tathrin

[tathrin]

...and you know what? Everything would have gone better for pretty much everyone if Ungoliant HAD eaten the silmarils, and then Melkor as dessert. Like, none of this book happens after that. 'But Ungoliant would have then consumed all light' I see that like John Himself you are drunk on the light=goodness doctrine. Thousands of beautiful Avari disagree. 'But she would have become a super powerful--' still way easier to kill than Melkor because she is a big round dummy. MY big round dummy. She would eat up Elf Satan and his three pretty shinies and then take a happy little nap and then 1 Tulkas would solve the whole problem. Then the Valar could make the sun and moon as usual and everything is fine. Besides the silms were already hallowed so eating them might have killed her anyway. Either way, wins all around. The silmarils rightfully belong to Ungoliant because she was promised them and then absolutely 100% textually won them fair and square.

'What about Sauron' you know what, fascinating question. I bet he cries.

[tathrin]

I have finished The Angst Version™~ (of chapter 50 of The Harrowing by @chthonion >:D) The bonus chapter added some stuff/re-inspired me, which is all to the good imo~ gotta get that Maximum Angst Factor AMMIRIGHT?? >:D (also. Mostly paraphrasing stuff just so you're aware~)

Then we got some of the conversation~ (without dialogue, 'cause a picture tells a thousand words~ >:D)

Then a sketch that was completely inspired by the bonus chapter-

It's not as 'polished' as the other ones, I just had thoughts about that tidbit and decided I absolutely had to mention it- so it got a drawing to match. :D

And finally, because I don't want to end this on too depressing a note-

:')

I'm not crying, you are.

My personal favourites include Extra Angry Maedhros + hands over the face Annatar, - then- actually. y'know what? I can't pick favourites. I like them all too much to do that. But that was the 'segment' that I experimented on - to try and convey the emotions through how chaotic/forceful the lines were, and it worked exactly how I wanted it to. Which is very satisfying.

>:D

(also, I don't think Maedhros was quite that visibly angry in the actual chapter, but it's supposed to be a mix of that plus Annatar's perception of him/what made Annatar panic. Make of that what you will. Eheh. Eheh. Eheh. >:D)

[tathrin]

Amazon is changing their royalty rates in June, so prices for little books like this are inevitably going to go up! If you want to get a copy of this little story while it's still reasonably priced, now is your chance!

The village of Styesville has a dragon problem, and is in sore need of a knight in shining armor to solve it for them. Instead, they get a strange traveler in a ragged cloak whom they barely even notice. Worse still, it soon becomes clear that the problem setting fire to their village isn’t as simple as a dragon…

[tathrin]

Drew a comfort ship because I had a brain hurt day. Enjoy a messy sketch.

[tathrin]

Thranduil by Matias Bergara

[tathrin]

Celebrimbor getting a makeover 

It probably went something like this:

Narvi: ‘Alright lad, I got you invited to that feast but we ought to fix your looks’

Celebrimbor, a very classy Elf lord when out of the forge: ‘My looks…?’

Narvi: ‘Your hair. Not braided enough, absolutely non-elegant! We need to make it look presentable so that it makes up for the lack of beard… Oh and you’ll need a different circlet, your usual one is not appropriate’

Celebrimbor: ‘What’s wrong with my circlet?!’

Narvi: ‘GOT NO GEMSTONES ON IT!! And how dare you not be wearing your entire vault of jewellery all at once?! So DISRESPECTFUL! No class, no grace. I swear, Middle-Earth would be a better place if the Elves learned how to dress.’

(’Hot for an Elf’ / ‘You’d be hot if you had a beard’ are like, peak compliments an Elf can legally receive from a dwarf. Tyelpe is well chuffed!)

[tathrin]

Just saying, if you're looking for a line at which to accept our "checks and balances" system is not checking nor balancing anything,

"Government admits to trafficking an innocent man to foreign prison camp, then refuses to get him back" is about as clear cut a line as it gets.

[tathrin]

i don't know if this counts as a research question, you can delete it if it does, i just can't find answers to these things specifically for hands

i have a character with mild burns from soap and bleach on his hands, just like i have

so i've given him all of the issues i have with my own hands, but the problem is i don't know if these symptoms i mention here can be attributed to the burns or may be related to other conditions i have, like i think the atrophy in my hands is from what's atrophying the rest of my muscles, not the burns

but the symptoms i'm most wondering about is that when my hands get hurt, the scars tend to stick around for a long time, i still have one right now from months ago, just from a scratch, and i have an intention tremor

are these things that can be caused by burns?

this character does have a bunch of undiagnosed and unexplained symptoms like i do so it's not really novel for him to have other symptoms that may also affect his hands, but

Hi asker,

Chemical burns on skin, depending on their intensity, can cause longer-term damage to the skin. This specific scar situation isn't something that is explicitly stated as being a side effect of burns, but chemical burns can cause affected skin to heal more slowly. This could potentially be what is happening with your scars that you could reflect on your character.

