#modern girl in the Silmarillion

[starlitwinter]

X

Nenlissë turned violently towards the voice and found herself close, even too close for her taste, to the face of an elf. Is that really an elf? The person in front of her was smiling at her, a smile that, from afar, could have looked like a warm smile, but up close, one could see the coldness in the smile. A coldness that quickly put at ease our protagonist. The elf took malicious pleasure to observe the poor reactions of Nenlissë. Indeed, this one, submerged in front of her beauty had a mouth slightly half-opened but which betrayed her surprise. Her glance made back and forth between his lips and his eyes.

“I did not think that I would disturb you so much, my dear…”

The elf, gently, raised one of his hands to put it on the right biceps of our heroine before exerting a small pressure there. This one did nothing but follow with her eyes his movement and when his hand was in contact with her skin, she left her torpor. Nenlissë tried to disengage herself delicately not to offend her interlocutor, but his grip was too strong for her to succeed in disengaging herself without force.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.

-But what am I head in the air”, said the man while letting escape a small laugh, I had completely forgotten to introduce myself.”

He let his hand slide from her bicep to Nenlissë’s hand, making her shiver. With a smile and a look of amusement at her reaction, he brought Nenlissë’s hand to his lips but instead of just hovering over the back of her hand with his lips, he placed his lips on the girl’s wrist and remained in that position for several long seconds. The eyes of Nenlissë found themselves blocked by those of her interlocutor and she could not prevent her cheeks from blazing under the amused and victorious glance of the elf.

“Teivel is my humble name.”

Teivel? I’ll have to relax then. Indeed, Nenlissë had had, for some reason, the impression that the elf in front of her was Melkor, after all, his physique stuck to all the fan arts she had seen, and the little of the behavior she had seen resembled the one she had read in the multiple fan fictions that populated her history search. Because yes. Without ever wanting to admit it to her friends, Nenlissë had, well hidden, a folder where she saved all the fan fiction about Melkor. She loved them without ever really knowing why…

“Nice to meet you Teivel, I am Nenlissë.”

She smiled at him, her suspicions raised, and relaxed her muscles, no longer trying to free her wrist from Teivel’s hand at all, the contact even bringing her some comfort. Teivel returned her smile, this one a little warmer than the others, and spoke.

“Nenlissë? Please forgive me, Lady, my actions were out of place given your title.

-Don’t worry Teivel, leave the Lady out of it.”

He nodded, and letting go of Nenlissë’s wrist, stood up before extending his arm to her.

“How about a walk in the gardens with me my dear?”

Nenlissë, acquiesced and passed her arm under Teivel’s before placing her hand on his forearm, a hand he covered with his own. A slight blush came to our heroine’s cheeks as they walked slowly and Teivel’s thumb caressed the back of her hand.

They spent several dozen minutes visiting the gardens while discussing everything and anything. Nenlissë had quickly forgotten her discomfort at their meeting and now stood closer and closer to Teivel. When they arrived at the only greenhouse, Nenlissë was on the verge of tears, laughing like a woman possessed, holding her stomach, and forgetting all the etiquette classes she had taken. Teivel, on the other hand, was laughing just as hard but with more grace and they had to sit down on one of the benches on either side of the greenhouse door so that Nenlissë could catch her breath. With a big smile on her lips and eyes filled with joy, she took the elf’s hands in hers and he intertwined their fingers without Nenlissë paying much attention.

“I’m really happy to have met you Teivel! It has been so long since I have laughed like this…

-It is an honour, my dear,” the elf said with a wry smile on his face.

He detached his hand from the young woman to put a lock of hair back behind her ear and Nenlissë, blushing like hell, took that little moment to imprint his face in her mind, light butterflies in her stomach. Teivel was indeed beautiful. He would have been considered perfect by human standards but for an elf, he was within the norm. Yet, Nenlissë used to the beautiful physique of her brothers, sister, and other family members, could not help but think that Teivel was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.

She could admire his blue eyes that Nenlissë compared to a summer sky, his cheeks with those dimples that drove her crazy when he smiled, his little dark freckles that could only be seen when you were close enough, his straight nose, his pale pink lips that seemed tender and soft like petals, his eyelashes that were almost as long as hers and that contrasted with his light eyes so dark were his lashes.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asked, is voice almost a whisper, his hand having settled on Nenlissë’s cheek. She shook her head in response and let herself go against Teivel’s hand. While continuing to whisper, Teivel asked Nenlissë a few questions, eager to learn more about his new friend.

“I just realized that I didn’t ask you how old you are, my dear.”

Nenlissë replied in a breath, not wanting to break the mood that surrounded them.

“120 it seems… and you?

-Almost 300, I’ll have them in a few weeks.”

Before Nenlissë could add anything, they were cut off by a voice.

“Lissë? Who is it?”

Nenlissë released get away from Teivel, recognizing the voice that had interrupted them.

Finrod stood before them, looking warily at the elf who was in the company of his sister, but his gaze softened when he laid his eyes on his face.

“Teivel old man! Are you back with us?”

Teivel who had also been surprised by Finrod’s arrival had stood up but a smile adorned his lips.

“That’s right and it’s for good! I’m not needed in the north anymore so I’m back for as long as it takes.”

He took back, without Finrod seeing, Nenlissë’s hand in his to try to relax her, which worked, the young woman gently put her back against the elf’s chest. Finrod could not really see much but guessed their proximity. A smile half mocking and half happy appeared on his lips, really glad that his sister could maybe find someone because he knew that Nenlissë had been a little sad to know that she would probably never have a life partner but at the same time, he had just found a new way to annoy his little sister.

“I see you’ve met my sister,” Finrod said addressing his friend and then turned to his sister, “I was looking for you because you disappeared from the table, but from what I see you were in good company… Teivel has been a friend since…“, he searched his mind for how long he knew the elf but nothing came to him, “too long for me to remember…”

Nenlissë nodded before speaking up.

“Were you looking for me for something?”

To tell the truth, she was slightly annoyed that her brother had interrupted them in their discussion, and she couldn’t wait for him to leave.

“It was Mother and Artanis who were looking for you in the first place.

-Why were they looking for me?

-As you know, they decided to organize a ball in a week to celebrate your awakening. No?

-A ball?” Nenlissë answered confused, “no I didn’t know… But you can tell them I’m coming, I’ll just…”

She sent an insistent look to her brother, looking back and forth between Teivel and him. A look that Teivel saw but didn’t want to say anything. Finrod, fortunately, understood and while laughing in his beard, left them not without sending them a wink.

Nenlissë turned back to Teivel who had a big smile.

“I’m sorry Teivel, but I’m going to have to cut our walk short…

-That’s okay,” said the elf, “I’m already honoured that we got to know each other.

-Will I see you again? asked Nenlissë her voice almost begging Teivel to say yes

-Absolutely, I will answer all your calls.”

He took the young woman’s face and placed a kiss on her forehead, between her two eyebrows. Nenlissë was speechless at his gesture and did not react further when he pulled away from her and left her.

What has just happened?

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe Origin Ch 3

A/n - Sorry for the delay. I just delved to deep into what will Elves think of the technology and items unfamiliar to them. I made way to much dialogues for it and the chapter became too long. So, I removed it all together. If you want to read it I'll but it in a bonus chapter.

Any back to the story

As the elves delved into the mysterious woman’s belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Among the items, they discovered clothing of a similar fashion to what she wore, confirming the uniqueness of her attire. Strips of expensive fabric hinted at a meticulous attention to detail in her possessions. The food items, unlike anything seen in Elven or Middle-earth cultures, sparked curiosity. Exotic aromas wafted from packages that bore no resemblance to the lembas or other fare known to the elves. Moreover, the elves encountered objects previously unseen in Middle-earth. Mysterious in both form and material, these items were beyond their realm of knowledge. They exchanged glances, realizing that the answers to the woman’s origins might be hidden within these enigmatic possessions.

 The mystery deepened, drawing them further into the enigma that had unexpectedly arrived at their haven but their curiosity was put in hold because of the maid servant announced that the creature woke up, behaved Frantically and fell into fitifull sleep again. They all exited to see the creature

As the woman stirred, her eyes gradually opening to the unfamiliar surroundings, the elves observed her with a sense of reverence. The air was charged with anticipation, for in her waking moments lay the promise of unlocking the enigma that had woven itself into the fabric of their haven.

Glorfindel looked at the creature, she looked restless right now. Her pretty features were marked with distress. The woman began to stir again. Glorfindel could feel Gildor’s posture suddenly going rigid. The woman woke up again, looked at them with a bewildered face and blurted out something in foreign tongue which Glorfindel could only make out as

“What the Fuck”

 

 In the hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, she felt the disorienting shift from the rhythmic motion of the train to an unfamiliar stillness. Her eyes fluttered open, searching for the familiar contours of her train compartment, but instead, she found herself in a spacious room filled with vibrant colors. A jolt of panic surged through her as she realized she wasn’t alone. The bed beneath her was soft, unlike the cold, impersonal surfaces she associated with kidnapper scenarios in movies. The room exuded warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of fear that gripped her. With trembling hands, she reached for the glasses she habitually kept within arm’s reach. The world around her remained a blur, causing her heart to pound against her chest. The absence of visual clarity heightened her sense of vulnerability. Where was she? How did she end up in this unfamiliar place?

As she fumbled for her glasses, her fingertips grazed a loose tunic of soft cotton that draped over her. It wasn’t the attire she remembered wearing when she fell asleep on the train. Her hair, usually secured in a bun, cascaded freely down her shoulders. She could make out were she was but everything felt like blurry shaking mess. The spaciousness of the room and the absence of ominous shadows began to alleviate the intensity of her disorientation. She fell down on the bed again.

