#mellon hall

[la-quotidienne-cest-moi]

In between the storm

[queenariesofnarnia]

a drinking game and pretty names 🍻

legolas x f!reader

a/n: here's a little ficlet no one asked for. i felt like writing it because i just did an extended edition marathon of the hobbit and lord of the rings :) it was also the first movies i ever wrote fanfics for 🤭

gif not mine

wc:375

You couldn’t help but let out your laughter as you watched Legolas and Gimli participate in their drinking game. Legolas looks unfazed by the drinks and Gimli is a drink away from sleeping on the floor in the Golden Hall tonight. You were nursing the pint of ale in your hand as you stand next to Éomer.

 “Here, here. It’s the Dwarves that go swimming with little, hairy women” Gimli belches. Causing you to snort taking a drink to cover it up.

“I feel something. A slight tingle in my fingers. I think it’s affecting me” Legolas says admiring his fingers. You shake your head laughing.

“What did I say? He can’t hold his liquor” Gimli’s words a bit slurred before his eyes cross and he falls to the floor. Laughter roars around the table.

“Game over” Legolas says shrugging, you join his side wishing Éomer a good night if you don’t cross paths again tonight. You link arms with the inebriated Legolas heading outside to enjoy the crisp night air and the stars.

“Did you have fun mellon?”(friend) your ask as you let go of his arm. He catches your hand before your arm drops to your side.

“I did meleth nîn”  (my love) he answered, the term of endearment throwing you off guard. You avert your eyes to the stars above instead of your entangled fingers. He gently calls to you to catch your attention. your eyes meet his piercing gaze. “You have such a pretty name, though meleth nîn suits you perfectly”

“So drinking games cause you to use endearments enril nîn?” (my prince) a smirk on your face as you question him getting over your bashfulness.

“The drinking game simply gave me the courage to use the endearment I’ve been waiting to call you for a long time” he says cupping your face with his free hand.

“For what it’s worth I think you have a pretty name as well. But I can always call you melethron”(masc.lover)  you suggest closing the gap. you could feel the crisp air dance along your face, but you focused on how his steady breathing fanned your lips. glancing from your eyes to your lips one last time he pulled you in for an overdue kiss.

end note: if anyone reads this thank you :) if not thats fine too!

[allbycharles]

Maedhros was checking the bills his councilors brought in.

"This does not add up."

"No your highness, but it was sent from his highness lord Caranthir."

"Did he say how on arda we made so much money with the taxes from the king going up this year?"

"He did not my lord."

.....

- Few weeks later -

"Caranthir what were you doing?"

"With what Maitimo?"

"With the damn money Carnistir, where did such amount come from?"

Carnistir paused to look at the ceiling of Himrings council hall. He then calmly looked on his clearly frustrated oldest brother.

"Why do you worry Tall One? Money comes, money goes."

Maedhros eyebrows rose seriously high.

"You plan for it to go somewhere too?"

"Yes...mainly not to Fingolfin."

The smile Caranthir suddenly had on his face when uterring those words took Maedhros back because Caranthir NEVER smiled.

Clearly unless there was a tax fraud.

-----------

@nighttimepatrons here ya go mellon

[abyssal808]

S1 Soulmate Au prompt inspired by @subbaculture 's prompt wherein "Eddie learns Tengwar just to be special and so Steve's been kicking around with "What's Kickin', Sexy?" on his body

What Tommy Hagan hadn’t been blessed with in terms of intelligence. God - in his allegedly infinite wisdom - had seen fit to redistribute into shoulder width.

Tommy, in turn, swanned around Hawkin’s High shoulder-checking every freak, geek and nerd into nearby lockers; with the kind of wingspan better suited to weirdly proportioned monkeys.

Hellfire members were no stranger to it. Two weeks ago Hagan had run into Gareth hard enough to leave a bruise. A “bump” with enough force behind it that he’d bounced off the lockers and landed on the floor.

Which, fine, two could play at that game. Even if Hagan could barely get his hand off Carol’s tits to realize there were counter-moves to be made at all.

A grade A dick move, even if it was also incredibly boring and pedestrian. The kind of thing jocks who barely had two braincells to rub together saw as peak comedy. Giggling like a cross between a group of cavemen and a flock of pre-school girls whenever their ring-leader du jour started herding freaks like a neurotic border collie.

“Watch it, freak.” Hagan hissed, skirting around Eddie without bothering to shove him at all. Giving a wide berth to whatever zone of contagious freak cooties being Eddie Munson brought to the table.

Behind him, Gareth - blocked from the rest of the hall by Eddie’s leather jacket, in a way only freshies were short enough to pull off - buried a laugh in a cough, muffled into the heel of his hand. Not missing the way that even Hagan - the most infamous asshole of them all - looked ready to bolt as soon as Eddie waved him off in a jaunty salute.

Victory tasted sweet and electric. Fizzing under his skin the way Wayne’s Miller Lites would bubble in the back of his throat, whenever Eddie stole a sip from the half open cans in the back of their fridge. It made him stupid in a way those brief tastes of beer hadn’t managed to yet.

Being The Freak came with perks. An untouchable radius that left Eddie drunk with power. Riding the high of knowing that maybe Highschool didn’t have to suck all the time. That he could play at being a rabid guard dog for the lost little sheep of the world, rail against dickheads like Hagan and win.

Maybe he could use it to plead temporary insanity for what he did next. Riding the high into a really, spectacularly stupid idea.

Everyone had their words.

Eddie’s were tucked away, hidden along the curve of his rib. A curly chicken scratch that mixed print and cursive into a barely legible mess.

‘Is that like, yiddish?’

A weird-ass question, until Eddie had pulled an all nighter on a now infamous school night, falling in love with Middle earth. Head filled with nothing but the dark halls of Khazad-dûm, the sweeping boughs of Lothlórien.

Speak friend and enter.

Pedo mellon a minno.

He’d traced the words over and over. Thrilled by the lilt, the cadence, the beautiful rise and fall of consonants no one else would understand.

Setting his heart there and then on the dorkiest greeting anyone could have come up with. But hey, it was original, which was half the battle people went through when picking soulmate greetings.

He’d gone through several variations. Always in Sindarin, because why the hell not.

People usually saved them, tucked them far away from casual conversation. Bizarre phrases, always non-sequitour, brought out only for special occasions. That lightning strike of instant attraction. People you could see yourself connecting with. Hoping they would be a part of you as much as you were theirs.

He couldn’t see himself connecting with Tommy Hagan in a million years. Not even if they waited in that hallway until the heat death of the universe.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t terrorize him with the possibility.

“What’s Kickin’ Sexy?”

He yelled after Hagan’s retreating back, with its fuck-off wide shoulders; elvish mangled, but passable. Enjoying the rictus of horror on his face, going from anger to fear and back again.

He shifted on his heel, pushing Gareth further behind him in case things got ugly. Herding him back towards Jeff with little bumps, as both of them tried to muscle down their cackling. Nerdy enough to piece together the gist of what Eddie had been hollering about. Even if Jeff was better at Quenya, because he was a weirdo and a purist about that kind of shit.

All in all, a job well done, assuming Hagan didn’t flip his shit and start throwing punches to assert dominance.

Or at least, it felt like it, until Harrington - trailing behind Hagan - sucked all the air out of the room. Hands on his hips, a furrow on his brow, blurting it out without even thinking about it.

“Is that like, Yiddish?”

You could have heard a pin drop.

Panic clamped around Eddie’s throat like a vice. The same way Gareth’s hand, tiny and tense - he had yet to hit his growth spurt - wrapped around the edge of Eddie’s leather jacket. Pushing past the waistband of his jeans to claw at skin.

The side that mattered, one they both knew had those words that wrapped around Eddie’s chest. Curving towards the sternum.

Whatever face he was making gave it away instantly.

Harrington’s face shuttered and fell. A whole host of micro expressions that passed through in a second before he scrubbed them away. A pair of shaking hands that rubbed at his eyes and dragged down his face. Peeking at Eddie through a gap in his fingers.

“Jesus Christ it’s you; isn’t it?”

Behind Eddie, Gareth tugged him half a step back, nails digging into his hip. Little half-moon crescents he barely felt now, but would find later.

“Steve?” The waver in Hagan’s voice would have been funny if it wasn’t nauseating.

