curiouselleth

[curiouselleth]

We live in the dumbest, lamest cyberpunk dystopia possible.

So LA has been — and continues to — protest against ICE. These protests haven’t gotten any smaller or lost any momentum, but social media wasn’t reflecting it.

TikTok users, realizing that the platform/other social media are censoring/deleting/shadowbanning these protest videos, decided to find a workaround.

They’re calling it the LA Music Festival. Ice detention centers and other protest locations are “stages.” The hottest band is Rage Against the Machine. “Here’s what gear you should be bringing to stay safe at the LA Music Festival.”

And it fucking worked.

TikTok has become a proving ground for a lot of new music, meaning lots of labels and organizations have lucrative deals with TikTok to promote their new artists and music festivals. So they absolutely cannot censor the words “music festival” or train the algorithm to ignore it, or they risk endangering that very important revenue.

So now protest videos are flooding feeds again, but it’s the LA 24/7 Music Festival. Truly an incredible timeline we’ve landed in.

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Finrod: You know, you really need to wash your werewolves more often, they taste awful.

Sauron: No one has complained before you.

[curiouselleth]

I.

Nóm arrives with the dawn, shining gold and smiling.

Little Beren is asleep; he had passed a restless night, waking often to wail with all the power of his little lungs - which was considerable. The babe had woken Emeldir so many times that she, who had shed hardly a tear from birthing-pains, had begun to cry; and at that Barahir had swept Beren from her arms, wrapped him up warmly, and departed their hut altogether.

At the first touch of the night air on his face, Beren had stopped crying; instead he had stared wide-eyed at the stars, wide brown eyes reflecting the light of the Valacirca until they slowly closed. More than half an Elf, that one - so like Emeldir already. Despite her stern face and strong arms, Emeldir loved the old tales, and the stars, and had something of the dreamy nature of her ancestor Belen - or so Nóm had said, at their wedding, and Barahir supposed that he would know.

Despite his exhaustion and the chill of the pre-dawn air, Barahir feels a smile tug at his lips at that. He hopes his son will take after Emeldir indeed, for she is everything good. In the strength of her arm, in the depth of her love, in her vivid way of telling tales, she is everything that he would have dared to hope for in a wife: aye, everything and more.

And then, as the first rays of the Sun bring a flush to his cheeks, he spots a tell-tale glint of gold on the horizon and breaks into a grin. He does not cry out a greeting - if Beren wakes again then Barahir will weep - but he shifts the little babe to one arm and raises the other in greeting, knowing Nóm will be able to see.

Not ten minutes later, Nóm arrives in truth. His smile near outshines his hair as he leaps from his horse. He is carrying a small velvet bag, cleverly sewn and encrusted with tiny glittering gems. At the sight, Barahir feels his face soften further, for he has a similar bag, tucked away in a closet; and so does Emeldir; and so indeed do all in the House of Bëor, living or dead.

"Good morning, friend Barahir!" Nóm greets cheerfully - but softly, mindful of little Beren. "Oh - your son is beautiful!"

"Good morning, Lord," Barahir responds, mildly amused by the sudden besotted tone in Nóm's voice. "I thank you. I said the same thing, when I first held him in my arms, though Emeldir persists in comparing him to a potato."

Nóm laughs. "A true lady of the Atani! As I recall, Andreth said something very similar about you - though not in Bregor's hearing, I assure you."

Barahir laughs lowly, holding Beren a little away from himself so that the laughter will not jostle him. "I am sure she will say the same thing about Beren, when she gets the chance," he says fondly.

"Ah, no," Nóm protests, "for Andreth speaks only the truth, and your babe is handsomeness itself."

Barahir looks hard at Nóm. "Was I a particularly ugly baby, then?"

"Ah - no - but Andreth was younger then, and perhaps more inclined to untruth," Nóm says hurriedly. "You were also beautiful, when I met you as a babe. You had such lovely small fingers and a laugh that could charm birds out of the trees. Your parents assured me it was remarkable for a child of the Atani to laugh so young!"

Barahir cannot help laughing again at Nóm's earnest protestations of his youthful perfection. "Ordinarily I would say that it is merely the famous Elvish love of children speaking for you - but in this my pride as a father must win out. Beren has not a single flaw in my eyes."

Nóm's eyes soften at the name. "Another Beren!" he says. "Is his grandfather pleased?"

