#payment for shakespearean sins

[icryyoumercy]

i made a (somewhat) amusing comment on a discord server, and no one appreciated it, so now y'all have to read it too

no 1 argument for tiny!fëanor: it would make him an itsy bitsy teenie weenie maker of the silmarilli

[thespamman24]

I’m usual an easy going guy. However, I have limits, and when they are broken I can get very, very mad. Thankfully, these limits very rarely get broken. However, I start to lose my cool when I decide to order a nice, box of pizza for dinner and then twenty minutes later the pizza man shows up with a copy of Shakespeares unpublished masterpiece; it follows a young Vinetian  prince named Selvitico and Mardico, the son of an aristocrat of a neighboring kingdom. The play is notable not just in that it is neither comedy nor tragedy, but in the way that he strays from all other Shakespearean comedies in it’s craft and story telling. 

                            Act One. Scene One, a Crowded City Street.

Watchman: Hark! What stranger from the night goes here!

Levidico: No need to beware, for even though thy am a stranger to the night, I am a friend to the day.

Watchman: Hark! I said stranger from the night, not to the night.

Levidico: Well, it’s very hard to come up with these witty wordings on the spot!

Watchman: Hark! Excuses are for tired old men, and tired old dogs, and people that make excuses.

Levidico: Why you barnacle bouting son of a breaking borfins! 

{He stabs him}

Watchman: Now it is time to reveal my true form!

{He turns into a watch}

Watchman: I am the watchman!!!!

Levidico: Aah, beans.

Watchman: It is time for you to catch these hands!

Levidico: Oh god, my worst weakness, clock puns!

{he dies}

Watchman: Yes! I am the watchman!!!!

Watchwoman: Honey, please come home!

Watchman: No!

Watchboy: Daddy! My bush has been stolen!

Watchman: I care not!

Ibradigigiooo: Shut up!

[he punches the watchman]

Watchman: Oh, I am slain! Oh tempora! Oh moores! Thou hast been punched, punched like a thief in the night, or a crook in the night, or a day in the night, or a night in the day! Oh! Thou shall breathe thy last breath and then thy shall breathe no more breaths! Though has used up all thy breaths! Though went to the breath bank for a loan but they said I was overdue on my payments from my last loan and now I’m in breathe debt! 

[He dies]

Ibradigigiooo: Well, my work here is done.

[He dies]

[Levidico re-appears]

Levidico: Thee has becometh a zombie! Thee crave thy sweetnees of thous brains!!!! Thou brains!!!!

[Everyone screams, and then dies]

[Selvitico walks on stage with Astrastia, Rosylin, Haryambodius, two attendents, and Tim]

Selvitico: Why are there so many dead bodies here?

Haryambodius: Idk man, probably the plauque or something.

Selvitico: My god the white stuff on teeth?

Haryambodius: No. The disease

Selvitico: Aw. My god the disease?

Selviticos god: You called?

Selivitco: Yes, give me the disease!

Selviticos god: Whatever you say, boss.

[selviticos god gives him the disease]

Selivitco: Behold! The disease!

Astrastia: Isn’t that dangerous?

Selivitco: Silence, wench!

Astrastia: Why ist thou like this?

Selivitco: Thy sun is dumb and ugly, and thy is but a drop of ice! 

Astrasia: Surely though jest!

Rosylin: [to astrasia] Oh sister, can you not see that Selivitco is in a fowl wind, to fowl to jest? He jests not.

Selivitco: Shut up! I jest! I jest so hard, thou wouldn’t believe it!

Rosylin: See? Thou has caught win of some fowl manner as of late,  and for no other reason except maybe that your father turned into ten thousand rats!

Astrasia: Ah! But the sun!

Haryambodius: The sun! Dost it not peek through the blinds of the clouds?

Selivitco: Tis be true, but thou has not seen the last of storms and other such diseases wrought upon the skin of the sky. Boils and parasites, of which no leeches can conquer wrought even the highest of heavens, so that even the stars themselves are ill with fevers and maggots!

Astrasia: Ah! Why what blasphemy dost thou speak of!

Selivitco: Blasphemy? Thy hath no blasphemy but thy undergarments! Thy bones are paved with purity, it is the road that it paved with sin! However, your feet can not smell, and so you can not detect the stench of the street! But, thy can because thy dost have noses on thy feet.

