#searchingforserendipity25

[joanna-lannister]

📝 pls?

Hiiiiii, thank you so much for the ask! 🤍🌷🌿

Poised behind his mahogany desk, Tywin Lannister was unbothered by the world around him, and would probably ignore and brush away the demand his daughter was about to make with a flick of his wrist, but Cersei needed to ask. Her ambitions had been far too long reduced to milk and nappies.

for an upcoming chapter of the "and everytime i look at you, it's like the first time"

[thelordofgifs]

Happy Tumblr Milestone Saturday, congrats!!!

If you're up for a fic prompt, any thoughts on Maedhros playing a musical instrument?

Yikes so sorry this took three months to get to! Thank you for the prompt friend <3

-

“I think,” says Maedhros, “I should learn to play the harp.”

Maglor stops what he is doing and stares at him. “Nelyo.”

“What?” Maedhros says mildly. “It is a key part of my own history.”

Maglor’s face twists in distress. He turns his gaze back to his work, organising the little bottles of medicines and salves on the table.

“The fiddle, otherwise,” Maedhros suggests. “Or the flute?”

Maglor makes a small, unhappy sound, quickly stifled. That is not what Maedhros wanted. There were few memories he dared cling to, in Angband, scared that in turning them over too often he would rub away the details, or else that they would be snatched perforce from his mind; but he does remember the clear bright sound of Maglor’s laugh, which rang so often and easily through the streets of Tirion. He has not heard it once since his return.

Hard enough to realise he does not know himself any longer – but to find his little brother a stranger is nigh unbearable.

“I was joking, Káno,” he says. “I know I cannot play with only one hand.”

“Oh,” says Maglor. He smiles bravely, although his eyes are wet. “I knew that.”

“Come and sit,” Maedhros says, and then flinches – it sounds like an order, and what right has he to give orders?

But Maglor sets aside his fidgeting and sits down in the chair next to Maedhros’ bed. He always balances the distance perfectly, close enough for Maedhros to see him without straining his neck, far enough away that the proximity does not frighten him. Today, however, Maedhros wants his brother near. He reaches out to take Maglor’s hand in his.

“I miss you,” he says, and then, “I miss me.”

“I know, Nelyo,” Maglor breathes.

“Shall it never again be as it was?” Maedhros asks.

“I think not,” says Maglor, “and yet—” He swallows. “I am glad that you are back, Nelyo.” His eyes bleed apologies.

“Sometimes,” Maedhros says dreamily, “I think I am still there, and it was only some facsimile of me that Thorondor bore back.” Maglor takes a breath and Maedhros adds, “I know that it is not true. My old self was lost long before Finno came.”

“Nelyo,” Maglor says miserably.

“Now I have upset you,” Maedhros says. Tentatively, he lifts his hand to Maglor’s cheek, and Maglor does not flinch in disgust from his touch. “And I only wanted to make you laugh.”

Maglor smiles wryly. “Laughter is in rather short supply, these days,” he says.

Maedhros has known that to be true for himself. But he did not think—

"Is the world so changed?" he asks. "Are you so changed, dearest?"

Maglor lowers his gaze. He looks rather ashamed.

"I should not have left you," Maedhros murmurs.

Maglor meets his eyes again, startled. "How you can say that!" he says. "When I—"

Maedhros touches his cheek again. "All the same," he says, "it has been hard for you."

"Nelyo, that is absurd," Maglor says. "You cannot possibly blame yourself that I grieved you – and while you were living all the time!" He smiles again, bitterly.

Was I? thinks Maedhros. But aloud he says, "Káno, I – I barely recognise anything of myself. May I not – at the very least – remain your elder brother?"

"You are always that," Maglor says, blinking away his tears.

"Then come here," says Maedhros, and he pulls Maglor into a hug, and does not shudder to feel his body so close; so there is still this. And if Maglor is a stranger to him now he still lays his head on Maedhros' good shoulder as he used to when he was very small, and they sit that way for a while.

