#angrist

[firefly-artwork]

My chara-designs for the House of Finwë : Part 7

Curufin & Celebrimbor

[polutrope]

“Do you know what the songs say, of how he removed the jewel from Morgoth’s crown?”

Curufin startles, turns. The last words Maglor spoke directly to him had been curses cried in anger, condemning him for Felagund’s fate. Curufin had borne it coolly while Maedhros held him off from further violence. 

“How?” asks Curufin, affecting ambivalence.

“With your knife,” Maglor supplies.

“What of it?” 

Maglor huffs: scornful, knowing. “Do you not think it strange, that you possessed this thing so long? This blade that so easily claimed a Silmaril?”

Ah — what poetic logic, Curufin thinks, and returns to his work.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

thinking about explanations vis à vis angrist in the lay of leithian, the question being whether or not it was the knife, the wielder, or the forger (or some triangulation of multiple factors??) that made it possible for beren and lúthien to cut the silmaril free. the appeal of it being simply the knife itself is great for dharmic dramatic irony punished-by-the-narrative significance, since curufin had possession of something that could have fulfilled the oath and just didn't know it (!!!!), but the idea that it was beren and lúthien in particular who allowed angrist to cleave through morgoth's crown lines up nicely with the general fairy-tale logic of leithian. that it was their courage and fierce hope prising the silmaril out and the knife was just an accessory. curufin couldn't've done it even if he'd tried—in fact, maybe he lost angrist because of his own actions, and in true fairy-tale fashion it went to those who best merited it. and then there's the possibility that telchar was just on something different, which doesn't have any narrative bearing that i can figure out.. and of course it's always also feasible that nothing was special or different, and any sharp object could have done the job, it's just that no one tried. which has a nice sort of futility to it all in all

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

The Leap of Beren fiasco happened because Tolkien needed to get Angrist to Beren. A conflict between Curufin and Beren at least was inevitable.

[admirableprecious]

Some headcanon(brand new with not quite new)

”The remnants of Angrist were left behind in the nethermost hall of Angband when Beren and Lúthien escaped Dor-na-Daerachas.[4]”

Uh huh. And then Morgoth gave those remnants to Princess Sauron who in turn reforged it into a dagger of “perfect” steel that he often kept hidden under his left forearm or wherever it suited him.

Celebrimbor added jewels to the hilt as a gift. Awwww…but then, well, it’s pretty mean headcanon. :(

It’s also used at Dagor Dagorath, but that’s another headcanon.

[silm-pronunciations]

Angrist, knife of Curufin

(with which Beren cut the Silmaril from The Dark One's crown)

[opiumvampire]

mad today!

[fostersffff]

Hard to believe that any of the Super Best Friend Play gang went on to have children, and especially hard to believe that it was fucking Pat, but it's so nice to see him (and Woolie) gush about the babby.

[traveljournals]

[tlaquetzqui]

What flattery could Sauron and the Ring use to manipulate him that wouldn’t just get met with “duh, I know”, though? It couldn’t even use “everyone will know how great you are” because Sonic would say “Oh they will soon enough without your help, ✌️Precious✌️, I just haven’t bothered showing them.” (I feel it’s clear Sonic would make air quotes every time he refers to the Ring by Mairon’s name.)

The only tack I can think of Sauron being able to take is “defeating me wouldn’t really count unless you give me my Ring”. Which Sauron might not be childish enough to expect—does he seem like the kind of person who would anticipate Goku healing Cell to make the final fight better?

Also…“Hey what do you say, Gwaihir, Gandalf (love the wardrobe upgrade by the way, buddy): want to help the Knight of the Wind ride again?” It’s not like this would be his first rodeo with a dark lord. The desire to prevent things and people from passing away, Sauron’s main trap for both Elves and Men, is even involved! (“Sounds pretty lame!”)