The next time, she was awake of her surrounding. She dared not open her eyes fearing that realistic nightmare was a reality. She started to feel her surroundings, the warm blanket embracing her form, the gentle lighting that bathed the room, and the absence of any immediate threat. So, she was still here. It was not a dream. Her heart pounded in her chest. Everything felt too much. She couldfeel her body trembling. The question lingered—how had she transitioned from a moving train to this mysterious haven?

She refused to open her eyes till her heartbeat began to slow down. As her racing heart began to steady, she pondered the possibilities. Was it a dream? A delusion? Or had she truly been transported to a place beyond her understanding? The answers lay shrouded in the enigma of the unfamiliar room, waiting to be unveiled as she navigated this unexpected journey. She finally found courage to open her eyes. In the disorienting blur without her glasses, she found herself surrounded by figures draped in unfamiliar attire. Their voices melded into a symphony of incomprehensible sounds, leaving her bewildered and struggling to make sense of the situation. She saw tall figures standing near her bed. She screamed "What the fuck!".

She looked frantically to see clearing, her hands flying around her to find her glasses but everything seemed different. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes again. No, this is not real, she thought to herself, just take a deep breath, even if its real, its better to face reality with less adrenaline rush. She heard an unknown voice speaking in an unfamiliar language.

"Please let me focus", She muttered but incomprehensible chatter continued. The voices seemed to get closer to her. She decided to face them. She opened her eyes again. The figures were closer. The were....men dressed in.....robes?They were speaking something but she couldn't understand a word. She attempted to respond, her words stumbling in an attempt to bridge the linguistic gap.

Wait, where am I? Can anyone understand me?”

 The room echoed with a language she couldn’t grasp, and the figures, seeming more like shadows in her blurred vision, continued their conversation in more unintelligible speech. As the frustration of being unable to communicate mounted, her panic intensified. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision even further. The alien surroundings, the strange language, and the inability to make herself understood became overwhelming.

“Please, someone, help me understand. Where am I?

The figures exchanged glances, their expressions indecipherable. One of them, seemingly perceiving her distress, gestured for her to follow. With a mixture of fear and desperation, she stumbled after the shadowy figure, her cries echoing in the unfamiliar room.

 “Why can’t you understand me? Where am I going?”, she muttered to herself while walking.

The figures continued conversing amongst themselves, the strange language closing a linguistic barrier that seemed insurmountable. The room’s colors blurred into a mosaic of confusion as she clung to the hope of finding answers. As they led her through the mysterious realm, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a lost wanderer in a place that defied explanation yet seemed to her very familiar, her cries of confusion echoing through the walls of palace.

 Lord Círdan, Glorfindel, Gildor, Lumion, and Fearon came in the room where their mysterious guest was staying. When they saw her walking up and saying something in a melodious voice. They began to talk. Lord Círdan was first to speak, “Greetings, traveler from beyond. Can you understand our words?”

The creature responded with a stream of sounds that were foreign to the elven ears, leaving the wise beings perplexed. Glorfindel ears perked up, he said to Lord Círdan, “Her language eludes us. We must find a way to bridge this gap and understand her plight.”

Lumion, quiped in, “I’ve never encountered such linguistic diversity. Our words seem to dance away from her understanding.”

 As the creature grew more distressed, her attempts at communication turned into heart-wrenching cries. The elves, moved by compassion, sought a way to ease her turmoil.

Fearon, seeing her pretty face distressed was unable to contain her worry. She sople softly, “We cannot let her suffer in confusion. There must be a way to connect with her. If we cant understand her, we can at least soothe her. There's nothing more soothing that nature. Lets take her to the gardens.”Gildor mused, “Look at the patterns on her belongings. They speak of gardens and life. Indeed, let us bring her to the haven’s garden.”

Lord Círdan looked at her shaking form and sighed. He did not expected such fearful reaction from this little creature. He gently guided her to the garden. She followed him,her eyes downcast and form shivering. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe but he was fearing that might trigger intense reaction in her. Guiding the creature gently, he led her to the serene sanctuary of the garden, where a tapestry of flowers and foliage unfolded. He saw her looking at the flowers. He gentky smiled, “In the language of leaves and blossoms, find comfort. Let the garden’s beauty speak when words fail.”

As they walked amidst the vibrant flora, the creature’s tears began to subside. The intricate patterns on her belongings seemed to resonate with the natural tapestry surrounding them. The creature, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the fragrance of blossoms, started to calm. The elves, though unable to decipher her words, shared a moment of understanding through the silent language of the garden—a universal solace that transcended the boundaries of spoken communication.

 Her mind began to clear from the fog of confusion. Determined to understand her predicament, she made a gesture, a silent plea, for her glasses. She looked at the creatures that surrounded her. She looked at the bearded old man. As they had eye contact, the man seemed to freeze. It seemed like her was lost. What happened to them? she thought to herself, What the fuck is going on here!?

~○~○~○~○~○~○

Taglist @elvyshiarieko , @asianbutnotjapanese @bobitoo08

What to be in my taglist? Just drop a message ❤️

[crazed-flower]

(Prolog)

Warnings: curse words, typo, bad grammars.

A/n: before anything, i want to thank @batsyforyou for putting up with my shitty writing and messed up grammar by being my proofreader and helping me edit lots of stuff. I really love and i am very grateful for your help in this one and for the next ones. ❤❤❤❤

It was a beautiful day outside. Manwë sat down in his garden, content to feel the grass under him and admire the beauty of the flowers around him.

But his day of leisure was cut short when a blinding light appeared beside him. Only when the light was subdued, did he see what it was.

It was a little girl, clutching two bags in her tiny little hands.

She wore strange clothing, a black skirt with a red and white line made into a tattersall pattern that barely reached to her knees, a slightly dirty white thin shirt with short sleeves, a sharped end ribbon tied onto her collar, a strange-looking black outer layer with the same pattern as her skirt, a pair of black and white socks, and shoes with laces.

The little girl looked like an elfling in Manwë's eyes, so small and fragile. But he knew that this girl was no ordinary one, after all, she appeared within a blinding light right beside him, as if she was sent by Eru himself.

Realizing that he could not keep this to himself, he lifted the unconscious little girl in his arms along with her bags and carried her to his halls.

━━━━━━━

The moment Manwë arrived in his throne room, Varda immediately approached him, especially after spotting the unconscious little girl in her husband's arms.

"Who is this, my dear?" She asked. She put her hand on her husband's arm as she looked at the little girl whose hand was now clutching her husband's outer robe tightly.

Manwë lightly shook his head. "I do not know, she appeared beside me while I was in the garden."

Varda looks at her husband, confusion written on her face. Then she looks at the unconscious little girl again.

"She is quite strange, is she not?"

"Indeed, her fëa is unlike what i have seen." He shrugged, his hair falling from his shoulder. "Although i must admit i am no expert, that would be Namo's place."

Varda smiled at her husband, "Then we shall inform him."

"You are right, my Queen. Please bring the child to the empty guest room of our halls. I will send a message for Namo."

With that Varda took the still unconscious little girl from her husband's arms along with the bags, before marching out of the throne room. And Manwë called his herald, Eonwë, to inform Namo of their little guest.

━━━━━━

Varda carried the little girl to a guest room where she gently lay the little girl on the bed and put the bags beside the bed.

She inspects the little girl's body, finding some injuries and bruises on her.

So, Varda begins on tending to the still-unconscious little girl's body. Placing bandages on her injuries and salve on her bruises.

While Varda is still focused on taking care of the unconscious little girl, Manwë has entered the room. He stood a little bit behind his wife, watching as his beloved Queen put salve and bandages on the small and thin body of the girl.

"Has Namo been informed of our little guest?" Varda asked, glancing at her husband before continuing on her task.

"He has and he is making his way over as we speak."

"That is good"

After she is finished, Varda puts away all the things she uses. Then she walked back to the bed and knelt beside it. "I have noticed earlier while i was tending to the girl's injuries that her ears are round."

Cocking her head, she delicately pushed the little girl's hair away wanting her husband to see it by himself. "Maybe she is a new creation?"

Manwë hid his hand in his robe's sleeves and pondered. "It is possible but i doubt it."

"I wonder how she got here"

Before Manwë could say another word Varda stood sharply from her place and made her way back to him.

"The child wakes."

The girl opened her eyes slowly, blinking twice before her eyes widened and she sat up abruptly. She looked around the room and when she saw them she froze.

With her eyes are wide and her mouth agape, one only word escaped her mouth.

"Anjing"

Taglist: @yuan1819

Series masterlist

For those people out there wondering what the hell Anjing means. It's means dog. But it can be a curse word and it can mean different things on different occasions, but in this one it means Fuck.

And that is prolog! I had so much fun writing this one, plus the help from my excellent and wonderful proofreader.

[archiveofthelibrarian]

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What if Glaurung had died at the hands of Fingon and his archers? What if Morgoth messed with powers beyond what he should?

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I kind of tried to mimic Tolkein's way of storytelling here, but I don't know how it went. There may be some unclear or vague parts, so feel free to ask me what I tried to say there.

You can find the masterpost with all relevant links here.

Trigger Warning: Implied abuse, implied torture

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Blood and Shadow

Chapter 2: Angband

You spent the next two hundred years following your awakening in the ritiul chamber of Angbad by learning about the world and your position in it.

You, who were called Naurdael the fire terror by the thralls, the head of the Melkorhini, was no more than a tool in his grand plan.

