Incomprehensible Fox Screams

currently into the silmarillion Nagi_gomidachi_Sora on Ao3 Uni student From Taiwan/20

[a-silly-poll-side-blog-yay]

would you still be alive without modern medicine? looking back at your life, would you survive without any to the moment where you are now?

yes

no

barely

yes but it would affect me for the rest of my life

results

Voting ended onJun 2

I'd have my knee fucked up forever 🫪 alive but yeahhhhh

[foxspeakshit]

It’s like 36 degrees Celsius in Taiwan now and I feel like gollum every time I walk outdoors because it burnssss ussssssss

[nekoning]

the use of AI lately has made me feel so hopeless, i translated pages of an unfinished fanzine of mine so i can remember why i love art...i hope it can resonate with anyone feeling the same way

[inthehouseoffinwe]

An Age Long Gone again to Come

Maglor Wanders

And wanders.

And wanders.

In the Blessed lands, Fingolfin, last of his House, walks out of Mandos’ gates with his older brother. Reconciled at last.

Maglor keeps wandering.

Finwë returns amongst the Eldar. Finarfin, the golden king who kept Aman running for Ages upon Ages, who elves of all kinds claim as theirs, bows before his father. His father does not let him. The Eldar of Cuivienen watch with pride as Finwë bows before his youngest. His strongest. His heir.

But Maglor does not know this. He wanders still.

A call comes from Námo, calling the House of Finwë to welcome their most broken member. The one Morgoth feared to challenge until he had Dragons and Balrogs in swathes, yet still he could not breach the Frozen Mountain. Maedhros stumbles out into his parents’ arms, the rest of his family not far behind. He looks upon them in wonder. For Maedhros Fëanorion spent much of his life keeping his people together, and he would not heal until they were whole again, feuds left in the past. Finarfin welcomes his nephew and clothes him in white and gold. Places a golden circlet on copper curls, a small grin as he promises it’s just symbolic. The responsibility of High King remains his Uncle’s.

Maglor does not know this either.

Endless song flows from his lips, a power that sinks into the ocean itself.

Makalaurë died in the exile to Formenos. Kanafinwë when his voice could not sway his brother form Morgoth’s trap. Maglor when his brother fell. He goes by other names these days, names that once had meaning but now fall like ash from a tongue that still lisps on instinct. To call his existence lonely is to call a raindrop an ocean, but Maglor does not dwell on this. He cannot afford to.

This punishment is only just. A small dose of suffering for all the blood shed by his hand. He does not hear the ocean’s call any more, nor the water’s pleas for his return. Ossë and Uinen sing from their domains, Ulmo sends crashing waves and clear blue seas, but nothing penetrates the song of the last son of Fëanor still on these shores.

Nothing can stop his wandering. Nor heal the tears trails carved into his skin.

Nor erase footsteps marking the sands a bloody red.

Across the sea, Maedhros grows restless. Finwë waits by the Halls. Fëanor finds no peace in his forge or his home. The rest of Finwë’s house take turns to watch the seas. The boat never comes. The Valar have no answer.

It’s Miriel who bears the message, her latest tapestry disturbing even her Patron’s husband. More shade than elf, she guides the House of Finwë to the edge of the Gates of Mandos where a Maia waits with her work. A delicate weaving in terrible detail revealing a hollow face scarred with tears, a grotesque, blackened hand still dripping blood, and blistered feet walking, walking, walking-

“He does not hear our calls…” the Maia whispers. “He will not come home.”

Maedhros weeps inconsolably at the state of his dearest brother. Fingon declares he will walk across the Helcaraxë again if need be to bring his errant cousin back, Finrod threatens to tear apart any Maia who dares keep Maglor stuck to those shores. Fingolfin grabs his brother as he collapses.

And Finwë turns heel. A fire in his eyes, lips twisted in a furious sneer. He leaps onto his horse and rides to the Mahanaxar, spirit brighter than his sons’ when they chased Morgoth. Fingolfin tries to stop him. Fëanor begs him not to fall to rage as he once did. Finarfin remains silent. He cannot turn away from his lost nephew’s hollow form.

The gates to the Ring of Doom are open. Before Finwë can utter a word, Námo speaks a single word.

“Yes.”

Thorondur sweeps over Manwë’s shoulders to Finwë’s side. The former King does not so much as acknowledge him.

“I will bring him home myself in the ships I once used to cross the sea to this land.”

It’s a bold claim. But one that cannot be denied.

“I will come with you.”