Terrifying, when Steve waved him off and stepped towards Eddie. Jerky and halting, like a puppet with half it’s strings cut.

“I can’t fucking believe this Munson. You gotta tell me if it is.” Steve bit out, with a wobble that sounded too trembling and confused to be anger. Even if it would come later.

It was probably coming later.

Anger always got there in the end, with boys like Harrington. Sharp comebacks and sharper right hook always winning out, spurred on by that bone-deep, animal fear of losing your place in the social food chain.

King Steve didn’t seem worried it yet though. Adding to the bizarre hilarity of the situation as he undid his belt and untucked his shirt to the concerned shouts of everyone left in the hall, witnesses to this trainwreck.

If Eddie hadn’t been convinced he’d died and gone to purgatory a minute earlier. He would have been convinced there and then.

As Steve Harrington turned around, bunched his striped polo up high and his khaki’s down low. Stripping down to show the athletic curve of a hip. The dip of a waist that looked small next to his swimmer’s shoulders - almost wide enough to rival Hagan’s - a scattering of moles that dusted across his lower back, framing his mark.

There, on King Steve’s back, bracketed by dimples, low enough to count as a truly slutty tramp stamp sat Eddie’s words. The swooping curves of Tengwar branded into his skin.

“What’s kickin’, Sexy?”

[kat651]

wings (Lindir x reader)

In your world, wings were a gift. Less than one out of ten were born with wings. You only knew a few others with that special gift. Then you somehow ended up in middle earth. You were now the only person with wings. 

There were both ups and downs to having wings. It was nice to be able to fly when scouting for any potential threats. It was just annoying when you were trying to sleep. Your wings constantly tangling in the sheets. And let’s not even get started on getting dressed that was always a nightmare. 

But, then again, wings are a great way to stay warm. And you never have to worry about getting rained on. Wings are a perfect umbrella and the water just rolls right off the feathers. Wings also are a great way to have some shade on a hot day. 

Besides having wings you also had incredible eyesight. Like an eagle. Bonus points! 

Molting is never fun. Feathers everywhere… but it was part of having the ability to fly. You had to deal with both pros and cons. Luckily they balanced one another out nicely. 

You were currently towel drying any excess water from your wings after using them as a shield from the rain. Well, you were drying the parts that you could. You couldn’t reach most of your wing on to your own. 

“Would you like some help?”

Startled you jumped and turned to see lindir standing in the doorway. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you…” he said softly. 

You smiled. “It’s alright Mellon, I was just lost in thought, but yes I would like some help.”

Lindir sat next to you on the bench and gently began to dry your soft and delicate feathers. 

Lindir was the only one outside of your family you trusted enough to touch your wings. You’d been hurt before. 

You relaxed a bit as he carefully dried your wings. His hands gently stroking the feathers that were fully dry. 

“Can you feel it when someone touches your wings?” He asked. 

You smiled. You found his naïve questions quite endearing. You hadn’t yet told him, but just as elves had the whole intimate thing with their hair, your species had that with their wings. “Yes I can.” You said softly. 

You found yourself letting your eyes fall shut as Lindir continued to gently dry your other wing. You liked his touch, it felt nice. 

When Lindir finished drying off your wings he gently stroked them, bringing you back from your thoughts. You turned to look at him a small smile on your face. 

Lindir smiled back at you his cheeks a tad bit pink. 

You found his pink cheeks cute and gently touched his face. Lindir subconsciously leaned into your touch, his eyes closing slightly. You smiled and gently tucked a stray hair behind his ear. 

Lindir’s eyes opened and he looked at you with a hint of shock in his eyes. 

You offered a soft smile before standing up. “Thank you for the help lindir,” you said before picking up the damp towel and walking off. Lindir frowned as you walked off.  He liked your company. 

-.-.-

You sat meditating but your mind refused to focus you sighed and stood up before leaving your room and roaming the halls of Rivendell, your mind driving you mad. 

You came across Lindir who was on a bench looking at his hands as the rainclouds finally cleared above him. 

“And what are you doing out here all alone?” You asked, looking down at him.

Lindir slowly looked up, you realized he must have been crying not to long ago. You frowned and sat next to him on the stone bench. “Are you alright?”

Lindir shrugged. His eyes looked empty. “I guess…”

You slowly opened your wing and put it around him. The poor elf was shivering. Crying will do that to you though. Lindir looked at your wing that was surrounding him. He then leaned against you, sobbing. You gently held him in your arms as he cried, his face buried in the fabric on your shoulder. 

You rubbed his back soothingly and gently shushed him. “It’s ok… you’ll be ok, I’m here…”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled himself closer to you as he sobbed. You figured you’d let this take its corse and see if he wanted to talk about it once he’d calmed down a bit. 

When Lindir had stoped crying and his breathing had evened out you gently made him look at you. “Hey what’s bothering you?” You asked in a soft tone. 

Lindir sighed and moved over so there was a little room between the two of you. He looked down at his hands and took a breath before answering. “I-I just… I’m… I’m not special in any way. I don’t stand out enough to be noticed. I’m not a soldier I don’t even know how to use a weapon. I’m not a good speaker like so many of the others around me. And you! Your incredible! Everything about you is unique and- and-and beautiful. There’s nothing unique about me…I’m just… me…” he said, pulling his knees up on the bench and pulling them to his chest. 

Your heart broke at his words. Was he jealous of you? “Who told you that you’re not good enough?” You asked, trying to hide the pain in your voice. 

“What?” He asked looking up. 

“These thoughts don’t just come out of thin air. Someone planted them and now your believing a lie…”

“It’s not a lie, it’s just fact…” he said with a frown. “I’m… I’m plain, boring…”

You knelt in front of him and took his hands in your own. “Hey…”

“The only thing about me that even stands out is the fact that I have freckles! Elves aren’t supposed to have freckles, it’s an imperfection, elves aren’t supposed to have blemishes! And let’s not even talk about my eyes there just-”

“Enough.” You said cutting him off. “I refuse to listen to you belittle yourself any longer.” you sighed and gave his hands a squeeze. 

Lindir sniffled. “But its true, I’m not-”

“You’re extraordinary, everything about you is just how it’s meant to be.”

“So I’m supposed to be boring?”

You frowned before lifting him as if he were a baby and carried him to your room before gently placing him down on the armchair in the corner. You then knelt in front of him once more and looked up at him. “Look at me…” 

He slowly met your gaze. 

You sighed. “I wasn’t planing on telling anyone this, but I guess you need to hear it…”

Lindir tilted his head slightly. 

You gently took his hands. “Lindir I’ve never met a person like you… someone that can make me sit on the edge of their seat. Every time you pick up that instrument of yours time stops for me. The only thing that matters to me in those moments are what note you going to play next. I-I find myself longing for an excuse to go talk to you, because you’re the only person I feel I can fully be myself around, your the only person who’s company I find myself going out of my way to seek.”

“What about lady Arwen? You two are always laughing together.”

You smiled. “Last time we talked we were actually trying to decide which of the warriors had the weirdest battle stance… it’s glorfindel, for sure… don’t tell him I said that…”

“What?”

You shrugged. “But that’s not what we’re talking about… we’re talking about you.”

“No, we’re talking about-”

You gently placed a finger to his lips. “About how you are the kindest person in Rivendell, the only one I fully trust.”

“Really?”

“Do you see me letting anyone else touch my wings? No.”

Lindir smiled. “I guess you’re right…” he mumbled, gently stroking your feathers. 

You gently placed a hand on his cheek. “And I love your freckles, every last one…”

“Why?”

You smiled. “It’s like the world decided you needed to be marked with the beauty of the stars. Down to every last freckle, every constellation on your body…” 

Lindir relaxed a bit. “And the way your nose scrunches up when your trying not to smile…” 

Lindir felt himself blushing now. You had a way of making him want you to himself forever. He looked away. 

“Like right now,” you said, “you’re trying to hide that smile now,” you said, gently poking his ribs. 

Lindir chucked as you playfully tickled him. 

“And…” you began. 

“And?”

You stood so you were now looking down at him. “No, you may not be the best speaker or be able to fight. But you were all that went?”

Lindir shook his head. 

“It went into your heart. You have a heart that has room for everything and can still fit more, that’s where all the things you can’t see or don’t have went. They went into the most important part of a person, his heart.”

