#oh Eru I have so many opinions about this

[that-angry-noldo]

No, actually, I want to talk about how most of my tolkien "unpopular opinions" and dislike for "everything's not so simple" comes from russian fandom.

When I only started getting into the fandom, russian really was my only way to do so. Ukrainian fanfiction was fairly underdeveloped (or I didn't have the skills to find better sources), and my knowledge of english was... poor, to say the least. So, yeah, russian fandom that is.

And boy, oh boy, what an experience that was. Russian most popular trope, unsurprisingly, was "everything's not so simple".

Kinslayings? Not so simple, Feanor was justified. Lay of Leithtian? Beren is a monster and should be burnt; Luthien is a naive girl who travels naked, actually; Celegorm and Curufin are her noble resquers; Finrod deserves to die for his idiotism. Miriel & Indis? Why is it even a question, of course Indis is an evil stepmother, of course Miriel is pure and without a flaw, of course 2nd & 3rd houses shouldn't have existed!

The Valar? Hey, did you know russians have "The Black Book of Arda" - a book that is basically about poor little Melkor being right and cruel and scary Valar being mean to him?

I read many fics, but there were three that stuck to me the most (i don't remember their names, though): the one that wanted to retell the silmarillion in the "right" way, the one that basically said C&C were right for capturing and threatening Luthien, and the one where everyone was evil, except elves who lived in Beleriand.

The first one... the first one was basically a huge Feanor apologism, even though the author claimed that they were "just adding nuance" and that "you should always look past the text implications" and that "you can't be in the right if you don't spill a bit of blood, actually". I mean, even if at one point author implies that yeah, 2nd and 3rd houses shouldn't have really existed, it's a huge red flag for me.

The second one, well - the plot goes like this: C&C capture Luthien; C&C talk with Luthien; the talk goes basically like this: "Look little miss, you are your father's daughter. Your father has an army. What we're saying is, you marry Celegorm, he won't love you, you won't love him, yeah you'll be unhappy, your Beren is dead anyways, all we need you for is basically your dad's army." And it is painted as a right decision for Luthien to forsake Beren and marry Celegorm. When someone in the comments said "hey, don't you think what the feanorians told luthien was pretty off the rails?", the author exploded, saying, again, that we should see nuance, and that luthien made the right choice not retrieving the silmarill that would cause 2nd kinslaying and that C&C are much more well-thought that Finrod, and that yeah Finrod is an idiot and the fact that he and Beren will now inevitably die and his death will be pointless - well, sucks to suck, I guess.

Brr. I still get flashbacks from that comment section.

The last one basically shitted on humans. Humans? Oh you mean magicless filthy creatures who only lie, insult and are parasites that need to be destroyed? And everyone who's not an elf should die? And the elves under Valar influence should die, too? And Valar are actually parasites? And Eru is a myth? Yeah. Yeah you know what.

Russian fandom yells about "nuance" but their nuance are just sides switched. Black becomes white, white becomes black. And if you disagree, well, you clearly can't see past the 2nd-3rd Houses biased Noldor propaganda and should therefore be destroyed. (Ha. Seeing some paralels with real life now, honestly.)

That's why I left, kinda. I just felt so tired, all the time. This is why I prefered LoL as a fairytale, and this is why I mostly prefer following canon. Because for me Tolkien was an escapism, first and foremost, but I felt like I needed to have entire essays at hand just to defend my love for it.

In conclusion, I was an unprepared Ukrainian thrown in the mist of Misterious Russian Soul™ and was gradually taking 1d4 confusion damage, until I was so tired I left entirely. And I'm glad I did so, because English fandom is so much more chill, and when people say/criticise something, they do specify that it is just their opinion on a fictional world and people don't have to wage wars and write multiple essays to enjoy their fave.

P.S. My biggest beef to this day is Finarfin being portrayed as a tiny whiny man unable to raise his voice. Whenever I remember that fic I immediately want to bite. But it's just me, probably.

[transsexualhamlet]

🤔👑🔮 for the sillyrilly thing DO U KNOW HOW MANY HOURS IT TOOK ME TO FIND THESE GOD DAMN EMOJIS

YOU CAN JUST LOOK UP THE EMOJI U DONT HAVE TO FIND IT??? imagine actually scrolling thru the whole drop down menu

i love you and you're insane.

silmarillion ask game

🤔- Tell us one of your favorite Silm headcanons. Can be one that's out in the wild or a personal one!

I'm just insane about character design but I think that one of the most important things in designs of the Valar is that they should all have glowing eyes without pupils. Like that's what really sets apart "really pretty elf who seems to have a theme going on" from "oh so this is a god fr" and its like auuuugh. So like in my personal (correct) opinion Melkor's are solid black like if a deer was evil. Manwe's and Varda's are white with blue and purple glow respectively. Nienna's are like ancient statue eyes. If u see Mandos' eyes u just pass out and die so he keeps those covered up usually and there is a rather heated debate among the Aman elves as to if they're black, white, very dark blue or very dark red. feanor will tell you he's seen them and theyre DEFINITELY red and he is lying

👑- To which High King of the Noldor do you owe your allegiance? Why would you offer them your fealty?

God that entire line is so funny to me because they're just throwing that crown around like hot potato i just get used to one dude being in charge and then boom he's dead. And you know that's actually such a hard question because like. I WANT to say Fingon because hes my little fucking GUY however doing that would mean getting dragged to a doomed ass battle because Maedhros is Lamenting again. So I'm going to go with Finrod because it seems like people get killed a lot less when he's in charge and he is my favorite. Would 100 percent go frolicking off in the woods with Finrod the edain were sooo lucky that their first contact was with pretty boy mcbeautiful

🔮- You can reach into the Beyond and ask the Professor to settle one (1) debate for you. He won't even waffle on the answer, honest. What do you ask him?

Ok you know I could ask him something important and mysterious but honestly i JUSt wanna know WHY ARE SOME OF THE VALAR SIBLINGS AND SOME OF THEM NOT? LIKE WHAT MAKES TWO AINUR SIBLINGS THEY DIDNT GET. BORN. THEY DONT HAVE A MOM AND THEY ALL CAME FROM . ERU'S ASS. SO EITHER ALL OF THEM ARE SIBLINGS AND THEY JUST WENT ALL GREEK PANTHEON WITH THE MARRIAGES OR NONE OF THEM ARE SIBLINGS AND WE IGNORE THE ERU'S ASS SITUATION. Like he could have avoided this WHOLe question if he didn't just decide oh i have GOT to make manwe and melkor brothers wouldn't that be cool. THROWS A WRENCH IN THE WHOLE WORKS MY BOY

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I keep thinking about Silmarillion, and I was wondering : what do you think of Fëanor ?

I don’t know exactly how it should be seen...

Ooh, Fëanor. Gosh, okay, let me change the channel in my brain.

Fëanor is, at heart, a Capitalist Inventor. He's Dark Tony Stark. He creates endless things for the world to use, but what truly drives him is the bone-deep belief that he and his chosen ones deserve his most prized possessions more than anyone else. And he's willing to kill anyone on both sides to get them back. He swears an oath to fight until he gets what he wants, and thus seals the doom of untold thousands he'll never even meet.

That's an antagonist. Which is not the same thing as a villain. But Fëanor is very much an experience to be survived - or not - rather than any kind of ally. Much of what he does in the Silmarillion is imbalanced, driven by emotions he doesn't seem willing or able to control. And because he's an elf among elves, and they all live a very very long time, the effects of his choices carry forward for thousands of years. This one dude got a lot of people killed, directly and indirectly, including his whole family. For an elf was supposed to love the stars, he wasn't very stellar. Our Man in Valinor was way more into fire.

The part that bothers me about his character - and this is a modern take looking back at JRR Tolkien and his world in the last millennium - is that Fëanor is born this way. He is flawed from birth, and he's just Like That, forever. No chance to change, no encouragement to be different, to be softer, to be better, to corral his spirit of fire into something more light than heat. He's just dangerous chaos from start to finish. He comes into the world sucking his mother's spirit dry so she dies, he lives his life disagreeing with everyone around him except his sons, and he goes out encouraging those sons to hold to their unholy oath to retrieve the Silmarils or die trying. Which they do - the "die trying" part, anyway.

He's a piece of work.

He was also a brilliant, god-tier craftsman. I guess that's what happens when you study under the Vala Aulë himself, who literally shaped the physical world into existence.

He created the Silmarils, capturing the combined light of the Two Trees into three brilliant gemstones in a way no one ever did before or since.

He crafted the palantíri, which not even Sauron could replicate later.

He invented Tengwar script, which is the swirly elven writing we all associate with Middle-Earth.

He crafted the mysterious Feanorian lamps, which are crystals that emit blue light and cannot be doused.

He was constantly thinking up new ideas and crafting them. Eru only knows what he made that has been lost. You'll notice none of these things he made are swords. Yet he led an attack against the Teleri on his way out of Valinor, and the Teleri defended themselves, so I kind of assume he was also a weaponsmith, trying out new ideas in metal form if nothing else.

Brilliant and misguided, a flawed juggernaut, destined to drag the entire world and countless lives off course. The earlier these characters show up in the timeline, the more destructive chaos they end up causing.

I do not like Fëanor. He's a White Guy, doing as he pleases with no thought for the consequences, to himself, to those of his family he actually likes, or to anyone else. He holds enough privilege and power that people keep following him into disaster, and then he just goes and does it again, without learning a damn thing from his imbalanced approach. He even dies thinking he did nothing wrong ever in his life. Like... Bitch.

Having power is no guarantee that you deserve power, and Fëanor is a prime example of why.

This has nothing to do with the objects he made. Those are just tools, free to be taken and used for good or evil, as the palantíri were, and as every message ever written in Tengwar was. Would the world have been better off without the Silmarils at all, or the palantíri? Would a different language script have somehow altered the world for the better? Since it's fiction, we could just decide that Yes, Yes It Would, or No Actually Not.

What's not fictional is my distaste for presumptuous assholes with a bit of power but no self-awareness, because I've already met too many of them who weren't fictional, either.

You want my unvarnished opinion of Fëanor? He's a billionaire. And I'm glad he got eaten. It wasn't nearly soon enough.

Eat your billionaires before they get all crusty, kids. They taste best fresh and plump. Nom nom.

Still here? Oh, then it's time to compare Fëanor to TDP! Because as much as I despise him, he makes for excellent storytelling angst and conflict, and vicarious conflict is how we learn to avoid it in our real lives - if we're paying attention.

I've said before that I'd like to see some kind of Oath of Fëanor effect in TDP. The absolute horror at seeing good characters get yoinked into bad deeds just because they promised? Ahahaha, horrible, thank you, I'll have some more. If the Moonshadow assassins have something like that behind those creepy binding ribbons, I'm gonna be cackling in between my tears, fam.

But Fëanor himself? Oh, do you see, that's Aaravos! He's even got that craftsman side, since he made the relic staff, and boy is it swirly.

(Does that make Ethari a Celebrimbor type, separating himself from the dark deeds of his forebears yet still massively talented, creating amazing magical devices?)

Aaravos is the main villain of TDP, as far as we've been told. He's crafty, in both senses of the word. Did he have some angsty complex family life with half-siblings and a mother who died because she birthed him? Maybe. Stars can be born from the detritus of other stars that exploded and died, so there's a sciencey metaphor there already.

Of interest: Fëanor had seven sons, and the world of TDP has seven kinds of magic. Aaravos created at least one of them. Did he create primal magics too, from the deep magic that came before? Might there be some kind of oath involved there, with the first elves to wield differentiated magic?

How about those primal stones that look like palantíri? How many of those did Aaravos craft? Can he use one from his library to spy on people who have them or something? That would mean he could already know a ton about Viren even before he came to the Storm Spire and stole the mirror. Woah.

What about a Silmaril equivalent? Are there especially glorious magical gemstones in Xadia? Did Aaravos wear them in his crown and now he's mister Grumpy Glam without them?

Did he create the original runes that diverged into all the elven languages? With his sloppy handwriting? Heh, the other elves must've been very patient.

You know... Aaravos has been called a Promethean figure, gifting humans with knowledge and skill they didn't have. But that gift was the gift of fire. A tool. A tool employed by craftsmen.

Fëanor literally means "Spirit of Fire."

In the end, Fëanor was consumed by his own spirit. He never learned to vibe with it, and it destroyed him and many others. Sounds a lot like dark magic.

Maybe the real Oath of Fëanor in TDP is one you have to speak backwards.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Live the King

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex).

This is dark!Thranduil and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king shows you who is in charge.