You were to know it and you were to accept it.

And know it, you did. But accept, you did not.

You trained in every weapon known in the face of Arda, and you crafted many weapons of great power in the great forges of Angband.

You apprenticed under Sauron, crafting many weapons and artifacts that would later bring terror to the hearts of all those who heard it.

Swords that were lighter than feathers yet struck heavier than Grond.

Arrows that traveled quicker than sound and pierced even the sturdiest of armors.

But among all your creations, you treasured one above all.

"Ruinëhatal" you called it in the language of the elves for you hated the way Black Speech grated against your mouth, fire spear.

Into Ruinëhatal you poured your power and your will and turned her into a weapon of unimaginable power.

Yet forgecraft alone could not raise your status in the eyes of your father.

So you kept training.

You trained yourself.

You trained in methods of torture and manipulation.

You learned of the world's history and the power of songs.

And finally, you learned how to sing songs of power in great likeness to your father, Melkor before his decline at the first battle.

But no matter how long you spent in Angband, it never became a home to you.

The halls were cold and the dungeons were cruel. Cries arose from every corner.

You learned to ignore, you learned to block out those cries.

You chose to harden your heart to protect yourself and you hated yourself for it.

But you had to survive.

There were just too many horrors in Angband.

But the worst of them all went unnoticed by the free peoples.

Orcs, as you found out, were horribly broken creatures.

Elves unbegotten they were, taken, twisted, and broken by your father shortly after their awakening.

The orc captains were the worst of them all.

Orc-captains were the worst of them all, taken away from their simple lives near Cuivienen and tortured in ways unimaginable, then broken and twisted into creatures of horrible looks and even more horrible hearts.

None of the 144 unbegotten had managed to get away from the influence of your father before it was too late.

You had 77 of the unbegotten, and unnumbered amounts of the aftercomer under your command as orcs.

Any time you reached out your mind to touch one of your captains to give them an order, you would feel their fear and see their memories.

Father had told you once that the twisted did not remember yet you knew that was untrue.

They remembered.

They remembered every single moment of their torture and they remembered every way their fëar were twisted.

It made your heart ache every time, to hear their screams, to listen to their despair.

You wished to do something, to at least be of use to these creatures whose suffering went unnoticed.

Yet you could do nothing. You had power outside yes, but you were powerless inside the fortress for there were powers way grander than what you had been given.

It was heartbreaking.

All you could do was not torture them any further

So you ignored them as well.

You ignored their screams and you ignored their cries.

You ignored them all, for better or worse, you ignored.

All that was horrible in Angband came together in you father, Melkor, and created the most terrible being in existence.

You hated him with with all your heart.

There were no words in any known language enough to fathom the depths of your hatred for him.

He would give you the cruelest of punishments for the slightest misspeak and yet he would overlook your mistakes in training.

He was so unpredictable.

And yet, why there was this smallest part in you that sought his approval and acknowledgment?

Why was it that every time he acknowledged your progress in training your heart soared?

Why did you feel so accomplished whenever he complimented your crafts?

Was this how a normal relationship between a child and their father should be like?

You tried to remember your actual father from your previous life.

You tried to picture his face and hear his voice but all you could see was the face of Melkor.

Melkor had dominated your mind and memories so much that you did not even remembered your own father.

You didn't remember how he treated you, how or if he loved you...

You didn't remember anything.

So you tried to find the memories of your mother.

You tried to see her face, hear her voice, and feel her embrace but you found none in your mind fortress.

No memories of warmth and love were left within your heart and mind for the years here had taken it all from you.

You wanted to scream and cry and beg Father to have those memories back.

But you did none for you could do none.

All you could do was stare at the black walls of your personal chambers for a long, long time until your elven servants came into your chambers in an unending line, waiting to dress you for battle.

Staring at your wall, feeling empty and void, you signed to your servants who worked in a brisk efficiency they were used to and they started preparing you for your most important test yet.

First, you bathed in the cold waters from the melted ice of the northern icelands, which were enchanted with spells of strength of body and clarity of mind.

Then, you were clothed in robes of black, woven with enchantment of warmth and coolness, for you would need both in battle.

After clothing you, your servants braided your hair in signature war braids of Angband.

Only then did your servants start fastening your black armor, which was forged by Sauron as a gift for his favorite disciple of out of the best metals ever seen.

And at last, you took your crown of black diamond thorns and blazing ruby jewels, which was the gift of your father on the eve of your first battle.

You looked at the mirror and in place of the unremarkable high school student you once were, you saw a weapon of war ready to wreak havoc upon all those who dared to oppose Father.

You were ready.

[lordgrimwing]

Aredhel and Eӧl #1

“Hello, Aredhel.”

Aredhel jumped at the words, nearly spilling the cup of coffee across the little table she’d spread her calculus notes on. Drink saved and heart pounding, she looked up at the speaker. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Said the dark-haired elf. She had to crane her neck up a bit to see his face; he was quite tall.

Laughing a little at that, she said, “I study here all the time.” 

He smiled, resting his arms on the back of the other chair so he wasn’t towering over her quite so much. “I’ll have to remember that so we can stumble across each other more regularly.”

He said it nicely enough, but there was one problem. “I’m sorry,” She said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But have we met?”

“Last Saturday at the Dolmed party. Bronwyn cornered us both into a conversation about the finer details of plant husbandry,” He chuckled. “Thought I’d have made more of an impression on you than she did, but maybe you could actually follow what she was saying.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I met so many people, I think they all got a bit mixed up in my head.” She said apologetically. The party at Dolmed House was all rather a blur to her now. She’d never been to that kind of a party before and everyone was so liberal with the drinks that she’d soon drunk more than she should have. She’d been very hung off the next day and could hardly study at all. The voice of her father echoing in her head sure hadn’t helped either; Fingolfin would be so disappointed if he knew she’d gone to that party.

“Hey, that just gives me the chance to introduce myself again.” He offered his hand to shake. “I’m Eӧl.” 

[mask131]

You know what? I will actually make my post about this problem (and even talk about some misogynistic implications! yeepee!)

It all started with the recent depiction of Hestia in the show "Blood of Zeus". Now... I did not watch the second season of Blood of Zeus, because the first season already gave me enough reasons to dislike the show and rank it among the bad depictions of Greek mythology. But I couldn't escape the massive success and presence of season 2 on Youtube, so I did watch some of the scenes of "Hestia doing battled" and throwing fire-balls and fire-tornadoes at people.

I do not take offense to that. Why? Because this fits the show's aesthetic and goal. As much as I dislike this, the show is about doing huge battles and being an action-piece filled with gore, taking cues from things like God of War, and depicting the gods as violent and destructive and warriors always fighting and killing people. So having Hestia weaponize her fire was expected from this show - I would have been surprised she didn't do it.

HOWEVER! What I take offense to is how people reacted to this. I saw the flood of comments which were basically "Yas girl, show them queen, burn them to a crisp, show you're the oldest and most powerful!". Some even said "This is the best depiction of Hestia alongside Riordan's". And to THAT I take offense. Now I know there is a symbolic plotline about Hestia protecting the omphalos, and honestly this sounds cool and good, but I am not speaking about it. I am speaking about Hestia you know, fighting monsters and demons by unleashing winds and waves of fire on them.

This isn't what the Greek goddess Hestia is about. She is not a fighter, she is not a warrior, she is not a power of destruction or war, she literaly is the most passive and peaceful entity you can find in Greek mythology. And in this light, Riordan's depiction of Hestia in his novel "The Last Olympian" is far superior because Riordan gets what makes Hestia who she is, and he prepares the story to show her in the role she fulfills: a woman sitting by a fire, welcoming people, feeding them, talking to them, guarding and staying awake and behind, and just... keeping the last fort, so to speak. And by doing so proving herself immensely cool and powerful and important. (That's another tip for writers out there: if you are confronted with a conflict of character versus plot... you know you are supposed to sometimes tailor the plot specifically to allow the character to shine as they were intended to be, and you are not forced to modify a character to fit your plot? Don't want to depict Hestia as a warrior deity because she was not that? Simple: don't show her being directly in battle or in need of defending herself. Write about something else instead).

I will admit that my teenage-self would have loved to see Hestia throwing fireballs - because that's the edgy stuff teenagers love (and I guess this is why "Blood of Zeus" works so much, it was literaly designed for your edgy teens). But I am an adult now and I know better. And I have also enough experience to see that people wishing and craving for a fireball-throwing Hestia is symptomatic of something much wider.

This wider thing being: modern audiences have a very hard time understanding that you can have immensely powerful characters who are mighty without being violent, agressive and hostile. I will be biased because events in my life and the real world are revealing we are living in an hyper-violent time, but this indeed led me to think about this topic.

Hestia is a manifestation of this idea that "might and importance does not mean violence". But there are many, many others, and to take a similar example I will dig up a Tolkien example I adore. Melian, from the Silmarillion. People got into a whole drama when "The Rings of Power" was released because of Galadriel's depiction, and I am NOT getting into that. But Melian and Morgoth's fight is linked, because it was Tolkien's precursor to Galadriel's battle against Sauron. So, what about Melian? She is a demigoddess among mortals, a divine spirit more powerful than the magic users we are knowing in the Tolkien universe (more powerful than Gandalf or Saruman), and one of the main ennemies of Morgoth himself, the OG Dark Lord and the baddest of the big bads. She is one of the mightiest entities to have walked Middle-Earth outside of the Valar themselves, and how does it manifests itself?

