#glorfindel's terrible horrible no good very bad day

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel’s Long Day

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 5, and for the WIP game @thescrapwitch tagged me in]

[why is this a wip? I have a list of other things that he needs to do still but it so long and dull (as it's supposed to be) that I doubt I'll finished. This has a nice conclusion as it is now]

“I’m not sure how that rumor started, but I’ll look into it,” Glorfindel said shortly. A frown pulled at his lips. “And correct the appropriate parties.” 

“Thank you,” Elrond sifted through the disorganized piles of loose papers on his desk. The Lord of Imladris was not habitually so messy, but Galadriel’s impending visit appeared to be putting just as much strain on him as his guard captain. 

“Was there anything else, my Lord?” The golden-haired elf asked, mind already well departed from the cluttered office.

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind,” Elrond looked up, several limp strands of hair escaping their precarious housing atop his head. “I could use—no, no,” He interrupted himself with a quick shake of his head, causing more brown hair to tumble free. “Lindir can do that. I won’t take up any more of your time. Thank you, Glorfindel.”

Finally dismissed, his body followed his thoughts back through the winding stairs of the sanctuary carved into the gorge all the way back to the guard house where several elves waited for a tongue-lashing the likes of which they’d never experienced. The problem, he thought as he walked through the stone passages, with building a serviceable guard from those primarily beget in the latter years of the second age, was that they did not have the requisite experience to understand why they should never leave a post unattended for even a minute—no matter how tempting the colorful skylights were last night.

No sooner had Glorfindel finished with the flighty, would-be guards, then a young elleth (were they not all young to him?) came with a written message from the head baker. She gave him the tightly rolled paper and, apron shedding flour onto the rug before his desk, informed him the baker directed her to not return until she had a written response.

With a mighty sigh that could no longer be called long-suffering, he opened the letter and read. 

After only a few lines, it grew quite clear that the problem of which the baker wrote should not be addressed to him but rather to Erestor or more probably Lindir as it was nothing but complaints about the new system for ordering irregularly used spices. He said as much to the apprentice baker, offering the page back to her.

She raised her hands and shook her head, saying that the baker ‘insisted she wanted an answer from Glorfindel’.

He reiterated that he had no say in anything that had to do with managing and running the House. She swore she wasn’t leaving until she had something in writing to prove she’d done exactly as directed. 

Glorfindel was many thousand years old—yes he spent a good chunk of that time as a bodiless spirit in the halls of the dead but it still counted—so he had the self control to not roll his eyes at whatever low stakes power struggle was being waged among the house staff. Taking up a small note page and his inkwell, he scrawled out a quick response, reminding the baker to use appropriate communication chains; they were, after all, set up for a reason (mostly to keep half of the staff from stepping on the toes of the other half, as elves were rather prone to do when no greater threat was around to distract them from small grievances). He ended the letter with the most serviceable of unembellished tengwar.

After a quick blotting, the elleth departed with the note, too happy to report that she completed the task set before her and exactly nothing else. 

If Glorfindel ground his teeth slightly at the preposterous nature of that entire interaction, well, it was merely an accident caused when he jerked his head up from where he rested it against the desk, suddenly realizing that it was past time for him to go up to the plateau that formed the highest border on the the secluded valley and see how the field exercise was going.  

Down to the floor of the gorge he went, then up another meandering staircase and tunnel until he reached the hidden exit onto the grasslands above.

Gwendyon met him just behind the next hill.

“Good afternoon, Captain,” the guardsman chirped brightly, popping up from the brush he'd been hidden in, telescope in one hand and notebook in the other. “How are things in the valley today?”

Glorfindel liked Gwendyon. Born late in the first age, the Sinda had enough experience and focus to keep newer guards in order, while keeping a cheery good nature—a combination that saw him regularly managing field training exercise, as Glorfindel's duties generally did not permit his leaving for extended periods except when the lord or lady of the valley, or their children, wished to travel.

“Better once I have your report,” Glorfindel said. Today, the blazing cheer was rather too bright.

Gwendyon nodded out toward the west, where the long grasses faded into rocky hills and trees, and jumped into a review of how well the teams were working together.