Note: It’s been over a year since I wrote Tolkien so I decided that to kinda take the pressure off I would try it again and return to my roots. This is my first (official) dark!Thranduil fic and it just flowed so I’m hoping you all enjoy it. As usual, pay attention to the warnings! Thank you. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog, especially as it’s a little different than my usual fare <3

You always enjoyed the banquets in Mirkwood. Not because of the dancing or the food; as a servant, you did not indulge in the like. You preferred them because they made the nights pass quicker. They weren’t so tedious as sweeping the corridors or making beds. 

The music, the cheer, the sense of carelessness released you and your fellow servants from the bonds of propriety. Any slip in your manners or oversight in your work was barely noticed by the drunken and distracted lords and ladies. Little messes could be attended to later and so long as you kept the wine flowing, remonstrance was lost to the bottles.

You stood in the corner with Ilane as you watched the elves in their swaths of silk and satin. Their voices were abuzz throughout the hall as they stepped and spun in time with the music; or tried to. Many were clumsy from imbibing; others careless in their raucousness. You cradled an ewer against your stomach as you awaited a signal and watched the guests cavort.

“Oh, Eru, would you look at the prince?” Siena remarked as she neared with a pair of empty steins. She swept around to gaze out across the hall. “Isn’t he so… handsome?”

“Yes indeed,” Ilane agreed as she smiled at the pale prince. Legolas was himself entranced with a scarlet-haired partner. “Isn’t he?”

Ilane elbowed you and you shook yourself from your trance. You blinked and cleared your throat. You shrugged and glanced over to the younger royal once more. 

“I suppose…” You said. “I would be amiss and dishonest to disagree. The prince is rather fetching.”

The girls giggled and you looked from one to the other. Your smile died on your lips and you never joined their mirth. You felt the shadow behind you and turned to step away from the mouth of the passageway that opened to the labyrinthine corridors. Ilane and Siena followed your gaze and mimicked you as you carefully curtsied with the ewer balanced against you.

“Your majesty,” You greeted the king. “Pardon us, we do stand in your way.”

“You do,” He agreed as you backed up against the wall to let him pass. “And you do tarry in your duties.”

Thranduil’s silver eyes flashed and the others bowed their heads and mumbled apologies. You echoed them more firmly as the king narrowed his sights on you. His eyes fell to the wine in your hands and he flicked to fingers towards the hall.

“My goblet is empty,” He declared. “You shall fill it.”

“Your majesty,” You ceded and lowered your head. 

He finally stepped past you and the other girls sent you a look. The king was known for his temper and his ill-founded grudges in the slightest of offences, even in none at all. You followed him dutifully as he strode up the stairs of the platform to the high table. He reached across and turned back to you with his grand silver goblet. The sapphires shone in the lantern light as you poured.

You bent again and slowly backed away. He sipped as you neared the end of the table. 

“Wait,” He called to you. “Stay. I shall require more as the night wears on me.”

“I shall be around, your majesty, I must attend to other guests.” You replied.

“You must attend to me,” He argued. “Your little friends can see to the rest of my guests.”

“As you wish,” You recited.

“Surely, as I wish,” He assured you and he swept away from you. He marched along to the end and around the other side of the table. “Up here,” He pointed behind his chair as he pulled it out from the table. “No use standing down there like a statue.”

You followed his path and stopped just behind him. You stood at his shoulder with the half-spent pitcher. His long fingers tapped along the side of his goblet between swigs and he looked out across the dance floor. He never joined in, not since his wife’s demise. That was long ago but the scars still marked the kingdom. And him.

He drained the last mouthful and held up his goblet for you to refill it. You did so diligently and he drank without pause. His thumb ran over a teardrop sapphire as he admired the cup.

“My son is rather… princely, isn’t he?” He mused. “The very essence of the elvish heir…”

“Surely, your majesty.” You agreed. “He does take after you.”

He scoffed and took another gulp. “Do not tell me as you think I want you to. Speak as you think…” He swirled the wine, “You think him handsome… fetching?”

“He is not unsightly,” You returned.

“I shall not ask for your honesty again,” He sneered. “As a king, I ask for nothing.”

“I do think he is handsome, your majesty, but I see not how the opinion of a maid should matter.” You said.

“Oh, it matters not,” He tilted his head and you saw the hint of a smirk. “You must have fancies that it could. You and your little pigeons titter so and dream of it, hmmm? That any lord could see a sliver of worth in you.”

You were silent. You’d heard of his malice but never were so unfortunate to be at the mercy of it. You stared ahead and he took another drink.

“More wine, your majesty?” You gestured with the ewer.

“Very well,” He said but withheld his cup. “I tire of the white. I wish for red.” He twirled the goblet, “Fetch it, will you?”

🍷

Your night was spent as such; filling Thranduil’s cup until he was yawning and so uncouth that you could barely withhold your own tongue. He stood and clapped his hands to signal the feast’s end. You noticed the waver in his stance. He’d finished more than an ewer on his own. Even he could not resist the vimor of Elvish wine.

He leaned on his chair as he watched his guests disperse in pairs and trios, chattering even as they yawned and longed for a pillow. You were silent as you backed into the shadows and he turned. His lashes flicked as he saw you, as if recalling your presence, and his lips curled slightly.

“Shall I fetch your footman, your majesty?” You asked.

“You…” He raised his finger at you, “Shall await my orders.” He declared. “You… can be my footman for the night.” His hand fell on your shoulder and he shoved you. “Come on.”

You swallowed and led him along the table. You were unsure what to say though you could not disobey his command. As you reached the end, he stopped you, his hand on your shoulder again. You turned slightly and he grabbed the handle of the ewer. He ripped it away and slammed it on the table.

“Go on,” He waved past you. “You should know where my chamber lies.”

As any servant, you did. You continued down the stairs as he traipsed behind you. He was like your shadow as he loomed closer and closer. His usual graceful stride was uneven as you wove along the bridges and twisted walkways.

When you came upon his doors, he reached over your shoulder and held out a single golden key on a blue ribbon. You took it without further prompting. You were swift to unlock the door and open it for him. He entered lithely and his fingers worked at unbuttoning his robe. You stayed by the door, clinging to the handle.

“Close it,” He demanded. “You will help me retire for the night.”

Your chest rattled but you closed the door. He faced you as you neared him and his hands took yours. He lifted them to the front of his robe. “You may hang it by the door,” He smirked. “My boots are to be placed beside the wardrobe.”

You finished loosing the rest of the buttons and he dropped the robe from his shoulders. You pulled it free from his arms and his silver eyes followed your every move. You hung it as he bid and returned to him as he sat heavily on the bed. He splayed his feet out and you knelt to unlace them. He leaned back on his hands, still focused upon your work.

You slipped the boots from his feet and tucked the laces in. You looked up but took pause at the bulge in his lap. You blinked and quickly stood. You went to the wardrobe and placed the boots on the rack beside it. You returned to him as he sat forward. He caught your hand again and tugged you close.

He led your hand to his crotch and pressed it to the hardness within his trousers. You blanched and tried to pull away. He held you there and snickered.

“You think that’s for you?” He spat. “Oh, dear, you think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“No, your majesty,” You stilled and looked him in the eye. “I know not what you mean. Shall I continue in readying you for bed?”

His lip curled and he pushed away your hand.

“Go on,” His nostrils flared. “I can finish on my own. I needn’t a wench to help me.”

You bowed and gave a measured ‘your majesty’. He let out a dark breath and you backed away to the door. You reached behind you and let yourself out. His fingers gripped the waist of his trousers as you pulled the door closed behind you. You were quick to flit away the moment the wood met the frame.

🍷

You weren’t the first servant to be humiliated by the king. You’d heard tales of his rants and ravings so it was no surprise when he quickly forgot about you. It was truly a relief. You were just another in a line of those he felt to be ungrateful and impertinent. He had undoubtedly found another in the week since to turn his wrath upon.

Your life was as it was. There was no sudden ejection or demotion, as you feared. You swept, mopped, wiped the walls, polished the silver, tidied chambers. Your duties were as banal as before. 

Well, Thranduil’s words had proven true. A maid mattered little to those above her.

That day, the king had held a dinner for his son and his favoured nobles. A close affair in a dining room close to the feast hall. These meals weren’t unusual. Some offhand celebration of a council declaration or diplomatic victory. You were among several who were to tidy up after them.

Ilane and Siena gathered the empty dishes and Tonia took the dirtied tablecloth to the laundries. You were left to wipe the table and sweep the floor. Simple enough. You took a cloth and set to cleaning the long trestle. You neared the door as you came around the end and bent over the wood to reach as far as you could. The hinges whispered behind you unexpectedly but you assumed one of the girls had returned for something they’d overlooked.

“Forgive me,” The prince’s voice had you straight as a stalk and you turned to greet him with a bow. You realized how vulgar you must’ve looked with your rear in the air. “I believe I did leave my ring behind.”

“Your highness,” You bent your knee and balled the cloth in your hand. “I haven’t seen it but I might help you look to see if it has fallen.”

“Very well,” He smiled kindly. He was much nicer than his father and you had to agree with Siena; he was very handsome.

He neared the table and you mirrored him on the other side. You pushed between the chair and the table and got down to search the floor. He did the same and you saw the pale amethyst upon the band of white gold. You reached for it as he did too and his hand closed around yours. You flinched and tried to pull away.

“Apologies, your highness,” You gasped.

His grip lingered but he let your hand slip from his. He took the ring and held it up between you. He was awfully close as he looked over at you. 

“Quick eye,” He praised. “No need to apologize.” He turned the ring in his fingers as you began to back out. “Wait,” He beamed at you as you paused. “Do you like it?”

“What?” You blinked.

“The ring? Do you like it?” He asked again.

“I think it is very fine, your highness.” You said.

“Well, I should agree but I think it would look finer…” He held it out. “On you.”

Your eyes rounded and you kept from laughing aloud. “Your highness, with all respect, you should keep it. It is yours.”

“I have many. I should want such a… fetching lady as yourself to have it.” He looked at the ring and stretched his arm towards you. “Won’t you honour me by wearing it?”

“I… cannot,” You felt your cheeks burn. “Really, it’s… rather foolish, your highness. I’m a maid and…”

“A pretty maid,” He said. “A pretty maid I would have wear my ring…” He came forward on his knees, his neck bent beneath the table, and took your hand. He turned it palm up and pressed the ring to it. “And nothing else.” He winked.

You pulled away in shock. The ring bobbled from your hand and fell back to the wood. “Your highness, I…”

He began to laugh. You gaped at him and he picked up the ring. He looked up at you with a grin as his guffaws died. 

“You really think I would have any interest in you?” He chided. “Oh, you maids are so easy.”

Your brow wrinkled in disgust. You hung your head as you sat back on your heels and folded your hands over your skirt. You wanted to cry at his tone; his repulsion, his mockery. He tucked the ring in his pocket and sighed.

“To think…” His voice was deeper and you slowly looked up. His hair paled just a little as his brows grew thicker and his features sharpened. Thranduil smirked back at you. “A prince and a maid.”

“Your highness.” You reeled and balled your skirts in your fists. “I--”

“A prince…” He scoffed. “Let me show you what makes a king.”

You yelped as he grabbed your wrist and wrenched you forward. “Ow, let go!”

“Are you telling your king what to do?” He asked as he released you and his hand flew up to your throat. He drew you closer so your noses were almost touching. “You and your trite little tongue.”

“St-o-op,” You gulped out as you grabbed his wrist. “Why--”

“A king cannot stand for such insolence,” He squeezed and forced you down onto your back. You kicked as you clawed at him. “Do you think I forgot, my pigeon?”

“I did not-- You’re-- I can’t breathe,” You gasped as you tried to pry his fingers away.

“All the better for I tire of your words,” He climbed over you and pressed his body to yours, pinning you to the floor. “I tire of your arrogance. You must…” He leaned in, his breath hot on your cheek, “Recall your place. Recall mine.” His grip tightened. “Recall who is king.”

“Please,” You rasped as you pushed against his chest. “Pl--”

He silenced you with his lips. It was as if he meant to devour you. His kiss was rough, hungry, and sour with wine. He rolled his hips and you felt the same hardness in his trousers. His fingers loosened and slipped down between you. He spread his hand over your bodice and cupped your tit. He pulled back and the tip of his nose tickled yours.

“I can be the prince,” He taunted. “But you’ll be begging for me by the time we’re done.”

You shook your head as his appearance flickered. It was Legolas over you for a split second before the king appeared once more. He leaned in again, this time his lips were on your throat as you writhed beneath him. He sank his teeth into your neck and you cried out. He only bit harder as he delighted in your pain.

His other hand snaked between you and he lifted his pelvis as he tugged up your skirts. You continued to kick as he forced his knee between your legs and inched the fabric above it. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears as you pushed on his shoulders desperately. His fingers hooked under your bodice and a loud tear added to the tempo.

You whined as you felt his fingers along your knee and shuddered as he tickled your thigh.

