for a moment i thought it was bb ereinion who had the fangs and went “shit did they adopt an orc”
“Lookit his little tusksies,” Fingon cooed, dabbling a hand before the baby’s face. The baby, with impressive coordination for its age, snapped at his fingers and Fingon pulled back with a laugh.
Maedhros frowned. There were many excellent reasons to give a creature marked by the Enemy a merciful death and nothing more, but Fingon was notoriously difficult to persuade on that count.
And he had to admit that, orc or no, Fingon was right; it was cute. Small and chubby with alertly glowing eyes and the nubbly beginnings of fangs. “It’s teething,” he said, noting the angry red of its gums and, stepping forwards, dipped his own hand into the crib.
The baby squawked and lunged, its plump fists closing about his fingers, tiny teeth gnashing against the metal. And then settled, as the chill metal soothed away the soreness.
Fingon wound his arms about Maedhros’ waist, going up on tiptoes so that he could rest his chin upon his shoulder. “You’re going to be such a good father.”
“We’re not keeping him,” Maedhros said knowing this war, like so many others, was already lost.
“With so nimble a mind, Estel, there is little doubt that you shall win great favor by picking gifts as apt as this one for your future allies. It has been long since I have seen the bright berries and dark leaves of Eregion, the Land of Holly. I had heard they had nearly died out in that land, fading, like many things.
Will I remember? They were my daughter’s delight, in her childhood when the first stones of Ost-in-Edhil were laid amid our cottages in the wilds before the gate of Khazad-dum of old. She loved them because they were bright even in the dark of winter, and under the snow. Fitting, for her! But no doubt you have heard many a tale of her in your old home. But I remember clearest when she was still mine. My husband and I do not sit remembering often, now. Happy! Too happy and too busy to dwell unduly upon what was lost to me, my brothers, my cousins, my teacher. Each day different from the last, each day my lord and I began a new work, each day the stones of our towers reached higher, each day our daughter brought us some new pleasure of parenthood that we could not have imagined, and our family and home and people grew together all at once. Do you know what delight it is to build a home of your own? Perhaps you shall, in the north kingdom: my granddaughter must know it in her span of time.
Time! Time was different then. How fast did my daughter grow! How fast our city! Our works, and our arts! How busy was my family! Curious – things changed so much, so fast that the time never dragged, yet never did it slip by unnoticed as it does now. So much was done that the time seemed much more full than it seems now, yet it weighed one down so little. Curious – that the holly remains little changed all the year, yet in my memory never does it seem to stand so still as the falling golden leaves.”
ok not stopping - yep! which imo is how to write a good antagonist, you have to put a lot of thought into their motives and how it looks from their side? like, indis and feanor are both being perfectly reasonable in their own heads, if you wrote a fic where indis’ job was to make feanor unhappy because she was awful then like, female character issues aside, that’s just… lazy, bad writing?
tho i bet “she’s a villain who wants to marry finwe bc she’s immoral and evil, he’s ALREADY MARRIED” is exactly how feanor sees it :)
“Foolish child,” Indis cackled sinisterly. The sleeves of her black gown billowed and flared as she viciously tore Finwe and Miriel’s prenuptial agreement into shreds.
Feanor cried out in horror. “Father, no! Don’t let this happen! Can’t you see she’s enchanted you?”
But Finwe was too deeply ensorceled, staring back at his son with eyes like glass dulled by the smoke of an inefficiently burning hydrocarbon.
- Excerpt from the journals of Feanor Finwion age 56 ½
🔥 elwing's childhood, or anything about tar-miriel? (or anything about elwing at all tbh)
Are there popular opinions about Elwing’s childhood? idk, maybe that I don’t see her as thaaaat alienated or lonely a kid, I think she probably fed in a naturalish way off adult attention and also increasing adult responsibilities that flattered her hopes of authority. I tbh could see Elwing having childhood fantasies along the lines of, “of course I’LL give the silmaril up [or I would have before if it had been up to me and it meant keeping Doriath and my dad and my mom and my brothers]” and kind of running headlong into the reality of what happened/her family’s history in her tweens or something, like, the story of Beren and Lúthien hitting home in a “those were my grandparents and they were hurt really badly and they’re dead” way rather than a favorite story way—also probs some displacement there of all the actual firsthand trauma, what really matters is these semifictional relatives who are just removed enough from me that I can feel their pain completely, right. Sort of in that vein, I think the Fëanorians’ demand was genuinely shit timing for her, and ‘sooner’ rather than later might have had a different (worse) outcome; I don’t read “my husband’s away and I need this blessing for my people” as a fuck-you excuse, I think it was both literally true and also a groping articulation of how out-of-control she must have felt, like, raising the kids on her own, ruling on her own, threatened on every side, and with Tuor and Idril’s serene blond guidance newly gone as well.