The taller elf nodded and asked a few clarifying questions, then directed changes for tomorrow's schedule based on how things were going so far. 

“Keep up the good work,” He said at last, ready to depart.

“One more thing,” The dark elf said quickly. He opened the leather bound notebook and withdrew a folded sheet. “It sounds rather silly,” He laughed at himself, “but I’ve written a poem for Mileidh and I was hoping I might convince you to take it to them. They should be bringing the goats back to the barns any time now.”

Glorfindel pushed a smile across his face. “Of course I can,” He said. 

He'd need to do it as soon as he returned to the valley. There were several reports waiting for him to review and sign off on in his office, as well as that tracking down the origin of those rumors for Elrond, but if he dealt with those first, he wouldn't have time to go back down to the barns before Mileidh went home.

“Thank you!” Gwendyon enthused, clasping his shoulder briefly in gratitude. 

Glorfindel left after that with a terse farewell that may have made the young ellon wonder if he'd offended him or overstepped propriety with the personal request, but the golden elf didn’t care at the moment, he just wanted to be done up here and get on to the many other things he had left to do.

[feanor]

glorfindel wakes up one morning in gondolin feeling terrible. just, the worst, he feels ridiculously self conscious and his hair is a mess and he can’t find his sword and he wants to go back to bed and sleep but no he has things to do.

he goes to his office and finds stacks of paperwork for him to do. he supposes this is what he signed on for when he accepted to be lord of the golden flower, but by eru, it’s no fun.

he spends a few hours filling out form after form and making seemingly no promise before he realises he hasn’t eaten anything yet in the day and is, therefore, starving. so he goes to the market to buy some food and think about his plans for the rest of the day. he buys some food with his favourite spices, a momentary joy, and is told that ecthelion is off doing something for turgon and won’t return until later in the evening, which makes glorfindel profoundly not happy because he misses his boyfriend, but can’t begrudge ecthelion.

he’s on his way back to his office, thinking maybe he can get a few more forms filled and then go train or spar with someone, when he hears whispers about his relationship.

‘i heard ecthelion only keeps glorfindel around because he thinks he’s hot. there’s no real substance in that relationship.’

‘i heard ecthelion doesn’t even like glorfindel.’

glorfindel feels the worst he’s ever felt. does ecthelion really not like him? he thought- he thought they had something real, something good. apparently not, though, and he can’t exactly call ecthelion over to ask.

he bolts to his house and cries. he’s having the worst day in the world and apparently his boyfriend doesn’t like him and it’s the worst feeling in the world. he falls asleep midafternoon, tears running down his face.

he wakes up disoriented and dehydrated, but as he remembers what was said about his relationship he feels horrible again and doesn’t get out of bed, even when he hears the door open.

‘goldilocks? hey, babe, where a- what’s wrong?’ comes ecthelion, making his way over to glorfindel. glorfindel notices as ecthelion puts a bottle of wine on the side table in the hallway.

‘i’m just- i’m just having a bad day, is all.’ he mumbles, and ecthelion’s face melts into compassion. he slides into bed next to glorfindel and wraps his arms around him.

‘do you want to talk about it?’ he asks.

‘people are saying-‘ glorfindel sniffles, ‘they’re saying you don’t like me at all. that you- that you only keep me around because you- because you like the way i look.’ he cries, not looking at ecthelion.

who is, by the way, completely and utterly shocked and extremely angry about this blatant disrespect towards his boyfriend and his relationship. and also very upset at the hurt that those comments caused glorfindel.

‘that’s not true.’ he says, very firmly. ‘i like you so, so much. i like you more than anyone else in this city. and yes, i like the way you look a lot, can you blame me, you’re stunning, but i also like a bunch more things about you. like the way you laugh, and how you’re always so optimistic, and how you always try to make people smile when they’re upset, and how you spend hours poring over books on swordsmanship trying to perfect your skill but you always manage to make time to play with the children when they want your attention. i could go on but we would be in this bed all week, and we both have duties to attend to.’

glorfindel manages a smile. ‘i like you a lot too. my favourite person in this city. my favourite ecthelion.’ he says softly, cuddling up against ecthelion.

they stay there for a while, ecthelion stroking glorfindel’s hair and glorfindel being rather content to know that the things he overheard earlier were very, very false. he’s just really thirsty now. crying really dries a guy out.