Lindir smiled. 

You bent forward and took his head in your hands before gently pushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t ever want you to doubt how incredible you are. Do you understand?”

He nodded. 

“Good,” you said, gently hugging him. “If you forget I’m going to loose my mind.”

Lindir hugged you tight. “Mmm, thank you…” he said before standing. 

“The sun is setting, come on…”

You and Lindir went and watched the as the sun slowly sank out of view. Lindir was absentmindedly running his fingers over your feathers. 

“You know…” you began as the sky turned pink and orange.

“Hmm?”

“You know how your kin has that whole intimate deal with your hair?”

Lindir nodded, scooting closer and gently pulling your wing to wrap around him. 

“We’re the same way with our wings…”

Lindir stoped stroking your feathers and went stiff. “I’m sorry I didn’t know! If I had-”

You gently placed a kiss on his cheek. “If you knew you never would have done it and I never would have found myself falling in love with you…”

Lindir looked over at you. “Y-you love me?”

You nodded. “I have for quite some time…”

Lindir slowly leaned closer providing you time to pull away. You didn’t instead you pressed your lips on his. “I love you too…” he whispered when you both parted from the kiss. 

You stood and lifted him once more. “What are you-”

You slowly flapped your wings to get yourself airborne then you went to the sky. 

Lindir’s arms went around your neck. “Y/n?!?” He said with fear in his voice. 

You softly kissed his cheek before landing on the roof in the tallest part of the hidden valley. “The sun looks better from up here…”

Lindir slowly released his grip and you both sat with your legs dangling off the edge. 

“Y/n?”

You continued to watch the sunset but took his hand. “Yes?”

You felt him draw closer before his lips gently landed on your cheek. “I-I’d like to court you… if you’d give me your permission…”

You wrapped your wings around him and gently kissed his cheek. “Of corse, how could I ever tell you no?”

Lindir slipped an arm around your waist and let his head fall on your shoulder. “I’m glad I fell into your world…” you whispered as you felt Lindir fall asleep in your arms. “So very glad…” you murmured, kissing his forehead. 

[sophia-zofia]

WHY TARGET ELBIT? Every hour, we receive thoughtful, well-aimed suggestions or inquiries about alternate targets for direct action: political offices, Embassies, NGOs, other weapons companies, intersections, etc., all of which have clear ties to the Zionist occupation of Palestine, and the ongoing genocide in Gaza. It is right and just to rebel and act boldly in all places and moments, with all tactics, without a doubt. The more chaos ensues in the halls and courtyards of the normalizers and genocidaires, the better. But focus in targeting, from a strategic perspective, is the most effective route, which is why our campaign is singularly focused on Elbit Systems, Israel’s *largest* weapons producer.

Palestine Action US has been given the privilege of carrying the banner of one of the Western world’s most successful grassroots direct action campaigns. Palestine Action UK, founded over three years ago by a Palestinian-Iraqi woman, has successfully shut down two of Elbit’s UK locations, permanently, and got HSBC to divest from Elbit. Their pressure has escalated over the years into a constant, relentless campaign, to the point where we see disruptions at Elbit in the UK nearly every day. Since October 7th, that pressure has only grown, and also exploded into the US, Canada, Australia, and everywhere Elbit is headquartered. In that time, while other weapons firms’ profits have skyrocketed, Elbit shares have taken a nosedive.

If one wishes to help build a city, one must first build a house, so others might see how it was built. Like other historic campaigns which have isolated the enablers of injustice, we start with Elbit, we shut down their operations, and we strike fear in the hearts of their staff and their investors. Once Elbit Systems of America has been vanquished, we will have a replicable model for targeted direct action, which might be used to target every single conspirator in the occupation of Palestine and the subjugation of the colonized world. Further, we absolutely uphold the necessity of mass demonstrations, marches, and softer forms of direct action. These are all elements of the elaborate tapestry of resistance, but marching alone isn’t enough. Thousands have been arrested in the US for civil disobedience since Oct 7; most of these arrests have been purely symbolic. Imagine if these bodies were blockading arms shipments, dismantling weapons companies, and actually threatening capital.

Power has shown it doesn’t move, even when millions have taken the streets, unless their profits are directly affected, or ruling class fear abounds. Beware of those who wish to co-opt the language of Direct Action for the benefit of their own opportunism and brand-building. Beware of “Shut it Down,” actions which are little more than theatrical performances, meant to contain the revolutionary instinct. For those who don’t live near a primary Elbit Systems location, there ARE targets near you. Bank of New York Mellon is Elbit System’s primary investor, along with being the fiscal sponsor for the Friends of the IDF, a non-profit which allows US citizens to materially support the Zionist Occupation Army. We have officially put Bank of New York Mellon on notice as a target of Palestine Action, and they are in major cities across the country and across the globe. Use this map to find Elbit Systems or Bank of New York Mellon locations near you, connect with Palestine Action US, and build an affinity group today.

Together, we become ungovernable, Together, we defeat the Zionist beast, beginning with Elbit Systems.

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Bruinen's Eastern Shore - Part 1: Flight

This is set just prior to the events of the first Hobbit movie, so take that how you will. I'll probably have four parts for this fic. If anyone wants to be tagged for any future fics or updates, let me know and I'll start a taglist. Anyway, this is my first LotR related fanfic, so enjoy!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Elrond x Reader

[A/N: I haven't seen RoP, and I don't plan to, so this is Hugo Weaving's Elrond. All of my knowledge regarding this universe comes from the Jackson movies and the books.]

Warnings: Slow burn, Elf x Human romance, age gap (obviously, I mean, he's over 6000 years old), mentions of combat, death, blood, undefined magic (I'm winging it rn so uh...don't think about it too hard).

~*~

"Thank you again for taking the time to meet with me, Lord Elrond," the Man said as the pair walked through Elvish halls. The stone was older than the Human by several thousands of years, yet the Elf lord was there when they were first carved into bricks for construction. "I know your schedule is full to bursting–"

"Nonsense. I am always pleased beyond measure to speak with you, mellon-nin," the Elf interjected as they walked into his study. "Tell me, how are your people holding up with this new threat?"

That was precisely why the Man had come to Rivendell, in the first place. Even as nomads, Orc attacks used to be few and far between for his people, happening perhaps once or twice a year, but in the last six months alone, they'd repelled four assaults. Their losses were becoming concerning. The Man, their leader, decided that the time had come to seek advice and possibly assistance from one much wiser than he.

"They are shaken...frightened by even the smallest of things. The snap of a twig, a particularly loud howl from the wind..." The Elven host offered his guest a seat near his bookshelves - a quiet nook which he reserved for serious conversations or quiet contemplating - and took in his haggard expression. That Elrond understood more than anything. Remaining strong when you were just as afraid as the people whom you were trying to protect was a difficult task. Such endeavors could wear heavily on even the most seasoned and confident of commanders. "They are doing their best to remain strong, but I must confess, I-I am becoming less certain every day about the wisdom of my insistence that we keep moving. Perhaps we should find one good, defensive position and dig in..."

Elrond could see his dilemma.

"But if you took such an action, you would feel as though you were cowering, is that not so?" He offered no judgment and no solutions. Not yet. He wanted to guide his friend along the path to finding his own answer, not force his hand in one direction or the other. That was not his place. That was not his purpose.

The sigh that escaped the Man's lips was ragged, and his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of all Middle Earth was upon him.

"I know 'tis prideful, but our people have never shied away from a fight. To dig ourselves into a trench...that would feel too much like desperation. And, each time the Orcs returned, they would know exactly where to find us and how many more it would take to breach our defenses," he muttered running a hand through his hair. Once vibrant and full of color, the strands were flecked with gray. The Elf lord was reminded quite starkly of how much of a toll time took upon the mortals. A pang of sorrow twisted through his heart. After over six thousand years of life, he was well aware that death was a natural part of life for those species who were irrevocably tied to mortality, but his heart ached no less for his friend's eventual fate. "If we keep moving, though, they still manage to find us. Each attack grows in strength. Every time, more and more of my people fall upon enemy blades."

Elrond nodded his head with sympathy and understanding.

"Have your people offered any suggestions about what you might do?"

The Man stood abruptly and began pacing.