It cannot last forever – Maedhros is too weak to sit upright for long. Eventually, Maglor lowers him carefully down onto his pillows and fetches the evening round of medicines, and once again he becomes the carer and Maedhros the patient. He is still very gentle, as he coaxes the bitter concoctions into Maedhros, and changes the dressings on his wrist. So perhaps the world is not so changed.

***

The next morning, Maglor is carrying his harp when he comes into the tent. He looks pensive, but not unhappy, and he smiles to see Maedhros awake.

"Have you come to play for me?" Maedhros asks.

"Yes, if you would like me to," says Maglor; "but first I thought you could try playing it yourself, if you want to."

Maedhros blinks at him. "Káno, I only have one hand."

"I can teach you some simple melodies," says Maglor, and then he looks uncertain. "But we don't have to – if you would rather I played instead—"

"I'd like you to teach me," Maedhros says gently. (That was interrupting – they will punish him for speaking out of turn – no, it is Maglor, it is Maglor who loves him. Maedhros knows that.)

Maglor brings the harp over to the bed and sits down beside it. He reaches for Maedhros’ hand. “May I?” And when Maedhros nods, he places Maedhros’ fingers on the harp, and teaches him the name of each string in turn.

It turns out to be possible to pluck out a simple little melody on the harp, even with Maedhros’ numb and clumsy fingers. Eventually, Maglor stops guiding his hand and accompanies him instead, smiling encouragingly as he does so; and the sound of the music is very sweet. And when Maedhros deliberately botches the tune, moving his fingers quickly across the strings in a rapid, messy glissando, Maglor's laugh is sweeter yet.

[lady-of-the-spirit]

Hii! 4 and 5 for the star wars ask?

yeah we already know who my favourite prequels character is XD

4. Favourite character from original trilogy?

Luke! He's the main guy, he started it all. I love the journey he goes on, and how at the end of it all his strength is always his kindness and his hope.

5. Favourite character from sequal trilogy?

ugh i don't want to choose between the main trio bc I love them so much... I think Finn. for similar reasons to Luke. despite being raised in a harsh, uncaring world, he cares so deeply. he deserved better from the storyline.

star wars asks

[meadowlarkx]

Hi!! For the kiss asks, Maemags and 'out of love' pls?

Maedhros’ eyes were on him—he could feel them even when he turned upstage. As the last swelling chords rang out to the shiver of the timbrels, Maglor arranged himself in a languid pose, his hair falling riverine over his shoulders.

He had wanted Ossë’s role—it had seemed to him more dramatic and dynamic. Yet Uinen had the better arias, long pieces persuading her beloved to forsake Melkor’s service and return to her side, and so her role was given to him.

Ossë’s actor, a sturdy nís of a stonemason’s family, rushed to him. Maglor threw his bangled arm about her shoulders. Applause burst out, and around them, the silk-simulated seas quieted to stillness. The crystal lamps brightened: the spell was broken.

Turning fractionally, he sought out Maedhros’ gaze and found it at once. His brother’s handsome face stood out in the crowd just as the brightest stars arrested attention amid the firmament. He was still watching. Maglor fought not to smile as he slipped away through a cunning opening in the fabric.

When he stepped out into a Mingling full of iridescent damselflies, Maedhros was waiting for him with an armful of flowers even before he reached the festival’s dressing rooms.

Maglor grinned and ducked inside, knowing Maedhros would follow, and then the flowers—lovely though they were, and fragrant—were forgotten. When they parted, Maedhros’ mouth was smeared reef-turquoise and he bore a hint of Maglor’s amethyst blush upon his high cheekbone.

“Thou wert radiant.”

“Nothing thou hast not heard before,” Maglor demurred. He liked, when he could, to steal away Maedhros to mark the paces of scenes with him. All in the name of practice, of course. “Besides, I still think the harpist should have been replaced in the orchestra. He lagged on each trill.”

Maedhros smiled a small secret smile, the sort that was only for Maglor. Maglor’s heart glowed.

How could what they shared be wrong—if it made him feel thus? He had heard others speak of the joyful instinct that lighted their own fëar, urging their feet towards the path that was right for them. That was Maglor’s only religion, and it guided him in circles ever around and beside and back to the nér he craved.

