nobody UNDERSTANDS this post!! this is NOT about feeling BAD and watching your COMFORT show!!! this is about feeling FINE but then CHOOSING to watch a show that makes you want to KILL YOUR SELF
observation: among a certain subset of tumblr users, the term “blorbo” has become unchic, but the concept it describes is still important; and so it has been replaced with “The Character”
to be Fair, I think The Character is meant to describe a certain level of agony, of being consumed by what loves you. blorbo is an expression of affection, The Character is sinking into the depths
Here it is ya'll. The Final Chapter. If you are interested- I would definitely be willing to write the letters between these two that happened between chapters and then some of Elrond's letters from the ending! Let me know in the comments!
The journey back to Khazad-dûm passed beneath a sky the color of pale steel, clouds trailing like silken banners above the mountains. The tension that had weighed so heavily on your shoulders during your departure from Eregion had lightened since Elrond’s arrival, though not vanished entirely. It clung at the edges, like a storm on the horizon—one you could feel but not yet see.
Elrond rode beside you now, his expression calmer than when he’d burst through the underbrush in a panic, but still distant in quiet thought. Occasionally, your eyes would meet, and in those moments, there was a depth of understanding between you that needed no words. He had come looking for you. He had feared you lost. And now he remained, choosing to accompany you back.
At the fork in the road, Elrond raised his hand to his company. “Ride ahead to Eregion,” he said. “Tell Lord Celebrimbor I will follow within the week.”
There was no protest. The elves bowed, wheels of their horses turning toward the horizon while you and Elrond continued alone.
Khazad-dûm rose from the stone like a mountain crowned with iron and fire. The gates stood open, as they always did to friends of the dwarves, but even from a distance, something felt... off.
The air hung thicker. The forges were quieter.
Elrond seemed to sense it too. “It is different,” he murmured. “Even the stone feels subdued.”
You both dismounted in silence. As you crossed through the great threshold into the mountain, you barely made it ten steps before a familiar voice rang down the corridor.
“Well, look who finally decided to come back!”
Disa rounded the corner, hands on her hips, robes flowing around her like a stormcloud given form. “You disappear without a word, not a note, not a whisper—not even a beard-hair’s worth of warning—and then waltz back with an elf in tow?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again as she swept forward and crushed you in a hug that made your ribs creak.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured into her shoulder. “I had to go. I didn’t want to offend you—”
“Offend me?” she pulled back just far enough to glare at you, tears shining faintly in her eyes. “You scared me half to death, girl.” She smacked your arm lightly. “Don’t ever do that again.”
You nodded, heart tight, only for her gaze to shift to Elrond.
“And you,” she growled. “Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re tall and tragic. You’re supposed to be the wise one, remember?”
Elrond raised a brow, managing a perfectly measured bow. “I stand thoroughly chastised, Lady Disa.”
Her eyes narrowed, but her mouth twitched. “You’d better.”
Later, in the royal quarters, you stood beside Elrond as Prince Durin met with you both privately. His face was weary, ash streaking his hands and cheeks as though he’d come directly from the forge.
“Something’s wrong with my father,” Durin said quietly, his voice heavy. “He’s still got the ring, and he barely eats. Barely speaks. He mutters to himself, stares at nothing for hours. He won’t let me or Disa near the mithril anymore.” He paused, glancing toward Elrond. “You were right. I didn’t want to believe it, but... I think the ring is changing him.”
Elrond nodded, his expression grim. “The rings were forged with Annatar’s help. We believed them to be gifts. But I fear now that some of them were poisoned with his will.”
“And you think...” Durin trailed off, eyes shadowed.
“I think the longer your father wears it, the harder it will be to bring him back,” Elrond said. “And I think time is running out.”
There was a long silence. The weight of their words sank into the stone walls, too vast to be immediately answered.
Durin looked to you, his voice softer. “You came back just in time.”
“I only wish I’d come back sooner,” you murmured.
Elrond followed you in silence through the familiar corridors until you reached the door to your chambers. You paused there, hand on the handle, realizing you’d never imagined bringing him here—not like this.