"Mekor put forth the idea of joining with a stationary settlement - just until the hoards are cleared, you understand," he said, but he shook his head. "I did not tell him, but the last time we were near several of the major cities, I...scouted ahead. I spoke with their leaders, explained our situation."

"And?"

"And, they all said the same thing: 'I cannot in good conscience allow you to draw such large numbers of orcs to our gates.' The difference is that they at least have gates behind which they can defend themselves," the Man paused near the window overlooking the valley. "And you know why I cannot go to the Rangers."

The Lord of Imladris drew in a deep breath and stood, making his way to his friend's side and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Is there any help that I could offer which you would accept, mellon?" His question was quiet and probing, yet free of judgment. Elrond knew well the pride of Men and their desire to act as independently as possible. That would not, however, stop him from helping where he could. He would even go so far as to bring these mortals into Rivendell to stay. It was, after all, a refuge for just such an occasion.

After a long moment of consideration, the Man cleared his throat and lifted his chin as if to preserve his dignity.

"Our swords are old. Chipped and cracking. Several shattered during the last skirmish. And our supply of arrows and bow strings is...woeful. The few who were skilled at replenishing both were killed two months ago."

"I'll have Lindir draw up a list of supplies. No matter how small your need is, please tell him everything. We are more than happy to give you whatever help you require," Elrond said, and he could have sworn that the Human's eyes were filling with unshed tears of gratitude. Neither Man nor Ellon mentioned it. Trying to restore his friend's smile, at least to a small degree, the Elf lord changed the subject. "Tell me, how is your daughter faring through all of this?"

The grin that stretched the Man's lips was warm; the love he held for his only child shone brightly in his eyes, restoring some semblance of youth to his weathered features.

"She believes that this is all one big adventure. Though she be only a few years old, she is curious...asking more questions than I rightly know how to answer," he stated proudly. "She has her mother's intellect, and I am glad of it. I am no teacher, but I've managed to convey to her the meaning of a few words of your language."

Surprise was surely evident upon Elrond's face at his friend's declaration.

"Mellon-nin, I am honored."

"She'll need to be able to communicate with your people once she discovers what she is." The Human reached into his pocket and pulled out a small book, flipping it open and retrieving a loose piece of paper. "My late wife, as you know, was the artist of the family, however..."

He trailed off as he offered the page to his host. Elrond took it carefully, looking at the sketch of a little girl.

"Your daughter?" He asked almost reverently as he took in her joyful expression. Even in this simple drawing he could see the intelligence behind her eyes. After a few moments' keen observation, he tried to hand the drawing back to the Man who'd created it but was gently refused.

"Keep it. I brought you that, my dear friend, because if something happens to me...I want you to be familiar with her likeness. It will likely be vastly outdated by the time you meet her, but 'tis better than nothing." The somber tone of voice made Lord Elrond pause. "She is more important to me than all of Middle Earth, and if...if the Orcs take me from her, I must know that someone in this world knows to look out for her..."

Setting the sketch on his desk, the Elf placed his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"Should either of you ever need help, I will be there. She will have every protection that I can possibly afford her," he promised.

"There is...something else," the Man murmured looking into his friend's eyes. "It could be no more than an old man's imagination, but things have happened around her. Small things. Rain repelled from her as if it cannot touch her. Ripples in a pond by which she sits, though no breeze caressed the water's surface."

Elrond's posture straightened further at this new information. He knew that the blood of Númenor was thin in most, but if this was true, his friend's daughter might have a rare gift.

"Have no fear, mellon-nin. Your daughter will find her path, and if I can, I will gladly help her."

By the time of the Man's departure from Rivendell, Elrond had prepared a gift. With the weapons and extra supplies that he presented, the Lord of Imladris had one other item to offer. Opening a small, wooden box carved with Sindarin script, he revealed a silver necklace. The craftsmanship of his people was evident in the intricate curls and swirls of the metal. In the center was a forest green gem that, to the Man, seemed to glow with its own light.

"This is for your daughter. The pendant is a symbol of our protection - proof that she has favor with us. All she ever need do is show this to any Elf, and they will do whatever is necessary to assist her. If none of my people are near, she need only touch it and ask for help," Lord Elrond promised, and as if the gem could hear him, it pulsed with a warm, affectionate glow. The girl's father looked from the necklace to his friend, and this time a tear slid down his cheek as he offered his profuse gratitude. "I would be remiss to do anything less, mellon-nin."

After tucking the box safely away in his saddlebag, the Man embraced his friend. Neither knew that it would be for the last time.

--

"If you find yourself in danger, seek the elves of Rivendell."

My father repeated that to me more times than I could count as soon as I was old enough to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Our people were nomadic, constantly moving from place to place, setting up camp wherever we found ourselves. Every time we stopped, he made sure that I knew two things:

The first was the location of the nearest source of water.

The second was the way to Rivendell from our temporary encampment.

Long before I was brought into this world, my father ensured that we were on friendly terms with the steward of the valley. Each time we were even remotely close to Imladris, he made a point of speaking with the Elven lord.

Once, when I asked what Lord Elrond looked like, he brought out a small box of my mother's sketches. Rifling through them, he made a triumphant sound when he found the one he sought. Setting the box carefully aside on his bedroll, he had me sit beside him and turned the page toward me.

"The last time your mother and I visited, she made a point of drawing him. You must remember his face, my little love. One day you might need to request his help as I have done."

Much of the time, our wandering took us far from that sacred valley and the river that flowed before it. The final time that my father was able to visit, he brought back a gift. A necklace.

But it wasn't just a necklace. There was something about it that sent a wave of calm assurance through me. A sense of safety permeated my being every time I touched it. The cool metal seemed impervious to the elements, never rusting or tarnishing, as only the skill of the elves could accomplish. More than once over the years, I found myself looking at the pendant, wondering about the being who'd given me something so obviously unique on a whim.

Two decades and a handful of years later, I found myself sprinting through the trees with half of our remaining people. We were twelve desperate souls, flying through the underbrush with a hoard of Orcs behind us. Every few steps, I aimed an arrow behind me and prayed that it hit its mark upon my release.

"Come on! We're almost to the river!" I shouted, and my father's second in command, Mekor, let out an answering shout as we approached the ford. The snarls of Orcs and their Wargs nipped at our heels, urging us to move faster.

As much as it hurt, I was forced to ignore a terrified shout as the pack swallowed up one of our tired stragglers. This was a last ditch effort. If we stopped, we'd die.

Eleven.

Struggling for breath, I urged my people toward the sound of the Bruinen River and its eastern shore. Arrows from our pursuers flew through the trees, embedding themselves deeply within trunks and flesh alike. A few screams began and were silenced abruptly.

How many was that? Two? Four? No, we could count our dead once we were safe. Any who fell behind at this point were beyond our ability to save. Fifty Orcs against less than a dozen Humans? We would be lucky if any of our number survived the crossing.

Aiming another arrow backward, I allowed myself a moment's relief at the injured shriek of a Warg and the sickening crunch of its rider's bones as both crashed to the ground. Adrenaline rushed through me as the treeline appeared before us. The grass beneath our feet became a mix of pebbles and sand, rocks and mud.

"Quickly! Cross the river! Make for the eastern shore!" I shouted, and a few of the remaining people in our group echoed the sentiment. Two were cut down before they cleared the trees, their gurgling cries sending a bolt of helplessness through me even as I nocked and released arrows to buy time and space for my people. A few splashes reached my ears, and I prayed they'd make for the trees.

A yell of my name sounded from behind me.

"Come on! Get clear!" Mekor sounded much closer than I would've preferred. I needed him to live.

There were too many of them for me to hold off alone, so I turned and ran, beginning to cross the ford as quickly as I could. The pendant beneath my shirt thrummed against my skin, and an arrow whizzed by my ear so close that I could feel the displaced air from its fletching. That was too close for comfort. Much too close.

For the most part, the Orcs were afraid to cross into this territory. The Elves defended their land fiercely against such filth, after all, and very few of the cretins were stupid enough to seal their fate so definitively. However, a few who were brave enough - or perhaps foolish enough - to risk death started into the water after me. Not yet having reached the shore, I turned, grasping for arrows, but my quiver was empty. With a quiet oath, I turned and ran toward the trees. My boots were drenched, my lungs ached, and I blinked away sorrowful tears at having lost so many souls so quickly.

