I don’t have a ton of drafts, but there are a couple really dusty threads back in there that I’m pretty sure I can’t breathe life back into; either because my partner disappeared, or they’re taking a break from their muse, OR, most likely, I just dropped the ball on it and now my writing is all old and stinky and my headcanons have changed since my last reply. :’D Mea Culpa.
This is not a reflection on you, my partners, or a lack of desire to RP with you!! Let’s do something new together, my body is ready LET’S GO LET’S DO IT
Snipped threads:
On A Red Hill with @turambar-masterofdoom congratulations, you live to sass Melkor another day. or the other way around. or both.
More than One Way to Skin a Mole with @sharpglance in which a bagel is done a big frighten
Bitter Fourth-Age Shadow Yells At Cloud with @archiril (this didn’t really have a name i was just telling Legolas to get off my lawn and it was great)
A New Shadow: Adunaphel with childrenofangmar, who deactivated 😥 along with this AU that was too good for this world
Peace Offerings with nolikereally, who is a babe, but not really on tumblr no mo
….These are good, fond memories all.
Old Threads I’m Still Hoarding For Reasons:
Poppy’s Shadow with popster’s old account
Stop Stabbing Me With Embroidery Needles, I’m Here To Help with @miriel-therinde aka: the crack thread that got away from us and stabbed me in the heart with a prison shank made of regrets and unexpected feelings for elfmom
Umbar was hustling and bustling with life as usual as the Kraken anchored at the harbor. The gangway was lowered for the captain and his master, Ji Indur wishing he could linger on the ship a little while longer instead of being expected to guide Sauron to His quarters in the city. Idly rubbing his chest where the scratches Osse had left were still itching and reminding him that next time he’d stay as far away from Ainur business as possible, he watched the Dark Lord emerge from his cabin, His expression hard to read for the wraith.
But he still had His last words ringing in his ears after he had found Him lodged into the cliff side into which He had been thrown so forcefully after skipping across the ocean like a very large and very heavy stone. Traveling by ship had almost been madness then but luckily the Master of the Seas had allowed the Kraken passage towards the south and as Umbar had appeared in his telescope he had felt both a sense of relief as he had felt a sense of dread. To think that his beloved home would also turn into the site of his punishment did not exactly sit well with the corsair.
Alas there was little he could do as he led the way, Sauron once more dressed in Umbarim garb and once they left the port and walked through the main road there were many eyes on them and many heads bowed in reverence to the Dark Lord. There had always been a lot of worshipers of Mairon in Umbar and even those that followed others or their own believes inclined their heads lightly or stepped out of the way. Maybe this would please his master enough to have Him reconsider punishing the wraith who, all things considered, had only tried to help?
For once Ji Indur could not concentrate on the hustle and bustle on the streets, the colorful small stands of the bazaar where merchants sold the equally as colorful Umbarim garb as well as spices, food and a plethora of household items only found in this city. One could tell the influences of the many who had traveled here to live in this melting pot. Next to the people of Umbar, olive skinned and proud with their flowing clothing and intricate embroidery, the men covering their heads with turbans while most women wore headscarves that were adorned with many pieces of dangling jewelry, there were also those faring from Harad, darker in skin, their faces showing intricate tattoos while their garb was simpler and less colorful but with interesting patterns and worn with the kind of pride the Haradrim carried around them like a soldier carried armor.
And then there were men and women from all the different tribes from the south and east, each of them in their own clothing and yet changing the way Umbar was by bringing their food and culture to it. The scent of fresh oven baked bread mixed with the smell of charcoal and skewered grilled meats as Ji Indur continued to walk until they reached a heavy looking wooden door that was covered with a very intricate looking pattern which had a thick layer of gold applied to it afterwards to make it look even richer.
Opening it the wraith stepped inside, a group of servants hurrying closer, bowing their heads both to Ji Indur but even more so to his master, offering rose scented water in small silver glasses to latter and a tray with the typical sweet treats found in Umbar. One of them, a tall older man, bowed another time to them, informing them that their quarters were ready to which Ji Indur simply nodded, looking at the offered goods with regret as he could no longer enjoy them, waiting for his master to decide whether He wanted to sample them or not before leading him further and across the courtyard towards the rooms that had been prepared especially to suit His tastes.