‘what do you need?’ ecthelion asks. how he manages to always know, glorfindel will never know.

‘a glass of water?’ he asks, and ecthelion nods and goes to get him one. when he comes back, he sits down in a chair beside the bed and glorfindel sits up, taking his glass and drinking.

‘you’re not coming back to bed?’ glorfindel asks, confused.

‘no. i have people to warn to never speak so cruelly about our relationship again, under penalty of getting beat up. do you have any names?’ he asks. glorfindel laughs.

‘no, unfortunately i don’t.’

‘i’ll have to threaten the whole city, i suppose.’

‘i suppose so. just so long as you still like me.’

‘goldilocks, i’m always going to like you.’

——

later, when glorfindel returns to valinor, ecthelion takes him into his arms and spins him around.

‘do you still like me?’ glorfindel asks. it’s an inside joke between them now, it had been for a long time.

‘always, goldilocks.’ ecthelion replies, and then they kiss, and their happy ending begins.

credit for helping to inspire this idea goes to my fav @legolaasgreenleaf !! thank u

[theacidvats]

Anxious and Depressed? Go Figure.

((A quick Trigger Warning at the top here. I am discussing my anxiety and depression here, and I get into some pretty dark territory. While I don’t do it directly, I do bring up self-harm and suicidal thoughts. If this could cause you harm in any way, please scroll on past. You don’t need that, and you don’t deserve that. Thank you.))

So I’m writing a book of horror short stories. It’s going to be relatively small, but I want to complete it, if only to say I have written something book length, and that I’ve published it. It’s fun telling stories I want to tell, and it definitely comes with challenges. I’ve run into challenges I’ve read about in every “how to write gud” book, and there are things I’ve come across that I didn’t expect. They’re fun to analyse, adapt to, and overcome.

Most of them are.

The challenges that aren’t fun to overcome are the ones that I’m faced with every day, no matter what I’m doing. Depression, anxiety, impostor syndrome, and all the twisted little disguises each of them don in order to slip past the guards and attack my inner sanctum. I’ve started to think that someone’s paying the guards off. Maybe there are plants, corruption in the force that’s meant to protect my smooshy, terrified brain.

Anxiety is my greatest foe, and it’s grown so strong in the past few years. Really since watching my stepmother pass away due to breast cancer. It rocked my world so incredibly. She was a force of nature who seemed unconquerable, and something invisible took her away. Less than a year after that, my step sister took her own life, who had brain cancer as a child, and severe diabetes later in her life, along with a host of medical problems that came with both of those conditions. Physically she was such a frail individual. But she held out longer than I think I ever could have in her situation. 

Since then, I went through a phase of judging people for freaking out about nothing, to freaking out about nothing myself.

It feeds, and it grows, and evolves the more you let it. Not like a cute thing like a Pokemon, but like... Tetsuo from Akira. That’s quite accurate, the more I think about it. Like, room-spinning terror, harming those around you who you love, lashing out at strangers, a brief period of overconfidence, followed by a complete overload and subsequent breakdown. All of that is followed by an uncertain peace that resembles a rebirth.

Yeah, like that, but... daily. Sometimes that character arc takes a few days to resolve, sometimes a few weeks. But it’s always there. It has good days, and bad weeks. But it is always around.

There are times I can get a bead on it, shed a spotlight on it because I recognise what’s going on. Those moments are occurring more often now. It helps, but it has also unveiled something that makes it even more sinister. 

These are the times when I can recognise it when it rears its ugly head, but it still can do what it does. It still can set me vibrating like a chihuahua, and feeling about as small and vulnerable. Have you ever been on a roller coaster, or fallen down the stairs, and for a little while afterwards, you feel weak, and your whole body feels like a live wire, humming with electricity? It’s like that but sometimes for days, and you also have to carry on like nothing’s happening.