With a forest as ancient as this, the trees were rumored to whisper to each other and to those who remembered how to listen. The Elves listened.

Lord Elrond listened.

"Get to the trees!" I shouted, then I dug my hand into my shirt and grabbed the pendant. "Help us! Please! We're dying!"

The few brave Orcs who made it across and had not been shot down instantly apparently lent courage to their fellows. The Warg riders began to cross the racing waters, and I felt a horrible sense of dread settle into the pit of my stomach. The sight of boots disappearing into the trees was all well and good, but the Orcs would follow.

Someone had to make sure that they were distracted.

I had but one shot.

--

About an hour before he and his soldiers engaged the Orc hoard, Lord Elrond of Imladris had a vision. His gift of foresight showed a group of terrified Humans racing across the Bruinen with countless Orcs behind them. He was about to send out his guard, but the face of the young woman fighting so hard to protect the others made him pause.

He knew her face. She was older now - quite obviously an adult - but he still recognized the intelligence in her eyes and the determined set to her jaw.

More than that, the sparkle of the pendant that had escaped the collar of her shirt made him freeze. Icy dread washed over him as the vision changed to show her fleeing toward the trees. Her voice floated into his ears as easily as if she'd been standing right beside him.

"Help us! Please! We're dying!"

Elrond did not hesitate.

"Lindir!" He shouted as he began donning his armor. The younger Elf rushed into his lord's study. "Lindir, have my horse saddled. And ready a group of fighters. Hurry! Orcs are coming!"

When Elrond and his warriors caught sight of the group, the Orcs and Warg riders had just begun crossing the river. The glimpse he'd caught an hour before of her hair swishing over her shoulder as she fought repeated itself before his eyes, including her plea for help which now sounded as it should - like a whisper echoing through his very being, drawing him toward her. As he watched, she doubled back on her path, rushing back into the water.

She was trying to draw the focus of the Orcs away from her people - there weren't many Humans left. He urged his horse faster, his heart a racing drumbeat in his chest accompanying the galloping of his mount. He would not allow his friend's daughter to die within his borders while these lands were his to protect!

He'd just drawn his sword when the river's water began to whirl around her. Creating a wall between the Orcs and the remaining Humans, the water roared and flared with a shout from the woman. She lifted her arms, shoved them forward as if pushing a heavy weight, and the wall of water crashed over the majority of her enemies, washing them away as easily as pebbles in a current.

Magic. She'd performed magic! Her father had been right all those years ago.

But it was not the time to ponder her abilities. The time had come for him to fulfill his promise.

She'd bought just enough time for Elrond and his riders to reach the Orcs and cut down those who remained. Blades hissing and flashing, the Elves felled them easily.

By the time he turned back to the river, he saw her collapse onto the sandy bank, panting for air. He recognized the sight instantly: she'd overextended herself. Dismounting with a swish of his cloak, Elrond ran to her side, dropping to his knees and sheathing his blade before turning her gently onto her back.

Her glassy, exhausted gaze met his, and recognition flashed through her clever eyes.

"Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn." The words fell easily from her tongue despite how close she was to unconsciousness. She'd practiced them before.

"You have it, my lady," Elrond murmured, and almost as soon as the words passed his lips, her eyelids closed and she went limp in his grasp. He lifted her into his arms, cradled her close to his chest for one selfish moment, and with a few orders to his men to round up any survivors, the Elves brought their charges into the Hidden Valley.

~*~

Elvish Translations:

mellon-nin = my friend

Elrond o Imladris, boe ammen veriad lîn. = Elrond of Imladris, we need your protection.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Matt Wuerker, Politico

* * * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

October 30, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Oct 31, 2024

On Friday, October 25, at a town hall held on his social media platform X, Elon Musk told the audience that if Trump wins, he expects to work in a Cabinet-level position to cut the federal government.

He told people to expect “temporary hardship” but that cuts would “ensure long-term prosperity.” At the Trump rally at New York City’s Madison Square Garden on Sunday, Musk said he plans to cut $2 trillion from the government. Economists point out that current discretionary spending in the budget is $1.7 trillion, meaning his promise would eliminate virtually all discretionary spending, which includes transportation, education, housing, and environmental programs.

Economists agree that Trump’s plans to place a high tariff wall around the U.S., replacing income taxes on high earners with tariffs paid for by middle-class Americans, and to deport as many as 20 million immigrants would crash the booming economy. Now Trump’s financial backer Musk is factoring in the loss of entire sectors of the government to the economy under Trump.  

Trump has promised to appoint Musk to be the government’s “chief efficiency officer.” “Everyone’s going to have to take a haircut.… We can’t be a wastrel.… We need to live honestly,” Musk said on Friday. Rob Wile and Lora Kolodny of CNBC point out that Musk’s SpaceX aerospace venture has received $19 billion from the U.S. government since 2008.

An X user wrote: “I]f Trump succeeds in forcing through mass deportations, combined with Elon hacking away at the government, firing people and reducing the deficit—there will be an initial severe overreaction in the economy…. Markets will tumble. But when the storm passes and everyone realizes we are on sounder footing, there will be a rapid recovery to a healthier, sustainable economy. History could be made in the coming two years.”

Musk commented: “Sounds about right[.]”

This exchange echoes the prescription of Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon, whose theories had done much to create the Great Crash of 1929, for restoring a healthy economy. “Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate,” he told President Herbert Hoover. “It will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living

will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people.” 

Mellon, at least, was reacting to an economic crisis thrust upon an administration. Musk is seeking to create one. 

Today the Commerce Department reported that from July through September, the nation’s economy grew at a solid 2.8%. Consumer spending is up, as is investment in business. The country added 254,000 jobs in September, and inflation has fallen back almost to the Federal Reserve’s target of 2%. 

It is extraordinarily rare for a country to be able to reduce inflation without creating a recession, but the Biden administration has managed to do so, producing what economists call a “soft landing,” rather like catching an egg on a plate. As Bryan Mena of CNN wrote today: “The US economy seems to have pulled off a remarkable and historic achievement.” 

Both President Joe Biden and Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris have called for reducing the deficit not by slashing the government, as Musk proposes, but by restoring taxes on the wealthy and corporations. 

As part of the Republicans’ plan to take the country back to the era before the 1930s ushered in a government that regulated business and provided a basic social safety net, House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) expects to get rid of the Affordable Care Act. 

At a closed-door campaign event on Monday in Pennsylvania for a Republican House candidate, Johnson told supporters that Republicans will propose “massive reform” to the Affordable Care Act, also known as “Obamacare,” if they take control of both the House and the Senate in November. “Health-care reform’s going to be a big part of the agenda,” Johnson said. Their plan is to take a “blowtorch to the regulatory state,” which he says is “crushing the free market.” “Trump’s going to go big,” he said.” When an attendee asked, “No Obamacare?” he laughed and agreed: “No Obamacare…. The ACA is so deeply ingrained, we need massive reform to make this work, and we got a lot of ideas on how to do that.” 

Ending a campaign with a promise to crash a booming economy and end the Affordable Care Act, which ended insurance companies’ ability to reject people with preexisting conditions, is an unusual strategy.

A post from Trump last night and another this morning suggest his internal polls are worrying him. Last night he claimed there was cheating in Pennsylvania’s York and Lancaster counties. Today he posted: “Pennsylvania is cheating, and getting caught, at large scale levels rarely seen before. REPORT CHEATING TO AUTHORITIES. Law Enforcement must act, NOW!” 

Trump appears to be setting up the argument he used in 2020, that he can lose only if he has been cheated. But it is increasingly apparent that the get-out-the-vote, or GOTV, efforts of the Trump campaign have been weak. When Trump’s daughter-in-law Lara Trump and loyalist Michael Whatley became the co-chairs of the Republican National Committee in March 2024, they stopped the GOTV efforts underway and used the money instead for litigation. They outsourced GOTV efforts to super PACs, including Musk’s America PAC.

In Wired today, Jake Lahut reported that door-knockers for Musk’s PAC were driven around in the back of a U-Haul without seats and threatened with having to pay their own hotel bills if they didn’t meet high canvassing quotas. One of the canvassers told Lahut that they thought they were being hired to ask people who they would be voting for when they flew into Michigan, and was surprised to learn their actual role. The workers spoke to Lahut anonymously because they had signed a nondisclosure agreement (a practice the Biden administration has tried to stop).

