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#momma tolkien
fistfuloflightning · 8 months
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“For so long I stood with your choices, Amil. But I can no longer look away, not when you have gone too far.” In his reddened eyes was a flicker of fury, of grief. Shards of a breaking heart. “Whether acting under the Oath or spurred on by your own demons, what you did was unforgivable.”
He touched Gildor’s shoulder and turned his brother away, though the boy twisted for one lasted tearful look at Curufin. But Celebrimbor would not turn, even as he walked away. He knew what sight awaited him should he give in to the need for one last glimpse of his mother.
Standing alone in the center of the hall, a dark shadow staining the white stone of Nargothrond. This place that had been home had been tainted, violated. Curufin was proud—even if in the wrong she would not admit to anything. There would be no regret in those hard eyes, not for the blood on her hands. Not for sending her own husband to his death.
No, Celebrimbor would not look back.
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aureentuluva70 · 1 year
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An extremely underexplored concept in the silm fandom concerning who Gil-Galad's dad is doesn't actually have anything to do with his dad at all, but his mom.
Like, where are all the Gil's mom oc's? You can at least acknowledge the one version where Gil's mom was actually named, her name being Meril. And yet I find practically nothing.
Gil-Galad deserves to know for a surety of who at least one of his parents is, and amidst all the crack theories of Gil-Galad's 5+ dads, who better than his own, one mother? At least let him be close to his mom!
Like, Gil-Galad may or may not know who his father is, but he does know that he is the son of his mother, who he loves and takes after the most in terms of personality and character and he's gonna make sure everybody knows that. He's a momma's boy through and through and he's gonna make it everyone's problem.
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angel-gone-south · 8 months
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i have a request for gn!reader who js eats everything after seeing my brothers doing this. Most common stuff bein like playdoh, orbeez, or flowers w craig, tweek and maybe some of the main kids? probably would make more sense if they all were 4th graders? (srry if its too much, like ur stuff and saw reqs were open!)
Main 5 + Craig and Those Guys w/ Reader Who Eats Everything!
my friend used to do this. i think its a disorder? pica iirc anyway TYSM FOR UR REQ 4th grade reader + boys
【☆】★【☆】
Eric Cartman
hey what are u doing
hey that's not food, you idiot
makes fun of you for it
but secretly keeps an eye on what goes in
berates you extra hard when its something extra bad
brings you snacks sometimes so you don't put bad shit in your mouth
if you question him about it "mom packed too much"
Kyle Broflovski
no!! no no!!!
lectures you like a mom
brings you chew stims or snacks when he can
has to practically keep you on a leash
jesus christ he does the thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose when he gets annoyed
enjoys your presence but you stress him out deeply!
Stan Marsh
bets you you can't swallow it (if it's safe)
holds your hand in a death grip so you can't run off and get into something really bad
steals his sister's mints and gum so you can have it
sometimes you gnaw on his arm
he pats your head while you do
thinks you're MAD WEIRD but loves u fr
Kenny McCormick
dude he does it too a lot
if he doesn't think it's safe he eats it first
has died a lot this way
doesn't mind though if it keeps you safe
would let you chew on him but he's a bit stinky so you don't
he steals you dog toys as a joke but you actually use them
flattered but laughs at you
Butters Stotch
oh golly
please dont eat those
he worries so bad
:[
makes you the stuff that's like playdough but edible
has chew stims out the wazoo
lets you chew on his sleeve and then wails about the wetness
he doesn't actually mind though
Craig Tucker
pays you to do it
laughs when you hate the taste of something
"your fault for putting it in your mouth, idiot."
he's right tbh but you still pout about it
has so many pictures of you putting random shit near your mouth
taken seconds before he snatched them away from you
his sister eggs you on
he yells at her for it and then also eggs you on
Tweek Tweak
oh god oh god please don't!!
screams when he catches you
you've got this boy practically ripping his hair out
worried about even the smallest things
he can't stand to watch but also feels inclined to (to keep you safe)
learns the Heimlich just because of you
bought books upon books of what flowers, bugs, and plants are ok to eat
it keeps him up at night
Jimmy Valmer
always cracking jokes
definitely thinks you should be more careful though
will learn about it (not to the tweek extent)
tries some stuff with you like wild blackberries
one time you guys ate gingko sapling
boy, the bitter taste would NOT come out!
Tolkien Black
while he thinks it's cute, he will urge you to stop
whenever the boys catch you doing it clyde goes "aw, momma's gonna be mad"
then turns to tolkien
eye rolls are given in return as he stops you from consuming literal poison ivy
gives you gum and chewy stimmies
holds you by the shirt collar when you run to grab something
Clyde Donovan
silly goose
honest to god makes bets with craig on if you will (tw) throw up or not
bites you back if you bite him
eats certain things with you
you both got sick from eating marigolds once
his mom was not very happy with you
but the days next to each other in the hospital room were fun
you ate flowers less after that
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readychilledwine · 2 months
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do you ever feel awkward writing for Eris? I saw your poll about doing an SJM bad guys week, so I'm guessing not.
Warning - This is going to become SJM critical. Please know I am not anti any of these characters. I am, however, critical of SJM as a long-time fantasy reader.
You answered your own question in your ask there, friend.
I do not have issues writing for Eris. The main issue the fandom has with him is the situation with Mor, and here's my stance on that:
We have an issue with the timeline around this incident, so I will make my judgement call when SJM does her eventual retcon and fixes it.
We know Eris is younger than Mor and Rhys, who are around the same age. Mor was sold to Autumn as Eris's bride at the tender age of 17. When Helion is giving us his gorgeous monolog talking about his love for Momma Autumn, we find out that she and Beron were married young and had barely been married for two decades around the start of the first war. Meaning Eris was around 19 at the time.
This passage from Rhys is a little hazy and unclear, but from how I and several other people took it, he was around 28 at the start of that war, meaning Mor was also around 27 to 28. That makes Mor at least 8 to 9 years older than Eris. Meaning, he potentially was a LITERAL child when he and Mor were engaged. He would have been around the age of 7 to 9 and already had the mindset to fear Beron.
This where I am going to look SJM critical. She is great at a few things, creating plotholes by retconing, and fucking up timelines due to her retconing.
Let's say she retcons to correct that issue. We still know Eris is younger than Mor by a year or two. So, let's say he was 15 to 16. At 15 to 16 years old, I want you to think about what you would have done in this situation:
You are a young prince or princess. Your father is a known abuser and racist. You all have just found out your betrothed has sullied themselves with a person your father considers below all of you, and you know it was done to get out of a marriage she did not want to be in. You and your men find her on the border of your father's court, beaten and with a nail in her womb. Here are your options:
1. You take her back to your father, the known racist and abuser. Thus making her, in reality, his problem. You have witnessed how your father likes to handle his problems. You also know he's angry and embarrassed this female made the choice to sleep with a lesser born bastard Illyrian over marry his high fae princeling.
2. You cannot risk touching her, so leave her somewhere her friends can find her without risking her or them having to enter Autumn. This will allow her to go home, where she is safe, and heal.
In both scenarios, Eris could not win. He either took Mor to his father and risked her death and was blamed for that, or he left her knowing her friends were more than likely coming and be blamed for that as well. He was now the villain in Mor's story regardless of what actions he took, and he was that villain as a teen. A literal child. As a child he picked to allow Morrigan life. To allow her to live without being trapped the way he and his mother are.
Eris, in theory, made a selfless choice. He made the choice to damn himself and his reputation for the sake of Mor and as he says, it cost him..