…To tie this random assortment together more, I guess it’s because I think her childhood WAS sort of mostly happy and a time of healing (and that she healed apace with the development of Sirion as a community, whatever, I’m not proud) that then Eärendil fucking off was really legit destabilizing, not “driving her back into her rut” but “a weird new break in continuity.” … I mean, all that being said, I really like awkward graceless abrupt child Elwing too?? I very much get where that comes from, I’ve leaned on it before, but I’ve kind of gravitated around to seeing her as more, confident and eager when she feels secure in her… whatever. idk. I should finish this fic.
I’m way out of my comfort zone, drawing gore (I hate gore >
Fanart inspired by “super great terrible please anyone stop annatar” fic Selected dialogues from @simaethae (everytime I try something new it’s on your fic sorry )
Basically it’s a torture story (isn’t it the resume of there relationship? XD) but I love this one because Annatar is posing himself as the good cops here instead of torturing celebrimbor Tyelpe himself. So I try to make him a clear bright warm presence next to suffering tyelpe, ready to offert love and comfort… if only he gives up XD
Invocation to the Witch Ancestors of Hellenistic Lore
Oh great witches of old, whose legends and names continue to penetrate the minds of all. Great women of magic whose gifts are accessed by the witches of today to work their spells and rites, hear my calls.
Erichtho, Thessalian woman, dreaded by all, come to my aid. Conjuror of the dead and feared leader of the witches of Thessaly, I invoke thee!
Medea, fabled witch of many drugs whose power is legend among us, come to my aid. Poisoner and healer, great daughter and priestess of Hekate, I invoke thee!
Kirke, great daughter of Hekate whose name is known by many, enchantress of lore and you who have been called goddess, nymph, and witch alike, come to my aid. Great sorceress whose skill in drugs and poisons is surpassed by none but the lady Hekate herself, I invoke thee!
Simaetha of legend, you who bound the errant Delphis back to thy side, come to my aid. You whose skill in binding and erotic magic is known by so many, I invoke thee!
Daughters of Hekate all, by the name of your three-formed mistress, I compel thee to come to me and provide me with your aid in my works of witchcraft. Fabled witches who I honor above all the shades of the departed, I invoke thee. Come upon your fellow witch and give aid to my spells!
some unexpected discoveries are significant enough to change the course of history. Some just gnaw on your finger and keep you up all night. (some are both)
@imindhowwelayinjune and I have published our latest masterpiece. (Props to @simaethae whose misreading inspired all this and happy belated birthday to @bethuniel who, if she didn’t encourage this, didn’t do enough to stop it).
We’re going to try for a chapter a day, two chapters when we’re crossposting something that already appeared on one of our tumblrs.
OKAY SO here at last is the threatened Maedhros+Maglor+Elwing fic, which I was hoping would take me like a week and which did not… take me… a week. But is still probably the fastest I’ve written something of this length in a couple of years, so. Caveat emptor.
She had her bare arms folded on the sill. She smiled down in proud
dismay, as though into a cradle. When he clanked up the stair, his
blooded sword, alas, too wet to sheathe, she stepped aside without
raising her head. She waved him nearer, all but crying out, Behold!
beheld a hole blown in a web of foam. The foam lay flat as ash on hot
gem-green, waves scrolling over waves without dulling that color.
Clearer than the shallows of Valinor—no, blazing though clouded with
sand, and in the cloud an eye, which blinked back at him once, in
reproach and not amaze. Then a shadow sped across the green.
My Hellenic/Hellenistic Traditional Witchcraft Practice
My practice as a Hellenic witch is not defined by a mere worship of the Hellenic gods as a witch, but it is defined by my attempts to recreate the practices of witchcraft depicted in the literature of the Hellenistic period. The central parts of my practice are the worship Hekate, Medea, and Kirke as goddesses of witchcraft, the veneration of folkloric witches from the Hellenistic period in order to link my practice to the practice of witches in the Hellenistic world, and the use of spells and charms in the style of witches of Hellenistic lore adapted to today’s society. These spells take the form of doll magic and sympathetic magic using poppets, written spells like the binding and curse tablets of the Hellenistic period, the use of herbs and magical plants in order to bring about change like the ancient art of pharmakeia, the use of necromantic magic and contacting the dead to carry out my desires, and an adaptation of fire magic expanded from simply the burning of herbs and offerings to also including candle magic.
The process of my Hellenic witchcraft rituals is modeled after the basic procedures of rituals carried out by Medea in the Argonautica. It always begins with the invocation of Hekate and her daughters Medea and Kirke. I then invoke the aid of the witch ancestors of Hellenistic lore such as Erichtho and Simaetha. After the invocations, I place offerings before them to coerce them to help me. Hellenic witchcraft when calling on deities, as shown by the proceedings of Medea’s rituals are dependent on the respectful treatment of deities in spellwork so commonly absent from modern occult traditions pioneered by Crowley and Gardner. As in the semi popular practice of traditional witchcraft, offerings to spirits and deities as well as a respect of them is key to calling upon them to aid you in your spellwork. This is especially important in my practice of traditional Hellenic witchcraft, because the biggest insult to the gods is hubris. It is imperative that as a mortal, however good of a witch one may be, I acknowledge that my power is lesser than the gods and I treat them with respect and provide them with the offerings typical in religious ceremonies.
