#is that they cannot bear to leave the west

[baejax-the-great]

Hello! It’s three days until a solar eclipse. Would Agua Caliente Pat and Achilles have plans?

The eclipse path of totality is nowhere near California, and I doubt they'd have much interest in traveling to Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, southern Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, or western New York in early April (or ever). West Coast people can be so attached to their precious coast.

However, the national park service does show which parks will be in the path of totality, and I guess I could see Patroclus using this as an excuse to visit one he hasn't seen before. The the Ozark riverway would be a good one, except it's not open yet. And if they did visit, it would be all mud. And ugly. So... scratch that. Why would they ever leave California? Do they even have smoothies in Missouri?

I think the better plan would be to wait for the eclipse in Spain in August 2026.

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: When the god of the Winter needed a messenger, he had chosen you. Yet your elders wanted you dead. But John Price, the god of the Winter, had other plans for his devotee. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Leaving this here, then backing away slowly. If you like, please comment and reblog. Special thanks to @itsagrimm for editing, even though you aren't into the type of writing. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for your beautiful dividers that I use in literally everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, brief mention of suicide, brief mention of hypothetical pregnancy because what is John Price without a breeding kink? Voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, elements of paranoia, and mindreader elements.

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

You had been abandoned. Sent aimlessly into the east by your deceiving elders to find the oh-so-benevolent god of Winter. Your people had discarded you, and perhaps, you had now been forsaken by the Holy One. Under the new winter moon, you had no bearing in these strange woods. You were lost and without hope. Stumbling into a thicket, you paused, catching your breath. Once your village elders cut your binds and removed the blade from your still bleeding throat, you ran. You had three options now: find the Winter God John Price and beg for mercy, return home to your village to die by your elder’s blade, or finally, die by a frozen death.

 

Yanking down the sleeves of your dress, you shivered. Only a fool would think the thin lace would be enough to fight the cold. You hadn’t bothered to ask for a cape when you would be dead come dawn by the blade of your elders or the mercy of winter’s chill. Besides, if the elders thought it could help entice the winter god closer to you, you welcomed the possibility. The god liked fine things- the fragility of ice coating sleeping trees, the nuanced tendrils that composed a snowflake, the finespun embroidery on an altar cloth. Perhaps the gossamer lace of your gown would make you look as alluring as snow?

 

Your village worshiped the god of the East along with his three other seasonal counterparts. In the winter, the altar faced east for John. In the spring, it faced north for Kyle. In the summer, the altar faced west for Johnny, followed by facing south in the Autumn for the one they called Ghost. You traversed the mezzanine of the aged temple as if it was your birthing ground, dedicating yourself to the unknown and to what divine vexed within. 

 

A creature howled in the far distance, three more joining in the call. You wished you had a blade for protection, but the foolish  elders would not allow it after the last messenger sent to find the God of Winter killed himself. He died from fear of the gods with his body left for the animals starved for winter scraps according to the elders. The collapsed skull and bloodied rock meant otherwise. You would become like the warrior- murdered- if you didn’t keep moving.

 

At least you’d be dead if you stopped moving, and wasn’t that something to rejoice over for the elders? They wanted you gone the moment you opened your mouth, defending the holy temples in a burning righteousness against their infidelity. The elders mocked your faith, staging a spectacle to rejoice in their perceived standings with the holy gods, to enshroud their continued greed of village resources, and holy temple offerings while preventing you from stepping foot inside the sacred temple. 

 

All you wanted was to worship your gods in peace and for your village to know that peace. 

 

A branch snapped in the distance. Setting your foot down ever so quietly, you glared into the darkness of the night. In your chest, your lungs froze as if a tiny breath could lead starving beasts toward you, but your heart tapped a wild rhythm against your bones like a war drum urging warriors forward in battle. Between the bones of the trees, a figure raised from the ground. Dirt quaked in its path, fearing the disturbance as flashes of odd whites and black wove into a tall, hulking beast emerging like smoke. The vaporous monster inhaled. It was as if he sucked the forest in with his expanding breath, the conductor of the skeletal structure of the land. The one who assembled appendages of bone like armor and crown, marking his distinct otherness to any creature known before. Opening his eyes, bright gold light flared from its eye sockets, a perpetual fire, locked on burning you alive.

 

You ran. Barreling through the underbrush, thorns cut and tore at your dress, slowing you down. Pushing deeper into the woods, you dared not glimpse back at the monstrous shape. The gods, you prayed, would give one last indulgence by sparing your life. Dodging fallen trees and saplings, you heaved for a breath. Your toe caught on something sending you tumbling forward, down the hill, to be stopped by a mangled stump. There was little to be felt from the roar in your mind and blood careening to endure, to run, to survive.

 

Looking up, the terrifying haint peered down at you with its head tilted to the side, lazily biding his time hunting you. Fleeing, you made way towards the river that supplied the village with water. The monsters couldn’t cross the running water at the bottom of the ravine. Everybody knew that. Your breath created puffs of smoke with each gasp of air, streaming from your lips like a dragon’s purr.

 

Down at the river, you paused, cursing at your luck. The river was frozen over, but how deep the ice went was beyond you. You had to cross, fighting for a chance at life and to find John Price to appeal for assistance proving your claims. Taking a deep breath, you ventured on the ice, straining your ears for cracking and shifting sounds. Freedom sang like a siren from the other side of the waters with the promise of faith delivering you into her hands. On the other side was an assurance of one more day in your beloved temples with the beloved gods, of life, and of being free from the elders.

 

Without the freedom to roam the holy grounds of faith, what would be left for you?

 

You slipped with a screech, flailing until you caught your balance. Your hands trembled as breath fogged the air. Crossing was the only option, regardless of death prowling down to find you. The thought of the being sent shivers down your spine, and you squeezed your eyes shut as if it would banish the evil and push you across the waters.

 

“Stop!” A man bellowed like thunder echoing in the ravine. You jumped, slipping on the ice. With an assured crack, the ice broke, plunging you into the icy waters.

 

You gasped, choking on river water. Kicking to the surface, you were met with a ceiling of ice. You hit the ice with your hand to no prevail until the bubbles from your nose dissipated and a film of darkness descended upon your peripherals. In the gloom, eyes of golden fire shimmered at you, refracted by the ice, illuminated by the flash of lightning. 

It smelled like oak and spices as you inhaled. The bed you laid in was spacious, a soft luxury you sunk greedily into. Moments of time slowly returned to you as you stirred, until a tapestry unfolded, painting what had occurred in the woods to you. How you had survived drowning or hypothermia was beyond you, feeling none of it, now. Cocooned tightly in thick blankets, albeit naked as the day you were born, sleep still called in the comfort of the home. A warm crackle of a fireplace and the deep mutterings of men speaking filled your ears as you blinked. In your nest, you buried further in, savoring the needed heat with a sigh with your eyes peeking over the cover.

 

The two men, seated in the corner, had stopped conversing to stare at you. One was slim but muscular, with dark skin and shining brown eyes. He wore a grin both authentic and sly as if mischief personified, waiting for his time to strike and laugh at your mild misfortune. 

 

The other man was a bear. Thick, burly, legs with sizable thighs spread to consume room; it seemed all he did was call attention to himself. The cocky spread of his legs to the icy blues of his eyes; your neck burned as he smirked, having caught you staring.

 

“Hello, Fawn,” The bear rumbled, intentionally softening his voice and leaning down as if afraid to spook you like the little deer.

 

“Ghost found you,” injected the younger one. “It took him and Soap to pull you from the ice and bring you home. That was pretty stupid; getting on the ice like that. Haven’t people told you not to do that?”

 

Getting on the ice was stupid, but letting yourself get consumed and murdered by a beast was even worse. You had half a mind to tell the younger man your thoughts on the matter, but here you were, naked in a stranger's bed… alive. While grateful, you needed to leave. The task to find John and plead for his assistance in clearing the village of your awful elders still loomed, as did the precarious nature of being nude in a room of two strong men. 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” You mumbled. “I had no choice.”

 

“I know,” The older man hummed before speaking your name like a whisper of wind on your ear. 

 

The God of Winter . Your spine went straight before you bolted upright, clinging the blankets to your chest. These men were not men at all but your four holy gods. There was half a mind to shuck off the blankets and fall to your knees in reverence. You had offered prayers while bathing before; was this any different? As you shifted, apologized, and begged for pardons on the tip of your lips, John shook his head and stood.

 

“Gaz, go let Soap and Ghost know our fawn is all right,” John said, clasping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz promptly left the room, closing the wooden door behind him, not before offering you one final comforting grin.

 

“I am sorry. I had to find you. The elders sent me to the woods to murder me. And… I didn’t know what else to do but to seek your help. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. The elders are murdering anyone who dares question them. Nobody believes me even though I have proof! The village will not survive the winter because of our elder’s theft from them and of the temple and I need your help. I have done nothing wrong except be loyal to you, John,” You rushed out in a single breath. “Please, help me. Help us .”

 

John set his hand on your cheek, running his thumb over your warming cheeks. A violent shiver sprung through your body, encouraging you closer to the god. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his palm, lulled by the smell of spices and the alluringness of being physically held by him. Finally, you had removed the burden of secrecy and responsibility and John took it lightly with his hands soothing the ache from your skin with the glide of his fingers. 

 

“Love, you’re being too harsh. There is no reason to apologize,” He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “The fault lies with your elders. You have done all I have asked of you and more. Do not agonize yourself over the stubbornness of others. It will get you nowhere.”

 

You closed your mouth and held his wrist, keeping him to you. You thought of all your nights spent praying to the god of Winter when sleep evaded you. When you screamed or cried your prayers in agony, begging the divine god of winter to make himself known to you so that your faith was not in vain and your people could be free from the elders. 

 

But what of your people? What choice would they make? The old gods were worshiped only in tradition and the elders had slowly pushed your people further from the gods as the temple began to deteriorate. 

 

You were always dedicated to the divine in odd ways. Observant gifts of John’s favorite flowers and drinks were left on your homemade altar—prayers written on little papers in a box. Spare time spent tending to the aged temple and cleaning it, preparing it for worship. Devotion in wearing John’s favorite color as a ribbon around your wrist, bearing his color like a mark of ownership over you. 

 

It was… your stomach clenched as you remembered bathing in his favorite fragrances, the soap trailing between your breasts, water falling as gracefully as the curves of your skin, for his solstice day. Later that night, deciding to offer John an orgasm on a lust-induced whim. When you came down from your high, you swore you could feel the divine by your knees, looking down at the mess you had made, dribbling into the sheets. The idea of him voyeuring into your bedroom made you leak, reaching a bold hand down to part your lips for him to see your swollen clit.

 

“What you want from us, little Fawn,” John tilted his chin to look you in the eyes as his warm toned voice dipped between your thighs to make them clench. “Comes at a high cost for you.”

 

“And let my people suffer from the elder’s greed? Surely, you understand how harsh winter can be! And to let the gods lay waste when this is proof you still are near has to be blasphemy. I don’t want to die, but I’d rather try dying than be left bystanding in silence, rotting away-”

 

John took your neck in hand and hulled you to your feet. Your words died on your tongue as his nose pressed into your cheek. Chests pressed together, his human form radiated heat and softness protecting layers of muscle and power. You wondered briefly if his divine form would look more bear or beast, unleashing the thrum of calculated energy pulsing inside the god.

 

“Fawn, martyrdom is for suicidal fools. Not even the martyrs ask for their portion, they stumble upon it trying to uphold the will of the gods which threatens the portions and powers that be in your mortal world,” John shook your head ever so slightly, pressing closer until you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. Dark as ice, they pierced into you flickering from your eyes to your mouth, the urgency he held you with inching into territories you were unsure of but eager to explore. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and you shivered at your exposure, pressing your face into his neck as if to hide. “You will stay the night but come dawn, you must return home to live for us.” John instructed, pushing your hair from your neck. Leaning down, he nipped the bottom of your ear playfully, kissing along your neck.

 

You hummed, offering your neck to his lips. It didn’t matter if you had laid with a million other people before or none at all. You yearned for the assured solidity of the gods, and now you had it. They could have your body, the works of your hands, the words of your mouth, the paths of your feet. You only wanted to be near John, safe, nestled into his side, even if for a little while. To be welcomed into the god of winter’s bed for even a night? The idea made your thighs slickened with want, heat pooling in your stomach.

 

Everything in your bones wanted to please him, to let him have his fill of you, to honor him with the best of your skin and body. You’d get on your knees for him. Suck his cock until you are panting, with his cum on your tongue. You wanted to be good . You let out a little whine, a soft vibration in your throat. John chuckled, coming up from your throat to kiss you properly, all while moving you on the bed.

 

He kissed down your throat, gently touching your chest with the hints of friction making you squirm, tangling your fingers in his hair.

 

“I want you to soak my fingers and cock with this pretty cunt tonight, Fawn” John decidedly spoke. You eagerly nodded, humming as his hand squeezed the fat of your stomach. 