Trump’s boast that he is responsible for the Supreme Court’s overturning of the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the constitutional right to abortion is one of the reasons his support is soft. In addition to popular dislike of the idea that the state, rather than a woman and her doctor, should make decisions about her healthcare, the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision is now over two years old, and state examinations of maternal deaths are showing that women are dying from lack of reproductive healthcare. 

Cassandra Jaramillo and Kavitha Surana of ProPublica reported today that at least two pregnant women have died in Texas when doctors delayed emergency care after a miscarriage until the fetal heartbeat stopped. The woman they highlighted today, Josseli Barnica, left behind a husband and a toddler. 

At a rally this evening near Green Bay, Wisconsin, Trump said his team had advised him to stop talking about how he was going to protect women by ending crime and making sure they don’t have to be “thinking about abortion.” But Trump, who has boasted of sexual assault and been found liable for it, did not stop there. He went on to say that he had told his advisors, “I’m going to do it whether the women like it or not. I am going to protect them.” 

The Trump campaign remains concerned about the damage caused by the extraordinarily racist, sexist, and violent Sunday night rally at Madison Square Garden. Today the campaign seized on a misstatement President Biden made when condemning the statement from the Madison Square Garden event that referred to Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.” They tried to turn the tables to suggest that Biden was calling Trump supporters garbage, although the president has always been very careful to focus his condemnation on Trump alone. 

In Wisconsin today, when he disembarked from his plane, Trump put on an orange reflective vest and had someone drive him around the tarmac in a garbage truck with TRUMP painted on the side. He complained about Biden to reporters from the cab of the truck but still refused to apologize for Sunday’s slur of Puerto Rico, saying he knew nothing about the comedian who appeared at his rally. 

This, too, was an unusual strategy. Like his visit to McDonalds, where he wore an apron, the image of Trump in a sanitation truck was likely intended to show him as a man of the people. But his power has always rested not in his promise to be one of the people, but rather to lead them. The pictures of him in a bright orange vest and unusually dark makeup are quite different from his usual portrayal of himself.

Indeed, media captured a video of Trump’s stunt, and it did not convey strength. MSNBC’s Katie Phang watched him try to get into the truck and noted: “Trump stumbles, drags his right leg, almost falls over, and tries at least three times to open the door…. Some transparency with Trump’s medical records would be nice.” 

The Las Vegas Sun today ran an editorial that detailed Trump’s increasingly obvious mental lapses and concluded that Trump is “crippled cognitively and showing clear signs of mental illness.” It noted that Trump now depends “on enablers who show a disturbing willingness to indulge his delusions, amplify his paranoia or steer his feeble mind toward their own goals.” It noted that if Trump cannot fulfill the duties of the presidency, they would fall to his running mate, J.D. Vance, who has suggested “he would subordinate constitutional principles for personal profit and power.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[exiledfrommars]

I think I’ve finally broken out of my months long artblock, I finished another old piece !!

Back at it with my durge, Ifrit. Except pre-tadpole this time! The brainrot is real

Pose reference is from mellon-soup (thank you for all you contribute to the art community, you’re a saint🙏) also I’m not sure if it would be weird to tag them? So I’m not going to, but their user on here is exactly as I typed it

The rest underneath the cut is just me rambling about them, for anyone interested

I went digging online and found in one of the wiki’s (I forgot which one) that bhaalist’s ceremonial/religious attire is purple with violet streaks, so that was my inspo for the outfit. Along with that Ifrit does not really care for big, gaudy attire, so I kept it fairly simple.

The jewelry was inspired by Orin! Or rather, after lobotomizing her brother and usurping their position as Chosen of Bhaal— she also stole parts of their style. And bits of their personality/mannerisms, but that’s a ramble for another time.

I considered doing it more similarly to hers, with the dangling chains and what not. But Ifrit prioritizes stealth over everything else (in my save they’re a shadow monk), so accessories that rattles with every step wouldn’t really make sense. Which is why I went with the cuffs instead.

I also made the red gems look like the blood drops surrounding the skull from Bhaal’s sigil (Sigil? Symbol? Whatever)

The ring on their horn, of course, is courtesy of Gortash. He gifted it to them not long after the Hall of Wonders heist. Ifrit acted like they hated it, complaining that Gortash’s tacky idea of fashion was unbefitting of the purest son of Bhaal.

He offered to take it back, and nearly lost a hand at the suggestion.

They wore it basically everyday from there on out, until it was forced off them after getting the brain soup special from their sister !

Anyways, that’s the end of my ramble. Thanks for reading :3

[sisterpaxton]

tagged by @otisbdriftwood :o) !! love ya whitey

which of these 5 albums i like fits my vibe the most? (no rob or white zombie cause itd feel like cheating)

tagging: @halo--hall @pisswater-deadgirl @dronemetal @loveandtolerate @firstaidspray @trophyhound @oldhabitsdiescrming @uglyrodeoprize @otisdriftwoodsfinalgirl31

[curiouselleth]

Be He Foe or Friend; a Silmarillion Choose your Own Adventure Book

Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, mellons and mutuals!

(a star shines on the hour of our meeting, friends and mutuals!)

So, what is Be He Foe or Friend? It's a Silmarillion choose your own adventure book I'm writing! I've been tagging all my posts about it with "be he foe or friend".

Be He Foe or Friend is written from the perspective of Lalwen, one of Finwe's daughters and a textual ghost. We know she went to Middle Earth with Fingolfin... but that's all we know. So it will read as if you are Lalwen, and at the end of each chapter, you will have to make a choice.

More information and details under the cut!

(edited 1/6/24 to update info)

I'm planning to separate the story into several books, with this first one starting in Valinor, pre-darkening, and ending shortly after the Host of Fingolfin arrives in Middle Earth (probably shortly after Fingolfin is crowned). It’s working title right now is Blessed Lands and Colder Seas.

For example (and this whole bit here is just an example, I am not using this):

What do you want to do as Princess of the Noldor?

Join the Court

Head projects in the city, (construction, social programs, etc.)

Serving (insert favorite/least hated vala here)

Each choice is tied to a certain chapter, so if you choose to servea vala, you would jump to the chapter "In the Halls of Aule" rather than just going to the next page with the chapter "Finwe's Advisors are Annoying" which is where you would go if you chose to join the court.

In some later chapters where survival might be a question, I'm thinking it could be fun to roll dice to determine that, like if you were in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, you would roll a 100-sided die, and if you got 98 or above you survive. (I'm still kinda rotating how this part should work.)

(All of the above choices and chapters were made up for the sake of giving an example that wasn't a spoiler)

As of now I estimate 26 or so chapters in this book, but there are probably quite a few I can combine, and I will probably find that I need more chapters in certain parts so I can't say for sure.

What makes this complicated is that you won't be reading 26 chapters. Because for each decision you make at the end of a chapter, there will be 1 or 2 other chapters for the other choices... and it all branches off so there really will be 6 or 7 chapters as you read through. (I am so sorry if this doesn't make sense, I don't know how else to word it)

Namárië!

[misspaoline]

"In high school, I’d see a movie at the local arthouse — like Living In Oblivion or Smoke — and want to dress like Harvey Keitel or Steve Buscemi. When I was in college, at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, and then starting out as an actor in New York, I’d go to a lot of thrift shops. I was dead broke, but from older movies, I had some loose appreciation of great style — Cary Grant, Paul Newman…that Ivy League look from the 50s and 60s."

Despite these steamy on-screen moments, off-screen, he’s a low-key family man; he’s been married to power publicist Simon Halls since 2011, and they’re raising three boys in Los Angeles. While the SAG/AFTRA strike prevented him from kissing and telling about his scenes with Messrs. Bailey and Cooper, it seemed a good time to check in with an old friend of the brand.

“Being a parent [of three boys] has taught me patience…they’re different people, so you want to give them the structure they need to survive and thrive, but also not dampen the spirit they come into the world with.”

"At a certain point you have to be true to yourself, and let the chips fall where they may. And by being true to myself, I ultimately ended up working with all the people I wanted to work with in the first place. It’s a very personal decision, and there shouldn’t be this one-size-fits-all dictum about coming out." Interview by Matt Bomer for Todd Snyder winter 2023

[goldkirk]

LOTR fanfics that have rocked my socks

@krowepoison, this one's for you!