Sauron dusted the sugar off his fingers after sampling a delicate square of lokum from the servant’s tray. He thanked the man and waved him on his way; basking in the restored quiet of the rooms once the palace doors shut behind him. He licked some remaining spot of stickiness from his thumb and sighed, stretching his back– it made an awful series of crunching sounds in the silence. The Kraken’s return trip to Umbar had given him time enough to mend the fractures in his spine, but the repairs were stiff, and he ached from the expenditure of power it had taken to heal himself.
More than anything he wished to rest, mend, and recover enough energy to hammer the final nail into the coffin of Ossê’s humiliation; his victory. (It was a victory, he reminded himself, wincing as a vertebrae slid back into place).
But he was not yet at leisure to do so. The sounds of the marketplace were blissfully behind him, but the treasured silence of the palace’s cool interior was interrupted suddenly but a nervous cough, and a cleared throat, and a shuffle of fidgety hands over fabric. Sauron closed his eyes and willed himself, with every fiber of concentration he possessed, to not snap with irritation. He did not want to damage his surroundings. They had been costly, and built to his very particular specifications. If he was going to push the wraith’s head through a table, he’d prefer it be an expendable one.
“Ji,” he intoned, not turning around, “Thou art still here.” A remark, a statement of fact, perhaps with an emphasis lingering on how very easily, how conveniently this state of affairs could be remedied. “If there is aught thou wishest to bring to my attention, speak now. If not, I recommend thou leavest and attend thy ship– which at this moment, Wraith, is the only function which makes thy life worth sparing.” His growl rattled dust from the ceiling.
> : ) Maemae is making sure to use exclusively mairon from now on, yes
XD how would he even know that name tho?
That’s like, the name on his birth certificate that only Aulë’s seen. It’s like the name he gets called at awkward family reunions when everyone sits down to dinner and its like “soooo, how’s little Becky-saurus doin–” “BECKYSAURUS HAS A BACHELORS IN FINE ART AND IS LIVING IN MANHATTAN WITH A LESBIAN COMMUNE, AUNT VIVIAN, OH MY GOD”
i’m going to start making it a policy to have the muses react with confusion/anger/irritation whenever someone addresses Sauron with the name “Mairon”. I mean, that’s been my stance since pretty much day one of this blog, but starting now the muses will be taking notice, and you will incur their wrath. >_>
-Designs Himring to become a self-operating death-trap if it should ever fall AND, as a last thing, to dump bucketloads of acid on all the marble floors as a last act-
Now that’s just a waste of good reusable resources! What do you have against recycling?! Don’t you like nature??
Shall I tell you a truly awful headcanon I have?
I’ve been saving it for some future fic or thread but the opportune moment has not yet arrived, so I may as well horrify you with it now:
Sauron takes all the marble and limestone statues, structures, floors, etc from conquered elven cities and burns them to make quicklime for the mortar and cement used in constructing Barad-dur and other fortresses. 🙂 ❤
Also: many parts of dead cavalry and horses are useful for rendering into glue! There’s magic everywhere.
C.S. Lewis: You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me. J.R.R. Tolkien:(plunks down full 1-volume Lord of the Rings with appendices) C.S. Lewis:(narrows eyes) how much tea you got
His cousin is so beautiful in his wrath; all that fine-boned arrogance and twisting kelp hair dripping pearls. It reminds him of the Dawn of Arda when all was wild and fierce and unbound by laws designed to keep fragile lives safe. (It was that spirit Melkor coveted, he remembers, that freedom he sought to restore to Ainur).
Dark water laps at the cave floor, hungrily pawing up the rock as Ossë writhes in power, as if the sea is seeking him. Brooding watersnakes flee their stony hideouts and drop into the lightless pool, seeking the safety of the open ocean waiting just beyond the cavern– he might be wise to find his own refuge, but he has risked more for less gain, and far less entertaining ends.
Instead he drops his collar further, disrobing of his apron and vest, rolling his head back and letting the tips of his fingers trace the contours of his throat.
“You want for nothing, Terror? Where is the ancient stormchild, the wrath of the tide that made the old earth tremble?” He steps into the water, wrapping black and frigid around his knees. He bites his lip hard with the points of his fangs, and lets his blood join the salt of the sea. “Have you ever tasted the flesh and fëa of your own kind, Ossossai? Ever drunk power from another’s blood? There is nothing like it, no food or drink of this earth that compares.”
The water washes past his hips, up his belly, The whiplash tendrils of his cousin’s eerily luminescent form churn perilously close; indignant, wrathful, betraying their master’s vows of contentment as lies. …Lies he aches to rip from Ossës lips, even if it leaves him drowning.
“You want for nothing? Then there is no reason for you to catch me.” He plunges, a streak of shining white and black cetacean skin, teeth and fin, racing for the midnight sea.
Blood in water is not so rare; people are often scraped or bitten near the shore, or wash wounds however they can manage. But another Ainu’s blood – that is an all but forbidden nectar. Where Sauron’s blood drips into the sea water, the ripples sing. Ossë’s gills flare in response and he emits a low, keening note of warning.
Gone is the tamed Sea Master who worries about fear and manipulation and logic and thoughts, and in his place is the Terror of old, the spirit who followed its instincts and sought power and the unbridled euphoria of chaos and destruction, the being that sought to tore the earthen stone from its foundations and cover creation with spuming seas.
There is no hesitation, no question of ‘what if’ or of retribution. As Sauron turns and dives away, all that matters is that someone has challenged him, taunted him, then fled into his home. Perhaps in a desert Sauron would get away with such mockery, but never will his arrogance survive in the sea.
For at swimming and in deeds of bodily strength in the water none of the Ainur, not even Ulmo’s self, is Ossë’s match.
He shoots after his cousin into the icy darkness of the wild sea, shape warping and distorting into his truest form. He is all scales and fins, teeth and tentacles, burning eyes and dusted with starlight. The Elfin inspiration melts away to a monster of the darkest depths, the Ošošai that made the Aratar tremble.
It is this monster that overcomes Sauron, slowing to match his speed so he can descend from above. One dark, starry limb curls around Sauron’s sleek tail to halt him while another snakes around his torso to pin his arms to his sides, a combination of crushing strength and powerful suckers making sure Terror’s prey will not writhe free. Another tentacle coils round his throat, but it is delicate in comparison, loosely circling and slowly tightening just enough to be uncomfortable.
Ossë looms above, peering down at his handiwork. His eyes are large, bright spots of glowing teal, and his face shows no ‘human’ expression. But his gills flare as he surges closer, gaze fixed on Sauron’s face, until he stills nearly close enough to touch. With a rumbled chitter, darkly amused, he darts out a forked tongue to flicker over the remnants of the wound at Sauron’s lip.
There is a delicious sense of helplessness as he looks above, seeing the filtered moonlight darkened with his Cousin’s monstrous shape, matching his top speed effortlessly, almost lazily. The chase, the fear, the adrenaline… what wolf and prey feel running through the tall grass at midnight– it’s seldom he experiences the thrill of the hunted in that equation.
He knows he will be overcome, it is inevitable, his blood rushes with it; before the first of the seeking tendrils find him he plunges down, down past reef and rock, down as far as his cetacean-mimic form can take him, where it is dark and the weight of the sea presses him like a vice all round. This is not an escape– there is no escape here. His Cousin’s tentacles catch his tail while he is at speed, and the loss of momentum cracks through his spine. They wrap and entangle him in their smooth, python grip, engulfing him up to the throat. The only illumination between them comes from within the clicking, laughing leviathan; spots of eery luminescence reflect in the black of his eyes, wide with panic as the air is forced from his lungs in a cloud of bubbles– he has no gills, after all. The water is still his enemy.
He is brought face-to-maw with his captor. A shiver runs through him from stern to prow as Ossë’s tongue traces his lip. With effort, he twists and bites the grasping arm that snakes near his mouth– not gentle, but inviting. Their blood mingles. He has no breath to speak, but his mind reaches out with a question: “Do you like it?”
Even if this body is forfeit, he wants the answer to be yes.
“Oh! Pardon, milady, I did not realize I had company so early…” the stranger tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robe and made a short bow.
“It’s been a season since my introduction at the Midsummer banquet– my travels have made me scarce lately, and no doubt there are many who are wondering exactly who this odd Vanyar fellow mucking about in the forges is! I am a teacher here, by leave of Lord Tyelperinquar– with whom I am meant to be meeting today, in his forge, where we shall begin our lesson. Which is why you find me here, ah, unaccompanied… ” He laughed, warm and slightly sheepish.
“I promise you, I am no burglar. My name is Annatar, called Aulendil. I had to see with my own eyes the great university I’d heard tell of. I know of no other place on earth but Eregion where so much knowledge and talent can be shared between so many; elf, dwarrow, and man alike! Ah, you see, I am already quite in love with this kingdom, my words are agush, do forgive me. What might your name be, dear lady?”
Pale brows shot up in surprise. Surely she hadn’t been gone a season, but then she had never seen this stranger in front of her until now. It would seem that she was gone for far longer then she should have. “I suppose that would explain it.” She allowed after a moment. “It isn’t often Lord Tyelperinquar takes mentors, as I’m sure you know.” It wasn’t often her cousin let anyone he didn’t know well into his forge, but Celebrimbor was a grown man, and surely did not need his cousin looking out from him. However, being ten years his senior, it didn’t stop her from being concerned for her cousin even if he was full grown.
“Mormiriel is my name.” She offered carefully after a moment. It was a lie. Her name was Lothuialneth, but she rarely used that name anymore, and Tyelpe was the only one who knew otherwise that it wasn’t her name. “The kingdom can be rather enchanting, so I will not judge you for it. I find it refreshing, really.” The elleth offered him a small smile to try and reassure the other that his excitement hadn’t bothered her. To be truthful, she would have punched him it the mouth had he been a thief, and it was refreshing not to need to do so. Yet.
“Ah!” the smith cried, recognition dawning, “I ought have guessed! Your cousin has spoken of you with praise– and, if I may be so bold, some trepidation. You are, I take it, not a force to be trifled with.” He winked. “You are as lovely as your name! And a fine name it is… invoking a fine and noble ancestry. I myself may trace some far distant kinship to Lady Indis… though, I realize amongst present company that is a topic around which to tread lightly.”
Aulendil took a disparaging glance towards the door of the smithy. “…As my pupil seems to have more important errands to attend, or else has overslept most egregiously, wouldst care to accompany me on a tour of the grounds? I am still and slowly becoming acquainted with the city, and you seem a reputable guide. –If milady has the time and inclination, of course.” He cocked his head with an inquisitive smile that crinkled his eyes.
It would seem that, even though her cousin had mentioned her as family, the other had thought her from Fingolfin or Finarfin’s lines. Many had, but those that knew her father knew better then to come to that assumption given how much she resembled him. A few things could be attributed to her Maia mother, but it would seem that most would think otherwise. “I did not survive the last age by being dainty. A lady I may be, but I can still die by a sword even if I do not know how to use one.” She replied dryly. If anything her father had been sure that she knew how to protect herself here. It wasn’t Valinor. Her mother could not appear from thin air(almost literally sometimes), and save her. Lóthuialneth had learned quickly she was on her own.
“He probably overslept from staying in the forge too long. ” she replied with a wave of her hand. “It’s not uncommon for him to spend long days and nights in the forge working on a piece or something.” Lóthuialneth paused as he asked if she would take him on a tour. It was rare for her to indulge such a thing, however this once would not hurt. It was rather nice outside after all. “I would be glad to take you on a tour.”
The forgemaster drew back his venerable head, mouth shaped into a silent “o”.