Sonic the Hedgehog (sustained speed of 767 MPH) could have made the journey from the Shire to Mount Doom (1718.5 miles) in just over two hours. But also he famously loves rings, so he almost assuredly would have found the thrall of the Ring far too powerful to resist. Tails would have had to shoot him

[hhimring]

Not sure whether this works for @maedhrosmaglorweek, really, but that is what I had in mind, when I wrote some more context for a previously existing snippet about Narsil.

(Teens, no major warnings)

It was Maglor who taught Elros sword-fighting, along will all other regular lessons. Maedhros, as on other occasions, would occasionally appear on the sidelines with additional hints, encouragement, and sometimes decide to take on a specific session, not always sharing his reasoning, and then leave the rest to Maglor again. This, Elros eventually concluded, was all to the good. Maglor was better with a sword than Elros was ever likely to be—or so it often seemed to him—and while Maedhros was even more brilliant, sessions with him were intense.

It was not that Elros feared that Maedhros would lose himself during a session, forgetting what he was doing or even attacking him. That slip of the mind into past pain seemed to happen only, at times, when Maedhros was not focussing on a task at hand. The grip of a sword in his hand had a way of steadying him, especially; it must be all those daily exercise routines. Even fully present, Maedhros could be nerve-racking in ways Elros preferred not to think too closely about, right below the surface. Elrond understood all that better, so Elros did not need to.

This, today, was just an unexpected trip to a storage room, though, although Elros would have liked to have some idea why they were here. He saw Maedhros lifting something long, narrow, and wrapped from the wall.

‘This blade should come to you,’ said Maedhros, thoughtfully.

‘Should?’ Elros asked, his voice brittle. ‘Is it from Sirion, then?’

Maedhros seemed taken aback.

‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘It was originally commissioned by my uncle for the House of Hador. That is, it was intended for Gundor, Hador’s son. But it was just before the Dagor Bragollach and, by the time Telchar had finished the blade, Fingolfin, Hador and Gundor were all dead and the road to Hithlum was hazardous. My brother Caranthir stood surety and paid for the sword so that Telchar’s contract should not be breached.

Since then, the sword has sometimes been used in defence, at need, but it has never had an owner. It was crafted for someone of Hadorian height and stature.’ Maedhros looked meaningfully at Elros. ‘Like you.’

Elros realized, all at once, that what had brought this on was his recent, slightly embarrassing rapid spurt of growth—hence the measuring look that Maedhros had given him before taking him here. It was the first time Elros had been given a sword of his own; his previous practice sword had been from the common store.

Thrilled, he drew the sword and gazed in awe at its blade. Forged by the famous Telchar, the same smith that had made Angrist, the knife that cut the Silmaril from Morgoth’s Iron Crown! And Maedhros had guessed aright; the way the sword instantly felt like a better fit for his grip and his sword arm than any he had wielded before. He tried out some practice moves where he stood. Elros was in love.

Maedhros picked up a birch broom, slipped neatly past Elros’s guard and tapped him on the shoulder with the twiggy end, drawing Elros’s attention back to him.

‘The work of a master craftsman should be respected!’ he said, ‘But, mind you, it is not an heirloom.’

Elros blinked, puzzled. How could the sword not be an heirloom, with its storied history?

‘You need to be able to lay it aside or give it away.’

Elros understood. Reduced to near-destitution by the ineluctable claim to that one set of heirlooms, the last Sons of Feanor had come to value possessions the more if no claim attached to them.

‘By the way,’ said Maedhros, as if it was an afterthought, ‘it was intended to be called Narsil.’

From a letter by Queen Inzilbeth in Armenelos to her mother Lindorie of Andunie, originally in cipher.

In a chest in a forgotten recess in the Treasury I found an ancient sword carefully put aside and in perfect condition. A scrap of writing with it and comparison with records elsewhere has led me to conclude that this must be the sword our forefather Tar-Minyatur wielded before he took up Aranruth, given to him by the Sons of Feanor. I do not know why this historic weapon was almost hidden in this way, when Aranruth and Dramborleg are displayed proudly in glass cases in the centre of the main hall. Perhaps the association with the Sons of Feanor seemed politically less opportune than the sword of Thingol that the survivors of Sirion had saved for the return of Elwing’s sons?