And all the while, your brain is telling you all the worst things you can think of:

You’re a burden on the people you love.

You’re lazy, so you’ll never accomplish a thing.

Nobody wants to be around you, they’re just being nice.

You’re incredibly selfish, and it’s hurting the people you care about.

Those evil mantras I can usually shake off, because of the amazing support system I have. The people I love and care about are amazing. My family are so caring and kind. My girlfriend is absolutely the best. She is anathema to so much of my anxiety. She’s that superhero who shows up and knocks the villain into the horizon. She’s Arwen, when the Witch King’s blade is seeking my heart, and her very presence cuts the gloom (And yeah I know it’s Glorfindel in the books, but my girlfriend’s Arwen.)

For me though, my anxiety’s most powerful “Final Form” is Impostor Syndrome. It’s the voice that tells me that nothing is good, that I’ve earned nothing good, that I don’t have the right to enjoy myself, because I’m not good enough. For any of it. I am inferior, I am not worthy, I am a failure, I am a fraud, and it’s only a matter of time before the whole world finds out and they all come for me.

It’s the hardest for me to reason my way out of, because it’s the easiest to make a case for. Believe you me, I can take nearly anything and turn it into a reason why I’m not good enough. Or at least my anxiety can. I’m not talented enough to do that. See? Told you.

But it is the hardest to banish with reason, or reality. With other aspects of my anxiety, I have the people who love me who are living proof that I worry for nothing. Impostor Syndrome takes the people who love me and uses them as a reason why I’m not nearly as good as I think (and that’s already not that good).

You’re a shit writer/animator/artist/person in general. The people who are telling you otherwise are just doing it because they love you. Because they have to. Everyone knows the truth, they’re just not telling you.

I hate it. I hate it so much. It makes me hate myself, and it’s so good at it.

I know it’s diverting my energy and will away. I can watch days go by, my life go by, because I’m stuck worrying about nothing.

But the one that really scares me is raw depression, and I didn’t realise why until relatively recently.

I’ll explain what I mean by “raw depression”. Normally, my depression joins forces with my anxiety, and they team up on me. Depression, when mixed with anxiety manages to get me to give up on fighting, and it uses anxiety as justification for doing so. The two are so alike that it’s hard to recognise when they’re allied against my citadel of brain matter.

Or at least I thought so. It was only a few months ago that I experienced depression without anxiety, and it scared the shit out of me.

Anxiety is horrible, yes. So far I’ve only outlined what it can do when it has the advantage, when it gets the drop on me, or when it musters up enough energy to take on the dreaded Final Form that is impostor syndrome. But I have managed defences against it. There are times when I get a moment of clarity, In those moments, I can recognise it and convert it to a nervous energy that I can use to increase my productivity and focus. Those moments are rare, but they feel like such a victory when I can manage them.

A few months ago, I had a period where my anxiety had seemed to go on vacation. I’m not sure where it went, or why. Maybe it was fed up being converted into productivity, so it went to a seminar on how to be a more wily little bastard. When it left though, I was left with depression in its raw form. I had no idea how it operated on its own, because I had only faced it when it was coupled with my anxiety.

It is cold, unfeeling, uncaring, and it wants to be terminal. I was sapped of any joy at all. All I could think of was how pointless all the things I had done, or would do, were. I’ve always been a pretty fidgety guy. I usually need something to keep my senses occupied, and I can get deafened by silence (thanks to anxiety no doubt). I had never sat, staring at nothing for an hour before. Not sleeping, not reading, not watching Netflix, but staring at the same part of my bookshelf. Inanimate. Lifeless if not for breath and pulse and thoughts that I hope I never entertain again, but know I most likely will.

Depression on its own isn’t crying, because you don’t feel the sadness well up inside you to explode outward. At least mine isn’t. With mine, you don’t feel the sadness, or the pain, you just are them. And all it wants you to do is end the sadness and pain. It shows you opportunities. It’s not an urge, it just kind of points you at things.

“Hey, you know it’s two steps away.”

“Hey, that’d be sudden.”

