#ibrithir-was-here

[fishfingersandscarves]

lil doodle of @ibrithir-was-here ‘s enchanted au!

[twottie-m8]

Hey! Congrats on the follower count thats awesome!!! You super deserve it you're art always makes me smile :D If you're still doing doodle requests could I ask for Morpheus (with Hob if you like) hanging out with Baby Daniel? (Im very predictable in my tastes I know 😅)

thank youuuuu<33

here is a soft father son moment for you <3

[ruler-of-turtle-kind]

Would love to hear your backstory for Mrs Claus!

Woo! So, the backstory of Mrs. Claus is the entirety of the second story I'm working on. So far, the prominent points are

She was born in the southern United States, somewhere around 1920/1930. I haven't figured out when exactly, I just know that she's middle aged by the time the Red Nosed Reindeer story takes place, and at that point she'd been in the North Pole for like ten years.

Being born in the south, she was raised not to believe in Santa Claus

She studied veterinary science and zoology, hoping to be a vet to exotic animals.

She kept in touch with her more academic friends and, through those connections, was invited on a research trip to the arctic.

She was separated from her team during a snow storm. Who saves her? None other than Santa Claus!

He takes her back to his home in the North Pole, and they get to know each other.

A lot of the story is going to be them getting to know each other, and her coming to understand this supernatural being that is Santa Claus.

[yellow-faerie]

Could I ask for an edit for Sleeping Beauty? Disney or spooky or your own take, just anything Sleeping Beauty related :)

Ok so I don't know how much it looks like a sleeping beauty edit anymore because I sorta...went and made up a whole Sleeping Beauty retelling for this and started writing a whole thing and it's run away from me (per usual) so...

So thank you for the ask! It has given me brain worms (and let me start going on some dangerously deep Wikipedia holes)

[ttrtru]

I had this creepy dream that The Nazgul were all reincarnated in the modern day-or rather their consciousnesses all took over their modern day counterparts-and they were trying to bring Sauron back in this kid who looked like your 4th age Sauron who kept trying to escape them. Anyway the whole thing looked just like your comics but colored, so your awesome designs have successfully made it into my subconscious 😅

(Also Angmar's host body was the brother of the Modern Day Eowyn reincarnation, just to add extra drama I guess??)

Oh my oh man, I'm so flattered to hear that XD and that sounds more like an awesome dream than a creepy dream to me XDDD  I'd want more Nazgul in my dreams too.

Any way here's a (non-coloured) comic of how I interpreted your dream.  Them in a modern AU is too much fun.  9 Nazgul have split up into 3 teams to chase after Mairon.

And a second short comic coz I felt like it.

Uvatha just wants to go at 200kph on his new iron horse aka motor bike as the messenger.

And a third comic.

Details of thoughts under cut

Murazor - does the thinking Hoarmurath - hunter type, has good eye Uvatha - likes running around, messenger

Khamul - has really good eyes and also does thinking Akhorahil - does the thinking and also sees if every ones healthy Indur - social enough to keep contact with the other group, likes talking

Dwar - good at waiting for target to come Ren - good at thinking of others actions, bad with Murazor Adunaphel - likes talking, bad with Hoarmurath

[aipilosse]

I don't know if you're still doing the ask prompts, but I saw you'd already filled the one I'd put for Mae Squared before so I thought I'd pick a different one so you didn't have to do the same one twice. I was thinking maybe 15? But only if you're still doing them/want to! Thanks for all the lovley writing you give to the fandom!

Yes I am! My first attempt at Maedhros/Sauron AKA Mae Squared, and the prompt ‘Out of your element’ from this prompt list. Rated Teen or so for, ya know, Angband.

There were so many different layers of misery in Angband. 

There was the misery of torture of course, of having the flesh torn from his back with spiked whips until he passed out from blood loss, only to have the whips brought out again when he was half healed. There was the horrible pain of glowing metal set to his flesh until he thought his bones must be singed, all the while his tormenters asked for answers he did not know and had never known. There was the misery of constant humiliation, sometimes as a method of torment, but also the just the daily degradation as he was denied clothes and the filth on his body built up, until he felt lower than a worm. 

He also learned that misery could be delivered just as well through neglect. At first, he thought he could bear hunger, but as the years passed and he saw his body waste before his eyes, the gnawing pain in his gut became harder and harder to bear. The pain of thirst moved faster; he soon learned that even if he had been allowed a cup of bitter, oily water, in just a few hours Maitimo’s throat would be burning. He would wait for days with his awful thirst in whatever position he had been chained in, the ache in his joints and the cramps in his muscles growing into agony.

