#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!

[cowboybeepboop]

idk if you do anything revolving around legolas but if you do, could you do some soft/romantic legolas smut? i would be eternally grateful, im so down bad for him and im running out of fics to read 😭

Pairing: Legolas x fem! Elf Reader 

Genre: Smut 

Word count: 3.3k

a/n: i didn’t proofread what so ever and also i wrote this in barely any time so 😣 but i hope you enjoy 

Legolas smiled as he spotted you, his friend, he always felt a sense of peace with you, you’re the only person who was allowed to see his more relaxed side. The elf made his way over to you and crossed his arms.

“How are you today?” Legolas asked with a smile.

“I am quite well.” You turn to face him, your hair falling over your shoulder. “How are you, my prince?”

He chuckled quietly at the formal nickname you called him for a joke. “Please don’t call me that.”

Legolas smirked as he picked up a strand of your hair in his fingers, gently twirling it against his fingertips.

“Does it bother you?” You question, stepping closer to him ever so slightly.

He chuckled quietly again, trying to ignore the slight blush that spread across his face as you stepped closer. 

“You know it bothers me,” Legolas said in a fake annoyed tone. He slowly pulled the strand of your hair, bringing you even closer until you stood only a few inches apart from him. He gently pushed the strand behind your shoulder so it was no longer hiding your face.

“My Mellon, have you met some of the elves here?” You question, feeling his touch ghost over your cheek. “The guards are quite nice.”

Legolas chuckled slightly, continuing to brush his fingers against your cheek as he spoke. “Yes, I’ve met some of them”

His eyes darted to the guards you had mentioned, and he couldn’t help but think about the way they looked at you, the jealousy he felt grew. The prince knew that no matter how oblivious you are, you were incredibly beautiful.

You smile towards one of them, who has a watchful eye on you. “Shall we walk together?” You look at the prince in front of you, expression soft.

Legolas’s hand dropped from your cheek when he noticed the guard looking at you, looking at you as if you were the most beautiful star in Middle Earth.

The feeling of jealousy coursed through the prince, but he swallowed it down and put on a smile as he looked back at you. “Yes, of course, we can walk together.”

Legolas watched as you walked ahead of him. The way your hips swayed gently from side to side as you walked elegantly through the halls, he could not help but think how graceful you were as you were completely unaware of his gaze.

“You seem to enjoy the company of those guards.” He said in a low voice, trying not to sound jealous.

“They are intriguing, much different than what I am used to.” You murmur, “One even offered to braid my hair, do you think he did well?”

Legolas’s eyes darkened as you mentioned the guard offering to braid your hair. He almost growled at the thought of the guard’s hands on you, but he quickly composed himself.

“Let me see.” He said quietly, reaching out to your hair and pulling a lock of it gently. He looked at it for a moment before answering. “He did an adequate job.”

“Only adequate?” You question, spinning on your heel to face him. “Does it not suit me?”

Legolas looked at you as you spun around to face him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you, how you were almost directly in front of him, gazing up at him expectantly, waiting for him to answer.

The prince gently took hold of one of your braids, wrapping his fingers around it as he tugged on it gently. “It suits you, almost everything does.”

“You flatter me, my prince.” Your cheeks flush a light pink as he continues to play with your hair.

Legolas’s hand slowly moved through your hair, gently pulling away the braids and undoing the work of the guard. The prince’s fingers slowly tangled in your hair as he gently pushed the hair over your shoulder, revealing more of your neck to him.

“Much better,” Legolas said quietly, looking down at you. 

“Mellon. If I did not know better  I would think that you were jealous of the guard who touched my hair.” You step back, a small smile as you look up at him.

Legolas smirked slightly, looking down at you. His gaze darkened as you spoke the truth, the guard’s touch on your hair had angered him more than he would like to admit, but he decided to deny it.

“Me? Jealous of a guard?” The prince said in an amused tone. He took a small step closer to you, placing his hands on your hips.

“Envious perhaps?” You grin, watching his expression turn irritated. He stepped even closer to you until there was only a few inches of space between you.

“Envious? Why would I be envious of a simple guard that would never be worthy of your time?” The prince said, his arms now wrapped around your waist.

“Not worthy of my time?” You press a hand to his shoulder, “Why wouldn’t he be worthy of my time?”

Legolas’s grip around your waist tightened slightly as you continued to push his Buttons. 

“He’s a guard.” The prince said, speaking lowly as if it was obvious. “He doesn’t deserve to touch your hair or even be in the same room as you, let alone have your time.”