 

You opened your thighs as he descended between them, grinning as he knelt before you. You could have laughed at his eagerness if it wasn’t for the gentle, inquiring sweep of his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. A sigh fell from your lips as he played with your cunt, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as your legs found a home on his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, scratching the short hairs there.

    

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy since you showed her to me,” John growled, thumb swirling on your clit just as you had when you played yourself for him. Your knees bent, pushing your pelvis to catch the angle just right . “Offered me use of your body, a delicacy, to use as I please. Perfect little human for me to fuck whenever,” He growled before putting his mouth to work, sucking on your clit.

 

You keened, bucking your cunt into his face. John devoured you whole, feasted on you, your head in the clouds, floating with nothing to tether you but his mouth. The god of winter’s fingers prodded your entrance, slipping in with a slight stretch. His fucking hands, reaching depths you could never achieve on your own, made you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. From below your stomach, John was fully committed, eyes closed, grunting against your cunt.

 

John fought against your legs, drawing out the pulsing waves of pleasure until your ears were ringing, vision white, cresting into a beautiful brainless hum as your body went limp. 

 

“Fuck, John, I can’t,” You whimpered, pushing his forehead back. Your chest heaved, hands grasping for anything you could reach until he slid his hand in yours, anchoring you to him. He moved, and you closed your sticky thighs, clenching at the slick dribbling down. John reverently kissed your collarbone, hands brushing over your scalp, lulling you from the cloudy space.

 

His lips kissed along your neck and chest as his hands wandered along your hips and thighs, rough fingers tickling the sensitive skin of your ass. Your eyes opened, greeted by his gentle gaze as he hovered over you. His mouth had been pinkened by your cunt, hair mused by your thighs and hands. 

 

Grabbing his hand, you kissed his palm before licking the fingers that had been inside of you moments before. Something was intoxicating about the way you tasted, strong and delicious. Taking his fingers in your mouth, you hummed, thinking about how much thicker his cock would feel. John swore, pushing his fingers against your tongue, stilling your control. You moaned, letting your eyes close and legs fall open. Holding his arm, you could feel how your tits were pressed together by your biceps, making you not only a sight but a spectacle .

 

“Want my cock that bad, little fawn?” John teased. Opening your eyes, you nodded, nudging him closer with your foot. Removing his fingers, he drug his hand down your centerline, leaving a cold trail of your spit down your body. He slowly entered you, grunting with his eyes glued to the way you sucked him in.

 

“Fuck, John,” You whimpered, panting at the fullness pressing you open. His thumb rubbed your clit, lulling you back to another orgasm. Spreading your legs, he placed a knee on the bed as he began to thrust, covering his cock in your frothy slick.

 

It was hot and so, so full as he reached parts of you that had you gasping for air and tearing up. There was no pinch, only a subtle burn from the stretch, soothed by his cooing in your ear and thumb working wonders on your clit. Shifting his hips, he fed you more of his cock, making your vision go frayed around the edges. If your brain could leak away, it would slowly leak out with the wetness of your cunt.

 

“Just like that, fawn,” John encouraged, making you clench around him. “My little offering to take as I want, letting me use you like a good girl,” John grunted as you clenched around him, his hands falling to your stomach and hip, selfishly grasping at the plush skin to pull and drag you off his cock with.

 

“I’m,” You whined, clawing at the god’s massive arms, rippling with movement. “Please, John! Feels so good, filled up,” You babbled, trying to run closer and further with each thrust.

 

His other hand laid over the base of your throat, curling possessively around, forcing your eyes to his, forehead to forehead, as he pressed and pressed into your cunt, stretching you wide and filling you perfectly.

 

“Pretty wet cunt, dripping for me,” John’s lips brushed your ear, moaning into it. He reached a hand to gently pinch your nipple, making you gasp. “Rub yourself for me. Let me see you soak my cock.”

 

You slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your clit, spreading your lips wider, feeling fully exposed, unable to help the moan and the chasing buck of your hips, humping the tight heat pooling in your stomach.

 

“Cum, love. Cum for me.”

 

You listened, you always did, a perfect little offering for him to use. You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, body convulsing, to show him what he had made you into. But when your fingers became too sharp, the pleasant hum of blood in your head turning into a sharp ringing, you went limp, thighs covered in slick cum as John took his final thrusts. Ropes filled you as his hand lovingly smoothed over your lower stomach. He rested his forehead on yours, panting as he lazily kissed you, his cock twitching as you warmed him. 

 

“You okay?” John whispered from his place between your breasts as you scratched the back of his head.

 

“Sore,” You hissed as he slipped from you but was quickly scooped into his arms and laid across his chest. “M’tired,” You confessed, closing your eyes with a soft sigh.

 

You would be content to lie on his chest for the rest of time, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, wrapped in the warmth of his broad arms. Everything about you felt small compared to him; the way his hands engulfed yours, the way your calves had laid over his shoulder, the ripple of muscles and fat as he had fucked you. 

 

“I need to clean up,” You mumbled, fingers following the lines of his pectorals. 

 

“In a moment, darling. We’ll both clean up.” John kissed the top of your head, reaching for a glass of water for you to drink from before he took a few sips.

 

The god of Winter leaned down and kissed you so gently, soothing the aches with gentle hands against your thighs. Though, you felt it was more an excuse to touch your thighs more, but you didn’t mind. After cleaning up, you fell asleep swiftly, draped over his chest as his fingers traced dainty traces of snowflakes along your spine, tended to and protected. 

In the morning, you woke in your own bed, dressed in the robes of a high priestess, as someone pounded on your door. As you rose, you felt the phantom aches of the previous night between your thighs. Quickly hiding the robes, you caught the white scars of John’s handprint over your womb, etched like silver ice into your skin.

 

“One second!” You yelled, dressing. Once you were decent, you threw open your door and gawked.

 

“There’s been a war party! They burnt the elder’s homes and the wheat stores! We need help!” The man took you by the arm and pulled you into the fray of dark smoke against the blooming pink winter sky. It was snowing, melting into water that slid down your arm and into the frosted grounds.

[cowboywithacunt]

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CONTENT WARNING ;

This blog is an 18+ only kink/nsfw blog. I'm going to be posting explicit text and images. Please be aware that some of my kinks may be triggering to others! A full list of my kinks and limits are under the cut.

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RULES BYF ;

🐄 DNI: Men DNI blogs, detrans/misgendering/trans fetishization blogs run by cis people, cishet men, weight loss/thinspo blogs, feederism blogs, MAPs, minors and ageless blogs

🐎 My asks and dms are open to anyone! Please respect my boundaries, and don't send me stuff that involves kinks I list as a limit. Also be aware that I might not always respond! Sometimes I just ain't got the energy, don't know what to say, am offline, or just aren't interested at the moment. I'm fine with sexting, pics, and roleplaying. Do not message me several more times if I don't respond to your first message.

🐄 I block liberally! It's nothing personal, just how I curate my experience. Please don't circumvent blocks for any reason.

🐎 Feel free to claim an emoji, but I will remove you from the claimed emojis list if you don't send anything for a long while. It's nothing personal, just a way of keeping organized! If you start sending asks again I'll put you right back on.

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INFO ABOUT ME ;

🐎 I'm Harvey! 22, transgender (FtM), he/him, bisexual, country boy who's learned to embrace it as a thing people are into lol. Currently living on the west coast, originally from Georgia. I'm fat and hairy and masc, take it or leave it. 5'5". Deer boy tbh 🦌

🐄 I'm strictly masc, have been on T for about 4 years, and I got top surgery done last summer. I don't have bottom surgery, and probably never will.

🐎 I'm happy to be a dom or sub for any and all genders! I enjoy both roles equally. Same goes for topping and bottoming. I'm about as versatile as a guy can get!

🐄 Asks and dms are open to anyone who's interested!

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KINKS, FETISHES, ETC ;

🐎 CNC; includes rape play, dubcon, somnophilia, intoxication, primal play, and kidnapping.

🐄 Fauxcest; may include some ageplay elements, such as MILFs/DILFs, cougars, etc.

🐎 Humiliation and degradation; includes exhibitionism, voyeurism, pet play, free use, force fem/masc, misgendering, and detrans.

🐄 Monster fucking; werewolves, vampires, tentacles, you get the picture. May include non-human genitalia references.

🐎 BDSM; mostly pertains to bondage, but some light impact play might also be present. Nothing beyond spanking or slapping!

🐄 Overstimulation and understimulation; too many orgasms and not enough orgasms. Edging included in this.

🐎 Breeding; including impregnation of others, not of myself.

🐄 Misc; wilderness sex, cowboys/rednecks, putting city assholes in their place, T4T, bears, butches, sex toys, fighting for dominance, light gun/knife play, medical settings, older men/women, trans supremacy, furries, leather. Open to trying new things!

🐎 I do not tag any of these on reblogs! If you genuinely cannot stomach one or more of these things, just do your mental health a favor and don't follow me. Keep yourself safe!

🐄 Please keep in mind that all fantasies I post about are in the context of consensual roleplay between adults.

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LIMITS ;

🐎 Heavy blood, gore, death, necrophilia.

🐄 Scat, watersports, emetophilia. Very light omorashi stuff is fine.

🐄 Choking, beating.

🐎 Detrans/misgendering directed at me.

🐎 DDLG and similar kinks that focus on infantalization.

🐄 Race play; if someone wants to call me a stupid little white boy or something, that's fine, but anything even edging towards white supremacy isn't cool with me

🐎 It's okay if you're into the above things! I won't yuck somebody's yum. You can follow and interact. Just please don't send me asks or dms involving those kinks, and be aware that I may not follow back if you post a lot of one of these.

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TERMINOLOGY FOR ME I'M OKAY WITH ;

🐎 Sir, mister, bitch, faggot, whore, slut, masc terms, sweetheart, darling, buck

🐄 Dick, cock, t-dick, clit, cunt, pussy, chest, hole(s)

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TERMINOLOGY FOR ME I'M NOT OKAY WITH ;

🐎 Daddy, puppy, fem terms

🐄 Tits, boobs, vagina, front hole

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If you're not sure about something, just ask! I don't bite!

[thenightshadowqueen]

Divorces and Teddy Bears—Watchthrough Thoughts

I’m not sure if anyone likes reading these, but I do, and I figure I can’t be the only one, so here we go. (Plus, they’re fun to make.)

The little card and “beginning-middle-end” editing is amazing

The presents in the title card being addressed to “Peter Steven”, “Priscilla”, and “Johnny and Janae”??????? They know their fanbase; I died

I love this stage

Also captions!!!

I love Luke being so confused at the beginning and just going “Oh!” when he gets it

“I was dressed as a sheep” ah, taking lessons from Sam, are we?

AJ’s sassy walk!!!!!!!

Okay I love Mrs. Claus holy shit

“Leave the keys in the sled, yes. So I can start the engine of the sled.” I love it when Sam points out logic flaws without even breaking character (although I also love it when he breaks character too)

Poor Snowdrop, being assigned as the child of divorce and forced into the middle

Also Luke’s hair???? He looks amazing

The camera quality is great as well

“We feed directly on your emotions. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Luke????

Congrats to Luke for finally getting his diagnosis!

Also Luke directing the audience to cheer for him and then to stop is amazing (reminds me a bit of that clip of him getting the room to be quiet in that recent Genre game)

Tom changing the scene just to crouch behind the chair… This caught me so off guard (in the best way possible)

I know someone already said this but Little Krampus has huge Scottish Robin vibes

Also I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: how the FUCK does Tom move like that?

Tom stroking at a strand of Luke’s hair like that is so weird and I’m here for it; Tom’s character choices are always top-notch

I think “sassy women who fly to warm places to cheat on their husbands with men called Javier” is my favourite niche sub-genre of AJ character (insert that thing about nickels and things happening twice) (shoutout to Tracy) (also I know that Tracy didn’t canonically sleep with Javier but like… she totally did, right?) (or with a different Javier) (there are always plenty of Javiers available in the SFTHverse) (and she has been fucking everyone (direct quote from her))

I love it when AJ fucks up some tiny, barely-significant thing and Sam just CANNOT let it go and it becomes an actual plot point

AJ’s passport photo poses are gorgeous

“The most wanted terrorist in the North Pole” Jesus Christ Sam

Also tangent but can I just say that AJ wearing friendship bracelets is everything (and am I right in saying that I think those were the ones made by fans? Or am I misremembering? Because if they are that is so fucking sweet)

Now I really want to learn more about the Great Battle

Sassy Tom!!!! I love sassy Tom

The Sam and Luke elves remind me of the Oompa Loompas from West End Big Boys

I love Luke’s determination to climb on Sam and Sam’s determination to prevent it

“~Rudolph motherfucker~” have I mentioned that I love AJ?

Audience to the rescue!

“Initiating micro-space” AJ???

Javier having basically all of his buttons undone… Xavier flashbacks, anyone? (Also, Tom having basically all of his buttons undone… he definitely remembers the latest DnD livestream)

“I was expecting a sexy lady with a big beard” hell yeah, bearded women!