[Everyone looks down to see that Selivitco indeed, has noses on his feet]

Haryambodius: It is a fool of a man who doth wear his noses like bracelets.

Selivitco: Why, but if noses were golden then we would all wear them bracelets!

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

The Greatest Nonfiction Seaside Reads for Summer season 2019

http://tinyurl.com/y5rgowop Whether or not it’s hours spent ready in an airport terminal due to an sudden (however actually, anticipated) delay or hours underneath the solar (with sunscreen) on the seashore, a good book is a welcome companion. And a page-turner at that’s essential to maintain you entertained and cross the time enjoyably.Thus, right here’s an inventory of nonfiction works you need to think about packing away whereas touring for enterprise or pleasure this summer season, taking you from the White House to Hollywood, with billionaires, film stars, and one actually outrageous and now-infamous scammer. Robin by Dave Itzkoff There’ll by no means be anybody fairly like Robin Williams, and there could by no means be one other celeb profile or biography fairly like this once more both. It’s not hyperbole to say that New York Occasions correspondent Dave Itzkoff’s engrossing and all-encompassing biography of some of the beloved actors of the second half of the 20th century will change you. It should damage you. It should make you chuckle. It should make you cry. And after you’re executed, you’ll not ensure what to do with your self. And, very similar to how many people (Williams followers) felt after his loss of life in 2014, the world will really feel a bit emptier. However Robin is price it—each single web page. In stark distinction to Itzkoff’s strategy to overlaying Robin Williams, Self-importance Honest correspondent Lili Anolik is an lively (if not obsessive) participant in her reporting of onetime Los Angeles “It Woman” and revealed writer Eve Babitz. Usually, journalists aren’t the story—and shouldn’t let themselves turn into so. And but, on this case, it really works. That could possibly be for a couple of causes. For one, Anolik is clear in her fascination with Babitz, and studying about her reporting journey (or battle, at occasions) is simply as engrossing as components of Babitz’s personal wild historical past. Relatedly, given Babitz’s eventful life (placing it frivolously), Anolik’s unrelenting inquiry into her life is only one extra uncommon story following the remaining—very similar to Babitz’s lengthy string of lovers or lengthy string of jobs and careers. These not accustomed to Babitz herself is likely to be drawn in for the insane tales about a few of their favourite stars, writers, and icons in the course of the 1960s and 1970s, together with however not restricted to Jim Morrison, Joan Didion, Harrison Ford, and Steve Martin, amongst many—many—others. However Anolik, as a loyal fan however accountable biographer on this distinctive case research, stays true to her topic as Babitz is at all times the solar round which everybody else in L.A. revolves—not less than on this retelling. Is there something extra meta (in literature) than a guide a couple of constructing that homes books? A historical past of a library won’t seem to be the obvious alternative for a enjoyable learn—however that is no extraordinary library in no extraordinary metropolis. Throw in a suspected case of arson, and you’ve got each a thriller and a tragedy—on a number of fronts. Discovering a more healthy stability of inserting herself because the narrator in addition to a personality within the story, Susan Orlean affords a recent but in-depth recap of the historical past of the Los Angeles Central Library, which serves as a mirror for town itself because the Southern California metropolis grew from a Western outpost to the city sprawl we all know now. Gender politics, financial inequality, expertise’s takeover—it���s all there, and the Central Library has gone by means of all of it. (And among the patron assets the Central Library provided in pre-Web days are past wild.) Interwoven amongst all of it is the story of 1 younger man, hoping to strike it large and make a reputation for himself in Hollywood, and but his personal life was extra Shakespearean than something through which he may have been forged. Nobody does Hollywood historical past higher than Karina Longworth. Previously a Self-importance Honest movie critic and in addition the host of a long-running (and excellent) podcast, You Must Remember This, Longworth dived deep into one of many topics who ceaselessly popped up in her podcast seasons overlaying the early years—some would say “Golden Age”—of Hollywood: Howard Hughes. Possibly it appears “Golden” by means of a lens years later, though even pre-#MeToo, Hughes’s antics and people of different Hollywood (and all white male) executives would make your abdomen churn and your face cringe. And post-#MeToo, the guide serves as a reminder of simply how unhealthy it has been for ladies within the movie trade—and the way far all of us should go to rectify the sins of the previous. Talking of sins of the previous (and current, and most positively the long run), there may be nowhere in Hollywood extra synonymous with infamy and intrigue than the Chateau Marmont. It’s virtually unbelievable how a lot has occurred in a single lodge and cluster of bungalows on Sundown Boulevard—what number of A-listers have stayed there, what number