“Your majesty, what are you-- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t--”

His hand shot up from your chest and he covered your mouth. “Shhhh,” He pulled back again. “You must learn to obey.” He growled. “It is what got you into this mess, my pigeon.”

You trembled as he rescinded his hand and lifted himself on his knees, your left leg between his as he held you in place. He parted your torn bodice and his pupils grew as he groped you. He held your tits and flicked your nipples with his thumb. You were ashamed as you body twitched in response and your nipples hardened.

He bent over you again, this time he buried his face in your chest as he held himself up on an elbow. He nibbled along your tits and stopped to take a nipple in his mouth and suck. You let out a long breath as he pushed both his legs between yours and forced them apart. He pushed your skirts up to your waist and the cool air sent a shiver through you.

His fingers brushed along your thigh and traced your vee. You closed your eyes and turned your head away. You bit your lip as the flutter within sickened you. Why did you feel this way? You grabbed his shoulders and tried to move him; he easily ignored you. Your nails sank into the brocade as he dragged his finger between your folds. You squeaked.

“That’s it,” He lifted his head from your chest. “You see what a king can do…”

He pressed another finger to your clit and rubbed slowly. You kept your eyes on the table above as you squirmed. You didn’t want to like it. He began to circle your bud and your thighs tensed against his. He pushed your legs even wider and slowly drew his hand away. You swallowed through your dry throat as you felt him fumbling around.

You felt another pressure along your clit. You inhaled through clenched teeth as he rubbed his tip along your folds. He spread your arousal over your clit and you tried to wiggle away from him. He slid his arm beneath yours and his fingers clung to your shoulder as he held you still.

“Look at me,” He ordered as he guided his cock along your entrance. “Look at your king!”

Your eyes snapped to his and your lips formed an o as he pushed inside of you. You dug your nails into his shoulders and sobbed as he impaled you entirely. You slapped at his chest and tried to shove him off of you. He began to thrust as he lowered his weight onto you and trapped your arms beneath him.

“Your majesty,” You quavered, “Please…”

“Say it again.” He said as he continued to rock his hips. “Say it.” 

“Your majesty,” You gritted.

“Again.” He commanded.

You repeated yourself and he sped up. His pelvis rubbed against your clit with each thrust. He pushed his other arm beneath your shoulder and grasped your head between his large hands. He gaze down at you as he fucked you harder and harder, delighting in the pain as it contorted your face.

“I am still the king,” He growled as he jerked into you. “Still your king.”

You nodded and your eyes rolled back as the sparks began to swirl around your core. You bent your legs and arched your feet as you felt the sudden rise. Your orgasm erupted from you in a series of agonized moans. You shook beneath him as you came and your tortured ecstasy only seemed to encourage him.

He pushed himself up and grabbed onto your hips as he hunched beneath the shelter of the table. He rammed into you over and over as he jerked your body over the floor. His grunts mingled with your pathetic whimpers. You were sore and throbbing as he pounded into you without relent, his fervour building with each thrust.

He sank into you with a spasm and came. He swore as his grip tightened on your hips and he bucked as he emptied himself in you. You covered your face as you felt his pleasure seeping into you and his shaky breaths enshrined you beneath the table.

He was slow, reluctant even, to pull out of you. His cum dripped out of you and onto the wood as your hands fell from your face. You looked down weakly as he tucked his cock away and laced up his trousers. He chest rose and fell as he smooth out the front of his robe.

“You should clean up this mess,” He dragged his finger along your slick thigh before he slowly back out from under the table. “I shall call on you when I require your duties, ” His boots strode to the door and he paused, “And you will fly to me, won’t you, my pigeon?”

[tolkienhorror]

My pain, your thrill, chapter 2

Warnings: Abuse, torture, cbt, watersports.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given by @outofangband  on my main blog. Prompt: Morgoth/Sauron, Omorashi

************************************************************************************* ************************************************************************************* *************************************************************************************

"Where do you think you're going, Lieutenant?"

Mairon cursed inwardly but he knew better than to turn his back on his Lord when he was regarded with that certain icy hiss in Melkor's voice, especially in front of a whole group of orc and Balrog commanders. Oh, so one of those days it was. "I have a pressing matter in my office to tend to, milord. It will be but a minute." He tried, though he knew how small chances were of convincing his master once Melkor had got it in his head that this was another good moment to remind Mairon of his place.

Of the annoying fact that years after what had probably the biggest failure in Mairon’s career, he still deserved retaliation at every chance, even and especially in the presence of others. Nothing better to keep possibly rebellious minions in check than demonstrating every now and then that not even the highest people in Melkor's ranks were safe from his power. And that very decision being made in this fortress had to be sanctioned from the highest place – not least because last time Melkor had given Mairon free reign, they'd lost their most valuable prisoner. Melkor could hold grudges for an incredibly long time. "If there's any dealings more pressing than debating strategies to increase our hold on these lands, Lieutenant, maybe you would be better advised servicing the enemy." The temperature in the room seemed to drop with every of Melkor's venomous words until Mairon was shivering under the flimsy fabric of the ruby robe matching his hair that he'd chosen for this gathering in the weak hope of appealing to his master's occasional appreciation for beauty in his bedroom.

Another failure, obviously.

While the orcs, too, shivered and ducked their heads at the aggression suddenly roaring through the hall, more than one of the greyish, scarred faces showed a scornful grin.

A weak flame of delight flickered in the red sockets that were Gothmog's eyes from the other side of the room. From the way, the tip of the Balrog's whip wrapped around a leg of the table, Mairon could tell, the bastard was fondling the handle of his preferred weapon, probably daydreaming about Melkor becoming angry enough with Mairon to order him to serve his most hated rival tonight once more.

Mairon had no interest in a repeat performance of that kind and bowed his head in apology, quickly taking his place behind Melkor's chair again, his face blank as he forced himself to listen to every detail for the upcoming attack wave that he'd long memorized anyway. This was not about his uninterrupted presence in a wholly expendable meeting, of course. It was another test of will, of physical endurance. If he didn't have to be so careful about his lover invading his mind to monitor his thoughts, Mairon would probably allow himself to silently admit that he was getting a little tired of these games. Even coming up with the most attractive and mighty new shapes when the last one got too ruined became tedious at some point, especially when your master had no second look to spare for it.

It wasn't just that Melkor refused to forgive him. He refused to touch him.

Well, that was if Mairon didn't count choking on his lover's cock every once in a while. It felt like at least two Ages since Marin had last been fucked; and since his lover forbade him from finding at least his own pleasure alone, the growing yearning was mixing with more frustration by the day.

Even more so since Melkor had found out that it was a lot more fun, torturing Mairon when he also prohibited him from using any of the powers his folk was gifted with, merely reducing his physical and mental resilience to the embarrassing fragility of an elf.

Mairon wasn't only mildly irritated and impatient any longer. He was miserable. What had Eru been thinking, bringing something so flawed and insufficient to life? When it wasn't some deep cut in this far-too thin skin from his master's whip that Mairon had to sing together every other week, he ended up mending bones or pushing some organ back where it belonged. It was time consuming, it was most uncomfortable and most of all it was humiliating.

Yet, apparently, his lover was of the opinion, none of that had been humiliating enough yet. Mairon should have been suspicious already when Melkor had insisted on sharing a couple of cups of wine too many before this meeting. And he still handed him a new one without even looking at him every now and then, though Melkor himself was doing the talking and Mairon certainly had no need for any more wetting of his throat. Debauchery usually was not for either of them.

It was only now, hours in, that Mairon started to feel, he needed a bathroom break rather sooner than later. And how very inconvenient it was when you were not allowed to just cleanse your body out with a few hummed tones from your lips. It went from inconvenient to distracting after the next cup because Melkor still made no move to end this stupid discussion about arms deployment anytime soon. By now, Mairon's robe was starting to stretch uncomfortably around his midsection, and the muscles in his lower body cramped from the growing need to relieve himself. Only now, it started to dawn on him why his Lord hard insisted on him attending this gathering from this very particular spot, with no empty chair in sight. Distraction turned into annoyance and growing anxiety when the first few pairs of eyes turned his way repeatedly because it became more and more impossibly to stop shifting his weight and trying not to press his legs together too conspicuously. Inside his head he was cursing in all languages he knew the choice for this nothing of a piece of clothing, the white and gold color of which would give away immediately if he failed to control even such a primitive, basic function of this useless body for just a second. Mairon thought, he was doing a pretty good job, still hardly moving a muscle, but whenever he caught just a glimpse of his master's twisted mind in the shredded, cloudy bond between their souls, he could feel the lazy acid bubbling there that was Melkor's sadistic arousal, and he knew, his little, inaudible gasps and the heat of his temperature rising, radiating from his body more by the second, did not go unnoticed.

More than one of Mairon’s own subjects was openly leering at this point, some whispering and chuckling darkly as pale eyes watched the small beads of sweat from strain building on Mairon's forehead.

Gothmog was shamelessly staring at his midsection and licking his lips with his forked tongue, clearly indulging in the perverted fantasies of all the things he would be allowed to do tonight if Mairon managed to anger his Lord enough with his mortal weakness.

It was mostly the stubbornness not to give in to these wordless taunts that helped Mairon, somehow, to hold on to the last of muscle control by sheer willpower alone until the room finally started to empty.

"Am I excused, my Lord?" he got out between gritted teeth, his hands hard fists by his sides just from the effort of not grabbing his bloated midsection, or his aching cock through his clothes, to make sure he would make it the few feet down the hall, to the next free chambers, to finally empty his bladder.

"Not until I decide you learned how not to fail me," Melkor said flatly, still not turning around but busy gathering the last of parchments from the notes one of the orcs had taken during the conversation. "But if that's what you mean: Since you are obviously not even able to control a weak shape like this for half a day, you may go. Try not to make a mess on the floor."

Another day, Mairon might have returned the provocation, might have stayed just in spite, to prove to his master that he was very much capable of everything his Lord asked him to do. Only he was not, not when he was deliberately slowed and restricted in his powers. Mairon was ready to prove himself to his Lord anytime, but not if it was only for Melkor's amusement. If he wanted to be a thrall, he could as well have stayed in Valinor. "Milord." With a rather cool nod, he finally walked past his master, his steps as stiff as his posture. Not for long though, because just before he could get out of reach, a harsh slap from a huge hand suddenly landed on his behind, hard enough to bruise. Thanks to all his muscles contracting from the unexpected impact, a sinister pain stabbed his midsection. With a small scream, Mairon toppled over and reached between his legs in growing desperation to prevent the worst, but it was too late. His hand came back wet, and another hot, treacherous stream trickled down the insides of his thighs, darkening the front of his robe, leaving a sharp-smelling trace on his skin and dripping from his knee-high leather boots on the uneven, rocky ground.

"Look at that. Here I was just thinking about complimenting your excellent fashion choices, my pet, and you had to ruin it again." The same unforgiving hand grabbed his hair and pulled him back upright before he could regather his composure. The ominous lights of the Silmarils shining on his master's pale forehead stung in Mairon's eyes when Melkor pulled him close and licked the salt of sweat and tears of humiliation off his cheeks, off his lips, then biting the sensitive skin hard enough to bruise.

The other hand found the bulge under Mairon's now-ruined robe and pushed against it until Mairon cried out, fighting the hold on his braid in vain, shuddering both in disgust and relief when another small trickle of shame escaped his straining cock, the wet patch at his front growing.

He had long learned better than to beg, but his eyes were apparently a clear enough mirror of the torture of the last few hours, because Melkor's sharp-toothed grin only grew; he let go of him unexpectedly and pushed him away to get up, a clear bulge of arousal showing under his own tight pants. "It looks like we'll have to start teaching you discipline from the very start again, my pet. I will see you in my quarters tonight. I trust you will keep yourself properly hydrated until then." With that, his master left him to his shame.

*********

Mortified and wrathful as he had been, it turned out, it didn't take Mairon long to wish himself be back in that moldy conference hall full of people amused by his comparatively meager suffering.

"Is this not what you wanted, my favorite pet?," Melkor chuckled when another pained groan came from Mairon's lips at the merciless metal pull of metal rings around his cock and balls, endangering his skin that was already stretched beyond its limits, raw and chafed, more by the minute.