“Is [having your shirt unbuttoned] the local custom?” “No, only when we are awaiting a lover. Which, again, you are not; you are two children.” I love that Tom has to remind Sam to not unbutton his shirt because… it’s Sam

“My manservant was surprised” one, of course Javier had a manservant, and two, they need to stop making me think of BBC Merlin because it kills me every single fucking time

Luke just casually telling this random man that he’s 2000 years old… god, they really do never leave the North Pole, do they?

“Tell me a little less” I love Tom

“I’m definitely the receiver in the relationship” TOM (but also good for Javier)

AJ oh my fucking god

“That’s how it works up there” god I love Sam’s very specific “suspension of disbelief” voice

“That looks like a plot point that’s almost been abandoned” Tom is amazing

Oh, Luke, you’ve just set yourself up for another Pocket scenario

“I just wanted the pussy” Tom

“You know it’s casual” does she? Because she’s moving halfway around the world for him

“Wow, that sounds very transactional to me” I mean… yeah. Yeah, it does

“Hey, let’s not blame someone with a disorder, shall we?” I love Sam holy shit

Tom singing!!!!!!!!!!!! He sounds so creepy??????? He’s doing an amazing job

“~I just realised there’s no cable on this mic at all~” Tom has been freed!

Oh my god I love seeing Tom so happy

Tom’s villains are always amazing for a lot of reasons but especially his physicality???

Tom is having so much fun

AJ’s expression when Tom puts their faces close together is amazing; it’s like, “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing but I’m going with it”

“Poor little teddy bear Christmas man.” I love Tom trying to bring back the title (“I have so many names and that is not one of them”)

LUKE!!!! (his Little Krampus movements are amazing)

Also Snowdrop :(

AJ just staring blankly into the camera is so fucking creepy

Luke good fucking god

Thought we were going to get a kiss for a second there…

Sam singing!!!!

I love the audience singalongs!

AJ singing!!!!

Holy shit I love this play

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

[luvrodite]

milk teeth (833)

on returning to gotham, and old ghosts that haunt you

After it all happens, your parents whisk you away.

It amounts to a betrayal you never quite forgive them for and despite their efforts, the move doesn’t quite scrub Gotham from your grief stricken memory. It remains forever in the rearview mirror, a taunting spectre at your back, a permanent black spot that seems to jeer, you’ll be back. You cannot outrun me.

Some days, she is benevolent. In dreams, she coaxes you back with promises of home, nudges towards you the days that had once made up your childhood. Memories of what had once been, but could never be again, are offered to you on a plate. Return to me, return, return, return…

She shows her viciousness, too. When sweetness does not deliver you back to her threshold, she reveals her teeth. Fury driven by what has been stolen from her, you bear the brunt of her scorn. Child of smoke and water, you were never meant to leave the bounds of her domain.  

Sunsoaked and dripping in artificial colouring, the West Coast is nothing like your gray, grim city. It’s lit in technicolour, yellows and blues too bright for your retinas, Brighton weakened, unused to anything beyond the pale smog and acid rain. Flash burns make a home in your vision, oil spills in the corner of your eye that linger long after you’ve withdrawn, sitting in the dark of your room with the curtains pulled taut. 

The name that sits in your hollow chest is never spoken aloud. 

Not by you, nor your parents who barely dare to look at you, as though you will shatter under the very weight of their gaze. It festers there, the restless spirit of the blue eyed boy who had held your hand on the first day of high school, wrathful at being forgotten. What prayers you muster go unanswered. How can one gain forgiveness from the dead?

Little bird with a wounded wing, you flinch from any and all attempts at consolation. Memory and imagination blur together, visions procured that haunt your nights and whittle you into something unrecognisable. 

Where has my baby gone?

There is no answer that will satisfy your mother’s tears, no energy to fashion a lie that will comfort her agony. Not when your own peels you back, an unending flagellation that shows no intention of relenting. 

This is a grief not meant for the young – to love and lose, this should have come in the winter of your life. But the baby fat of your cheeks has yet to slim out, milk teeth not all lost. You do not know crow’s feet, nor silver strands that thread through your mane.

Grief, you come to find out, cares not for whom it afflicts. You come to know her well.

The California sun, over the years, becomes tolerable but it does little to put your heart to rest, to quiet the press of phantom fingers and wisps of blue black hair that brush against the curtain of your memory. 

Your lost boy lingers, your graveyard of bones calls you home and Gotham takes you back into her arms, a near decade after Jason is killed.

It threatens to topple you over, a knife lodged beneath your breast when you take your first step off the bridge and onto the island. 

All around you the city thrums with frenetic energy, a spirit that has run undercurrent to the lives of its inhabitants long before the first slab of concrete was laid down. Steam hisses and bellows from pipes in buildings above your head. You are jostled by the foot traffic, hurried pedestrians casting derisive looks over their shoulder and muttering beneath their breath. Someone yells down the road, a too harsh laugh makes your eardrums ache and the ghost of your first love stands beneath a light pole, smiling.

He looks just as he had, that last day. It nearly brings you to your knees, staring at the curly haired angel leaning against the steel, a toothy grin curving a rosebud mouth upwards. 

Somebody shoves you with a yell to stop hogging up the path that you barely hear. By the time you look back, he’s gone.

In street lamps, under the cover of store awnings and atop buildings guarded carefully by stone gargoyles. The flutter of fabric in the wind rings in your ears and the world takes on a blue quality, the muffled echoes of a dying laugh reaching you through a veil. 

That same gap toothed, crooked grin that you’d known in your youth meets you from across a convenience store and you drop the can of soda in your hand, 13 years old and blustering under the weight of a nosy store owner’s gaze – shouldn’t you both be at school?

You walk out empty handed and twelve years older, with bright purple stains on the canvas of your sneakers and difficulty steadying your breathing. The bright blue eyes on your back stay there the whole walk home.

is this anything? idfk. i have pilates in 3.5 hours and i haven't slept all night. yikes! anyway. here's whatever this is. it's unedited btw but i wanted to post something because i haven't in almost a month and i'm going crazy cuckoo bananas over it

[inexplicifics]

Love your writing, do you have any fic snippets you feel like sharing? Ideally more canon divergent than modern if possible?

Well, here's a bit from one where the divergence is that Geralt never got given to the witchers!

“There is a valley a long day’s hike west,” Geralt says. “It holds everything I need to gather; it usually takes me three or four days to collect what I need. As to the creatures -” he hesitates briefly, biting his lip. Eskel would like to take over that duty. Or possibly kiss the bitten lip to soothe it. Or both. “Natural animals,” Geralt says, and Eskel yanks his attention back where it’s supposed to be, “bears, or wolves, and so on, I can…convince to leave me be.” Eskel nods. That explains the faint thrumming of his medallion. “You’re a druid,” he guesses. Geralt shrugs, looking awkward. “Of druid stock, but…untrained,” he admits. Eskel blinks. Self-trained might be more accurate, he suspects, given that amazing garden and the ability to convince animals to leave him alone. “So you don’t need to worry about purely natural animals,” he says. “Which just leaves monsters.” Geralt nods. “Those, I cannot convince.” Eskel reaches up to touch the hilt of his silver sword. “Well, I can.”

[the-gay-rat]

Riordan-verse Prophecies

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

You shall go west, and face the god who has turned, You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned, You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone, You shall find what you seek and make it your own, But despair for your life entombed within stone, And fail without friends, to fly home alone

  Five shall go west to the goddess in chains, One shall be lost in the land without rain, The bane of Olympus shows the trail, Campers and Hunters combined prevail, The Titan’s curse must one withstand, And one shall perish by parent’s hand. 

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze, The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise. You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand, The child of Athena's final stand. Destroy with a hero's final breath, And lose a love to worse than death.

A half-blood of the eldest gods shall reach sixteen against all odds and see the world in endless sleep, The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap, a single choice will end his days, Olympus to preserve or raise.

The heroes of Olympus 

seven heroes shall answer the call to storm or fire the world must fall an oath to keep with final breath as foes bear arms to the doors of death

Child of lightning beware the earth the giants revenge the seven shall birth forge and dove shall break the cage and death unleashed through Heras rage 

 to the north beyond the gods lies the legions crown falling from the ice the son of Neptune shall drown

wisdoms daughter walks alone the mark of Athena burns through Rome twins snuff out the angels breath who holds the key to endless death the giants bane stands gold and pale won through the pain from a woven jail 

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard 

Wrongly chosen, Wrongly slain, A hero Valhalla cannot contain. Nine days hence the sun must go east, Ere sword of summer unbinds the beast. 

The Trials of Apollo

Caves of blue. 

…Westward, burning.

Pages turning.

…Indiana.

Happiness approaches.

There was once a god named Apollo, Who plunged in a cave blue and hollow, Upon a three seater, the bronze fire-eater, Was forced death and madness to swallow 

The words that memory wrought are set to fire, Ere new moon rises o’er the devils mount, Till bodies fill the Tibet beyond count.

Yet southward must the sun now trace its course, Through the mazes dark to land of scorching death, to find the master of the swift white horse and wrest from the crossword speaker’s breath.

To westward must the lester go; Demeter’s daughter finds her ancient roots. The Cloven guide alone the way does he know, To walk the path in Thine own enemies boots

When three are known and Tiber reached alive, tis only then Apollo starts to jive 

Bronze upon gold

East meets west

Legions are redeemed 

Light the depths 

One against many

Never spirit defeat 

Ancient words spoken 

Shaking old foundations 

Destroy the tyrant 

Aid the winged 

Under golden hills

Great stallion’s foal 

Turn red tides 

Harken the trumpets

Enter strangers home 

Regain lost glory

Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb unless the doorway to the soundless god is opened by (Bellona’s Daughter)

A wildcat near the spinning lights. The tomb of Tarquin with horses bright. 

To open doors two-fifty-four 

O son of Zeus the final challenge face, The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend, dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place, The son of Hades, cavern runner’s friend, Must show the secret way unto the throne. On Nero’s own your lives now depend. A dare reveals the path that was unknown, And bears destruction; Lion, snake-entwined or else the princeps never be o’erthrown 

Apollos flesh and blood shall soon be mine, Alone he must descend into the dark, The sibyl never again to see his sign, Lest wrestle with me till se his final spark, The god dissolves, leaving not a mark 

Apollo must fall, but Apollo must rise again 

The Sun and the Star

Go forth and find the one who calls out your name, who suffers and despairs for refusing to remain; there leave some of equal value behind, or your body and soul no one will ever find.

(correct me if i got any wrong)

[thesparklingwriter]

taking fate into one's own hands

06—understanding

Word count: 1.6k

navi | taglist | masterlist

“The harbour.” you say quickly. “I’d like to see the harbour.” 

Morax smiles tentatively and nods. “Alright. That can be arranged. I shall return in an hour.”

You nod and close the door behind you, breathing a sigh of relief. Your relief quickly dissipates as you look at the clothes in your hands. Surely, all these items can't just be for one outfit, right? You turn to Alanna, but she’s gone—she must have slipped out while you were talking to the king.

You lay each piece out on your bed and try to figure it out. It seems you have three pieces per outfit here, which is a relief, but even with that, you have no idea what goes where. Where on Teyvat did Alanna go?

You sigh at the colours on your bed, and instead of fretting over how to wear them, you decide to take a soak in your tub to ease your mounting nerves. Perhaps you are being a little stubborn. It’s frustrating, not knwoing exactly where you stand. Morax’s words must be true, for you do not have proof otherwise, but even so. This arrangement is confusing. But Alanna’s words ring out in your head, and if your being here is for your own good somehow, it would not hurt to make a friend out of the king.

You leave your bath, resolved to be cordial to the Morax, as he has been to you. Perhaps if you do not question him too much, he will naturally reveal the information you wish to know. Alanna has returned from her excursion, having discovered the secrets of traditional Liyuean dress on her travels. She explains each layer to you, even though she knows you will use it as an excuse to give her a break whenever you get dressed for an outing. With each word, she notices the way you visibly relax, and when you say you want to wear the brown set, a colour associated with not only Liyue, but the ruler himself, she does not flinch, nor question you. With a simple nod and barely leashed smile, she puts herself to work.

Morax, on the other hand, finds himself somewhat unsettled. During negotiations, he had been promised a placid and pleasant princess, and so far you had only proved one of those things to be true. Despite your stubbornness, you are pleasant to be around. Much more pleasant than most of the dignitaries he has found himself in company with recently. But he had not been informed of your intelligence, and he now realises that it may cause him some strife. Although he has finished all the tasks he planned for today, he finds himself at his desk once again, reading through requests from his people and noting down the things he finds most important in order to forget his future arrangements with you. 

“I am glad the two of you are getting along. It may do you well to have a friend.” Xiao says as he enters the room. 

Morax makes a sound that bears an uncanny resemblance to a snort. “I would suggest you wait before firing off the celebratory lights.”

“Always the pessimist.”

“I assume you mean realist. Be frank with me, Xiao. there’s no way that you truly believe she will not find fault in her parent’s reasoning.” Your parents had essentially resigned themselves to death in sending you here, and despite everything, morax can't bear to tell you the truth. 

“I believe she will appreciate your honesty.”