of A-listers have died there, and the way the place has stayed open for greater than 90 years regardless of all of it. (Are you able to think about the insurance coverage payments?) And that is all based mostly on public information. New York Occasions bestselling writer Shawn Levy guarantees readers much more behind-closed-doors particulars, all of that are so wild that even Hollywood’s finest screenwriters couldn’t make these things up. And in the event that they did, it was in all probability impressed by one thing that transpired on the Chateau Marmont. Maybe now all however forgotten after the presidential election swallowed 2016, there was one other whale of a narrative that rocked the finance and leisure worlds concurrently. That was 1MDB, a fraudulent internet spun by a social-climbing con artist that might make Jay Gatsby blush. This isn’t simply crisscrossing the globe on non-public jets and yachts (though, naturally, there are these, too), however this younger Wharton graduate is now credited with swindling $5 billion from Goldman Sachs, a money-laundering hyperlink to the financing of Martin Scorsese’s Wolf of Wall Avenue, and even taking down the Prime Minister of Malaysia with him within the fallout. Given how briskly the information cycle runs as of late, this title was virtually outdated by the point of its launch late final 12 months—and it’s virtually historic narrative in a submit–Mueller Report world. However by no means thoughts all that given Washington Submit reporter Greg Miller’s deft and sharp storytelling in fleshing out secret again channels, cyber-espionage, and corrupt officers on each side—and that’s simply within the opening pages. Overlaying the interval from the hacking of the DNC to Trump’s disastrous look alongside Putin in Helsinki, the quantity of fabric unearthed and laid out clearly for the reader right here would make somebody from the long run assume this all occurred over the course of a decade (or two) moderately than a couple of years. Nowadays, studying a guide from the Obama period may seem to be one thing out of historical historical past (if not one other planet), however former White Home stenographer Beck Dorey Stein’s memoir of her tenure on the White Home is a enjoyable throwback. It is likely to be a bit odd for somebody underneath the age of 35 to already be writing a memoir, however Stein’s guide is sort of compelling, because of the thorough rationalization of day-to-day exercise on the White Home and among the many President’s core crew. That is as near a sequel to The West Wing as you’re going to get. (There isn’t any reboot; recover from it.) And for these of you who prefer to examine touring whereas touring, there are many home and worldwide journeys that you just may recall as a headline way back, and that you would be able to study from behind-the-scenes now, from Vietnam to Martha’s Winery. There’s romance, too, though for Stein’s sake, you virtually want there wasn’t. Extra intriguingly, for the political readership, as a White Home stenographer, Stein was not employed as a part of the Obama administration however moderately as a everlasting member of the White Home employees. Thus, she was one of many few workers left behind to proceed working by means of the transition to the Trump administration. Whereas that in of itself is one thing price studying (and also will make you cringe), Stein’s guide is as mild a political learn as you’re going to get as of late. To characterize it as “breezy” is likely to be too easy, as it’s uncommon to listen to concerning the interior workings of the Oval Workplace from a youthful and feminine voice—and based mostly on the present administration’s demographics, we received’t hear something comparable for a while. Image an organized gang of burglars, dashing away in getaway vehicles alongside tree-lined roads at midnight because the native police scramble to catch the culprits. However these thieves haven’t stolen jewels, paintings, and even medicine. They’ve poached truffles. This isn’t the truffle salt or truffle oil you discover on brunch menus, aiming to make your mac and cheese sound extra posh. These are the actual deal, straight from the bottom, recent tubers solely present in components of southeastern France and northwestern Italy—some species of which may promote for hundreds of euros per kilo. Who knew mushrooms may trigger a lot drama? However as investigative reporter Ryan Jacobs reveals, the truffle provide chain is a harmful—if not deadly—enterprise involving fraud, sabotage, and downright cruelty. What began out as a protracted learn for The Atlantic is a full-fledged thriller and exposé a couple of luxurious delicacy that comes at a far greater value than you ever imagined. A good warning (with out spoilers): There are some grotesque scenes of animal remedy revealed on this guide, which will likely be significantly disturbing to canine house owners and canine lovers. Extra must-read tales from Fortune: —7 books in business and journalism you need to learn this summer season —Bill Gates thinks you need to learn these 5 books this summer season —The place you possibly can learn the books behind ‘Game of Thrones’ free of charge —Scribd’s ‘Netflix for books’ subscription mannequin is proving to be fruitful —Take heed to our new audio briefing, Fortune 500 Daily Follow Fortune on Flipboard to remain updated on the newest information and evaluation Source link