As for me being willing to write other SJM bad guys-
It is perfectly normal and acceptable in every other fandom to be attracted to the bad guys and to write dark fanfiction about them. You see it all time in Tolkien, Harry Potter, and (grossly since they are all children) it has resurged in the Percy Jackson fandom. Please have several seats and let me, and the several other people who are excited for it, enjoy my little story about Pollux, my reader, and his heavy cock that sways to and fro.
It's also, as someone pumping out the amount of content I am right now, really nice to get to write a dark fic with a villain here and there for a change of pace, so thank you to everyone who is supportive and open to me doing that.
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Eddie knows from a very young age that fate is cruel. He learns it from his parents first; learns that his mother was destined to shed tears and his father meant to roar in anger like the engines of the cars he steals. Tied together by cheap wedding rings, words on their wrists. They were stuck together unlike the love they used to hold for each other, that once upon a time had the power to turn black ink on their skin into glowing gold, but had left them as time passed by.
Eddie knows how to hotwire a car before he knows how to read. He knows it’s cut the yellow cable and stick the red and blue ones together before he knows that O follows N. He knows the sound of sirens at his heels before he knows the melody to sing his ABCs to. 
He does get to Z eventually, despite his extracurriculars. Recognises letters and merges them together into words. Reads a sentence. Reads another. Devours page after page, flicks through books with the same unstoppable force that his father gets caught up in poor choices with. Eddie ends up in fantastical stories, his father ends up in jail. 
There aren’t many books in the Munson household. So his mother tends to drop Eddie off at the library when he asks for a new one. Leaves him there until it’s closing time. Eddie doesn’t mind, doesn’t even notice, too enraptured by foreign worlds hidden behind rows of ink and knowledge pressed into paper. 
He likes fantasy best, develops a real soft spot for Tolkien even though some of the words he has to look up in a dictionary and reading them takes forever. But he isn’t picky. Reads anything Mrs. Hildich, the tired, old librarian, recommends. She has a soft spot for him, offers him some butterscotch and doesn’t scold him when he drinks a can of soda in the library. She knows how well he treats the books. 
After fantasy, Eddie’s second favorite books are the ones about soulmates. Or at least, it would seem that way to Mrs. Hildich at the speed Eddie devours them with. But it’s not joy or curiosity that drives Eddie, it’s worry and preparation. If having a soulmate means having the same kind of relationship his parents have, he has to be prepared. Has to know his options. Maybe there is a way to undo it all. 
Eddie is too young to really understand what irony means, but there definitely is a certain hint of it when his words appear the moment he has closed the last book about soulmates that he could find in the library. As if the universe watched him read, train up, and decided now that Eddie has all the knowledge, knows that there is no way out of this, that it is time. It’s late at night, Eddie stayed up reading far too long. He closes the book when the faint light of his bedside table lamp illuminates his wrist. The book tumbles out of Eddie’s hands and lands on the floor with a loud thud. 
With trembling hands he traces the letters on his wrist reading the two words etched into his skin and he feels nausea stir in his stomach. There is meant to be no sensation, no pain when the words appear. Still it feels like there is a knife carving them into the fiber of Eddie’s being. 
Dustin died. 
Eddie blinks. Then, in a frenzy, rubs his thumb over the words, once, twice, thrice, as if to hope that they smudge. Disappear. Change. But they don’t. Eddie stares at death and death stares right back at him. 
Eddie never wanted a soulmate, but this… this truly manifests his disdain for it all. On his wrist sit the words that his soulmate is going to say the moment they realize they are in love with Eddie. What kind of monster falls in love over another person’s death? Eddie might have a thing for the dark and macabre, but that is objectively fucked up. He doesn’t even know a Dustin and yet in the back of his mind, Eddie already has to grieve him. Or maybe, be relieved that he died? Eddie isn’t quite sure what’s worse. What he is sure about, is that he doesn’t want to meet his soulmate. Ever.  
He’s always been a momma’s boy. Eddie had thought it meant that he was kind, tried his best, was the kind of person that reminded people of summer days and running through golden fields of wheat laughing. But apparently it means that Eddie is destined to end up with the same kind of shitty person his dad is. Whoever his soulmate is going to be, Eddie already has a deep hatred for them.  
****
At the same time, on the other side of town, unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve’s hands are trembling just as much as he traces the dark ink covering his wrist alongside a multitude of freckles and moles. His stomach lurches similarly, but where dread had pooled into the pit of Eddie’s stomach, Steve’s fills with giddiness. It’s the same kind of nervous, excited flutter he gets on Christmas mornings or rollercoaster rides. The same kind of adrenaline-fueled tingle surging through him when his favorite nanny, Greta, chases him around the pool before she grabs and tickles him, both their delighted laughters echoing through the deafening quiet of the back yard. 
The giggle Steve lets out now is muffled by the blanket he is hiding under. He isn’t meant to still be up. But a nightmare had woken him, convinced him that there was a monster under his bed, just waiting to eat him. 
Steve struggles with letters and words, stutters more than anyone else when he is asked to read out loud, feels like the syllables are turning into glass shards in his mouth. But the words on his wrist are simple, only two of them. One is his own name, one of the few things he can read and spell without any problem. The other word is a simple hey. 
Hey, Steve. 
Warmth floods through him and with a smile on his lips he whispers back into the quiet of the night, “Hey, soulmate.” He is no longer alone, even without them in his room, he can feel their presence. Knows they’ll keep him safe. Knows the monster under his bed no longer poses a threat. And despite the excitement, Steve drifts off into a peaceful sleep. 
He runs down for breakfast the next day, excitedly calling out for his parents. Screams his mother’s name and waves his wrist up and down. His mother hisses for him to be quiet and to sit, nursing a cup of coffee while his father remains unapproachable behind a wall of newspaper pages. 
Steve knows better, he really usually knows better, but something buzzing inside of him makes him blow caution into the wind. Because this is important, right? This is huge, surely he can be forgiven for acting up. 
So he continues on, babbling ecstatically about getting his mark, about his soulmate, about how he is going to find and marry them. It’s enough for the top of the newspaper to be folded down. 
There is a scoff on his father’s face and for the first time that morning Steve grows quiet. 
“Don’t be stupid,” he says with a low voice. It’s a warning and the last time Steve’s father grants him an act of mercy. He then goes on to tell Steve that he isn’t going to marry his soulmate. That marriage is business and politics. Big words Steve doesn’t understand yet, but he does quickly understand having a soulmate has very little to do with it. His parents don’t carry each other’s words on their wrists, only expensive watches and pearl bracelets. They don’t even bother covering their words up, like most people. Proudly display the black ink as if people should admire them for choosing a union based not on love but rationality. Or greed. 
Still, they hand Steve a luxurious brown leather bracelet to cover up his mark. It’s unwise to display your words, frowned upon if you’re not mated or married. It’s best kept secret. 
And Steve loves secrets. Loves the whispered promise of just between you and me. Loves the thrill that comes with having something just for himself, maybe shared with one other he trusts blindly. That bond that comes with faces leaning closer and hushed words being revealed. 
Most of the time that person he shares secrets the same way she shares chocolate with him is Greta. Steve will crook his small fingers at her, asking her to come closer. Delight will flicker over her face before she turns serious, giving Steve her entire undivided attention. 
Steve has many secrets, some smaller, some bigger. But his biggest probably is hope. Hope that despite what his parents say he will be with his soulmate. 
“I’m gonna find my soulmate and marry them,” he whispers into Great’s ear, a giddy grin on his lips. 