"Pleased, and more than pleased!" Barahir exclaims, for his law-father had nearly fallen over with delight upon being introduced to his grandchild.

Then he remembers his manners. "Ah - Lord, you must be hungry - I can -" he breaks off, for he does not wish to set Beren down and run the risk of another waking, and Emeldir is asleep inside.

"No need, no need," Nóm says, waving his hand expansively. "I have no wish to inconvenience you, especially now. I have brought enough food to share," he adds, with a gesture to his saddlebags, "So do not worry."

"Thank you," Barahir says after a moment - his pride stings briefly, but not enough to overcome the idea of letting Emeldir sleep as she ought, and wake up to breakfast and a babe in good temper. And anyway, after so long it cannot be denied that it is Nóm's delight to bring gifts to the House of Bëor. It is an expression of love for a friend long-lost, his father Bregor had explained when he was young; and Andreth his sister had added, a wry twist to her mouth, it helps with the grief, to care for the family of one so loved.

So he does not protest the food, nor the other gifts he knows are coming, and Nóm's bright smile remains undimmed.

"I have brought this for little Beren," he says, gesturing to the bag in his hand, "and some other small things, for you and Emeldir - but all of those can wait! I have no wish to disturb the sleep of a child. I shall visit Andreth, and bring breakfast as a peace offering for my early arrival, and I will come back later in the day."

"Thank you!" Barahir says again, and smiles. "It is truly a delight to see you, Nóm."

Nóm's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles this time: the only sign of his great age that Barahir has ever been able to discern. "And it is a joy to see you, my friend!" he says.

He leads his horse away, and Barahir returns to rocking Beren, basking in the sun and the soft glow of Nóm's retreating presence.

Not long after that, both Emeldir and Beren begin to stir, and so they are all awake when Nóm comes again. He has found somewhere to leave his horse, and he brings with him a delicious-smelling covered basket in one hand and a somewhat lumpy sack in the other.

"Hello, Emeldir - and hello again, Barahir!" he says cheerfully, as soon as they open the door. "I have brought breakfast: potatoes and eggs, and sausage, and some fruit. I hope it was not too presumptuous," he adds, and then interrupts himself as he spots Beren in Emeldir’s arms, "oh, little Beren! He is perfect! Many congratulations!"

Barahir, feeling his stomach rumble and the exhaustion from his sleepless nights take hold, is even less inclined to listen to his pride than before. He says, "Thank you very much for bringing breakfast, Nóm. Will you eat with us?"

"Of course, of course!" Nóm says, beaming, "Many thanks!"

As Barahir is setting their table for breakfast, Emeldir says, "It is wonderful to see you, Nóm. Would you like to hold Beren?"

"Oh - yes!" Nóm exclaims, and holds out his arms. Barahir feels a moment of apprehension at that - Lord Finrod is so excited, it is as if he has never held a baby before - but reminds himself that Nóm had held both him and Emeldir as babes, and all their ancestors besides. And indeed Nóm supports Beren’s head with the necessary care, and Barahir feels a smile grow on his own face as Elf and baby stare enraptured at each other.

"Bah!" Beren exclaims, and tugs on one of Nóm’s braids.

"Bah indeed, little one!" Nóm echoes. "I have a present for you, if your parents permit it," looking questioningly at them, and when Emeldir nods he says, "it is in the sack I left by the door - if you would bring the little bag to him? There are some other small gifts in there," he adds, seemingly carelessly, as Emeldir goes to open the sack, "for you, and for him - but those can wait till after breakfast!"

Barahir watches, plates forgotten for the moment, as Nóm takes the little shining bag from Andreth and opens it for Beren. He withdraws a little wooden figure and sets it in Beren’s tiny hands. Beren immediately brings it to his mouth and begins to chew.

"No no, it is not for chewing -" Emeldir begins to protest, but Nóm is laughing.

"It will do him no harm, I promise," he says, "and it is his toy, after all, to do with as he wills."

"What animal is it?" Barahir asks, rather eager to know. When he had been a tiny child, Nóm had carved him a hound, ears pricked and head up, ready for a hunt; and Emeldir’s gift from him had been a badger. They were lovely things, sturdy toys for children that became treasured pieces of decoration as they grew; and Barahir’s hound now nestled with Emeldir’s badger upon their mantel.