Even if he could have, Mairon would not have granted his lover the satisfaction of an answer. But he tried to turn his head away from the thick metal phallus stretching his mouth open anyway, in vain, when another gush of ice cold water came through the hole in the middle of the toy, flowing fast and harshly right towards the back of his throat. Which left him no choice but to swallow again though his belly was already bloated painfully from too much fluid once more, hanging low from where his master had strung him up by his wrists and ankles, swinging and gurgling lazily with every thrust of his master's enormous cock into Mairon's lube-dripping hole. Swinging, just like the huge bucket that his master had tied to his swollen genitals with heavy chains, positioned in such a way that every unwanted new stream of waste from Mairon's bound cock filled it up further. It was really only a matter of time until this easily breakable flesh would no longer be able to resist that gruesome tug, and Mairon had a vague idea, his master had no plans of patching the deadly, tasteless kind of wounds up that unpleasant moment would leave. Apparently, another body had run its course. What bothered Mairon most about spending all his energy once more on another disposable shape, was that his lover was right, of course … This was exactly what he had wanted. Finally being the center of his lover's attention again, being speared open by that magnificent cock, used and abused only for his master's pleasure … He thought he might even have been able to come just from this, in spite of the pain in his groin, if his lover had not once more made sure he couldn’t. No, the noises from his lips were not of protest. They were offense. After all these punishments Mairon had endured today – in all of these last years, really –, the least he deserved was finally being allowed to come properly again.

But his wishes, as was life in Melkor's fortress, were rarely of any concern for his lover, so he had to be satisfied with the telltale twitch of his lover's crooked cock inside of him when Melkor reached under him to feel the grotesque swellings of Mairon's overfilled stomach and bladder and press his sharp-nailed fingertips deeply into the cramping organs until Mairon screamed around his gag and relieved himself unwillingly into the bucket once more.

If it was only the pleasure of his suffering that could close the wound of hurt pride and tactical disadvantage that Mairon's mistakes a few years back had torn, he would happily sacrifice another dozen bodies. Something tore between his legs that was not supposed to come off when the relentless pull of the chain ripped harder on his flesh, and Mairon was pretty sure, that was no longer just waste in that bucket, but that was also when his lover came deep inside of him, finally, the comforting, too-hot pulse of rotten seed warming his shaking body from the inside. Mairon's trapped balls gave another helpless pulse of their last ruined orgasm before they came off with a wet gush. As he gave him to the darkness of agony washing over his mind, Mairon decided, his next shape definitely needed a bigger bladder.

[hildorien]

Mariner’s Wife might look pretty out of place in the Lost Tales. It’s a story about some random failing marriage, you may say, but you are wrong. In my thesis, the story of the Mariner’s wife is basically a giant metaphor for the two paths that Numenor could take in terms of its foreign policy, as well as how morality and religion play into this choice. That’s why this quote is so freaking awesome. 

Basically, you have two sides in this conflict; expansionism or isolationism, represented by Aldarion and Erendis. Aldarion propels Numenor (his father is on the throne for most of the piece) to go back to Middle-earth and get involved (he loves the sea, he loves adventure, etc) while Erendis doesn’t love the sea, he hates it. She loves Numenor, their little valinor like Paradise, she doesn’t see the profit in expansion nor in looking east-ward. She wishes for isolation. At different times, the two viewpoints are supported by the people of Numenor. Erendis more so, as their beloved almost princess Diana-like celebrity, but Aldarion is loved by the people who gravitate towards that sense of adventure.   

It’s easy to assume that this is a case in which, through hindsight Erendis has the right idea, because we know what kind of empire Numenor will turn into, even in this we are seen that the mannish peoples of middle earth are already fucking done with numenor bumping into their buisness, but that’s ignoring the straight up fact that without Numenor’s involvement in Middle-earth, the elves’ are straight fucked. Just completely fucked. Sauron is beating down on them, Gil-galad is sending a letter to Aldarion’s father for help, they need aid. It’s not as simple as Erendis is right because hindsight, in the world the second age Numenor not taking action would be abandoning fav favorites Gil-galad and Elrond and many other elves’ to Sauron, and that would suck. Erendis’ stance would have them do that though, stay isolationist and let Middle-earth deal with their own issues and shortcomings. They are not Numenor’s problem. So that begs the question; what should they do? 

This comes to ahead here; “am in too great doubt to rule. To prepare or to let be? To prepare for war, which is yet only guessed: train craftsmen and tillers in the midst of peace for bloodspilling and battle: put iron in the hands of greedy captains who will love only conquest, and count the slain as their glory? Will they say to Eru: At least your enemies were amongst them? Or to fold hands, while friends die unjustly: let men live in blind peace, until the ravisher is at the gate? What then will they do: match naked hands against iron and die in vain, or flee leaving the cries of women behind them? Will they say to Eru: At least I spilled no blood?”

If you are the leader in this situation, it’s very clear that there isn’t an easy win here. The logic behind each action will come with consequences. Like the use of Eru here is palpable because it’s relating in a way to the concept that the only one who will truly know which was the better choice here is god herself who holds all the answers anyway. 

  [There is also a very interesting angle here religiously this is the best subtle use of Tolkien’s religious underpinnings in his work that’s there ever been. Like with the edain we have an idea that they have their own concepts of what happens after death but we don’t have a lot of concrete concepts to what those concepts are sorta a speak; we know that they have a messiah myth (i.e. jesus) but we don’t know much else, however, here we see a character just speak of religion freely and as if it was common. Here we see that at least the people of numenor and maybe the edain) believe that in the end they will see god herself and get to even talk to god/god will have some opinions (tm) about their actions. I think it’s just a cool subtle thing as someone who loves edain religion (along with edain in general) it’s nice to see some of the themes we see in other edainic works come back around in their descendants because frankly it’s pretty rare as the numenoreans and later on the other elf kin humans tend to try and be eldar lite than edain but sigh)] 

We know how it ends though; Numenor makes the choice to go with Expansionism/Aldarion and that carries them into their twilight years and eventual pompeii-ing by god. Erendis and her way of life is replaced and eventually dies a very slow, very long death. It’s easy to feel like they made the wrong choice; but I don’t think either choice was going to yield good long-term returns. Isolationism that is represented by Erendis doesn’t make her happy. Neither Aldarion or Erendis are happy, their lives both suck in the end which I think is a metaphor for the fact that neither choice was going to be for the best. Isolation in Tolkien is always seen with nostalgia for me, like “woah what a great time that was,”but looking at it in practice, no isolationist society in Tolkien will ever win. 

Dorirath and Gondolin stand out to me, that they have a “fuck you, got mine” until evil is at their door and all their allies are already gone and no one can help them so they are destroyed. It’s even referenced here as one of the options to what is probably going to happen if they remain isolationist by the upper quote. This kind of nuance is why I don’t feel comfortable with being #TeamAldarion or #TeamErendis in regards to their foreign policy (in terms of gender theory, Erendis all the fucking way, oh boy.); because I just don’t know if it is that simple to boil it down to one or the other. 

IN CONCLUSION; The mariners wife is about a very flawed marriage but even more than that it is about a very flawed political system full of just what seems like bad choices all with secondary effects. This quote will continue to resonate with me for how it perfectly illustrates that when it comes to politics not everything is so simply easy. In the end, the only person who truly knows what is going to happen is God, because she holds all the cards.

[one-piece-dumpster-fire]

😘💋 give us the scoop!! tell us the secrets of a happy selfship marriage!

Hhhhhh with pleasure, Eru😌❤👏🏻!

😘: What’s your f/o’s favorite thing about YOU?

Since this is basically asking for Cracker's opinion, he might as well answer that question himself😌

Now hold on, this doesn't strike me as fair! How come she gets to choose three things while I'm only allowed to name one?

...Heh, well alright then.

What I admire the most about Michelle, is how patient and gentle she is. I won't lie, at first it was quite irritating- perhaps because I myself didn't grow up in an environment where 'softness' and 'affections' were valued, so a part of me was initially quite suspicious of her unusually sympathetic behaviour. That being said... it's now something I've grown to greatly value. Who would have thought that being held or cared for by a tiny thing like my Sugar Cookie could be so... comforting? I know I can't necessarily share all of her sensitivity even after being together for so long, but in the end that's just another way in which we complete each other, isn't it?

💋: Where are your favorite places to kiss your f/o/where are their favorite places to kiss you?

LOOOORD I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS QUESTION YESSS ADHWJQKS---

Ahem,,, my favorite place to kiss Cracker is-

Right there. Riiight-

There!

His neck/throat. That spot right below his jawline. Oh to have Cracker rest his chin ontop of my head while I get to smooch his strong neck--- ;w;

Despite that magic spot, I also really like to kiss him between his shoulderblades. And his face. Aaahhh I need to kiss his handsome face rn hhh----

As for Cracker, he greatly likes to place kisses ontop of my shoulders,,, and between my breasts,,, (he a boobie man pfff)

Also!!! The upper part of my right hip! Right where the bones are, basically!!! That's a special spot for many reasons, and he's always extra soft with kisses there ;w;

[sirloozelite]

Tagged for some question answers

Oh no... I was tagged by @angelwars11 for a question thingy. Guess I will answer some for fun. Thanks for the ask. XD

RULES: Answer 20 questions (+5), then tag as many bloggers you want to get to know better! (gonna bend the rules a bit... hope you don’t mind XD)

1. Name: SirLoozElite (not gonna reveal this just in case someone intends on sending assassins after me)

2. Zodiac: Scorpio.... though if you ask some calendars I appear as Libra for some reason. 

3. Birthday: October

4. Height: 5′11 - 6′0.  Depends on whether or not I’m standing my full height. 

5. Favourite colour: Dark Green

6. Favourite shows: Star Wars Rebels, The Clone Wars, Doctor Who, The Simpsons. 

7. Favourite movies: Aliens, Terminator 2, Predator, Schindler's List, Revenge of the Sith. 

8. Favourite games: Oddworld- Abe’s Oddysee, XCOM 2, Civilization VI, Mass Effect Trilogy (and Andromeda too), Old Tomb Raider games.

9. Favourite books: Animal Farm, Ahsoka novel, Wuthering Heights, Frankenstein. 

10. Favourite fictional characters: Thel Vadam, Ahsoka Tano, Kanan Jarrus, Mordin Solus, The Master, Sideshow Bob.

11. Languages: English as my dominant, but I did French at GCSE level. Can’t remember much of it though. XD

12. Writer or Artist: Writer. My artistic skills is limited to stickmen!

13. Extrovert or introvert: Introvert! I try to keep to myself. Don’t like bothering people. 

14. Do I do RP with people: Not really no. Not my style, though I do enjoy doing mini drabbles for my AUs on Tumblr. XD

15. Do I take requests: Sure I do! I love requests for things. Ask me whatever you like, just be aware I won’t provide every single answer. Gotta keep some mystery about myself after all. 

16. Writing projects I’m working on: Currently dealing with a massive story called ‘Agent of the Chancellor’. It’s a Clone Wars AU where Ahsoka ends up working for Palpatine after the events of ‘The Wrong Jedi’. Suffice to say chaos follows. Damn thing is already nearly 50 chapters long! XD

17. Random Unpopular opinion: Halo CE’s level, ‘The Library’ is not a hard level on Legendary. I find it to be one of the easiest honestly. 

(Ok I give up, let’s do the plus 5 facts bit)

1. I have a degree in History.... not that that means anything these days. 

2. I suffer from depression and am prone to emotional collapses because of it. No worries though, I've got it under control. 

3. I don’t have anymore interesting facts about me. 

4. Seriously.... I don’t. I’m boring. 

5. I really am! Why won’t you people believe me? XD

Well now, guess I should tag some people in response, so apologies to the following poor souls that I’m about to torture. 

I tag, @rangerslayer-97, @minniethemoocherda, @swgoji2001 and @eru-kat. Don’t feel like you have to answer the questions you guys. Just thought I’d include you too. XD Also feel free to alter the questions too. Come up with your own if you really want to do it. XD

[nancywheelxr]

If I haven't missed a request window?: Something where Elrond is an A+ dad (with Estel, &/or the twins, or Arwen? your call there) + also somewhere included there's an adorably disgruntled bird (like maybe a pigeon or a duck, idk? — I seriously just tried to look up what kinds of birds might actually live around Rivendell but I got nothing bc I suck)?

Hey! I wasn’t sure which bird to use, either, but I hope you like how this turned out!

*

There is a commotion in the hallway outside.

To be completely fair, they sound as if they are trying not to make a disturbance, but experience shows his children have never been very successful at that. True, it’s been far too many centuries since these halls have held a child’s laughter, but Elrond remembers. Most elves do, he’s sure, considering the fair amount of antics the twins have gotten up to over the centuries. Somehow, adulthood has yet to change that.

Another crash sounds just east of his door. 

He should probably make sure nothing dangerous is going on.

The door swings open carefully and he steps out to find a suspiciously empty hallway– which is not to say there isn’t plenty to be worried about here since the only thing lacking are the culprits of the mess left behind. At his feet, one of his once priceless vases is in pieces, ceramic dull in the sunlight, and more concerningly, mud stains the carpets, the walls, the– ceiling?

“How on–” Elrond murmurs, frowning as it drips lazily on the carpet. 

Well. That settles it. “Elrohir,” he calls, following the trail of dirt along the halls, “Elladan!”