“I know you will,” she says and reassuringly squeezes his hand. She hopes for him. Steve deserves the world in her opinion, but she knows what kind of people the Harrington’s are. Knows the kind of golden cage that’s going to keep Steve in the smalltown of Hawkins, Indiana. Knows that unless fate has been kind, Steve doesn’t stand a chance. 
Steve knows too, is not half as naive and oblivious as all the adults in his life think. He knows his parents like to act like the blacksmiths of his destiny, taking a blazing hammer to his bones until Steve bends and shapes the way they want. But they are only human and the universe is the universe. 
Someone out there loves him.  Someone out there wants him. Someone out there is waiting for him. Steve is determined. Just because his parents chose money and power over love, doesn’t mean Steve will do the same. He is going to find his soulmate and marry them. He is sure of it. He is careful not to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he wears hope instead. Fate knows what it’s doing. 
His faith in fate fades the fifth time someone calls out hey, Steve to him and the words on his wrist still do not turn golden. 
continue reading on ao3
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eunoiaastralwings · 1 year
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This ask has been on my mind since like FOREVER 💗💗💗💗💗💗
I was wondering if you could do a feanorians x little brother ft nolofinwe where y/n was born very weak and frail but was still loved by his family dearly just that because of his frail body he's constantly bullied and hit by other elflings (and maybe some adults). Whenever he sees his brothers and father he feels so utterly useless but bottles everything up .
Make it end up in fluff please 🙏🙏
Thank you and have a wonderful day/night ❣️
characters feanorians x little brother reader ft. Fingolfin
fandom tolkien- the silmarillion
a/n am still uneasily writing about kids - so I made it into a headcanon. Idk if this is what you intended am sorry - so you can request else where because idk what else to do this - but I hope you at least like it @oggy4god
warnings angry overprotective family members xD
FEANOR:
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As your dad - expect him to treat you the same as any other of your brothers. He doesn’t care whether or not you were born weak - Feanor still wants to achieve your goals and dreams, like each of his other sons did. He would help you achieve it too. 
Eru forbid if he witnesses anyone bullying you he will turn their lives to literal hell. He would protect you with his might and title - the most important to him being a father. He will allow no harm to come upon you. After your bullying incidents he keep just an extra eye and care on you - letting you know you can always talk to him. He will be extra caring on your side. 
If you ever feel useless compared to him - he will tell you otherwise and make you shine with your skills, no matter how small they may be, he is so proud of you.
NERDANEL:
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I love her, OK? I could not miss your hot momma out. Just like Feanor, she wouldn’t see you any less. You receive a little more attention from her (sometimes your brothers are a little jealous of this but they understand and love you) - more care too. She will encourage you and help you every step of the way to help you achieve your dreams - she sits with you day and night.
Nerdanel is someone who doesn’t like to use the terms “weak” or people referring to you having a “condition” - she likes to think you were extra blessed by Eru, especially when you start to show your kindness and uniqueness to the world - showing your hidden talents. She is the proudest mother - and she shows it.
Your mother would be first to witness the change in your moods - you starting to get depressed. She knows you very well and finds the reasons behind it without having to even question. She likes to deal with it quietly - but if your bullies ceases to stop, she is not afraid to take it to the next level. If she uses her title among the Nolder for anyone, it will be for her children - especially you darling.
Sometimes she cries herself to sleep - thinking about all that you had to face alone and how hard it must have been for you and why you didnt come to her.
In seeing you like this - she understands depression and other mental illnesses so she advises and helps to start therapy or retreats among elves - knowing it is more common than one would think.
Oh - and if it comes to having to get getting revenge on the kindergarten moms who bullied her kid. . . oh, she will ! ! !
Nerdanel consoles her son -and then takes her revenge on those who mistreated him.
MAEDHROS:
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As your oldest brother - he advises you like a 2nd father, he isn’t afraid to step in when Feanor is away to come and protect you. He lets you take it a little more easier in training. When you cannot achieve anything as fast as your brothers - he sits down next to you and comforts you with small pet talks. He tries to make you feel better about yourself by telling the number of times he failed before achieving something - letting you know how things take time and life isn’t about a race. Mae tells you to believe in yourself and that is the most important thing - he tells you to listen to yourself and the people that are family - “They say many things - but you mustn’t listen to them, but to the people you keep in here” - points to your heart.
When you finally learn to achieve a level in your training - he has the biggest proud face. He picks you up and places you on his shoulders, cheering for you. 
MAGLOR:
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While your mother invites therapy for mental health - your big brother Maglor creates songs to boost up your self esteem. Ever seen music fights? - Yes, he does that to your bullies, before filling you with a heart warming and encouraging song like in those Disney movies - he becomes Baloo (The Jungle Book) or even Genie (Aladdin).
He becomes your personal cheerleader - singing from the top of his lungs as Mae carries you on his shoulders.
CELEGORM:
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While he doesn’t show it well - he loves you greatly. If he ever sees anyone bullying you and making you feel bad about yourself - big bad brother Tyelko is going to threaten the very lives of your bullies, he becomes the bully of your bullies LMAOO.
He then feels better and drops in front of you - wrapping his arm around your shoulder insisting you go for a hunt that’s the only way he knows how to comfort. Otherwise he gets either Nerdanel, Mae or Maglor.
Expect Huan to be the bestest boi to protect you from big bad brother Tyelko is away to bully the bullies that tried to hurt you.
CARANTHIR:
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If anyone learns of you being mistreated first, it is your overprotective big brother Cara - he sees red when he sees or hears of someone bullying you. Cara would straight up punch them in the face - he doesn’t care who/what they are: “HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYING A HAND ON MY BABY BROTHER?!”
His words are searing with deadly anger - making them cower in fear. He will make sure they apologize to you - the one that you deserve. While Cara is caring, initially he is mad at you for hiding or bottling up everything. Afterwards he vows to let no harm come to you. Cara knows what it is like to be judged on - because of his ruddy freckles skin. 
Slowly the both of you become closer to each other like this - gradually opening up to each other and he has the proudest look on his face when he sees you defending him, small tears even gathers in his eyes.
CURUFIN:
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Like Cara - he is so mad you had no one told anyone of your mistreatments, he will report straight to Feanor. He doesn’t know how to comfort - he never learnt that so he pulls you to the others to give you comfort, though he becomes the extra pair of eyes to protect you from anyone who dares to mistreat you. He can be a little hard on you at times - but when he learns he’s causing you hurt too he immediately stops - he does care deeply for you but he doesn’t know how to help you otherwise.
AMBARUSSA:
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Please - if your older twin brothers ever sees someone hurting you - expect them to prank (and scare) the life out of them. They are letting no one hurt you in any way - they take on their roles of becoming your big brothers very seriously - even if at times it seems like it doesn’t.
Sometimes during training they purposefully fall behind you making you go ahead of them or failing on pretend - because they love seeing that triumphant amazed smile on your face once in a while. They will literally do anything to make you happy - once even daring to cut the hair of your school teacher that was giving you a hard time - “He doesn’t deserve it - if he cannot treat someone as amazing you right ! ! ! - Even Atar isn’t mad at us!”
FINGOLFIN:
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Best Uncle Nolofinwë seeing this precious little nephew getting mistreated? - Oh, he will not allow such a thing to happen, for a split second he is about to lose his anger like your father - but he controls it and does it the right way of reporting it and making sure they achieve their punishment to even dare to think of doing such a thing to you. 
Afterwards - waiting for Feanor to come, he will take your hands in his and talk to you in a calm caring voice - telling you it is OK to feel like the way you and that everyone does feel like this once in a while - but the most important this is not let it cast you down: “You may think you only feel like this, young one - but we all do. . .Some are better at hiding than others and it is never good to hide it. We must accept that sometimes we need a little help. . .a little encouragement from the bad thoughts - and most importantly. . .you must never let these thoughts or words of others plague your heart, my dearest little nephew. . .”
Feanor is a little jealous and scowling at how his half-brother is having a moment with his son - expect your father to be in a sour mood and scowling at Fingolfin for a few moments before he turns to you and provides you the best of comfort - also severing the punishments for your bullying while your uncle shakes his head but offers your something in between a smile and a smirk.
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frodothefair · 6 months
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꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂
Chapter 3 - The Singing Kettle
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READ ALL ON AO3
SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Frodo is safe at home, but reminders of the quest are everywhere. Marigold tries to get Frodo to eat, and inadvertently invents a new dish. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS: PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING: M
PREVIEW:
He watched her deftly chop the carrots, fingers curled away from the knife. A girl grown up, her home razed and trampled over, tending to soldiers and caring now for him – a broken-down veteran of war, if you like. And then there was the image of him and Sam, lying on a rock amid flows of lava, waiting for the world to end. They were, each and every one of them, changed.
Sam’s other motive had not been lost on Frodo. In fact, Frodo had tut-tutted to himself, leave it to Sam to leave such an obvious trail of hints. He had sent his earnest, pretty younger sister to serve as Frodo’s housekeeper, cook, and when needed nurse, so surely before long her gentle ministrations would coax him back to more-or-less good health, and even if he didn’t marry (her or anyone else) and beget a large brood of children, he still would live out his days in relative contentment.
Simple, no? The plans of hobbits were never complex affairs; and the Gamgees were in no position to challenge this fact.
But this was Frodo Baggins, and “simple” was not in his fate’s vocabulary. 
He could understand Sam, of course – Sam was, as like as not, in the highest heights of Valinor after having wed Rosie, and wanted to spread the boons of female companionship. Sam could have also been repaying him in kind for the time that he, Frodo, had bodily shoved a younger and more bashful Sam into Rosie’s arms. 
Indeed, whether Sam intended this or not, his act was a repeat performance of some years ago, when Bilbo had first disappeared and before Frodo had taken up his mantle of oddity.  
No sooner had the hullabaloo of Bilbo’s long-expected party settled down, when a string of mommas and their recently-of-age daughters began to appear on his doorstep, bearing homemade dishes of every kind and lamenting how hard it must be for the new master of Bag End to be all alone in his large smial, and for his uncle to have disappeared in such a bizarre manner.
They were all nice enough lasses, except for the few who looked at Bag End like it was already their property. But in the end they had not much more than food and domesticity on their minds, and like the majority of hobbits past their tweens, their eyes would glaze over when matters beyond the borders of the Shire were discussed. The more polite and motivated ones tried to hide it, but by thirty three Frodo was a fair judge of character. So he acted charming, served afternoon tea, and sent them on their way. Eventually, they stopped coming and he breathed a sigh of relief, for he no longer had to scratch his head at how to dispose of dozens of pies of varying quality, without — the anathema! — of resorting to food waste or risking the pies’ originators finding out.
That felt like a thousand years ago.
That said, unnatural privations and inhuman torture of the quest nonwithstanding, Frodo was still a red-blooded hobbit and he did have shame (a great deal of it, in fact), so the daily arrival of a pretty lass induced him to scrape himself out of bed, even after a bad night’s sleep as if he was still on the road. He would then change his clothes and bathe, which prior to Marigold’s arrival he had done only when he went out – and that was no longer often. At times it annoyed him, or felt awfully dull and unnecessary: for if at first he had merely been tired, by this time there was a dull ache in his chest all the time, and it made him feel like everything was lackluster and unimportant. His feelings, stale and sad, draped over him like a wet cloak. At times he wept, heart wracked by a nameless pain for something he could not place… or perhaps could place far too well. But in the end, lying in bed never brought him any solace. That much he already knew.
Soon enough, the two of them fell into a routine, and over the course of the first week, they unpacked two trunks, and Marigold had done some superficial sweeping — the deep-clean would come later, once the clutter was more at bay. The fireplace was once again being tended to, the laundry was steadily being sorted, the larders full, and the dishes washed. The stews were no longer a ghastly concoction of day old leftovers. Sam would come over with some regularity as well, to do the gardening and share a meal, and he mercifully kept the conversation light and the encouragement plentiful.
And Marigold noticed things, too. For instance, she had noticed that he did not like to open the shutters — the newly rebuilt Bag End had shutters — and sat away from the windows whenever he could. When she did open the shutters – for he could not very well insist that they stay closed all day – the noises from outside would make him tense up, and it was not an easy thing to hide, try as he might to breathe as slow and deep as he could, as the elven healers had taught him.
Of course, Marigold made no indication that she noticed, but simply asked, “Mr. Frodo, have you thought about getting eaves? They’ll keep the sun out and keep the nice furni-shins from losing color, if you follow me, without making it black as night.” She had given a winsome smile. “And keep curious folk from peeping in, of course.”
And Frodo breathed a sigh, for there had never been any eaves at Bag End, but it was a very natural thing to have. So they lost no time in commissioning some from Michel Delving. Sam summarily put them up when they arrived. 
In fact, though grown and trained into a trade, Marigold still had an artlessness about her, that under normal circumstances would have amused him – if amusement was not an emotion like a broken string.
“Lor’ bless me, Mr. Frodo, these are not all clothes!” she had exclaimed when they got to the trunks that contained his wardrobe – and previously Bilbo’s before him.
She then quickly looked away and bit her knuckle, like a child caught stealing dessert. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean–” 
Frodo came to kneel by her side.
“No need to be sorry,” he said. “Most of these are Bilbo’s.” He remembered being amazed, himself, that Bilbo had several rooms devoted to clothes when he first moved to Bag End.
He fingered an embroidered waistcoat, wistfully, thinking of the old hobbit. 
“I couldn’t bring myself to give them away, though, so I’ve been lugging them from place to place. They probably don’t even fit me.” 
Marigold, for her part – he had already noticed – had only three dresses, and one looked like it had been made “to grow into,” the hem let out several times. But he could not discern envy in her manner – the envy that, in most other hobbits, had made him so often devolve into awkward throat-clearing and euphemisms like “comfortable.” She took out a dinner-jacket and held it up to the light, running her fingers over the cross-hatched stitching of the velvet collar. She looked like she had been allowed, as a Yuletide present, to actually touch one of the exhibits at the Mathom House.
“Well, if that’s the case,” she finally said, “we had best pre-serve them, if you get my meaning.” She placed the jacket on the dining table, and smoothed out the fabric. She squinted and shook her head. “It’s creased, from lying folded up so long, begging your pardon. But I know just the thing.” 
Frodo had devolved into memories of Bilbo, feeling sick at heart, so he looked up only reluctantly. His poor old uncle’s mind was starting to get addled, and he didn’t even write letters anymore.
“Steam,” said Marigold simply. 
“Steam?”
“Yes, sir. It releases wrinkles – all’s needed is some gentle pulling. If you don’t mind, I’ll unpack these, and then I’ll need to take the bathroom for a spell. It will take boiling a might of water for a long time, but the creases should come out, and then we can hang them up nice and neat.”
Frodo said he did not mind. A part of him wondered why he hadn’t hired a housekeeper sooner. But though she was a delightful, resourceful creature, and the hobbit-hole was starting to feel brighter with her presence, he suddenly wanted to be left alone. She seemed to sense that, and set to work without another word.
She cooked expertly, too, and made herself at home in the kitchen — with the enthusiasm expected of any hobbit maid — but Frodo soon realized this could prove a problem.