Three voices speak at once, echoing in the chamber. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin stand sure and steady against the weight of the Valar’s gazes.

“Why?” The Doomsman asks.

“He is my son. I raised him. And I cursed him to this fate. His suffering rests on me.”

“He is my son. I abandoned him, I fell to grief and did not protect him in my brother’s stead as promised. His loneliness rests on me.”

“He is my son. I turned away from him. He knows not my open arms will welcome him to this new world. His fear rests on me.”

A small smile plays about Námo’s lips.

“Then join your father in this endeavour, Sons of Finwë, and take with you these words: The time of enduring pain has ended. Makalaurë atoned long ago, he need not punish himself longer.”

“He has paid more than any of his family, with sword, blood, and song.” Nienna’s whisper swirls around them, answering their unasked questions. “We would have brought him home many Ages ago if we could. But the Valar have meddled enough in the lives of the Eldar, and we would not force him to our choices again.”

“So the Valar have spoken.”

Manwë dips his head to the party of four as the gates burst open to reveal the rest of the family.

(But Maglor does not know any of this, either.

He hides his feet in the sand and his hand in his cloak, and listens to a little blonde haired girl singing to the birds, trilling a tune of friendship when they flee from her waving arms. Her giggles as they return brings a small smile to his face. He can afford this moment, he will not burden her with his pain.)

The three sons and their father prepare for the journey. Maedhros tries desperately to join them, threatening to follow if they don’t allow it, and Fëanor takes him aside. Some truths must be faced. It took him far too long to realise that.

“Makalaurë hallucinates you, Nelyafinwë.”

The words, soft but blunt, bring his eldest to a standstill. Maedhros is smart, and he knows his little brother well. Perhaps best of all. His face crumples as he falls to his father’s feet.

“Atya please- please. I have to make this right.”

Fëanor drops down and clutches his son to his chest, closing his eyes in grief.

“There will be time for that, my son. But first I ask you to consider who you truly wish to console. Laurë? Or yourself?”

It’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel. The furious gaze as his eldest pulls back is almost enough to make him regret the words.

But Fëanor also knows Maedhros’ ardour burns even more fiercely than his own, and it can blind him to nuances. The singleminded determination as he pursues what he believes to be right and rouses a crowd to follow is an admirable skill, but it does not allow him to see every outcome. Or even fully understand his own intentions. It’s why he and Maglor were always such a good team.

When Maedhros loosens his grip, fury turning to grim acceptance, Fëanor drops a kiss on his head and helps his son to his feet.

“I will bring our songbird home, little one. And you will make the necessary preparations for his recovery upon arrival.”

His other sons relax. Fëanor almost smiles. As if he’d forget his eldest needs something to keep busy with lest he fall to his own mind. ‘He’s far too much like his father,’ Nerdanel says.

She isn’t wrong.

They both burned in the end.

——

Across the courtyard, Fingolfin asks his eldest to keep a close eye on Maedhros as Finarfin passes orders to his own: Empty the harbour they arrive at. Keep details quiet. Let the people know the sons of Finwë go united on this trip, and they will return shortly.

Finwë doesn’t speak to anyone.

His gaze remains distant but even as he methodically straps knives and small daggers to his person, all concealed under layers of fabrics. Instead of his kingly attire or even the white robes of Mandos, he wears simple brown garb. His hair is decorated only with silver and gold threads, half up with two thick braids on either side of his head.

All in all he looks more like he’s going to war than retrieving a lost child. Then again, perhaps that’s more accurate than anyone wants to admit.

Makalaurë was stubborn, but could be reasoned with. Kanafinwë was powerful, but soft hearted. Maglor was unreadable and changed as easily as the tides. It made him hard to pin down, and even harder to bring to your side if he wasn’t fully convinced of your idea.

A trait Finwë had once dearly admired in his Míriel.

“Father,” Arafinwë calls over the gathering wind. “We are ready.”

Finwë spares a smile for his youngest, then returns to even determination.

They ride hard for several days, stopping only when the horses need rest. All are quiet. Olwë waits for them by the harbour when they arrive, and he too is silent as he guides them to a well furnished swan ship. Someone must have told him… or perhaps he recognises the steely look in his friend’s eyes. Before they set off, he nods:

“Tell your grandson his songs are missed.”

Finwë nods once. Sharp and cold. Olwë raises a hand in farewell, and they sail into the mists.