“I see! A true daughter of the Noldor indeed! I don’t doubt you have a backbone of steel. But these are happily more peaceable times, and I hope very much that those of us–” he inclined his palm, deferring to her, “or rather, those of you, who took the brunt of the continental wars, can rest, and ease your minds from such desperate thoughts.” He smiled, crooked but kindly. “Noldor… Always so hot-headed and willing to leap towards extremes… Tyelpe is often the same way. It makes him bold and tireless and in many ways I find it admirable… but I confess, it is a frustrating tendency! Perhaps it is naive of me, but this place makes me believe we can build a future where youngsters like yourself will never again have to consider whether or not they would die by the sword.”
He held out an arm, muscles beneath the soft cream robe as hard and round as a tree trunk– a smith’s arm, to be sure– and gestured invitingly that the elleth might take it. “Lead the way, milady. If my tardy pupil arrives while we are away, he will just have to wait for our return.”
“As my mother would say, or I suppose quote, ‘There is always a calm before the storm’.” She replied evenly, if not coldy. The blonde did not comment further to his words, feeling that they had somehow struck a nerve. The Noldor….they were a passionate people, and the Vanya before her was perhaps not to fond of her family. However very few were fond of her family considering the crimes that her father and uncles had committed. Crimes that seemed to placed upon her and Tyelpë’s heads more often then not.
Lothuialneth took the smith’s arm, and led him away from the forge. “He’ll probably work on something while we’re away.” She murmured. “I doubt he will be bored. Now where have you been in the city? Or have you simply been about Tyelpë?”
Aulendil laughed abruptly. “I have indeed been dogging your outrageous cousin since I arrived! He is a whirlwind of kingly duties and maddening genius– I feel I’ve simply been dragged along in his wake. I dare say it has been an immensely demanding friendship, and rewarding beyond measure. But…” he rolled his shoulders in a shrug “…the only parts of the city I am deeply familiar with at this time are the roads from the palace to the university and from there to the forges.”
As they walked the smith took note of his companion’s brittle expression, and his smile became less merry and more sympathetic. “I fear I have offended you, my lady. It is an unfortunate truth about me: my sentiments are too Vanyarin for the Noldor, and too Noldorin for the Vanyar! I am an odd sort of fish out of water wherever I go, and my travels have been far and wide… But know that whatever my manners, I consider Tyelpe to be a friend, and his forefathers to be masters of their craft. I know the wars left great rifts between our peoples. I know too that there were no simple roads to justice nor to peace. Who knows if the means justified the ends on any side.” His eyes turned to the path ahead, harder than they had been. “There were no victors of the Wars of Wrath… No party without a valid motivation, and no innocents.”
Closing the door to the forges behind them, he sighed. “All the more reason to move forward, no? Look what we can create in a city where all the speaking peoples work together… behind us the past is dim with pain, but the future shines brighter than Aman.” He stepped briskly into the morning light with the elfin lady on his arm. “But enough pontificating! Tell me what occupies you here in the city– and how do you manage such precocious kin?”
“I do not usually occupy myself in the city.” She replied quietly. “All the stone, and walls actually tend to make me feel a bit…..closed in. My mother was very close to nature, and I spent much of my time with her when I was growing. Tyelpë and I are rather differently in the respect of interest.“ To be far, her mother was a Maia, and even if she had stayed in Aman it was not only her influence that had led to her love of nature. Her father had nurtured that love as well. “I suppose it rubbed off…my mother’s love of nature and it’s creatures.”
No victors? Morgoth had in some measure in her mind. He held the Silmarils til the Valar intervened. He tortured her uncle. He had a great many victories, and her heart swelled with anger as they walked even though the emotion never made it to her face. “Perhaps not.” She replied after a moment. “No, but innocents were murdered in that war. Women and children who had done little to deserve the ending dealt to them. Yes, those that took part of the kinslayings are guilty of that atrocity, but those actions should not define their descendants.” She remembered the Doom well. It damned their whole line. Was she innpcent of killing kin? No, and she would never claim it, but it was once she was young, and terrified. Their parents had told them to stay put, but in the chaos that ensued she was left with a choice: her own life, or the life of this one elf that decided that taking barely of age elves, grandchildren of Feanor, would help. Truly had either of them been slaughtered she imagined the First Age to be far worse then it had been. “Nor should it condemn them.”