The hobbits were not the most technologically advanced lot, but when it came to cooking and preparing food, they had more appetite for innovation than most. Enter, to that end, the whistling kettle: an excellent way to know, from the other end of a sizeable hobbit-hole, that the tea was ready to be brewed, whatever pursuit one was lost in at that moment. Frodo owned one of these new-fangled contraptions, purchased before his adventure at some expense from the dwarves, and as a hobbit and a fairly thoughtful one with money for his caste, he did not have the heart to make it a mathom when he came back to the Shire, only to realize that the kettle’s whistle sounded, chillingly, like a Nazgul cry. At first, he had tried to pry out the mechanism that made the whistling noise, but to no avail – this is where he cursed his stubby fingernails. He then tried to ignore the distressing association, but soon found that the sound never failed to throw him into a cold sweat. At one point his vision actually turned dark and he felt faint, the black armor and black hoods appearing in his mind’s eye.
He had climbed Mount Doom, and taken on sword, sting and tooth, only to be undone by a tea kettle at home. The irony was too painful for words.
Eventually, he tried to go without tea altogether – for getting another kettle meant going out, and once a few wealthy hobbits had learned of his acquisition they had wanted to have the same, so Frodo had been instrumental in brokering a deal between the dwarves and the local metalsmith, who had put the kettles up for sale. The metalsmith could not have forgotten his role in the affair, so undoubtedly he would have been curious why, suddenly, Mr. Baggins would want a plain kettle. But then he got easily cold, even in the summer now, and warm drinks settled him down when he was tense or restless. And in the end, he could not go without his favorite comfort – though in his present state he could not always bring himself to care about the finer points of it all, or even the less fine points, such as not leaving the brew in the pot overnight. He was, after all, an enthusiast of tea just as many hobbits were enthusiasts of pipe leaf, so he took up waiting in the kitchen and snatching up the kettle the moment the water began to churn.
Marigold’s arrival would complicate things a bit. 
The kitchen would now be her domain, and beyond showing her where things were kept, he really did not have much business being there. He considered giving the kitchen a wide berth, but this would not look natural either, and yet if he came too close at the wrong time…
In the end, he settled on saying he was particular about making tea himself, and that the special dwarvish kettle was for tea and nothing else. (At times, he thought to himself, a reputation for oddity was quite convenient). Marigold, certainly, accepted the circumstances without question, so every day prior to their afternoon tea, or indeed whenever he felt like a spot of something warm, he took up joining her in the kitchen. 
He soon found that pretending to read and watching her, bustling about by the hearth, her movements skilled and spare, was calming in a way. She didn’t hum or sing like many hobbits did while cooking, but the clop-clop of the knife, the rustle of herbs and the clink of plates felt like conversation enough. Just like Sam, she was unassuming and generally easy to be with. 
In their early days, Marigold would sometimes go on walks with him and Sam, when Sam was called upon to mind her, and she was always well behaved but shy – more eyes and ears than mouth, they said of hobbits like her. (Though, if Sam was to be believed, she had some secret mettle on her, having bitten a chunk out of his leg when the two were very young hobbits). And as she grew older, she was still more reticent than the average hobbit lass, but apprenticeship had settled well on her. He had seen her grow more expressive and cheerful over the years, and she was now given to standing up much straighter, and taking charge of things much more readily. He wagered she could find a way to talk to anyone now, and convince them that all would be well in the world.
Well, almost anyone. He himself still felt like one wrong step, and she would go running back to Bagshot Row, never to speak to him again, not even to meet his eyes in the street.
Though, would she?
He watched her deftly chop the carrots, fingers curled away from the knife. A girl grown up, her home razed and trampled over, tending to soldiers and caring now for him – a broken-down veteran of war, if you like. She had been in the Lockholes, too, when he had liberated the prisoners – and emerged looking certainly worse for wear, so he could only imagine what other horrors she had endured. And then there was the image of him and Sam, lying on a rock amid flows of lava, waiting for the world to end. They were, each and every one of them, changed, and so it went. 
But like many clever, artless people, Marigold was also curious. So in the end, in spite of his efforts, her question was still not long in coming. 
“Mr. Frodo,” she said, perhaps on the third day of the second week, “I couldn’t help but he curious about something, begging your pardon.” The two of them were in the kitchen – Frodo taking his tea, and Marigold preparing dinner. 
Frodo’s stomach felt cold, and dropped into his knees. But he gathered up his courage to reply.
“Go on, Mari, what are you curious about?” he said, trying to make his tone light. “Curiosity is a virtue.”
Everything felt a little farther away than it should have been. 
“The kettle, begging your pardon.” Marigold looked up from the cutting board and gave a small smile. Her hands were covered in flour, as she had been working with the dough.
“You always take it off right as it starts to boil, not letting it sit for a moment. Is that a better way of doing things? If so, I’d love to learn to make tea better.”
Is that a better way of doing things.
Marigold’s speech (just like her brother’s, for that matter) never sent one searching for the dictionary, but the brilliant arrangement of eight simple words was healer-speak and no mistake. He had interacted with enough healers by now to know that they held as some common professional duty to ask questions that allowed their charges to save face, if face needed saving. 
He nearly wept with relief. Perhaps Sam knew what he needed better than he did himself.
“Yes, indeed it is,” he replied. “When I was abroad, I learned some varieties of tea need to be brewed with water that’s just barely boiled. Let it get too hot, and the leaves get scorched. They even say, ‘a kettle left long on too long will sour the pot’.”
He felt ill at ease, lying like that, but it proved easier than he thought.
Marigold nodded pensively. If she thought this was odd, her face did not betray it.
“That’s why, coincidentally, they sometimes install whistling mechanisms,” he went on. “And they sound awful, too, because it’s meant to warn you when the water’s gotten too hot. That kettle has one of them, but I don’t like the sound of it, at all.”
The words came tumbling out before he could stop them. Maybe he couldn’t tell such a black lie to Marigold Gamgee after all.
“Well, goodness me, Mr. Frodo, why didn’t you say so?” She smiled. “I can make sure the water don’t get too hot, so you needn’t trouble yourself.”
“Ah, but I do want to trouble myself,” Frodo returned, shrugging his shoulders. He turned his eyes away from the blasted kettle and toward the food before her. “It’s good to trouble myself from time to time, or I’d be quite useless.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Frodo, you’re not useless.” She shook her head, returning to her work. “You help a great deal.”
“Oh? How exactly?”
She shrugged. 
“You’re here. You’re in charge of the big ideas of how to run Bag End. I’m just carrying them out.” 
“Ah. Well that changes things, certainly.”
“And you help me feel less lonely, anyhow.”
She set about cutting the dough into thin, short strips. Frodo studied the several dishes before her - one filled with butter, another with grated cheese, another with eggs, and the last one with fatty bacon.
“Marigold, what are you making?”
“Oh.” She looked down and inexplicably blushed. “I— I made it up.”
Frodo raised his eyebrows. 
“I saw you weren’t eating well, sir, and putting down your fork after a few bites, and I thought it was unnat’ral, seeing how thin you are. So I says to myself: Self, how do you pack as much sub-stance as pos’ble into the fewest amount of bites?” 
“And how would you?” Frodo asked indulgently.
He had to admit, it was getting closer to dinnertime, but he was hardly hungry. Food made him dizzy and ill since he’d returned, even the most comforting of Shire-fare. This made him feel exquisitely guilty when Marigold served up what ordinarily would have been delectable pot pies, meat falling off the bone, and rich mushroom stews that made the whole house smell like heaven. Sam finished Frodo’s leftovers whenever he thought Marigold wasn’t looking, and what he didn’t finish Frodo insisted they take to Bagshot Row, but this allayed his feelings only a little.
