#dwelleth

[wiirocku]

Psalm 91:1 (KJV) - He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

[tarninausta]

This is maybe not how it's meant to work but I like unquiet dead, so consider: when Gil-Galad dies, his soul doesn't go to Mandos as it was meant to, but is trapped in Mordor due to Sauron's magic (necromancer and all). It is only when Sauron is defeated and his hold on Mordor broken for good that Gil-Galad passes on to the halls and finds rest.

[scion-of-kings]

𝐆𝐈𝐋 - 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃

LAST HIGH KING OF THE NOLDOR IN EXILE AND OF THE ELVES OF THE WEST

Independent, selective & private portrayal of Gil-galad of Tolkien's legendarium The Silmarillion ft. other works • Headcanon based • Trop friendly Written by Nin • 30s • Est. 2017 Guidelines + verses (mobile edition) • Headcanons • Playlist

[yeslordmyking]

John 5:30 — Today's Verse for Saturday, September 16, 2023

[thestaroffeanor]

But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are.

[kikisrings]

There are people who watch The Rings of Power and don't like Gil-galad and I'm like ????

What do you mean you don't love Gil-galad? Do you know he was an elven king? That of him the harpers sadly sing? And he was the last whose realm was fair and free between the mountains and the sea?! Do you even know that his sword was long and his lance was keen? And his shining helm afar was seen?? And don't get me started on the countless stars of heaven's field that were mirrored in his silver shield!Are you not sad that long ago he rode away? And that where he dwelleth none can say? Do you even care that into darkness fell his star?! In Mordor where the shadows are!

[irisseireth]

I need you all to know that the poem of the Fall of Gil-Galad lives rent free in my head and has since I was at least like, 12.

That is all

[wiirocku]

1 John 4:16 (KJV) - And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him.

[scion-of-kings]

It is not often that the High King indulges his court and sings, but that is something most of Forlond has witnessed at some point or another —they are, after all, in the land of music.

Old Falathrim tunes are his personal favorite, having learnt them from both Círdan and his mother since he was a young boy, but he does know the catchy, lively songs his people keep composing in Lindon, as well as the melodies from Númenor in the days of Aldarion.

Despite his love for music, it is very rare to have him play his harp where someone might listen. That skill is something that brings him back in time to Hithlum, to hazy memories of long winters when his father had been alive and singing softly by his side, and of his grandfather's big hands keeping him upright while he learnt to walk and dance. Consider yourself very lucky if you've seen the High King caress the strings with reverent fingertips.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 17th: Oct 17th: Tolkien | Ramble On - Led Zeppelin | Intelligent a/n: hospital setting, painkillers, post-canon fix-it, eddie & nancy friendship, steddie. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

today's prompt is a lost scene from day 6's prompt, crush:

Nancy figured it out when Eddie was in the hospital, still a little loopy from painkillers and who knows what else.  You were on another planet and couldn’t stop talking about his chest hair, Eddie.

Nancy Wheeler sits in the little white chair next to Eddie Munson’s hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor the only noise keeping her company. Well, that, and the sound of her own voice, softly reading The Fellowship of the Ring while Eddie dozes. 

They’ve taken turns, the older teens and a few of the kids, oscillating back and forth between Max’s room and Eddie’s room to ensure no one is left alone for too long while Wayne and Susan are at work. Hospital bills aren’t cheap and while the government will most likely reimburse them for their troubles, right now, things are tight. 

It’s Nancy’s turn in Eddie’s room tonight, picking up where Wayne’s left off in Eddie’s favorite book. Worn and well-read, the book’s loose spine allows Nancy to let it rest on her thigh as she flips through the pages: 

“But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star, in Mordor where the shadows are," Nancy reads, glancing up when she sees Eddie begin to squirm. 

“Mordor,” Eddie murmurs, his voice slurring a bit from the painkillers. “You know, Led Zeppelin wrote a song with Mordor in it.” 

“Oh, did they?” She’s seen him like this a few times now, barely present but speaking in a stream of consciousness. Sometimes, it’s about Dungeons and Dragons. Sometimes, it’s about music, or books– his underappreciated intelligence shines through even the strongest of IV drugs. 

