#lirulin

[trekkie-lkm-archive]

Info: A long time after the movie, Kirk/Spock Prime.

The USS Enterprise gets called to the Vulcan colony on request of the Ambassador (Spock Prime) who is on his death bed. Kirk reflects on their recurring meetings (and the subsequent mind-meld sex thing they do) and stays by Spock Prime (alone with lots of hand-holding and touching and just plain natural intimacy, and also really very private as Kirk is the only one that Spock Prime wants to see) and they do one last mind-meld kiss as Spock Prime dies (do a bit on where Kirk finally leaves Spock Prime's room to tell someone that he died).

Lots of angsty sadness on Kirk's part because he felt that Spock Prime was the only one with whom he had any meaningful relationship- who never doubted anything he did from the moment they met (mention how he had no doubt that Kirk would be captain and how he seemed confused that he just wasn't), who always believed and loved him, regardless of what he did- and this carries on for the entire time they are there for the funeral. Lots of reminiscing here, about all the mind-meldy sex and the lovely, fuzzy emotions they induced, please.

Then, the night before the Enterprise leaves again, Spock v2.0 seeks out Kirk because he doesn't understand why he's all sad and basically wants to absolve the issue so his captain can work properly. He finds Kirk alone on the bridge, sitting in his chair. He attempts to talk to him but Kirk doesn't respond.

Finally, after a while of accomplishing nothing, Kirk stands up and just kisses the hell out of Spock. A long, drawn out dirty kiss. Then he pulls back and storms off without explanation because it wasn't the same as kissing Spock Prime at all- there was no mind-meld thing, no connection- it didn't even physically feel the same.

Ends with Kirk walking back to his room on the Enterprise (not to the place the colony gave them), vowing to never return to the Vulcan colony if he can avoid it, because really, what's the point anymore? The other Vulcans don't like him anyway.

-----

Okay, I am aware that the prompt is long and that the resulting fic will be long too. But I just need this fic and I'd really like to see someone put the prompt into prose. I meant what I said in the title. I will write any prompt the writer for this prompt wants.

SOMEONE JUST WRITE IT PLEASE.

(thread)

Fill: 1/1 + AO3 + FFN

Author: mytsie (lirulin)

Archive Link + Here

[tododeku-or-bust]

I wanted to ask on your post about the graphic bulldozer image if you mind my adding that image under a cut. I don't think the cut image should appear in your notes, but Tumblr is broken on its best days. On the off chance that it does show up, or that new notes to that post have discussion about it, I want to ask your permission first before I make that reblog. I think it's important to put context like that next to posts, even when (especially when) horrifying and graphic. My opinions about the importance of it, however, do not supercede your right to avoid exposure to that particular image again. If the risk of seeing it or the potentially incendiary nature of that addition sound unacceptable to you, I will respect your wishes.

Hello,

I appreciate you asking! Um, tbh, the reason I didn't is because if it were one of my community, I wouldn't wanna see such a graphic photo of one of us like that without warning. Human beings deserve better than such an ending. I was mainly just venting bc of how upsetting it was, both to see, and knowing that something so cruel could happen while people somehow "need" to see such cruelty to care. Like this should not be what you needed to care!

I'm not Palestinian, so I don't think it's my place to make that call that it's "okay", but I personally think if you do add it, the "under the cut" should be mandatory.

[nonbinarydva]

Im sorry but that person you answered the ask of is a scammer. You can find details over on Kyra45's blog.

https://www.tumblr.com/kyra45/749376974510768128/current-accounts-pretending-to-be-palestinian-with?source=share

Oof. Thanks for letting me know

[goldonion]

error 404 peace from boops not found, also not wanted

boops forever, boops are life

[iamafanofcartoons]

Any "Wizarding World" fanart supports the "fandom" surrounding it, including those who agree with JKR.

If by some miracle JKR dies and the damage she financially supported is undone (especially upon Scottish People, Jewish People, and Trans People (especially trans women)), then HP nerds can have their dumb castle back, but until that time...

Any fanart is support.

I agree, however as I am one person?