Your continued teasing was beginning to annoy the prince, and you could tell by the way his grip on your waist had tightened.

“You don’t understand how perfect you are do you?” He said in a low voice, his eyes darkened as he looked at you. “You have no idea the power you have over others, especially over males like that guard. Men will fall to their knees, giving you whatever you ask for.”

“And would you?” You cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin. “Would you give me anything I ask for?”

Legolas’s expression softened as you cupped his cheek, the feeling of your thumb against his skin made his heart skip a beat. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a second before opening them and looking at you.

“You know I would.” He said quietly, “No matter what it was, I would give it to you without a second thought.”

“Even if I requested your heart?” The words leave your lips before you even have time to think about what you are saying.

Legolas froze as the words left your lips, staring intently at you. He hadn’t been expecting you to say that, and the silence that followed your words was deafening.

He searched your eyes, looking for any hint of a joke, but he found nothing. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he gently placed a hand over yours on his cheek. 

“You already have it.” The prince whispered.

“Legolas..” you gasp, heart pounding as he holds you tight.

Legolas wrapped his other arm around you, holding you close against his chest. He ran his fingers through your hair gently, the familiar feeling of your body pressed against him, how he wanted this feeling to last forever.

“You have my heart.” He repeated, speaking again in a whisper, “You’ve had my heart for several decades.”

“As you have mine.” You press your forehead to his, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Legolas closed his eyes as you pressed your forehead to his, your touch sending a shiver down his spine. He was glad that the corridor was deserted, the only sound in the hallway was yours and his own breathing.

He brought one of his hands up, wrapping it in your hair softly, as the other continued to hold you against him. “For how long?” The prince asked quietly, his lips close to yours.

“For as long as I can recall.” You trace mindless patterns into his skin, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“You will be the death of me, you know that?” The prince said in a low voice, the feeling of your lips against his skin was almost too much.

He leaned in closer, his breath gently ghosted over your face, he wanted nothing more than to press his lips to yours. He wanted to pull you even closer until there was zero space between you.

You step back, cheeks flushed as you realize the compromised position you’re in. 

Legolas almost let out a whimper at the loss of contact as you stepped back, his hand falling from your waist and he looked at you.

He let out a chuckle at the sight of your flushed cheeks and the realization of your position. “We better stop now, or I might not be able to control myself.” The prince said in a low voice.

“Perhaps we shall retire to your bed quarters.” You reach for his hand, pulling him with you down the hall.

A smirk formed on Legolas’s lips when you spoke, and he let you pull him down the hall. He followed you wordlessly, allowing you to lead him to his bed quarters.

He was acutely aware of the way you were holding his hand as you pulled him through the halls, the touch of your skin against his was almost driving him insane.

When the two of you reached Legolas’s bed quarters, he gently used his other hand to open the door for you before following you in.

He shut the door behind them quietly, and almost instantly you were pushed back against the wall, the prince’s body pressing against yours.

“My love,” you brush your thumbs over his cheekbones. Legolas leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment at the feeling of your fingers on his skin. He relished the feeling, the warmth of your body against his, the feeling of your hands against his face.

The elf opened his eyes again and looked down at you, his hands moved to your hips, gripping onto them as if you were an anchor keeping him grounded. “My love.” He repeated quietly.

You smile in response, pulling his face to yours, and pressing a kiss to his lips. Your fingers brush against the sensitive tips of his ears.

Legolas inhaled sharply as you pulled his face closer to yours, every touch of your body against his set fire to his skin.

A low gasp escaped his lips as you pressed a kiss to his lips, and another as your fingers lightly touched his ears. The prince’s hands squeezed slightly at your hips involuntarily, pulling your body even closer to his. He was struggling to control himself.

The prince tilted his head, deepening the kiss as he pressed you tighter against the wall. One of his legs pushed between your thighs, making it almost impossible for you to separate from him.

His tongue ran over your bottom lip, asking for entrance. He needed to taste you.

You moaned as his knee made contact with the warmth between your legs. Lips parting and allowing for his tongue to slip in. 

Legolas could feel the warmth in between your thighs as his knee pressed in, and he had to hold himself back from pressing his thigh even harder into it.

The sound of your moan only fueled him further. His tongue immediately slipped into your mouth, tasting you, mapping out every inch.

One of his hands moved, trailing up your body slowly, his fingers lightly caressing your skin as they went.

Legolas leaned back, panting slightly as he looked down at you. The sight of you, breathless and flushed from the kiss, took his breath away. And the prince was determined to see more of it.