And sometimes, it’s about Steve. That one had been a surprise at first, but keeps all of his ramblings secret, unsure of what he’s telling the others. It’s best to simply indulge him, she’s learned. He never remembers anyways. 

“Mhm,” he cracks open one eye and grins before he starts to sing. “In the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair.”

Before she can respond, Eddie continues in his drug-addled haze. “In the darkest depths of Mordor, I met Steve. Sweet, sweet Steve. Steve and his chest hair. Ever notice how hairy he is?” 

Nancy shakes her head and purses her lips, bemused. “I did, yeah, I was there, remember?” 

“Nope,” Eddie says with a pop. “But I do remember that jungle he calls a chest.” 

She snorts back a laugh and tries to subtly hide it behind her hand. Eddie doesn't notice, simply stares through half-lidded eyes and falls back against the pillows. 

“But Gollum and the evil one crept up and slipped away with her-er, her-er,” he continues to sing and wax poetic. 

Eddie’s heart monitor begins to speed up. “Where is Steve, actually? Is he okay?” 

Nancy smiles, fond and knowing, and places a hand on top of his. “He’s fine, he’ll be here later.” 

Sometimes, Eddie forgets how much time has passed from that awful day in Forest Hills, that Steve’s healed up and visits three times a week. That sometimes, Steve visits outside of their established rotation, just because. She never begrudges having to remind him though. How could she when she gets to see the relief drip from his face when he hears again that Steve’s okay? 

Eddie lays back again, the measured beats of his heart monitor returning to a comfortable, predictable tempo. Nancy picks the book back up and continues to read until she sees the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the white sheets. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice whispers from the doorway. Nancy turns to see Steve standing there, leaning against the frame. “How’s he holdin’ up?” 

“Hey,” she smiles. “He was a little out of it earlier from the medication, but he’s been asleep for a few minutes now. I’ve just been reading to him, if you wanna pick up where I left off.” 

Nancy closes the book with the ribbon inside to hold the page and stands, clearing the chair for Steve. “He’s all yours.” 

As the steel door closes behind her, she hears Steve’s voice begin reading. 

‘Is there no escape then?’ said Frodo, looking round wildly. ‘If I move I shall be seen and hunted! If I stay, I shall draw them to me!’

Strider laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘There is still hope,’ he said. ‘You are not alone.’

[scion-of-kings]

The world seems to stop when they are like this.

The colours fade and Celebrían shines all the brighter in his arms, and the only sound he can hear, roaring within, is his heart threatening to burst from his chest when she looks at him like that. Every worry and fear seems to ease from his mind when she's close and the comfortable weight of her body draped over his warms his soul.

An arm encircles her waist and tethers her against him as they grow closer, and Gil-galad smiles softly, breathlessly, when their noses brush together. His eyes dart to Celebrían's lips, but the tender touch of her fingers returns his gaze to hers.

“No. I would say you are an equal,” he whispers, leaning forward so his forehead rests against hers. A petal falls over a pale lock trapped between them, and Gil-galad lifts it carefully, looping it around his index as though it were a ring. “Perhaps this should not be the only silver on us.”

For a moment, he cannot believe he has uttered those words, and panic seizes him for a fleeting second. Is he ready for that kind of commitment, he wonders? Is he ready to see silver on his hands instead of only signets and mementos of his ruling? Shaking his head slowly, Gil-galad's free hand cups Celebrían's face reverently, thumb brushing across the soft skin beneath her eyes as he revels in the breath they share just before their lips collide, softly. That intoxicating quality of hers makes him forget where and when and what they are.

“I am sure our architects can manage that feat,” Gil-galad says against her lips in barely a mumble, as though speaking any louder would break the magic of the moment and disturb his train of thought. “We could escape right now; not there, of course. I would fetch flowers to garland you with, if you'd let me.”

The gardens have already seen the joy that they share, but lately that isn't enough.

“What do you say, meleth nîn?” His fingertips gather beneath her chin, leaving a soft caress there. “If your thoughts still wander to that library of yours, we could fetch some books instead.”

𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒  𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐒  𝐈𝐓  𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓  𝐒𝐔𝐍  𝐎𝐅  𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.  she's  witnessed  both  rule  and  stoic  restraint  within  mere  moments  of  each  other,  and  well-deserved  respite  follows.  she  tumbles  along  with  him;  contented  and  flustered  in  one  breath.  ❛  i  would  but  it's  hardly  an  obscure  request  for  a  king  to  wear  a  crown.  ❜

her  hands  which  still  feel  the  gentle  embrace  of  lips  adjust  the  curated  flora  atop  his  head.  she  finds  his  gaze  with  gentle  reverence,  a  smile  adorning  features  with  such  ease  in  his  presence.  tint  of  cheeks  darkening  with  it.  ❛  well  i'm  not  a  king.  ❜  she  teased.  certain  mischief  finds  the  quirk  of  a  moon-kissed  brow,  a  spark  in  golden  eyes.

her  nose  brushes  his,  indulging  in  stolen  little  intimacies  away  from  the  prying  eyes  of  court.  fingertips  dance  along  his  jaw.  ❛  nor  am  i  a  queen.  ❜  still  a  notion  she  had  not  encountered  in  thought;  her  affections  were  for  gil-galad  and  not  his  crown.

celebrían  settles  in,  draped  across  his  lap  and  leaning  into  the  embrace.  comfort  soothes  any  lingering  day.  ❛  i  was  simply  going  to  request  a  library  built  into  a  mallorn.  ❜  perhaps  only  half  in  jest.  the  idea  had  caught  fire  in  her  youth  and  never  fully  left  her  mind  centuries  later.

she  pressed  a  kiss  to  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  another  little  taunt.  ❛  if  you  really  think  about  it.  ❜  the  songbird  coo's.  ❛  it  would  be  a  fine  place  to  escape  when  the  head  hangs  with  weariness.  ❜

[wiirocku]

1 John 4:15 (KJV) - Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God.

[scion-of-kings]

//Tag drop

[eri-pl]

Death and taxes

So I was thinking about Erestor son of Caranthir and Haleth (as you do), and I realized it can work (as long as you assume they were an item. But it san work mortality-wise)

I'm sorry for all the ocasions I said it can't canonically work at all. I oversimplified.

One way (more canon):

Yes, non-Earendilian half-elves got the Gift of Men, but do they have limited lifespans? I don't think we have a proof for that. All canon ones die tragically (from Feanorians). Maybe they do not die from old age, but when they die (killed or something), they do go brrr out of Ea? It is technically possible.

(Yes, Elros worked in a different way, but he is a different thing. He is not this weird unresolved Man/Elf mix. He is Earendilian, he got to chose. )

So if they look like elves (and canonically elves and humans look very much the same), Erestor can be one. He works more or less like an elf until someone kills him. (Or he dies on this thing that makes the Elves fade, which he will because he cannot sail.)

(also Gil-"and where he dwelleth none can say"-Galad… Hmm…)

The other way (crack):

Caranthir has a kid with Haleth. The kid grows quickly, but doesn't grow old as fast as Men do, so when Caranthir dies, his son is an adult, but not old.

Caranthir dies and lands in Mandos and his two brothers do too, and Dior disses Celegorm and then goes brr, and Caranthir is like "what do you mean half-elves do that??? But. My son."

And Namo is like "yes, they do it, untill the exception happens".

And Caranthir starts asking, and arguing, and why would some get an exception, but some not. And it's not poor Erestor's fault that his father is a kinslayer and it is unfair in general… and Caranthir is the best lawyer to ever lawyer + has all the motivation of a desparate father and all the insufferableness of a five-year-old arguing that he deserves more screen time.

And finally Namo is like "oh Eru please throw him into the Everlasting Darkness do something, I can't handle it any longer", and long story shory, Erestor gets to be an elf, but nobody is allowed to talk about that.

Caranthir is as good as being insufferable as Luthien is at singing.

[scion-of-kings]

It felt strange, mourning a place that had never really been a home while having a reluctant hope that this might be it. That these shores where his feet felt at ease, either buried in warm sand or perched somewhere he shouldn't have climbed up to, would fill the void Hithlum had left in his heart —that these new lands would tether him somewhere, and make him belong.