[icryyoumercy]

curufinwës and crafting

celebrimbor: i made this bit of jewelry. it's made to perfectly fit the intended wearer and has as much practical and helpful song woven into it as the material is physically capable of holding. also, it's the most beautiful bit of jewelry conceiveable. (it's some sort of baby toy, and he's offering to disassemble it and re-make it into other useful things as the child grows up, it's not like it'd be much good for any other elf (at least to celebrimbor's exacting standards, that is))

curufin: here's a kitchen knife. it's an entirely undecorated bit of steel with an entirely undecorated wooden handle. it can be used for food preparation purposes. it does exactly what people expect a kitchen knife to do, and there is nothing at all remarkable or exciting about it. (the handle is the most perfectly ergonomic knife handle ever conceived of, no one has ever cut themselves on the blade by accident, and it hasn't needed sharpening in entire ages of the world. not that he'll actually mention any of that. it's a kitchen knife. that's what kitchen knives are supposed to do)

fëanor: i made this thing. you can use it to solve complex mathematical problems. no, i don't know why you would need it. i also made this other thing that prepares a perfect cup of coffee if you pull this lever. also, here's a comparative study on languages of the three houses of the edain. and a hedgehog on wheels powered by a miniature clockwork for your youngest child. (he doesn't remember what he was originally asked for, but one of celebrimbor's is-this-craft-advisable team is keeping track of fëanor's work and can probably find something that is suitable. and the hedgehog toy is amazing and beloved by all children exposed to it)

[icryyoumercy]

do we know if there's a reason that haleth of the haladin and haleth, son of helm hammerhand share a name?

[icryyoumercy]

i have decided that fëanorians have a critical mass. once there is a sufficient number of fëanorians in place, they just start inventing things

think discworld's leonard of quirm, just. everything is covered with blueprints and prototypes and no one is entirely sure what anything is, but it seemed like a good idea at the time, and occasionally, it's even something useful

[icryyoumercy]

*grumbles*

so this fic needs maglor. but maglor comes with a kidnap!son glued to his side because elrond has been missing his dad for two entire ages, dammit. and that would be entirely fine, elrond can be a very unobstrusive character

however, elrond comes with a wife and a husband attached, and adding the high king of the noldor and galadriel's daughter to this mess is going to entirely derail the entire story and i have no idea how to fix it

[icryyoumercy]

games that i think would be great, but no one will ever make:

lord of the ring 'farming' sims

like, the ring has been destroyed, peace has been achieved

sadly, the whole war has left ithilien, the shire, moria, minas morgul, the mirkwood, osgiliath, and tons of other places all across middle earth a dreadful mess

which is the perfect setting for having a random unimportant character go 'fuck it, now that all the big warriors and heroes have done their job, i'm gonna do mine and plant some fucking flowers here'

and like. rebuild all of the things, and repair stuff, and plant flowers, and just. make all those places the story shows only in ruins be proper, real communities again