By the Girdle of Melian. A magical protection of her land. But does this magic wall manifests as spikes of fire? Are trespassers killing by a thunderbolt? Not at all. You can't even see the Girdle. Melian's magic simply... protects her land, and shields it from the eyes of evil. It makes intruders confused and lost and it leads them astray, without actually harming them. And Melian repels all the evil spells and dark curses and malevolent forces. And that's it. Simple, invisible, passive - and yet one of the most powerful enchantments and impressive feats of magic of Middle-Earth, able to keep Morgoth himself at bay.

This later would earn Tolkien's writing some criticism, as Tolkien was very fond of this idea of "passive power" for women (outside of his two famous "active" women, Eowyn and Luthien), and it fed into the unfortunate fantasy stereotype of "women are passive, men are active" (itself a manifestation of the underlyng misogyny among 20th century fantasy literature as a whole). But this is a good manifestation of how Tolkien imitated and took inspiration from old mythologies and legends - where this idea of "passive power" was VERY prevalent and important.

Hestia and Melian are just two examples I took out of my hat, but there are many many more, and they all rely in one principle: you have great and mighty powers that make some characters (or places, or items) dreaded by villains and beloved by the good people ; you have these forces that repel all evil and that are to be considered sacred and to be protected ; you have these ancient and immensely powerful entities that outrank everybody... and yet who never lift a hand against someone else, and who don't unleash floods or storms onto people, and who never even threatened to harm anybody. Because their very power relies on other principles, because they are a form of sacred power in what it has of... essential I'll say. This specific motif is VERY prevalent among Christian legends (at least European Catholic flavors) because it was heavily used when depicting saints and angels. One of the recurring motif of hagiography (the life of the saints and the legends surrounding them) is how the saint does not threaten those that wish to put them to death, never lift a finger against those that try to harm them - but by the very power of their sacredness, love/wisdom/goodness, weapons break against them or cannot reach them, and those that wish to destroy them are rendered powerless. In a wider scope it is also reflected in other Christian-derived myths like the vampire myth: before people decided to "visualize" the vampire's weakness to sacredness by having crosses or churches burn the vampire alive, it was just... the vampire literaly couldn't enter the church, and just fled away, like some mental compulsion, before the cross.

It is a concept and idea of the "sacred" and of the "sacred power" (so to speak) that existed since the Ancient Greeks to modern Catholics, and that heavily fueled and fed our fiction from old fairytales to modern fantasy novels. And it is something that is being completely lost as today power means: fighting, hitting, beating up, unleashing storms and chaos, and threatening to break every single finger of the people who are angry at you. It is even more annoying because we are not speaking about real life here. We are talking about MAGIC and about FANTASY and so EVERYTHING IS POSSIBLE.

And I promised you more misogyny well here it is... I noticed something recently and that might be just me extrapoling things, but while this whole "passive power" idea has been heavily criticized for female characters (in a very right way, as one cannot deny passive women in fantasy was indeed a big problem) and is now fully rejected, I can't help but notice that when it comes to male characters suddenly it is praised and glorified, especially as how it depicts men "not being violents for once". And... I can't help but think, cynical little mind that I am, that maybe by trying to flee one form of misogyny we enter another one, because the implicit of "passive power" being good for men but laughable for women, is that... women need to be active and violent and brutalizing to prove themselves, while men do not have to. The sort of inherent sacredness and respect people once gave to women has now passed onto men - because men do not need to "prove" they're strong anymore, everybody is supposed to know this - while women, if they try to just be a power in themselves and by themselves, get ridiculed because "If someone comes with a mace, they won't be able to defend themselves". Almost as if people can't take seriously anymore the idea that you just have women so powerful they don't even need to fight to defeat you.

I don't know, here I am truly rambling around, and this is a Charybdis and Scylla scenario because you literaly have problems whether you depict women as active or passive, since both sides are hated by different people and both bear their inherent biases and stereotypes.

But conclusion: I wish when it comes to power and magic and gods we had more depictions of passive and non-violent forces. I am tired enough of the violence in the real-world I don't need even more added onto my screen in an unecessary way. If I want to see a goddess burn everything to the ground, I go look for Pele, or Sekhmet. I don't look for Hestia.

[doodle-pops]

Thoughts on a modern girl in Middle Earth, but the twist is that they actually get isekai-d to the Silmarillion instead? Because I actually like the trope modern girl in Middle Earth, but they’re usually set during LOTR—which is the cliché within this trope—and genuinely find them very funny and interesting. Though, I kinda wanna do one for Silm. I’d love to hear what you think of this concept and how that’d transpire ^^ Love your works by the way! I’m vibing with Kinktober rn~

Thank you for your support and appreciation 💞☺️

We ALL have our clichés. Even I have mines when it comes to this genre, hence my desire to properly write another good piece to fulfil that ambition 😂

Nevertheless, there are so many outcomes with the turn of events this will bring because you can decided where the reader appears, who she interacts with and whether or not she knows about the events of the Silm.

I'm still new to managing “Modern Girl in Middle Earth” troupe and I'm typically one for favouring the idea of her not being aware of the events and having no choice but to go along with everything, but also attempting to be that VOICE OF REASON many of them lacked (but also gets ignored).

Tbh, there are so many options this brings to the table because with creativity, you can choose whether or not with the appearance of reader the events change or continue as written. I for one would enjoy a good plot with the events changing but still in many ways keeping in tune with the theme (sounds like a lot of work ☺️), but I'm also down for keeping the events the same.

You can choose between having reader appear in Valinor to witness the mess before the real chaos and downfall. What if you gave reader an elven body with a mortal soul (I really like this idea; gives a bit of complexity to the behaviour of elf and man) for a twist. You can choose between granting her immortality due to having an elven body or maintaining her mortality due to having her human soul despite the elven form (I'm creating this as I write and my mind if filling up with IDEAS).

Have her follow them (whichever House/Elves of your choice) into ME—unless she's already there—to experience the tragedy. Maybe she outlives everyone into the 3rd age OR maybe she dies and returns to her home with the memories of her life in ME.

For an even more interesting idea, hypothetically, let's say the Silm was never written so when she returns home, she the one who ended up writing the elves tragic story as a way to never forget everyone.

How exactly do you want this to transpire? Like what is the end goal for reader because this has a million outcomes depending on where reader is located and I'd be happy to give more of my thought.

[glowing-disciple]

Reading List - 2024

Currently Reading:

The Book of Dragons by Edith Nesbit

Peter and Wendy by J. M. Barrie

Sweet Sweet Revenge LTD by Jonas Jonasson

Books Read:

101 Famous Poems by Various Authors

A History of Chess by Jerzy Gizycki

The Abraham Lincoln Joke Book by Beatrice Schenk De Regniers

An Introduction to Linguistics by Loreto Todd

The Art of Computer Designing by Osamu Sato

The Broken Dice, and Other Mathematical Tales of Chance by Ivar Ekeland

The Cairngorms by Patrick Baker

The Codebreaker's Handbook by Herbie Brennan

The Color Kittens by Margaret Wise Brown

The Complete Book of Kitchen Collecting by Barbera E. Mauzy

Dinosaurs, Beware! A Safety Guide by Marc Brown

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Dreaming the Biosphere by Rebecca Reider

Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Frog and Toad are Friends by Arnold Lobel

Funny Number Tricks by Rose Wyler

Gender Queer: A Memoir by Maia Kobabe

Giant Sea Creatures, Real and Fantastic by John Frederick Waters

Hammer of the Gods by Stephen Davis

Hiram's Red Shirt by Mabel Watts

I don't care by JoAnn Nelson

Jaws by Peter Benchley

Jungian Archetypes: Jung, Gödel, and the History of Archetypes by Robin Robertson

Keeper of the Bees by Gene Stratton-Porter

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood of Great Renown in Nottinghamshire by Howard Pyle

Out of the Silent Planet by C. S. Lewis

Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices by Thomas Brooks

Reflections on Evolution by Fredrick Sproull

Roadie: My Life on the Road with Coldplay by Matt McGinn

Strange Creatures of the Ice and Snow by Edward F. Dolan

Time for Bed, Sleepyheads by Normand Chartier

Weird Islands by Jean de Boschère

Future Reading:

A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton-Porter

Adventures in Cryptozoology Vol. 1 by Richard Freeman

All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren

Always Running by Luis J. Rodriguez

Ancient Mysteries, Modern Visions by Philip S. Callahan

The Anti-Mary Exposed by Carrie Gress

The Arm of the Starfish by Madeleine L'Engle

The Art Nouveau Style by Stephan Tschudi Madsen

As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner

Black Beauty by Anna Sewell

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

The Call of the Wild by Jack London

The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger

Champions of the Rosary by Donald H. Calloway

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

The Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft

Cubism by Guillaume Apollinaire

Dear Mr. Henshaw by Beverly Cleary

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Evolution by Nowell Stebbing

Expressionism by Ashley Bassie

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods by Hal Johnson

Found in a Bookshop by Stephanie Butland

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

Freaks on the Fells by R. M. Ballantyne

Freckles by Gene Stratton-Porter

Fundamentals of Character Design by Various Authors

Graceling by Kristin Cashore

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The History of Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

Humorous Ghost Stories by Various Authors

I, Robot by Isaac Asimov

Illuminated Manuscripts by Tamara Woronowa

The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells

Joan Miro by Joan Miro

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair

Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton

Light of the Western Stars by Zane Grey

Living by the Sword by Eric Demski

The Longest Cocktail Party by Richard DiLello

Mere Christianity by C. S. Lewis

North and South by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

Otis Spofford by Beverly Clearly

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

The Shining by Stephen King

The Silmarillion by J R R Tolkien

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

Strange Love by Ann Aguirre

The River by Gary Paulsen

Things My Son Needs to Know About the World by Fredrik Backman

The Third Man Factor by John Geiger

The Time Machine by H. G. Wells

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

The War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells

We Are Where the Nightmares Go and Other Stories by C. Robert Cargill

The Weiser Field Guide to Cryptozoology by Deena West Budd

The White Mountains by John Christopher

[starlitwinter]

I am absolutely not your new sister lol

Do not crack. Do not crack. God, too many things happening at once. I just got adopted and given a new name that everyone is suddenly using (they do not even have lapsus!) and now I am stuck with Artanis on a couch and in front of me is Finrod. Mon Dieu, it sounds like cliché fanfiction. but well. Let us get back to our sheep. My... addictive brother? What will he do again? I have a terrible memory of character people who do not brand me. And then I just read the Silmarillion and the Fall of Gondolin in addition to the normal pack lotr and the Hobbit! 