“Tyelpe is hard to follow. Sometimes it seems mad, but truly what he creates is beautiful.” Lothuialneth knew quite well that Her Uncle would be proud of his son. However, sometimes she questioned if her own father would be. If he and her mother would understand her choices in the end. “You have hit an old wound. But enough talk of sadness, how about I take you to the stables, hmmm? Surely, even a smith needs to know where to keep his horse, yes?”
As Mormiriel spoke of the toll the war had taken on innocents, Aulendil looked as if he might make retort, but he closed his lips over bitten teeth, and the spark of emotion–anger? bitterness? grief?– that lit his face quickly cooled. “Yes, the losses on all sides were…”
He shook his head. “…Would you believe, I haven’t had a horse since I left Dunland!” he laughed flatly, “I left my last steed crossing the Glanduin and took the rest of the road by foot. So of your no doubt inestimable stables, I am also ignorant. You have your work cut out for you, milady; we can begin there, and then, perhaps, you can introduce me to a venue wherein I may procure some breakfast?”
He takes the little box carefully, as if it might bite. “Cousin…? To what do I owe this welcome, if exceedingly unexpected, gesture of goodwill?”
“I fancied a visit,” Ossë replies simply, lips curling into a faint grin. He paces a small bit around the area, curiously inspecting the forge. It has been literal ages since he has last willingly entered such a place. “You had a tour of my home and my workplace; do I not get that same honor?”
He gestures towards the box and chirps in amusement. “Go on, it is nothing that wondrous. I thought perhaps you would like some pearls and abalone shells to work with.”
Sauron gave pause, eyeing Ossë and his train of waterweed-tangled hair as the dripping visitor picked at his rows of tools, arranged by purpose and size. “Naturally the same honor is extended, Cousin. I am only curious as to why… you have never taken an interest in my habitation before. I assumed it was distasteful to you.”
He lifted the lid of the chest gingerly. He seldom worked with pearls. They rolled pleasingly around his fingers, clicking against the nacreous abalone.
“I have no idea how to work with shell,” he proclaimed, raising one to the light, “I assume they turn to a pile of quicklime if you fire them… Are they especially fragile? Hells, what fiddly work these must make to carve! I’m going to need a very small file, and a very gentle clamp…” He stopped himself, rubbing his chin. “Well! You’ve set me with quite an interesting challenge. Shell and pearl– very different from what we are used to here,” he shut the lid, making short bow, “I thank you for the gift. They are beautiful. Is there… anything in particular you wish to see while you are here? I would hate to be a poor host.”
If you’re like me and you usually work in outrageously oversaturated colors, and, like me, you failed to follow the advice on the rules page and work in CYMK, you may be crying when you decide to switch modes from RGB to CYMK in Photoshop and save to .tif file.
There is a tutorial on the main page there but as I don’t have Acrobat I found it a little confusing, so I went on a youtube hunt and found some not-so-helpful tutorials and also a helpful one.
Here’s the tutorial I used.It’s a nice, minimal, non-destructive method that leaves everything in your drawing intact except for the out of gamut pixels. (And it’s way better than the switch-and-baity Lynda.com tutorial.)
GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! ୧(๑·̀ᗜ·́)૭
Why are color profiles so gross and also stupid
things that look fine in every program on my computer look like ass when i upload them to the web, but when dowloaded, they are suddenly fine again??
If you’re like me and you usually work in outrageously oversaturated colors, and, like me, you failed to follow the advice on the rules page and work in CYMK, you may be crying when you decide to switch modes from RGB to CYMK in Photoshop and save to .tif file.
There is a tutorial on the main page there but as I don’t have Acrobat I found it a little confusing, so I went on a youtube hunt and found some not-so-helpful tutorials and also a helpful one.
Here’s the tutorial I used.It’s a nice, minimal, non-destructive method that leaves everything in your drawing intact except for the out of gamut pixels. (And it’s way better than the switch-and-baity Lynda.com tutorial.)
MisbehavingMaiar: Tumblr Archive 