“Why do I continue to discuss this topic with you?”

“Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?”

Morax stares at the prince blankly. The prince stares back. 

~~~

“Did you find the chance to read that letter from your parents?” Alanna asks you as she finishes tying a bow out of the ribbons on your clothes. You sigh as you glance over at your desk, the worn paper and the blue-green seal utterly out of place in the luxurious room. 

“I haven’t found the time to.” a lie so preposterous that you cannot even bring yourself to conceal it. You have all the time in the world, but looking at that letter would make it seem like it’s slipping from your fingers. It’s too much for you to face. “And I am afraid of what is inside.”

You look up from your nails as Alanna silently pushes the letter towards you, and you sigh. “Alright.”

Reading the letter fills you with questions, and you resolve to ask Morax about them. What is this hidden threat that your parents cannot talk about, but seem to be so afraid of? He will tell you whatever he knows, no matter what it takes. You will make sure of it.

“Your Highness,”

“I am fine, Alanna. I simply wish to go to the harbour already. This room is suddenly feeling cramped.”

“Understood.” Alanna says quietly. Even though she knows your wors weren’t a subtle hint of her to move—as many would interpret it as—she excuses herself anyway. To where? You do not know.

You read over your letter, once, twice, thrice, and no new discoveries come to light. You parents had become more secretive as time went on, but you never imagined they could reach these heights.

A knock on your door drags you out of these thoughts, and you pull yourself together as you approach the door. You expect to see a member of the palace help, but no, it is Morax, with his hair untied once again, thick silky ribbons of it falling over his shoulders. You can’t quite tell if you’re staring or not. On the other hand. Morax is acutely aware of the fact he’s staring at you. Maybe it's the determination in your eyes or the fact that you're wearing his colours… He never would have expected it to cause such a response in him.

He would never deny your beauty, but amidst the turbulence of your first few days here, he might have found himself too preoccupied with thoughts of frustration to really look at you properly. And now he has the chance to; he seems to be enjoying it more than he should reasonably allow himself to.

He clears his throat, and you jump ever so slightly, covering it up with a stubborn cough.

“I thought you might like a brief tour of the palace before we head toward the harbour. I am told you forewent the tour originally. I’m sure it is stifling, always being in your room.”

You want to scold him for making assumptions, but he is correct, and Alanna’s words ring through your head again. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to make a friend.’

So, you steel your face, and you smile. “Alright.”

Morax finds himself somewhat shocked at how easily you agreed. No contest, no look of exasperation… he’s about to question whether you’re feeling well before you speak up.

“I fear I might have been impolite,” You say as you walk down a particularly boring flight of stairs. Despite the fact it was his idea, the king has been relative vague in his descriptions of each room. He seems to only be showing you the things you might find interesting—the library, the gardens, the steam rooms and the pools. He walks at a steady pace, slow enough for you to take the time to take in each room, even though you can tell he normally walks faster. It's this steady pace that allows you to notice the slight stutter in his steps at your apology.

“That is alright. I understand the situation is tense for you. I do not begrudge you for it at all.”

This time, it's you who pauses.  “I don’t understand you.”

“You have made that point very clear. I appreciate your transparency.” You’re sure you're making it up, but there’s a slight tone of mirth in his voice. “I’m afraid there is nothing else of interest here. Shall we head to the harbour? Around this time of year, the clothing stalls get new fabrics, and jewellers receive the best stones. If you crave any foods from home, i’m sure we might find one or two.”

You exit the palace through the doors you came through when you first arrived. A soldier at the gates nods his head to the king, but otherwise, there isn’t much fanfare. How can a king roam his own nation without any guards? You fight the urge to question his newfound friendliness, as he hasn't questioned you on yours and strangely enough, you are enjoying this. Even if it is only a little bit. 

“You have sunsettias here?”

“Not that I know of. However, our harvest was bountiful this year and we often trade our surplus with other nations. I’m sure there will be vendors with sunsettias to spare.”

“I'm sure that when faced with their king, many vendors would find themselves stocking regional specialities from other nations.”

“I think you’ll find that a decent number of my people do not recognise the king when he is taking a casual stroll.”

“If I were to walk the street at home, I doubt my people would recognise me either,” you reply. It is only a passing comment, one that flies out of your mouth before you can stop it, but Morax seems to catch the melancholy undertones. The letter from your parents flashes in your mind, and instead of feeling frustrated, you just feel a little sad. Your parents clearly feel hopeless about something they cannot share with you, and it hurts.

“I am sorry you had to leave.” Morax replies quietly. “I do not know how I would fare away from home. You have my condolences.”

You nod in response. Silence falls between you as you continue your leisurely stroll to the harbour.

notes: reader losing her mind every time Zhongli has his hair down is my fave part of this series and DEFINITELY has nothing to do with me hahahahhaahahaha

anyway it's so nice to be back I missed it here

Taglist: @tartigglez @ainescribe @blue-sapphire-ink

[embracedbythesea]

I finally finish this game after a lot of years and I can say that RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2 is a story of survival in the midst of a wilderness that is giving way to urbanization, a glimpse of a future that is now crushing the past, a majestic and melancholic experience with a dense and articulate plot that masterfully blends into the changes in American society and away from the romantic and adventurous images of the Old West.

The atmospheres, the sounds, the noises, the causal events and all the technical details contribute to a deeper immersion in the setting created for this video game behemoth; a title that is "not for everyone" precisely because of its narrative and the rhythmic nature of the game itself, which cannot be experienced in bite-size. The beauty of the game lies in the fact that you can spend hours and hours enjoying the atmosphere of the West, going hunting, stopping somewhere to rest and seeing the interactions of the game itself, as you can encounter everything from the eagle swooping down on the river where you are fishing and stealing a fish, to the bear attacking a boar while you are hunting, or simply deer fighting each other, as if it were all so realistic that it would leave you stunned. You can't play this game and expect to finish it quickly, skip side quests, challenges, random interactions, or simply ride through the vast grasslands that are still standing, it's a game to be savored slowly and without rushing, enjoying every interaction between the protagonists and characters that populate the vast world of Red Dead Redemption.

It's a story of self-discovery, a total immersion in that West that is still trying to survive everything, fighting against moral but above all physical degradation; it was an attempt to make up for one's mistakes, to be a "good person" for those last moments, putting everything on the line and coming to the conclusion that what we thought was right, what always moved us, was actually a beautiful lie wrapped in a golden dream.

You arrive at the end of the game completely drained, with that feeling of abandonment and the desire to start all over again, to live this experience as if it were the first time, but knowing that it will not be, because the impact of the game will be too great, a real punch in the stomach that leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth and just a hint of a sweet aftertaste, knowing that whatever choices we make in the course of a new adventure, we will come to the same conclusion.

And in the end, we will be there, in the shadow of what was once our trusty steed, watching the sun set over the prairies engulfed by civilization.

[jame7t]

My King, I write to you bearing ill news from the border.

Our enemies from the West are invading the realm. By the time this reaches you they will have reached the old town to the Northwest. They are slaying peasants and stealing winter stockpiles, leaving only destruction in their wake.

They have allied themselves with the horse-lords of the South and control the seas, but I believe our kinsmen to the East and the free cities of the North may still come to our aid with the right incentive.

You cannot delay, my lord. The Kingdom needs you.

[ crumples up the urgent missive ]

[ goes back to trying, and failing, to download a cracked version of premiere pro in order to make 90’s cartoons say rude words ]

[camisoledadparis]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … December 26

1716 – Thomas Gray, the English writer, was born on this date (d.1771). "My life is now but a perpetual conversation with your shadow - The known sound of your voice still rings in my ears. I cannot bear this place, where I have spend many tedious years within less than a month, after you left me ..." So wrote Thomas Gray to a young man when he was 54. Professor of Modern History at Cambridge University and one of the best known poets of his time. He was also more than likely still a virgin, although he may have had a homosexual affair with Horace Walpole when he was younger.

The author of "An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," Gray had lived most of his life with his mother, but was known to have cultivated the Platonic friendship of handsome young men. One of Professor Gray's young men introduced him to the Swiss charmer, Charles de Bonstetten – and Gray was hooked. He was profoundly, deeply in love. When Bonstetten left Cambridge a year later, the poet was devastated. But the friends exchanged letters, and the young man suggested they take a walking tour together in Bonstetten's native Switzerland. Gray was overjoyed. The trip was scheduled for the summer of 1771 and Gray wrote tireless letters of devotion while counting the ticking minutes. Finally, the time was near. He would be leaving to see his handsome young man again. The poor poet dropped dead before he had taken one step out the door.

1795 – William Drummond Stewart (d.1871) was a Scottish adventurer and British military officer and homosexual. He traveled extensively in the American West for nearly seven years in the 1830s. In 1837 he took along the American artist, Alfred Jacob Miller, hiring him to do sketches of the trip. Many of his completed oil paintings of American Indian life and the Rocky Mountains originally hung in Murthly Castle, though they have now been dispersed to a number of private and public collections.

Born at Murthly Castle, Perthshire, Scotland, Stewart was the second son and one of seven children of Sir George Stewart, 17th Laird of Grandtully, 5th Baronet of Murthly and of Blair. The family decided that William would go into the Army (as his older brother would inherit his father's estate and title). After his seventeenth birthday in 1812, William asked his father to buy him a cornetcy in the 6th Dragoon Guards. After his appointment was confirmed on April 15, 1813, he immediately joined his regiment and began a programme of rigorous training.

Stewart was anxious to participate in military action; so in 1813, his father purchased for him an appointment to a Lieutenancy in the 15th King's Hussars, which was already in action during the Peninsular Campaign. In 1814, Stewart joined his regiment, subsequently seeing combat during the Waterloo campaign in 1815. In 1820, Stewart was promoted to a Captain and soon thereafter retired on half pay.

Seeking adventure, Stewart traveled to St. Louis, Missouri in 1832, where he brought letters of introduction to William Clark, Pierre Chouteau, Jr.,William Ashley and other prominent residents. He arranged to accompany Robert Campbell, who was taking a pack train to the 1833 rendezvous of mountain men, an annual all-male gathering of fur traders, a drunken debauch held each summer when trappers gathered to trade their pelts for food, liquor and manufactured goods brought to the Rockies from St. Louis by companies of fur traders.

The party left St. Louis on May 7 and attended the Horse Creek Rendezvous in the Green River Valley of Wyoming. Here Stewart met the mountain men Jim Bridger and Thomas Fitzpatrick, as well as Benjamin Bonneville, who was leading a governmental expedition in the area.

At the rendezvous Stewart met the Metis (French Canadian and Cree) hunter Antoine Clement, with whom he began a homosexual relationship. With some of the men, Stewart visited the Big Horn Mountains, wintered at Taos, and attended the next rendezvous at Ham's Fork of the Green River. Later that year, he journeyed to Fort Vancouver, Washington, at the coast of the Pacific Ocean.

Stewart attended the 1835 rendezvous at the mouth of New Fork River on the Green and reached St. Louis in November. Finding that his finances were curtailed because he brother had failed to forward his share of the estate left by their father, Stewart went to New Orleans, speculated in cotton to recoup, and wintered in Cuba.

In May, he joined Fitzpatrick's train to the Rockies for another rendezvous on Horse Creek. For the rendezvous of 1837, Stewart took along an American artist, Alfred Jacob Miller, whom he hired in New Orleans. Miller painted a notable series of works on the mountain men, the rendezvous, American Indians, and Rocky Mountain scenes. He wintered in 1836-1837 and 1837-38 at New Orleans, where he speculated again in cotton. In 1838 he learned that his childless older brother John had died of an undisclosed disease (probably cancer). William Stewart would become the seventh baronet of Murthly.

"Attack by Crow Indians" Alfred Jacob Miller

After his older brother John Stewart died childless in 1838, William inherited the baronetcy and returned to Scotland, taking with him his partner Antoine Clement, and the couple lived in Dalpowie Lodge, while entertaining in Murthly Castle. Stewart explained Clement's presence by at first referring to him as his valet, then as his footman. Because Clement was restless and unhappy in Scotland, the couple spent many months traveling abroad, including an extended visit to the Middle East.

In 1842 he returned to America, and in the summer of 1843 hosted a private rendezvous-style party at a remote lake in the Rockies (now called Fremont Lake). On that trip Jean Baptiste Charbonneau, the son of Sacagawea of the Lewis and Clark Expedition was hired to care for the mules.