Marigold lit up.
“Ah, well! Let me show you!”
She slid a generous pad of butter onto the pan over the fire, and it began to fizz. Next, it was the bacon’s turn, and as the hissing grew louder, Frodo winced. Mercifully, Marigold was turned away by that point. Frodo started to rack his brain for an excuse to make his escape, though it was painful – Marigold just looked so delighted. He gritted his teeth. Making up new dishes. Too clever by half… He found himself slightly irritated – without just cause, he knew, which annoyed him more still.
“In a word,” she went on cheerfully, keeping her eyes on the frying pan as she stirred the contents with a spatula, “I have the dough cut up fine, so you don’t even have to chew it, and I fry it up, letting the egg and the cheese coat it. The egg helps the cheese stick, like glue. And the bacon’s got still more fat…”
“Alright, that’s sounds wonderful, Marigold,” Frodo said, standing up hurriedly and backing away towards the door. “I very much look forward to trying it.”
The tea he had come to make had long since been drunk, and he placed the cup and the saucer in the sink.
“I have to ask Sam if he has any other requests for dinner, though, before it’s too late. I’m sorry…”
If Marigold felt slighted by the fact that her brother might not like her food, or that his actions were in direct contradiction to his words, she said nothing, and Frodo did not stay long enough to witness any further reaction. 
He rushed out, for the hissing – though not quite as high-pitched and piercing as the Nazgul-kettle – was nonetheless starting to make his hair stand on end. He sighed in relief once he was out of earshot.
Poor girl. That was not very polite – and she was trying so hard. Hobbits were not generally fond of innovation, preferring what was tried and true, but he, the odd one out and from Buckland besides, had always taken it upon himself to oppose the general trend. 
He figured he would have to make it up to her another time. For now, he had to find Sam and tell him about the tea-making customs he had supposedly learned of in his travels, and hope Sam wouldn’t ask too many questions about why he had not done the same. 
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sotwk · 7 months
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Sotwk, I have a very rough weeks. But you, your blog are my comfort place, maybe I sometimes read your fict not in the order, but somehow reads all your interaction with everyone really comfort me, even though sometimes you can reply all the comments more than once because of the time zone and you probably busy with your personal life. But stil... You gave me the big momma bear energy. Like the person I will looking for, for a comfort whenever I had a bad day.
Please never leave this site, because you are my home and I love you 😭💙
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I'm so sorry to hear about your bad week! I'm glad that whatever you're able to read from me comforts you, even when it's not direct messaging between you and I.
You're right that I can't always reply quickly, since I have so much going on offline, but I try to do what I can (esp. when I sense there's a great need), but please do reach out if there's anything I can do to help! :) Hopefully my posts (fic or not, Tolkien-related or not) can be there for you even when I can't immediately be.
And remember--even your hubby Thranduil had bad days (more like centuries!) too, and he always got back up. :) You're amazing and fierce just like him, so you can stand strong too. I hope things get better for you! Lots of love and hugs!
P.S. I'm not going anywhere! <3
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untitledducklett · 1 year
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Hello my name is Cael Adair [kale ah-dare], he/they, I'm a bodyguard living in Kalos with my Vanitian Absol Berior [Bear-ee-or]. I am a faller from a version of Tolkien's Legendarium though pokemon don't exist there. I do miss home a lot but I try to remember that I have a life here too.
Edit: my rotom finally deigned to teach me how to post photos here so have best boy doing his most regal pose
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^ this is a picture I took of Berior a couple weeks before all distortion broke out. He is a Vanitian Absol, a critically endangered, variant that I'm working to help preserve. My mother sent me some of Professor Chestnut's notes on two of the more common extant variants (by comparison at least) which can be found here: x x.
Update: I got a bunch of new Pokémon
Momma the Vanitian Ariados: She ended up in my backyard during the Shadow Sky incident having taken it upon herself to rescue as many Pokémon as she could. Unfortunately she irreversibly damaged her exoskeleton so now she wears a prosthetic whenever she's out of the ball.
Lucretia the Vanitian Leavanny: A long time resident of the VPPS sanctuary she was immediately adopted by Momma and the pair became inseparable so I adopted them both.
Étienne the Vanitian Abra (Pronounced Et-tee-un): We were really close when he was alive. I guess now that Yves is dead he decided he wanted to stick around to keep my dumb ass safe. I really missed him.
Galadbain [Gal-ahd-bane] the fucked up Meowth Raikou: He was hatched from an egg that was left on my doorstep by Arc only knows what. He is naught but a stinky babey man who does gay baby crimes.
Bob the UD Absol: Anxiety thy name is Bob. I adopted him during the Kill 'em With Kindness fundraiser. Originally I hadn't planned on taking any of the UD Pokemon in but we all know my weakness for Absols. It'll take time but I know he'll flourish here.
<bzzt: he forgot to add a picture of himself so I decided to go through his portfolio and found this. Hopefully he doesn't notice.>
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OOC things (including art notes for Cael):
New rule: if you reblog an ask game from me please send something in or look through my meme tag and find another meme to send in if the one I reblogged doesn't work.
Hi! You can call me Shopkey, I'm 28, on est, and I've been rping since September 2013. I will follow from @themerrymutants. Most of my experience is with more traditional lit rp so forgive any hiccups or force of habits. I'll try to keep ooc to a minimum but there will be some reblogs of lore from over on my main.
Cael has deer-like ears which are kept hidden underneath beanies whenever he's somewhere with cameras. If there aren't he usually uses illusions to hide them but beanie is his go-to. His sense of style and appearance are based on Magnus Bane from the Shadowhunters TV show. Berior is missing his left front leg and there is a scar there.
Cael (link takes you over to his bio over on themerrymutants) is a muse over on my main themerrymutants and this blog is based on his 'for queen and country' verse in which he was a guard for Queen Pascale of my friend's fan region Vanitas (a kingdom which eventually merged with greater Kalos about 2k years ago)
Cael keeps his backstory as a dimension-hopping elven menace but here he hides it well. Eventually, his lies will catch up to him but, for now, he's trying not to rouse too much suspicion. I haven't decided whether he keeps his wood elf magic or not yet as I've been told that people aren't as keen on interdimensional weirdness as I am.
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megsironthrone · 9 months
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Hello!
Hello, my lovelies! I just want to thank you all again for your patience and understanding as I get myself back into writing again. I am nearly finished with a Jaime fic for you all! 
To my new followers: Welcome to the blog! I’m Meg (some people call me Momma Meg, which is great too!) I’m a 32 year old writer, wife, and mother. Thank you for taking the time to read my Game of Thrones fics and for following! If you like what you’ve read and would like to read other fics I’ve written feel free to check out my other blogs!
My main blog is @meganlpie where I currently write for Harry Potter, Tolkien, Supernatural, and Gotham. But I also have a ton of other fics there for fandoms I no longer write for. If you’re interested in Marvel fics, you can find the links to those on @megs-marvel-fics . 
I also have one more multi-fandom writing blog called @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms where I write for Peaky Blinders, Labyrinth, Twilight, Sherlock(BBC), Turn: Washington’s Spies, and Hamilton. 
Thank you ALL for following, reading, commenting, etc. It really means the world to me. You are all so amazing and I appreciate each and every one of you! Lots of love!
-Meg
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meganlpie · 9 months
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Lovelies, I want to thank you all so much for over 1000 notes on "Secret Child"! It's the first fic on this blog to receive that many notes!!