I needed feedback from other people to decide whether or not a certain religious RWDE member who made Hogwarts Legacy fanart based on a Vtuber was basically supporting the franchise or not.

It would seem that yes, such behavior IS support.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2023! days 16-20 (featuring est, rani, helf trio, and glainyn)

16- seasons (est)

Only in winter do you regret your hair’s this short, neck exposed to the cold wind and wet snow that falls from low-hanging branches. You pull your scarf tighter and wait for spring, when the sun finally warms you and the world turns green. The summer draws near and you take a blade to your hair, grown down past your ears in the cooler months and almost- almost- too long for comfort. Late-day sun scorches the back of your neck but you can’t care, raising the small sail with fresh wind ruffling your hair with hints of the coming autumn.

17- myth (rani, silear, halthel)

“Oh, I’ve heard this one!” Rani says brightly. “We have one like this back home, with the glowing trees and the magic fruit and everything. Do you think we got those fairytales from you?”

Sileär’s mouth works silently as if she isn’t sure what to say. Halthel looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Fairytales..?” She turns her bright eyes on Halthel. 

“We,” he says solemnly, “are old, my friend.”

“Fairytales,” she mutters. “I knew some things had been… dramatized, but really!”

“Do you know the Green-eyes story?” Rani asks innocently. Laughter finally overcomes Halthel. Sileär’s face only twists, confused.

18- hero (glainyn)

The wingbeat-thunder doesn’t reach him in his room in the keep, but the cold does. He groans as he stands on sore feet and takes up his axes again, running for the doors in nothing but padded training armor.

The drakes of the Frost-horde descend on Tharrazhâr again with ice and claw. Rangvald holds the courtyard, shouting orders at too-new recruits who have not faced assaults like this even when Vethúg descended on Erebor. They are holding, but they are fresh from hard training and as unused to fighting so weary as to the swooping drakes. Glainyn runs, battle-horn sounding.

19- feather (silear)

They run for their ships when smoke begins to rise across the bay. It grows thicker over the Havens like a swelling stormcloud. Sileär whispers desperate pleas to the waves, but for all Imroval’s speed the flames are faster, lighting the underbelly of the smoke with angry reds and oranges. Imroval creaks in sympathy beneath her feet, her blood louder than the wind in her ears. Not again, not again. How many times is enough?

From the tower overlooking the harbor there falls a white star, brilliant enough to pierce the thickest smoke. 

Afterwards, they find only feathers left behind.

20- boundary (lirulin)

The bounds of day and night are sharp, harder lines than there had been around the mingling of the lights. Lirulin stands on the docks where her father’s family had fought- where Omaruin had fought- and the daylight dies, leaving only the harbor-lamps to light the way back to the city, to the road beyond that leads back to Tirion and her mother’s home, a quiet shell full of those left behind. Histenna will be waiting for her there, to ask why she has come here yet again to dwell on things she cannot change, and she will not answer.

[supermo0]

Okay, after a few days of time to think about it, and in light of reddit taking the ultimate step of removing mods when they started to fuck around, I’m comfortable telling Past Me to shut the fuck up.

The above narrative is something that’s going to be pushed by idiots who are generally just mad that mods told them they can’t say the n word once and are willing to take any narrative that allows them to point and laugh, even if it means the destruction of the fabric of the community they’re posting in. The ongoing efforts by mods to do something, *anything* with the limited power that they have in this situation should be applauded.

I’m doing this as a reblog to emphasize that it’s not unreasonable to feel the above - at first blush. Frustration is natural. But channeling that frustration at the true aggressors (the reddit staff) is much more productive than going for the easy target (the protesting mods).

The Reddit blackout is frustrating, because the average person closing a subreddit was probably doing it for sincere reasons, and the majority of users support it in principle.

In practice it feels like a case study in slacktivism. Some of this is Reddit themselves successfully forcing people’s hands, but it already feels like the messaging has been lost to “greedy mods holding onto power”, in part because of actual instances of it.

