#partyhcaler

[sidmarillion]

"Did we stay up all night…?!" -> dior

sunrise to sunset starters || accepting -> all muses

"I suppose we did," Dior smiled, looking at the lightening horizon. They sat at the top of a watchtower, above Menegroth. Birds were beginning to chirp, heralding the new day, and for the first time in many years, he did not wear the Nauglamir or see the illumination of its silmaril from below. His grandparents were long gone, but speaking with Amrûn reminded him of speaking with Melian, who had known them a very long time ago. It was a wonderful way to spend his last night of peace, after saying goodbye to his children and his wife.

"Amrûn," he said quietly, "do you know what happens to Men when they die?" He knew the answer from his grandmother, but maybe he needed to hear it again, like a child finding comfort in repetition of even the bleakest facts.

[saltuary]

⪼ @partyhcaler // cont.

Faramir had not expected to be praised so warmly for so small a thing.

He lowered the little book a fraction, gaze lingering not on the page but on Amrûn, who shone in the firelight with almost troubling sincerity, hands cradling their own face as though to contain an excess of feeling.

Joy.

That furtive, bright-winged creature – admired, yet seldom known to alight upon his own hand.

“You are generous with your praise,” he said at last, his voice was softer than he intended. His lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile that seemed a surprise even to him. Joy, it seemed, was catching. “I fear I have only stumbled my way through.”

Between them, the fire whispered and shifted, sending up thin threads of smoke that curled like illegible script.

“Another?”

He thought of long years given to study and discipline, of thought and speech tempered beneath the ever-watchful shadow of his father. Of words weighed not for beauty, but for worth. Language as a tool, as a weapon, as a measure of a man and his intelligence. Far, far removed from this tender sharing of syllables for the sake of delight.

He found he had no wish to disappoint his companion.

“If you will bear with my imperfections,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Then I would try again.”

The next line waited for him. He began anew, shaping each sound with care – deliberate, gentle – though not yet with the easy grace of a native speaker. There were flaws still, falterings in the flow, but he did not rush them. He gave each word its due.

When he finished, he did not immediately look up. Instead, his grey eyes lingered on the final word.

“Did I fare better this time?”

[ranasta]

🔥

Pineapple on pizza is delicious.

[thegreatstrongbow]

☘ Is there anything that makes you instantly want to follow someone?

If I see a rare Silm character I'm zooming for a closer look.

[admirableringmaker]

[ CROWN ]: having created a flower crown, the sender carefully places it atop the receiver’s head. (in Valinor c:)

“What is this?”

There was some kind of celebration, he knew what much. He had not paid attention to the rest, not caring to be involved at all. But his brethren had dragged him out of the workshop - then promptly abandoned him to find more amenable company. Mairon had been ready to slink away, when a garland of spring flowers was placed on his head.

It did not complement his scowl.

“Why are their leaves in my hair?”

[honeyedstxrlight]

@partyhcaler continued from here

Golden eyes remained transfixed on the beauty settled between her thighs, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as anticipation coiled low and tight in her belly. She could not look away, enchanted by the slow, deliberate glide of their hands as they traced the length of her body, nor from the river of flowing of white hair spilling forward like silk as they leaned over her. And those eyes, deep and piercing, twin gemstones catching every bit of her. Eru above, when one hand spread easily across her torso, the sight alone sent a shiver down her spine.

It was intoxicating.

She had to bite back a moan that threatened to escape when their touch drifted lower, fingertips pressing into the delicate skin of her inner thighs, drawing slow, maddening circles that made her squirm. She was already sensitive and yet she arched into it anyway. More. She needed more.

Her fingers curled against the bedsheets, steadying herself as her body betrayed her desire with barely restrained impatience.

“Just because you are incredibly tall, that doesn’t make me small.” She grinned. “Nor does it make me fragile. I won’t break just from a touch.”

Still, beneath her teasing and her obvious want, there lingered something more….uncertain, just below the surface. A worry that they were doing this just for her sake; that they were simply indulging her. Desperately she hoped that they wanted this too; wanted her in the way she wanted them.

[dirtandclay]

First Meetings and New Allies: continued from here ~ @partyhcaler

❝Apple pie?❞ Dirt echos. The Last Light Inn, usually full of murmurs and gentle music had been turned into an Inn filled with chatter and celebration after the events of Moonrise. Despite the relief that came with saving prisoners and fellow Tieflings, the noise that accompanied the new bodies irritated him. With a twitch of his lip, he focuses his gaze back on Amrûn. Amrûn's timid little smile was enough to snuff out any lingering annoyance (and violence) that settled beneath his Dark Urge.

He offers them a friendly smile in return, shoulders sagging whilst they sat at the bar. ❝Can't say I'm one for apple pie, I'm afraid,❞ he admits. ❝But I do find that I have quite the craving for cream puffs whenever I'm near a bakery...❞

His eyes soften at the admission of Amrûn being far more useful than they appeared

❝I do not judge one's place in the world on the basis of whether or not they've been captured or thrown behind bars,❞ he says matter of fact. ❝Those in power have tossed my kind in cages for less-- and my own kind whom I grew up with ridiculed me and said I was no more than dirt beneath their feet. In short, I do not see living beings as valuable or invaluable...❞

Perhaps he was being too open, too vulnerable with this gentle looking cleric of Lathander... but then again, one who walks among the light must be trustworthy, right?

[ranasta]

@partyhcaler / cont. X

Bilbo was very small and the spider was very big. But that was a lucky thing, because Bilbo fit below her easily and pushed Sting up right into her stomach. He had stumbled and fallen, and had rolled right underneath her, as she hunted the elf. And so, through sheer dumb luck - Bilbo seemed to have a lot of that - he had killed the spider and saved the poor elf.

While it was nice to be someones hero and saviour, it was doubly so in the case of an elf. It was no secret that Bilbo loved all elves and that he helped them wherever he could. Often they didn't need his help at all, as they were all quick, strong and nimble. In this case, clearly the spider had managed to sink her fangs into this one at least once, because Bilbo was sure the poor elf was poisoned.

Since Bilbo was no healer but a fantastic cook, he did what he did best and cooked a hearty, creamy soup, that was bound to help the elf back on their feet. "I'm no fighter either," Bilbo assured, shaking his head. "I just happened to point the sharp end of the sword up in the right moment!"

He stirred the bubbling soup in his little copper pot (his travel pot, easy to clean and not easy to dent) and returned the elf's smile. No matter how many elves he met, he was always stunned by their fairness. He enjoyed how the elf's bright hair reflected the warm glow of their camp fire. "How are you feeling? Is this spider venom..lethal? To elves? It would certainly be lethal to a hobbit."