And for my new followers: Hiya! I'm Meg or Momma Meg if you need a Tumblr Mom. On this blog, I'm currently writing for Harry Potter, Tolkien, Supernatural, and Gotham!(requests are closed by the way) There are also several fandoms I used to write for that you can find via search or via my masterlist on the blog page.
If you're looking for my Marvel fics, you can find the links for those on @megs-marvel-fics
I also have a side blog exclusively for my Game of Thrones fics: @megsironthrone
And one more multi-fandom side blog where I write for Twilight, Sherlock(BBC), Peaky Blinders, Labyrinth, Turn: Washington's Spies, and Hamilton. You can find those on @megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms
Welcome to my little corner of Tumblr! I hope you enjoy your stay! Lots of love!
-Meg
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sapphim · 2 years
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there's a post going around about how you chose your dragon age oc names? anyway, I talk too much
~~elves~~
Sulina Mahariel Sabrae - derived from the elvish words suledin "endure"/sulevin "purpose" and the suffix -lin "blood." Sulina was my first dragon age oc and like many of my wardens I just gave her the first random name that popped into my head at the character creation screen, and then decided I hated it and gave her a better one later. I believe her name started as Canneia, but after playing the game I wanted her name to better match existing dalish names so I changed it to Candria. But the /k/ phoneme is just not present in elven words and names so I completely renamed her and took the opportunity to craft a name that is just a little bit too on the nose.
Shirae Istimaethoriel Lavellan - derived from the elvish shiral "journey" (with inspiration from the name of clan Sabrae). this one I actually came up with in advance before the game shipped, and I think this is around the same time I surveyed canonical elven names/words and renamed most of my earlier ocs too. keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan is her grandmother.
Rafael (Surana/Tabris) - Raf started out in the Surana origin, but I borrowed his headmorph to test a mod for the Tabris origin and that spun off into a Tabris AU that I got so attached to that I made it canon. similar to the canon dalish names Josmael/Rajmael (and I doubt it's coincidental that there are similar-sounding Hebrew names irl). Raf named himself after a dalish man his parents met once and told him stories about - when he was Surana origin, he saved one of Raf's parents from a bandit attack on the road when they were traveling between alienages to marry. I haven't decided yet if Adaia or Cyrion met him under different circumstances now that he's Tabris origin.
Ellaran - a dalish warden oc. at one point I'm pretty sure I came up with a reverse etymology for this name (hella "struggle" and ...?) but in truth this is really just the one remaining name that lives in my head and "sounds elven" and I'm pretty sure it's just a mashup of the tolkien names Elladan and Elrohir. whatever, it sounds fine.
Rowan - a half-elven warden mage oc. she was raised by her single mother in the gwaren alienage before being taken to kinloch hold and momma named her after Queen Rowan.
~~dwarves~~
Eydis Aeducan - started life as Olenka, I believe. when I renamed most of my wardens I tried naming her Agathe at first (based on the similarity to agate) but I ended up making her swap with my Cadash bc I felt the names fit better the other way around. eydis wasn't chosen for the meaning or anything, just the sound. I tend to generally favor nordic names when I have to name dwarves idk.
Rozi Brosca - started life as Brasi until I came to my senses and realized that Brasi Brosca sounded absurd. Rozi is just the spelling of Rosie I liked best for her. I think her name and her sister's name sound kind of aspirational? Rica and Rozi - riches and roses. does anyone else feel like some wardens probably shouldn't have surnames, Brosca included? oh well.
Agathe Cadash - see Eydis, above
Evender "Rumour" Cadash - idk I think this name just ~sounded right.~ I liked the default name Edric but I didn't want to use the default name Edric. and m'boy m'lad needed a cool nickname to strike fear into the hearts of his foes. or. into the hearts of those poor chumps whose kneecaps he was paid to bust, anyway.
~~qunari~~
Kataara Adaar - derived from the qunlat words katara "die"/katari "one who brings death" but more importantly, yes, she was named after katara "avatar the last airbender" watertribe. I saw the word katara on the qunlat word list and I was like "oh im naming her after katara watertribe and nobody can stop me"
Vaati Adaar - kat's daughter. derived from the qunlat word vat "fire" and yes I do like the "aa" found in some qunlat words too much and add it to every name it's a problem I just think it's neat
Taashath - kat's ex/vaati's dad. I didn't add the "aa" this time it was already there! just a qunlat word that means "calm" bc he's a chill dude
~~humans~~
aw jeez ah man too many of these mfers. incredibly rude of these mfers for there to be so many of them.
Gwendolen Elethea Cousland - wanted a celtic name to match Fergus. named after her faceclaim, Gwendoline Christie. middle name comes from one of her alamarri ancestors. gwen and spiro are I think the only two origins ocs who never needed to be renamed bc it took me so long to get around to actually making human origins ocs that I already knew the names of everyone in their families by then so I could select them with intention.
Spiro Amell - so I don't like to use the default names for my ocs but I do sometimes like to use them for inspiration and/or reuse them for other family members. the canonical amell family names are kind of all over the place but I decided to go with mostly vaguely greek/hebrew names (see: aristide and revka amell). so, dad is Andreas and the kiddos are Solona, Daylen, Spiro, Deborah, and Delilah. yes, i alliterated sue me. I could rename the default name kiddos but lbr I won't
Tabitha Grace Hawke - Tabitha was chosen to match bethany in the "biblical names on the slightly obscure side" category. and then I gave her a middle name bc leandra is at heart still a fancy lady even if she is also an irrepressible wild child.
Juniper Hawke - idk I just thought of this name and banked it for the next time I started a new hawke playthrough. she was never supposed to be promoted to canon over tabby but she's just so gd funny. I've since learned that juniper is an extremely trendy baby name rn so apparently I just caught the baby name brainworms in the air.
Alden Ewald Reinaldo Trevelyan - the default names maxwell and evelyn are both very english and have "el" in them so that was the rough theme for the baby name site jam session. half brothers Maxwell and Daniel, sisters Evelyn and Velda, Alden, and twin sister Amelia. originally I went with the name Anselm but I experienced severe buyer's remorse almost immediately and renamed him to something I liked better and that sounded less like a kingdom hearts villain. the other names in the family (father August, grandmother Magnolia, stepmother Oswin, mother Irene, and uncle Cassio Castida) are all just "sure that sounds fine" names that hit vaguely within the right naming tradition. oh! and the middle names. one for his free marcher side and one for his antivan side.
Amelia Trevelyan - speaking of Amelia, she's been through so many (so many) renames. I think I started with Felicia? hated it. then tried a few variants of Emmeline/Ameline but, christ, if the similarity to Evangeline/Aveline doesn't kill those names for me. so! right now it's Amelia! and I'll change it again! no middle names for her until she cooperates and manifests a name I actually like.
Finnola Magnolia Trevelyan - oh and the only Trevelyan cousin I care about. can't remember how/when I chose the name. but it's related to her dead name - she went by Finn prior to transitioning after which point she prefers the nn Nola instead. both given and middle names were family names and she wanted to keep family names after transitioning. grandma Bann Magnolia Trevelyan gave her blessing to take her name for her middle name.
~~mass effect~~
bonus round bc why not!
Roxene Shepard - the name on her save file is just Roxy and I SWEAR to CHRIST she's NOT named after a homestuck she's named after a homestuck it was the first thing that popped into my head when I booted up the game look it was 2007 it was a different time. later I came back to beef it up and make it sound more like a sci fi name and less like a chicago showtune. yes, her parents names are Hannah and John and most people in the future are named things like Ashley and David. you know why her name is Roxene and not something normal? because hannah and john shepard were fucking unhinged that's why. had a breakthrough moment several years later when I realized her nickname could be Xena warrior princess.