The two day window was a perfect amount of time to make people feel like something was being accomplished, when it really just was hot air. Pivoting to indefinite just pissed off a vocal contingent, which Reddit is now capitalizing on.

Do I have an answer to what should’ve happened differently? No, I’m not a labor organizer. But that’s kind of the point, this was a bunch of people Angry on the Internet trying to Do a Thing, when what they needed was a properly organized strike.

Id love to be wrong, and that Reddit relents to some degree. I don’t have my hopes up.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

“And when she learned of Finwë all that had befallen since her departure (for she had given no heed to it, nor asked tidings, until then) she was greatly moved; and she said to Finwë in her thought: ‘I erred in leaving thee and our son, or at least in not soon returning after brief repose; for had I done so he might have grown wiser. But the children of Indis shall redress his errors and therefore I am glad they should have being, and Indis hath my love. How should I bear grudge against one who received what I rejected and cherish what I abandoned.’“ - J.R.R. Tolkien, Morgoth's Ring, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar

@finweanladiesweek day 1 » INDIS & MÍRIEL THERINDË

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in dark and light browns accented with gold and silver.

1: Roseline Lawrence, a ugandan-south sudanese model with dark skin and long coily dark hair. She is plus-size, wearing gold makeup and looking over her shoulder with one hand raised. She is framed by a gold rectangle, with gold text at the bottom reading "indis" in all caps. Below that, text in varying yellow shades reads "great; valiant woman," "second wife of finwë," and "“She was a Vanya, close kin of Ingwë the High King, golden-haired and tall, and in all ways unlike Míriel" / 2: A detail from a painting showing golden embroidered cloth draping down from above. Yellowish-orange text in a transparent brown box reads "“...when Indis saw Finwë climbing the paths of the Mountain, and the light of Laurelin was behind him as a glory, without forethought she sang suddenly in great joy, and her voice went up as a song of the lirulin in the sky. Then Finwë heard that song falling from above, and he looked up and saw Indis in the golden light, and he knew in that moment that she loved him and had long done so" / 3: A detail from a painting showing draped white and silver cloth. Silver text in the same format as Image 2 shows the same passage as the caption of the edit / Thando Hopa, a xhosa-sotho south african woman with albinism. She is looking straight at the viewer and is wrapped in a white robe that falls over her head, though she holds it out of her face. Same format as Image 1, but the frame and text are silver, and the text reads "míriel," "jewel-daughter," "first wife of finwë," and "She was a Noldorin Elda of slender and graceful form, and of gentle disposition, though . . .she could show an ultimate obstinacy that counsel or command would only make more obdurate" /End ID]

[1dk-anym0r3]

Hello, I am from Gaza, due to the shortage of medicine in Gaza, my mother who is a type 1 diabetic and was supposed to undergo urgent eye surgery, has not been able to get insulin or any medical care for the past three months. . Some members of my family fled to the southernmost part of Gaza (Rafah) in tents. But my parents and sisters have nowhere else to stay. They are forced to stay in the Nuseirat refugee camp, which has been bombed since the beginning of Christmas. "I am on my knees asking for your donations. Please help me. where you can.

Goal: $700

unfortunately, i can’t afford right now to donate as i am in a bad space financially. however, i will try to get this post to everyone it can.

if anyone can donate to this person, please do, as this is a very urgent situation.

EDIT: i have found out from the lovely @lirulin that this is a scammer. they are known for targeting blogs which share content of palestine and the genocide in the gaza strip with fake asks of a gofundme or donations

known scammers are hardtravelermagazine, maddieemartinss, unabashedbirdlight (as seen in the ask of mine), amna-abrr, and asnet-dauod54. as well as fake names they have been known using such as Nour Samar | maryline lucy | Fred Odhiambo | Jeff Owino | Valentine Nakuti | Conslata Obwanga | JACINTA SITATI | David Okoth | Martín Mutugi | Daudi Likuyani | William Ngonyo | Fred Agy | George Ochieng | BONFACE ODHIAMBO | Sila Keli | John Chacha | benson komen | Alvin Omondi | Jacinta Sitati | Daudi Likuyani | Noah Keter | Faith Joram | Rawan AbuMahady (any PayPal’s using this name are scammers who have stolen it off a real GoFundMe. The real person does not have a PayPal account that they post on tumblr.) | Asnet Wangila | Remmy Cheptau

[melestasflight]

I think I will never, ever have enough of Maedhros’ rescue from Thangorodrim.