“Very well,” Maedhros was saying, entertained, “I will tell thee again that thou art beautiful, and a better harper besides.” And he kissed Maglor again, returning the turquoise paint.

Maglor caught at breath, as he often did after Maedhros kissed him. He had blushed at Maedhros’ archness, but Maedhros had kissed even more color into his cheeks. He managed, though, to flutter his lashes. “Oh? Thou wouldst yield to my pleas?”

“Thou knowest me, Káno,” Maedhros said, crowding him against the vanity. “Can I ever deny thee anything?”

[leucisticpuffin]

hi!! if you're up to it, home and/or comfort for the word ask pls?

Home:

"Home" appears 45 times (!) in my working document for we will make this place our home, so to keep this post a reasonable length I've only included results from one chapter:

"If his hands were still sore by the time we got home he pretended he’d fallen over in the playground."

"She didn’t intend us to know yet, but Fearanya found a note about booking the campsite on her mother’s desk at home and spread it to the entire school (Mrs. Maeriel was not pleased with her)."

"A small part of me – the part that loved adventure stories and exploring in the woods – really wanted to go, but the other part just wanted to stay home where it was safe."

Comfort:

I couldn't find "comfort" on its own, but here's a line from chapter 61:

"The stuffed toys were now gathered under the blankets with us, and Elros was a comforting warmth against my side."

[displayheartcode]

Sophie Hatter/Howl Pendragon + 45 for the kiss ask pls?

Being raised on fairytales, Howl knew the dangers of kissing cursed women.

Had it stopped him before? No. But there was something about the way Sophie commanded magic without realizing. Her hair shimmered between auburn and gray – usually in moments of self-deprecation, the clothes followed her wordings carefully to ward off dust and tears, inanimate objects like the tea kettle crowed to be near her…

Isn’t she a charming puzzle, Calcifer murmured, interrupting Howl’s growing line of frustrated thoughts. Perhaps a kiss shall set things right? Become a noble hero and set her free.

“Hardly a kiss when I don’t have a heart.”

That would be your own fault, fool.

Howl banished the image of him running down a road in a set of chainmail and armor. He would look ridiculous, and his hair would never be the same because of the blasted helmet.

(After all, what use were holy knights and gallant princes when he could play with the building blocks of the universe?)

Still, he played with the idea of kissing Sophie, wondering if it would be enough, but the space where his heart should be remained as cold as ever.

He asked, “What is a kiss when it is not a kiss?”

Bah! Calcifer spat an ember on the rug. All that power and full of nonsense. Go ask the girl yourself.

"I'm afraid she might pluck my eyes and turn me into a tree."

Calcifer made a contemplative noise. That would be an improvement.

[gwaedhannen]

Hi! If you're up to it, 'She kept a blade under her pillow, her father's old sword, and grasped it at time when there was no other hand to hold in the night' for the 5 sentence ask pls?

Big fan of your fics btw! <3

In the day, she bears the blade in one hand, shield in the other, and would have carried a child or elder upon her back if only there was not the risk of attack at any time. Instead she patrols the lines of survivors; instead she smiles for the children; instead she sings for the elders; instead she raises blade and shield against the foes who harry them again and again.

Every death she bears on her heart as if it were her own soul sundered from flesh and not another’s; a new notch on the blade’s hilt; a new verse in the lay of remembrance. Her father will never see the lands she leads his (her) people towards—she will never see his grave. But the sword shall bring them to a new promise, and as she holds the grip, she no longer feels notched wood or leather binding, but his calloused hand in her own.

[jaz-the-bard]

Hi 👋! If you're up for some Silm Prompts, maybe 'poured forth their joy in music and song' and Tuor please?

"You complete sap," said Idril, and kissed his cheek. "You really wrote me a song?"

"How would I possibly express my joy without singing?" he said.

"With another one of your loud exclamations that make me wish I'd brought earplugs?" said Maeglin.

"I wrote a song for you, too," Tuor assured him, delighting in his blush. "I mean, we are getting married."

Idril kissed him again, and the first few notes spilled out in a hum against her lips.