Silence is all that answers him, as it was expected, and Elrond sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Briefly, he considers leaving it be, but it would only be a matter of time until someone came to him about this, undoubtedly aggrieved. 

Outside the sun is shining warmly over the grass, a truly lovely day if he says so himself, and the creek in the woods is babbling gently, softer in this spring, and he wonders if he should expand his search to the nearby clearings.

As it turns out, there’s no need for that.

While Elrond is looking for his sons, the culprit for the mud trail skids around the corner and dashes right into his robe with a graceless flail of skinny limbs.

“Estel,” he half asks, more startled than anything, and helps the child up, taking the opportunity to check him for injuries. Not that he would be able to tell at first glance, considering he is covered in mud from head to toe as if he’d spent his afternoon rolling in a puddle. Still, first things first, he supposes, “are you alright?”

Realization dawns on him and his eyes grow large, likely guessing he’s in a fair amount of trouble. “Oh, Ada?” Estel fidgets, blinking up in an effort of making himself look as innocent as possible, “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can,” Elrond says, allowing a touch of his amusement to show, “but I would rather be certain you are not injured in any way before listening to what I’m guessing is a quite long story?”

“Erm,” he shuffles, wiping watery mud from his eyes, “no, not hurt, no. I mean, yes, it is a long story but I don’t think– I’ll explain, I swear! I just need to do something first, so, uh.”

Elrond frowns as Estel’s eyes dart around quickly, but before he could inquire further on what could be oh-so-urgent, two sets of footsteps round the same corner Estel had sprinted from. 

“We found her!” Elrohir is announcing loudly only to stumble to a stop once he catches sight of Elrond, his face falling into guilt. “Oh, Ada, you are… here,” he finishes weakly.

Never too far from his twin, Elladan appears soon after and– is that a duck?

“Well,” Estel says, shrugging, “I guess I don’t have anything to do anymore.”

The duck still in Elladan’s arms squawks indignantly, ruffling its feathers, and Elrond finally takes in his sons’ appearances. They both have mud up to their chests and splattered over their faces, he’s guessing courtesy of the equally dirty duck, and Elrohir has a scrape on his cheekbone. 

Apparently, all three of the boys seemed to have thought today was, indeed, quite a lovely day outside.

“We can explain,” Elrohir tries, squirming under Elrond’s raised eyebrow, “I mean, Elladan certainly can.”

His brother coughs, startled, where he had been in the middle of passing the aggravated creature to Estel. Surprisingly, the duck takes to him without a fuss, shuffling in his arms. “I–” he glares at Elrohir, dusting feathers off himself, before turning sheepishly to Elrond, “see, Ada, the first thing you must know is that this is in no way our fault.”

“Nope,” Estel nods, his young face schooled in an overly serious expression that is almost entirely obscured by his duck, “not at all.”

Elrond crosses his arms. “Is that so? And which one of you would like to explain why you have a duck?”

“She’s mine!” Estel pipes up, grinning toothly and holding up the bird like a particularly treasured gift, “her name is Bain ‘cause she is pretty! I found her in the pond and she followed me home!”

Oh, dear. He decides to tackle an easier route for the time. “And how do you two add into this?”

“Hm,” Elladan stalls, kicking his twin unsubtly in the ankles, “we were in the kitchen?”

“When Estel came in,” Elrohir supplies, “with the duck under his arm.”

“And already covered in mud,” Elladan hurries to add, “but then the duck escaped–”

“Her name is Bain!” 

“And of course we offered to help–”

“ – and we went after her–”

“She is faster than expected–”

“ – and we found her in the pond again–”

“ – but she went loose in the house–”

“ – it was an accident, Ada–”

They all talk over each other, finishing and overlapping sentences, and Elrond has to admit it’s been a very long time since Elladan and Elrohir have looked quite this excited about something. After Celebrían– it hurts to simply think about it, truly, and it’s no secret the whole ordeal has been rather harder on the twins, having found her in that state and never quite getting their mother back wholly despite it, not until she was standing in the docks, backlit by the sunset and the promise of a better place waiting for all of them should they choose it.

In any case, things have never been the same ever since.

And while he can’t say it has now, it is unquestionably better. Since taking Estel in, the hunting trips have been further and further apart, shorter, few and far between. The human boy has his brothers wrapped around his little fingers, really, and Elrond cannot deny even shenanigans like this are welcomed after centuries of somber silence.

If he’s being honest, he’d say he almost missed this sort of thing.

“That’s quite enough,” he cuts in before they worked themselves into an argument, “the lot of you will help to clean the mess the duck has wrecked, yes?”

They nod in surprising synchrony. Elrond spares a moment to thank Eru that Legolas is not visiting at the moment. He doesn’t think the house would stay standing for very long with a fourth menace up and about.

“And Estel,” he crouches in front of the child. Not even ten years have passed and he’s grown so much– much too fast, in his opinion. Elrond fears he’s too used to the slow drag of time for elves. Humans, he knows, don’t have centuries to grow into adulthood; too soon, Estel will be leaving him for his own adventures and a fate he doesn’t dare think about. Now, though, Elrond softens. “I’m afraid you will have to let her back into the pond.”

Predictably, that upsets him greatly. “But, Ada– can’t she stay? Please?”

“She is a wild animal,” Elrond explains gently, “and she needs her freedom. Birds are meant to fly free, not live caged within walls.”

“But, but,” he hiccups, eyes growing watery bright, and Elrond notices the twins shuffling restlessly, “she’s a stray, like me, see? Why can’t you take her in, too?”

“You are no stray, Estel,” Elrond rests a hand on his shoulder, smiling as kindly as he can, “you are a part of this family and this is your home. Would you not miss us, were you to be away?”

He nods miserably. 

“I’m sure Bain has a family she would miss as well,” he wipes a bit of the mud from his cheeks, his nose, his chin. “She wouldn’t be as happy here as she is in her home.”

Estel looks at the duck, then at Elrond, then at his brothers, before sagging in defeat. “Alright.”

“You can still visit her, though,” Elrohir suggests, taking the duck from him, “I’m sure she would like that.”

That seems to cheer him up quite a bit, even if he still looks a tick away from bursting into tears. “Bye, Bain,” he whispers to the duck and the bird quacks at him in response. Remarkably intelligent animal, that one is.

“Make sure to ask for bread in the kitchen before you go,” Elrond tells them and Elladan shouts his agreement as they hurry away like that would get them out of cleaning up the mess. He snorts quietly, straightening up and holding out a hand for Estel, “now come along, we should get you in a shower before Erestor catches sight of all this mud.”

He makes a face. The concept of showering is still not to his liking, or at least until he’s actually in the water. “Ada, ‘Ro said Legolas is visiting soon. Can I show him Bain?”

Elrond counts to ten. This is news to him. “If he agrees, I don’t see why not,” he answers calmly, carefully keeping his resignation out of his voice, “did Elrohir have a specific date?”

“No,” then, “oh. He did say not to mention that to you. Erm, oops.”

Well. This can’t be good. He’ll have to have a talk with his sons. And possibly King Thranduil, although he’s not looking forward to that particular headache. “Don’t worry,” he ruffles his hair, ushering him into the bathroom, “do you want your boat?”

Estel nods and reaches for his little toy boat, happily forgetting about their conversation, and Elrond makes a mental note to have a guest bedroom opened before the end of the week. With a sigh, he settles to wrestle the child out of his dirty clothes and prepare himself for what is undoubtedly going to be a very long week.

[hatari-translations]

hello I was wondering if you could translate a Matthías' discussion with Lýsa – Rokkhátíð samtalsins on the video shown on Facebook? It won't let me post the link in this ask but it was on their facebook page 06/09/19 and it's 32 minutes long. Takk fyrir :)

Wow, I managed to find one video and do that one only to then realize that one was only 27 minutes and the 32-minute one you were actually pointing to was a continuation of the same panel. Well, otherwise I might have blanched at the idea of watching an entire hour-long panel discussion, but apparently I did.

I’m not translating the whole panel because I would die, but I’ll do all of Matthías’s bits plus any relevant context. This is a panel discussion titled “Couch talk: Does art reflect society?”; as that implies, mostly they’re discussing the nature of art, but Hatari also comes up.

(Incidentally, this panel is where that video from Twitter I made a best effort to translate the other day was from! So if you wanted to know the actual context there, it’s here.)

The speakers on the panel, as introduced at the start, are:

- Matthías Tryggvi Haraldsson, “musician, multimedia artist, author, journalist, but mainly I think he’s a playwright”- Jón Gnarr, “author and comedian, actually also a playwright” (also known as the singer of the Spillingadans sketch)- Lóa Hjálmtýsdóttir, “comic artist and musician”- Harpa Þórsdóttir, “museum director of the National Gallery of Iceland”

The first of the two videos is here.

The first question is just what comes to mind when you contemplate the question of whether art reflects society. On this, Matthías says:

Einmitt. Ég held að það séu ekkert nema þversagnir sem komi upp úr því að kryfja þessa spurningu, út af því að ég er sjálfur svo oft í mótsögn við sjálfan mig, þegar ég fer að velta þessu fyrir mér. Ég held að óhjákvæmilega þá erum við í samtali og einhverskonar sambandi við samtímann, en ég myndi samt aldrei gera þá kröfu til listarinnar að hún þurfi að réttlæta sig með pólitík eða samtali eða því að vera að ávarpa nútímann. Ég held það sé algengur misskilningur í garð listarinnar að hún innihaldi upplýsingar eða skoðanir, eða sé með einhverjum hætti bókstafleg, og ég held hún geri það… hún getur gert það, vissulega, hún getur gert svo margt, en þarf alls ekki að gera það, og gerir það sjaldnar en maður kannski heldur. Hún inniheldur ekki endilega upplýsingar eða merkingu, hún inniber eitthvað… annan skilning eða skynjun líka. Þannig að ég bara, ég veit það ekki, sko. Ég er alveg gáttaður gagnvart þessari spurningu.

Translation:

Right. I think all you’ll get from dissecting this question is paradoxes, because I myself so often just start to contradict myself when I start to think about this. I think inevitably we are in a dialogue with, and some kind of relationship to, modern society, but I’d still never demand art justify itself with politics or a dialogue or addressing the modern day. I think there’s a common misunderstanding of art that it contains information or opinions, or is somehow literal, and I think it… it can do that, of course, it can do so many things, but it doesn’t have to, and it does that less often than you might think. It’s not necessarily informational or meaningful, it can incorporate some… some other understanding or perception. So I just, I don’t know. I’m speechless before this question.

Jón Gnarr says he dabbled in surrealism, and that he’s since then been accused of doing surrealistic comedy. Matthías cuts in with “Accused of.”

The host mentions that the three of them on the sofa, the artists, all use multiple very different tools in their art and are working in different media. Matthías says “Classic Iceland.” She adds, “You’re multitalented artists.” She asks what’s the best tool for doing this sort of social commentary in art, and starts with Matthías because Hatari’s Eurovision act is still very fresh in all of our memories (Matthías does an awkward little fist pump). She asks if we are to conclude music or performance art is the best medium for political commentary. Matthías responds:

Skilvirk tól til að ávarpa samtímann eru kannski tól sem ná til margra, og það var mikill munur til dæmis á Eurovision og fleiri sýningum sem ég hef staðið að, að allt í einu er áhorfendafjöldinn talinn í einhverjum milljónum sjónvarpsskjám Evrópu en ekki þessum tugum eða kannski hundruðum sem manni tekst að selja leikhúsmiða. Þannig að ef maður er bara að tala um að ná til, þá vissulega var það nýjung, og kannski tónlistin geti náð þeim - ég veit ekki hvort það sé hæðum eða þeirri útbreiðslu á, er rosa “mainstream” - getur verið það. Sem er rosa - það er rosa mikið vald í því, rosa mikill kraftur, og þar af leiðandi rosa mikil ábyrgð líka. En listrænt séð, valdamesta tólið er alltaf bara það sem ljá sköpuninni farveg, og það er bara ólíkt milli allra sem spreyta sig, held ég. Þannig að mér finnst leikritun og Eurovision bara jafnkraftmikil þannig, það fer bara eftir hugmyndinni og hvert hún fer. Og mér fannst svo sem gott að nefna þennan vinkil, eða hvað það var, samtímann, pólitík, listamenn - maður veit ekki hvar maður flækist í þetta, en maður er það óhjákvæmilega, og við höfðum ekki hugmynd um að umsókn okkar í Eurovision myndi spírala á þann hátt sem hún gerði. Þannig að mér finnst mjög gott að nefna þetta samtal við samtímann hringiðu, og maður veit ekki alltaf hvert hún fer.