(Maglor stumbles to a cave as rain and wind batters his body. But even as icy ocean waves soak his legs, spraying against his scarred face and cracked lips, he doesn’t stop singing. He’s long used to the salt in his wounds.)

[fainttwinkling]

I really like The Apothecary Diaries, so here's Maomao for your dash.

[schmergo]

Confession: The letter “t” key on my laptop has been broken since 2024. From what my research tells me, they can’t fix individual keys on that model, and my laptop is no longer under a warranty, but it seems foolish to fork out over $900 for a new computer, so instead I’ve trained my brain to hit ctrl+v every time I want to hit “t.”

But sometimes I have to copy-paste something else besides “t,” which means I need a readily available place to copy the “t” from.

My first thought was to search “tiger” on Google, but if you can’t type the letter “t,” you just get search results about Bob Iger.

I realized words that end with “t” are easier for Google to autocomplete, so the first one I thought of was “crypt.” But wouldn’t you know, googling “cryp” takes to you to cryptocurrency results, and I REALLY don’t want my algorithm thinking I google that multiple times per week.

Then I remembered a cool place I went in London, called Cafe in the Crypt. It’s exactly what it sounds like and located below St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church. When I type in “Cafe in Cryp,” Google does indeed autocomplete it effectively! So I either keep that search result open in a tab or Google it every day.

So, that being said, if anyone works for St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church’s marketing department and has been utterly flummoxed by an IP address from Virginia that has googled their cafe hundreds of times over the past 6 months… that wasn’t a bot, that was me.

I am the Spiders Georg of Cafe in the Crypt.

Anyway, it’s a pretty cool place to check out if you’re ever in London. Just maybe not cool enough to Google it on a daily basis for months straight.

[vaethryn]

this is all @burningvessel‘s fault 

the derk lerd wishes you all an extremely happy and BRVTAL LIFE

[lieutenant-mairon]

@ghostchild90

[mynameiseyyyyyy]

Fuckin brutal

[tles2calpas]

trying to upload the video third time. im at my limits. SO, i do know that not all things are canon in the animation, just wanted to show maglor's loneliness, sorrow and how he misses his family and his sons. actually, instead of twins (elrond and elros) there should have been his parents. enjoy! (i just hope that this time the animation will be uploaded, my wifi is too slow)

[liiilwen]

Some point in the years of the Trees, University of Tirion. Professor Fëanáro and little Maitimo, dressed for the king’s banquet (after the final lecture of the term). Photographed by Nerdanel.

[paramaline]

but Tolkien draws such cute dragons, omg

like look at Smaug, look at his ears, DON’T YOU JUST WANT TO SCRATCH BEHIND HIS EARS AND TELL HIM HE’S A GOOD BOY

and look at this guy, I guess he’s supposed to be ferocious but it looks more like “whoa man chill out, I’m just saying that those shoes with that helmet was maybe not the greatest fashion decision, just a little friendly advice, no need to get defensive.”

THIS LITTLE BB ALL CURLED UP AND TAKIN’ A NAP

I want this one to live in my pocket and be my sassy talking dragon sidekick

SO SMILEY!! “gonna go terrorize some helpless villagers aw yiss”

but my favorite is this little doodle here

just look at him

LOOK AT HOW HAPPY HE IS

[gospelxforxthexfallenxones]

So slit pupils in animals tend to make their close up vision terrible. Therefore I postulate that Mairon would be far sighted as he is often depicted with slit pupils. Guy probably would need glasses to read things up close and I imagine he'd have to hold documents far from his face to read them. I imagine that only Melkor has ever seen him use glasses, as Mairon is far too proud to admit he needs any kind of assistance (and might have some internalized ableism).

[gauntletgirlie]

Mairon to Melkor:

[mhevarujta]

Thinking again of an Orpheus and Eurydice/Angbang scenario, where Manwe allows Sauron to step out into the Void and retrieve Melkor...but he has to not look back until they pass through the Door of Night back into Arda.

And quite frankly? I think they would have been doomed. Because even with all of his discipline and his desire for control? Sauron would have looked back. Because he would be uncertain, not trusting Manwe and his terms, AND because he simply adored Melkor that much and he would not be able to help himself.

[aeiou142857]

Lúthien Tinúviel

[bloodydamnreaperofmars]

Stumbled upon this review of the silmarillion on goodreads and i've got to say i agree

[kisses-in-the-void]

Today isn’t the day Sauron was destroyed, it’s the day he was reunited with his husband!

....because I said so.

[ommanyte]

yo what are you always so stressed about?

me: