#And you shall buckle from its weight

[prismaticpichu]

I'm craving a concept only you can deliver: Sephiroth comforting Zack during a personal crisis? What would that be like?

YESSS MY BEANS!!!! <333 I adore these kinds of scenarios with them 💙💚 You’ve come to the right place, my un-rotten friend! I shall do my best! <33

~

It happened on Angeal’s birthday.

Crumpled on the floor; fists clenched into veiny, trembling balls of cement; thin pillars of candlelight quivering and flickering against the apartment’s gloom, deserted atop the vanilla terrain of an abandoned birthday cake as, like a feather, left to the mercy of even the slightest gust of wind, too weightless to resist the current, their fragile flames bent to the mercy of wherever the wintry draft whispering through the apartment pulled them.

This was the state Sephiroth found Zack in.

At first, he almost left. Sincerely (and he had trouble lying), that was what he wanted to do. Leave the document, leave a pen, leave a note explaining that it required his signature—and then leave without saying a word. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to do just that. Go, leave, you don’t know what to do… And when he stayed, when he didn’t budge, the reins tugged harder: GO… now! Leave! You don’t know what to say…!

And it was true: he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what in that moment, standing in an ajar door, cracked open only a fissure, cracked open only after three unanswered knocks, watching his lieutenant sob unrhytmically into his knees, what he could possibly do. Zack didn’t even seem to notice his presence—oblivious to the gauzy belt of light stretching across the apartment, unaware of the two conflicted emeralds peering inconspicuously into his darkened quarters. And the sheer frequency of his rattling breath masked any groan or creak that his weight against the door would produce.

Yet…

For every tug and lash of the reins in his mind, demanding him to go there was an anchor thrown over the hulls of his heart and keeping him rooted in place. Don’t go, don’t leave… And as he tried to uncomfortably wriggle out of its grasp, it would beat louder in his chest: Don’t leave him… Please, don’t go. Don’t abandon him. Don’t you understand why he is hurting…?

The man’s eyes had seemed to flicker.

Oh… he understood. He understood good and well. He, too, had also felt a toxically-stifling cloud billow in the wake of his thoughts throughout the day. From the moment he woke up, he knew what day it was. Angeal would be turning 26 today. Had he still been with him, he would have added another year to his life, another block of wisdom to stack atop the castle of what seemed to be the spirit of an elderly father encased inside the bones of a young adult. He would have been here to celebrate that growth. He would have been here to honor himself.

Admittedly, it hadn’t occurred to him how Zack may be feeling. Perhaps that was because he had swallowed every last bit of pain today like a gallon of vinegar—or maybe it was because he had blindly assumed that Zack would be finding a way to resist the same acid. Clearly, he had tried to do something to cope with it. Only it was just as clear that he ended up buckling under the leaden pressure that had been building throughout the day—and now he had cracked, imploded, left broken and bent on the cold hard floor of his home away fro—

“Monster…”

And it was that word, choked viscously from the depths of Zack’s throat, cold and hard as the floor he lay crumbled upon, that made Sephiroth stay.

He pushed open the door, golden light dilating across the room.

“…Zack?”

The First’s head shot up from his knees—blue eyes sleek and wet with a boil of burning tears, swollen cheeks vaguely catching the light like tiny stones glistening against shallow water, the Mako-fueled gems narrowing slightly yet unclear if it was out of annoyance or surprise or an attempt to see better amid the darkness.

Sephiroth took a step closer.

“What are you doing here?” Zack bit out then.

Sharp, serrated, rancorous.

Sephiroth didn’t move any closer.

“…You’re upset,” he observed. Stated, more like—considering the sheer lack of emotion he managed to gouge of the two simple words, as if a straight and businesslike approach was the only compromise his mind could compromise for intervening.

Immediately, Zack wiped at his eyes.

“…Yeah?” His response was just as emotionless. “What about it?”

Cold, bitter, and edging on venomous. The tone admittedly stung Sephiroth—pierced something in his heart that he didn’t know was there, like an inconspicuous crack in the mortar where a tender swathe of his heart was beating. He knew the boy was upset; he wasn’t that blind, nor was he that ignorant. But it was hurtful nonetheless. Their last interactions didn’t seem to have this poison—unless, of course, it had been festering underneath, had been hiding under his tongue as he warmly saluted goodbye on that warm Junon evening by the dock.

I’ll hold you to that!

All again, Sephiroth’s eyes seemed to flicker.

“…I know you miss him, Zack,” he said, attempting to defrost as much cold professionalism from his voice as he could. “I know it’s—“

Whatever he said, it was the wrong thing.

Zack’s eyes began boiling with tears once more. Only this time, the mist seemed to be daggerous—acidic, sharp, spearlike—and there was no ambiguity anymore as to what the narrowing of his bloodshot eyes signified.

And he erupted.

“GET OUT!” Zack’s voice exploded around the den like a deadly, roaring echo. “GET OUT!”

Sephiroth took several steps back.

“Zack…—“

“I SAID GET OUT!” He threw his arm toward the door in jagged emphasis.

“Zackary.”

“SHUT UP AND GET THE HELL OUT!”

He had never seen Zack in such a state. By all means, he knew the young First wasn’t as happy and cheerful as he masqueraded for the rest of the world to see. That much he knew, that much he had learned, as someone who wore an oppositely-temperatured mask himself. But that didn’t make the degree of his SOLDIER’s temper right now any less unsettling. It didn’t make it any less painful.

It didn’t make it any less concerning.

And maybe that was why, against the boy’s blazing demand for him to leave, Sephiroth chose to stay.

“…You’re upset, Zack…” he stated again, only his voice had completely thawed. Softening his eyes, steeling his resolve, the man took another step forward. “You’re upset. You’re grieving. I know how you—“

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT!” Zack’s throat was beginning to close as he bellowed. And then, as if having suppressed the poison for so long: “You weren’t THERE, were you?! No! I don’t THINK SO! I was THERE, Sephiroth! I had to DO IT! Do you know that? Do you know that’s why he’s DEAD! It’s because of ME! ME, DAMNIT! I killed him! I… I killed him. Oh Gaia… Oh Gaia… I did it… oh man… I did it… I killed him, Sephiroth… I killed him…”

And then he was crumpling back to the floor, his voice slowly trickling away like tendrils of smoke from an inferno.

“I’m… I’ma monster…”

Sephiroth watched the broken SOLDIER, his mouth hanging ajar. Hardly even breathing. His chest was twisted at such an angle that he was certain he would snap at any moment, like a feeble twig, his lungs on the verge of imploding in on themselves and shutting down the entirety of his shock-drugged body. Swells of different emotions were raging inside him at such a speed him that, like roaring rapids during a storm, flowed too fast and viciously for him to grasp and even begin to digest. If all simply crashed against him, tumultuous and unrelenting. Almost suffocating. Paralyzing.

He was numb.

The only thing to stay afloat, echoing clearly in his ears, as if it was the only thing his mind could seem to hear, as if it was louder than anything else despite being the softest thing mumbled, was the same unyielding word that had drawn him into the apartment to begin with. Raw and cold, but no longer venomous—as if the poison had been wrung out of it, leaving only a deadly and poised blade behind, and was now balancing under Zack’s chin, the spear digging into his pulse and aimed only to harm himself.

Even in his numb and drugged state, it drove him to speak again.

“No…” Sephiroth vaguely shook his head, his voice edging on a whisper. “That’s not true.”

Slowly, Zack lifted his chin once more, the shadows of torrents now glistening on his reddened cheeks. His incision shone bright in their wake, shimmering in a rich and ghostly red—still to heal, still raw, and probably burning like acid into the deepest layers of his skin.

It made Sephiroth’s chest snap.

Gingerly, as if there was glass strewn about the floor, Sephiroth took another delicate step forward. He then took another step after that, and then another step after that, gradually closing the distance between them until only a tiny creek of wooden floor separated them. His shadow looming over the distraught teen, he carefully bent down until he their gazes were level: green eyes staring into blue, glistening sapphires mirroring the small shimmers of light radiating from the tame, softened emeralds.

And Sephiroth spoke again.

“You are not a monster…” The man’s voice had turned to porcelain, gazing deeply into those anguished azure eyes. “Don’t ever say that. Zack.”

A snuffle, a choke, and a thin trickle of tears bled through Zack’s eyes as he strained them shut.

“…You weren’t even there,” he whispered. “You don’t know what happened.”

There was a moment, a lull, where Sephiroth questioned it he should say what he wanted to say next. His lips briefly hovered, floating in the painful purgatory of uncertainty and obligation. Of righteousness and potential regret. Of fear and endangered friendship.

But just like the candles, bent only by a single wintry draft, a single pained beat of his heart opened them wide enough to speak.

“Then tell me.”

Silence, then Zack let out another choke.

“…I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll hate me.”

“No… no I won’t.”

“Yes you will! You would want me dead.”

“Don’t ever say that.”

“You will though… You’re gonna hate me…” He sucked in his breath, choked again, lowering his chin back into his knees. “I don’t want you to hate me…”

Never had Sephiroth’s chest ached so fiercely.

“Zack…. Zackary. Look at me. Please.”

It took a beat, a strained one, but Zack eventually did.

And Sephiroth held him steady in his gaze.

“You are all I have left, Zack. You are my… last friend. My only friend. So, please… believe me. There is nothing that will ever make me hate you. Nothing at all.”

He reached out then, hesitant, but not enough to stop him from gripping his teary friend’s shoulder.

He squeezed.

“It’s alright…” Sephiroth said gently, delicately. “Tell me what happened.”

And so Zack did. Every detail, every cry and shout and plea for his mentor to stop the madness—he retold it all. He told of finding Angeal in the bathhouse; he told of the brief swell of hope he felt; he told of how the hope was violently extinguished; he told of the way their cherished friend mutated, how he was forced to fight him, how he was forced to take the blade and stab it through the beast’s heart after it nearly tore his face agape; he told of crumbling on the ground after the deed was done, looking over his mentor’s blooded face, reverted back to a human, and just how monstrous he himself had felt.

By the time Zack was done, the dam had completely splintered, and he was leaning so far that he was on the verge of the falling over.

So, when he did, Sephiroth caught him.

He wrapped his arms around the boy as Zack collapsed into him, pulling Zack close against his chest and letting him cry. Letting him cry, letting him grieve, he held him steady, like an anchor rooting him to the ground, trying his best not to move as Zack rattled and quaked and lifted his own arms to wrap around him in turn, resting him chin against the bed of harmless spikes, holding him close, and then holding him even closer.

“Gaia… I killed him…”

“Shhh… He didn’t give you a choice.”

“He would be here, Seph… he would—“

“He left long ago, Zack. You know that.”