It was a daunting feeling, one Gil-galad chose not to explore too closely. Thinking about everything they'd lost, and everyone that was still lost to them, made everything look like defeat to him. Or almost defeat; he was fairly young in these days, and a naïve kind of idealism still clung to his thoughts and words.

Which was exactly what was happening right now; perched on a low branch and hidden from view by the thick foliage, he could see the comings and goings of people across the half-built hall while his thoughts wandered again to the search efforts for his youngest relatives. Months had passed and then years, and still his heart refused to accept —to his better judgement— that he wouldn't see them again.

The leaves rustled when he jolted at his father's voice, giving away his position.

“High King,” he said warmly, jumping down to stand a few feet away from Fingon. It felt just like yesterday that he had been returned to him; only then he had barely reached his father's navel as he stood on his tiptoes, hugging his armour clad waist with all the might of a scared elfling. “I trust, then, you have instructed your council to not interrupt us.”

The smile that cracked his lips, so reminiscent of his ada's, said Gil-galad's words were not really serious. The prince clapped Fingon's shoulder briefly and nodded towards the entrance.

“If you are not too tired, ada, I would not mind dining out by the shore,” he proposed. “It has been a while since I have gone fishing.” Which only meant their supply chain was working appropriately, and that the prince's personal guard was doing a fine job of keeping him out of trouble at ungodly hours. Still, feasting on his own catches was something he'd come to enjoy while they'd lived in Balar. “And then you can tell me about everything that has gone down today.”

He had been given responsibilities as the crown prince, of course, but Gil-galad had the sensation he was still being sheltered from the most thorny issues of running a realm. He tried to learn whenever he could, of course.

“Unless you were hoping for other plans, of course.”

@scion-of-kings - because daddy!finno

--- It was over. Five hundred years of darkness had been swallowed at last into the sea, clearing the sky for Ariën to shine brightly upon all of Arda. If only the shadows of memory could be drowned so easily. It was a new age, and yet the lingering effects still troubled many, wounds and losses that would never fully heal. New life would spring regardless, however, and time would soothe their pain.

High King Fingon felt his peoples troubles as he saw them settle in new lands to build anew. It seemed forever and yet yesterday since they had come to Ardas shores, and he had survived in defiance of death which had taken most of his family. But he felt blessed, watching children born without a single grief to haunt them. He wished he could have given his own son this new age to have been born in, though he was no less grateful for Ereinion at all. Without him, without the desire to ensure his son did not grow up without a father as so many did, Fingon was not sure he would have survived.

Ereinion was his hope, a part of the cumulative of Nolofinwë's legacy. Turgons peredhel grandchildren were missing, taken by his cousins, and had yet to been found again. Ereinion therefore was all that was left of their house.

And currently nowhere to be found.

As the eldest of his family, Fingon was used to hunting down wild elf youths. Oh Turgon usually had been visible, but between Aredhel and Argon... Fingon had learned all the ways young elves could disappear and had narrowed down the most likely places his son had to be. He could also credit his errant siblings with teaching him it was easier to lure with honey rather than vinegar. Thus he stood in a place he highly suspected was hiding his son and left the guards at the door.

"Ereinion," he called out to the space. "I know you're here somewhere. I have finished my work for the day, and found myself with a free afternoon. I thought we might spend it in the activity of your choice if you are so inclined."

He waited, looking around casually for the beloved head of dark hair to appear from somwhere.

[thoughtsandbones]

Ongoing series:

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!MedicDoc OC (codename: Blue) 💀💙

It's been a long time

"Imagine they're just about freezing right now..."

Something familiar is in the air

A not so forgotten history

All wounds take time to heal

Our fellow hidden humorous

Take your time, then take your shot

If eyes could kill

Revelations and Misconceptions

It all catches up with you

Time for Tea?

Bubbling to the surface, slowly but surely

An ex-citing surprise

Uncertainty comes between us

Within the field of danger

The flesh you thread between my blood and bones slows down the pendulum of death

The dots that begin to align

Doth thy demons dwelleth in the darkness too, my belov'd Reaper?

Kyle 'Gaz" Garrick x F! Black OC (Clarissa Edwards)

The way you ease my trepidation

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Between your hands, I open

Beneath the stars, wonder consumes us

A cranium full of tea and coffee

Happy Reading Folks! :D