And not only because it is one of the most heroic things Fingon does in his lifetime, daring alone a quest to the very heart of Morgoth's territory.

But because Findekáno — betrayed, ice-worn, broken Findekáno — saves his friend both from the iron chain and saves and restores him to himself.

Because he does it not with armies and swords but with Song!

Not yet as a Prince of Hithlum but as a first-born grandson of Indis of the Vanyar, who ‘sang and made music, and there was ever light and mirth about her.’

Because we have seen how Songs can heal already, long ago:

when Indis saw Finwë climbing the paths of the mountain (and the light of Laurelin was behind him as a glory) without forethought she sang suddenly in great joy, and her voice went up as the song of a lirulin in the sky. And when Finwë heard that song falling from above he looked up and saw Indis in the golden light, and he knew in that moment that she loved him and had long done so. Then his heart turned at last to her, and he believed that this chance, as it seemed, had been granted for the comfort of them both. 'Behold!' he said. 'There is indeed healing of grief in Aman!'

It is no wonder that Findekáno, who likely sang with his grandmother to Manwë, receives an answer to his prayer.

And just as Finwë in his grief sees Indis in the light of Laurelin and is healed, so does Maitimo in his torment answer to Findekáno — come to him with the light of the new Sun.

Song is healing.

Fingon cut off his hand above the wrist, and Thorondor bore them back to Mithrim. There Maedhros in time was healed [...]

Song is love.

Thus [Fingon] rescued his friend of old from torment, and their love was renewed.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A new life

Day 2 prompts: Exploration

For: @silmarillionepistolary

Rating: General Audience

Character: Finarfin

Epistolary format: Journal entries and letter

Themes: Soft | Fluff | Exploration

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.1K words

Summary: Finarfin writes about his journey to Alqualondë, his first impressions of the city and the royal family.

A/n: OC name meanings

Lirulinwë, a Noldor Captain of Finwë's Household Guards - Lirulin: Lark | wë (suffix generally used for male names)

Eärerossë, wife of Olwë and Queen of Alqualondë - Eäre (a variation  of Eär, Sea) | Rossë (foam)

This is also available on AO3

Ingoldo Arafinwë’s journal

51st day of Y.T. 1278— The journey to Alqualondë was not long, but others say that there were a great many things to see along the way. I have often traveled west with my father and mother and the others, to Ilmarin and Valimar and beyond, but never have I traveled east. My mother told me all that she knew of the city and the lords and ladies that dwelled within it. She assured me I would find no cause for disappointment, and I did not doubt her in this.  

She came to Tirion’s square to bid me farewell, as did my father and sisters and full brother, and all the others. Of my half-brother Fëanáro, I saw little. He attended the feast my father held in honor of my new station as his ambassador in King Olwë’s court, albeit very briefly. He ate little, drank even less, and chiefly spoke with his own wife. Then he made his excuses and departed, but others from his family—my sister by marriage and my nephews, his sons—remained. I had held on to the hopes of some deeper understanding, of my half-brother and I meeting on middle ground, but as the years pass, that hope grows smaller and smaller, and I fear Fëanáro and I will only ever be brothers by blood, and not brothers by bond.  

“Pray do not take Fëanáro’s indifference to heart,” my mother said in comfort. “He is an elf grown, and must choose his friends and acquaintances without interference from others. Set your eyes on your new task and your new life. Alqualondë will reward you in many ways; wait and see.” 

“Write to us as often as you can, my son,” my father added, “and remember me to Olwë when you see him.” 

“I will remember you to your dear friend,” I swore. “And I will write to you all, father. You have my word on this. Farewell!”