[icryyoumercy]

i really, really, really need fic where the daughter of eowyn & faramir, at the age of five or so, when first told the story of luthien, goes 'hey, we're of her line, this applies to us, i wanna be immortal now', and it /works/

and then she realises that oh no, this works for her and her siblings and her papa, but it doesn't apply to her mama, that's no good, that cannot be allowed, there has to be someone she can talk to, she's very nearly a queen's daughter after all

and eowyn and faramir are just looking at each other and shrugging and going 'of course, darling, but please put on proper outdoor clothing if you're going on a journey to complain to the gods', because that girl is too stubborn to argue with, but also she has the attention span of, well, a five year old, so she's bound to get distracted before even reaching the city walls

only for her to run into celeborn (maybe it's a diplomatic visit, maybe he's bored without his wife, maybe fate is having fun, who knows), who first listens to her because diplomacy, and then because he knows his wife would find this situation absolutely hilarious, and since clearly, whatever this is cannot possibly be in any way blamed on celeborn, he will enable this girl in her quest to acquire immortality for her mom to the best of his abilities

and eowyn and faramir shrug even more, but since celeborn manages to teach their daughter not only a lot of adventuring and fighting, but also things like manners and patience, they decide that it'll make for fun memories one day and just go with it

and the elves that remain in middle earth after elrond and galadriel sail aren't the eldest or wisest of their people, nor the most thoughtful or diplomatic, and here's one of the last great lords, with a tiny human child, plotting to go complain to the valar about... it really doesn't matter, this is going to be hilarious, and since it's all in the spirit of diplomacy and fairness and it's been the idea of someone who obviously isn't evil or corrupt or purely selfish or anything like that, surely no one can be punished for deciding to help

so of course they offer to lend their various and improbable or incompatible skills to the cause, and it is, in fact, great fun, because the child who started all this is utterly delighted to be meeting so many new people who know so many new things, and who are all fans of her idea and willing to make it happen, and if so many people are working towards it, i will have to succeed

eowyn and faramir, being proud and good parents, just add 'plotting to make mama immortal' to their daughter's daily activities, the same way they plan for riding or reading lessons, and greatly enjoy being told about various crafts and sciences as understood by a tiny child

and it just becomes this perfectly normal thing, the elves of ithilien, lead by a tiny human child, are working on a plan to get said child an audience with the valar in order to negotiate immortality for mama, and then return said child once again to her family

for the girl's tenth birthday, someone invites cirdan the shipwright, because at this point, everyone's knowledge and ability to plan and speculate and theorise and hypothesise has been exhausted, and the only thing that remains is to try it

and cirdan takes one look at this human child, and a slightly longer look at celeborn, and decides that there is nothing the valar could possibly do to him that would actually impress him in any way, shape, or form, and if there was ever any chance to prove that he is truly a master shipwright, this is it

so he builds the ship, adjusted for his vast experience, to everyone's delight and bafflement

it takes a while, as any good ship building does, but it sets sail before the girl turns fifteen, and eowyn and faramir look at each other, and shrug half-heartedly, and tell each other that when their firstborn son was that age, they sent him to rohan for the summer, to meet his family, and try his hand at being an Official Representative Of His People for the first time, with low stakes, among people who knew and liked him anyways, this was certainly at least vaguely similar

and if nothing else, cirdan and celeborn are both level-headed and reasonable and trustworthy, so this shall be fine, and they do not think about the fact that people do not return from valinor, not unless they're a heroic balrog slayer who is desperately needed to fight evil

the ship looks like a river ferry with a bad case of megalomania, as built by a NASA team who would have their work double- and triple checked by at least two further NASA teams, so this at least looks like it might just work, if everyone got utterly unreasonably lucky

and like half a year later, the girl returns, a number of new and very, very curious and excited elves in tow, with a signed note from the valar saying 'she can have immortality for anyone she damn well pleases, provided she never, ever, under any circumstances, ever, tries to ask us for it ever again'

and eowyn and faramir look at each other, and shrug and go 'that's our daughter' and smile as broadly as humanly possible

[icryyoumercy]

i'm having feelings about círdan, being abandoned by the valar, being told 'not yet' for three ages of the world, having all the wounded and broken elves of the second and third age pass through his havens on their way to valinor, building ship after ship to leave middle earth and yet forbidden from building one for himself

and then he arrives in valinor, after all these millennia, one of the oldest elves yet living, even on these shores, suddenly finding himself without purpose, without a goal, quite possibly without a name, as he has been círdan, has been the shipwright for so long that calling himself nowë feels utterly wrong, but so does calling himself a shipwright here, where there are no ships in need of building

