#potatoobsessed999

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Hey Frank, have you watched Goncharov? What did you think of it?

I am watching the movie right now. It's really good, and much like the book, it has an unhinged, almost dreamlike quality. It feels (to me) like it should not exist.

[jaz-the-bard]

5, 16, 44, or 50 with Maeglin for the Sweeney Todd asks??

These actually fit into a sequence really well once i swapped the first 2 prompts, so here have a little story!

16. It's safer in cages

5. There's a hole in the world like a great black pit

44. Great black crows screeching at the city on fire

50. To seek revenge may lead to hell, but everyone does it, though seldom as well

The words don't fit well in his mouth, and he feels a hypocrite for saying them. How can he, constantly trying to bend the bars of his cage, argue for staying in it?

But there is nothing outside Gondolin save death and ruin; he has seen it, and recalls the Nirnaeth Arnoediad as if it were yesterday. He cannot let the people he loves condemn themselves to that, not on the word of a young mortal and an out-of-touch Vala who doesn't truly know what Morgoth can and will do to them.

So he stands up, and tries to convince himself he's right as he speaks.

It isn't so bad when he's distracted. He can work in the forge, or with of his stones (so long as they aren't ones he saw in the northern mountains), or he can do paperwork, even. His heart is always beating a little too fast, his throat is always a little tight, it's hard to stomach food, but that can be waved away. He didn't eat all that much before, either.

But then someone mentions Tarnin Austa, or suggests that he go to Anghabar, or he sees the brand on his side, and the great yawning pit of dread in his heart takes him again.

It isn't so bad if he pretends it isn't going to happen. If he does everything possible to forget.

And it's easier, also, if he tries to convince himself he wants it, that he chose Morgoth entirely of his own will, because then it's only guilt and not fear and despair. But, deep down, he knows that even if he wanted this more than anything, it still wouldn't end well for him.

Morgoth won't have use for him once it's over, and if he does, Maeglin would prefer to die before finding out what.

Maeglin can't help the laugh that burbles up from somewhere deep within him, from some part that's already broken and can't break any further. Gondolin is beautiful as it burns, and he ought to be getting off this tower-top and making sure the people he holds dear have no chance of survival, and he can't help it, he laughs.

He must look like some kind of battle-bird, if anyone's looking up at him, but there won't be any wings for him today. The thought only makes him laugh harder, tears falling from his eyes until he can't tell whether sobbing has overpowered the laughter or if he's just doing both.

Oh, he really needs to get back to ground level. And he will, once he's sure he won't trip on the stairs, but Gondolin is beautiful! Never in all his dreams of smashing his cage has it been so lovely.

He wants, of course, to break down and cry for a hundred years and beg forgiveness. But he swore to himself, before he died, never to humble nor disgrace himself in front of a Vala again, and Lord Námo is here. He holds himself upright and tilts up his chin.

Turgon doesn't seem to know what to say to him, which is just as well, because Maeglin wouldn't know how to respond. He'll apologize if he's asked to, yes, but -- in an awful way, he's only half sorry. He's sorry that he got people killed, and he's sorry he aided Morgoth. He isn't sorry about the rest, even if he ought to be.

At last he says, "If you're waiting for me to fall to your feet and beg for your pardon, you'll be waiting a very long time." He takes satisfaction in seeing Turgon flinch.

"I expected nothing of the kind," says Turgon. "I -- well, I suppose there is nothing but time here to talk and to think, but first I would like to know why."

Somehow this knocks the nonexistent breath out of him. To be asked why before even having apologized? He didn't think Turgon would still want to be that understanding.

"They're not reasons that would make sense to you," says Maeglin honestly. "And I'd be lying if I said it was only the torment. I wanted the city gone, and I got it, but you have to believe me when I say I didn't want anybody hurt." Well, almost anybody. But even then he'd rather just hurt them himself than outsource to Morgoth.

Turgon sighs. "Then you were very thorough. But, as I have said many a time to you and Ityë in your enmity, I wish you were thorough at other things."

It isn't forgiveness. But Maeglin isn't ready to ask for that, let alone get it. You're still you is what he wants, and he needs to get better at hiding his thoughts, because Turgon knew to give it to him.

[elsewhereuniversity]

If you still do these, may I ask how I would fare at Elsewhere? I'm an English major, and know I want to be a novelist, but I'm thinking now about working as a librarian as well. I'm proudly neurodivergent, and my executive function does Not, which means usually when I have a deadline I either miss it or complete the thing in a panic the night before. I Do Not Like The Gentry. I do very much like folktales about people outsmarting them, but I think usually it's best not to talk to them at all.

You have an impressive collection of those rings that flip open to hold poison. You don’t actually keep poison in most of them, but there is still a certain amount of entertainment to be had in inviting people for tea, unsubtly powdering their cups with Gatorade mix/nutmeg/powdered sugar/gold dust, and then encouraging them to drink up, darling, it’s getting cold. Your friends generally take it in good humour, playing along with some Princess Bride-style standoffs; it’s all in good fun.