Deonna Shepard - same thing. named her Diana after wonder woman. first thing that popped into my head. started out at warrior princess that time rather than working my way around to it over the course of several years. went back later to make it fancier bc I can.
Polaris Ryder - I asked myself, before andromeda came out, if it would be too corny and on the nose to name my pathfinder after the north star and then I decided it was and then I did it anyway. you know why? bc ellen and alec ryder are also unhinged. my ellen ryder and hannah shepard are cousins so they clearly shared their baby name brainworms while brainstorming with each other.
Casper Ryder - needed a similarly unhinged name for the twin, obv. I think I started at Cassiopeia and then worked my way over to casper the friendly ghost from there. you know what, it fits him tho.
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captainadwen · 2 years
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Weekly Book Roundup July 2
Anime and the Art of Adaptation by Dani Cavallaro [DROPPED]
I don’t know where to start with this. I’ve never read a worse book? It’s written in an academic style but clearly the reason it got published as a book is that no self-respecting academic journal would publish this. The concepts are interesting but it is UNREADABLE. The author writes like a high schooler whose assignment is to cram as many dictionary words into each individual sentence as possible. Literally gave me a headache to read. -1000/10
The Underneath by Kathi Appelt
Two of my cats died within the past year, one of which was a momma cat we had rescued after she had been abandoned on the streets whilst pregnant by her previous family... so this is rather melancholy to read, since I can’t stop thinking about her. The entire book is written in one of those pervasive sadness ways, but also in a melodic style - it must be great to hear, I think, and the story isn’t about sadness at all, though sad things do happen. I want to rip the other half of old gar’s face off. It’s a slow read but I’m enjoying it, and I really really enjoyed the 1000 years ago bits.
The Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin [Finished]
I finally read a Le Guin! And it was just as good as promised. A huge part of my enjoyment was how much it reminded me of Tolkien’s works actually. Little shared details like ea, the little girl who carries the big jewel to safety, and the woman who turns into a gull... of course these in turn are probably in conversation with older stories, but still.
The Tombs of Atuan by Ursula K. Le Guin [Finished]
Immediately after finishing a wizard I had to read book 2, and then I kinda devoured it. It’s SO GOOD. No wonder it’s ppls fave book. 10/10, second big rec of the summer after the imperial radch
The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison [Finished]
This book reads like a danmei that isn’t a danmei and feels like a silmarillion fic despite very much not being a silmarillion fic. In other words I really, really, really enjoyed it. Its the second book after the imperial radch I wanted to re-read immediately after I started it. Indeed, I nearly did, but my two piles of unread books haunt me. Also, it must be good to forget a bit so I can savor it on second reread methinks. 
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angel-gone-south · 7 months
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TT - Yellow Blonde
soooo… a series, as a gift from me to you all! based on this post. the first of many! this will be soooo fucking long LMAO
listened to while writing: hello my old heart by the oh hellos
【☆】★【☆】
You huffed, tucking your hair into your favorite beanie. Your accessorized excessively on your left wrist, covering the two daunting letters that had adorned you since grade school.
A highschooler now, your mom had decided to hike you all to Colorado, forcing you to leave your life in [Home State], for one that would be just as miserable- with even shittier weather.
You were never one to date- your soulmate had never changed. You wondered briefly if they were holding out for you- and then the thought bitterly ended with the shout from your mother.
“You’re going to miss the bus, hon! Go on and get outta here!” You rolled your eyes at her worry.
“The stop is right next door, momma. I love you.” She kissed atop your forehead, sending you out the door with your bag. You leaned against the bus stop sign by your house, chewing a piece of gum to avoid bad breath from breakfast. You’d put your earbuds in to tune out the almost eternal, suffocating quiet of this fucked up mountain town. You were soon tapped on the shoulder- only to look into the eyes of a very, very annoyed chubby teen.
“We’ve been trying to talk to you for like, ten minutes!” A ginger sighed from behind him.
“Two, Cartman. And there is no we here.”
“Fine! Whatever. Fuck off back to your wonderland or whatever, new kid, I got a jew to fight…”
You nodded, plopping the earbud back in and cranking your favorite playlist to avoid their loud shouting match. You popped a bubble in your gum, kicking off the sign and waltzing onto the bus when it arrived. You’d gotten stuck next to a little platinum blonde kid, but his greeting was pleasant enough, so you stuck it out. You could’ve sworn someone had their eyes trained on you the whole ride, though.
Your suspicions were proven, to your chagrin, later that day. You kept spinning your head to catch this boy- another blonde, with a messily-buttoned shirt- blinking owlishly and yelping when you stared back. He approached, in a group spearheaded by a raven haired boy that lunch period. His streak was a chestnut brown, and you mused in your head how the boy beside him in a red letterman matched his opposite.
“Can I help you?” Your tone was even, but that seemed to freak out the blonde even more as he clung to a dark skinned boy next to him like a scared toddler.
“Yeah. Tweek wants you to sit with us for lunch.” He shrugged. “You do what you want though. I’m Craig, this is Clyde,” He emphasized which boy by holding up their entwined hands. “Jimmy, and Tolkien.” His unoccupied hand jabbed a thumb backwards.
“Oh, sure. I’m [Name].” You smiled a little, happy that someone had deemed it necessary to approach and invite you. You stood, things preemptively gathered in anticipation for the bell that had just rung. “Lead the way.”
At the table, the blonde sat across from you. You noticed his twitchiness, sending a concerned glance his way. He smiles sheepishly, brushing it off. You shrug, and tug off your hat and bracelets to comfortably eat your lunch. Craig chuckled.
“Dude, your hair looks so weird with that blonde in it. Looks like Tweek’s.” Tolkien and Jimmy shared a glance at Craig’s obliviousness. Tweek’s eyes widened, and his arm jerked up to splay itself on the table- your initials present in a dainty font, adorning his pale wrist. It was only now you’d noticed the [hair color] streak that stuck out awkwardly against his almost-yellow hair.
You were baffled- first day into a new school, and you’re already finding your soulmate. You guffawed at the realization of his initials, a bold TT on your [tone] wrist.
“Your name is Tweek Tweak. Like the coffee place in town. That’s bizarre.” He flushed, but your smile told him you weren’t making fun of him.
“Y-Yeah… U-uh, does this,” A small yelp interrupted him as he awkwardly figured out how to twist his wrist to show you. “Do these match you?!” You nodded, and he flushed a deep shade of red.
“So uh… w-want to come over for a coffee?”
【☆】★【☆】
this is for ang im feeding his obsession with blondes
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eirian-houpe · 2 years
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Fic ask game: 8, 36 please!
8. An out of context spoiler for a WIP
"...I... I... lied..."
36. What fic are you proudest of?
Oh my goodness... that's like asking a momma which one of her kids she loves best. Um....
Okay, I'm gonna cheat, because I can't narrow it down to any less than three. So, in no particular order:
Disparate Pathways... because... well, it's the story I wanted to tell while I was writing Witness Protection. (And JefFBI).
The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - because it's actually FINISHED, and because it was just perfect for Rumbelling the book on which it was based. (Thank you @peacehopeandrats)
and
Laer o Faen - Because... Tolkien, elves... Thranduil... sweeping history, and because it gives me a total headache trying to make sense of the timeline of Arda.
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growingingreenwood · 2 years
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Happy Mothers Day Momma Tolkien!!!!!!!!
Omg thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺
This genuinely made me tear up a Lil bit
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