"So Nenlissë... Welcome to the family. I am Finrod but call me Findarato. Your... adopted older brother, I guess. Unless you are older than me. How old are you?" "Uh... first of all, thank you Findarato and I'm sure I'm younger than you."

Damn my age. What am I supposed to say? Didn't he see that I am not an elf? And it is not very gentlemanly to ask a lady's age. Except that I am not one. Well, maybe now that I am part of Finwë's family. I am lost. I put the locks that hid my ears behind my ears and answered Finrod while he looked at me with astonishment.

"I have... 19 years old?"

It sounded more like a question than anything else but well. Artanis looked at me surprised and Finrod remained mouthy. And it was Arafinwë who spoke first.

"You are extremely young for elves. You see, Artanis is 18 years old, and generally, young people with your physique are between 50 and 60 years old." "50 and 60! That is considered old for humans. I mean, my parents were fifty."

Finrod pinched the bridge of his nose before interrupting us.

"Humans? Did you adopt a mortal? I thought they could not come here. We have to take her to the Valar. She is an intruder here. "

He stood up and took a step toward me. Arafinwë rose to his feet, surely to stop his son, but it was Eärwen who stopped him by placing a hand on her son's forearm.

"Nenlissë was before under the care of Manwë Sulimo and he was looking for a family that could take her in, Nenlissë is a special case and it was Eru himself who brought her here. We proposed ourselves and here we are."

Findarato sat back down and met his father's gaze before nodding slowly. Everyone relaxed and I drank some of the water that was in front of me.

"When do you plan to introduce her to Grandfather and the rest of the family?"

Wait. Grandpa? Family? I do not want to meet anyone. I mean, after all, I will be dead before the mess so... I can meet them with no problem. Is Melkor already here, liberated or not? Merde, I do not know anymore. And the Silmarils? Has Fëanor already created them or not? 

"We will introduce her to Finwë and my brother and sisters when Nenlissë has settled in here and we will bring her to the next family reunion in two years where she will meet Fëanor's family."

He turned to me.

"Is that okay with you?"

I nodded. I will have time to improve in some areas before I meet Fëanor and his sons. Wait. There are sisters in the equation? I did not know that. Oh, but it is not Findis and Irimë? I thought they were the characters of my favorite Silmarillion illustrator. So... Argon is also in the game? Merde. Are these people I should avoid or not? I do not think so. It is Arafinwë and Ñolofinwë's sisters, so it should be fine. Eärwen and Artanis pulled me out of my thoughts as we went back to continue the tour of the house. And here we go!

~

Very quickly, six months passed. I quickly took my marks and a daily routine had settled in the household. Breakfast with everyone and then Quenya classes. The little I had left to learn and now we were working on writing. Then meal with the family and we went for an hour or two, Artanis, Eärwen and me, to horse. Once back, Arafinwë would teach Artanis and me strategy or archery, depending on the day. When we were studying strategy, the last few hours were used to conduct what we had learned. We would play games. Artanis and I against Arafinwë. And... we often lost. Otherwise, when we studied archery... it was hell. The captain of Arafinwë's guard was a real tyrant. I might as well tell you that I never had so much blue. But fortunately, in the evening we went swimming in the sea before going to eat and sleep. I taught Artanis to swim certain strokes and together (when we had the strength to do so) we did the training that I used to do in the past.

Today was a quiet day. A day of strategy. I quickly got ready and went downstairs to eat with everyone. But when I opened the door, I knew at a glance that today was not going to be like any other day. At the table, Finrod and the twins were present. Twins that I had already met but they, like Finrod, were much older and did not especially come to talk with me. But what surprised me most was that a woman I did not know was sitting at the table. With Arafinwë at her side, the resemblance was more than striking. Findis? Before I could get a confirmation, Artanis trotted over to me and pulled me toward the table.

"Nenlissë this is our aunt Findis. Auntie, this is Nenlissë, our new sister!"

I waved my hand vaguely in greeting and she gave me a big smile.

"I'm glad to finally meet you Nenlissë, I've heard a lot about you." "Likewise, Findis. It is an honor to meet you."

I sat in my seat and a house cleaner brought me my breakfast. Arafinwë and Findis were talking about things and I was only following the discussion with a lazy ear. Findis asked me a few questions afterward, but nothing too exciting. How I was doing, if I was adapting well to the house, and what I was doing during the day. Having my head still a little in the pillow, my answers were short and her attention quickly fell back on Arafinwë. I took advantage of the fact that she was not busy to try to slip away discreetly, so I would have less "intimate" connections with people close to Fëanor... But my discretionary mission failed because I did not escape Artanis' gaze.

"Where are you going Nenlissë?"

Great. Now everyone's attention is on me. Thank you Artanis.

"I thought I would go for a... walk in the forest with Alcar. And then take care of him."

Artanis gave me a suspicious look but I was saved from being questioned by Arafinwë.

"That is a very good idea Nenlissë! I am really glad you like Alcar so much, just be careful in the forest, and if you ever come across someone who disrespects you do not hold back from telling me." "Don't worry Arafinwë, I'll kick their butt first!"

Arafinwë chuckled and motioned for me to leave the room. I was about to walk out the door when Findis' voice stopped me.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Nenlissë, if you meet a dog or a wolf, don't make too much trouble for it."

I did not answer her and went to my room to put on clothes more suitable for riding. What did she mean by that? A wolf? A dog? I have walked this forest so many times that I could remember the location of every tree and I have never seen a canine... And if I remember correctly, the only dog that could be alive at this time is Huan and what would he be doing here? They are on bad terms Arafinwë and Fëanor, right? I hope so. Anyway, knock on wood, I would certainly not meet Celegorm here. Once changed, I went down to the stables and went to my stallion, Aclar. He is my dear torture companion with Artanis and his horse because we were also learning to shoot while riding and it is a horror. Because afterward, we have to go and get our arrows that have missed the target. You might as well ask to go look for needles in a haystack...

"Hi beautiful, today no training, just you and me in the forest."

Apparently, the horses understand Quenya and also English because Aclar understands me when in the action of the moment I speak to him in English so now I speak English to him, and like that, I do not forget my language. After about ten minutes, we were ready to enter the forest, the words of Findis were running through my head and I had, therefore, as a precaution and to protect Aclar if an animal attacked him, taken my bow and arrows as well as a dagger that Angrod or rather Angarato or Ango to make it short offered me when we met. Much more talkative and friendly than his brother this twin, surely the brother with whom I spoke the most. Lost in my thoughts, I let Aclar lead us where he wanted and fifteen minutes later, we arrived near a small pond.

"Let us take a small pose here my dear Aclar, it is a heat not possible today! Quench your thirst as much as you want my beautiful, I invite you!"

Aclar passed by me while pushing me slightly and started to drink. On my side, I left in search of a rock in the shade or even just in the shade where I could settle down and write in my notebook, my last day and try to remember the maximum detail of the future. But nothing to do, if I wanted shade, I had to go slightly deeper into the forest. Determined not to burn in the sun, I joined Aclar and put my hand on his crest.

"I'm going to look for some shade in the forest because I don't have your tough skin... I will not be long, do you want to wait for me here?"

Aclar huffed to approach my request. I patted his crest one last time before heading back into the forest. Now I have to find a rock or something to sit on... So... Tree, Tree, Tree, Tree, Tree, Dog, Tree, Tree, Tree, ah! A rock! Wait. Dog?

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Ideas #26: LotR SI, but make it Imrahil's Wife

I have a terrible weakness for fic where the main character suddenly finds themself having to contend with and make their way in a brand new world, whether via time travel, portal, or reincarnation. The method of displacement varies with whatever is most popular in whatever fandom I'm in at the time. So, naturally, with my current LotR obsession I found myself wondering: if I was going to write a LotR SI how would I do it?

My answer was: replace the unnamed woman who became Prince Imrahil's wife as a young girl.

Just imagine it:

Rather than a true self-insert, I see this as more of modern girl in Middle Earth, with a middle-aged fan of Tolkien waking up in the 5-year old future princess' body following a wave of minor illness that passed through whatever city she was living in. Keyword here is fan: the SI has read The Hobbit, LotR, and The Silmarillion and seen the movies, but couldn't, say, draw the Feanorian family tree from memory or remember the exact timeline of pivotal events. The SI has enough knowledge to cause trouble, but not enough to realistically interfere in events.

As no background is given for Imrahil's wife, the SI doesn't immediately recognize that's whose body she has awakened in. Or, indeed what world, as life in a Gondorian city at the end of the Third Age bears heavy resemblance to life in most Medieval cities. It takes about a year for her to realize she awoke in 2966 TA in the near vicinity of Minas Tirith - and Barad-dûr.