The deities I worship are at the center of my practice. These deities are Hekate, Medea, and Kirke. Hekate’s worship is the same as her typical worship, just with the emphasized aspect of her as the goddess of witches. Medea and Kirke, however, tend to be honored a bit different than they would normally be. I regard Medea and Kirke, contrary to any documentation, as daughters of Helios and Hekate. I have come to this conclusion through my own relationships with these goddesses and my own analysis of the sources in which they are present. I view them as minor goddesses of witchcraft and my worship of them is central in my witchcraft.
The next beings I worship are not deities, but are the witches of Hellenistic folklore. The most prevalent of these are Erichtho, Simaetha, and Canidia. I used to venerate Medea and Kirke as part of the witch ancestors, but it came to my attention through my relationships with them that they were more than just witches, but deities of witchcraft themselves. I honor these witches in the same way as I would honor my ancestors, hence why I call them the witch ancestors. In fact, their worship actually comes before the worship of my ancestors. My worship of these beings is a little untraditional though and is more representative of other traditions of witchcraft that aren’t necessarily Hellenic. These beings have been very vocally present in my practice and have provided me with a lot of help and I have come to see how truly powerful they are. Through my veneration of these Hellenistic witches, I have been able to tie my practice back to the practice present in their time.
I honor these beings on each full moon. I have provided the full ritual I use to do so here. I also have a ritual in which I honor Hekate alone on the dark moon in connection with the Deipnon but it is not related to my observance of the Deipnon is style of ritual or purpose of ritual.
The offerings I give to these beings are traditional offerings such as wine, honey, milk, and incense. As of now, though, I only call on these deities and spirits in my Hellenic witchcraft practice because they are associated with witchcraft. I do not include the other gods I worship in my witchcraft as of now simply because it does not feel right to me. This can differ for other people.
This is by no means a full explanation of my Hellenic traditional witchcraft practice. It is also not me telling people how to practice. I merely felt the need to share my beliefs and practices in order to inspire others and provide more insight into how I practice. You can also find my reading list for my Hellenic Witchcraft practice here.
happily imagining wet angry balrog like a cat being given a bath
“Stop right there. Where do you think you’re going, Molgoth?”
The balrog froze in the doorway, somehow conveying guilt without having any static physical features. It stood there on its three (four… now three again…) legs, billowing slightly.
“You’re going to track ash everywhere,” said Melkor. “If you want to come into my hall you will not do so until you are clean.”
Molgoth made a grating shushing noise with a hint of a whine. Melkor, wearily, diverted a great deal of water from the air and sprayed it at the balrog, washing black ash and probably all sorts of other filth down the steps. It left behind a skeletal form dripping with tar-black slime, shivering at the entrance to the hall.
“I take it back,” said Melkor. “You are incapable of being clean. I’ll receive your report outside.”
“I cannot make you happy,” Maedhros hissed, a trifle desperately.
“If I’d wanted to be happy I’d have stayed in Valinor. I crossed the Ice for war and glory, and you still have not given me an answer.”
After centuries of war and trauma, what becomes of love, romance and trust? …Per this fic, it’s swordfights that turn into sword swallowing, hate sex (wherein they are having sex because they hate Morgoth), and romantic decapitations.
(This post came up on my dash today, about how sometimes giving someone a dead bird is the most romantic thing possible because it shows an understanding of them, their interests, your shared history and shared jokes. This is that post in fic form, I guess!)
“What’s the point of having power if one doesn’t enjoy the wielding of it? What good is a sword kept in its sheath? If I were queen of my own kingdom-” Aredhel flopped back so that her booted feet were in the water and her head cushioned by her saddlebags. “Now that is a thought.”
And another story in which one of Fingolfin’s kids sets off to woo a recalcitrant lover. Just, without any of the communication, the empathy or, most importantly, the consent. A horror story about ambition, entitlement, and a dinosaur for Em. (heed the tags!)
The water was dark, but he saw them well enough. Down on the lakebed, they looked up at him and smiled. They could not help but smile.
The corpse in his arms twisted, cold fingers closing about his wrist.
The others reached up to him from beneath, children dead and eaten, beckoning with fish-gnawed fingers. Their hair was weeds and minnows darted in and out of their empty eye sockets. Sisters and brothers who’d paid what he’d refused.
Beneath them, something else moved. Something huge. The lake was hungry.
Gods always were.
Khazri Il’harren tries to save a starving town, avenge a murdered boy, process his own traumatic childhood, kill a god, and maybe, maybe win the affections of a handsome doctor. It’s all easier said than done. Especially the romance.
This is the story I’m most proud of! Given it is a proper story with an actual plot and not a character sketch where two people are sarcastic at each other like basically everything I write. Well, not just that.