Stewart returned to North America in late 1842, and in the September of 1843 he and a large entourage traveled to what is now Fremont Lake. Stewart brought with him a large array of velvet and silk Renaissance costumes for his all-male guests to wear during the festivities. He hauled wagon loads of canned delicacies, cigars, liqueurs and champagne. Fur trader William Sublette co-hosted the party with Stewart. Though there had been no rendezvous since 1840, the party had many elements of the old Rocky Mountain gatherings. Stewart had planned to spend the winter of 1843-44 in New Orleans, and visit Taos and Santa Fe the following spring, but the Renaissance "pleasure trip" ended in a dispute that split the party and caused Stewart to return to Scotland earlier than he had planned, never to return to the United States.

In 1856 Stewart's American friend Ebenezer Nichols, his wife, and three sons, visited from Texas. When it came time to leave Scotland, the Nichols's middle son, Franc, declined to return home. He instead stayed on with William Drummond Stewart at Murthly Castle, possibly in a sexual relationship, eventually being adopted by Stewart and becoming his primary heir.

Stewart died of pneumonia on April 28, 1871.

Stewart wrote two autobiographical novels based on his experiences in America, Altowan (1846) and Edward Warren (1854). Both novels include surprisingly frank homoerotic scenes.

1931 – Martin Gouterman (d.2020) was one of the foundational figures of modern porphyrin science. After completing his Ph.D. at The University of Chicago in 1958, he joined Harvard, where he developed his eponymous four-orbital model.

In 1966, he moved to the University of Washington Seattle (UW). Here he came out as gay and helped set up Seattle's first gay rights group, the Dorian Society.

At UW, Gouterman accomplished an “optical taxonomy” of the major classes of porphyrin derivatives and pioneered pressure-sensitive paints based on phosphorescent platinum porphyrins to map the partial pressure of oxygen on airplane wings. Revered by his students and co-workers for his brilliant yet gentle advising, Gouterman remains a beacon for a more humane and inclusive scientific enterprise.

In the early 1980s, Gouterman acted as a sperm donor and helped a lesbian couple have a son.Through mutual acquaintances, he discovered the identity of his son and thereafter enjoyed a close relationship with him.

1933 – On this date the Gay classic film Queen Christina was released and starred Greta Garbo in the lead role. The American pre-code historical drama film was directed by Rouben Mamoulian and written by H. M. Harwood and Salka Viertel and based on a story by Salka Viertel and Margaret P. Levino.

The movie is very loosely based on the life of the 17th century Queen Christina of Sweden, who, in the film, falls in love during her reign but has to deal with the political realities of her society. It was billed as Garbo's return to cinema after an eighteen-month hiatus.

1971 – Jared Leto is an American actor, singer, songwriter, and director. After starting his career with television appearances in the early 1990s, Leto achieved recognition for his role as Jordan Catalano on the television series My So-Called Life (1994).

He made his film debut in How to Make an American Quilt (1995) and received first notable critical praise for his performance in Prefontaine (1997). Leto played supporting roles in The Thin Red Line (1998), Fight Club (1998) and American Psycho (2000), as well as the lead role in Urban Legend (1998), and earned critical acclaim after portraying heroin addict Harry Goldfarb in Requiem for a Dream (2000).

He later began focusing increasingly on his music career. Leto is the lead vocalist, multi-instrumentalist and main songwriter for Thirty Seconds to Mars, a band he formed in 1998 in Los Angeles, California, with his older brother Shannon Leto. Their debut album, 30 Seconds to Mars (2002), was released to positive reviews but only to limited success. The band achieved worldwide fame with the release of their second album A Beautiful Lie (2005). The band has sold over 15 million albums worldwide. Leto has also directed music videos, including the MTV Video Music Award–winning "The Kill" (2006), "Kings and Queens" (2009), and "Up in the Air" (2013).

Leto's performance as a transgender woman in Dallas Buyers Club (2013) earned him the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor, among numerous other accolades. Leto is considered to be a method actor, known for his constant devotion to and research of his roles. He often remains completely in character for the duration of the shooting schedules of his films, even to the point of adversely affecting his health.

Leto is a gay rights activist. In October 2009, he raised money to the campaign against California Proposition 8, created by opponents of same-sex marriage to overturn the California Supreme Court decision that had legalized same-sex marriage. He spoke out in support of LGBT rights group Freedom Action Inclusion Rights (FAIR). In May 2012, he expressed support after hearing that Barack Obama had endorsed same-sex marriage.

Although Leto presents himself as straight in real life, Alexis Arquette - the transgender sister of David Arquette - claimed "I had sex with Jared Leto back when I was presenting as a male," Alexis stated. "And yes, it's not only massive, it's like a Praetorian Guard's helmet."

You can watch him grab and flaunt this "massive" chunk of meat at a 30 Seconds to Mars concert performance in Toronto in 2014 in the gif clip below.

censored by small pricks Tumblr

1973 – Reichen Lehmkuhl, (born Richard Allen Lehmkuhl) is an American former reality show winner, model, and occasional actor. A former United States Air Force officer, he is best known for winning season four of the reality game show The Amazing Race with his then-partner Chip Arndt, and for his much publicized 2006 relationship with pop singer Lance Bass.

After Lehmkuhl's parents, a policeman and a nurse, divorced when he was five, his family moved to Norton, Massachusetts, and his mother remarried. Sometime after 2002, he changed his first name legally from Richard to Reichen. Lehmkuhl graduated from the United States Air Force Academy. He has since advocated for gay rights in the military as a spokesperson for Servicemembers Legal Defense Network.

Lehmkuhl was working simultaneously as a physics teacher at Crossroads School for the Arts and Sciences, flight instructor and model in Los Angeles when he was approached by a casting director for The Amazing Race. Lehmkuhl and Chip Arndt were a couple during the competition but have since split. Lehmkuhl moved to Dallas, Texas briefly after his win on The Amazing Race but before all episodes had been broadcast. Reichen's spending habits at that time caused speculation that he had won The Amazing Race — and that he and Arndt had broken up. During the show, the couple was typically described as "Married" in the subtitles that are used to illustrate the relationship between team members (other teams being, for example, "Best Friends" or "Father-Daughter").

Lehmkuhl hosted The Reichen Show on Q Television Network until Q Television ceased operations in May 2006. His autobiography Here's What We'll Say, about his time in the Air Force under the military's commonly called "Don't ask, don't tell" policy, was released by Carroll and Graf on October 28, 2006. The New York Post reported in November 2010 that the book had been adapted into a screenplay. He published a beefcake calendar for several years and has appeared on sitcoms, soap operas, and other reality television shows.

On July 2006, former 'N Sync band member Lance Bass told People Magazine that he is gay and in a "very stable relationship" with Lehmkuhl. The couple broke up in January 2007. Bass said they remained "good friends".

On May 1, 2007, the LGBT-interest television network here! announced that Lehmkuhl had joined the cast for the third season of its original gothic soap opera, Dante's Cove. He plays the role of Trevor, originally described as "a business school graduate who comes to Dante's Cove looking to find himself."

Lehmkuhl also has a jewelry line called Flying Naked composed of flight-themed jewelry made of titanium steel. Items from the collection are being sold from loveandpride.com. A percentage of each sale goes to the Servicemembers Legal Defense Network.

Lehmkuhl starred in My Big Gay Italian Wedding, an off-Broadway production from its opening May 5, 2010 in New York City to July 24, 2010. A percentage of ticket sales promoted legalization of same-sex marriages in the US through Broadway Impact.

LGBT-interest network Logo announced on June 3, 2010, that Lehmkuhl and boyfriend, model Rodiney Santiago had joined the cast of Logo's reality series, The A-List: New York. The low-rated series, frequently described as a "Real Housewives"-style show, was cancelled after two seasons. Since the airing, Lehmkuhl and Santiago are no longer a couple.

1974 –Joshua John Miller is an American actor, screenwriter, author, and director. Miller co-writes with his life partner M.A. Fortin; the two wrote the screenplay for the 2015 horror comedy The Final Girls, and the USA Network drama series Queen of the South.

Miller was born in Los Angeles to actor and Pulitzer Prize-winning playwright Jason Miller and actress and Playboy pin-up Susan Bernard. Miller's half-brother is actor Jason Patric, and his maternal grandfather was photographer Bruno Bernard, also known as "Bernard of Hollywood". His father was of Irish and German descent, and his mother is Jewish. Miller is openly gay and, as of 2013, is in a relationship with fellow screenwriter M.A. Fortin.

Miller began appearing in films and television when he was eight years old. His first film role was in Halloween III: Season of the Witch. He would go on to star in such films as River's Edge, Near Dark, Class of 1999, and Teen Witch. Miller also made guest appearances on several popular television shows, including 21 Jump Street, The Wonder Years, The Greatest American Hero, Highway to Heaven (for which he received a Young Artist Award in 1985), and Growing Pains (hence a popular misconception that he is a relative of Jeremy Miller, who portrayed Ben Seaver on that series; they are not related). Miller appeared in several plays, and was involved in dance from a very early age. He starred in the Los Angeles Ballet Company's production of The Nutcracker for three consecutive seasons beginning at age seven, and later appeared as a dancer in Janet Jackson's Grammy Award-winning Rhythm Nation 1814 video.

In 1997, he published a pseudo-autobiographical novel called The Mao Game about a fifteen-year-old child star attempting to cope with heroin addiction, memories of past sexual abuse, and the impending death of his grandmother, who has been diagnosed with cancer. In 1999, The Mao Game was adapted into a film, written and directed by Miller, and co-produced by Whoopi Goldberg. The film starred Miller, Kirstie Alley, and Piper Laurie, and featured Miller's mother, Susan Bernard, in a brief, uncredited cameo. It toured the festival circuit, and garnered mixed reviews from critics.

In 2007, Miller appeared as Jinky in The Wizard of Gore. He has written a second novel, titled Ash.Miller collaborated with M.A. Fortin to write the DreamWorks TV and Fox production Howl. Miller and Fortin then co-wrote the short film Dawn (2014), which was directed by actress Rose McGowan and premiered at the Sundance Film Festival. The two also co-wrote the screenplay and executive produced the 2015 horror comedy film The Final Girls, directed by Todd Strauss-Schulson and starring Taissa Farmiga and Malin Åkerman. Miller and Fortin wrote the pilot for the USA Network drama series Queen of the South. Miller also serves as an executive producer for the series, which began airing on June 23, 2016.

1995 – Conner Mertens is an American football placekicker for the Willamette Bearcats. He was the first active college football player to publicly come out about his sexuality; he came out as bisexual.

Mertens grew up in Kennewick in Tri-Cities, Washington, where he was the youngest of four boys in his family. Growing up, he always excelled at sports. He concentrated on athletics after an incident in fifth grade in which classmates teased him for remaining in costume and makeup after a drama competition.

According to Mertens, the environment at Southridge High School was "hostile", as he was surround by a culture of homophobia. He said the Tri-Cities was not the most friendly area toward the LGBT community. In 2012, 63 percent of the area voted against a measure for same-sex marriage that was ultimately approved by the state. Starting with his sophomore year in high school, Mertens was active in Young Life, a national organization that preaches Christianity to youth. After being in trouble in his freshman year, he credited Young Life with turning his life around.

Mertens redshirted and did not play football in his freshman year due to an anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) injury to his left knee from playing soccer. In January 2014, Mertens came out as bisexual, the first active college football player at any level to publicly come out. With his announcement, he was banned from working with Young Life, which he had been certain would be a part of the rest of his life; the organization's "Faith and Conduct Policies" did not allow any LGBT person to be a staff member or volunteer, though they could participate as "recipients of ministry of God's grace and mercy as expressed in Jesus Christ."

He became Willamette's kicker in 2014, when he also received limited opportunities as a punter. In his senior year, Mertens was named the placekicker on the Tri-City Herald All-Area second team. He was also a four-year starter on Southridge's soccer team. Conner is also a member of the Sigma Chi Fraternity.

Mertens is featured in Out to Win, a documentary about LGBT participation in American sports.

[noirbriar]

Glorestor: 5 Times They Denied (Final)

+ 1 time They Did Not.

From the POVs of the various folks around the 2 elves who are convinced they are courting, or betrothed, even though they were told otherwise.

OOC as always is all on me and canon is super hazy now but ahhh I tried

The final part! Thank you esp @mae-it-be-an-evening-dhros @tamilhobbit @the-dreaming-plastic-dinosaur for following this indulgent writing of mine as part of me coping with things and being so kind to my first experiment writing based on Tolkien's works!

Sometimes, its the kindest ones who break the most.

---

6] Elrond Earendilion

Elrond is tired.

Here he sits on Celebrian's favourite bench in their balcony, watching the blazing crimson sun setting over the cliffs of his beloved Imladris. The light flooding the valley with endless red. Like fire, burning the skies, dripping into the water flowing endlessly, the life blood of all in this realm.A swallow chirps and lands on his shoulder, weightlessly and with ease.

Vilya pulses with every breath and each pulse of his fea as Elrond feels the fine well of power entangling around him. The Lord have been feeling the weariness of the ages sinking deep and clinging heavy on his bones.

The dull weight of it all drags on, settling on his spirit, plunging into depths unknown, rolling down and down, pulling into a deep, dark ocean beyond even Ulmo's reach.

Deeper.

And deeper.

And deep-

"-rond? Elrond!"

Elrond gets startled out of his darkening thoughts as the little swallow flutters off and faces the one face that he had always known.

One he and his brother have come to known as warmth and safety since they were but tiny elflings. Against the burning sky, Erestor stands before him, bent low with a gentle hand over his own, the one that bears the weight of power. The older ellon's cold hands cooling unlike the overbearing heat of his own skin. His slate green eyes dark, filled with a wide array of emotions unspoken, swirling in those orbs.