Misery sank into his bones, until it seemed to encompass his past, his present, and his future. When they came to unchain him from the horrible crouch he had been kept in for several days, Maitimo felt a brief moment of relief despite the more logical part of his mind that told him he was being released only for further pain. The four orcs sent to escort him had to drag him; his legs refused to move after being locked in place for so long.

When the walls changed from the rough texture of the caves he was usually moved between to smooth dark stone, Maitimo felt his dread grow. The only time he was taken this far above ground was when he was taken to Morgoth, and that was the worst misery by far in Angband. The Vala’s piercing eyes and terrible burning spirit seemed able to torment his mind as much as whips tormented his body.

He wasn’t brought to the throne room. Instead, they stopped in front of a pair of iron bound double doors.

“We have a guest for Lord Mairon,” one of the orcs said.

The guard at the door peered at him suspiciously. “My lord did not tell me he was expecting any visitors.”

“Order from the Mighty One,” the orc replied.

“He’s not going to like this,” the guard warned, but rapped on the door with his spear anyway.

“What?” The flat question came from inside the room.

“Lord Melkor has sent you a visitor.”

There was a sound that seemed penetrate Maitimo’s very being; whatever was on the other side of that door wasn’t pleased. “Make it quick.”

Maitimo didn’t know what he expected as he was dragged through the door, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The floor was carpeted, the plush surface unbelievably soft against feet that had only felt stone for years. The room was diffused with light, the soft glow of candles magnified by crystals and colored glass. The large room seemed to be divided into different purposes — Maitimo could have sworn he saw goldsmithing tools at a workbench and another corner with glass containers filled with multi-colored liquids — before he was thrown to the ground.

“Kneel,” snarled the orc, as if it was possible for Maitimo to do anything else. He bowed to Mairon. “The Mighty One says you must interrogate him.”

“Oh really? I must interrogate him? As if I have nothing better to do with my time than question a useless prisoner? I suppose requisitions, excavations, and the logistics of arming our entire host is not enough?” Mairon’s low musical voice was at odds with the sharp sarcasm of his tone. Maitimo watched his guards shuffle awkwardly from his spot on the ground.

“Get out. And if you breathe a word of what I said, I will slowly boil you from the inside out.” The orcs beat a hasty retreat, and then they were alone. Maitimo didn’t look up; whatever horrors were in store for him would happen whatever he did.

“Well, have a seat, I’ll get to you in a moment.” That at least grabbed Maitimo’s attention. He peered up from his spot on the floor. Mairon wasn’t looking at him at all; his entire focus was on whatever he was writing. Maitimo almost gasped out loud; Mairon was stunning. Red hair, a deeper shade than any he had seen tumbled around his shoulders. The golden flame of his eyes was mesmerizing. Maitimo swallowed; he already felt horribly out of place and filthy in the rich, pristine chambers. Now he felt like a twisted creature compared to the being before him. 

But he had been asked to take a seat. Earlier, he would have fought even the smallest order in Angband, but now he knew there was no point in resisting this reasonable request. Better to save his energy for the actual questioning. Maitimo crawled to the chair, and pulled himself onto it. He winced as he sat down. His back and buttocks were still only partially healed from the last time he had been whipped, but the flinch was more so at the thought of his filthy skin touching the elegant upholstery. 

Mairon didn’t look up through the whole laborious process. He appeared to be filling in some sort of grid, carefully writing figures and occasionally tallying up the columns. Finally he looked up.

“So you are the High King of the Noldor?” He sounded bored.

“I was. I am not king of much here.” Maitimo met Mairon’s eyes, trying not to be the cringing thing he could feel himself becoming. 

“Hm, so I am to interrogate you. Are they still asking you about silima?”

“Among other things,” Maitimo said cautiously.

“I already know the size of your army, how they are armed, what they have gained, what they still lack, where you are camped, the messages that have been exchanged with the local Sindar, and who now calls himself the High King. I’m sure I know more than you at this point about the Noldor on these shores.” Mairon sighed heavily. “But I shall question you nonetheless. How did Fëanáro create the Silmarils?”

“I don’t know,” Maitimo said, reflexive terror closing around his throat and making his voice shake.

“Why did Fëanáro burn the ships?”

“To prevent anyone from fleeing, and from his half-brother from joining us.” He had agonized over letting that information slip, but it had spilled out some time ago. In the end he wasn’t sure how much it mattered. Morgoth already knew of the strife between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë; he had helped sow it. At least Maitimo had not spoken of the kinslaying.