[icryyoumercy]

given the number of humans who try to cross the english channel or the straits of gibraltar or something swimming, just to prove they can

what do you wanna bet that after the whole banishment was over, at least one elf went 'you know, i can't die permanently, so a little bit of drowning won't change much, i'm gonna swim to valinor now' (it's been done from tol eressëa numerous times already, time for a new challenge now!)

the first one starts from númenor, and is accompanied by a small trading vessel to help them keep the proper direction (and to rescue them before any drowning happens, though everyone agrees not to mention that)

it's not too dreadful a failure, they get pretty far, but not far enough. they return to númenor to train more and try again (and again and again and again) until they finally manage

they reach tol eressëa, and that's enough of that, they made it

their most favourite rival (sibling, best friend, lover, spouse, parent, offspring, this one really odd neighbour, whoever) decide nah, that's only on a technicality, time to head for alqualondë. this takes some more coordination, since the númenorean vessels can't reach it, so near tol eressëa, a teleri fishing boat has to take over the watch (and carry the first swimmer, too, for heckling and encouraging, of course)

precedent set, someone decides hold my beer, i'm trying from the grey havens now, let's show those kids how it's done properly

círdan sits them down and informs them they'll keep training until he works out the logistics of coordinating the speeds of the large ships built for the crossing, the small vessel to keep an eye on the swimmer (and to receive supplies and support from the crossing ship), and the swimmer who might require direction, supplies, or rescue)

no ships set sail for a few years, and the elves waiting at mithlond for their ship to leave get really invested in the whole proceedings, which eventually leads to the simple solution of not trying to coordinate any speeds, and just having a whole convoy of ships, staggered so that one comes along the smaller boat every other day, so guards can be swapped if necessary and supplies stocked up

the swimmer is accompanied by two boats, one a sturdy thing built mostly for the purpose of being as unsinkable as can be (but as a sailing vessel still too fast for an average elven swimmer), and an entirely unremarkable rowing boat that can more easily match speed with the swimmer and can stay closer for any potential rescues

both vessels hold life jackets for crew and swimmer, so in case anything should happen to them, the next crossing ship can fish them out (or lower the backup boats to them, replace the crew that is done with this bullshit, and leave the rest to their madness, if preferred)

since this time, the elf in question has had a lot of time to train (and has been able to swim to númenor multiple times to try out the average speed of the various vessels and themself), they actually make it to alqualonde with only one short break (no one is going to turn around on a trip like this, and no one expected this to be entirely possible, and also that really is enough swimming for a lifetime, they're not going to try again)

as long as númenor exists, every now and again, someone will try again. círdan has a notice pinned up, along with a number of other faqs and general rules about the crossing to valinor, stating that any attempt to swim to valinor requires filing form 319, in triplicate, at least two decades in advance, so he can coordinate the necessary vessels

after númenor sinks, círdan decides he is beyond done with the valar and their bullshit, and all out of fucks to give, takes the notice down, and pins up one reading 'swimming to valinor is currently not possible, applications reopen after the third successful crossing'

then, he gets his sailors together to create something like a morse alphabet, and writes that down all neat and clean, adds it to a letter to eärendil explaining the whole situation, sends that along with the crew of the first ship attempting the straight road, and tells them he'll need a detailed report on the conditions of the crossing

a month later, there is one night where the star of high hope flickers quite a lot more than usual, and círdan takes careful notes

the second ship is given the same instructions, and then círdan takes yet more notes

the third ship sails, círdan once again watches gil-estel flicker, but doesn't bother taking any more notes

the next morning, the notice about swimming to valinor and form 319 is pinned up again

when the last ship sails from mithlond, it carries 3 copies of form 319, filed by círdan the shipwright, and círdan swimming next to it, fueled by pure spite