His hand moved from your hip, gently grabbing your chin and tilting it up to look at him. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Legolas asked, his voice low.

“You undo me, my darling.” You pull him close, peppering kisses onto his neck.

Legolas let out a shaky exhale as you pulled him close, your lips against his skin were sending his brain into overdrive. He let his head fall back, giving you more space to kiss his neck. 

“My dear..” he mumbled quietly, his eyes squeezing shut. “Please, if you carry on like that, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Then do not stop yourself..” you guide him to the bed, pushing him to sit on the edge.

The prince stumbled backward as you pushed him towards the bed, sitting on the edge as you guided him. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire.

Legolas quickly grabbed you by the hips, pulling you down so you were sat on his lap, straddling him. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin almost too hard. “Are you sure?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I need you like the air I breathe.” You whisper, moving your hips down against his. “I have never been more sure of anything. Please, my prince, do not hold back.”

The prince's eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to set the room alight as he stared into yours, the passion in his gaze leaving no room for doubt. With a groan, he claimed your mouth again, kissing you with a fierce hunger that had been building for centuries. 

His hands roamed up your body, slipping under your dress to feel the warmth of your bare skin, his thumbs brushing over the soft curves of your breasts. You could feel his need for you, as he held you tightly, his body trembling slightly beneath yours. 

His touch was both tender and possessive as if he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough, you would slip away from him again. As you kissed, Legolas's hands worked on the laces of your dress, eager to see more of the beauty hidden beneath. 

You moaned into his mouth as the fabric loosened, allowing him to explore further. The elf's hands moved with the grace of a master archer, yet the urgency in his touch was anything but refined. He was starved for you, and he meant to feast.

Legolas's self-control snapped like a bowstring drawn too taut, and he ravished you with a fervor that was both fierce and gentle, his movements driven by a hunger that had lain dormant for eons. 

His kisses grew deeper, more demanding as he pulled your dress away, revealing the softness of your skin. His hands explored every inch of you, as if he needed to relearn the landscape of your body, to claim it as his own once again. 

He groaned into your mouth as he felt your skin against his, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure through his body. His hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer still, until there was no space left between you, until it was as if you were one being, bound together by passion and love. 

You could feel his heart hammering in his chest, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. His touch was like fire, leaving a trail of desire wherever it went, and you craved more, arching into his caresses. 

The room around you seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. The prince's hands tangled in your hair, angling your head back to expose the delicate line of your neck, which he kissed with an urgency that left you trembling. 

Each touch, each kiss, was a declaration of his love and need, and you responded in kind, your hands exploring the firm planes of his chest and back, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. 

Together, you tumbled onto the bed, a tapestry of limbs and fabric, the only sound in the room the ragged breaths and murmurs of desire.

Legolas’s hands paused for a moment, feeling the weight of the moment, as he gazed into your eyes, filled with love and a gentle yearning. He laid you back onto the soft bed, his body hovering over yours, the warmth of his skin pressing against yours. 

He kissed down your neck, feeling your pulse race under his lips. His hands gently parted your legs as he positioned himself between them, his own desire evident in the way his body responded to yours. 

With trembling hands, he began to undo the last of your garments, exposing the beauty of your form to his eager eyes. He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, his love, laid bare before him. As he leaned over, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his breath tickling your skin, making you squirm with anticipation. 

His touch grew more urgent as he kissed along your collarbone, his hips nudging yours in a silent plea for you to open up to him fully.

With a gentle push, he entered you, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him in a way that made his eyes roll back in his head. He moaned softly, the feeling of finally being inside you almost too much to handle. 

His movements were slow at first, tender, as he didn’t want to cause you any pain, but the more you responded to him, the more he lost himself in the feeling of being one with you. Each thrust grew a little more urgent, a little more needy, as he sought to claim you fully. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper. 

The room was filled with the sounds of your muffled gasps and his low, guttural moans. His eyes remained locked on yours, reading every emotion that passed across your face, making sure that he wasn’t hurting you, that this was everything you wanted. 

The prince moved with the grace of an elf, yet with a passion that was unmistakably his, his love for you shining through with every movement. You could feel every inch of him, filling you up, making you feel whole again after so much pain and loneliness. 

Your body began to tremble, the pleasure building until it was a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm you.

Legolas felt your muscles tighten around him, and he knew you were close. He kissed you deeply, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he quickened his pace, his hips moving in a steady rhythm that made the bed beneath you creak in protest. 