The changelings very much do not, which is why it’s ‘most of’ rather than ‘all’, these days. You reputation as someone ruthless yet incompetent swells, which suits your purposes extremely well. Better to be feared yet underestimated, especially when (as your true friends know) your weapon of choice is brass knuckles.

[arofili]

Tuor, Annael, and co. for prompt 67?

67. Traditions

Now Tuor loved swans, which he knew on the grey pools of Mithrim; and the swan moreover had been the token of Annael and his foster-folk.

—The Fall of Gondolin

~

“It’s hard for us to tell, with mortals,” Annael admitted, “but you’re of an age now that you’re growing a beard, so that’s a sign of your maturity.”

Tuor scratched at the stubble on his chin a bit self-consciously. He was only thirteen; he didn’t think that made him an adult, but...well, Annael was right. He’d never known any humans, and the Swan-folk didn’t know very many aside from him, and certainly not very well. He was pretty sure he still had some growing up to do, but...he did feel pretty mature. And if Annael said so, and the other leaders agreed, it must be true. He glanced to the other elves, and saw them smiling at him, nodding their heads.

“So, we have decided it is time to give you the first of your coming-of-age gifts,” Annael pronounced, and unfolded the white cloth in his lap.

Tuor gasped. “A swan-cloak?” he said reverently, reaching out to stroke the feathers softly. “But I’m...”

“Our family,” Annael said firmly, draping the sacred cloak over his shoulders. “You have been raised among us, and are a part of us. You are of the Folk of the Swan as much as any other of our children, and deserve to take part in our traditions.”

“But Nimphiel didn’t get her cloak until she was seventy-five,” Tuor whispered, awed to 

“I’ll live a lot longer than you, little Tuor,” Nimphiel said, smiling. “And it took me a lot longer to grow up.”

“I don’t think I’m done growing,” Tuor said, spinning around so his cape floated dramatically. A chuckle ran through the assembled elves, and Tuor grinned.

“Probably not,” Annael agreed. “Which is why this is only the first of your gifts.”

Nimphiel sighed dramatically. “At this rate you’ll be counted as a full adult before I am,” she complained. “Don’t go getting married before me, though!”

[adanedhel]

Writing prompt! First line: Elrond was not entirely certain what he was doing.

💗💗💗

Elrond was not entirely certain what he was doing. And well, Elros could not claim he was sure either. It was… a bad idea, perhaps. But they had already started, and now they weren’t about to give up.

“I don’t believe the recipe was supposed to go like this,” Elros frowned, lifting his spoon and letting the watery batter dribble back into the bowl.

“We must have missed something, then,” Elrond said, as he scanned over the page of the cookbook yet another time. They were hard at work, trying to make breakfast for their fathers. Atya Maglor and Atar Maedhros had been especially sad lately, and though the twins couldn’t figure out why, it was not unusual for them to fall into a slump a few times a year. Sometimes Atar especially would shut himself in his room for days, and neither of them would see or hear from him, only Atya would be able to talk to him or get him to eat.

Well, now Atya was struggling too, so it was up to the boys to make sure their fathers were fed and cared for. Although, neither of them had ever actually cooked before, and certainly not something with so many steps.

“Perhaps cakes were an ambitious first try,” Elrond muttered, looking into the bowl. Something sweet always cheered him up, but they wouldn’t be cheering anyone up if they couldn’t figure out how to fix their mess before their fathers woke up.

“What are you boys doing in here?” Uh-oh. Too late.

Both of the boys stammered trying to come up with an excuse, expecting to be chastised for fooling around in the kitchen when they were always told never to do so without adult supervision. Maglor looked at them, seemingly stunned for a moment, before absorbing the situation and letting out an unexpected laugh.

“Oh, boys, I’m sorry. Have I not been feeding you enough? You are growing, after all.” He sighed, and though he looked deeply tired, he was smiling.

“Um, actually, Atya,” Elrond began, “We thought you and Atar might want-- that you might be hungry--”

“We thought maybe we would make something special for you,” Elros supplied, “For a change.”

Their Atya’s eyes softened even more, and he placed a hand on the top of each of their heads, “That’s very thoughtful, my shining stars. You seem like you could use some help though.” He eyed their soupy bowl of batter.

“Um, maybe a little,” Elros wrinkled his nose, and mixed the goo around.

Maglor ended up dumping the batter, and starting over, walking them through each step, and letting them do most of the work. He lit the stove however, and did most of the actual cooking, though he let them take turns standing on a stool to flip the cakes over. Before long they had a tall stack piled onto a plate, and they steamed beside the stove while Maglor cooked a pan full of bacon, and the boys prepared a tray with silverware and glasses and sweet syrup to top them with.