All Elphriel, as I shall call her, knows at first is that she's the youngest child and only daughter of the Lord of Pelargir. Her mother is the younger sister of Steward Ecthelion II, and it's that relationship that allows Elphriel to pinpoint where and when she is.

As the niece of the steward, Elphriel is present at her cousin Denethor II's marriage to Imrahil's sister, Finduilas, in 2976 TA. At 21, Imrahil is not immediately smitten with 15-year-old Elphriel, but they strike up a friendship that has both sides of their family teasing them about an eventual marriage in the way of all male-female friendships.

Part of this is that Elphriel is mature and sensible compared to most Gondorian noblewomen her age. How could she not be, having once been a middle-aged modern woman? And though her original STEM background doesn't serve her all to well in a fantasy world at war, I imagine living in Gondor's primary port allows her to take a great interest in sailing, ship construction, and international trade without raising too many eyebrows - things the Prince of Dol Amroth would also be interested in. She introduces concepts of double entry bookkeeping and welding economic diplomacy against Gondor's southern neighbors.

Somewhat against her intentions, Elphriel becomes the Adam Smith or John Maynard Keynes of Middle Earth.

Also somewhat against her intentions, Elphriel ends up falling for Imrahil. Their relationship is a surprise to no one but themselves, and grows over five years (and many letters) from a fond acquaintanceship to deep friendship to love almost without them realizing it.

They marry c. 2986 TA. Elphir is born in 2987, Erchirion in 2990, Amrothos in 2994, and Lothírel in 2999.

Meanwhile, in the background, Boromir and Faramir are born in 2978 and 2983 respectively. Finduilas dies in 2988, sending Denethor into his slow tailspin into despair. Seeing her nephews left effectively parentless, Elphriel steps up.

It's difficult, as Dol Amroth is some distance from Minas Tirith and she has young children of her own, but Elphriel does her best to provide both boys with a positive parental figure and unconditional love.

Elphriel's presence does not change anything. LotR happens exactly as it does in canon. Boromir is still lost to the ring. Faramir still nearly dies trying to earn his father's love. But they were loved, and knew they were loved.

That being said, I've seen posts about how from the outside it looks like Gandalf was planning a coup against Denethor - not necessarily to replace him with the rightful king, but with Imrahil. I'd like to play into that, but with Elphriel whispering behind the scenes that Denethor is clearly losing it and how steps should be taken for his heir to replace him before he does something truly unforgivable. It's slow going and Boromir being sent to Rivendell derails some of it, but there's definitely an undercurrent of Denethor needs to be made to step down going into the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

Otherwise, post-LotR includes a lot of helping Arwen adapt to a mortal royal court and mortality, mothering all her children (and Faramir), and doting on her grandchildren (and any other child she comes across).

Bonuses include: 1) Elphriel having a maternal grandmother from either Umbar or Harad, and dealing with Gondorian racism as only a modern woman can; 2) no one ever knowing exactly why Elphriel is odd, but all parties agreeing that she is and loving her nonetheless; and 3) gratuitous use of quotes and phrases from modern pop culture wherever feasible, and those around Elphriel either not understanding her humor or else finding her the most amusing person they've ever met.

And that's it. All I really wanted from this plot bunny was someone to give Boromir and Faramir more parental love than they receive in canon, and this was the best way to go about it I could contrive. As always, feel free to adopt the bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[crazed-flower]

Let's get to know the main character!

This is for my The Silmarillion series named Omnia Paratus

Hello everyone, this chapter is for you to know the person behind (Name).

I will be giving her a look, because as said this is southeast-asian reader. And she's especially from Indonesia, because i am and it's much more easier for me to write with a background i know very well of.

I will be putting some history, idiom, poet, and some locations of Indonesia in this book. And it will also have some words in Indonesia, which i will translate below the text. But if it's cursing... I'll see if it is necessary :")

Anyway, let's see the character!

Source: Webtoon Indonesia

Her name is (Name) Puspa Narlenda

Puspa means flower in Sansekerta language

And Narlenda actually comes from Narendra which means king in Sansekerta language

Sansekerta itself was a language indonesian used when Buddha and Hindu kingdoms is still around in Indonesia, so yes ancient language.

I make this for the sole reason of most people not understanding South East Asian and Indonesian. We are mixed people okay, some of us have tan skin some don't. In this case her skin can be whatever you like, and her hair could be black or slightly brown as it is what's common here in SEA.

(Name) herself is not pure Indonesian, she is a race called Tionghoa-Indonesia, so she is a mixed between Chinese and Indonesian so her eyes is a little bit smaller than a pure Indonesian.

She is 14 years old, but don't be surprised when i make her more mature. She is taught and discipline to be mature by her family because of business reason. And usually for Tionghoa-Indonesia family, this is normal, i got the same teaching too.

At age 10 she already help her family around their business, and at 14 she was given more responsibilities in their business. Yea business woman since young age.

She has 3 older brothers, who's name will be mentioned later on, and maybe they will make appearance idk.

She didn't come from a very well off family, but she's not poor either. Her family is a so-so, not bad and at the same time not good either. Parents fight intensely almost everyday, but they never escalate to harm each other. And there is still peaceful moments in the house, but there's still unfriendly shouting.

That's it!

Click here if you want to go back to the series masterlist

[archiveofthelibrarian]

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What if Glaurung had died at the hands of Fingon and his archers? What if Morgoth messed with powers beyond what he should?

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Blood and Shadow

Chapter 1: The Awakening

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Inspired by my conversation as anon with @animatorweirdo here and here. Huge shoutout to her for inspiring and encouraging me to write out my ideas. And don't forget to check out my main blog @springfountain for some interesting content reblogs. This was not beta read so I am always open to constructive criticism as long as it is respectful. Anyways, let's get into it.

Masterpost for the fic can be found here.

DISCLAİMER: I do not own anything you recognize. This is a fanwork for entertainment purposes and should be regarded as such.

Word count: 645

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Your eyes were heavy and your mind hazy as your math teacher kept on talking.

The more he explained the formulas on the board, the more confused you got.

His voice was so monotonous yet so calming that you swore he could be used as anesthesia in surgeries.

You tried to resist sleep as long as you could, but in the end, you let your mind wander for the class was simply unbearable.

No one noticed the darkness that descended upon the sleeping student at the back of the class. No one noticed as your soul was sucked away. Not even you.

You stirred awake as you felt your body ache all over. The moment you opened your eyes, you noticed that it was dark all around.

Man, did I sleep that much?

As your eyes adjusted to the new darkness, you noticed that you were not in your seat, but on a bed resembling the ones people used in rituals in movies you had seen. And there were glowing runes around you.

Then you felt it. A presence so dark and powerful, that it sent chills down your spine and froze you where you stood.

There came a voice, dark and sinister yet endearing:

“Look at me, my child.”

You obeyed and looked up. What you saw was the face of pure evil, darkness, and malice. And the face whispered a name to your mind: Melkor.

At that very moment, you understood that your life as you knew it was long gone.

Melkor came and spoke to you. He spoke of his beginning and how new ideas dawned at his heart. He spoke about the Song of the Ainur and the Spring of Arda. Then came bitterness and hatred to his voice and he grew even more menacing. He spoke about how he was defeated and imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos for 300 years. Then came a smirk to his face as he talked about how he tricked the Valar into letting him free and how he sewed lies and discord among the elves of Aman. He spoke of the destruction of the Two Trees and the Flight of Noldor.

He spoke for days and you listened, feeling the darkness and deceit but not cowering under it. You listened and learned. You learned of the world and of its deepest, darkest secrets as Melkor had sewed them with his songs.

And lastly, he spoke of you and your awakening.

As he spoke, you came to understand your purpose. Glaurung was dead at the hands of Fingon and his archers. And you were created to break the Siege of Angband and to be an obedient child to him, what Glaurung never was.

The rumbling voice of Melkor seized and he became silent, allowing you to take in all that had been said.

You let out a shakey breath as you contemplated his words. For all he spoke, he always spoke with a single objective: Join me or die.

You checked your mind. You remembered that you were an avid Tolkein fan before, having read all the books and even knowing all the timelines. You took that knowladge and put it the safest place of your mind, away from his reach. You were going to need it more than anything.

But none of that was important right now, for you had a dark vala awaiting your response. With no other choice, you got up and kneeled at his feet, swearing all loyalty to him.

When reading the Silmarillion, you had always wondered about the Oath of Feanor and its power. Now, as your soul was bound to your oath, you understood.

You stood kneeling at the feet of the Vala, awaiting a response.

Melkor smiled and cold shivers fell upon the back of your neck.

“Rise, my child. Now rest, for you will have much to learn.”

[seasquared]

Not on bread alone, or at all

The Menu (2022).

The second time I watched "The Menu" (2022), I made myself dinner first. A salad from a premixed prewashed box, dressed with apple cider vinegarette bought in a bottle, red onions soaked in ice water to limit their bite, and candied pecans, slightly stale and leftover from months prior. A camembert that I didn't like and that I had baked, studiously glazing it with honey and olive oil and studded with sliced garlic, only to realize that I still didn't like it. I threw it away and ate store-bought hummus instead, with generic grocery brand pita crackers. I did not buy any bread—on purpose. What a meal!