“Anything else you wish to share?” Mairon absently flicked a contraption on his desk, setting off a tinkling cascade of chimes.

“No.”

“Well, that was a very productive conversation, a good use of time for us both.”

Maitimo felt a huff of air leave him, something like a laugh. “This is the best use of my time since I arrived.”

A corner of Mairon’s mouth rose. “I suppose it is.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Nelyafinwë, do you like games?”

“Yes,” said Maitimo hesitantly. 

“The only thing that’s enjoyed by folk here is base gambling. A good wager can be entertaining, but only for a moment.” Mairon carefully set the ledger to the side. “The numbers are as good as they are going to get until Langon sends his update.” Mairon stood and returned with two goblets. He handed one to Maitimo. Maitimo sniffed it suspiciously. 

“It’s water.”

After a cautious sip, Maitimo began to drink greedily, the cool, clean water soothing his parched throat and tasting sweeter than any nectar.

“If you throw up, I am expelling you immediately.” 

Maitimo reluctantly lowered the goblet, and saw a board with many glittering pieces had appeared on the desk. 

“So, you are the silver pieces, I am the gold,” Mairon began. Maitimo tried to focus on the rules, his mind still reeling from the unexpected, if temporary, relief from torment and his surprisingly charming host.

[quendis]

(writing this as its own post and tagging @ibrithir-was-here instead of sending an ask because this got way too long)

I’m supposed to be studying for finals right now, which naturally means that the Numenor version of the Ring Babies AU is all I can think about. More specifically, I keep thinking about how the fall of Numenor would’ve happened in this universe. So I accidentally outlined a fic?

Annatar still has no particular love for the Valar in this ‘verse, but neither does he particularly want to get back on their bad side. Still, when weighing the pros and cons of manipulating Ar Pharazon into attacking Valinor… he probably still does it. It’s not like he’d be successful, after all. Pharazon attacks Valinor, the Valar squash him and his fleet like a bug, and suddenly the Numenorian problem is solved. Easy peasy.

...At least until, in the later stages of Annatar’s pitch and Ar Pharazon’s preparations for war, the king of Numenor states his intention to bring Narya with him on the flagship. As an honored guest, of course. (He’s not completely stupid, after all.)

Mairon panics. In all his machinations, somehow he hadn’t planned for this. He dissembles, at first — argues that Narya is neither warrior nor sailor, that he would be of far more use to the king if left on the island to aid in the forging of weapons and the administration of the war effort. Ar Pharazon is unswayed.

So what’s a Maia to do?

He breaks character, for the first time since his capture. This is an alternate version of the scenario in this post, where Mairon goes apeshit is pushed over the line and reveals himself as Sauron, revealing in the process that the idea of storming Valinor was entirely a plot to get Ar Pharazon killed. Even though he expected some amount of treachery, Ar Pharazon is livid. He gives Mairon an ultimatum: either surrender the true secret to eternal life, or watch as Ar Pharazon sends a war party to Valinor anyway — with Narya on board — to die.

Mairon doesn’t have the secret to eternal life. During his time as Morgoth’s lieutenant he learned how to extend life, and how to distort it, but to truly take away the Gift of Men is beyond his power. Still, there’s an idea that sparked in the back of his mind, back when they first began creating the Rings, back before he had wholly thrown his lot in with Tyelpe…

He tells Ar Pharazon of nine rings (non-sentient, unlike the later Three) designed for Men, and distributed as gifts among them. He tells him of how they might be altered, to extend the lives of their bearers near the point of eternity. He vows to collect them, and to make them into fountains of youth for Ar Pharazon and his most loyal followers.

(There are a few things he doesn’t mention. He doesn’t mention that, in order to create this facsimile of eternal life, he would bind the bearers of the rings to his will. He doesn’t mention that, although some of the rings are on the mainland as he mentioned, three are already on this island. And he doesn’t mention that one, a plain, unassuming steel band, rests even now on the finger of Tar Miriel, the rightful successor of that ring’s initial recipient.)

And so Annatar is sent beyond the blockade to find and steal the rings for Pharazon’s use, accompanied by a guard of several of the king’s strongest warriors, and with Narya left behind on Numenor, still, as an “honored guest.” He supposes it would’ve been too much to hope for that Narya would be sent with him, and that they could find some way to escape together. All he can do now is stall for time while he tries to think of a better way to escape — with Narya — upon his return to the island. And how to explain his past to his son, who he was never given a chance to speak with after that final confrontation.