51st day of Y.T. 1278.— What a difference a day’s journey makes! Already, the great tower and white walls and sparkling sands of Tirion are behind us, and the Calacirya is on either side of us. A great river split the land between the mountain passes, and it flowed directly into the Bay of Eldamar. I will be remiss if I do not mention that the pass is more than what it appears to be. Jewels of all shapes and hues can be found jutting out of exposed rock, and they glitter like lamps of a thousand shades when light from the Trees falls upon them. We halted briefly to rest, and I took this opportunity to carve out as many slivers as I could find. I will send these to my mother and sisters. Irimë in particular loves such jewels, and they will, no doubt, adorn her chambers and her garments in one form or another.

Later, during the waning of Laurelin and the mingling of the lights—We rested briefly again on the edge of the shore, this time to have a meal, and with Tol Eressëa within our sight. Even from afar, the lamps of Avallónë, Tathrobel and Cortirion could be seen with our eyes. All gold and silver, they glittered like stars in the heavens.

“Do many people still live there?” I asked.

“Aye, my lord,” replied Lirulinwë, a captain of Father’s household guards. He knelt beside the fire and roasted the fish we caught from the river. Another warrior was passing around cups of mulled wine. “Mariners, mostly. And nobles hailing from the city, whenever they are in need of respite.”

The captain was chosen to lead the warriors escorting me and the gifts I was tasked to carry to Alqualondë. I saw no need for so many lavish gifts or such precautions; Lord Melkor has been safely confined to Lumbi, and Alqualondë is a prosperous city. Nevertheless, my father, bless him, still insisted on it.  It would not do, he said, for his ambassador and a prince of the Noldor to arrive in another king’s fair city with empty hands and without a proper escort. Olwë might think poorly of us for it. And I am not ashamed to say that I yielded to his entreaty. Father is troubled enough as it is; I have no desire to add to the many cares weighing down on his shoulders.

“What if I wish to go there?” I inquired after accepting my wine.

The captain made himself comfortable on the sand after passing plates of the cooked fish. “Simply ask the king, my lord; I am certain he will agree to arrange a ship to take you.” 

A ship. One of the fabled swan ships, no less, with their white sails and their beaks of gold and eyes of gold and jet. Many songs have been sung of them, and now I get to see them and even sail in one of them.

“Perhaps I shall,” I returned, and we turned our attention to our supper.

It was a pleasant thing to sit and talk and laugh and break bread with the others. We listened to tales of those old enough to remember the Great Crossing, the many perils they faced leaving Cuiviénen. They regaled us with songs from that time, and then we all stopped, astonished, when singing sweeter than anything we had ever heard carried over the waves.

These were the voices of the Oarni and the Falmaríni, sea spirits that served Ossë and Uinen. Lirulinwë said these spirits are rarely seen in Alqualondë. The city and harbour are too loud, more often than not. They preferred the tranquility of Tol Eressëa instead.

The singing stopped, and the air felt strangely empty for it. “They will start up again, my lord,” Lirulinwë assured me. “Perhaps we should sing again. That might encourage them.”

I decided against my yearning to hear more. We could not tarry for much longer. The king awaited us.

Letter from Ingoldo Arafinwë to Queen Indis

52nd day of Y.T. 1278.—

“Beloved mother,—

“You will rejoice to learn that all is well with us. Our journey was a peaceful one, and we arrived just as Laurelin reached her greatest bloom. Even from outside the gates, Alqualondë is a vision to behold, and I will write to you and father on all that I see and find after I have met with the king. Pray give my love to the others.”

“Your loving son,

“Ingoldo.”

Ingoldo Arafinwë’s journal

52nd day of Y.T. 1278, during the waning of Laurelin — King Olwë greeted me with a hearty bellow upon my arrival.

“Son of Finwë!” He cried and embraced me. The gifts I brought with me were to be given later, when I was alone with the family. “Be welcome in my home!”

His home was a graceful and enchanting palace made out of white marble. Of pearls and jewels, there were aplenty. They adorned doorways and windows, columns and vaulted halls, lamps, and candlesticks. I have come to a city of great wealth, and it showed in the rich splendor I found in the palace.