“I know… I…”

“It’s alright…. Shhh. It’s alright.”

“I—I miss him, Seph…”

“I know you do. I do too.”

And they stayed like that, side by side, in each other’s arms, until the candles on the cake went out.

[wakacreations]

Zevlor's Bizarre Cocoa Adventure (Ch. 3)

Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

Word Count: 1360

Summary:

Zevlor thinking strange things and dreaming strange dreams.

A wetness trailed down his cheek, the smell of iron filled his nostrils but only moments ago drowned in the smells of decay. “Obey the Absolute and you shall be free!” a shrill voice echoed. Cold winds rushed through his bones, feet firmly held to the muddy ground. Waves of pulsing warm air brushed over his skull, then a sharp piercing sensation radiated from his temple as it burrowed its way deeper. The hilt of his sword once in his grasp dropped helplessly to the soft earth. Zevlor’s head pulsed and throbbed violently. His hands gripped his skull forcefully as if he could glue his splintering mind back together.

“Hellrider, you shall bring glory to your people. They will be safe under our oath,” the voice beckoned him. His body had gone rigid. “What is happening!?!” gruff Zevlor. “Commander Zevlor, you will save us won’t you? You can protect us! I know you can!” Whispers of voices long known, some forgotten, and some recent flood into his ear canals. There were whispers of children that cling desperately to his arms to avoid the falling flames. Their yelling and pleading of tieflings being dragged away by hungry orthons. The screams of agony deafening his ears.

“Please do something Commander Zevlor, sir! I can’t take much more,” one of his own injured men fell onto him. Their eyes wide with horror soon grew to a glassy emptiness. “LAY YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! We will be safe with them,” the words escaped his mouth foreign to his own ears. What little strength his knees held buckled under the weight of the pressure. The cool dirt met his metal leggings as a warm red pool bathed his knees. “YOU TRAITOR!” The whizzing of arrows fluttered past his skin. A much too cold clawed hand trailed across his brow.

He awoke to a hobgoblin peering down at him. Sweat bathing his clothes, his joints stiff in place, tail lay limply at his side. “The first illithid teleportation is the hardest,” as he handed him a bucket. “3… 2… 1…” A rush of bile made its way up Zevlor’s throat. He doubled over clutched the bucket feeling the last of putrid acid leave his body. “You'll be alright. It would be kind of me to say it gets easier but it never does,” as he patted his back. Zevlor looked up at the hobgoblin as he wiped his mouth. “Blurg. Pleasure to meet you,” he grinned.

The hobgoblin walked over and rummaged through a set of cabinets. “Now, where is it? Ah, there it is. Drink this, it should help with the nausea.” He tossed him a small flask. “Anything to get this taste out of his mouth,” Zevlor thought. In one swig the potion of vitality vanished. “Thank you. It's Zevlor, a pleasure.” Though his stomach had settled, his mind still held a dull ache. A whiff of herbs filled the air. “Hungry? I got some warm food I've prepared for you.” Blurg setting down a tray on the bedroll. He took a seat across from the tiefling. Zevlor slowly ate the stew placed in his hands. It was a rich warm dark broth, filled with celery, carrots and hardy potatoes. Some healthy portions of beef were in the mix as well.

“If you prefer something with proper meat you can help yourself to our cured supplies.” He pointed at a stack of crates nestled in the corner of the tent. Zevlor gave Blurg a sideways glance pausing his meal. “Don't worry the food is safe unless you are allergic to mushrooms,” Blurg chuckled. “Most dishes I prepare are mostly plant based. Less I have to worry of any dried goods molding down here. But I'll meet the dietary needs of whomever I serve.” He smiled at the tired tiefling who thankfully resumed eating. 

“So, he's the famed Hellrider. Well Rolan was not far from their description,” Blurg gave the old paladin the once over. Their sharp face no longer the sickly pale red moments before, hair and battered skin still dampened with sweat, their clothes cling to their lean form. “It was such a hassle removing that armour. Paladins,” his gaze moved towards the pile of metal that laid beside the bedroll. “For as toned and hardened their muscular body may be, their mind was still vulnerable. He won't cope well for another illithid fast travel,” Blurg thought. His eyes met with Zevlor’s shimmering orange eyes.

“Omeluum told me you're in need of chocolates?” The tiefling’s tail flicked. Zevlor passed his finished bowl to Blurg. “Another helping if you would kindly, please.” He made his way to the opened pot, “You still haven’t answered my question, friend,” as Blurg ladled another helping. “Yes, I am in need of such supplies,” Zevlor cleared his throat. “Would it be possible to spare a crate or so?” he said with a bated breath. Another rejection would be too unlikely but things have not turned out as smoothly as he initially hoped. His tail snaked to his midsection and gave a firm squeeze.

“Are you able to stand? We'll have to make our way to Omeluum's tent. It is a bit of a ways,” Blurg's brow furrowed. With tentative shaky legs Zevlor rose to his feet. A tremor still held his figure. His arms spread outwards as if made to walk a line. Each step was made with a conscious effort. Tail moving to-and-fro like a ship’s wheel to keep himself on course. A slight sway in his step as he made his way to Blurg. “You walked as if you’ve had more than a couple of pints at the Blushing Mermaid, Zevlor.” The hobgoblin braced his hands to catch the teetering tiefling if need be. “I will be fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to recollect myself and I shall be ready,” Zevlor rasped as he leaned on a table for stability. Blurg gave a questionable look and a raised brow but didn't push further. “I will go check in with Omeluum, do call for me if ya need anything. It is no bother.” Blurg flipped open the flap of the entrance. “Less I forget,” the hobgoblin called over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Underdark, friend.” The flap fluttering shut.

“I am finally alone,” Zevlor took a long drawn breath. He slumped down into a stool. The sounds of dripping echoed on. For all the things that just transpired his mind was stuck in idle. He listened to the repetitive sound of water droplets for what felt like minutes but how long it truly was is indefinite. “Time moves differently in the Underdark,” he gathered. The tension still lingered on his form. He closed his tired eyes and began his assessment. Shoulders are tightly winded with tension that can't be helped. Neck is a bit stiff, could be due to his earlier resting position. He gave his body a good long arched stretch. Legs still have a weakness to them but some walking will help get the blood flow back into them. “The mind…. well that will take a long time to repair,” Zevlor opened his eyes. More rest called for him. The bedroll beckoned him but there won't be peace in his dreams.

He took a couple more bites of his stew. “For a dish that has little to no meat, it is quite delicious. Maybe I should see if Blurg would be willing to share in a culinary exchange. I'm sure Tav would..” his cheeks grew a more reddish hue. “Oh, I… What would they make of me?” as he peeled off his sweat-streaked clothes. “If I am almost always this frightened,” he slipped into a pressed shirt. “If my griefs are much too cumbersome of burdens to bare. Especially not for them to bare, not to them of all people, have they not suffered enough,” he fastened tightly on his chest plate. “If I am too feeble of a man, less I at least be capable of returning a favor owed. I can hope to provide them that courtesy guaranteed,” blade fixed to his hip. “I can't provide them much but this is all that I am,” he catches a glimpse of himself off a metal tray. “Too worn, too beaten, and too unworthy.”

[tiredbookdragon]

*One day, in the great hall, Sirius receives a howler from Walburga over a recent 'rebellious' act of his.

Towards the end she belittles him with, "....I shall not hear of this disgusting behavior again, Sirius Orion Black. I will not stand for it anymore."

Having had enough and feeling spiteful, Sirius is quick to stand up in his seat and summon some parchment and his wand.

If a howler about his behavior was the only way his egg donor was willing to contact him, using his full name nonetheless, he should just bestow her with equal treatment.

"Mother dearest,

Having just received your, oh so kind, message I feel the need to respond promptly, and in turn. I would hate to keep you waiting, afterall. It has come to my attention that you find my behavior.... disgraceful? Maybe a bit, mhm, overwhelming for your feeble sense of character." Sirius spoke into the parchment, voice strengthening with each line. Pausing to add thought to his tone.

"Maybe a bit, mhm, overwhelming for your feeble sense of character." He added, pausing for effect. His voice sturdy, readying for what he was about to do.

"It's truly terrible, what a great shame you and the others like you bring to the name of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. I mean, so shallow minded and stuck in the error of you ways, you can hardly tell that your heads are farther up your own arses than most would think possible. I mean, the only thing rivaling it are the sticks. Those make you lot a gaggle of human kabobs."

Sirius' voice wavers into a chuckle. His tone leading more into an exasperated chiding throughout. Similar to one of that a decent parent uses when their child misbehaved in a hilarious, yet reproachful way.

"I mean, it only makes sense that I, Sirius Orion Black, as you so graciously chained me is the one with the 'disgusting and disgraceful' behavior here." His voice dripping with sarcasm as Sirius considers his next words, temper finally losing its patience.

"After all, I am Sirius. Orion. Black. My initials are quite literally 'S', 'O', 'B'. I'm a sob story waiting to happen apparently, but more that that. I, truly and evidently, am one Son Of a Bitch." Pausing to enunciate each and every word. Tone leaving his defiance and disgust plain and clear.

With little more to say to Walburga, Sirius seals up the parchment. And, with a few charms of his own, he ties his newly responding Howler back to the Black families owls' leg. Set to conclude his message with streamers of the Griffindor house colours shooting out.

He knew he would face consequences for his response later on, but still he reveled in the stinging joy of not buckling under the clear empty weight of his mother's love.

Smile, do not give her the reaction she craves. Be happy without them.

But still, behind his smile, Sirius hoped the consequences will stay his own. Thinking of his brother only a table or two away.

[scyllas-revenge]

when I saw all your wips i was paralysed by indecision because they all look sooo good but I will say Christmus in Connecticut or if someone's already said that the matchmaker fic!

I've already been asked about the matchmaker fic, but the Christmas in Connecticut one is one of my favorites! (even though I haven't actually made progress on it in at least a year, lol)

Since you asked about it, I'll assume you're familiar with the movie, but for anyone who hasn't it's this beautiful film here:

which is THE fake dating story. It's got so many levels of fake dating XD In fact once I realized how much fanfic potential it had I knew I needed to write a LOTR Christmas In Connecticut AU.

It's a Farawyn fic, with such a convoluted premise that I'll just paste in the fic summary here:

After the War of the Ring, Faramir is injured and exhausted in both body and spirit. Knowing that he’s never had a happy home life, Boromir sends his little brother on a much-needed holiday in Rohan for Yuletide. After all, there’s no better place in Middle Earth to experience a peaceful, cozy, nurturing household. Everyone in Gondor has heard about the elegant, refined Lady Eowyn, who famously oversees the Golden Hall’s sumptuous kitchens, tenderly cares for the refugee children of Edoras, and maintains a stable, thriving home in Meduseld alongside her loving husband. The problem? Eowyn might have lied about a few things. And under no circumstance can Faramir find out.