Right now, his Chief Councillor has forgone his usual heavy black robes, except for his elegant brocade robe of office over a tunic and leggings. The gold earcuff and feanorian earring shinning brightly.His twin blades strapped by his side and a crimson red scarf. No longer a mere advisor, Erestor and a select few of his staff have taken up the duty as the last means of defense of the Valley with the absence of Glorfindel and their troops.

Yet to Elrond, before him is not his Councillor and advisor, but one he and his brother have long recognised as another peredhel and claimed as kin of their own.

"Tor."

Elrond shifts and tugs Erestor down to sit beside him, the Lord of Imladris easing away the persona he carries.In his own private quarters, he cares not. The quiet guardian lets him, allowing Elrond to lean his head on his shoulder, his cold hand holding his own.The rare instance where Elrond feels the suppressed fea of the elder, the cold light bringing him familiar comfort. There was always something about the elder's fea he could never explain and he never knew why Erestor did so. Elrond never asked.

"You should not push yourself, Elrond." Erestor whispers.

"This land and many depend on me. As well as those further west. The darkness grows and without the strength of the land, it will be hard on our forces."

"Glorfindel and our warriors are more than capable of defending our borders against the wretched claws of evil and their ilk."Erestor admonishes gently, rubbing mindless circles on the peredhel's hand."You must rest, it will do us no good should you wear yourself thus. Arwen worries too."

"My precious daughter...always so sensitive and thoughtful. Even if I loathe to part from her, she has grown and found her own path. My sons, even if they have not made their choice to sail, they are finding their own place in this world. I cannot help but wonder...where does this leave me?"Elrond whispers his heartache in melancholy, closing his eyes and tries to ease the tension in him.

He is so, so tired. Like a thin piece of string, tattered and worn as time went on.

How he wished he could return to those innocent days! Safe and warm.There were days where he yearned for vague memories of the arms of nana, the hazy and distant gentleness of his adar's hand. Oh! How he longed for Celebrian's infectious joy and light. The ever smiling Celebrimbor's optimism. The ever practical Erenion and his laughter. In all that he had lost, he misses them the most. Dearest Elros by his side as they played with their strong Atto, with Atya singing enthralling songs and wonderous lullabies into the wild breeze.

His heart is so greedy and wants for them all. Fragments of light out of his grasp. Little fragments is all he craves.

"To be honest, when all is over, I had no desire to sail."

Erestor's words throws Elrond out of his maudlin thoughts like a broken glass, bringing everything to a standstill. The air freezes as Elrond's heart sinks, the younger elf turns harshly around as he hears the feanorian's proclamation.

"What?"

"I have long thought I shall fade here. On this very land where my Atar and my Amil have held me and my siblings in their embrace. " Erestor stares at the crimson dusk, "Where it all began, is where I will find my end. The only home I had. Where all my memories are, and have possessed all that I have ever known."

The string breaks.

"You can't!"

Elrond snarls, grabbing Erestor's arms, clinging almost like a desperate man reaching for a distant shore. The son of Earendil and Elwing feels that the abyss have finally caught him in its cold maw, the endless waves of loneliness and loss, regrets and sorrow that he have kept away for so long, now unchained in its fury. He had long known many of the old feanorians and the noldor have thought to remain in Middle Earth, with Imladris as their final Home. However, to hear those words from his longest friend, protector and kin-

The power beneath this land moans painfully with her master's sorrow, clinging to Elrond like a child seeking solace.

"Everyone I have known and love are lost and gone. Forsaken and abandoned! I cannot! I cannot lose you as well, Tor!"

Elrond gives in as he finally wails, wretched and tormented, ages of heartache and desires bursting forth. The remaining one finally starts to crumble under the weight he has borne.

Dear Erestor who watched over him and Elros, and sheltered them after Maedhros and Maglor were gone. The one they have taken as their older sibling. Who had held them in the cold, somber nights in Lindon, with battered bloodied hands and lustrous raven locks shorn from his head. Who mourned with him the death of their beloved Elros, and the fall of his legacy. The one built with him this haven and held his own children with the same gentle hands filled with scars. The one who kept him and his children going as Celebrain's ship sailed.

Elrond has had enough.

"I don't want to lose anyone anymore. Please, Tor. You are all I have left..." was all Elrond could plead with what selfishness he could find in him.

He is a healer, he has seen broken hurts and deep wounds buried in the soul, mending each unspoken pain little by little with what strength he carries.

But who would bear and heal the pain of the healer then?

"Oh, Elrond..."

The old feanorian caresses his face in tender hold, wiping away the tears he have not realised were there from his redden cheeks. Bathed in ephemeral crimson light, the two companions through the ages holds the other quietly.

"Do not weep." Erestor whispers into his ear as he embraces the younger peredhel in sorrow.

"I will not lie, that was my thought for the longest time, to remain in the land where my amil and my siblings have laid to rest before passing into the Halls. I am tired, truth be told. Yet with all that has happened recently... watching you, the young ones, even Bilbo and the Dwarrow and Edain, and all who have came to this haven we have forged...I find myself wondering, if I could find that courage that you all have shown to walk a different path?"

Erestor then turns back towards Arien, watching the crimson setting sun. While Elrond stares up wonder at this Erestor who is still that calm and mighty guardian, yet different all the same. Within his eyes, they seem to hold a different light. A light that he feels in their shared bond of kinship in their fea, a burning ember chasing away the creeping darkness that have grown far and deep away inside.

And Elrond feels.

Things then swiftly happen in immediate succession, like something in the distance shattered and mended. A change in the air as that unseen miasma of dread it lifts as the birds cry. Vilya shudders, the elven ring trembling in resonance, before finally dimming itself into almost nothingness.

The horn of the Valley resounds.

An age ends. Another shall soon begin.

---

The residents of Imladris awaits at the square for the troops returning, bearing the wounded and the lost, but triumphant still with news of the destruction of Sauron and his Ring. Elrond bears his mantle once more with his circlet and heavy robes embroidered with patterns of gliding stars, hollow still but no longer in deep woe.

Vilya remains silent.

Their Lord descends to welcome their armies and the Edain back Home. Arwen remains close by his side, dressed in silver and silk. His daughter, ever empathic and sensitive. Her quiet presence a balm after that release of emotions welled up and sealed in him through the ages, bringing about much relief to his weary heart.

Bilbo Baggins, even with his body growing old and frail now that the final connection as Ringbearer is lost, hobbles slowly beside him in careful steps. The Hobbit probably hopeful for some news of his nephew and the fellowship.

A long welcoming horn sounds and there beyond the bridge, they see Glorfindel, glowing with the light of Aman, leading their victorious warriors and the last of their wounded home. Elrond's heart gladden to see them safe once more. As the Lord of Imladris, Elrond breathes in deeply the refreshing clean air, ready to give a speech to welcome them all home-

Right before he could get a word out, a blur of a shadow darts out, his Chief Councillor leaps elegantly past the many steps and simply crashes straight into his Captain dismounting Asfaloth. His favourite crimson scarf falling and lays forgotten in his wake.

The Golden Lord would have fallen over by the sudden unexpected impact from being pounced upon him if not for his unnatural strength. The Balrog-slayer dropping his helm and swiftly catching the dark haired elf with a hand on his back and another placed almost naturally on his assailant's bottom with no hesitation. The startled warrior's surprised noise also does not hinder Erestor in the slightest as he wraps his arms around the taller ellon and greets him.

Head on with a hard kiss.

Elrond nearly chokes.

The world seems to stop in that instant. Not a soul breathes. Not even as the caravan and wagons of the wounded behind holler at what was on with the hold up from behind. Asfaloth simply snorts in disbelief with a shake of his great head only a horse can, and wisely chooses to trot further away.

Everyone else remains still. Not even willing to move a muscle as the couple parted after a long heated kiss before a stunned audience, heaving with adrenaline and foreheads touching close.Unbothered and unconcerned.The silence is deafening, before someone finally speaks.

"Marry me, Laure." Erestor whispers, breathless.

Glorfindel gasps. His eyes bright with emotions, wild and free. The Hero of Gondolin could only gaze at his partner wordlessly filled with a fierce passion and endearing love.

"Eres? You are certain? You know we do not have to. I care not for oaths or promises or ceremonies, but only you by my side. My fea knows only you, forever and always. I am content!”

"No!"

Erestor's hands clutches into the white cape of their Captain, his eyes fierce with raw determination, their unbridled Tempest.

"No more I shall fear of the unknown. Neither of Oaths nor Doom. Even if I am damned to the Void, even if I must claw my way out of the abyss, I will find my way back to you! It is you, and only you that I will hold till the end of all of Eru's Songs! I want to be one with you meldanya*. I am ready."

If there was a tear from either of them, no one could say for they were so enthralled by the words they share.

“My brave Eres! Have I not told you before? May it be in the light of grace or endless Void, all I care is you as you are. It will never change! If it is what you desire, then let us become one! None will keep you from me, for what use is my poor existence if I cannot keep my heart by my side?" Glorfindel smiles, holding Erestor close with no concern to the travel-worn state he is in. With a lighter, softer peck upon the soft lips of his partner.

“You need not protect me. Just, stay beside me, as I face what is ahead, that is all I shall ask. ” Erestor whispers softly. It was plain for all to see, even with that cool mein, their ever stern Councillor was basking in the raw light of love.

“That I can do.”Glorfindel returns with a soft laugh, eager and proud in their joy.

"I am sorry. I am sorry it took so long."

"Nay, it matters not for we are here at last, and what do you know? I am ready too." Glorfindel then pulls Erestor into a deep embrace.

"Let us be bound, Eres, and never be apart."

"Aye."

Elrond does not know why or how but watching this all unfold before his eyes, his two friends finally answering to those unspoken feelings that they have all long known felt like a refreshing air of relief for himself. The Lord can only give a loud laugh at the incredulous timing in the whirlwind of it all. Like a chapter coming to an end on its own.

Their happiness is so infectious and warm, that it urges the half-elven on with an unexpected impulsiveness as he descends down the steps to meet the couple. His arms reaching out and pulling them into a hug with his dear friends. Which causes the trio of Lords to nearly fall over into an unseaming heap if not for Glorfindel and Erestor pulling Elrond and each other safe on their feet on the solid ground.

"Mellyn nin! Does this mean we can safely deem that you are both together? After so many years, we are to have a wedding in the Valley then?" The Lord of Imladris smiles, feeling lighter than ever.

The couple shares a an uncharacteristically shy look, probably realising their open affections have been on full on display. The two shuffling awkwardly, as Glorfindel pulls back his golden braid and Erestor straightening his robes. Even as their hands remain clasped together through the motions.

"Aye."

"We are."

With that the dam breaks and there are cheers and roars from all around. The felicitations and laughter blooming and loud, even out beyond the gates, voices echoing far across Imladris.

Elrond even spots several bags of coin being passed around. Looks like the age old wagers have ended, one that he was unfortunately unable to participate out of fairness and status. His foresight definitely did not foresee any of this, Elrond can be certain, despite whatever one may believe. There were some hands passing over even to a rather eager Bilbo and...Arwen!? Elrond gives his daughter a incredulous stare of dismay with a raise of his brow, but Arwen simply wiggles the bag and mouths, "Aragon's!"

Right.

"But we will not be having a wedding."

The sounds all come back to a halt, leaving the birds to continue with their delightful song.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Everyone gets startled by the suddden aggressive shout and turns to its unlikely source. The ever polite and dutiful Steward of the House, Head Minstral of the bards, Lindir, stands in utter dismay and fury. A look of disdain upon his face with a hand clutching his robes in great horror. Elrond is rather certain its overly dramatic and very much out of character for the usually placid minstrel.

"No! No! Absolutely no! I have waited for an age for this and I refuse to accept-Its not how things are done! I made plans! I drafted songs! I will be vindicated! I WILL SEE A WEDDING!" Lindir declares with a glorious wave of his sleeves. Some of the household staff can be seen nodding in agreement.

Alright, he stands corrected with further observation. The little sleeve sweep was so much that he is reminded of Atya. Lindir certainly has enough flair to match with the Noldor he admires.

The couple can only simply blink blankly in response.

"But, we do not have the resources allocated for it, Lindir. Besides, we are short on time, we must prepare for our Arwen's wedding and for our House to journey forth to Gondor. There is also our wounded and our dead to care for, either way, it is not feasible at all." Their ever calculating and planning Councillor explains calmly.

"I politely disagree, my Lord Erestor."

Everyone now turns to Saelbeth who is the one to interrupt his mentor with a bow. His hands tucked in his sleeves as he steps forward from the group of councillors gathered.

"We not only have an abundance of resources stored, our staff and soldiers are more than capable and equipped to run autonomously. In fact, much of the preparations have already begun. Our household is more than proficient to handling the arrangements should our Lords be amendable in our suggestion."

Erestor narrows his sharp eyes at his protege, who is undaunted by the fierce look. As if the feanorian did not expect the efficiency he has implemented in this House to choose now of all times to work against him of all things.

Glorfindel gives a slight cough which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"We are also, able to oversee the duties of our troops as needed, if necessary." Deputies Laica and Thandor concurred from behind without prompt.