King Olwë smiled warmly when I pressed a letter from my father into his hand. “I will read this later,” he said, and he passed the letter onto his steward. “Now come and meet the rest of my family.”

The king graciously led me into a vast receiving hall where his family and members of the court had gathered. He presented me to his queen, the lady Eärerossë, first.

“Welcome to Alqualondë, Ingoldo Arafinwë, son of Finwë.” Her words were like warm honey. My mother once said the women of the Teleri could rival the spirits of the sea with the sweetness of their voice. She also warned me to take care where the queen was concerned. Eärerossë was unforgiving, she had said, to those who wounded her or the ones she loved. “We have all heard so much of you. If there is anything you need to increase your comfort, please do not hesitate to ask.”

I thanked her profusely, and the king motioned for the others to come forward. His sons were many, almost as many as the sons of Ingwë. Then came the lords and ladies of his court, and finally, after I was introduced to them, King Olwë raised a hand toward a lady hiding in the shadows, urging her to come forth. 

“This, my lord and prince,” he said with pride, “is my only daughter, the princess Eärwen.”

“My lady.” I bowed as deeply and respectfully as I could.

“My lord,” she said, dipping in a curtsy in return. Her voice was unlike her mother’s; it reminded me of a clear stream. “My lord father has spoken to us a great deal about your sire and your kin. If you are not weary from your journey, I would like to show you something of our city.”

I lifted my gaze, and it was then that I truly saw her. Molten silver hair and eyes as blue as brilliant jewels greeted me first, followed by a smile that could have warmed even the coldest of hearts. For a single, breathtaking moment, I could not speak or even think. The gossips all said that the Swanmaiden of Alqualondë was a glorious vision made flesh, and for once, I was grateful that they were correct. Someone cleared their throat; it was the king, I think. Clarity came back to me in a rush, and then I recalled where I was, and who I was with. I remembered my courtesies and made haste to say, “My thanks, my lady.”

“Splendid, my lord. I will send word to the stables and ask them to ready our swiftest horses.”

Not long after, we rode out of the palace and into the city. Mountains lay to the north and west, and, much to my own surprise, there was more than one forest as well. Princess Eärwen told me they are all well stocked, and hunters never want for game. She invited me to join her and her brothers on their next hunt. I agreed, thinking it would be a most opportune time to learn of King Olwë’s children.

Another aspect of the city that caught my eye were the roofs and doors and shutters of all the manses. They were all deep blue. Even the many lamps of the city were inlaid with deep blue crystals. Pearls and jewels adorned the many walls and fountains and terraces we passed, and on closer inspection, I found that the path we were on comprised chiefly of blocks of white coral. Many of the city’s paths were made of white coral, as were parts of the walls that lined the canal that threaded its way through the city.  

The princess was kind enough to lead me down to the Haven of Swans so I could take a closer look at their ships. There were the beaks of gold and the eyes of jet. There were the pristine white sails bearing the heraldry of the noble Houses of this city. King Olwë’s ship was kept apart from the others.

“That is the sigil of our House,” Princess Eärwen gestured to what was emblazoned on the main sail. “Waves with a crowned star high above them. Father thought it fitting, given the love the Teleri hold for the sea. There are many tales of the great ocean crossing. You will hear some of them later, at the feast.”

“I hear it is to be aboard your father’s ship?” The ship made especially for the king was larger than all of the others, but could it hold a great many people?

“Yes.” The princess dug her heels into her horse, urging it forward, and I did the same. We rode closer to the many piers that dotted the Haven, and I kept silent while she called out to the mariners she knew. “But only for our family and members of my father’s council. We will take the ship out into the water while we dine. There will be minstrels and mummers and even a fire dancer. If we are truly fortunate, the Oarni and Falmaríni might join us.”

“I hear you can speak their words, my lady.”

“I can, my lord. My brothers, too. My mother encouraged us to learn. Perhaps I could teach you, if you like. It is quite hard, almost as hard as Valarin, but the words are so beautiful to listen to.”