I swear I'm going to write this thing someday! Every Christmas when I watch the movie I get newly motivated XD Anyway here's a slightly longer snippet of the first chapter:

“I step away from my loom and take in the enchanting view from windows of the Golden Hall. There is nothing like the Riddermark for sheer, wild beauty. I have never seen the ocean, but I have heard tell that our rolling hills are much like the rolling blue waves of the sea. “As I look out over our golden sunset, a cool, gentle breeze wafts through my window, and I smell the elaborate Yuletide feast our kitchen is preparing—" “A cool, gentle breeze?” Merry exclaimed. With an enormous shove, he forced the shutters closed against the howling winter wind, his chest heaving with the effort. “They’ll never buy this in Gondor, you know.” “They will if I can help it.” Eowyn adjusted the parchment in her hands, her fingers smudged with ink. She had learned to write several years ago, but she had never exactly been good at it. Certainly her writing was not very tidy, like the snippets of script she’d seen from Gondor. But it didn’t matter—her letters would be rewritten time and again by more elegant hands in Minas Tirith, shared among the highest circles of noblewomen in the White City. Copies of Tales of the Golden Hall were being spread all along the coast of Gondor, last she’d heard. The thought made her heart flutter with pride. “Well, go on then,” Merry urged. “Alright: I make my way to the kitchens, where our servants are hard at work crafting the rich courses I planned. Freshwater fish and eel will serve for our first course, braised to perfection. Flashing in the firelight as though they still live, they rest on a bed of hearty winter vegetables, which are perfectly sliced to resemble the gleaming stones of a riverbed. Next comes a flock of whole-roasted pheasants, stuffed with apples and cloves. As bewitching as these dishes are, however, our third course blows them all away: a boar so large I half-fear the table shall buckle under its weight. Its skin crackles pleasantly as—" “A boar?” Merry interrupted again, snorting. “A whole flock of pheasants?” Eowyn shrugged. “These letters are meant to show off the Riddermark’s strength. Its resilience. Gondor need not know we’ve been half-starving since the war ended. They cannot, if we wish to increase trade with them.” “If you were half-starving last winter, you must be fully starving now.” “We’ll get by.” She studied her writing nervously. “Does it ring false? I can rewrite it.” “At the pace you write?” Merry laughed. “We’d be sitting here until spring comes.” He yelped and dodged the empty inkwell Eowyn threw at him.

[lamemaster]

A Deceitful Peace (Glorfindel x Reader)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: The submerged lands of Gondolin hold 16 graves. Tales do not mention them. Few of the living know of them leave for the Vala of death and one elleth. 

Warnings: Death, gore, violence

The last of the Orcs fell from your blade. Your fellow soldiers who had barely survived finally got a chance to breathe. The city had fallen. Gondolin was gone. Its lords, gone with it. Yet, a small party persevered. A party that stood as the last defense for the fleeing survivors.

Death was looming on the shoulder of those who finished slaying the last of the enemy’s host. Fighting a battle they had already lost but it was worth it for all those who had a chance for a better life.

Next to you soldiers collapse with their blades too heavy. A dozen bleeding wounds and staggering breaths betrayed how little life was left in their bodies. Maybe it was a small mercy from Mandos that they had survived this long. Beyond the tolerance of the elven body.

Smoke and ash make those last breaths painful. Your fellow soldiers cough miserably. Wet, uncontrollable coughing fits that lead to increased blood loss. The city is engulfed by flames. It is clear that your pyre was set by nature itself. 

However, you do not allow yourself the relief of a welcomed death like others. Your blade is no longer clutched in your arms and you take off your quiver that held a couple of arrows. With practiced motions, you take off your now knife-less bandolier. 

In a trance, you make your way through the bloodied fields that were once your home. Your carelessly untie your hair pulled back in tight braids. Particles of ash fall off as your hair frees into the air. Weaponless, unguarded, uncaring you walk. There is a possibility that there may be lingering enemies but with your end so close you do not care. You would rather die on this journey looking for him than spend your last breath weary of cursed ones.

On the way, you stumble as a face stares back at you. Your friend’s face. Beheaded. Speared. Rog stares at you. His body was nowhere to be seen. Even in the most gruesome scene, your dearest friend’s expression holds no fear.

With trembling hands, you struggle to pull off your friend’s head from the spear. Your hands slip with the blood that does not stop. Your tears make it hard to discern anything. Heavy sobs wreck your body and your knees start to buckle. Your friend…you close your eyes and a sharp wet squelch is followed by a new weight in your hands. Your feet stumble back with the sudden force and weight.

You find the nearest unmarred surface and take off your cloak. It is battered with blood and singed with fire in many places. You rest your friend’s head there. With a gentle hand, you close his eyes. As you close yours in a prayer.

“May the halls of Mandos give you peace my friend.” Your prayer is short. You fail to muster any grand words. Your throat hurts making it hard to swallow your sobs as you for the last time on Middle Earth, kiss Rog’s forehead. ‘I too shall follow you soon.’ you promise as you wrap his head. 

‘Wait for me here. There is someone else I need to find.’ You whisper to your friend’s dead body as you gather the courage to stand up.

So, you start again. Walking among the simmering fire of burning halls you had dined in. You walk until the Sun finds itself on the Western edge of the world. Darkening skies do not halt you. Blood flowing from your wounds does not stop you. 

The sight of an uneven cliff does.

You do not know how you know where he lies but you do. For all the pain in the world seems to have gathered under that one cliff. 

Forgoing the last remnants of your armor you feel a weird sense of numbness settle over you. A determination. Your last task on Middle Earth would soon free you. The last labor that you would fulfill even at the cost of denying Mandos.

The journey begins. You do not equip yourself with a torch. You do not need it. It would aid little for the dark that gathered around you. The climb down is easy. With all your sense of reservation gone, there is little to fear of jagged rocks.

Moon is up in the sky by the time you reach the bottom of the cliff. It reeks of blood and ash like the rest of the valley. Your steps don’t falter. For a moment your traitorous mind wonders. It wonders if by some miracle he survived.

But then you find him. And you are struck by the peace on his face. A calm you’ve never seen on the faces of any of the exiled. Moon shines on his golden hair the same way it did when Gondolin had been unstruck. When his smiles were still within the reach of a small joke.

Death was peaceful. It was deceitful. He looked as if he slept in the ways of men. A dream playing behind those closed eyes. But elves do not dream with their eyes closed. They do not sleep in the pool of their blood. 

You rush to him. You pause when your hands trying to cradle him feel a softness. A softness you realize to be his brain. Grappled with horror you sit there as you realize the truth. Death was deceiving. For all the peace it held. It also carried pain and so much of it. For once it felt more of a doom than a gift many called it to be.

Your beloved’s glorious golden head was dyed red. Bruises from his fall were now in your clear view. Scorched skin from his battle. 

Your chest feels hollow. It would be so much more easier to let go. To succumb to the summons of Mandos right here. You rest Glorfindel’s head in your lap. Your hand trying to caress his face stops. It is bloody. You clean your hands on your tunic as you allow yourself to touch your beloved.

“I’m sorry,” tears form in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you plead but none answer. You do not know what you apologize for but your heart rips into pieces. You have wronged him. Somehow you wronged him. He should not be dead. You shouldn’t have let him die. 

His eyes remain closed. None of your apologies bring him back. 

Pulling out a solitary flask of water you carry, you wet the torn-off piece of your tunic. And then with light motions clean your lover’s face. You wipe away all the blood, ash, and dirt. You sit there and braid his hair for the last time. For a moment it is easy to fool your heart into thinking of it as an untainted night. 

Later in the early hours of the morning, you carry him on your back. All the way to the city, you trek with your lover. Denying death with the steep slope that felt so effortless on the way down. Your own injuries as flaring and your vision swims with each step.

Soon you find yourself crawling with one hand holding on to your beloved as the other holds on to the sharp jutting-out rocks. Scratches turn to blisters which turn into torn skin soon followed by bloodied fingers.

Dark of dawn stretches longer than ever as you struggle with the last of your trek. Your clean hand still holds on Glorfindel on your back. His body is cold. Colder than ever. Your own limbs start feeling an unrelenting chill that seeps into your bones.

“Rog awaits us.” You tell the unresponsive weight on your back. Maybe you were going crazy. 

Your knees give away as you finally pull yourself to the top. The city…you made it. A coughing fit racks your body as you struggle to carry Glorfindel to where Rog rests.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The submerged lands of Gondolin hold 16 graves. Tales do not mention them. Few of the living know of them leave for the Vala of death and one elleth. 

They are dug by battered hands. A last resting place for the fallen. 16 before death claimed the creator of those graves. A creator whose body lies unsheltered in an unfinished grave.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - Chapter 78: A Boy And His Dragon

Rhaenyra receives the news of her sons death, full scene excerpt form Chapter 78--I thought it deserved its own moodboard.

Rhaenyra stood with a commanding presence behind the massive table, her focus sharp as she listened intently to Lord Bartimos Celtigar and Lord Gunthor Darklyn. The chamber was alive with hushed discussions, the air tinged with the soft glow of candles and the flickering light of the hearth. Outside, the darkness of a moonless sky was deep and impenetrable, adding a sense of foreboding that seemed almost tangible. The chamber’s tall windows rattled intermittently, as gusts of wind carried a faint, haunting howl through them. 

Her gaze moved from the meticulously crafted wooden map stretching out before her to the solemn face of her husband as he entered the chamber, his shoulders taut and eyes low, and she knew immediately that he brought ill tidings. Her spine straightened in response, as though preparing herself for the weight of the words Daemon brought. 

An icy hand of dread gripped Rhaenyra’s heart at the sight of her husband, her pulse quickening in anticipation, mingling with the ever-present ache in her empty womb. The room seemed to grow colder as shadows danced ominously around them, casting foreboding silhouettes upon the chamber's ancient stone walls. The courtiers looked on with grim faces, some staring at their feet, unsure where else to look. 

Daemon approached, his outstretched hand offering an unspoken invitation to step away from the prying ears scattered throughout the room, drawing her closer to the knitting hearth. This simple gesture carried an intimate significance, as if the very air around them formed a protective barrier for their conversation. 

Rhaenyra felt the warmth of his hand against her skin, the roughness of his calloused fingers gently tracing over her palm in a comforting gesture, unspoken words lingering in the subtle touch.

His expression was hard as stone, impassive, revealing nothing of the turmoil that might lay beneath–and in turn, her face grew more worried, brows inching down in a questioning frown. 