“See down there? That’s where it ends.”

I’m sorry. I really hate going back there, and I hope that nobody read this far who’s experienced them. Those thoughts look so simple on paper, but when you know what it is your own brain is trying to steer you into. It’s terrifying. It’s that slow, creeping, in-your-bones fear of something final. And it’s you. It’s all you doing that.

As terrible as anxiety is, as nasty as it can be, at least it seems to have self-preservation in mind. At least mine does. Fear of death is a big thing with my brand of anxiety. To me, anxiety is a knife wound. You’re bleeding, and you’re in pain, but the pain lets you know that you’re still alive, and that you can still live if you fight. Depression is devoid of life, or at least it wants to be. It doesn’t care. It doesn’t love. It just acts alive until it gets what it wants.

It scares the shit out of me. I don’t know if I said that before.

I’m in the middle of a bit of a spike of anxiety now. Not working is more than likely the culprit. I’m not a workaholic by any means, but I do like being productive, and if I feel I’m not being productive the anxiety and self-loathing creep in and start to punish me for my inactivity.

I managed to get a hold of it this time though. Got the little bastard. Let’s see it hop around now. I decided I’d throw it out into the light for a bit. Let other people see how nasty, petty, and irrational it is.

The book I’m writing has characters with flaws I’m familiar with in it. I’m writing characters that suffer from anxiety, impostor syndrome, and depression. Sometimes this leads them to do horrible, irreversible things. Other times, they manage to do the right thing, despite their own minds doing their best to sabotage their best efforts. I’m hoping that writing about my anxiety and depression, and how I experience them, I’ll have material for later use, or at least a foundation to draw inspiration from in the future.

I hope that this helps me turn my greatest weakness into something resembling a strength. I don’t presume that it’ll do that for anyone else, but I hope that if any of this felt familiar to you, that you manage to find your own way to do the same.

Hopefully next time I write here, I’ll share some of the writing from my book, and things will be much more positive.

Thank you for reading.

[lordgrimwing]

Story Index for easy reference

Index for all of the stories I post on tumblr. I don't post in chronological order, but I'm trying to keep the index in order in case anyone wants to read them that way (can't promise it's exactly right, especially with some of the side character stuff).

Because Tumblr keeps eating my posts, this is the best place to find each story.

The Wives Don't Die

Babysitting #01 (Maglor, Maedhros, Elrond, Elros, Elwing)

School #01 (Elrond, Elros, Maglor)

Friends and Family #03 (Maglor, Maedhros, Elrond, Elros)

Friends and Family #04 (Elros, Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond, Caranthir, Feanor, Celegorm)

Feanor's Racist #01 (Elros, Celebrimbor, Elrond, Maglor, Maedhors, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras, Fëanor)

Smut #06 (Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond, Ereinion)

Silly Flirtations of The Heart #01 (Fingon, Henry)

Twinks Boutta Pounce (Fingon, Henry) - digital art

Food #01 (Celebrían, Celeborn)

Accidents #01 (Celebrían, Celeborn, Elrond, Glorfindel)

Smut #1 (Celebrían, Elrond) - podfic

Aredhel and Eӧl #1 (Aredhel, Eӧl)

Smut #04 (Thranduil, Hithundil, Legolas)

At The Park #1 (Thranduil, Legolas)

Domestic Bliss #01 (Glorfindel, Erestor)

Side Character Fluff #01 (Celebrimbor, Annatar)

Food #03 (Elrond, Celebrían, Gilly the cat, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir)

Friends and Family #1 (Celebrían, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Erestor, Glorfindel, Elrond)

Friends and Family #05 (Elrond, Arwen, Maeglin)

Friends and Family #08 (Arwen, Celebrían, Maeglin, Elladan, Elrohir)

First Meetings #08 / At The Park #02 (Celebrían, Thranduil, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas)

Food #02 (Thranduil, Legolas)

Friends and Family #02 (Thranduil, Legolas, Hithundil)

Cousins of a Kind/First Meetings #03 (Celebrían, Celebrimbor)

Smut #03 (Erestor, Glorfindel)