Which only earns them a careful glance from their Commander, one that the soldiers have chosen to disregard. Glorfindel rolls his eyes with an unbelivable shake of his head, muttering something along the lines of 'insubordination'.

"To be honest, Eres and I, we have both desired to only be wed simply by bonding. For our kin and friends here in our beloved home to recognise it, is more than enough." Their Captain elaborates, although this answer just seem to infuriate the usually calm minstrel even more, that the sindar is made speechless as he tries to breathe with his staff supporting him behind.

Elrond is a little guilty to find the whole situation a tad comical in any other circumstances.

"You will both not grant me the chance to witness an elven Wedding in my Home before I leave?"

They all turn around and come face to face with his daughter. Their beloved princess, their Evenstar, reaching out to hold their hands in hers. She gazes at her mentors and guardians with those gentle eyes, glimmering and full of hope under the golden rays of a new age of peace.

"Arwen-" Erestor began but Arwen urges him to listen with a shake of her head.

"Uncle Erestor, Uncle Glorfindel. Long have I wished to see you joined and blessed in ceremony. Will you not grant me this? Please?"

With that, Elrond can see the couple's resolve fall. Which was not surprising. For the two loved his daughter as though his children were their own since they were born. Elrond remembers the nights he and Celebrian handed his children to the two, watching them care for the young little elflings with so much care and selfless love.

Although that little spark in Arwen eyes is a little too obvious. Elrond gives his daughter an exasperated but fond look for that. It is somewhat reassuring to know his children all have not lost all of their playful innocence after all they have experienced in life and will carry them forth in what lies ahead.

Erestor manages to resist for a good while before giving a resigned sigh. He shares a knowing look with Glorfindel who returned with a wistful shrug.

"We can compromise, I suppose. Who needs tradition anyway in our haven, a Home for all walks of life?"

And compromise they did.

After mourning for the ones that have passed and comfoting those who grieved, the rest of Imladris sang for all, for those who cry and those who are to heal, and for everlasting peace.

Until the voices cease and raises once more in the flurry of excitement and chaos. The whole of Imladris prepares for the journey to Gondor and Arwen's wedding. Here in Imladris, where all of the elves from every clan have settled and called home for more than an age all prepare in their strange mix of elven customs hashed together in celebration.

On the night before their departure and their supposed wedding ceremony, Glorfindel and Erestor disappears, while Imladris makes merry in the name of the married couple.

The duo only emerges once more at the break of dawn, with Arien's greeting upon them. Glorfindel and Erestor appear, walking down the path from the sea of beech trees serenely, dressed in beautiful robes that Elrond has vaguely remembered from years long ago on one autumn eve. Their hair braided in a mix of noldor and vanyar patterns. They bear no wedding rings, but upon their brow, rests the circlet of their mate, with golden flowers shining against raven dark hair, and an elaborate twisting weaves gleaming upon glowing gold locks. It was plain for all to see, the marriage bond is complete and proud.

They stand before The Lord of Imladris and Arwen by his side, Lindir standing nearby bearing the ceremonial water from the Bruinen with almost the entirety of the Last Homely House welcoming the newly bonded Lords back with flowers. With bended knee, they greeted him and presented each other as their rightfully bonded mate, awaiting for his blessing. One that Elrond is more than eager to give, as he holds their warm hands in his.

Warm?

Under all that happiness, Elrond suddenly senses a familiar light in Erestor as well. Elrond feels, and is surprised to find Erestor's fea dancing unbound, like a little ember on a quiet eve. With Glorfindel's powerful light mingling through like blooming vines, caressing across the shared connection. He simply cannot put a finger to no matter how he tried. Although he is unable to give much thought to it with most of his House eager to approach and congratulate the newly wedded couple until the time comes that they must leave for the long journey to Arwen's future.

Elrond watches it all, as he had done through the ages. A sense of acceptance settles within him as he urges his mount on, taking the first step out of Imladris with his daughter and friends by his side, and the elves of Imladris following behind.

Elrond turns to the boundless skies beyond.

Everyone is finding their own path, its probably time he walks down his own as well.

---

Flags flutter in the wind. Sails are prepared, and the ships are ready. Elrond observes as everyone else bid farewell to friends and kin. He has already made his goodbyes to his children but as a father, it is still difficult to part with them, forever his and Celebrian's treasured little ones. Bilbo and Frodo are huddling with their kin while Galadriel and Olorin speak with Cirdan in quiet voices.

It is hard to comprehend that he himself is finally leaving these shores for some place he has only heard and never seen. May it be from tales in the books or words of others. The unknown seems so difficult to grasp now that he is facing it.

"Elrond."

Elrond turns and sees Erestor and Glorfindel approaching, probably done with overseeing things.

"Tor." Elrond indulges a childish whim, greeting his advisor the nickname out in the open. Before he is pulled into a warm embrace by his old companion.

"Be safe. Be happy."

"I will."

A press of their foreheads, the two part, before Glorfindel hugs Elrond as well.The warrior's arms folding over his form, strong yet gentle. Oh Glorfindel! Fair and selfless, who protected him and his family since the days of old, always cheerful and supportive. The defender of Imladris who sang so beautifully and made the flowers dance. Who also have the terrible habit of enabling little elflings with too much sugar and making him laugh.

He will miss them both dearly. His precious friends who have walked by his side.

"Send my regards to Celebrian and everyone there, alright?"

"Are you both sure you are staying?" Elrond asks once more, just to be sure.

Now that Glorfindel's duty is done, he is to return to Valinor. Erestor, now his husband and mate meant that he too, will sail with his beloved. Yet, the couple has elected to remain in Middle Earth and Imladris for sometime yet.

"Someone has to watch over Elladan and Elrohir. As well as those who seek to sail in the coming years, who will need guidance as they pass through the Last Homely House. Celeborn alone would not be possible!" Glorfindel remarks lightly in jest.

"It would not be long." Erestor reassures.

A bell sounds, and Cirdan calls for those looking to sail to finally board the ship. In that moment, the reality of the situation finally sinks in for Elrond like a skipping pebble finally falling into the water.

He looks back at his friends, who returns with an encouraging nod and a wave.With a deep breath, Elrond steps forward and onwards.

As everyone boards, Elrond notices Galadriel turning pointedly towards Erestor without a word. Who simply gives a small nod in acknowledgement to the Lady while Glorfindel keeps a hand proudly on his mate's waist. Galadriel gives a cryptic nod in return, and turns to board the ship.

As the hobbits follow along with Olorin, Erestor suddenly strides up, calling for Bilbo. The old hobbit and his nephew turns back towards the feanorian in wonder. It is then, Elrond sees Erestor removing his treasured earring bearing the feanorian star, bending down and handing it carefully into Bilbo's thin hands.

"I do not know what good this may do, but I hope it will aid you in what you seek in some way."

"And... should anyone ask?"

Erestor and Bilbo share a long moment in silence, before the old hobbit grips onto the gift with a new found strength in his old hands with grateful acceptance. Olorin watches on, curious and full of mirth, but wisely chooses not interfere as they move on.

The anchors are pulled. The wind picks up and the gulls sing an ode to bid them farewell.

Farewell to Middle Earth! Farewell to everything and all! As the Eldar and the ringbearers leave behind all they have known and onwards into another realm, into another journey unknown. The breeze grows strong and the waves rushes, pushing them on and into the light-

"Elrond!"

The Peredhel turns back and sees Erestor running upon the docks, robes in hand and shouting towards the ocean with little care for his usual decorum. Glorfindel following close behind, waving brightly and so enthusiastically, almost like a maniac should one stumble upon the sight.

"Go! My kin! We will be just right behind!"

"The journey will be awhile! Do not miss us! It will not be long and you shall have company to keep you busy, dear Elrond!"

Elrond blinks back a tear at his silly friends and laughs.

---

---

---

There was only so much one can do out in the vast and endless sea in close quarters with many others. However, Elrond has found comfort watching the stars and his Adar sail across the night skies, wondering in the quiet of his mind.

When the shores of the West are finally sighted, many are excited, though for a break in endless voyage or beauty of it, Elrond could not be certain. As they all clamouring and crowding on the bow for a glimpse of the blessed realm.

Yet the unexpected always happen when one least expects it.

With a loud cry resounding into the air breaking the peace, everyone on the ship are soon startled out of their watchful gaze of the their eternal home. Elrond jumps up, sprinting to the bottom of the deck to the storage where lies its source. Where a pale Frodo stares incredulously at an open box.

Galadriel arrives as well and they share a questioning look, leaving Olorin to quickly tend to the startled hobbit on the floor of the ship. Bilbo slowly joins in, offering a pat of comfort to his kin, though the old adventurer seems oddly calm by the chaos. Sounds of movement from the opened box increase with intensity, each rustling and rattling growing louder much like Elrond's own heartbeat. There is no foulness or evil in the air, but age old instincts has them on edge all the same.

With careful steps, Elrond approaches the crate first with Galadriel following close behind.

Cautiously, they all peer inside.

After all these years and in endless joys and unending sorrow, the half elven finds finally feels that burden upon him lifting, a light of hope and his being healing at long last. With quiet tears and a sob of delight, Elrond is finally able to smile again, full and free, as he dives in to embrace the beginnings of healing as his heart soared.

"Atya!"

---

*Quenya: my beloved

A/N: I probably could have polished things more but at this point, I think I shall leave it as it is. A rather odd final part I think but I tried? Thank you all for taking the time to read and comment and reblog, you all made my day with each one!

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

[regexkind]

Since all you charlatans are completely devoid of courtesy, compassion, charity, et cetera—and cannot be persuaded to part with ten miniscule cents¹—I have no choice but to commence auctioning off my works, so as to provide myself with the bare necessities and basic comforts of decent living². I shall be drawing from the ouvre I produced during my voyages through the American West. These works, admittedly, were never intended for my personal consumption but were tawdrily earmarked for sale from the first. I had hoped to provide my little wants by purveying my wares to various saloonkeepers, barmen, et cetera. Those unfamiliar with the uncouth society of the distant West may not know that the keepers of these dens of iniquity tend, almost to a one, to decorate their places d'enterprise with rustic or sensual scenes depicting either the common lives or the heartfelt aspirations of their clientele. I have produced works in both genre with hopes they would find a ready market. Unfortunately and inscrutably, this has not been the case. Instead I have found myself rejected, laughed at, and, in several cases, outright ejected, pursued from the burb by a mob of riotous, unwashed cowpokes. I cannot understand the source of my failures. I have studied the rude illustrations in great detail and if anything, improved on the rough scenes hung over the rustic bars.

For example, my works include The Untamed, Two Botanic Nudes, and Cleaning His Gun. However, it is not on any of these unworthies that I today pin my hopes. Rather, I would like to direct the attention of prospective buyers to perhaps my best piece in the Western genre: Branding Day.

Branding Day describes that most quotidian of Western activities: the mutilation of cattle by the application of a hot iron to their flanks. The unlucky calf is the central focus of our scene. It is stretched out on the ground before the viewer. Every muscle, every ligament—which I have captured in exquisite detail—strains for freedom. But this prize is not to be earned, for both the forelegs and hind are restrained, bound into two neat bundles by coarse bristling ropes. The taut cords extend out of the frame as though the subduing cowboys stood somewhere in the saloon with the viewer. The calf's head and neck are also restrained, these by a boy of some sixteen years. The boy's posture is one of profound sympathy with the animal. Like the cow, every sinew is rigid. Despite being immobilized in paint, he seems to quiver with a sublime mixture of anticipation and dread. The fingers pressed into the calf's neck are white with tension. His head, like the calf's, is thrown back, the Adam's apple frozen halfway through its descent. The calf's eyes are wide and staring, rolling in terror, looking towards the descending point of the brand, which, like the ropes, enters the scene from a point near the viewer. The wielder's identity is nearly occult, save for his hands, clad in rawhide gloves, but unmistakably powerful and weathered. The boy's neck is thrust back at such an angle as to hide his face, leaving only his jutting jawline in stark relief, his teeth clenched, his posture tense as though he, not the calf, expects to receive the searing agony of that steely point.

This portrait inscrutably is among the number which resulted in me fleeing town posthaste, my bags and numerous stones being flung after me. I cannot to this day fathom this reaction, and hope that a more erudite audience will meet my work with more sympathy and understanding. Opening bid shall commence at 250 pounds stirling.

¹See also, my previous heartfelt plea

²Reasonable-quality brandy vis-a-vis European import; pomade that neither smells of nor contains 'bear grease'; silk cravats, lightly beaded and otherwise; the services of an able valet and the attentions of a kindly nurse after the effects of copious drink, to name just a few of the most commonplace essentials—O! How I have suffer'd!

[petriquors]

Maple & Steel

samurai!Iwaizumi x fem!reader angst

Pre-Edo Period royalty AU

The kami blessed you with a perfect day in your family’s garden, but you thank them with a restless heart. Seated under your favorite tree, a stunning maple with leaves as red as blood, your mind is anywhere but here.

You’ve read the same sentence in your book a dozen times, but you still can’t remember what it says. Every syllable drowns under the ominous swirl of your thoughts, so, with a sigh, you decide that reading is just as hopeless as you feel.

