him. Amrod and Amras snorted. Celegorm ducked. The dog bounced across the floor, the noise the closest thing it would ever make to an actual bark.

To his eternal relief, Celebrimbor was too busy tapping his spoons on Elrond’s toes to see his uncle blow a kiss at his father. He finally stopped when Elrond kicked his hand and he dropped the spoons onto the bearskin rug.

“Ow,” He complained.

Elrond raised his eyebrows to question why the nine-year-old was surprised by the consequences of his actions. He might have said something too, but his mouth was occupied with his tin whistle. 

 He retrieved the musical spoons and settled down again into the rhythm. Soon, the uncles were all singing along to the song. 

Suddenly, Amras jumped to his feet. He grabbed his twin’s hands and hauled him up to his feet too, pushing the bowls of peas out of the way with the tip of one shoe. 

“Come on!” He exclaimed and tugged his brother into a dance. The hard soles of their shoes stomped and tapped against the floorboards, keeping beat with the music and adding their own flare to it. 

Celegorm whistled at them and began to clap in rhythm.

After a few seconds, the cellar doors slammed open (Fëanor added an entrance down into the cellar from the kitchen during one of his episodes of nearly unstoppable energy and questionable late-night decision-making). Caranthir’s head and shoulders appeared as he climbed up the ladder. 

“Land-o’-goshen!” He shouted at the ruckus. “What is going on up here?” 

He and Nerdanel went down into the cellar to take stock of her supply of dried plants and fruits for making salves and teas. Judging from the half-forgotten mushroom he had in one hand and the dirt sprinkled across his hair and shoulders, he’d been checking the light-sensitive mushroom log just below them when the twins began dancing.

Nerdanel came up after him, equally as dusty. 

Caranthir looked like he was trying to stay annoyed at his siblings, despite the levity brightening up the gloomy day. He scowled and shook his head, dirt tumbling down from his loose hair. He tried, but when Amrod waved at him to join the dance, he came after only a moment’s hesitation, discarding the mushroom cap on the table.

Nerdanel smiled to see all her children and grandchildren gathered around the fire, healthy and laughing and happy. There had been years where she feared she might lose one or more of them to the dangers of the mountain. There had been some very hard times, times she couldn’t even talk to her husband or find support from him, so intent was he in the childish belief that everything would be fine, that his sons just needed to rest, and that there was nothing, no injury, she could not heal. Somehow, though, they managed to survive year after year—not untouched or unchanged by what happened but alive and together.

Speaking of her husband, she soon noticed Fëanor’s absence. No doubt he’d tucked himself away in their bedroom to work on something and hadn’t even noticed the noise from the main room. Maedhros would not be so relaxed if anything happened while they were in the trees.

Shaking her head a little, she walked to their room and slipped inside.

As she suspected, she found Fëanor at his desk, scribbling in one of his many notebooks. The clothes he’d dressed in that morning were discarded near the door and he sat wrapped in a blanket made from the wool of their oldest sheep (the ewe was a decrepit thing now, her teeth worn down to nubs, her fleece patchy and thin over her bony body. She’d be gone before winter, either on her own or because they would not let her suffer the cold given the state she was in. Nerdanel was surprised he hadn’t taken care of her months ago; Fëanor did not usually allow the animals to linger, fading from life for this long. Celegorm’s dogs met a swift end if they became too ill—they rarely grew old—and the others were no different. She could not guess why he kept putting it off this time).

“Fëanor,” She began.

He raised a hand to stall her. “I’m busy.” He said, hunching over his notes. His hair left a damp spot on the blanket.

“They are singing and dancing. Come and join us.”

“I need to write this down. Things are changing. I need to make sense of it, of what and why.” His voice tremored with the beginning of agitation. “It’s changing.”

She walked to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Quickly, before she could see the pages, he closed the notebook and hid it under his hands. No one in the house could make sense of the code he devised for recording these particular thoughts, but he disliked them looking anyway, even for a moment. She brought her other hand to his cheek and slowly he looked up at her. His lips were a thin line across his face, his expression nervous. 

“My dear,” She began again. “We have a brief time before life carries on and takes our sons out again on their journeys. Come with me. Worries and storms will be here when we are done, but for now, there is joy and family, and together we are safe.”

She took one of his narrow hands. He let her guide him to his feet. The blanket slipped down his shoulders, and she adjusted it, tucking in a corner to keep it in place. His free hand, wrapped inside the blanket, clutched at the fabric under his chin. She let her hand linger on his cool cheek for a few moments longer, then pulled it back. They left the room like that, his hand in hers.

Maglor was watching the door when his parents reappeared, the others still caught up in the revelry. His fingers stuttered on the strings and the fiddle squealed as his bow arm jolted. He would have stopped playing, concerned by his father’s drawn face and short stride, but Nerdanel smiled and nodded for him to continue. He did, raising the others’ excitement by jumping into another tune and seeing how long it took the children to catch up to him again. Celebrimbor stumbled along until Elrond helpfully tapped the beat out on his thigh with his foot.

Maedhors rose and grabbed a chair, bringing it back to the group and placing it between Celegorm and Curufin, leaving enough room for a second chair. Nerdanel brought Fëanor to the seat and he sat down without prompting, the tension around his eyes softening. Maedhros brought a chair for her and she settled down to laugh and clap along with her children. This was just as much fun as some of the town hall dances she went to during her youth wandering from town to town with her family. 

She cheered when Amrod grabbed Curufin’s hand and dragged him into the dancing. Broad-shouldered and heavy-footed, he lacked the speed and grace of the twins and Caranthir, but he clonked along slightly offbeat with them with a grin. Soon, he pulled his son up to join him. Celebrimbor muttered something about never getting to just sit around but started dancing, clacking the spoons together on his hip or an upraised palm.

They continued on in that manner until the last of the light faded and the storm blew itself down to a whisper.