Meanwhile on the Isle of Numenor, Narya is conflicted, to say the least. But he also doesn’t have much time to think about his father’s identity, since between “audiences” with the king and his generals, he and Miriel have found themselves roped into the Faithful’s rebellion. With dwindling power in court and no military force to match Pharazon’s, I think it’s at this point in the AU that they start preparing to “abandon ship”, as it were: gathering provisions and any refugees they can reach, building or stealing boats to ferry them to the mainland, and saving any relics of the kingdom they can get their hands on — including stealing Nimloth’s fruit, which is how Narya first meets Isildur and starts spying for the Faithful.

Annatar, at this point, is playing out the world’s shittiest heist movie — sent from kingdom to kingdom among the mainland’s realms of men, disguised and collecting in secret the rings that he and his husband had given as gifts not so long ago, and all the while watched by Ar Pharazon’s men with the threat of harm to Narya looming over his shoulder should they catch him trying any more tricks. Narya, who he feels he failed. Who he almost got killed, who could be killed in truth if Pharazon discovers this plot-

He tries not to think about it. But he also keeps an eye out for any friendly faces on the road. He’s in survival mode right now, and survival mode for Mairon usually coincides with the hard-learned lesson of relying on himself, and himself alone. But he isn’t just Mairon anymore; he’s Annatar, and Annatar has friends, a family, and a loving husband who he would trust with more than his life. Maybe if he can get a message out to Tyelpe in secret, he might be able to do something.

Tyelpe is not able to do something. Or rather, he doesn’t know what to do. Since Annatar and Narya were captured — nearly half a century ago at this point — he, Vilya, and Nenya have been trying in vain to find a way through the Numenorian blockade to rescue their family. And between comforting his remaining children don’t phrase it like that, he still has three children, Narya has to be alive and he will not consider any alternatives, his own stress at losing his husband and son, and trying to both run and defend the city on his own, Tyelpe is… not doing especially well.

After he hears word of the sinking of Numenor, he’s doing even worse.

See, Ar Pharazon is willing to wait and see how Annatar’s new proposal pans out, but he also doesn’t intend to leave all of his eggs in one basket. He starts trying other methods. Maybe he sends scouts towards Valinor anyway. Maybe he begins making human sacrifices, as in canon. Either way, he manages to piss Eru off magnificently. And as in canon, Eru changes the shape of the world, and Numenor is drowned, Pharazon along with it.

What Tyelpe doesn’t know is that Annatar is already on the mainland. What neither of them know is that Narya, along with his new friends Miriel and Isildur, had boarded one of the last ships to escape the island, and is currently safe on the coast of what will one day be known as Gondor.

Annatar kills his Numenorian watchers. With Narya dead, there’s no point in playing Pharazon’s games any longer. He can’t bear the thought of returning to Ost-in-Edhil and facing his husband and children, after he killed his son failed. He starts to wander, and for the first time in his very long life, wishes he were an elf. At least an elf can fade.

Tyelpe had always heard that elves would feel something, when their marriage bond broke, when their partner died. That the sundering of a love strong enough to bond souls would take part of the survivor with it. He doesn’t know what it means, that he feels nothing. Maybe it’s some quirk of the unique bond between elf and maia. Maybe it’s his punishment, for not loving Annatar enough to drop everything and ride out of Ost-in-Edhil in a glorious charge (and a less glorious boat ride, he supposes) to save him. It’s what Fingon did. It’s what Luthien did. Why couldn’t he?

Tyelpe can’t save his husband, and he can’t save his son. But there are already reports of bodies washing ashore, and if he can’t save them, he can at least grant them rest. He gathers his other children, leaves the city in the care of one of his most trusted advisors (what he should have done, he thinks, half a century ago), and rides out to bury his husband and son.

Since this AU wasn’t dramatic enough already, naturally all three parties (Narya and the Faithful; Celebrimbor, Vilya, and Nenya; and Annatar on his own) meet at the same time. I’m sure there’s a lot of questions, a lot of shouting, a lot of crying. There are probably some difficult conversations, as Annatar and Narya address their fraught parting, and as Annatar comes clean to his children about his past. But that can all wait for another time, and another tale. Right now the Ringmakers and the Rings are together again and holding each other for the first time in fifty-seven years, and for a moment, at least, that’s all that matters.

[celebbun]

@ibrithir-was-here i made an ArkenSilm (i forgot which one she is)

sketch under the cut