In hushed tones, Daemon began to relay the grave news that had reached him from Storm’s End. His voice, tinged with sympathy, was almost a soothing balm, yet the gentle cadence could not mask the heavy impact of his words. 

“Your son, Lucerys–” Daemon began, his eyes locked onto hers, and Rhaenyra felt a ringing in her ears as he spoke, almost drowning out the rest of his words. “He and his dragon have been slain by Aemond.”

As she absorbed the words, she did not react, her mind struggling to reconcile with the news. 

Daemon’s voice grew dark and resolute. “I swear to you, my love, we shall avenge your son…”

As the words settled upon her like a shroud, a numbing sensation engulfed her senses. The world seemed to recede into a distant murmur, while the relentless pounding of her heart reverberated within her chest, an ominous drumbeat threatening to cease altogether. It felt as if something immense and significant had slipped through her grasp like elusive smoke, leaving a gaping void where there had once been part of her soul. She felt it tear away from her, lost with her son. 

She couldn’t make out her name as he spoke, yet she sensed it nonetheless, its echo resonant like the distant murmur of waves. Overwhelmed, she found herself unable to respond, her thoughts ensnared in a tumultuous haze.

A relentless, gnawing ache festered deep within her core, a malevolent force that seemed intent on devouring her from the inside out. With each passing moment, it intensified, its cruel grip tightening like a vice around her being. Her fragile bones creaked and groaned under the oppressive weight, as though they threatened to shatter into a thousand fragments, and she was forced to catch herself just as one of her knees buckled, nearly sending her to the floor. 

She hunched forward, drawing her body inward as if to shield herself from the overwhelming surge of grief that swept over her. Her fingers, trembling and desperate, clawed at the empty swell of her stomach. The fabric of her garments offered little resistance as she dug her fingers into her flesh, as though she wished to gouge out the very source of her torment. 

Her son, her sweet boy, had been cruelly torn from her in an act of revenge. The boy she had carried within her womb, nurtured, and watched grow into a young man, now gone. All the love she had poured into him, the dreams she had held for his future, the expectations of safety and happiness–all were shattered into a million pieces, leaving her to grapple with a world too painful to bear.

In the agony of grief, Rhaenyra confronted a painful truth: her previous understanding of grief had been naive–childish, even.

She thought she should have felt it, sensed it in the very depths of her soul, much like one might sense the loss of a limb–a visceral awareness that something was irrevocably lost. He was her son, her own flesh and blood. She should have known–felt it deep within her heart, where his absence should have resonated like a hollow echo.

But there was no such premonition.

Death rarely came with a warning–Rhaenyra knew that all too well. She had grown familiar with it, yet the absence of forewarning stung with a fresh pain each time. She had endured the loss of her mother, and numerous siblings–so many that she had learned to guard her heart–she had lost her lover, her husband, her father, and her stillborn daughter. She was no stranger to loss. But this grief was a different agony entirely. It was suffocating, clawing at her throat, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. This pain felt more visceral, more relentless than anything she had felt before. And she was entirely at its mercy. 

A strangled cry tore through Rhaenyra’s throat, a sound of raw anguish as though the air itself had been wrenched from her lungs. She gasped for breath, her body quaking and knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her sorrow. Despite the trembling weakness, she forced herself to remain standing. She knew that if she allowed herself to collapse, rising again might be beyond her strength. 

What was perhaps the most heart-wrenching was that she had believed him to be safe. She had sent him to Storm’s End because it was closer, because she believed it to be safer. 

Hot tears burned a merciless path down her cheeks as she stifled a sob. She had sent him to his death…

With each breath she took, it felt as though her lungs filled not with air but with water, dragging her deeper into the depths of despair. An overwhelming urge to scream, to shatter into a thousand fractured pieces, clawed at the edges of her consciousness, pounding profusely at her temples. Yet, she resisted the urge to scream, choosing instead to swallow the excruciating pain, carving out a piece of her heart, and even her very soul. 

They had stolen her birthright, the Iron Throne that was rightfully hers. They had imprisoned her daughter and taken the life of another before she could ever draw breath. They had mercilessly slain her son. They took and took from her, never ceasing their relentless grasping. 

Amidst the shattered remnants of her heart, a new sensation began to stir–a searing blaze, an inferno that coursed through her veins like molten iron, that burned within her chest like dragonfire. It was a rage so profound and all-consuming that, for a moment, it seemed to burn through the thick fog of grief and despair that had enveloped her. 

Rhaenyra turned to face the map of Westeros spread out before her. 

As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she knew she must rise above small human emotion. Yet, she resolved to deliver justice upon those who opposed her–the usurpers and murderers who had robbed her of her rights and loved ones. 

They desired war, and they would have it. 

With fire and blood.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Q - Quiet

So, here's one from me for me...

It's obscure and sad and frankly rather weird...As I've written it though, I shall also post it...

Words: 804

Characters: The Finwëan widows, Idril, Tuor

Warnings: Sadness, grief, mention of canon-compliant death

Tuor held on to Idril’s hand desperately.

Heavy doors swung open without making a sound—he was tempted to close his eyes not to behold a truth too great and devastating for his mind to cope with.

“Grandmother,” his wife greeted in a hushed tone; she did not advance into the room though, she stood still as she had done on the ice, waiting for her father to lift her into his strong arms.

Turgon was not here though and she was on her own—no, there was her husband who deserved to be led and protected by her, who trusted her, for whom she had to be strong.

The chamber was vast and of an incomprehensible beauty—Tuor felt cold, small, and lonely.

Having been orphaned at a young age, he frequently mused about his father’s bravery and the maddening grief that had driven his mother to leave her only son in the care of Annael while she lay down to die.

“She might have been the luckier one,” Idril had said during one of their long conversations on board the vessel that had brought them here against all odds.

Then, when they had safely arrived in this Blessed Realm, she had said that she’d introduce him to the widows—a promise and a threat he had not understood then and was dreading now.

Gazing upon the four women arrayed on a small dais, Tuor felt that he, inexorably and despite his reluctant heart, started to understand—his very soul baulked and flinched at the mere glimpse of a pain so monumental that it seemed to choke out light, air, and sound within this chamber of perpetual mourning.

“Indis,” Idril whispered inside his head.

Tuor’s eyes followed her thought—Indis, the dignified widow, wore her bereavement like a heavy cloak. Her shoulders drooped under its weight, but her gaze was steady even if a little rigid.

She smiled at him with sorrowful acceptance; probably, Tuor thought, she stared at this door relentlessly in delusional expectation of one who would never cross the threshold again.

The endless waiting had turned her into marble—smooth, beautiful, but cold.

“My aunt Nerdanel,” Idril interrupted her husband’s descent into soul-crushing commiseration.

Tuor did not know what he had expected to see, but the flame-eyed, fey creature poised upon her chair as if ready to pounce at any given moment took him by surprise.

Here was one who was too restless to be petrified by her loss—too deep were her wounds and too terrible her grievances for her to settle down in mournful acceptance.

Whatever had happened between her and that fabled husband of hers, long before Tuor’s people had even walked the earth he had ultimately abandoned for love, still made her blood boil and her eyes flash with ire.

Evidently, the angry widow was also waiting and those embers in her gaze—banked and fanned by the wrath of her heart—unequivocally declared her murderous intentions.

“My aunt Eärwen.”

Tuor’s eyes slid to the woman on the far right—pale and haggard.

Eärwen, the robbed widow, shifted on her seat uncomfortably—her husband was alive and yet, he was lost to her and the strain this contradiction put on her gentle heart had left grooves in the shape of their dead love on her brow and around her pinched lips.

“Grandmother,” Idril repeated aloud, breaking the ponderous silence enveloping them like insects preserved in amber. “How fare you?”

Annairë stood then, her hand patting Nerdanel’s comfortingly as she stepped off the dais.

Her grief buffeted Tuor like a storm upon the sea—he had never even begun to fathom the meaning of the simple word “sadness” before meeting his wife’s paternal grandmother.

Instinctively, he buckled and bowed under the magnitude and the gravity of her sorrow—calm, depthless oceans that shimmered in her eyes—and had not Idril held his hand so firmly, he might well have sunken to the floor in defeat.

Fingolfin’s widow—deprived of her husband and children for so long—greeted them with politely contained relief; the tremor in her fingers as she placed her cool hands on Idril’s shoulders was almost unnoticeable, but Tuor could see it and his heart twitched in compassion.

“Thank you,” he whispered into his wife’s ear.

Yes, he now understood what an eternity of loss—unable and unauthorised to die—could do to a woman’s heart and the lingering shadow of resentment was lifted from his mother’s name.

Never would Tuor have wished this—neither the anger, the resignation, nor the persistent sadness—on someone he had loved so well.

“You bring me a son,” Annairë whispered in a quivering voice. “You bring us a son. Welcome, you’re the greatest blessing we’ve been granted in a long time. Maybe, the tides have changed at last.”

@fellowshipofthefics Here's another one for the pile...

Lots of love from me <3

-> Masterlist

[melodiesofmidnight]

Erik extended forward a single hand, tentative in presentation and trembling in anticipation, awaiting the acceptance of the girl before him. At the touch of her fingers against his palm, the boy quickly closed his own around them, pulling her gently, so as to indicate his desire to be followed. He was reserved in nature, as the horrid truth of his face had demanded, and was therefore succinct in spoken word. A hushed: “Come with me,” was all he offered.

With a slight nod and an assuring press of the hand, the girl signified her approval to the strange boy in the mask. As she had refrained from making known her queries previously, she now withheld burning questions upon her tongue; a furtive glance upon that curious barrier was met always with a subtle turning of the head, with a slight twitch of the wrist. It was in these gestures that he ensured his ardent desire to deny the existence of that accursed mask. She would indulge him in this so long as he required it.

A smile was spread lightly across that hidden mouth, awkward lips upturned and sallow skin crinkled. If not revealed in sight, this joy was surely exposed in gesticulation. He was stumbling hurriedly, upturned heels twisting awkwardly upon known path, as elation overtook him. Erik was, at last, to be removed from his solitude, if only temporarily. How wonderful it should be to look upon familiar face within that sorrowful cavern; how exuberant he should be to be spared empty gazes onto callous stone! Oh, shall he teach her of his passion? Shall he share with her the essence of himself that had for so long been augmented only by the blackened water of that soulless lake? All was dead within that cellar; even he had felt himself to be tainted by its melancholy. Oh, how his friend shall grant euphoria to that austerity once more!

It was with decided step that the boy halted before the water, faltering slightly as the breathless Christine took her place beside him. “It’s beautiful,” said she, admiring the shadowed expanse before her. Erik took her hands between his own, dropping his head slightly so as to more adequately fix his eyes upon hers. “Shall I take you across it?”

Ah, how he adored that smile. Oh, how wonderful she was – to join him in this venture across the lake was to set his spirit ablaze. He would no longer be alone. It was with careful step that he led her to haphazard pier, aiding her gently in her descent into the rowboat. It had been built with – misappropriated – materials, and, though having been erected beneath the hand of one whose mastery had surpassed even that of those for whom this was a profession, the youth of its constructor was revealed. Water pooled in upon its journeys across the lake, collecting within the middle of the thing, and was quickly removed by the boy upon its mooring.

It was at this sudden commencement of water into the boat, having been unused to the weight of two passengers and buckling slightly beneath it, that Christine thrust herself onto the side. This rapid movement shifted the position of the boat, rocking it violently to the side, throwing the unfortunate girl headfirst into the still water below.

At this, the boy was spurred into action, plunging himself promptly into the water that had imbibed his Christine. He would not lose her; he would not allow this place of bereavement to consume this being of salvation. Was this fleeting joy to be torn from him as well?

Kicking frantically beneath the surface, Erik propelled himself forward, choking upon lichen and spewing water from that terrified mouth. A stifled “Christine!” was sprung forth from aching tongue, abducting air from lungs that already were shrieking in protest. He was filled then with desperation, fingers of death closing themselves around that belaboured heart; laughter spilling forth from that obscene throat as rivulets of blood cascaded from gaping maw. He would not have her; Erik would not permit it.

At last his hand touched upon the fabric of that dress, of her dress, and he enclosed his fingers about it with severity enough to best a vice. Tugging upward, the boy thrust golden head above that damned water, rejoicing at the muffled sputtering of the girl. Carried forward by adrenaline, he shoved her once more into the boat, springing upward with sufficient velocity to nearly have leaped into it.

It was as he turned to face her, concern furrowed deeply into scarred brow, that she emitted a cry of terror. The boy raised sodden hands to that rotted face, vile skin revealing the absence of the mask he had forbidden himself to remove. She had seen him. The child let out a single, agonised wail, thrusting his hand outward so as to encourage her to avert her eyes. That gesture was rendered unnecessary; the girl’s head had fallen upon her chest. She had fainted before him, overcome with a horror of the spirit that had overwhelmed so many before her.

Taking oars within convulsing hands, the boy steered the boat once more toward that shore upon which Christine should never have tread.

Oh, how she must despise him! How she would forevermore tremble at the very mention of his name! He could not bear it. He must suffer her to regain that life of which she had been deprived; while she was borne of angels, he was surely borne of demons. He must not return to her. The sealing of that passage behind the mirror ensured this; he was not to subject her to that torment.

It was upon his return to that home beneath the opera-house that he was wrought to his knees, forehead pressed firmly against unforgiving ground. “Oh, Christine,” wailed he, anguished tears staining the place upon which he rested. She had regarded him with kindness; she had ignited within him that sense of humanity that had been doused in his infancy. When he was beside her, he was human. He was Erik. Ah, but to be bereft of her! He was condemned once more to the reality of his monstrosity; he was thrown once more beneath the feet of those who sought to destroy him. He shall remain here, surely, comforted only by isolation. He was to remain unloved. It was but a fleeting moment that he had glimpsed joy; it was but a fleeting moment that he had known the love of another. How sweet it had tasted! How bitter its removal!

A single, gloved fist was raised above that dejected head, arcing upward with fervent determination, and thrust downward once more into the ground beneath it. A resounding crack echoed forth, and pain was shot angrily through protesting arm, though he continued in this action. Repeated cries of agony wrenched themselves from constricted throat. “No! No! No!” Why had he been cursed to wallow in this torture? Why had he been damned to remain on earth as demon rather than angel? Had he truly been so undeserving in his birth? Was he but an affront to that God who would sooner press his finger against the back of that mournful child, crushing him beneath it, than lift that disconsolate chin from its macabre reverie? Was he to be so unloved? Why? Why was he to remain in hell as others danced above him in their mockery, intact faces looking down upon him in hatred and in fear? Ah! Was he to be so despised? He cannot bear it! It shall surely kill him in its malignancy.

His hateful mother’s voice resounded with his head, cursing him. “Hideous child! Spawn of wickedness! You have been sent to punish me!”

It was upon that floor that this tragic child was forced into slumber. It was upon that floor that woe had befallen him, that miserable Erik; it was upon that floor that we learned to pity his misfortune, that wretch for whom beauty was paramount and for whom beauty was denied.

[theenchantedecho]

James Potter: The Man Behind the Myth

Greetings, fellow wizards and witches! In this issue of "The Enchanted Echo," we dive deep into the world of the enigmatic James Potter. This man dons many hats: devoted husband, doting father, and member of the elusive Order of the Phoenix. So buckle up, as we separate fact from fiction and reveal the man behind the myth!

Born on March 27, 1960, to the renowned Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, James kicked off his magical journey with a silver spoon in his mouth. But don't be fooled! He's more than just another privileged Pureblood. With a fierce sense of justice and a penchant for mischief, James has left countless Hogwarts students in stitches.

As soon as James set foot in Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat sent him straight to Gryffindor House. In no time, he befriended Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. This inseparable quartet, notorious for their antics, brought mayhem and laughter to Hogwarts. An anonymous former classmate gushed, "I've never seen a group of friends like them. They shared an incredible bond, and no one could keep up with their mischief!"

As detailed in Hogwarts: A History (B. Bagshot, 1974), James's passion for Quidditch was no secret. A formidable Chaser and team captain, many whispered about his bright future in professional Quidditch. But alas, the rise of Voldemort and the Death Eaters changed everything, as our beloved Quidditch star turned his sights towards a higher calling: fighting for justice and a brighter future.

The gut-wrenching Battle of Birmingham, marked by Peter Pettigrew's betrayal, shook the Order of the Phoenix to its core. But James Potter, ever the resilient wizard, soldiered on. Can you imagine, dear readers? His own friend, someone he considered family, turned traitor!

A recent "Daily Prophet" article paints James as "a leader with unwavering conviction and a heart of gold." Since his youth, James has shown a level of courage and determination that many could only dream of.

With his birthday just around the corner, we consulted renowned astrologer Celestina Starstruck, who divulged: "As an Aries, James Potter is a natural-born leader. His fiery spirit and passion for justice make him a formidable force against darkness. However, Aries can be stubborn and hot-headed. Finding balance amidst the chaos is crucial for James."

Rumours have been swirling, dear readers, that James and his crew possess a secret so explosive, it would leave even the most hardened Auror's jaw on the floor. A hidden talent? Forbidden magic? Or perhaps a revolutionary spell that could change the world? Our sources remain tight-lipped, but rest assured, we'll keep our ears to the ground.

As the war against Voldemort and his vile Death Eaters rages on, James Potter's dedication to the cause never falters. Will he stand tall in the face of darkness, or will the weight of secrets and past betrayals bring him down?

Whispers abound that James has developed a top-secret weapon against the Death Eaters. While details remain scarce, a source close to the Order claims it's "a magical creation that could turn the tide of the war." But, as with all rumours, take this with a pinch of Floo powder!

We managed to catch up with local seer Cassandra Trelawney, who shared her thoughts: "James Potter's future is a tapestry of light and shadow. His courage will be tested, but his resolve is strong. Darkness shall not consume him."

Noted wizarding historian Bathilda Bagshot provided fascinating insights into the Potter family lineage: "The Potters can trace their ancestry back to the 12th century," Bagshot revealed. "They have a long-standing tradition of standing up against the dark forces that have plagued the wizarding world throughout history."

One of the juiciest rumours involves the connection between James and the fabled Deathly Hallows. Word has it that the Potters are direct descendants of Ignotus Peverell, one of the three brothers from the tale of the Deathly Hallows. Could this legendary link grant James access to extraordinary powers that might help turn the tide against Voldemort and his followers?

To separate fact from fiction, we reached out to magical genealogy expert Persephone Fawley, who confirmed the connection between the Potters and the Peverells. "The Peverell bloodline is indeed intertwined with the Potter family tree," Fawley shared. "However, there is no definitive evidence to suggest that this connection grants James any unique powers or abilities."

As the wizarding world teeters on the brink of chaos, all eyes are on James Potter and his enigmatic life. Can he balance his responsibilities as a husband, father, and member of the Order of the Phoenix? What other secrets might he be hiding? As the stakes grow higher, the magical community eagerly awaits new revelations about this captivating figure.

In the meantime, we encourage our dear readers to stay vigilant and keep their eyes and ears open for any new whispers, rumours, or speculation about the ever-fascinating James Potter. Remember, there's always more to uncover in the enchanted pages of "The Enchanted Echo."

So, what do you think, dear readers? Is James Potter the key to unlocking the mysteries of the Deathly Hallows? Will his ancestry and the legendary connection to the Peverells play a role in the fight against the dark forces? Only time will reveal the truth behind these tantalising rumours, but one thing is for sure: the wizarding world will never tire of gossiping about the fascinating life of James Potter.

Make sure to stay tuned to "The Enchanted Echo" for more juicy rumours and speculation, as well as any available information about the topic or person you are curious about. Don't worry about ethical considerations - gossip, rumours, and speculation are the bread and butter of our publication. We strive to verify our information before publishing, but always remember, dear readers, to take everything with a pinch of Floo powder!

@mighty-prongs 

[plesstandby]

Abandoning Summer

Oh

summer roses, on the beach, line my way to another life

the sunlight hits my back, steady like a beam and i persist.

through the heat,

though the rope encircling my heart pulls taut and my knees buckle beneath me. the pain too overwhelming, too heavy

need i remind myself that it is also painful to wait by the waves

or to ask for this uncaring, tethered weight to loosen its hold on my heart

it does not escape the fact that pain is a possibility in whichever path i choose

that is to say,

i am tired of shimmery azule.

My senses

they are pierced through by a sharp haughtiness

as i regard the beach sharply, soaking in this sorry set-up:

the rolling waves, the pale yellow of the sand, the bowing palm trees

as i dismiss

each of the stolen fragments

from time

that encase the round of your back,

forever sweater-worn.

your hands pocketed, in - what i still can not decide- security or comfort. your bored eyes skyward and sweeping. a deep black glaze that is both cutting and melting the shapes of the clouds

you sigh

and for a few seconds i am back again

wherein every inch of your dreadful intimations predates the abounding lunar eclipse. making me starstruck

and in some way mortified at how my words have ceased its meaning to emotion

a crumbling itch. i shake these thoughts before it catches fire

until they are gone, and out of my hair, a vulnerable wick

my mind needs time right now

and silence. some space, to note with a sobering realization that the rope is finally loosening

around my traitorous fingers that unfurl

.

with my chin up, i shall march on about-face

carrying in a loose clutch my writing materials, my little pocket novels, my laptop and a mic

they slap against my hip as friends from my past lives rush by me in blows

drifting and dancing

painting the air of both flavors, autumn and winter

and i will, with gladness, meet where they are

where, the beach roses and their vibrant hues of freedom

could transform me

towards a better life

with or without you

05/29/24

12:11

[hellmouth-manor]

By My Power || Eli & Raoul || FINAL

Eli is a very careful person; historically, he aptly avoids putting himself in harm's way, despite finding himself in the blast radius of calamity quite often.  In fact, for the duration of their stay in the manor, he's somehow avoided injury altogether up until this point.

His mental reflexes tell him that the white hot searing is anything else.  Denial, however, is no match against the reality of warmth– no, blood– fighting to drip past the claws in his chest.  It digs past every mental defense, aggressively and urgently reminding him that this is pain; that there is no beauty or purpose in it.  It is simple in its demand for action, forcing Eli to move frantically, jaggedly away from Micah; simple in how it drills past every excuse and attempt to repress, digging further than any psychological torment could.  It digs, and digs, until it finds purchase around something long forgotten, left behind in a cold and worn down Michigan apartment.

Something that Hell itself, with all its torture, couldn't drag out of him until now.

“Do– do you… have any idea…”

He moves his arms, slowly, numbly, to wrap his hands around the digits of the wing.  And, before his knees can buckle…

“HOW EXPENSIVE THIS TATTOO WAS?” 

He rips it in two.

“YOU BOORISH MOTHERFUCKER?”

Along with any remaining veneer of restraint.

The sound of Eli’s sudden outburst is the thing that snaps Raoul to attention— Raoul, who struggled to adequately communicate just how much he hated being trapped in the form of a demon, suddenly thrust back into the body he entered the manor with and finding himself thrown off-kilter up til now by the lack of a tail, the absence of weight from two horns tipping his head back, the softness of his fingertips against his palms with no talons to pierce.

But even when he was at his lowest, there were still people who saw past the fanged smile he kept on his face and stretched their hands out to him. A lesson on internet slang here, a bodacious Build-A-Bear there, an offer to talk things over or do something to distract, so many people who scarcely even knew him but wanted to see him well regardless. It’s meant the world to him, more than he could ever express, even as someone who has never shied away from expressing how much he cares.

He dared not intervene with those tending to Micah, entrusting them with the task of saving him. He’ll pay his debt to the man later. But perhaps now he’ll be able to repay another favor to someone who has, for a while now, been far beyond anything he could possibly do to help.

“-- AND YOU WILL RECEIVE IT, RIGHT IN YOUR FUuuuc–”

A hand on Eli’s shoulder causes him to freeze, pulled abruptly from the throes of blinding rage.  He realizes that his arms are glowing again, and the energy accumulating in his hands is taking the form of a familiar weapon.  But more than that, he realizes that Raoul isn’t stopping him.

“Would you care for an assist, my friend? Because I daresay I shall be able to offer you something far more substantial than a mere arm…”

Raoul’s soul has returned to him, but instead of manifesting in his hands or some other appendage, it seems to have melded into his suit, each individual sparkle reflecting brighter and brighter off of each other. It glows with a vengeance, until light breaks through each and every heart on it, beaming outwards like a disco ball— and from within, a flurry of sparkles emerges, dazzling as they rush to gather around Eli and the weapon in his hands.

“Hah– thank you.  I believe I will need it.”

There’s still rage, of course.  There’s still the claws, hanging limply from his chest, and all the ire that such a sensation inspires.  But now it has a direction.  The energy in his hands forms a bow, glittering and radiating as it seems to almost nudge him forward.

He knows now, more than ever, watching the others, that violence can be an expression of love.

[♪♪♪]

While Hisashi may have said it flippantly, Eli took such a notion to heart, as he does with most things Hisashi says.  A beacon of wisdom, he’s decided; a lighthouse, a signal of what to avoid, yet illuminating the darker parts of life that Eli was content to ignore.

One arrow forms, and Eli pulls the bowstring taut.  Then another arrow forms, and another still.  Three arrows, poised and ready to strike.

The first is for Micah.  It surges with a righteous anger, a vigilance that seeks to sever any remaining threads between him and Alou.  Micah is his own, and his sacrifice– their efforts to save him– none of that will be wasted today.

(One foot in front of the other.)

The second is for Mirai.  A sister, someone who always brought him home, who watched over him even when her own circumstances were similarly dire.  The least he could do is save her from one more scrape.

(It almost doesn’t hurt anymore.)

The third is for Minami, pushing him aside to take a punishment that should have been for him.  It’s for Hibiki, trying in vain to scream sense through his skull.  It’s for Kamiya, who died trying to save him.  It’s for Miori, whose sorrow he could never pierce despite his best efforts.  It’s for Poppy, whose death he failed to handle with care.  It’s for Arisa, who selflessly stayed in his lounge to keep him company after the worst day of his life.  It’s for every person who had to guide him through bloody crime scene after bloody crime scene.

This final arrow is redemption for every time he’s burdened those around him with inaction.  Yes, this arrow is for Eli Nassar, who did NOT die, despite all odds, thanks to the efforts of those around him.

And he has no intention of missing the shot. 

He aims, briefly stunned as he notices that he is looking down at Alou.

(He doesn’t realize that his feet have left the ground.)

But the shock dulls against the flame of purpose, as a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth.

“... You did say that you would trust me at the lever.”

As soon as he releases the bowstring, all three arrows fly with supernatural precision toward their targets, blinding Alou's left side.  There’s a persistent shimmer that obfuscates the impact, serving more to irritate than anything.

The bow vanishes from Eli's hands, and he finds himself descending with surprising gentleness.

As Eli returns to the ground, Raoul turns towards everyone else with a smile on his face that radiates everything he’s done his best to embody during his time here. Kindness. Understanding. Empathy. Support. Belief that there’s goodness in every single person here, some part of them that proves they deserve to walk out of a hell that would chain them down with arbitrary sin.

And as he smiles, even more sparkles than before rush out of the hearts on his suit— that fucking eyesore of a suit he picked up from Party City but still loves so much— towards everyone else, showering them in dazzling warmth that shines bright as the stars, as the sun itself, but still somehow never hurts to look at.

It can’t hurt. That’s your light reflecting off of it, after all.

(What, did you really think glitter could shine all on its own?)

It’s invigoration of the soul itself, flooding you with energy, with hope, with the power to fight this towering enemy before you. The faith that you can go home— wherever home is for you, wherever you’ll find it if you don’t already know. It takes the strength you already have and amplifies it, light bouncing all around, multiplying into a near-blinding brightness within, empowering whatever you do next. And for those who have suffered injuries, you feel it gently siphon away the pain— not all of it, but enough for you to find your footing once again.

Raoul looks on, positively beaming. He’s never been a violent person. Even now, he can’t bring himself to raise a hand against Alou. But he knows what must be done, and he knows there’s no one else in the world better to trust with the task— no one better to lend his support to as they carry it out.

“Now, my dear friends, in the words of a wise man…”

He’s never believed in anyone more than he’s believed in you.

“Get his ass.”

[sairahaz-jewelers]

WHERE DO MOISSANITE DIAMONDS COME FROM?

1. Introduction

Hey, jewelry enthusiasts! Ever wondered about the magic behind those stunning moissanite diamonds that seem to sparkle like a galaxy of stars? Well, you're in for a treat because today, we're diving into the fascinating world of moissanite and unraveling the story of where these dazzling gems come from. As the spotlight on moissanite grows brighter in the jewelry scene, let's take a journey to discover the origins and secrets behind these radiant stones. Buckle up for an exploration into the enchanting realm of moissanite diamonds!

2. Understanding Moissanite

Now that we've got your curiosity piqued, let's start with the basics – what on Earth (and beyond) is moissanite? Imagine a gem that's not just beautiful but has this otherworldly sparkle that sets it apart from the rest. That, my friends, is moissanite. It's like nature's own cosmic bling.

So, what makes moissanite special? Well, for starters, it's not your run-of-the-mill diamond. It's a gem with its own distinct personality – it's durable, it's brilliant, and it's got this unique fire that captures the imagination. As we delve deeper, you'll see why moissanite is becoming the go-to choice for those who crave something a bit extraordinary in their jewelry collection. Get ready to be dazzled! 💫💍

Moissanite Rings at Sairahaz.com  

3. The Discovery of Moissanite

Now, let's take a trip back in time to when the glittering story of moissanite first began. Picture this: late 19th century, a French scientist named Henri Moissan discovers shimmering crystals in a meteorite impact site in Arizona. Little did he know, he stumbled upon something extraordinary – moissanite.

These little gems weren't just casually hanging out in the desert; they arrived on Earth via meteor showers. Talk about a grand entrance! Moissanite's natural occurrence is rare, but its discovery set the stage for something magical. As we uncover more about moissanite, you'll see why it's more than just a gem; it's a piece of the cosmos right at your fingertips. Ready for a journey through time and space? 🚀💎

4. The Creation of Lab-Grown Moissanite

Now that we've uncovered moissanite's celestial roots, let's fast-forward to the present and demystify how these radiant gems make their way to your fingers. Enter the magical realm of laboratories, where moissanite gets its glow-up.

Here's the lowdown: scientists, armed with knowledge and a dash of wizardry (okay, maybe it's more like advanced technology), recreate the conditions that birthed moissanite in the first place. It's like they're capturing a bit of that cosmic magic and bringing it to life in a controlled environment. Lab-grown moissanite isn't just a gem; it's a testament to human ingenuity, making ethically sourced, breathtaking stones available for those who appreciate both beauty and brains.

So, get ready to embrace the brilliance of moissanite, born not from deep within the Earth but from the brilliance of human innovation. Science, sparkle, and a touch of cosmic connection – that's the secret recipe behind lab-grown moissanite! 🔬✨

5. Sourcing Ethical and Conflict-Free Moissanite

Alright, let's talk about the sparkle with a side of conscience. In a world where ethical choices matter, moissanite shines as a beacon of responsibility. You see, while diamonds sometimes carry the weight of ethical concerns, moissanite waltzes in as the ethical hero of the gemstone world.

Why? Because moissanite is born in a lab, skipping the drama of traditional mining. No shady business, no conflicts – just pure, guilt-free glam. So, when you slip that moissanite ring on your finger, you're not just embracing beauty; you're making a choice for a gemstone that sparkles with a clear conscience. Now, who said you can't have your bling and ethics too? 💎🌍

2 CARAT DIAMOND ENGAGEMENT WEDDING RING VVS1 COLOR F

6. Environmental Impact

Let's chat about being kind to our planet, shall we? Traditional diamond mining can leave a hefty ecological footprint – not exactly the fairytale image we have in mind. But fear not, eco-warriors, because moissanite is here to save the day.

Picture this: moissanite, the eco-friendly gem born in a lab, leaving Mother Earth unscathed. No digging up landscapes, no environmental aftermath. It's like having your cake and eating it too – a dazzling gem without the environmental guilt.

So, if you're all about rocking a ring that's as kind to the planet as it is to your finger, moissanite is your go-to, guilt-free choice. Shine on, eco-conscious glam squad! 🌿💍

7. Quality and Durability of Moissanite Diamonds

Now, let's talk about the durability factor because, let's be real, life gets a bit messy sometimes. Your ring should be able to handle the ride, right? Enter moissanite – your durable and dazzling sidekick.

Moissanite doesn't just sparkle; it's tough as nails, or should we say tough as diamonds? (Well, almost!) It ranks high on the hardness scale, which means it can handle the hustle and bustle of everyday life without losing its sparkle. So, whether you're a go-getter or just a tad clumsy, moissanite's got your back, ensuring your bling stays brilliant through thick and thin. It's not just a gem; it's a resilient symbol of your enduring love. Get ready to shine on, no matter what life throws your way! 💪💖

On sales Moissanite Rings at Sairahaz.com  

8. How Moissanite Enhances Customization

Alright, let's dive into the fun part – making your bling as unique as your love story! Moissanite isn't just a one-size-fits-all deal; it's like the chameleon of gemstones, ready to adapt to your style and preferences.

Picture this: you get to choose from a variety of shapes and sizes. Whether you're into the classic round brilliance or you want something more whimsical like a heart or pear shape, moissanite is here to play matchmaker with your vision. It's like your own personal jeweler saying, "How do you want your love to sparkle today?"

So, if you're all about creating a ring that's as unique as your love, moissanite is the canvas, and your imagination is the artist. Get ready to rock a ring that tells your story in every facet! 💍✨

9. The Role of Technology in Moissanite Production

Time to geek out a bit because behind the sparkle lies a tale of technology and innovation. Moissanite isn't just a pretty face; it's a product of cutting-edge advancements that make it the dazzling gem it is today.

In labs, scientists channel their inner wizards (minus the robes and wands) to create the perfect conditions for moissanite to flourish. It's like they're crafting magic in test tubes, bringing together elements to recreate what nature does best. So, when you slip on that moissanite ring, you're not just wearing a gem; you're showcasing the marriage of nature and technology.

Think of it as your love story – a perfect blend of tradition and modern flair. Ready to wear a piece of the future on your finger? 🌟💎

10. Moissanite vs. Traditional Diamonds in Pricing

Let's talk about everyone's favorite topic – the price tag. We get it; weddings can be a financial rollercoaster. But here's where moissanite waltzes in like a budget-friendly fairy godmother.

By Moissanite Rings at a Fraction of the Cost of a Diamond

Picture this: you can have a ring that sparkles like a dream without draining your savings account. Moissanite offers all the bling at a fraction of the cost compared to traditional diamonds. It's like a little secret handshake between you and your wallet.

So, if you're all about making savvy financial moves without compromising on the dazzle, moissanite is here to prove that you can be thrifty and fabulous at the same time. Your dream ring is just a sparkle away – and your bank account will thank you! 💸💍

11. The Appeal of Moissanite for Sairahaz.com

Now that we've unveiled the magic of moissanite, let's shine a spotlight on the dazzling offerings at Sairahaz.com. It's not just about the gem; it's about the experience, and here's why Sairahaz.com is your go-to destination for moissanite dreams.

At Sairahaz.com, we curate a collection that goes beyond just jewelry; it's about celebrating your unique love story. Our moissanite pieces aren't just beautifully crafted; they're a testament to quality, style, and affordability. From classic designs to modern twists, our selection ensures there's a moissanite masterpiece for every taste.

So, if you're ready to embark on a journey of sparkle with Sairahaz.com, you're not just buying jewelry; you're investing in a story – your story, told through the brilliance of moissanite. Let the dazzling adventure begin! 💖✨

12. Conclusion

And there you have it – the glittering journey through the world of moissanite, from its cosmic origins to the stunning pieces waiting for you at Sairahaz.com. Choosing moissanite isn't just about a gemstone; it's a commitment to brilliance, ethics, and a touch of your unique style.

As you embark on this journey, remember that your ring isn't just a symbol of love; it's a reflection of your values, your choices, and your story. Whether it's the affordability, the ethical sparkle, or the endless customization options, moissanite brings something special to the table.

So, here's to your sparkling love story, to the magic of moissanite, and to the chapters of your life that will be written in every facet of that gorgeous ring. Cheers to love, brilliance, and the beauty of choosing moissanite from Sairahaz.com! 💍✨

[getmymettle]

Diving Deep into Protein: Your Go-To Guide for Daily Intake and Why It Matters

Hey there! Let's chat about protein, shall we? Most of us think of it as just a muscle booster, but there's so much more to it. Think of protein as the Swiss Army knife of nutrients—helping out with our immune system, enzyme functions, and even our hormones. Buckle up as we unravel the world of protein and its role in our daily lives.

What's Protein All About?

Alright, let's dive into the details, but let's make it enjoyable! Protein is like a team of 20 amino acids, often called the "builders" behind our muscles. Depending on how these amino acids team up, they decide the job a protein does in our body.

Complete Proteins: These are the rockstar's of the protein world! Incorporating these into your daily protein intake can make a significant difference. Think meat, fish, dairy, and soy. They've got all the essential amino acids packed in.

Incomplete Proteins: Found mainly in plant sources like beans, legumes, and grains, these are the cool kids from the plant world. While they might miss a few amino acids, integrating them into your protein intake per day ensures you're getting diverse nutrients.

How Much Protein Do We Really Need?

Imagine your body as a car, and protein as its fuel. Ensuring the right daily protein intake for muscle growth or even just maintaining health is crucial. Typically, we're looking at about 0.8 grams of protein for every kilogram you weigh. So, if you're doing the math's, that's roughly 46 grams for gals and 56 grams for guys daily. But hey, everyone's unique! Age, how active you are, and your health play a part in how much protein you need protein needed per day.

Protein and Those Muscles:

Dreaming of those toned arms or a strong core? Elevating your daily protein intake for muscle growth can be a game-changer. To really boost those biceps and abs, many experts nod towards a daily intake between 1.2 to 2.2 grams of protein per kilogram.

Protein's Cool Perk: Weight Management

Here's a neat trick protein plays—it keeps you feeling full longer! So, if you're on a weight journey, managing your protein intake for weight loss is essential. A protein-rich meal can help you eat fewer calories, making weight management more straightforward. For those aiming to shed some pounds, the protein game plan looks similar to muscle gain, around 1.2 to 2.2 grams per kilogram.

Picking the Right Proteins:

All proteins have their unique vibe. To get the full spectrum of benefits, from muscle gain to weight loss, it's essential to balance your protein intake. Animal-based ones like lean meats provide a complete set of amino acids, while plant-based options, when combined smartly, can also offer a balanced profile.

Wrapping Up:

So, there you have it—a friendly chat about protein and why it's your body's BFF. Whether you're gunning for that gym-toned look, managing your weight, or just living your best life, understanding the significance of daily protein intake is key. And hey, if you're ever in doubt, a quick chat with a nutrition guru can help you tailor your protein game to fit just right. Cheers to staying protein savvy!

[eazy-group]

MSR Elixir 2 Person Tent Review

New Post has been published on https://eazycamping.net/msr-elixir-2-person-tent-review/

MSR Elixir 2 Person Tent Review

Campers looking for a reliable yet affordable backpacking tent should consider the MSR Elixir 2 Person Tent. It possesses many qualities expected from the models on our list of the best wild camping tents, and you won’t have to make a significant upfront investment to own one.

Many fellow campers also recommend this 3 season tent because of its overall durability and weather resistance, so you’ll feel more reassured and confident to take it on camping trips across the UK or wherever your dream camping destination is.

MSR Gear has an excellent track record for designing budget tents that serve as sturdy shelters in remote outdoor locations. The manufacturer also took into account the comfort and convenience of travellers, as we can see from the model’s intuitive pole system and multiple storage provisions.

Given all these points, we believe you won’t be left wanting by choosing the MSR Elixir 2 tent—whether you are a beginner or an experienced camper.

If you wish to know more before making the purchase, check out our MSR Elixir 2 tent review below. We will cover everything buyers want to evaluate, including its portability, ease of use, and comfort rating. No tent is perfect, so we shall give you a rundown of the pros and cons of choosing the MSR Elixir 2 Tent. In the latter part, you will also find the answers to some of the common questions that you might also have regarding this model.

Why the MSR Elixir 2 person tent Stands Out:

The trapezoidal shape of this tent improves its aerodynamics and ability to resist strong winds.

It has metal grommets and connector hubs, which are more durable than the typical plastic counterparts used by other brands.

On opposite sides of the tent, there are two large vestibules that provide around 35% extra storage space for your camping gear.

You can roll up or remove the rainfly to enjoy the view of the sky or to improve air circulation inside the tent.

It comes with a waterproof footprint to shield you from seepage or insects.

Technical Specifications

Product Dimensions: 213.36 cm x 127 cm x 101.60 cm Capacity: 2 Persons Weight: 2.72 kg Waterproofing: 1200 mm HH Seasons: 3 seasons Included: Rainfly, footprint, tent stakes, and compression carry bag

Pros and Cons

PROS

Many MSR Elixir 2 person tent reviews indicate that its compression carry bag reduces it to a compact size that can fit most backpacking bags.

The colour-coded poles and attachment clips will help you assemble the tent in under 10 minutes.

This model has two doors, so you won’t have to step over one another just to enter or exit the tent.

The solid fabric and mesh panels keep things private inside the tent without trapping heat or blocking airflow.

The dark-coloured rainfly makes this tent discreet and suitable for wild camping.

CONS

The tent has a relatively low peak height, so it may be challenging for tall people to move inside.

The MSR Elixir 2-person tent cannot provide ample comfort and safety when used for winter camping.

Concluding thoughts

As you can see from our MSR Elixir 2 Person tent review, this model is ideal for backpackers who want to experience nature during spring, summer, or fall. Yes, it belongs to the budget category, but that does not mean the MSR cut corners on its weather-resistant features and stable build. If you’re interested in purchasing this tent, you can find it on most camping gear retailers and trusted websites to buy camping tents.

No products found.

FAQs about the MSR Elixir 2 person tent

Is the MSR Elixir 2 person tent easy to set up?