Translation:

Efficient tools for speaking to the modern day are perhaps tools that can reach a lot of people. There was a big difference between for example Eurovision and other shows that I’ve organized, how suddenly the audience numbers in the millions of TV screens in Europe instead of the dozens or maybe hundreds that you can sell a theater ticket to. So if you’re just talking about reach, of course that was a novelty, and perhaps music can reach the - I don’t know if it’s heights, or the reach, it’s very “mainstream” - it can be. Which is very - there’s a lot of power in that, a lot of force, and therefore a lot of responsibility as well. But artistically, the most powerful tool is always just what sparks your creativity, and that’s different for everyone who’s trying it out, I think. So I think playwriting and Eurovision are equally powerful, in that way, it just depends on the idea and where it leads. And I thought it was good to mention this angle, or whatever it was, modern society, politics, artists - you don’t know where you get entangled in all this, but you inevitably are, and we had no idea that our application for Eurovision would spiral the way it did. So I think it’s appropriate to call this dialogue with modernity a vortex, and you don’t always know where it’s going.

Lóa says, “I was going to say, about plays and Eurovision, that in my mind I think the play lives longer, because the other is so tied to the spring where it’s performed, and then maybe a bit from there, whereas the play somehow… oh, I don’t know.” Matthías suggests, “It gets republished when I die and so on.”

Later, after the host asks how Lóa channels it when she feels righteous anger about something, Lóa talks about how really she’d be most inclined to just write a Facebook post; she talks about how she’s tried to get off Facebook because she didn’t like becoming obsessed with likes and shares all just preaching to the choir. Then she mentions how Eurovision is a platform that’ll reach a lot of people who don’t already agree with you. Matthías adds:

Má ég koma með innskot í þetta? Út af því að þú varst að tala um einhverja réttláta reiði, og hvaða miðil maður myndi setja hana í - það verður bara oft svo banal þegar maður sér svo skýrt ásetninginn í listaverkinu, og þess vegna þegar þú fórst að tala um þessa réttlátu reiði og hvar maður myndi miðla henni, þá finnst mér mjög rökrétt einmitt að bregðast við með einhverjum pistli, þar sem þú ert bara bókstaflega að segja skoðanir. En þegar maður sér það yfirfært yfir á listamenn, þá verður það oft hvorki skoðuninni né listaverkinu til framdráttar, út af því að það er svo tvívítt.

Translation:

Can I add something to this? Because you were talking about some righteous anger, and what medium you’d channel it into - it just tends to become so banal when you can see so transparently the agenda behind the art, and that’s why when you started talking about that righteous anger and where you’d channel it, I think it’s very reasonable to react with some kind of article, where you’re literally just voicing your opinion. But when you see that projected onto artists, it often diminishes both the opinion and the art, because it’s so two-dimensional.

Harpa mentions in relation to Eurovision that visual artists kind of envy not getting to have the kind of megaphone that a musician has. Matthías says: “Maybe what we need is a Euro- really Eurovision should be called Euro-hearing, and Euro-vision should be visual arts competition.”

The second video is here; it does not seem to pick up immediately after the end of the other video, but since a panel like this being an hour sounds about right, I imagine we’re not losing too much in between.

It starts with Lóa saying something about “after losing those art awards”; she’s giggling a bit too much for me to understand entirely what she’s saying without knowing what preceded it. At this, Matthías says “I don’t know, it might put it in context.”

Jón Gnarr mentions how we are all slaves to capitalism, Matthías nods deeply.

Jón Gnarr talks also about the distinction he’s always felt there is between comedy and entertainment. He thinks in a way entertainment value is why Donald Trump is president of the US, producing headlines and bizarre events like a reality TV show, and we march along with it because we’re all within this system of capitalism. Matthías nods emphatically again. Jón Gnarr for next Hatari member 2k20.

Next, the host asks: as consumers of art, what medium or presentation or particular artists tend to move you the most and get you to think? Lóa talks about the emotions she felt seeing an exhibition by a relatively unknown woman whose work inspired later, better-known artists, and how she’d been kind of resistant to visual art for a while because she feels like she knows too much to be able to enjoy herself properly looking at visual art, but still knows too little to be a good artist. In response to this, Matthías says:

Mér finnst þessi - hvað sagðirðu, þessi mótþrói, svolítið góður punktur, út af því að um leið og þú myndar náin tengsl eða sekkur þér í eitthvað, ég held það eigi bara við um öll fög, ekki bara miðla í listum, en ef ég tala bara um leikhúsið, þá er ég núna búinn að flækja mig inn í það, og þá fer maður fyrir vikið að taka rosa nærri sér, bæði gott og lélegt, og leikhúsfólk getur verið rosa sárt ef það kemur af lélegri sýningu, eða eitthvað rosa upprifið yfir góðri, og mér finnst það svo fallegt að taka því bara nærri sér sama hvað manni finnst. Ég held ef maður myndi fara í Listasafn Íslands og hneykslast bara rækilega þá væri það held ég bara sigur, eða vera rosa ánægður. Því dýpra sem maður grefur sig ofan í eitthvað, því meira verður þetta svona mótþróa haltu mér-slepptu mér samband við það.

Translation:

I think this - what did you call it, this resistance, is a pretty good point, because as soon as you form a close connection or really sink yourself into something, I think this applies to anything and not just art mediums, but if I just talk abut theater, I’ve now gotten myself entangled in that, and then as a result you start to take it really personally, both the good and the bad. Theater people can be really upset exiting a bad show, or just ecstatic over a good one, and I think it’s so beautiful to just be able to feel it so strongly, regardless of what it is that you think. I think if you visited the National Gallery of Iceland and just really bristled at something, that’s a victory, or if you’re incredibly happy. The deeper you get into something, the more you get this resistance-based hold-me release-me relationship to it.

Jón Gnarr describes how he just can’t deal with music - he has written music, but if he’s in a place that’s playing music for more than ten minutes, he just has to leave or ask them to turn it off. Matthías seems very amused. He has similar difficulties with theater, and Matthías says “As a playwright.” Jón Gnarr talks a bit more about this and how TV is the art form closest to his heart. Matthías asks, “Do you feel offended by bad shows? If there’s something you’ve been told to watch, and you take the time, and you just think it sucks - does it upset you?” He says yes, that he’ll actually get kind of mad about it.

The host asks about the time that passes between something happening and being relevant and when artists can produce art in response to it (this is the bit that was in that Twitter clip):

Matthías: Eins og þú málar þetta upp núna þá er eins og það komi eitthvað í fréttirnar og [snaps fingers] og ég fari beint heim og semji lag, bara [holds the microphone like he’s performing a Hatari song], og það sé bara svona “buzzer”, tveim mánuðum seinna kemur viðbragð Hatara við, hérna, því að það sé kominn nýr dómsmálaráðherra, eða eitthvað svona. Ég held það sé ekki alveg…

Jón Gnarr: Þá er hann kannski búinn að segja af sér.

Matthías: Já, þá er hann kannski búinn að segja af sér. Fullt af lögum sem við höfum ekkert birt, bara út af því að það er… Nei, það er ekkert að því.

Translation:

Matthías: The way you’re presenting it here, it’s like something’s in the news and [snaps fingers] I just go straight home and write a song, just [holds the microphone like he’s performing a Hatari song], and it’s just a buzzer, two months later you get Hatari’s reaction to, like, the appointing of a new justice minister, or something like that. I don’t think that’s quite…

Jón Gnarr: By then maybe they’ve already resigned.

Matthías: Yeah, by then maybe they’ve already resigned! A bunch of songs we never even published, just because… No, nothing wrong with that.

The host says something about Hatari in response to this, but I can’t make it out.

Matthías continues:

Nei, þetta er meira svona eitthvað samkurl eða hringiða eða eitthvað kosmos sem við erum öll flækt í - Hatari, dómsmálaráðherra, Eurovision, við sem listamenn - það er ekki beint listamenn sem viðbragð við einhverjum atburði, heldur eru atburðirnir og listamennirnir einhvern veginn í sama drullupollinum, og úr verður nýr dómsmálaráðherra og nýtt lag eftir Hatara, og þetta er allt viðbragð við sama drullupollinum, myndi ég halda.

Translation:

No, it’s more like some kind of mishmash or vortex or some cosmos that we’re all entangled in - Hatari, the justice minister, Eurovision, we as artists - it’s not exactly artists reacting to some event, but rather the events and the artists are somehow all part of the same sludge, and from it you get a new justice minister and a new Hatari song, and it’s all a reaction to that same sludge, I think.

Lóa says the only artist who she thinks can respond to events in real time is Hugleikur [Dagsson, comic artist]; Matthías seems to have been about to suggest the same.

An audience question brings up how often society reacts to art just as art can react to society.

Jón Gnarr talks about how when he creates characters, he feels like he’s just a medium contacting people who already exist somewhere in another dimension somehow - people ask him “How did you come up with that?” and he doesn’t really feel like he came up with anything. (As a writer, I relate to this.) The host notices Matthías wants to say something.

Nei, já, ég tengi bara við þetta, og að sjálfsögðu er góður punktur að samfélagið bregst við listinni eins og listin bregst við samfélaginu. Maður kannski fer að lesa svolítið bókstaflega í hlutina ef allt á að vera viðbragð við einhverju ákveðnu. En ég tengi líka við þetta, að ég held það sé rosa ríkjandi hugsun, eða það er svona sterkt í okkur, að hugsa um listamanninn sem einhvern svona snilling, sem fær gáfulega hugmynd, eða gáfulega skoðun, sem hann ætli aldeilis að miðla af listfengi til þess að breyta skoðunum okkar sem horfa, út af því að það sé betri skoðun, sem hann veit. Þetta er svona misskilningur, sem… oft veit maður ekki alveg… Maður er að káfa á einhverjum þversögnum eða einhverju sem maður skilur ekki alveg sjálfur, og eitt leiðir af öðru, og maður hafði einhverja hugmynd um hvert það átti að fara í byrjun, en hún fer annað, og hún verður einhver hringavitleysa, þannig að… kannski dettur maður þá inn á eitthvað sem er svona rosalega gáfulegt eða á undan sinni samtíð, en ég held það sé ekkert endilega persónunni að þakka.

Translation:

No, well, I just relate to that. And of course it’s a good point that society responds to art the same way art responds to society. You might start to read things a bit too literally if everything is supposed to be a response to something in particular. But I also relate to that. I think it’s a very common point of view, or there’s a strong impulse in us, to think of an artist as some kind of genius, who has some intellectual idea, or an intellectual opinion, that he’s totally going to communicate artistically in order to change the opinions of us viewers, because it’s a better opinion, that he knows. It’s kind of a misunderstanding, which… often you don’t really know… You’re groping at some paradoxes or something you don’t really understand yourself, and one thing leads to another, and you had some idea where it was supposed to go at the start, but then it goes somewhere else, and it becomes some circular nonsense, so that… maybe you stumble onto something that’s sounds really smart or ahead of its time, but I don’t think that’s necessarily due to the person.

Then, Jón Gnarr: Yeah, I think often we’re doing artists a disfavor by asking them stuff as if they’re…

Matthías: Smart.

And that’s about it for what Matthías says in the panel! Man, I agree pretty hard with just about everything he said there.

[daywillcomeagain]

since apparently people like it when i am a numenor stan on main i have decided to DEFEND MY NUMENOR OPINIONS. specifically, @lesbiansforboromir said yesterday “the divide was between faithful and not faithful but you know there were mirriad of reasons why people chose one or the other, and a bunch of people who didn't know either way” and i immediately fell in love with them for sharing my Controversial Numenor Opinion, so now i am writing a post in defense of it.

(i’ve written a longer post about my numenor opinions + why i am an unrepentant numenor stan here; this post will probably do a lot of restating but it felt worth making its own post about.)

so, like. 3,000 years is a long time. one of the main charges against the King’s Men is that they are blasphemous against the Valar, but, like, the last contact they had from the Valar was as long ago for them as the Greek and Egyptian empires might have been from us. admittedly the numenoreans lived longer than we do, though it’s hard to tell how much so given that their lifespans varied between royalty and non and between early and late numenor; but even adjusting for that with the most generous possible lifespan estimates, it has been the equivalent of almost a thousand years in terms of how many generations they’ve had, and, uh, i don’t really think a 7th century A.D. atheist is doing something weird or hard to understand either.

the numenoreans are also speaking from entirely understandable places. when the king’s men are getting their start, the elves are immortal and live in paradise and the men are spending all their days staring at the sea with longing in their hearts and there’s still a cultural memory of all the colonialism elves did to men in the First Age. and then they are chastised when they dare “envy the Valar, or even the least of the Deathless”. a bit later--before the religious oppression started; at this point, the only sin of the King’s Men is to desire a longer life and to disagree with the Valar and the Eldar--the ‘shadow’ falls on numenor, at which point their lifespans shrink: they die of old age faster, and disease, and storms, and so on. (if i lived at that time, i might have seen this as violent retaliation from the Valar, who were punishing me solely for peacefully expressing my opinion. would i have been right? i don’t know. but i wouldn’t have been evil for it. i think it is silly to characterize this as a ‘rebellion’.) later on, after some religious persecution has happened, a Faithful king sits once again on the throne. he prays to the Valar to forgive him and his people. and what is the response? “his repentance was too late to appease the anger of the Valar with the insolence of his fathers.” i don’t know about you, but when i see someone who didn’t even do anything wrong is apologizing to the valar for something his ancestors did, and then the valar go on to punish him anyway, with lightning and earthquakes and disease and madness and general terribleness... i would not exactly be the most pro-valar person in existence!!! and i think this is really, deeply understandable, actually!!!