Perhaps I thought if I could collect enough bad food things around me, I would be protected, a kekkai of poor culinary choices, when I finally re-entered the world of "The Menu." I would be the final girl, twirling a sprig of wilted frisee lettuce, a crumbled piece of pita cracker warding off Julian Slowick, like a vampire hunter with her tools. Or, even more pathetically, he would see me drinking a glass of vinho verde priced at under $10 a bottle and know I was unfit to die with him. I could not be afforded the glory.  He would leave me in the chicken coop without dessert. They'd find me in the smokehouse, "in the Nordic tradition," trussed and waiting to be let down.

But of course, fine dining is never about the food. Never quite. It is, as one of rich tech bros in the movie says also facetiously, also ironically, but wholly correctly, "buying the experience." I am not immune to propaganda—or the lure of "The Menu." I am, and have always been, a devotee.

(cw: discussions of mass suicide/murder in the context of Jonestown)

Last year I had declared rather facetiously that I was done with my tasting menu era. It was the conversational equivalent of an ironic tweet, because while I never had a tasting menu era, I knew I was the kind of person who should have. I had spent a good deal of my adult life in Chicago and never made it to Alinea even once, despite having multiple friends who have gone multiple times. I had gone to one or two omakases, but never anything notable, and came away from each a little embarrassed, as if my husband and I had been caught publicly roleplaying. I was in a book club with a woman who humblebragged about a 24-hour weekday trip to the French Laundry, and I've never quite figured out if I was jealous, thought it was gauche, or both.

If I knew about fine dining, it was as literature, or perhaps as myth. I committed certain passages from articles written about Guidara and Humm to memory, as if they were The Silmarillion and Eleven (elven?) Madison Park some fictional area of Middle Earth. I followed John and Karen Urie Shields' work at Town House ravenously, but through pictures on their blog. (Later I did have the tasting menu at Smythe, their restaurant in Chicago, and loved it—perhaps my only genuine tasting menu experience.) And oh, the Netflix shows! I once bored a dinner table to tears talking about an episode of "Chef's Table: Pizza." There's a scene where Bonci butchers a cow while talking about the excesses of his appetite and it represents him butchering himself, because we are now bored with static images of a person looking into a camera talking about food. "I don't think I've ever paid that much attention to my food, or to what I was watching on Netflix," one of my fellow diners said, very slowly, as if worried I was a rabid dog that may attack her for her confession. Slowick wouldn't lift a finger to butcher me, he'd be so revolted. He'd let me rot untouched for more than 152 days, until I was no longer fit for consumption.

The perversity of modern life is that we know so much more than our counterpart selves would have 200, 300 years ago. But that knowledge remains mostly second, third hand. I know about fine dining the same way I know about saints: idolatry of iconography, signals I used for personal mythmaking and to detangle the mythmaking of others. But that also makes me part of the intended audience for "The Menu." Tyler impresses Margot for the first, and only, time in the movie with a monologue that reveals, among other things, that he has watched Slowick's episode of "Chef's Table" at least 20 times, and the movie rewards the viewer who recognizes how much the first 15 minutes are a parody of the tastefully dramatic and breathlessly orchestrated "Chef's Table" style, from the text overlays to the swelling classical music to a plate of food filmed slowly rotating against a black nothing background.

Because despite its cutting asides and its more-than-glancing resonance with "Eyes Wide Shut," "The Menu" is not really a movie about skewering the rich. It is a movie about fanaticism, cults (religious and personality), and the end of something powerful and destructive and, yes, even beautiful, that cannot exist in this world in this form anymore without poisoning everything it touches. It is a movie at least in part for us Tylers, who are looking for others to transform the ordinary into art, the elements of the everyday world into the divine.

Ralph Fiennes' Slowick is not a monster. He is not even the man in the kitchen we have come to expect in real life (widespread in Copenhangen beyond just Noma), reality TV (Gordon Ramsey), or fiction (Joel McHale's cameo as a nightmarish head chef in "The Bear", or even Carmy himself). He does not yell at his staff. He does not get knifed by a stagiaire in the buttocks, though he does allow a female sous chef he sexually and then just normally harassed to stab him in the thigh. When he calls Margot to his (tiny, austere, "shitty" per the script) office, his eyes are so doleful, the set of his mouth so mournful. He walks her through her cover story like a therapist—or maybe, more accurately, like a priest listening to a confession.

But Ralph Fiennes' Slowick is monstrous because of those things. He appears capable of such love, such tenderness, and yet only when he is about to teeter from that edge into violence. When Jeremy is about to bring The Mess to a close, Slowick kisses Jeremy on both cheeks like a benediction, a heavenly father forgiving whatever sins of inferiority Jeremy may still carry in his flesh, before his body is wrapped up like a human smudge stick, bundled inside a white sheet with sprigs of eucalyptus leaves, lavender, and grasses. The Mess is the first time the menu—and "The Menu"—truly goes off the rails, and is when you realize that this is not the culinary version of The Count of Monte Cristo or even "Glass Onion". Killing Jeremy, or letting Jeremy die, serves no larger purpose. Slowick is not there to expose his guests with razor sharp accuracy, to cut them down to size, or even to enact simple vengeance. He has, very simply, gone mad.

There are times in the movie when Slowick appears close to divine revelation, and I think that is why so many reviewers seem to believe this movie is some commentary on capitalism or consumerism or wealth, and are disappointed to realize at the end that there is none. But that is the thing about madness: there are times when it can seem quite cogent, and it often starts with a kernel of truth. You can't initiate someone into a cult with insanity. You have to start with one true thing. So Slowick is right to put the toadies of his angel investor in their places, yet what he screams at Doug Verrick is that there are no substitutions at Hawthorne. So he dooms a woman to her death simply because she had no student loans. You can't initiate someone into a cult with insanity. You have to start with one true thing, and get there in the end.

How could this happen? "Why didn't you try to escape?" Simple: the guests are not supposed to. It would be, as Hannibal may say, rude. It is not proper. It is not part of the ritual. The ending of "The Menu" is about complicity, but not just in the sense of "I deserve to die." The guests are complicit in their participation -- in eating, in savoring, in relishing, as Chef orders them to do. They listen to him. They do not try to attack the staff or run away, because running away is not part of the ritual, any more than sitting at someone else's table, sending food back, not agreeing with the sommelier's descriptions of the wine pairings, or refusing to pay for your bill—with or without a side of murder—is part of the ritual. The guests are here not for the food. "Otherwise it just tastes good, and who cares?" You do not pay Rolex money to eat good food; you pay Rolex money to be gastronomically dommed by the world's best chef.

It's fun on Twitter to discuss Margot's escape as a sly joke, like she exploited a loophole we should have seen coming. But Margot is able to leave because she realizes the only way out of the death cult is to deprogram and reject its rules entirely. She doesn't need to be the high priestess, as perhaps Elsa could lay claim to. She simply needs to be a disbeliever. When Slowick calls Margot to the front of the house and asks her, "Are you one of us or one of them?", he is quick to clarify that it does not mean will she survive or die. He assumes her initiation, that she will become one of the bigger Us, his death cult. He is asking her to pick her place within the order, whether she will be wearing the white robes of the priests or stand naked like the congregation. But in the end, Margo denies him. Without faith in Chef God, he has no power over her.

Perhaps if I had eaten at more tasting menus, or gone to a church when I was younger instead of learning about Catholicism in art museums, or hadn't been trying to air out an apartment kitchen with no windows after baking a camembert that smelled of rancid fat and chemical spills, I could have normal thoughts about "The Menu." But instead, what came to mind was the Jonestown massacre, where one man's folly resulted in the deaths (I consider them murders) of over 900 people.

There were over 900 audiotapes recovered from Jonestown following the massacre. The most famous of these tapes is, of course, the "death tape," a nearly hour-long recording of the events that directly preceded their deaths. In these final moments, Jim Jones sounds, disconcertingly, not unlike Julian Slowick (or perhaps it is more accurate to say that Slowick in the movie is disconcertingly Jones-like). He is apologetic, full of tender grief, as he calls for his congregation to submit to his vision of "revolutionary suicide." "I’ve practically died every day to give you peace," he tells them. "And you still not have any peace." Towards the end, as he worries that the cajoling and praises of the other church members is causing the process to drag on for too long, he resorts to grandiosity and exhaustion. "We’ve lived as no other people have lived and loved. We’ve had as much of this world as you’re gonna get. Let’s just be done with it. Let’s be done with the agony of it."

You can almost hear this in Ralph Fiennes' calm voice. The same voice he uses as he grabs an ember with his bare hands. We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs. Or heretics. We can be subsumed and made anew.

Among those who died at Jonestown were children and elderly family members who were fed or injected poison. In other words, they did not go willingly. Even those that did had lived through a blitzkrieg of manipulation and psychological warfare from Jim Jones, who could for example pretend to give his congregation tiny cups of poison as loyalty tests to see if they would kill themselves if called upon to do so. It's possible many of those who were killed on November 18, 1978, thought they were not actually going to die. (In light of this, there has been a concerted effort by relatives of those who died at Jonestown to eradicate the phrase "drinking the Kool-Aid" as an expression of someone falling without reservation for a crazy idea. Since falling down the Jonestown rabbit hole many years ago, I've tried to stop saying it as well.)

In its place, I propose: "becoming the human s'more." Because Hawthrone's final guests did know they were going to die, and welcomed it. The final edit of the movie makes it obvious. In the script, Anne, the wife in the couple that has dined at Hawthorne eleven times, pleads with Slowick during the final course. "Please," she says, but the script cannot decide if she is asking for him to stop or to continue.