He whispered sweet Elvish words into your ear, promising you forever and beyond, as he pushed you closer to the edge of ecstasy. His thumb found your clit, circling it gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. 

The prince watched as your eyes fluttered shut, your face contorting in ecstasy. And with one final, desperate push, he sent you over the edge, feeling your body shudder in release against his. 

The feeling of you coming apart in his arms was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he let out a shout of victory and love as he followed you, his own release spilling into you, mingling with your own. 

The two of you lay there, panting and intertwined, the aftershocks of passion still pulsing through your bodies. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Mellon,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion. “You are everything to me. I will spend eternity making sure you know just how much I love you.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked into the depths of his, a soft smile gracing your lips. “And I you, my prince. I love you more than words can ever express.”

The room was silent except for the sound of your hearts beating in unison, the first of many moments of pure bliss that would come to define your eternity together.

 Legolas held you close, his hand stroking your hair, as you both basked in the warmth of your love, feeling more connected than ever before. The outside world no longer existed for either of you, only the two of you, entwined in each other’s arms, forever bound by passion and destiny.

[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. 

[earthlybeam]

You Slapping their Butt and Calling them “Dummy Thick” in Front of Everyone:

how would the elves react to this?

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Lindir, erestor, glorfindel elladan, elrohir, version’s are below.

🎶𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

♫ The moment your hand made contact with his backside, a resounding smack echoing across the tranquil halls of Rivendell, Lindir would freeze mid-step, his spine going rigid like a taut bowstring. His harp, which he had been holding with characteristic grace, would slip precariously from his grip, nearly falling before he clumsily caught it. His pale cheeks would flush a brilliant shade of crimson, spreading all the way to the tips of his pointy ears.

♫ Turning to you with wide, stunned eyes, Lindir would open his mouth to respond but no words would come out, just a soft, strangled sound of disbelief. “Wha— ahem—what did you just…” His voice would falter, his usual eloquence failing him entirely. He’d fidget with his sleeves, the picture of flustered mortification.

♫ The elves in the room—courtiers, musicians, and even a passing servant—would collectively stop in their tracks, their expressions frozen between scandalized shock and barely-suppressed amusement. Elladan and Elrohir, of course, would be the first to lose their composure, doubling over with laughter, one of them wheezing, “Dummy thick, did you hear that?” Elrond’s stoic visage might even crack with the faintest twitch of an eyebrow as he struggled to maintain his dignity.

♫ Glorfindel, standing off to the side, would choke on his wine, hastily turning away to conceal the smirk tugging at his lips. The other elves would murmur among themselves, sneaking glances between you and the mortified Lindir, their curiosity piqued at the boldness of your gesture.

♫ Once the initial shock wore off, Lindir would draw in a deep breath, visibly attempting to compose himself. His voice, however, would still be shaky as he addressed you. “M-mellon nin, I must insist you refrain from… such inappropriate displays in public.” He’d turn sharply, nearly stumbling in his haste to exit the room, but not before you caught the way his blush deepened when you winked at him.

♫ In Private When the two of you were finally alone later, Lindir would waste no time confronting you, though his sternness would be undermined by his lingering embarrassment. “Do you have any idea how utterly improper that was?” he’d ask, his voice rising an octave as he gestured animatedly, pacing back and forth. “In front of everyone! Lord Elrond! The twins! Glorfindel!” He’d pause, running a hand through his silken hair, before finally looking at you, his expression softening despite himself.

♫ “I… I don’t even know where to begin,” he’d admit, his voice quieter now, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his robe. “But please, next time… if you must…” He’d clear his throat, his blush returning in full force. “At least wait until we’re alone.”

♫ In the days that followed, Rivendell would be abuzz with whispers of the incident. Elladan and Elrohir would never let Lindir hear the end of it, constantly teasing him with exaggerated impressions of your words and even gentle pats on the shoulder that made him jump every time. Glorfindel would occasionally flash him a knowing smile, which only made Lindir duck his head in embarrassment.

♫ Despite the humiliation, Lindir would find himself smiling at the memory in private—though he’d never admit it. Deep down, he couldn’t deny the strange thrill your boldness gave him, even if it clashed with every rule of decorum he held dear. Perhaps, he’d muse, your audacity was part of why he cared for you so deeply. But he would also very firmly remind you not to do it again in public. At least not until he could figure out how to regain even a shred of his composure.