Another thing about scars is that most of them fade over time, but everyone has a different skin makeup that affects how long this takes, and some people scar way easier. My boyfriend scars very easily, so a small scratch can leave a permanent scar on him while the same scratch will fade away completely for me. (I know this very well because we have a cat.)

It's possible that your hands used to have one particular tendency to scar, but after the mild burns, this tendency changed, and now your hands specifically are more prone to scarring or to visible scarring.

I don't know anything about muscle atrophy and scarring nor could a cursory search tell me anything specifically, but I wonder if they're tangentially related even if the skin isn't a muscle.

I don't think there's any specific answers to the causes that we could give you, but those are some possible options that could be the case for your character or for you.

I hope this helps at least somewhat,

mod sparrow

[tathrin]

Months after a viral haka was performed in New Zealand parliament, the controversial bill that sparked it has now been defeated. The Treaty Principles bill sought to redefine the which is New Zealand's founding document. The bill was brought by ACT Party leader David Seymour, who believed the current interpretation of the treaty gave more rights to Māori people than non-Māori New Zealanders. After two years of debate and nationwide protest, the bill was voted down by all but one party.

ABC News Australia

[tathrin]

Hot take: the following things can be simultaneously true:

America has always done bad things

Trumpism is connected to the failures of Reconstruction

Trump is still a uniquely terrible figure who ushered in a uniquely destructive era in American politics

Snide remarks like “lulz, lmao, you think Trump is bad? America was ALWAYS bad” contributed to the cynicism, nihilism, and apathy which led to not enough people caring about the country to try to stop him at the ballot box

It reminds me of people being outraged when Democrats responded to something like Charlottesville with “this isn’t who we are”; yeah, obviously that’s always been part of America, but rhetoric has an impact and it both empowers white supremacists and demoralizes normies to say “yep, white supremacists represent America and everything has always sucked shit.” There are consequences to pretending all people and eras are equally bad, because then people stop taking new and dire threats seriously, and there are consequences to people believing their society is always and forever evil, because then they don't fight against those threatening to harm that society. You don't need to whitewash history to understand any of this.

[tathrin]

For the made up title the first thing that came to me: “Wind in the Leaves”

Ah, thank you for the ask! Well, this says 'leaves' and I'm me so - this is going to be about Legolas. (No one is surprised XD.)

I think for this title I would write a story about Legolas feeling restless. There's so much movement implied in 'Wind in the Leaves'.

It could be about his sea longing. But I think it might be more interesting to me to write about him doing his rewilding work in Ithilien and he notices something that makes him think of Gimli, and suddenly he feels immensely restless. Like he just has to go to Aglarond for a visit or he'll crawl out of his skin.

And just like that, his work crew watches him ride off, calling a promise over his shoulder as he disappears into the wind that he'll be back.

Ok this was very fun! Thank you!

This is the made up fic title game: link.

[tathrin]

Man Rachel's dad sucks

I'm pretty sure I thought he was funny when I was a kid, but reading book 7 as an adult?

I'm just constantly thinking 'wow dude no wonder Naomi left you'

[tathrin]

This is badass: Medieval Nubian Fashion Brought to Life. Click through to the link because there’s more replica clothing and it is all stunning!

[tathrin]

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

-

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

[tathrin]

One field that badly needs to be purged of "Great Man-ism" is architecture.

[tathrin]

Watching the mummy 1999 for shits and giggles, thought it'd be fun to bitch abt the inaccurate hieroglyphs now that I know smth abt all that. Disappointed and disgusted to find out that they hired an egyptologist consultant and the hieroglyphs are actually well done. Night ruined

[tathrin]

I love the random replacements for clichés writers insert in science fiction shows. like when a 21st-century human would say "stop pacing you'll wear a hole in the floor" but in a space show the alien/future human says "you're oscillating like a Betelgeusian night badger" or some shit. like fuck yeah he is. amazing drive-by worldbuilding. I'm gonna spend the next half hour wondering why the Betelgeusian night badger evolved to do that