Brewing Darkness #02 (Glorfindel)

Brewing Darkness #04 (Glorfindel, Thranduil)

Old Gods Illness #02 (Fëanor, Finwë, Fingolfin)

Illness #03 (Feanor, Finwe, Indis, Lalwen, Finarfin, Fingolfin)

Omen: BITE #01 (Fëanor, Celegorm, Maedhros)

Identity #02 (Maedhros, Maglor)

In Town #03 (Maglor, Maedhros, Curufin)

Friends and Family #09 (Maglor, Maedhors, Fingon, Turgon, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Aredhel, Anairë’s children)

First Meetings #06 (Maglor, Maedhros, foal)

Identity #01 (Maglor, Maedhros)

In Town #04 (Maglor, Maedhros)

Teasing #01 (Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir)

Silly Flirtations of the Heart #02 (Maedhros, Fingon)

Smut #05 (Maedhros, Maglor)

Teasing #02 (Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir, Celebrimbor, Nerdanel, Amrod, Amras)

Friends and Family #07 (Nerdanel, Fëanor , Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amras, Amrod, Celebrimbor)

In Town #1 (Caranthir, Celegorm, Curufin, Celebrimbor, Maryann)

Sweet things #01 (Celebrimbor, Amras)

First Meetings #04 (Oropher, Erestor)

Foundlings #01 (Fëanor, Maglor, Nerdanel, Elros, Elrond, Maedhros, Caranthir)

Sheltered #01 (Maglor, Maedhros, Elrond, Elros)

Teasing #03 (Celebrimbor, Elros, Elrond)

Friends and Family #06 (Elros, Celebrimbor, Elrond, Maglor, Maedhors, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras, Fëanor, Nerdanel)

A Not Uncommon Night (Celegorm, Curufin) - zine

Me. My Brother. And our cousin (Elros, Elrond, Celebrimbor) - fake social media post

On Any Given Night/Smut #02 (Celebrimbor, Elrond, Elros, Celegorm, Curufin)

Brewing Darkness #01 (Maryann, Old Joe, Caranthir, sons of Fëanor, Eӧl)

In Town #02 (Eöl, Curufin, Maedhros)

First Meetings #05 (Eöl, Aredhel)

The Hunt #01 (Aredhel, Celegorm, Eöl, Nerdanel)

Brewing Darkness #05 (Curufin, Celegorm)

Arguing #1 (Curufin, Fëanor, Celebrimbor, Celegorm, Maglor)

Brewing Darkness #03 (Erestor, Oropher)

Illness #01 (Curufin, Celegorm, Caranthir)

In The Woods #1 (Fëanor) - story and art

Silmarillion Alpha/Beta/Omega

Letter (Míriel, Finwë, Indis)

Nesting (Gil-galad, Elrond)

Fruit (Gil-galad, Elrond)

Dessert (Gil-galad, Celebrían)

Clothes part 1, part 2 (Gil-galad, Celebrían, Elrond)

Awake (Glorfindel, Elrond)

Repercussions (Gil-galad, Elrond, Finrod)

Nasty Finwë

Begetting (Nerdanel, Finwë, Fëanor)

Sisters (Nerdanel, Anairë, Finwë)

Adventures of Eärwen and Arafinwë

Eärwen tends to her pregnant husband (Eärwen, Arafinwë)

Arafinwë has dinner, and Eärwen teases him (Eärwen, Arafinwë)

Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer

Glorfindel the Child Lord (Glorfindel, Turgon)

Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer (Elrond, Glorfindel)

More Mouths

The Monster #01 (Glorfindel)

Things that are (currently) one shots

Feanor and Finwe in Formenos (Fëanor, Finwë)

How Elwing Lost A Silmaril (Elwing, Maedhros, Amrod, Amras)

On the Complicated Nature of Making Peredhil (Tuor, Idril, Turgon, Maeglin)

Meeting In Tirion (Glorfindel, Ecthelion)

Glorfindel's Long Day (Glorfindel, Elrond)

The Big 5-0-0 (or Glorfindel has a gift for his husband) (Glorfindel, Erestor)