Maglor led them down the hall, balancing the tray full of dishes and food and a jug of milk, and knocked on the door briskly. There was a groan on the other side, the definite sound of Maedhros with his face buried in the pillows in the dark. Maglor tsk’ed once, and then opened the door, gesturing for the boys to go on in ahead of him.

“Wake him.” He said, and the boys smiled at each other, and ran in ahead of him to jump on their Atar’s bed until he untangled himself from the blankets enough to sit up. Maglor set the tray on a table, and walked over to the window, throwing the curtains open, and earning an even more angry groan from his sleeping lump of a brother.

“Atar! Atar we have a surprise for you, look what we’ve done! We made you something!” They cried, tugging the blankets, and in their excitement his hair as well.

“Alright, ALRIGHT!” Atar groaned and huffed, finally sitting himself up. His eyes were red, with deep-set bags underneath them. Maglor realized he must have just been crying, and his heart panged. “What have you brats got for me, then?” He said, but a smile pulled at the corner of his lips, and he ruffled their hair as he spoke.

“They’ve made you breakfast.” Maglor said, and Maedhros’ eyebrows raised in surprise.

“WE made you breakfast,” Elrond quickly interjected, “We could not have done it without him.”

“We could not have made something edible, anyway,” Elros added.

“Well, they did most of the work. I just helped.” Maglor shrugged, and lifted the tray, bringing it over to the bed, and the twins both settled on either side of Maedhros. He set it across Maedhros’ lap, and set himself across from him on the bed, crossing his legs under him.

As they ate together the boys told Maedhros all about the things he had missed in the past few days, and how much fun they had cooking, and how much they loved him and wanted him to cook with them next.It  was the first time since the day their father died, that Maglor had seen his brother smile on the anniversary of his death. He thought to himself, If we cannot be with our Atar, at least they can have theirs, today.

[slumbering-lore]

6 and Maglor for the angst prompts? :)

•••

6. “Just talk to me, please.” -- Maglor

Ok so I'm doing the version where both the Ambarussa twins are present in the third kinslaying.

•••

Maglor had heard the phrase 'heart being ripped out of the chest' but he never really knew what that meant, until today. He felt as if someone had shovelled their way through his ribs.

Why? He had lost two more brothers- the youngest two- Ambarussa. They didn't deserve it. All they had done was to follow their father and brothers into war. They were young; they didn't deserve to get their youth taken away.

Their last words hurt him. It struck somewhere inside him, hard, "Maybe we'll see mother again, hmm?" That's all they wanted. To see the last of their family again.

He felt angry. Angry on himself, angry on Fëanor, angry on the oath. He felt angry on the Valas, especially Námo, who cursed them, and Melkor- him.

The ocean of blood and death under his feet seemed to be swallowing him, wanting to punish him with his own crimes. And Maglor felt like he deserved it. He was a murderer, after all.

"Maglor?" A distant voice called. Maglor didn't seem to recognise it. He squinted, trying to focus his eyes on the tall being approaching him.

"I tried pursuing that damned half elf- Maglor? Where's Amburussa?"

Nothing seemed to be making sense to him. Who was this elf? Who was he talking about? He was fast losing consciousness.

"Maglor you're hurt!" The elf caught him. Why? Why was he being so kind to a murderer?

"Just talk to me, please..."

"Will I see them? My twin brothers?" Maglor asked.

"Where?"

"Mandos?" Saying so, Maglor fainted. But he felt himself hitting the damp ground and heard a loud anguished cry from the elf.

Why? Who was he? Maglor failed to recognise.

[austrohungarianwriteblr]

⭐ Clara the violin!

I joke a lot about Clara being alive, but the truth is, she is alive. How could she not be? Her whole existence has been spent being loved and cherished by brilliant musicians. She’s absorbed so much art and love and passion that she’s alive, in her own important way.

[hhimring]

WIP snippet (Finrod)

Tagged by @potatoobsessed999 to post part of a WIP. Thank you!

Here is the beginning of a ficlet about Finrod in the dungeon of Tol-in-Gaurhoth that I started as a challenge entry and then shelved for the time being because I could not complete it by the deadline (but I hope to write it some day).

Finrod lay in darkness and pain. For the moment, there was no call for defiance and he seemed to have run out of even the most threadbare comfort to offer. His last attempt must have been very unconvincing, so unconvincing that he seemed to have already forgotten what he had said to the others the moment he said it.  

He thought, rather dully, that foresight was over-rated. Not only was it rarely of help in avoiding situations, it did not help in dealing with them when they arrived either. He should have been better prepared for all this, surely?

(When complete, this should touch on Finrod’s memories of Andreth and the themes of the Atrabeth.)

Please consider yourself tagged, if you see this and have a suitable bit of WIP you feel like posting!