(have another controversial opinion of mine: wanting to be immortal, or to go to valinor? isn’t actually inherently a bad thing. human sacrifice and invasions are, and i fully condemn ar-pharazon, but, like, sauron was right there. Sauron Manipulates Humans, Does Evil Stuff: entirely unsurprising, and doesn’t say anything about whether the King’s Men were evil pre-pharazon. or, well, gimilzor was pretty awful too, but--you see my point. wanting to be immortal isn’t in and of itself an Awful Rebellion deserving of punishment! desiring immortality and fearing death isn’t universal, but it’s deeply human and imho can be beautiful when turned towards the pursuit of goodness instead of used for atrocities)

as for when sauron arrives--he’s already fashioned the One Ring at this point. (was he wearing it? we don’t know; there is iirc a draft that explicitly states that he left it in middle-earth, but given all of LoTR this seems really deeply weird. shrug.) he knows lots of things that humans don’t. he arrives as a prisoner, and he teaches them to build engines. (WHY IS THERE NOT MORE STEAMPUNK NUMENOR, GIVEN THAT THIS IS CANON ACTUALLY. @ silm fandom get on this asap.)

and one of the faithful sails to Valinor, to beg the aid of manwe. maybe to be like “help with the human sacrifice problem please??” and maybe to be like “please have mercy on them, they know not what they do”, i don’t know, we don’t know, either way, it didn’t work, his ship disappeared, and “for the treason of Numenor there was no easy absolving” which imho is really fucking rich for a bunch of deities when referring to someone who has done nothing wrong and has been breaking the law and risking death to do worship them and generally be Extremely Faithful. fuck that. fuck the valar. oh man i just. the valar did numenor so dirty. i’m mad again

also, like. the King’s Men who were super into the whole anti-valar thing? who killed people and so on? were most likely part of the invasion. killing the people who stayed behind, who were civilians, many of whom likely had opinions ranging from mine to “i don’t care” to “that human sacrifice thing seems weird but my husband likes it???” to “i am a baby and don’t understand words yet”... that was wrong. that was so, so wrong. and it’s so important to me to remember that. (in my numenor fic, i make a point of having sympathetic characters on all the ‘sides’ of the various political issues through the years. because... people are people, and numenor had so many of them at this point, and the idea that none of them had sympathetic reasons and motivations is laughable to me. making generalizations of the opinions of half a continent should not be done based off of the behavior of two kings. life is more complicated than that, actually.)

in general: i, along with many of my friends, have issues with eru and the valar. lots of people are afraid of death, or want to live longer, or wish that their loved ones pining away at the shore were allowed to visit paradise. i think this is understandable and doesn’t make them bad. the akallabeth is written with zero sympathy for this kind of thing, and the eldar and the valar seem to have the same view. and, like, fuck that, actually.

[arofili]

all of the silm asks.

river we can’t keep doing this,

1. Have you ever called out a friend or a relative in front of a bunch of people? What happened?lmao no??? what kind of question is this??

2. What are your three most valued possessions?uhh idk, ever since i got robbed last year i feel like i realized that the things i valued most aren’t...tangible? like everything is replaceable, basically. i mean i like having stuff, dont get me wrong, and getting robbed sucked, but. i guess my phone and my laptop and my notebook? i use those things to connect with people and my notebook is full of stuff i haven’t backed up anywhere else yet. but once i get it in The Cloud, all i really need is my google account tbh

3. Do you have any enemies?uhhh not to my knowledge hjhfjhfd

4. Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin - who are you most like in real life?lmao finarfin probably. i try not to be a Big Idiot and i follow rules and i’m not the most adventurous. tho i probably have some nolofinwean traits too, if i say i’m gonna do something i will stick to my word

5. Best canon ship in the Silm?do turin and beleg count? no? okay, in that case probably aegnor and andreth. (i’m a slut for doomed interspecies relationships, dont judge)

6. Best m/f ship?uhh, this one was harder than i thought it would be! since i already said aegnor/andreth... i know i really like the canon peredhel ships so elwing/earendil and elrond/celebrian are very good! and i think caranthir/haleth is really interesting too, but i don’t see them as romantic

7. Best f/f ship?hmnnn... i mean ALL the f/f ships are so good! i guess- nienor/finduilas is some Good Shit right there, and i’ve always liked anaire/earwen!

8. Best m/m ship?answered here!

9. Best canon friendship?uhh, all of them?? ok but: luthien and huan,, my HEART! (also aredhel and celegorm and curufin!!)

10. What made you read the Silmarillion in the first place?the fandom, tbh! when i got into the tolkien fandom thru the hobbit movies i devoured all the content i could but i never thought i would be a silm person, but then all the posts seemed so interesting and i was starting to enjoy the silm by proxy and fanon so i decided to read the silm and never looked back :’)

11. Ainulindalë and Valaquenta - yay or nay?i mean they are definitely the least interesting parts of the silm, so nay? i’m not really sure what this is asking? i don’t think they’re pointless or anything, but i cam here for the ELVES

12. If you had to describe yourself with a character from Tolkien’s works, who would it be?answered here!

13. Where in Middle-Earth would you most like to live?answered here!

14. Who is your dream partner from Tolkien’s works?they are all such DISASTERS...i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t gimli and/or fili though, lol (in an aro way, ofc)

15. Which two characters would you want as friends to defeat Voldemort with?luthien and ... finrod! both very powerful and good people!

16. Your opinion of Eru Ilúvatar?i don’t think he can be judged by human standards, because he’s so inhuman. like, elves are kind of Super Special Magic Humans but Eru and the Valar are so far removed from that... I don’t think Eru is evil or anything like that. i think the valar can’t really understand the Children and their conflicts come from that - idk about Eru, though, we don’t see a lot of him. he seems very powerful and absent, i guess? he only really intervenes when the situation is Truly Dire and then he shows more of a force of unimaginable power than like, divine mercy or anything

17. Favourite AU setting?i really like the two-steps-to-the-left-of-canon AU settings where everything is juuuusst slightly more magical than it is in canon and things like wraiths and revivification are more commonplace. that may be cheating though so i got to say that i’m always here for scifi/space AUs! (normally i’d go right to modern AU but i feel like because of lifespans, modern AUs fall apart with the silm unless you’re going very small-scale with them)

18. Favourite crack pairing/concept/headcanon?“crack” is weird in the silm because of the dubious canonosity of Literally Everything... my fav ~crack~ pairing is probably turgon/finrod but that has evolved from “crack” to “rarepair hell” for me lmao. i also really love @princess-faelivrin‘s fin-galad headcanon! and i am currently daydreaming about some way that nienor is connected to goldberry - oh and tar-miriel as the witch-king is always a good one. really, anything that keeps the ladies alive for longer!

19. First, Second or Third Age?i mean they all have their good parts, but like... first age, probably. third age has gigolas and all the characters from the hobbit, which is tempting, but there’s just so MUCH to work with in the first age! second age is neat too but i’m not really a numenor person so...

20. Funniest moment in the Silm?tie between turin throwing the cup at saeros and “GET THEE GONE FROM MY GATE, THOU JAIL-CROW OF MANDOS”

(if turin and feanor ever met, arda would collapse)

21. Saddest moment?i mean, turin killing beleg always fucking gets me, but also maedhros’s suicide and also the nirnaeth arnoediad and also just the whole fucking book!!!

22. Do you read/understand/speak any of the languages or alphabets?lmao no!! with resources i can put together names for folks and i can recognize certain elements of words, but that’s about it.

23. Who is Gil-galad’s father?i’m throwing my hat in the ring for Orodreth, but that’s only when i don’t want to make it like, a Thing. i really love explorations of this uncertainty (@elvntari‘s gil-galad fic springs to mind, as does @thishazeleyeddemon‘s lalwen theory, maybe with cirdan as the dad, and fin-galad is again a blessed concept) and i’m also very fond of the idea that his parentage is “no one in particular” and that he just stepped forward to claim the throne when no one else wanted it. really i’m open to every interpretation! except fingon. i don’t think it’s fingon. i mean, it could very well be that fingon is his dad as in he’s the one who raised him and claimed him, but if we’re going biologically i don’t think fingon contributed any genetic material to gil-galad

24. Angbang, Russingon or Silvergifting?i mean this is a no-brainer. of course it’s russingon! i do enjoy angbang and silvergifting, but like cmon.one of these days i’d love to write a really long angbang fic detailing everything btwn them, probably mostly from mairon’s pov, from ainulindale to the fourth age but that would be an undertaking. i do have a lot of tiny ideas for them that would be fun to weave together. as for silvergifting, just...poor tyelpe. poor dude. but i am suuuuch a slut for russingon lmao.

25. What would you most like to see in a tv series or film based on the Silmarillion?i would LOVE to see a book-accurate version but like. that’s VERY unlikely. a COH adaptation would be neat but probably too dark to make it to audiences without being seriously watered down. Beren and Luthien might be able to do it, if they could condense the supporting lore around the story. that’s really the problem with the silm - it’s like a greek myth in it’s epic sprawl. there’s so much story that you can’t really take just one aspect of it to the screen without taking all of it. if you don’t know about the silmarils you can’t do B&L, if you don’t know about the nirnaeth and the histories of nargothrond and doriath you can’t do COH, if you don’t know about the sundering and the exiles you can’t do literally anything tbh.BUT i would love a COH adaptation, if it’s done right. or a very ~experimental~ take on B&L. i have a lot of ideas of how to incorporate all the different versions of that story into one cohesive canon... ok i admit it i just want to see telvido on screen!!! and also werewolves are neat!!

also i’ve said it before but a 3-act play set in numenor....HMM that would be some good hsit. really, i think the mariner’s wife would make an excellent drama, but again there’s so much CONTEXT around numenor!the 3 acts would be 1. elros’s transformation into tar-minyatur (there’s so many possibilities to explore! it’s basically uncharted waters once you get to the details!) 2. the mariner’s wife (a pretty faithful adaptation, also tar-meneldur’s monologue when he passes the scepter on to aldarion is just. WRITTEN to be performed on stage imo) and 3. akallabeth (again, lots of ways this could go. i also think it would be really neat to double cast elros and pharazon. and sauron should be double cast too, though idk who as.)

anyway, wow this got long, oops. i have a LOT of silm opinions!!

[erotetica]

🔥 for the silm

@swilmarillion SEE THE THING IS I’ve noticed (disclaimer that I don’t fuckingpay attention to Larger Fandom Climate that much) a few different…subgroups of peoplewho read certain things in the silm certain ways, so idk if I have an Aggregate-Unpopularopinion? OHOHOHO wait a minuto yes I do: 

I read the silm w/ a lens of specifically Christianmonotheism (for myself and also bc when I first read it I gave more shits abtauthorial intent) so I always thought the valar weren’t lesser gods so much asangels with Jobs. I never really wrote people worshiping them. By ‘people’ I meanelves, specifically amanyar; that relationship makes less anthropological sensew/ other peoples of ME. But hey all I write about is one Amanyarin family anyhooso.

Like! I think it would be a cool read, to have a ficexploring characters/cultures WRT eru, which I haven’t found much of. Ive seensome work done with that abt the valar which YEAH, OBJECTIVELY MUCH MOREINTERESTING, but I’m…curious… Not for Thinly Veiled Western Jesus Metaphors butI fuckin… I WANNA KNOW how eru shakes out for elves ESPECIALLY in conjunctionwith the monarch angels. How the fuck does that look. Do I have to shine aflashlight up my butt re: the divine right of kings. Is that a cop-out. How the fuck does ‘what d’you reckon Godwants me to do’ look when the answer is, ostensibly, ‘manwe can ask.’ How doesatheism work if you know a guy that knows God. Do you trust the guy. Does thenoldorin rebellion re: building on Music themes instead of fixing them, makemore sense if the noldor think manwe is lying about God. I like the ‘orcs wereelves’ canon but so far ive been thinking ‘okay so elfnapping was involved’ butmaybe Melkor just said he knew God. Its fine. Oh yea yeah totally we. Skype. Didhe get amanyarin allies in the 1st age doing that shit. I’m notgoing to try to bring numenor into this bc I don’t know shit about numenor inthe best of times but HOW DOES THIS WORK W/ SAURON GIVING PPL KOOL-AID. This isexactly the kind of introspective navel-gazey thinkpiece bullshit I’d love but I’malso afraid to write it myself bc Thinly Veiled Western Jesus Metaphors. Also Ialready have too many WIPs. Kill me.