He didn’t wait for you to invite him in, nor did he presume. He simply stood beside you, quiet, waiting.
You turned the handle.
The door creaked open.
And the two of you stepped inside.
Your room was quiet when you entered, the familiar scent of ink, metal, and earth grounding you in the space that had so long been your sanctuary. It was a modest room by dwarven standards, though crafted with immense care—warm stone walls carved with patterns of leaves and runes, a polished desk tucked into the corner, and shelves lined with books, tools, and bits of half-finished projects.
You watched Elrond quietly as he stepped inside behind you. He didn’t speak at first. Instead, he moved slowly, his hands behind his back, eyes drifting across the collection of items that made up your world. He paused at your worktable, where small lengths of wire and metal had been twisted into attempts at jewelry. A few were elegant, shaped with the precision the dwarves had taught you. Others... far less so.
He picked up a crooked silver pendant with a bent clasp, the corner of his mouth quirking in faint amusement. “A design from before your morning tea, I suspect?”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the soft smile tugging at your lips. “I was trying something new. It didn’t like being new.”
His eyes lingered on your books next, then the shelf of small stone carvings you’d bartered from the children of the miners in exchange for sweets. You could see it on his face—the bemused fondness, the curiosity he always tried so hard to keep dignified.
Then he turned slightly, glancing toward the adjoining space where your bedchamber lay. He hesitated, not crossing the threshold, only peering in with the air of someone who did not wish to offend.
But something inside caught his eye.
He stepped forward, slowly, until the edge of the bedchamber light touched his face. And then his expression shifted entirely.
There, in the corner of the room, where a long shaft of golden light poured down from a mirrored channel high above, flourished the elwinglir. The delicate star-bloom shimmered faintly in the beam, its petals gently unfurled as if basking in the light of a summer’s afternoon. It was vibrant, thriving—alive in a place of stone.
Elrond moved closer, kneeling beside it. His hand hovered before gently brushing the soft edge of a petal. “It lives,” he whispered, as though the words themselves might frighten it away.
You stepped beside him, folding your hands in front of you. “The sunlight beam was already here when Durin gifted me the room,” you said. “But I adjusted the mirror channels, added a few more lenses. I thought... maybe it would be enough. I wasn’t sure it would survive.”
Elrond looked up at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
You smiled faintly, though your voice dropped with the weight of quieter thoughts. “I started caring for it after I wrote your letters. It became a habit. Water, prune, write... and wait.”
You hesitated. “I thought maybe you weren’t getting them. Or maybe you just didn’t want to answer.”
He stood slowly, the movement quiet. And then, without a word, he reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a bundle. A stack of letters, carefully bound with a strip of blue silk.
“I answered every single one,” he said, voice low. “Every time I tried to send them, I was called away. Gil-galad, Celebrimbor, Galadriel... they always needed something. Someone. And still, I wrote. On horseback, beside campfires, between councils. I never stopped.”
He held the bundle out to you.
“These are yours,” he said. “To read, to keep… to burn in the forge if you like. I wouldn’t blame you.”
You didn’t move. Not yet. The weight of the letters seemed too much to hold just yet. But your eyes never left his.
And neither did he move away.
“I would never burn them,” you said softly, your fingers finally closing around the bundle Elrond had offered. “Your words… your thoughts… they’re precious to me.”
Elrond’s breath caught, barely audible, but you saw the way his jaw tensed and his eyes softened. He stood close—so very close—and you could feel the energy between you humming like the air before a thunderstorm, electric and heavy with things unsaid.
You turned the letters over in your hands, careful, reverent. Then you looked up.
And he was watching you with that same quiet intensity—the kind that had once unnerved you, but now left you aching. There was longing in it, barely restrained. But still, he didn’t move. Elrond Peredhel, noble and reserved, forever patient.
Always waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Well. You’d waited long enough.
You stepped into the space between you, your hand sliding up to the back of his neck. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, and his breath hitched as you leaned in.
And then you kissed him.