[icryyoumercy]

i feel like a lot of takes on criticising the valar's decisionmaking and their judgement of the elves are very... careful? elaborate? like slowly taking apart a complex bit of mechanics one screw at a time until the entire thing falls apart, and while i appreciate it, and it's neat to read, i feel like it's putting far more effort into it than any of it deserves

especially when we could just take up the metaphorical sledgehammer of their treatment of círdan

one of the very few people who has been unfailingly loyal, faithful, and obedient to the will of the valar, and their 'reward' for him is... leaving him stranded on a besieged shore for more than three ages of the world, and 'blessing' him with foresight about halfway through, and just generally expecting him to deal with the mess that was very much their own damn responsibility, and at absolutely no point offering him any sort of actual assistance or showing any sort of recognition for his work

hell, it would be fairly easy to argue that they knowingly and quite possibly deliberately tried to make his task harder if not downright impossible

like, it doesn't matter how irreplaceable círdan is, it doesn't matter just how badly it would have gone without him, it doesn't matter just how desperately needed he was. he had no hand in any of what happened. there was absolutely nothing whatsoever he could have done to avoid the disaster. it was not his duty to help fix it, and no one had any right whatsoever to order him to do so. and the fact that the valar nevertheless did order him, and then doubled down on that order while allowing literally everyone else to sail means their judgement isn't worth shit and they deserve absolutely zero authority over anyone or anything whatsoever

[icryyoumercy]

i feel like once the valar have sorted out all this nonsense about miriel and finwë and indis, and everyone is kind of wondering if they should maybe allow fëanor to be re-embodied, because no one wants him to return just in time for dagor dagorath bearing a grudge against the valar, and maybe letting him return earlier could fix that?

and then someone suggests that now that his mom is back, maybe they should let fëanor return as a toddler, let him have a childhood and grow up in a family that hasn't been a broken mess right from the start, which seems a reasonable suggestion until fëanor's siblings show up at the valar's doorstep complaining that they didn't get a decent childhood, either, and none of them swore any messed-up oaths/committed kinslayings/burnt any ships, this isn't fair

and since the valar have spent far too much time debating this entire subject already, and really don't fancy more of it, they just offer any and all elves whose childhood has been negatively affected by finwëan family drama to get a second shot at it, over the same timeframe their childhood has happened relative to said drama and hope this is sufficiently annoying that everyone'll stop and go away

only they don't, and now the valar have to try and work with a wide and disorganised variety of elven registry offices to figure out who has a right to get magically de-aged for a second and improved childhood (and what does or does not qualify as 'negatively affected), and how many years after fëanor's re-embodiement they have to get de-aged, and there is so. much. paperwork.

meanwhile, maedhros is taking great delight in instructing tiny!fëanor in how to be the best eldest brother there has ever been while fëanor's siblings are pretty much counting down the days to finally not having to deal with politics and responsibility and instead getting to spend time with an older brother who has been properly instructed as to his duties (and also possibly throw food at him and steal his toys for a bit of petty revenge)

[icryyoumercy]

@edgeoflight has written a wonderful fic about fëanor baking, and since i need bread for nine o'clock snacks, i decided this is fated and i need to make bread now

i don't know if the yeast is trustworthy, and i probably didn't knead the dough for long enough, but i am covered in sweat and my arms and hands hurt, so there is no way i shall do any further kneading

the dough is now resting under a strawberry icecream towel, which means i get to rest, too

[icryyoumercy]

i need kidnap dads fic where at some point, maedhros and maglor look at each other and go, utterly baffled, 'we seem to have acquired a silmaril?'

which is ridiculous, right, if someone had taken one from morgoth, they'd have heard of it, and eärendil still has his, what is going on

and then elros stumbles into the room, wearing pyjamas, carrying a cuddly toy, and going 'papa, i can't sleep, it's too cold in our room'

and they go fetch blankets and hot water bottles and figure out how to get warmer rooms without using too many of their very scarce resources, and end up in a cuddle pile of two tiny half-elves and all the blankets and furs they could find in the middle of the night

and they look at each other and go 'oh. that's why. they're fëanor's kin now'

[icryyoumercy]

okay, so nice au idea: celebrimbor finds so many friends and so much love and the perfect found family with the gwaith-i-mírdain and the khazad that he takes one look at annatar and goes 'sure, sounds interesting, but life is good, and i frankly don't see the need for this sort of megalomaniac madness, thanks'

nicer au idea: annatar finds so many friends and so much love and the perfect found family with the gwaith-i-mírdain that he goes 'hey, you know what, i was kind of lying about the whole envoy of the valar thing for my evil plans, but i've been turned into a very satisfied puddle of purring cat, and i honestly prefer this, i'll be taking a nap now, thanks'