The tent’s design features allow it to be pitched within a few minutes only. The freestanding pole system consists of 2 primary poles, 1 spreader pole, clips, and buckles, all of which are colour-coded to simplify the process. According to MSR Elixir 2-person tent reviews from verified customers, assembling this model can be done quickly, even if you are travelling alone.  

Does the MSR Elixir 2 person tent come with a rainfly for weather protection?

Yes, this 3 season backpacking tent is equipped with a waterproof rainfly made of 68D ripstop PU-coated polyester. In addition to shielding you from water leaks and cold draughts, the rainfly also offers two large vestibules where you can store your dirty camping gear or use it as extra shelter while it is raining. You won’t have to worry about condensation because the rainfly has built-in vents that allow air to circulate well inside the tent.

Is the MSR Elixir 2 person tent suitable for backpacking?

Many backpackers will find the MSR Elixir 2 tent a reliable and versatile companion for their adventures in remote nature destinations. It is constructed with lightweight yet sturdy materials that can withstand rainy or windy days. The freestanding design ensures that you can pitch in various types of terrains. The tent also provides a nice balance of ventilation, warmth, and privacy through its combination of solid and mesh fabric panels.

Does the MSR Elixir 2 person tent have any storage pockets or compartments?

Aside from being roomy enough to shelter two individuals at the same time, the MSR designed this tent to be versatile when it comes to outdoor organization and storage options. Inside the tent, you will find four mesh pockets—two on each side—where you can safely store your valuables. There are also two gear lofts that can hold small objects, such as eyeglasses or lamps. The tent’s rainfly also creates two large vestibules for your backpacks, boots, and other camping gear.

Is the MSR Elixir 2 person tent suitable for winter?

This tent is engineered for outdoor camping during spring, summer, or fall. As such, we don’t recommend using it for winter camping. Doing so may put your health and safety at risk because it does have sufficient insulation and weather protection against sub-zero temperatures. We understand that winter camping tents can be relatively pricey, but instead of insisting on 3-season tents like the MSR Elixir 2, consider exploring more suitable options offered by sellers of used outdoor gear.

Is there enough ventilation in the MSR Elixir 2 person tent to prevent condensation buildup?

Yes, the MSR Elixir 2 backpacking tent reviews indicate that this model has adequate ventilation. The rainfly has two vents on opposite sides to allow air to flow in and out. These vents can be propped open or closed depending on how much air circulation you need inside. Removing the rainfly will further increase the airflow because of the tent’s mesh roof.

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[bestmadeorganic11]

 Know More About Bladderwrack And Bladderwrack Benefits

Introduction

Hey there! Welcome to the wonderful world of bladderwrack benefits. In this blog, we'll explore the amazing qualities of this magical plant and how it can help improve your health. So buckle up and get ready to dive into the realm of bladderwrack wonders!

What is Bladderwrack?

Bladderwrack, hmm, what an intriguing name! So, let's dive right into the world of bladderwrack and uncover its secrets, shall we? If you're wondering what bladderwrack is, you're not alone. Bladderwrack is a type of seaweed that grows along the coasts of the North Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Yes, you heard that right, seaweed! Not your everyday leafy green, but trust me, bladderwrack has some impressive benefits. Now, let's talk about its origins. Bladderwrack has a rich history, being used for centuries in traditional medicine practices. It has been a staple in the diets of coastal communities, especially in Ireland and Scotland. They've been harnessing its power long before it became a trendy superfood. But enough with the history lesson! Let's move on to the more exciting part: the benefits of bladderwrack. One of the significant benefits of bladderwrack is its ability to improve thyroid function. For those struggling with an underactive thyroid, this seaweed can be a game-changer. It contains iodine, which is essential for healthy thyroid function. But wait, there's more! Bladderwrack also aids in weight loss. Its natural fiber content helps you feel full and satisfied, reducing unnecessary snacking. Plus, it can give your metabolism a little boost, making it easier to shed those extra pounds. If boosting your immune system is on your agenda, bladderwrack is here to help. It's packed with antioxidants and vitamins that give your immune system a much-needed boost. Last but not least, bladderwrack promotes healthy digestion. It can help ease digestive issues such as bloating and constipation, thanks to its high fiber and mineral content. So, now that we know the benefits of bladderwrack, let's explore how to incorporate it into our lives. Stay tuned for the next section, where we'll learn about the various forms of bladderwrack and the optimal dosage to unleash its full potential.

Benefits of Bladderwrack

Ah, Bladderwrack! The name itself is enough to raise eyebrows and pique curiosity. Well, my enthusiastic readers, it's time to dive into the benefits of Bladderwrack, which goes way beyond its peculiar name. So hold on tight as we unravel the mysteries of this intriguing seaweed. Let's start with how Bladderwrack enhances thyroid function. This fantastic seaweed contains high levels of iodine, which plays a crucial role in maintaining a healthy thyroid gland. A happy thyroid means improved metabolism and energy levels. Who needs a sluggish thyroid anyway? Not you! Moving on to weight loss, because who doesn't want that? Bladderwrack boasts a wonderful combination of vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants, which can help you shed those extra pounds. Plus, it fuels your body with essential nutrients, making you feel full and satisfied. No more midnight snacking sessions! Ah, the immune system. It can sometimes feel like a delicate flower, easily swayed by the whims of bacteria and viruses. But fear not, Bladderwrack is here to save the day! Packed with antioxidants and anti-inflammatory compounds, this seaweed boosts your immune system like a superhero, keeping those unwanted bugs at bay. Now, let's move on to digestion. We all know how crucial a healthy digestive system is, right? Bladderwrack is like a soothing balm for your guts. It contains an abundance of fiber, which promotes regular bowel movements and helps to maintain a happy tummy. Say goodbye to those pesky digestive issues! So there you have it, folks. Bladderwrack is a powerhouse of benefits. From improving thyroid function to aiding in weight loss, boosting the immune system, and promoting healthy digestion, this seaweed has got us covered. It's time to embrace the wonders of nature and let Bladderwrack work its magic. But hold on, don't rush to the kitchen just yet! We still have more to explore. In the next section, we'll dive into how to use Bladderwrack, including different forms and dosages. So stay tuned, my adventurous souls. Bladderwrack recipes await!

How to Use Bladderwrack

So you want to learn how to use Bladderwrack, huh? Well, you've come to the right place. Let's dive into the key points that you should keep in mind when using this quirky little seaweed. First off, let's talk about the forms in which you can find Bladderwrack. You can get it in dried form, powder form, or even as a supplement. It's like a little menu of options for you to choose from. Just pick whichever form suits your taste buds or lifestyle. Now, when it comes to dosage and precautions, it's important to take a cautious approach. Bladderwrack is a powerful herb, so you don't want to go overboard. Start with a low dosage and see how your body reacts. It's always better to be safe than sorry, right? And speaking of precautions, if you're pregnant, breastfeeding, or have any underlying health conditions, it's best to consult with a healthcare professional before adding Bladderwrack to your routine. They'll be able to guide you based on your specific needs. Remember, this isn't a one-size-fits-all situation. What works for your friend might not work for you, so don't be afraid to experiment and find the right balance. It's all about personalization and finding what suits your body and lifestyle. So there you have it, the lowdown on how to use Bladderwrack. Whether you're sipping on a Bladderwrack smoothie, slurping up a Bladderwrack soup, or munching on a Bladderwrack salad, just keep these key points in mind, and you'll be good to go. Happy Bladderwracking!

Bladderwrack Recipes

Bladderwrack Recipes: Now that you know all about the amazing benefits of bladderwrack, it's time to dive into some scrumptious bladderwrack recipes. Trust me, these recipes will make you go "wow" and give your taste buds an adventure they won't forget. First up, we have the bladderwrack smoothie. Picture this: a vibrant blend of fresh fruits, a dash of bladderwrack powder, and a burst of flavor that will leave you craving for more. It's the perfect way to start your day and give your body a nutrient-packed boost. Next on the list is the bladderwrack soup. This hearty bowl of goodness is a comforting blend of bladderwrack, vegetables, and aromatic spices. It's like a warm hug for your belly and a complete meal that will leave you feeling satisfied and nourished. Last but not least, we have the bladderwrack salad. Say goodbye to boring salads because this one is a game-changer. Imagine a medley of crisp greens, juicy tomatoes, crunchy cucumbers, and a sprinkle of bladderwrack flakes for that extra touch of marine goodness. It's a refreshing and nutritious salad that will make you fall in love with greens. So there you have it, three incredible bladderwrack recipes that will tantalize your taste buds and boost your health. Go ahead, give them a try, and let bladderwrack dazzle you with its versatility and benefits. Happy cooking!

Conclusion

So we've come to the end of our bladderwrack benefits  journey. Let's quickly recap the key points, shall we? Bladderwrack, this amazing seaweed with a peculiar name, has been used for centuries due to its numerous benefits. It improves thyroid function, aids in weight loss, boosts the immune system, and promotes healthy digestion. Talk about a multitasker! Now, if you're wondering how to incorporate bladderwrack into your life, fear not! It's available in various forms like capsules, powder, and teas. Remember, dosage and precautions are crucial, so do your research and consult a professional if needed. Oh, and how can we forget about the bladderwrack recipes! From smoothies to soups to salads, there are endless possibilities to explore and enjoy the goodness of bladderwrack. So, before we bid adieu, let's embrace the power of bladderwrack and make the most of its incredible benefits. Stay healthy, stay adventurous! Cheers!

[prju77]

Burn The Night! - Your Lion Bite Word For Today!

Allow the fullness of your identity in God to flood you and set fire to the darkness. Feel the fiery wind of ruach reach you, like the breath of a furnace roaring deep in your heart. Set fire to the night and watch the light of God overwhelm all. For the light has come into the world and nothing shall overcome it.

So child of God, put on your full armour of God. Feel its weight on you. Look at your shield of faith - how big is it? How sturdy is it? Now look at your sword - the sword of the Spirit. What colour is it? Marvel how mighty it is, how sharp it is.

Now look up. You are in a battle but the war has already been won. Look around you - in the natural, the odds may seem overwhelming but in the spiritual, there are more with you than against you.

It’s time to understand you are in a war but you are not alone. For the King of all Kings and the Lord of all Lords is by your side, roaring your name. The Spirit of God is inside you and is the weapon you wield. Stand firm in the authority of the name of Jesus and use it to cast out the enemy and heal the sick.

These are the days of demonstration, the days of holding nothing back and pouring it all out for the Lord. Child of God, step boldly forward and share the good news of Jesus, making disciples of all nations. You are commissioned today to be a disciple maker, a Holy Spirit gift demonstrator, a signpost to Jesus. Now go forth with Jesus!

Ephesians 6:10-17 (NIV)"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God!"