There was no hesitation, no slow beginning—it was a kiss born of months of silence, of letters left unread, of words unspoken and tension unrelieved. His arms wrapped around you as though they had always meant to, pulling you into him as your lips met, deep and desperate and real.
When you broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads pressed together, your hands still tangled in his hair.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered breathlessly. “I—I shouldn’t have—but if one of us didn’t do something, I was afraid it would be years before anything happened.”
Elrond let out a low, delighted laugh, one you felt in the very center of your chest. He cupped your face, brushing his nose gently against yours.
“You’re right,” he murmured. “It probably would’ve taken me decades. I’ve always been absurdly slow when it matters most.”
You giggled, and the sound seemed to ease something between you both. You drifted together toward the little seating nook beside your bookshelves, letters still in hand, and settled together on the cushions, close—closer than you’d ever dared before.
Elrond’s arm curled around your waist, his cheek resting briefly against the crown of your head as you nestled into him, letting the firelight dance across the stone walls. For a time, neither of you spoke. The silence was no longer heavy. It was warm, full of understanding.
Still, the thoughts crept in.
“The world’s changing,” you murmured. “The rings. King Durin. The unrest. I feel like we’re standing at the edge of something vast and dangerous.”
Elrond didn’t respond right away, only tightened his hold around you. Then his voice came, soft and sure.
“We are,” he said. “But you won’t stand at the edge alone. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”
You closed your eyes, the comfort of his words wrapping around you like a blanket.
*****
Just outside your chambers, the heavy stone corridors were mostly empty, save for two familiar figures.
Disa slowed her steps as she and Prince Durin passed by your door. The sounds inside were faint—barely audible—but unmistakable.
A quiet giggle. A soft laugh. The gentle murmur of two people, finally finding their place beside one another.
Disa stopped and grinned.
“Well,” she said with a huff of satisfaction, “I’m so relieved they worked it out themselves. My next plan involved locking them in an abandoned mineshaft until one of them finally kissed the other.”
Durin gave her a sidelong look. “That was the next plan?”
“Oh please,” she said, linking her arm through his. “You don’t want to know the one after that.”
They continued down the hall, the sounds of quiet laughter fading behind them.
And within the stone-warmed chamber, the elwinglir glowed gently in its shaft of light—flourishing, still.
Edit: the title for this comic is “Puzzle Rat”
this one’s a few days late due to having a lot of doctors appointments sorry
it’s just 9 pages, and about some rats… it’s more symbolic than anything really
(it’s completely unrelated to any of my songs that have to do with “puzzleboy”)
Patreon: www.patreon.com/PengoSolvent
for every incel white man star wars dudebro there is a teenage lesbian with a slightly deeper and more obscure knowledge of star wars who will one day defeat him in battle
i think it's really fun when a rly specific trope is super popular in one particular medium but in other ones it's just totally unheard of. it's the time knife. visual novel players are suuuuper used to death games but many others encountered them for the first time in squid games. the other day my mom showed me all excited the summary of a super original novel she found and it was about a girl who got reincarnated as the main character in her favorite fantasy book
Here's a painting I made for the ImagineFX art challenge "Mystical Meets Machines".
The theme was too intriguing to pass by - especially after I got the idea of some unicorns grazing by the remnants of an ancient, mechanical dragon. Someone in the past were keen on acquiring the great powers of a dragon for themselves, leading to a bitter end. Now it has rested peacefully for centuries, becoming part of the landscape.
Lots of fun painting this one, especially all that moss!
One of the guys I worked with told us a story about how, when they were doing archaeology surveys in the woods they ran into a bigfoot hunter. Bigfoot guy asked if they had seen signs of bigfoot, and he was like "Sorry, nothing like that. We're archaeologists, so we're looking for human stuff." and the bigfoot guy was like "Oh! I saw some Native American cairns on my way out here. I can give you a general location." and when he was like "Yeah dude, that'd be sick. We're actually looking to document those." the bigfoot guy was like "Yeah, they looked pretty cool. I didn't touch them though, because Native Americans built them, not bigfoot."
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
origamiaround