📚𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻

✎ Erestor is a character who exudes calm, logic, and a perpetual sense of quiet authority, which makes your audacious action all the more shocking. The room fell silent—eerily so, as though even the wind outside Rivendell’s pristine halls had paused in sheer disbelief. Erestor stood rigid, quill still in hand from where he had been annotating an open scroll on the intricacies of Dwarven metallurgy. Slowly, with a deliberation so sharp it could slice through mithril, he turned his head to meet your gaze.

✎ His dark eyes bore into you, the weight of millennia of wisdom, sarcasm, and profound irritation radiating from his unflinching expression. One eyebrow arched, ever so slightly, as he assessed the audacity you had just displayed. The gathered elves exchanged furtive glances, their faces a mixture of amusement and fear for your well-being. “Dummy thick?” he repeated, his tone so dry it could have ignited the nearest scroll. “In front of witnesses, no less.”

✎ Erestor set down his quill with an excruciatingly calm precision. A quiet murmur swept through the room as though everyone had collectively realized they were witnessing an event destined to be spoken of for centuries. Then, with a cool flick of his wrist, he waved the room into silence. “Everyone. Out,” he said, his voice steady yet laced with an edge that brooked no argument.

✎ The elves scattered, some biting back laughter, others clearly terrified. Once the door closed behind the last of them, the room plunged into a heavy, expectant quiet. Erestor straightened his robes with an exaggerated care, finally turning to face you fully. “You appear to have misunderstood the nature of public decorum,” he began, stepping closer until the faintest scent of aged parchment and ink wafted from him. “Let us discuss this newfound bravery of yours.”

✎ Despite the utter seriousness of his tone, there was the barest twitch of his lips, betraying a flicker of amusement he would never admit to. His hand brushed briefly along your arm, a silent acknowledgment of the audacity he could not help but, in some deeply buried way, respect.

✎ Later, seated in his favorite corner of the library where no one dared intrude, Erestor would casually reference the incident without looking up from the text he was reading. “You realize, of course, that your impulsive behavior has likely cemented your legend among Rivendell’s younger elves,” he’d remark dryly. “I trust you’ll enjoy their newfound fascination while I repair my dignity.”

✎ Though his words were clipped, the way his hand lingered against yours as he passed you a cup of tea spoke volumes about his true feelings. For all his exasperation, your audacity had amused him more than he’d ever let on.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

𖤓 Glorfindel, the ever-charming and affectionate elf, is not one to shy away from displays of camaraderie or playful affection, especially with close friends. However, in the moment your hand makes contact with his backside and you call him “dummy thick” in front of everyone, Glorfindel’s reaction would be a mix of surprise, genuine amusement, and a hint of bashfulness.

𖤓 The room falls silent for a split second, and Glorfindel’s bright, blue eyes widen as he registers what has just happened. He’s the type of elf who typically maintains a composed and dignified demeanor, but with you, he’s more relaxed and often enjoys teasing and being teased. Yet, in public? This boldness catches him off guard.

𖤓 A soft laugh escapes him as he straightens up, clearly trying to suppress his amusement but failing miserably. His lips curve into a mischievous smile, though there’s a slight blush tinting his fair cheeks. He’d gently place a hand over his backside, turning to face you with an exaggerated arch of his brow.

𖤓 “Is that truly what you call me now?” he asks, voice light but full of playful challenge, trying to keep things light-hearted. “I must admit, that’s a new one for me.” His eyes scan the room, where a few elves may be holding back their own smiles, unsure whether to join in or maintain their usual decorum. Glorfindel, ever the good sport, would not scold you—far from it. Instead, he’d give a soft chuckle and shake his head, his usual poise briefly faltering.

𖤓 “Alright, you have my attention, friend,” he says, his tone shifting to one of teasing amusement. “But I expect this… honor to be properly repaid.” If the situation were to feel too tense, he’d dismiss the crowd with a wave, ensuring the room clears before he gently steps toward you. The playfulness would return, but so would a glint of something deeper—a warmth that only exists between him and those he cherishes.

𖤓 “Now,” he murmurs, leaning close, “I believe we need to have a private conversation about the audacity of your actions.” His voice drops to a soft, teasing tone. “But don’t think you’ll escape unscathed.” Despite the reprimand, there would be no anger or frustration. Glorfindel is the type to show affection through his actions, and your cheeky comment would only draw him closer to you. It would be a playful exchange, perhaps leading to a bit of flirty banter later, where Glorfindel—who is surprisingly affectionate and unguarded with those he loves—may even find a way to embrace the unexpected compliment.