Fate & the High King's Falcon, by Baylor

Pippin recovers from his injuries following the battle at the Black Gate.

life comes breaking in!, by InfiniteCalm

Frodo, in the blessed realm, writes a book.

This generates a lot of interest (from old friends and new).

title from quote from v woolfe's diary: "I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual"

These Thirteen Days, by Barrowight

While Frodo and Sam lie unconscious after their journey to Orodruin, the remaining members of the Fellowship encounter despair, conflict and unexpected mirth as they watch over their sleeping friends.

Reunion at Cormallen, by shirebound

Frodo and Sam’s first night awake at Cormallen, and an unexpected adventure with the Fellowship at Faramir's refuge. A more gentle, lighthearted tale.

Over Sea, by amaruuk

Frodo was given the gift of healing in the Blessed Realm. What happened to him, and those he loved, after the White Ship sailed out of the Grey Havens?

Mark of a Warrior, by starryeyedknight

Those Riders who had made up the honour guard of Theoden’s body from Minas Tirith sat about the main hall, breaking their fast as they traded quiet jests about the night before. Until they were interrupted by something very small, and very angry. 

“Alright, which one of you colossal bastards," Merry demanded, waving his abused arm, “is responsible for this?”

After the funeral for Theoden, Merry wakes up to a problem experienced by many a young man after a night of heavy drinking. The ink on his arm doesn't appear to be washing off… 

A White Coverlet to Cool a Hobbit's Toes, by claudia603

After the quest, Frodo observes snow on the top of the mountain. He remembers Caradhras and wants to experience it under better circumstances.

Reunion in Minas Tirith, by shirebound

Faramir and the hobbits reunite in Minas Tirith after Aragorn's crowning. An upbeat, lighthearted look at some Faramir/hobbit interactions in the following days. Amazingly enough, no one is sick, guilt-ridden, or in pain. Enjoy!

The Mellon Chronicles series, by Cassia and Siobhan

YEARS BEFORE there was a fellowship, at a time when the One Ring remained quiet and unknown in the possession of an unassuming Hobbit and the gathering darkness of Mordor had not yet made itself known to the world, there was an eager young Ranger and an Elven Prince.

Mortal and Immortal, the Elven Prince and the man who would one day be King of Gondor formed an unlikely bond.

Ultimately, their very survival may depend on not only the speed and accuracy of an Elven bow, nor even the swift sword of the Dunèdain, but on the strength and loyalty of the friendship they share.

Follow me away now, oh worthy sojourners of Middle Earth to explore the untold adventures of these early years....

Anastasis, by Chthonion

"Forgive me,” Frodo says in his accented Quenya, the syllables strange in his ears. “I—I have an old wound. It troubles me still, sometimes."

"It is I who must ask your forgiveness," says the stranger. "I believe I may be the one who put it there."

*

In Aman, Frodo and Celebrimbor and Finrod forge a friendship, talk about trauma, and deal with the fact that Sauron's ghost is haunting Celebrimbor.

[yourreddancer]

Heather Cox Richardson 10.30.24

On Friday, October 25, at a town hall held on his social media platform X, Elon Musk told the audience that if Trump wins, he expects to work in a Cabinet-level position to cut the federal government.

He told people to expect “temporary hardship” but that cuts would “ensure long-term prosperity.” At the Trump rally at New York City’s Madison Square Garden on Sunday, Musk said he plans to cut $2 trillion from the government. Economists point out that current discretionary spending in the budget is $1.7 trillion, meaning his promise would eliminate virtually all discretionary spending, which includes transportation, education, housing, and environmental programs.

Economists agree that Trump’s plans to place a high tariff wall around the U.S., replacing income taxes on high earners with tariffs paid for by middle-class Americans, and to deport as many as 20 million immigrants would crash the booming economy. Now Trump’s financial backer Musk is factoring in the loss of entire sectors of the government to the economy under Trump.  

Trump has promised to appoint Musk to be the government’s “chief efficiency officer.” “Everyone’s going to have to take a haircut.… We can’t be a wastrel.… We need to live honestly,” Musk said on Friday. Rob Wile and Lora Kolodny of CNBC point out that Musk’s SpaceX aerospace venture has received $19 billion from the U.S. government since 2008.

An X user wrote: “I]f Trump succeeds in forcing through mass deportations, combined with Elon hacking away at the government, firing people and reducing the deficit—there will be an initial severe overreaction in the economy…. Markets will tumble. But when the storm passes and everyone realizes we are on sounder footing, there will be a rapid recovery to a healthier, sustainable economy. History could be made in the coming two years.”

Musk commented: “Sounds about right[.]”

This exchange echoes the prescription of Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon, whose theories had done much to create the Great Crash of 1929, for restoring a healthy economy. “Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate,” he told President Herbert Hoover. “It will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people.” 

Mellon, at least, was reacting to an economic crisis thrust upon an administration. Musk is seeking to create one. 

Today the Commerce Department reported that from July through September, the nation’s economy grew at a solid 2.8%. Consumer spending is up, as is investment in business. The country added 254,000 jobs in September, and inflation has fallen back almost to the Federal Reserve’s target of 2%. 

It is extraordinarily rare for a country to be able to reduce inflation without creating a recession, but the Biden administration has managed to do so, producing what economists call a “soft landing,” rather like catching an egg on a plate. As Bryan Mena of CNN wrote today: “The US economy seems to have pulled off a remarkable and historic achievement.” 

Both President Joe Biden and Democratic presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris have called for reducing the deficit not by slashing the government, as Musk proposes, but by restoring taxes on the wealthy and corporations. 

As part of the Republicans’ plan to take the country back to the era before the 1930s ushered in a government that regulated business and provided a basic social safety net, House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) expects to get rid of the Affordable Care Act. 

At a closed-door campaign event on Monday in Pennsylvania for a Republican House candidate, Johnson told supporters that Republicans will propose “massive reform” to the Affordable Care Act, also known as “Obamacare,” if they take control of both the House and the Senate in November. “Health-care reform’s going to be a big part of the agenda,” Johnson said. Their plan is to take a “blowtorch to the regulatory state,” which he says is “crushing the free market.” “Trump’s going to go big,” he said.” When an attendee asked, “No Obamacare?” he laughed and agreed: “No Obamacare…. The ACA is so deeply ingrained, we need massive reform to make this work, and we got a lot of ideas on how to do that.” 

Ending a campaign with a promise to crash a booming economy and end the Affordable Care Act, which ended insurance companies’ ability to reject people with preexisting conditions, is an unusual strategy.

A post from Trump last night and another this morning suggest his internal polls are worrying him. Last night he claimed there was cheating in Pennsylvania’s York and Lancaster counties. Today he posted: “Pennsylvania is cheating, and getting caught, at large scale levels rarely seen before. REPORT CHEATING TO AUTHORITIES. Law Enforcement must act, NOW!” 

Trump appears to be setting up the argument he used in 2020, that he can lose only if he has been cheated. But it is increasingly apparent that the get-out-the-vote, or GOTV, efforts of the Trump campaign have been weak. When Trump’s daughter-in-law Lara Trump and loyalist Michael Whatley became the co-chairs of the Republican National Committee in March 2024, they stopped the GOTV efforts underway and used the money instead for litigation. They outsourced GOTV efforts to super PACs, including Musk’s America PAC.

In Wired today, Jake Lahut reported that door-knockers for Musk’s PAC were driven around in the back of a U-Haul without seats and threatened with having to pay their own hotel bills if they didn’t meet high canvassing quotas. One of the canvassers told Lahut that they thought they were being hired to ask people who they would be voting for when they flew into Michigan, and was surprised to learn their actual role. The workers spoke to Lahut anonymously because they had signed a nondisclosure agreement (a practice the Biden administration has tried to stop).

Trump’s boast that he is responsible for the Supreme Court’s overturning of the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the constitutional right to abortion is one of the reasons his support is soft. In addition to popular dislike of the idea that the state, rather than a woman and her doctor, should make decisions about her healthcare, the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision is now over two years old, and state examinations of maternal deaths are showing that women are dying from lack of reproductive healthcare. 