The movie itself offers no ambiguity. Anne tells him, tearily, "Thank you." And when Slowick shouts for the final time, "I love you all!" perhaps you thought he was speaking only to his staff, who respond with equal gusto, "We love you, Chef!" Perhaps you thought that for the whole movie. But in that final scene, in my rewatch, I finally noticed: Soren and Felicity shout it right back.

Addendum:

Days after I watched "The Menu" for the first time, Noma announced that it would be closing its doors to diners in 2024. I had a very fun discussion with a friend (@genufa) about the themes that echo in both Noma's closing and "The Menu." Chef Slowick proclaims that the food at Hawthorn is "the best food in the world." But it is impossible to ever determine what is the "best food" in the world, what it should taste like, who should taste it. And more importantly, it is impossible to make the best restaurant in the world and share it with everyone, night after night. The human cost of such an experiment, as Slowick and Redzepi discovers, is too much.

But it is possible to make the best burger in the world, and maybe even to share the best burger in the world with everyone. (That's why I think this Twitter thread on how fine dining is presented in "The Menu" is absolutely correct, only they present it as a critique of the movie when I think it's the whole bottom line. The point of "The Menu" is that a chef's passion is real, and trying to turn that into ROI is grueling and, possibly, never sustainable or even moral.)

Anyway, I couldn't stop thinking of a quote Kim Mikkola, who worked at Noma for four years, gave to the New York Times about Noma's closing. Fine dining, he said, "like diamonds, ballet and other elite pursuits, often has abuse built into it. Everything luxetarian is built on somebody’s back; somebody has to pay."

Do you know what Mikkola is doing now? Apparently, "a chain of sustainable, equitably run fried-chicken sandwich shops." The cheeseburger, in 2023.

Further Reading:

"The Menu Gets That Fine Dining is a Cult," by Chris Crowley and Adam Platt in Vulture

"The Menu is an Apology from the Old to the Young for the Mess We've Made of the World," by Maria Bustillos in Popula

[djemsostylist]

In general I feel that most adaptations are terrible, and, at least for all modern adaptations, exist purely to make money for a studio desperate to become "The Next Big Thing™". Now by and large I don't particularly care; does it suck that The Witcher ended up being a super boring political slog instead of a fun monster of the week adventure with a girl and her parents? Sure, but I'm not a part of the The Witcher fandom, most book/game fans recognize the show is shit, and by and large its skipped the public consciousness such that it makes little no impact on much. In fact, The Witcher might, if anything, shed light on creators crapping all over existing IPs to make a name for themselves by using a preexisting IP as a resume to make the things they actually want to make.

Wheel of Time I have no investment in, having never watched the show or read the books, but I'm given to understand that by and large, its fairly universally disliked, and that the book fans are disappointed but largely unaffected by it's current crapness except to note its crapness and move on.

That's not to say that these sort of shit adaptations aren't disappointing; they certainly are, but because the two fandoms were largely unknown in the public conscious, and bad enough that even the most "normy" of people skipped by them, their effect on the existing IP is little.

Star Wars is it's own sort of hell, because while the characters I love are mostly safe (thanks in large part to Disney deciding to write their own stories, thereby inadvertently saving my characters from a fate worse than death), the utter crapness of the current DisneyWars saturates enough of my online fandom life to be mildly annoying in that I can't avoid it. But also, people who are obsessed with Ezra or think that Ashoka Tano are the best thing ever don't bother me much, bc in the Star Wars I knew and loved, these people never existed.

Tolkien is different in a way that is often hard to express, but I think it comes down to both his feelings about his stories, and also the general view of the public. I've had this argument with people a million times, that while yes, the books will always exist, with the current way that media is consumed, the amount of people who have actually read ANY Tolkien at all is smaller than you'd think. I've stumbled across countless posts from people talking about how they are huge Lord of the Rings fans, and have never even read Fellowship.

Now, I'm fully aware that there are people who will be offended by this so called "gatekeeping", but I remain baffled by the sheer number of Tolkien fans who have never actually consumed any of his written works. I'm aware that the Silmarillion is dense, and I'm certainly not about to recommend HoMe to the average reader, but the number of people who speak with authority (and incorrectly) on the themes of his works that have never read past Rivendell is astounding.

And the issue is, by and large, Tolkien is known now more by the Lord of the Rings movies made in the early aughties than he is by the works he wrote. Christopher Tolkien worked tirelessly to ensure that this father's authentic work would be persevered, that anything published posthumously would adhere so strictly to the vision of his father that large chunks remain unwritten to this day.

And then Amazon comes in and bulldozes over everything, and we are asked to be okay with it. More than that, we are asked to accept it, to stop being worried or concerned about it, to just shut up and live with it.

It doesn't matter if you like Rings of Power. It doesn't matter if you have never read a single Tolkien book in your life. It doesn't matter if you think Tolkien is an overblown writer who cared too much about nature and language and not enough about stories (an argument I have sadly seen far too much). The fact remains that Rings of Power and its writers did not give a single fuck about writing anything close to what Tolkien wrote or would have wanted. Rings of Power is crafted to be a resume for it's showrunners on their next steps to Hollywood, and attempt to create the next "GOT", the next Big Thing that will garner them enough fame and attention to let them do what they really want in Hollywood. The show cares nothing for it's source material--that much is clear from the handling of the characters, the butchering of the timelines, the mere fact that they seem to have not even given a single thought to theme or message or meaning.

And while sure, I will always have Tolkien's works for myself and those people who actually love Tolkien, and not the visual representations of his works, butchered onscreen (and yes, I do mean the Jackson movies as well), by and large with the passage of time, Tolkien will come to mean less the stories loving written of a world he envisioned, and more to mean the corporate schlock turned out for profit or the lovingly misguided fan interpretation of one of the greatest fantasy stories of all times, at least to the larger public conscious.

I will never feel bad about my criticism of Rings of Power. Never. Because it wasn't created for anything more than corporate greed and resume building, and each new fact revealed cannot convince me otherwise.

Celeborn is merely the longest in a long line of characters who are victims to a story that uses their names but not their likeness, not their soul, not who they are to the story they were used to create. At this point, it doesn't even make me mad, it makes me sad. The Second Age has always been important to me, for the stories it told and the characters it created, and watching it be handled like this hurts. And I doubt it will ever stop.

[ao3feed-thehobbit]

Scales, Gleaming in the Dark

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3Qdbs1g

by seeing_blue

Thirteen dwarves. A wizard. A hobbit. And one woman who was definitely only a woman.

Never mind her abilities, age, stories, or that she was decidedly anything but human.

Because there was another way to kill a dragon:

With another dragon.

Words: 10780, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins, Thorin's Company, Gandalf | Mithrandir, Original Female Character(s)

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Original Female Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield & Original Female Character(s), Thorin's Company & Original Female Character(s), Gandalf | Mithrandir & Original Female Character(s), Bilbo Baggins & Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Reincarnation, Dragons, Dragons!!!, I ignore the lore and make my own, dwarven lore, dragon lore, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, technically mgime but she's reincarnated and old as balls, she wanders the world and makes friends with everyone, and I mean everyone, she's basically the one person everybody knows, yes the oc is a dragon and what about it?

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3Qdbs1g

[doodle-pops]

Hii mina mae-duh-whores anon here! Hope you are doing good! first of all,i saw that ask mina and if you were to actually write mgime related stuff, please id really go crazy!! i love your writing so much!!

Second of all to that anon, if you actually start writing silmarillion mgime i wanna be the first to read it!! id love to beta read or just brainstorm or plot with you if you're up for that kind of thing!!

Third, I've got a recommendation or two that no one really asked for haha. There aren't many silmarillion mgime fics so I thought I'd share the ones I've read on ao3 that I think you or your followers might like!

The first fic called, stardusts in our souls by Autumn_moonlight. its ecthelion x oc, it was last updated in July or something, but its such a fun read so far! the oc reads ecthellion the harry potter series and his reaction and eagerness to find out what happens next, its so cute!! I love when the modern girl shares technology or stories or songs from her world and seeing the characters' reaction to it is just so!!! Oh, there's also maeglin x oc smut in later chapters so there's that i suppose.

Second fic, it's called the knowing princess by Fantasticoncer. it's kinda long? The author still updates it I think, I haven't really finished it yet tbh lol. anyways main pov is basically female of x maedhros but it has got lots of other ocs x characters too, like fingon and mairon etc. it contains reincarnation and stuff, mc gets reincarnated as an elf in valinor along with her sisters from her own home reality.

Third is the Oialëa series by natelly

It's mcu/tolkien crossover fic, its kinda long I suppose, multiple books and many chapters etc but it's fun read, tbh I haven't this one either. its not exactly silmarillion events set but oc is kinda part of the kidnap fam, glorfindel's sister, and I've read spoilers that maedhros travels to mcu in second book or something so I thought I'd add it to the list? The first book which I've read is hobbit period set, btw its elrond x oc, and the oc is also doctor strange's daughter, and she also has powers and stuff. So yeah, if you love mcu and silmarillion hobbit lotr and mainly elrond, this fic is for you. Honestly I don't even like elrond that much, more into his sons lol, but still,, it was so interesting I ended up reading the first book! The oc is such a fun gen z mgime and i love her so much! The series is so well written too and there's even separate prequels and epilogue and fics written from other characters perspective and stuff too! In one of the books maedhros and oc also goes to therapy, haven't read that part but mae,, im so glad he got therapy, he really really needs that haha

I am doing better as I've resurfaced from my week disappearance 😁. Though, everything feels strange as though I've been gone for longer 😅.

Some recommendations for those who enjoy the Modern girl in Middle Earth troupe and for the anon who's in the process of creating a story for modern day reader. Thank you for assistance 💖