“I hope I will not disappoint you with my efforts, my lady.”

“I am certain you will not.”

We rode on, guiding our horses past the Haven and onto the beach. The sand was like gold. Even the palm trees were gilded. There were more jewels everywhere, even in the little rock pools elflings swam in. My heart felt lighter here and freer. Perhaps my mother was right. Alqualondë could indeed reward me in many ways, and I must be patient enough to see what they are.

[trekkie-lkm-archive]

Info: Spock/Uhura student/teacher, bonus points for desk involvement. (thread)

Fill: 1/1 + AO3

Author: lirulin

Archive Link + AO3

[the-shipping-forecasters]

Sheer Cardassian Rizz

"Garak was right about one thing, a guilty conscience is a small price to pay for Carassian erotica. So I will learn to live with it. I can live with it... Computer, delete my entire browser history. "

Benjamin Sisko (Probably)

This week, we return to take a look at what we've been reading in the Star Trek fandom.

Grace, having been freshly introduced to Star Trek has jumped right into the deep end of Garashir. Nick ever fond of the classics, has brought us some Spirk love, and gives us some Vulcan Rizz along the way. James got his wish from the last episode and found a fic about Gul Dukat and his Big ex-Wife, but also stops for a little bit of Boimler/Spock (Spoimler?), but not in a way where anyone has fun.

Fics and Timestamps*

Inked Upon Your Heart by Xenobotanist (15:35)

Were Classic Earth Novels Always This Horny? by Viali7 (29:45)

What were your parents' professions…because certain sections of your anatomy resemble fine baking. by lirulin

In Which Bradward Boimler Gives Spock Such a Terrible Blowjob He Needs to Sit Back and Think About it for a Little While by Clonezone 49:30

Cardassian Copyright Laws vs. the People also by Clonezone, 53:50 (Spoilers start at 1:12:00 and end at 1:20:15)

If that sounds your thing, have a listen here:

Or here

YouTube

And any other podcast place too!

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Thank you @youthbleeding and @lirulin for telling me.

It was a scam guys!

unfortunately in my panic I deleted the post without taking the user name down but please block anyone that seems fishy and stay safe! This post was linked to me and the ask did follow along like this below.

[lunar-eclipse-bunnies]

thank you @lirulin for letting me know!!! im so so sorry for not picking up on the red flags and sharing a scam. The post you directed me too was very informative (and can be found here:)

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

oc-tober 2023! 23-25, feat. lendrain and lirulin & histenna

23- twilight (lendrain)

Emyn Uial is quiet in the dying light, the stones of Barad Rath painted deep purple by dusk. They walk as silently here as they do hunting in the hills, bearing their fallen and their gathered city-stones to their rest.

Urgency still presses at him, a constant prodding in the back of his mind. His hand ghosts over his face, fingers brushing the place where Amarthiel’s touch had burned him so terribly in Angmar. And she has not yet found Narchuil, he thinks with a sinking heart.

“I am sorry I could not do more, Tadan,” he tells the cairn.

24- empty (histenna's yet-unnamed son)

He watches his father closely sometimes, watches the change that comes over him like a passing shaft of moonlight when Lirulin visits. There is something strange between them. He asks his mother about it, on an evening when there is festival in the streets and Lirulin drags his father dancing into the night. 

“It’s his tale,” she says, thoughtful, “but I will say a little.”

It makes more sense, after, the way they are together, and the way they follow the steps of an unfamiliar dance, a space left open beside them as if they are waiting for a third.

25- loyal (histenna, lirulin)

“Will you not come back to the cities?” Histenna asks, frowning. Lirulin spins him about and pushes him away to the beat of the distant drums.

“Not soon,” she says. “For now I will follow something less fickle than our hearts.”

“Unchanging is not the same as steadfast,” he says, and does not add that Omaruin was as predictable as the course of the stars. Lirulin turns furious, star-bright eyes on him.

“You excuse him?” 

“I know him,” he replies. “It was no whim that led him. It never has been.” Lower, adds: “Do not mistake understanding for approval, Lirulin.”