"It is a nightingale!" Nóm says. "You know, it is very odd," he adds thoughtfully, "I felt certain that it must be a nightingale, for him, though I know not why. Perhaps he will grow up to be a bard!"

"Perhaps," says Barahir.

"He has the lungs for it," adds Emeldir, to general laughter.

Beren suddenly pulls the toy out of his mouth and smiles at Nóm: a real smile, the first from their babe! He has a deep dimple in his left cheek, and he is smiling so hard that his brown eyes nearly disappear into the folds of his cheeks. Barahir feels joy fill his heart at the sight; looking at Emeldir, he knows she feels the same.

"You have a beautiful smile, little Beren!" Nóm says, near glowing with satisfaction. Then he looks at Barahir and his wife.

"Thank you," he says. "I treasure these moments dearly."

"But of course!" Emeldir says. She is smiling.

"Thank you for coming to us!" Barahir says. "And now we should eat," he adds, feeling his stomach rumble again; and Nóm hands the baby back to Emeldir, and comes to help him set everything out for breakfast.

Nóm departs after a stay of only a few days, citing unrest in the North. He leaves behind three lovely baby-blankets, downy-soft; several sets of baby-clothes, in varying sizes, which button cleverly, the smallest of which somehow fits Beren perfectly; a new set of knives for Barahir; a lovely warm shawl for Emeldir; and the little nightingale, which Barahir hopes will someday sit on a mantle of Beren’s own.

He wonders, sometimes, what it means for his son that Nóm the Farsighted was so sure he would want a nightingale. Perhaps Beren will be a singer after all.

But mostly he looks at Beren, who now smiles more often than he cries, and feels nothing but joy.

[curiouselleth]

lord of the falathrim oooh

[curiouselleth]

[curiouselleth]

When you tell your friend not to worry about it because you know you’re going to betray them in a few days.

[curiouselleth]

[curiouselleth]

They've been saying goodbye for three hours. Fingon's horse just wants to go home or go to sleep

[curiouselleth]

it’s fucking wild because one day you’re like i guess i’m not dying tragically young and you go to the store and you buy dental floss, ingredients for soup, and a bath mat

[curiouselleth]

Círdan and the Whale

Círdan deserves to ride whales. Inspired by The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera

Slide #80 for scribbles and drabbles 2025, organised by @fall-for-tolkien

[curiouselleth]

Sure, Elrond is wise and knowledgeable and stuff. A healer and a warrior and whatnot.

However.

Elrond's true power is being-related-to-everyone-ever. And he has absolutely no qualms about abusing this power. Especially in Valinor.

You disagree with Elrond?

Well, tough luck. Because his three-to-five dads, assorted grandparents and myriad of cousins of various degrees are going to hear about it.

[curiouselleth]

First ape to go to the watering hole with a container and put some of the water in it so that they could drink more later without returning to the watering hole must have been lauded as a fucking genius.

[curiouselleth]

hey so anyone else just, feel thin. sort of stretched. like butter scraped over too much bread. like you need a holiday. a very long holiday. and you don't expect you shall return? or is that just me and bilbo baggins

[curiouselleth]

On the list of essays about Tolkien stuff that I'd write if I was smart enough: Beren and suicidal ideation

Not that I think it's a particularly controversial thing to say that Beren is at least at one point in the story literally suicidal (I mean. I don't think there's a lot of other ways to read "But sorrow now his soul had wrought / to dark despair, and robbed his life / of sweetness, that he longed for knife, / or shaft, or sword to end his pain / and dreaded only thraldom's chain. / Danger he sought and death pursued / and thus escaped the fate he wooed"), but like the thing for me is... though it may switch to a more passive form after, I don't actually think Beren ever quite stops wanting to die, during the main events of the story (I don't think there's enough data to say how things are after Lúthien goes and bargains for a second chance at life for him, though I'd like to think it's easier for him, afterwards, the other option feels like a downer)

I mean of course there's a certain nonchalance about deadly peril that's just an expected baseline for a fantasy hero, but... I think Beren can go a little beyond that, particularly given that we already have an undeniable statement of past suicidal tendencies

yeah idk i'm not smart enough to write the proper analysis essay that deserves but. that's a thing i think about sometimes

[curiouselleth]

Maedhros and Fingon - winter and reminiscences at Himring

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Lúthien and Huan :>

[curiouselleth]

soldier, poet, king

(thumbnail for a future video)

(art by me on procreate)