[atariince]

What is your opinion of Finrod Felagund as a character? and what about his debate with Andreth. Thanks in advance :)

[I assume the question is for the mun, but if you were addressing the muse, please let meknow!]

Finrod is afascinating character because of his ambiguity. Many years ago, I wrote a longthread about him, but it was on another blog which no longer exists, so thethread disappeared with it (unfortunately. Or not.). Anyway, I believe Finrodhas nothing to be ashamed of in comparison to Curufin in terms of manipulativeskills and wannabe puppet-master, although the process, the output, theobjectives and their general demeanours are very different. Finrod is terriblysmart, and his “prophetic” power, along with his talent for osanwe, make himrather “dangerous”. Wait a minute. I’m not saying Finrod is a “villain”, far FAR from it, I’m just implying that I’d rather be his friend than his enemy.Basically, although I’m sure his motives are noble, I find him quite creepy(cf. the first meeting with Bëor’s people), and I totally believe that he isless “naive” that he looks (cf. the debate with Andreth). But I also think thathe never lost hope (as Estel). 

There is a deep ambiguity in his decision to follow Beren,which is increased by his words to Galadriel regarding his not having an heir,and his prediction about his kingdom. (this oath issue troubles me in terms ofdeterminism – I mean, he “knew” he would take an oath… did he plan to take anoath? How spontaneous was it?). I think that he perfectly knew what he wasdoing, what was going on, and that he did it in the name of his “faith”. Indeed, I think Finrod is kinda “pious” (if this adjective can be applied to a world in which religion is not a thing), and the debate with Andreth seems to underline it. In the wholeBeren-mess story I believe that Finrod saw himself as a sort of “martyr”, beingconvinced that he was accomplishing Eru’s will in helping Beren – Finrodclearly follows what I call the Estel-principle, isn’t he? (“…if any marriagecan be between our kindred and thine, the it shall be for high purpose ofDoom.”). And this faith in the Valar’s teaching can partly explain why he seemsso contemptuous to Andreth… In any case, I never believed Finrod to be a“victim” of Curufin and Celegorm in Nargothrond. I think he knew exactly whathe was doing, I think he held the strings for a while after his cousins arrivedin Nargothrond (the arrival of the Fëanorians and their troops in a realm thathad lost many soldiers during the Bragollach must have been quite saltatory),and perhaps was he really willing to alleviate the tensions with his cousins.But he is not stupid, and never dropped his guard. His little outburst beforehe left Nargothrond is, by the way, very very interesting. Did he not expecthis people’s reaction? I mean, come on, he asked them to run towards a potentialdeath and to expose their kingdom to a potential kinslaying, for the sake of Beren,who was, for the people of Nargothrond, only a mortal! I don’t know about you,but I can’t blame them for listening to Curufin and Celegorm. Sorry not sorry.

As for thedebate with Andreth, I have a complicated relationship to it. Formally, I loveit. This dialog is wonderfully written and structured. A masterpiece in termsof dynamics. And if you want to take it as something that really happened (from adiegetic perspective), it is dramatically relevant in terms ofcharacterization. Now, it is debatable and as ambiguous as Finrod; who transcribedthis dialog? How was it transmitted to younger generations? Is the characterisationbiased (precisely because we don’t know the author)? But oh well. All theseconsiderations aside, I find it relevant in terms of motives, beliefs, racialprejudices, and the so-called elven teachings. As for Finrod’s behaviour towardAndreth, I’d call it a sort of “condescending benevolence” (not my term but itfits him so well); his rhetoric relies the subtle art of crystalizing thedifferences between the species through the guise of courtesy. Yet I do not denythe sheer curiosity in Finrod, obviously he doesn’t mean any harm and hebelieves he is doing “the right thing” (Dear hubris…)… which is quitetypical… And I love Andreth, precisely because she is not deceived.

I tend toimagine him as somehow slightly hypocritical (he knows the power of appearances, doesn’the?), but don’t take me wrong, I don’t believe he’s an asshole. On the contrary! he wants to do “what is right”! 

He is a verycomplex character. I tend to believe that he is not the saint that he wants people to think he is (see theparadox? 😉). He is noble, he is loyal, he isbrave, and I imagine him as being a lovely person with those he trusts. I alsoimagine him with a great sense of humour, being able to distance himself fromthe situations in which he’s involved. Yet, he remains vain, and I can’t seehim as devoid of self-interest. In other words, I definitely see him as a verystrong, ambiguous and complex character, who keeps his cards close to hischest, and whose reactions aren’t always clear.

If you’reinterested in my interpretation of Finrod, you can read the chapters of my ficAnathema in which he appears, maybe it will illustrate this long post (?). In thisfic I try to give a rather enigmatic figure, not only because I find Finrodenigmatic, but also because it is written from Curufin’s perspective…consequently the image of Finrod is obviously biased.

If you haveany question, feel free to ask =3

[kakooshi]

d,g,i,j,n,t,v for the ask meme :v

Holy shit, anon XDDD 

D - A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t

Eru///ri, Ere///min, Todo///deku, and Kiri///baku…but in the romantic sense. It’s more that I have mixed feelings about them being together in that way because of my stronger love for other ships than not liking them. However, I can understand their appeal, so I just reduce them to hardcore brotps whose dynamics I can appreciate without having to be invested in them, if that makes sense. What’s funnier is that I occasionally reblog art of them because damn they have such talented artists!

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

I believe the majority of Tumblr has at least one or more OTPs XDDD. I had many way before I even knew what OTP was. If we’re delving into childhood territory, then it’d probably be Mickey x Minnie, hahaha. 

I -  Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

Oh, yes. The rabid portion of the y///oi fandom for instance, to the point of me completely losing interest in the series. I’d developed a dislike for it due to the explosive, immature behavior from both pros and antis; it was just too much for me. Plus, the criticisms made by those who were actually civil opened my eyes to how the fans were overhyping y///oi to the extreme, and make it to be more than what it actually is. I won’t hold it against anyone who does like it, though. This is only my opinion.

J - Name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over Tumblr. (You don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something Tumblr made you aware of.

Voltron.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

- Salt-free blogs.

- People not being assholes to each other for having different opinions and engaging in civil debates instead.

- Positivity.

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

I wonder what you mean by hard and fast lmao

One of these is not like the rest:

- Eren is a power bottom.

- Levi and Zeke had hate sex with each other (it was a quickie) in-between ch. 104 and 105. 

- Midoriya’s first hero was not All Might; it was Kacchan.

- Bakugou has a really huge praise kink.

V - Which character do you relate to the most?

Katsuki fucking Bakugou. I wasn’t as confident or brash as him but I used to be such a stubborn, little shit as a child, and thought that I was better than everyone else in preschool, kindergarten, and elementary school. Then, I also developed an inferiority complex in High School, often trying to accomplish things out of spite. I’m not really good with kids, tend to forget people’s names, get angry over little things, and I’ve had several moments where I could be pegged as self-centered. Fortunately, I’m much calmer and more rational now XDDD

Thank you for the ask!

Send me a letter or more!

[mythopoeticreality]

Tagged by @feanoriansappreciation​. Sorry it took me a while to get to this! These were actually some questions I had to think about for a bit before I could answer them :)

1) Which of the three brothers (Fëanor, Fingolfin or Finarfin) would you have followed, based on political opinions and actions, and your moral code? Why?

Allright. So the Thing about  Fëanor is how much he stands as a  representative of the ideals artistic creations and discovery, of exploration and progress and pushing forward in the eyes of the Noldor, especially at the time of the Rebellion. Here he is, the guy who created not only the Silmarills but invented the entire process of creating gemstones rather than taking them out of the earth. This is the elf who invented the Tengwar, the Fëanorian lamps, and the Palantíri. He founded the Lambengolmor and is acknowledged as the greatest smith amongst all of the Noldor. And here he is pushing for the exploration of new lands across the seas, places that the High Elves of  Valinor had not seen in Ages and are talked about only in stories. I have to be honest based off of these ideals alone, to follow Fëanor would have been veeery tempting. At the same time however, the Rebellion happened at a time of heightened emotion and political tension -- as rebellions are wont to do, of course xD -- and clearer heads were not prevailing. By the time the Rebellion happened, the exploration of new lands wasn’t  Fëanor’s main purpose in going into Middle-Earth, it was for vengence and it was to make war against a being that was basically a god, and in his rush to get over to Middle-Earth before cooler heads could prevail  Fëanor and those who followed him began a massacre. I want to believe that I would not be so swept up in emotion that I would remember that *this* is the guy who started a feud based around a combination of natural linguistic shift and his own myriad of mommy issues. Much as I love  Fëanor for how incredibly awesomehe is, how absolutely over-the-top dramatic and extra he can be...those aren’t the qualities of a sound leader.

I think I would probably end up following Finarfin, and then continueing on into Middle Earth with Finrod if we’re just basing this around morals and political views and who I think made the best actions.He had the wisdom to generally stay out of his brother’s feuding and he seems like a fairly good ruler, while Finrod also has that exploitative streak, but is, like his father, generally more level-headed.

2) What’s your opinion on the doom that befell the Numenorians? Was the drowning of an entire island a just punishment?

I do not think that the drowning of an entire island -- especially where there exists on that island a persecuted minority of people who aren’t involved in the evil, sacrificial cult  that is the reason for  the island being sank in the first place -- is a just punishment. It’s kind of a weird story when you look at it really? I mean, Numenor is basically a riff on Atlantis: A Good, Righteous, Highly-Advanced society meets it’s downfall by corruption from within, until the Gods finally have had it and sink the entire island into oblivion.  The thing is with Atlantis, well...it was an ancient Greek story, and sinking a whole island full of people because they pissed you off is something I could totally see the Greek Gods doing. Meanwhile, Eru, if not meant to be the Christian God himself, is very obviously influenced by Tolkien’s Catholicism, and umm, yeah, when looked at in that light Numenor looks pretty Old-Testament-y....

3) What would you do in Thingol’s place, taking into consideration the prejudices, his views and biased opinions; would you have given the silmaril back? Why or why not?

Taking into consideration Thingol’s prejudices and looking at things from his perspective? Hell no! Why should I give the item that my daughter risked her life for -- let alone anything -- over to thrice-double-damned bastards who not only so arrogantly walk about while their hands are still stained by the blood of their own kind, but who also kidnapped my daughter! 

Oh, because the Fëanorions could prove a danger in the future, you say? Hrmm, perhaps you’re right. I mean, it’s not like I have the power of a Maia on my side, protecting me and my people from any threats that may assail us. Oh...wait.../Thingol

Yeah, basically from Thingol’s perspective he really had no reason to treat with the Fëanorions

4) Would you have followed the Valar to Aman, considering you don’t know what happens/will happen there? Why or why not?

Maybe? I like to think that I’d be brave enough to. I’m a curious sort and well you know...exploring new places, woot!  

5) If you were an Elf, would you befriend or shut out the Dwarves? Why?

“Hey, you like making cool things, I like making cool things. You hate Mogoth, I hate Morgoth, let’s be friends!” Yeah, I really see no reason why I should not befriend the dwarves

6) You have the chance to fix a relationship (romantic or not) between two characters from the Silmarillion. Who are they and why?

Fëanor and Fingolfin, because if those two get along, then pretty much all of the bad stuff that happens in the book never does happen and so many lives are saved.

7) One personal headcanon you have about the Seduction of Mairon

Mairon, at first, was untrusting of Morgoth and it took much time and many promises about what he could accomplish with the power that standing at Morgoth’s side would give him to finally turn Maron from Aulë

8) What do you think of the Rings of Power? Was it a wise move, considering Celebrimbor knows first-hand what happened with the Silmarills?

Well obviously the Rigs of Power were never a “wise” move considering that they were a tap set by Sauron all along. xD However I can understand Celebrimbor’s desire to preserve the world he knew through the use of the rings, knowing how much he had already lost in his lifetime

9) What’s one non-canon OTP you have?

Caranthir/Haleth <3

10) If you were to adapt the Silm into a movie/TV show, what would be the most important points you would consider?

The Timeline. The timeline and how I would even go about telling a story like the Silmarillion, which spans across literal eons would be the most difficult, and the most important thing to look at.

11) Thoughts on the Children of Hurin?

Umm..actually the Children of Hurin is the story I care about the *least* in the Silm, so...yeah...I don’t actually spend much time thinking about it... >.>