𖤓 In the end, he would likely find himself laughing it off later, especially if it was shared with close friends. He enjoys a good jest, and your audacity would only endear you to him further.

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

⭒ Elladan, ever the playful and mischievous twin, would initially react with absolute shock—not because of your audacity, but because he simply wasn’t expecting it. In the middle of a jovial conversation with his twin brother, a group of Rangers, or even the solemn halls of Rivendell, the sharp sound of your hand meeting his backside would echo like a bell.

⭒ There would be a beat of silence as everyone froze, wide-eyed, while Elladan whipped around to face you, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. “What—did you just say?” he’d ask, his voice laced with mock incredulity, though his lips were already twitching upward in a grin “Dummy thick? Me?”

⭒ He’d throw his head back and laugh, absolutely delighted by the scene you had just created. Unlike his brother, Elrohir, who might glare or grumble about propriety, Elladan would love the attention and revel in the chaos of it all.

⭒“Oh, my!,” he’d say dramatically, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I knew you admired me, but to proclaim it so boldly before all of Middle-earth? How my heart soars!” And then, without missing a beat, he’d lean in conspiratorially, lowering his voice just for you. “But truly, did you have to do it here? Poor Elrohir might never recover.”

⭒ Elrohir, naturally, would roll his eyes and mutter something about Elladan being insufferable, while everyone else would either awkwardly shift their attention elsewhere or burst out laughing, depending on their temperament.

⭒ But Elladan wouldn’t let the moment end there. No, he’d make a show of it, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you in a playful circle, and dramatically planting a kiss on your cheek as everyone looked on. “Such boldness must be rewarded,” he’d tease, his mischievous grin showing no signs of fading. “But fair warning—two can play this game.”

⭒ And you’d better believe that later, when you least expected it, Elladan would find the perfect moment to repay the favor with equal flair. Whether it was sneaking up behind you to deliver a playful smack or loudly announcing his own pet name for you in public, he’d make sure you knew he wasn’t going to let this slide without some playful retribution.

⭒ At the end of the day, Elladan would be endlessly entertained by your audacity and secretly delighted by the fact that you could match his energy, even if it meant making an absolute spectacle of yourselves in front of everyone.

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

✧ The moment your hand connects with Elrohir’s backside and the words “dummy thick” leave your mouth, the scene halts. Elrohir, ever the composed and sharp-witted twin, immediately stiffens, his dark brows shooting up as his head snaps around to look at you. His expression teeters between utter disbelief and incredulous amusement, as though trying to decide whether you’ve just lost your mind—or if you’re simply this bold.

✧Elladan, standing nearby, would choke on the goblet of wine he’s holding, nearly doubling over with laughter. “Dummy thick?” he wheezes, slapping his knee. “Oh, this I need to hear!” He’d fan the flames with his commentary, ensuring no one within earshot could ignore the spectacle.

✧ Elrohir, however, isn’t one to lose his cool easily. The corners of his mouth twitch as he fights to suppress a smirk, his dry sense of humor surfacing. “Meleth,” he’d drawl in a low, exasperated tone, “if you’re trying to humiliate me, you’ve done a splendid job.” The faintest hint of pink might creep into his cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from sheer incredulity.

✧ The other elves in the room would shuffle uncomfortably, unsure whether to laugh or retreat from the awkward situation. But Elladan? He’s loving every second, especially since his brother is rarely the target of such antics. “Brother,” Elladan says, wiping a tear from his eye, “I think they’ve just put us to shame. You might have some competition for the boldest fool in the room.”

✧ Once the initial shock passes, Elrohir turns back to you, his face a mix of mock severity and reluctant fondness. “You’ll pay for that later,” he says, his voice deceptively calm, though the gleam in his grey eyes promises mischief. “But since you’re so enamored with my… attributes, perhaps I should ensure your attention is more appropriately focused next time.”

✧ Later—away from the crowd—he’d pull you into his arms, his teasing smirk finally breaking free. “Dummy thick?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “You’re lucky I find your audacity endearing. But don’t think I’ll let this go unanswered, Mellon. Prepare yourself.”

✧ If you’re lucky, the punishment would involve a playful wrestling match—where, of course, he’d take full advantage of his strength to pin you down. If not? Well, Elladan might be gleefully recounting this tale to everyone for years to come, much to Elrohir’s eternal frustration.

I’m working on other elven characters like haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, Legolas, Gil-galad, círdan.

So keep an eye out for my posts 🫶💚🍃

[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.

[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

[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.

[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

[ballgagboy]

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

[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.”

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