“What troubles you, my lady?”

When you look up, you see a man whose broad shoulders eclipse the low afternoon sun. The turquoise-and-white kamishimo he wears moves gently with every step, making him look like water flowing calmly over stones. 

On any other day, his presence would soothe you just as much as a walk by the river would. But today, Iwaizumi Hajime, the eldest son of his clan, is the last person you want to see.

The gentle breeze stills. Without it, the summer air hangs heavily around you, and silence buries the garden. 

Iwaizumi inclines his chin in your direction, peering down his nose at you. “Speak.”

“You would command me?” You smile through your threatening tone. You are the daimyo’s daughter, while he’s just a samurai’s son. If your father heard him speak to you that way, swift punishment would be in order.

If only your father knew about the romance you’ve been hiding from him.

You stand up, hiding your face in the shadows of the maple tree. Carefully, you eye Iwaizumi; watching, waiting for him to answer. On most days, he would respond to your coyness in kind, but today is not most days.

Today, a rift as wide as the sea lies between you, and you fear what you might find in his face when you cross the depths.

“Please,” he says gently, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

When Iwaizumi calls, you can’t help but answer. From the moment you met him as children, he’s known your heart well enough to see through lies and half-truths with frightening ease. “I heard your name on the war party roster. You’re going to travel at my father’s side.”

Though it was not a question, he still answers. “Yes.”

Your breath catches in your throat and tears sting your eyes. You knew it was true, but your heart still clenches when you hear it from his lips. “Congratulations.”

Riding with the daimyo is an incredible honor, but his eyes are full of dread. He looks away from you, searching for comforting words he cannot seem to find. “We ride west in the morning.”

“How far? How long?”

“Telling you might put you in danger,” he says.

“With whom?”

The stiffness of his upper lip is all the answer you’ll receive. You know that he’s right. He’s doing his best to protect you from the storm of war that gathers far to the west, but something more slices through your heart with a katana’s precision. 

You leave the maple tree’s shade and step into the sun, placing yourself within arm's reach of Iwaizumi. You watch his hands twitch at his side, see him internally weigh actions and consequences, duty and honor—and then, he seizes you by the hand.

You grip his arm. It’s sturdy, like a tree branch, so you wind your weak, vulnerable roots around him. In seconds, you’re captured in his embrace, planted firmly where your heart knows you belong.

When he grabs your face, neither the cool silk of his kimono nor the warmth of his fingertips can stop your tears. He holds you as gently as he would hold the head of a rose, with a touch so delicate that you barely feel him. You need more, you realize, as your longing overtakes you completely.

“I will not have you become a ghost,” you sob. 

A shaky breath flows from his lips, and you marvel at how well he manages to tame his emotions while yours are a raging ocean.

“I can’t protect you from this pain,” he whispers. You know his heart, too; he takes on your pain as if it’s his own, and counts every ounce of fear you feel as a personal failure.

You can't bear to look at him, so you let your tears soak his sleeve instead. A hum ripples from his chest and reaches your ears, shushing you as gently as a honed warrior possibly can.

With his free hand, he begins to stroke your hair. “Please, don’t cry for me. Sadness doesn’t suit your beauty.”

“But what if—”

“I would kill every cruel thought in your head if I could,” he interrupts. His voice has a sharp edge that makes you believe the threat wholeheartedly. “And then, I’d fill the space with sweet words instead.”

You sniffle. “Iwa—”

“I would write ten thousand songs for you. I would use ink and paper I made myself, so you can feel the patience of my love in every brush stroke. I would string together the words the kami whisper through the trees when I think of you. I would read them to you personally, reciting every word by your bedside until you grow sick of me.”

Finally, a smile tries to return to your face. You bite your lip, nuzzling his chest. “I could never grow sick of you.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I am nothing without your affection. When I ride west, when I raise my sword, I only do so to fight for a better future—one that you deserve.” 

The wind picks up, rustling the maple leaves and billowing through his kamishimo. You tilt your head to look at him, and you find red-rimmed eyes and a sad smile that’s full of love. Your heart beats like a butterfly’s wings.

“Wait for me,” he says

“Come home to me,” you reply.

“I will,” he says. “I promise, my love.”

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Writemas Day 6: Altair Ravensworn

<- Previous | Masterpost | Next ->

Prompts: "...What have you done?" | The silence of nature | The creaking of an ancient door

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1500

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @agirlandherquill

CW: death mention, murder mention, vague responses, mourning, cemetery, mysterious past

The response from Altair came in the late morning, hand-delivered by the mail courier who seemed less than pleased at having to search half the town for Thea before finding her at the bakery. "He insisted it needed to be from my hands to yours," the courier said after verifying her identity.

"I expected as much," Thea mused, paying him for the letter and bidding him farewell. Her name was written in Altair's neat script on the front, and it had been sealed with wax bearing his family seal. Thea retreated back into the warmth of the bakery and found a secluded spot to read, carefully prying up the wax seal with her fingernail.

Thea,

Words cannot describe how much your news of Caelum's passing causes me anguish. I am certain my grief is nothing compared to yours as his wife, and it saddens me further that even if I were to leave the moment I received your letter, I would still miss his funeral. Regardless, by the time the courier delivers this letter to you, I will be already traveling to Eastcliffe.

I know the last thing you want to hear is my own thoughts about his murder. But anything can happen on the road, especially during the winter season, so I will tell you now what I intend to tell you when I arrive.

I do not believe you killed him, as I am certain some of the other residents of Eastcliffe think. We know better than most that the world is full of strange and inexplicable things, and I intend to investigate the details of Caelum's death in ways I am certain the police there cannot. I do not dare go into the specifics here, as this letter may get intercepted. You no doubt have your own theories, and I will gladly hear and consider them.

I look forward to seeing you when I arrive. I only wish this meeting was due to more fortunate circumstances.

Blessings, Altair Ravensworn

A blizzard swept through the countryside that evening, covering the world outside in a fresh coat of snow. Snowflakes whipped past the window, carried by swift winds. "It cannot be safe to travel in this weather..." Thea murmured, staring through the thick glass into the storm.

"Did you say something?" Kore called from the kitchen, experimenting with a new pastry recipe. Something with rose hips? Thea hadn't been paying full attention when she explained it to her.

"Just talking to myself!" Thea answered quickly. "I hope he found shelter from this storm."

Kore hummed loudly in agreement. "It's nightmarish out there tonight."

Thea stood by the window for another few minutes before moving into the sitting room and picking up her knitting. It was better than doing nothing but worrying, though working with her hands did little to truly distract her from anxious thoughts. We know better than most that the world is full of strange and inexplicable things.

What did he mean by "we"? She didn't remember mentioning her theory about the reaper in the story. She hadn't even confirmed the story's existence until after the letter had been sent.

Both Caelum and Altair were from Leriwick, close friends since secondary school, and when Thea met them she always had the sense that they had more than a few shared secrets. She'd thought nothing of it, of course, assuming it was the typical harmless type of secret between longtime friends. Even after Caelum courted and married her, she still didn't think he told her the extent of their secrets. And she was fine with that.

But now... now Thea wasn't certain those secrets were quite so harmless anymore.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Thea jumped as someone knocked loudly on the front door with enough force to rattle its hinges. She quickly put down her knitting and rushed to the foyer, just as Kore opened the door, the ancient hinges creaking in protest.

In the doorway stood Altair, covered in so much snow his dark hair looked pure white. He had grown a beard since Thea had last seen him, and it too was caked with snow. In one hand was a blue carpetbag, and he used the other to lean on a sturdy wooden cane. At his feet rested a suitcase.

He glanced over Kore for a long moment. "You look like Thea," he noted, eyes flicking past her into the house, where he saw Thea standing in the hall. "But you are not her, so you must be her sister, Kore. I am Altair Ravensworn, pleasure to meet you. Now, if you would kindly allow me out of this foul weather?"

Kore looked him up and down. Thea couldn't see her face, but she pictured that searching, suspicious expression she often made as she studied him, even glancing behind him to see the coach he had ridden. Finally, she stepped back. "Welcome to the Hargreaves household, Mr. Ravensworn."

No sooner was he over the threshold that Thea closed the distance between them and threw her arms around him.

"Thea," he said softly, "I'm covered in snow and your door is still open."

"I don't care..." she mumbled into his coat. The snow was already melting onto the floor in a puddle and seeping into her dress. "He's gone, gone and murdered by a... by a...."

Her voice failed her, and Altair gently pushed her deeper into the foyer so Kore could close the door. "I wish we could have seen each other under better circumstances," he whispered. "But believe me when I say this: we will solve this."

Thea nodded and let go of him, backing away so he could take off his coat and boots. "But first," he said, hanging up the dripping coat to dry and picking up his luggage, "it is late, and first thing tomorrow morning, I would like to visit Caelum's grave. Is that all right with you?"

"Of course it is," Thea said quietly. "Here, I'll show you to the guest bedroom. I doubt the journey here was an easy one."

He chuckled. "No, it was not."

*****

"So, Mr. Ravensworn," Kore asked as they made their way across the snow-covered town to the cemetery, "How is it that you know Thea and Caelum?"

"Caelum and I were friends since we were teenagers," Altair answered, carefully stepping around a missing cobble in the road. The metal tip of his cane made a rhythmic tap, tap, tap each time it connected with the stone ground. "We got to all sorts of adventures and mischief together."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Typical schoolboy nonsense," Altair said, smiling at a memory. "One year, our mathematics teacher had a bad habit of being late arriving to class, so a few weeks in we managed to convince our entire class to drop our textbooks on our desks at the same time when she walked in. I don't remember what we intended to happen other than a loud noise, but she must've thought we were all crazy."

"I remember that story," Thea added, "Caelum was so pleased with himself recounting it, like he considered it his crowning achievement."

"Of course he was," Altair chuckled, "but his crowning achievement? Doubtful."

Kore glanced between the two of them. "Then what was his crowning achievement?"

Altair cocked his head. "Actually, I'll have to think about that. We have certainly done more impressive things, I just need to organize them in my head enough to give you that answer."

"Do you think you know, Thea?" Kore asked.

Thea shrugged. "Personally, I think it was the miracle of managing to both court and wed me, but Altair might have differing opinions."

Altair laughed out loud at that, but grew solemn almost immediately as they approached the cemetery. "Well..." he said, "time to pay our respects, hmm?"

The world seemed to get even quieter than usual the moment they stepped through the gates. The cemetery wasn't a large one, Eastcliffe had only been founded less than a century ago, but the way the silence hung over the graves gave Thea an eerie sense.

It wasn't just the silence of nature, the silence of winter. It was the silence of sorrow, the silence of respect. And something else Thea couldn't quite place.

Kore led the way through the graves to Caelum's, in the Hargreaves family plot. It was a lonely marker on its plot. Caelum's parents were dead and buried too, but their graves lay in Lerwick, so Caelum rested alone.

Altair regarded the grave for a long moment before approaching. He knelt on the snow and quietly laid a hand on the stone, tracing a finger over the carved words.

Caelum Nathaniel Hargreaves. Beloved husband and friend. The song is ended, but the melody lingers on.

"Oh, Caelum," he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard, "Caelum the Defiant, Caelum the Dahlia... what have you done?"

[gnomescarfcomics]

The Balrogs were destroyed, save some few that fled and hid themselves in caverns inaccessible at the roots of the earth...

...and the uncounted legions of the Orcs perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shrivelled leaves before a burning wind. Few remained to trouble the world for long years after.

...a great part of the sons of Men, whether of the people of Uldor or others new-come out of the east, marched with the Enemy; and the Elves do not forget it.

...so great was the fury of those adversaries that the northern regions of the western world were rent asunder, and the sea roared in through many chasms...

In those days there was a great building of ships upon the shores of the Western Sea; and thence in many a fleet the Eldar set sail into the West, and came never back to the lands of weeping and of war.

Yet not all the Eldalie were willing to forsake the Hither Lands where they had long suffered and long dwelt; and some lingered many an age in Middle-earth.

Among these were Cirdan the Shipwright, and Celeborn of Doriath, with Galadriel his wife, who alone remained of those who led the Noldor to exile in Beleriand.

In Middle-earth dwelt also Gil-galad the High King, and with him Elrond Half-elven, who chose, as was granted to him, to be numbered among the Eldar...

...but Elros his brother chose to abide with Men.

But Morgoth himself the Valar thrust through the Door of Night beyond the Walls of the World, into the Timeless Void; and a guard is set for ever on those walls, and Earendil keeps watch upon the ramparts of the sky.

Yet the lies that Melkor, the mighty and accursed, Morgoth Bauglir, the Power of Terror and of Hate, sowed in the hearts of Elves and Men are a seed that does not die and cannot be destroyed; and ever and anon it sprouts anew, and will bear dark fruit even unto the latest days.