Cassandra Jaramillo and Kavitha Surana of ProPublica reported today that at least two pregnant women have died in Texas when doctors delayed emergency care after a miscarriage until the fetal heartbeat stopped. The woman they highlighted today, Josseli Barnica, left behind a husband and a toddler. 

At a rally this evening near Green Bay, Wisconsin, Trump said his team had advised him to stop talking about how he was going to protect women by ending crime and making sure they don’t have to be “thinking about abortion.” But Trump, who has boasted of sexual assault and been found liable for it, did not stop there. He went on to say that he had told his advisors, “I’m going to do it whether the women like it or not. I am going to protect them.” 

The Trump campaign remains concerned about the damage caused by the extraordinarily racist, sexist, and violent Sunday night rally at Madison Square Garden. Today the campaign seized on a misstatement President Biden made when condemning the statement from the Madison Square Garden event that referred to Puerto Rico as a “floating island of garbage.” They tried to turn the tables to suggest that Biden was calling Trump supporters garbage, although the president has always been very careful to focus his condemnation on Trump alone. 

In Wisconsin today, when he disembarked from his plane, Trump put on an orange reflective vest and had someone drive him around the tarmac in a garbage truck with TRUMP painted on the side. He complained about Biden to reporters from the cab of the truck but still refused to apologize for Sunday’s slur of Puerto Rico, saying he knew nothing about the comedian who appeared at his rally. 

This, too, was an unusual strategy. Like his visit to McDonalds, where he wore an apron, the image of Trump in a sanitation truck was likely intended to show him as a man of the people. But his power has always rested not in his promise to be one of the people, but rather to lead them. The pictures of him in a bright orange vest and unusually dark makeup are quite different from his usual portrayal of himself.

Indeed, media captured a video of Trump’s stunt, and it did not convey strength. MSNBC’s Katie Phang watched him try to get into the truck and noted: “Trump stumbles, drags his right leg, almost falls over, and tries at least three times to open the door…. Some transparency with Trump’s medical records would be nice.” 

The Las Vegas Sun today ran an editorial that detailed Trump’s increasingly obvious mental lapses and concluded that Trump is “crippled cognitively and showing clear signs of mental illness.” It noted that Trump now depends “on enablers who show a disturbing willingness to indulge his delusions, amplify his paranoia or steer his feeble mind toward their own goals.” It noted that if Trump cannot fulfill the duties of the presidency, they would fall to his running mate, J.D. Vance, who has suggested “he would subordinate constitutional principles for personal profit and power.”

—

[lilitblaukatz]

Librarygate addition from the time-unrelated side

Richie's joking. But I'm not.

We know that the Duffers are huge Stephen King fans.

There are three significant library arcs in Stephen King's works which I can remember (add if you can, please): the novella "The Library Policeman" (1990, one of the FOUR HOUR STRIKES (the third) in "FOUR past midnight" collection); and two belong to "It": Mike Hanlon was a librarian, but also Ben Hanscom has a big arc with the Derry Library.

I will start with Ben (he is a part of our love triangle parallel after all). Ben's ties to the Derry Library are shown both in miniseries and in recent movies, but to know the full story you of course need to read the book. I've read it two times and the last one was about 15 years ago, so forgive me for any wrong memories (pun intended).

1.. Ben loved the Derry Library. Not only because he was lonely and it was a place he could spend time. He liked to learn, he had good relationship with the librarian. But most of all he liked the bridge part between the two library buildings (idk how to call it in English, that part joins the children library and the grown'ups one with well-lit warm hall with glass sides and roof, probably?). When Ben grew up, he built a building based on that hall and got an architect award for it. He liked the hall because you could use it to go from one library to another even in the winter and be warm and dry and look at all the cold and snow outside. It is probably a metaphor for that tween period of life King loves so much that most of his kid characters end up being eaten by monsters about 11-12.

Ben had bad things happen to him there as well. I don't really remember the accident with the boy and easter eggs in the book, but Ben was really scared of that photograph and the story of Kitcheners' blow up and killing a hundred of kids. Also when he was staying late helping the librarian one winter night, he saw Pennywise on the ice when Ben was crossing the river by the bridge. Yeah, that same bridge Adrian Mellon was thrown from years after Ben's encounter.

But also Ben wrote that poem about Beverly's hair in the library :)

2.. Mike Hanlon. Mike was a fellow loser to Ben. He was interested in Derry history as a kid and figured out that awful things happen in Derry every 27 years for centuries. He grew up and became a librarian in Derry Library. He was the one with his memories intact and called all the Losers when It came back 27 years later.

3.. Library Policeman. It is a hard story. I've read it when I was a kid myself, maybe 12, 13? Years later I remembered the chill and re-read it. It was still years from now so yeah, I'll do what I can with Wikipedia not helping much.

The protagonist of the novella is Sam. When Sam was a child, he was r*ped in the bushes outside of his hometown library by a man who called himself the Library Policeman who punish children who don't return their books on time. At another place, where grown-up Sam lives, he needs some books from the local library for the first time since his childhood. He accidentaly destroys the books after he uses them and then supernatural stuff start to happen. The entity calling itself the Library Policeman is terrorizing him, and the old librarian who gave him the books is long dead. That woman was not human. It is a monster who is feeding on childrens' fear.

Sam, his friend with whom he falls in love with, and a former lover of the librarian are on the mission to defeat the monster, who wants a NEW HOST to attach itself to, like a parasite. The former lover DIES while helping Sam and his friend, the monster manages to attach itself to the friend's neck and Sam saves her by pulling it off of HER NECK and throwing it under the wheels of upcoming train where it is smashed out of existence. It is a heartbreaking moment: he makes her to look forward and recite a poem or count, I don't remember, while standing behind her he lifts her hair and sees this thing on her neck (which causes some personality changes in her or just a headache I don't remember sorry), and he takes it off when the train is almost there and throws... This monster was compared to a spider too (the flesh form of It was a spider). I like the idea that it is a soteria in Will's neck, but I'm afraid it can be a part of the Mind Flayer.

So we have Hopper and Joyce go into the Upside Down through the Lab gate to find Will. S01 was heavily influenced by Alien and the Duffers don't just do an homage, they use easter eggs and parallels in the plot.

The first thing Hopper finds in the UD (the first thing Ben Hanscom had found in the sewers… was an orange Pennywise pom-pom when he was a child and red Audra Denbrough's purse as an adult) is a busted-out-of egg which is of course an egg a facehugger is grown in.

Who was born from that egg in the Stranger Things is unclear. Could be a demogorgon. Dragons lay eggs btw.

Then Joyce and Hopper inspect the Castle Byers remnants, go to Byers' house where amazed Jonathan recognizes his mother in the lights and Joyce hear him calling her gently. It is irrelevant here but fascinating. Then they follow the trace of blood into the Hawkins Public Library.

There is some kind of lair. It is similar to both the egg lair in the Alien and in the Aliens.

The difference is that in Aliens Momma is still around. Also we have cocooned corpses in the Aliens too:

Stranger things s01e08:

It's all of course from the Aliens and It: Hopper and Joyce parallel the couple from Aliens who found the ship with the eggs, the death of the father points to Hopper's future death.

Joyce finds Will like Ripley finds Newt in the lair, cocooned:

Bill Denbrough finds his wife Audra in the lair, cocooned.

But whose lair is it?!

Vecna had his lair in his old house, where he was being charged in a dock like an electronic toy...

Flesh form of It (the Spider) layed eggs in its lair which Losers destroyed (sadly, not on screen in both the miniseries and the movies) by stepping on them.

Alien Queen layed eggs in its lair which Ripley destroyed (by fire!)

Who lays those eggs (we saw one) in the UD? Whose lair is in the library???

And just what else I have on the place: Will was FOUND in the library on Nov 12th, but the sign says (Vote here) Nov. 6th when he was taken walked willingly disappeared. So can library be a part of his dissapearance too? Or even in the first place.

Dragons steal princesses and keep them in their lairs too...

King's prototype of It was a troll from a fairytale, who lives under the bridge and eats children. Do trolls eat princesses? I'm not that familiar with foreign folklore...

And the last but not least:

Team Tigers vs team Falcons:

(the shots of the library with pigeons and then pigeons were followed by shots of Joyce in her car arriving at Melvalds s01e02)

Many noticed the stalker shots and Vecna's parallels to birds.

Birds were absolutely the spies in the Duma Key by Stephen King.