In any case, I resolved to seize the chance the situation offered me. There is no risk now that Narsil will be wielded by the King’s Men against the Faithful, ever. I managed to take it to Noirinan, hidden inside one of the hooped skirts that are so fashionable this season. I can hardly be said to have stolen it, since I was taking it back to its original bearer! But I am also letting you know that Narsil is concealed inside Tar-Minyatur’s sarcophagus—please pass on that knowledge to our cousins of Andunie as you see fit.

[sesamenom]

meet again at the end of time

(aka: C&C finally get their own pet edain)

some background:

(for those not following the braywashed saga) the two guys in the middle are (real, entirely human) wrestlers Elton Prince & Kit Wilson of Pretty Deadly, introduced to the silm fandom by @kitwilsonsass, and known for their uncanny resemblance to C&C in both appearance and demeanor.

As Arda is Earth, the Dagorath has not yet happened, and PD are human people who exist, it is entirely canon compliant for them to join C&C in the dagorath. Hence, CCPD alliance.

design notes:

CC

Celegorm's tattoos represent a symbol of devotion to Orome/the Hunt by imitating Orome's vala markings. Given that bows aren't the best weapon for melee fights, his primary weapon here is based on a boar spear, because I imagine similar tactics would be helpful against some of Morgoth's larger creatures. He wears the Feanorian star once on his armband and once painted on his shield (not shown).

Curufin's helm is based off the Silm description of the red-plumed helms of the Host of Feanor. His armor features one Feanorian star and the Trees (telperion not shown), and his shield bears one other star. He wears a dwarven knife (not Angrist since beren broke it) on his belt.

PD

Based on braywashed's assortment of PD outfit posts, they seem to have a light/dark color scheme, reflected here in their armor colors. Their hairstyles are based on what seems like their irl/interview-hair (aka practical hairstyle, because as unnaturally elven as they are they sadly do not have magical hair) (x). Elto's pink arrow fletchings and Kitto's blue mesh cape refer to the pink/blue matching outfit (x), while Elto's bow/quiver harness and both of their shirt colors reference the harness outfit.

Their weapons follow the opposite color scheme as their armor for contrast purposes, and weapon types (double rapiers + bow, double daggers) are based on braywashed's post here.

Both of PD's armor designs draw influence from c. 15th century English armor, seeing as they are British people, and feature a unique half-breastplate evocative of the extremely cropped sleeve shirt things they normally wear when wrestling.

edit: uploaded the wrong version (no tattoos) at first oops

[petalsonmoon]

if your cascade, ocean wave blues come

the three times you give each other peace.

part 2 of 3.

part 1 here.

wc: 2.1k

notes: thank you for the patience and for reading <3

and for the next 3 months, everything moved regularly slow.

you did your best in everything you put your strength in. you didn’t let the uncomfortable situation hold you back in getting better with mic and, granted, the results were appearing in your other life subjects.

you always did great in the theoretical part of school, always willing to learn new things and you had a saying you created yourself that was: all books eventually catch one’s attention. sometimes you gotta go through hell before everything gets interesting.

and accordingly, you put your name on the 3rd spot in your class raking.

you were proud of that.

In the span of those next months you trained with new faces. you made a good friendship with honenuki, growing to meeting each other after hours to not hold back in the sparing.

mic said that was a good idea. train with someone you didn’t know well to get habituated with the loud noises.

now, when it came to the exercises with class A there were interesting surprises.

the first one, happened 3 weeks after your encounter with bakugo, and unfortunately your group didn’t include him. and it’s not like you were looking for something here but that situtation you both had left you curious about the boy. for the particular reason that when you were feeling frustated and sad about yourself, his presence was a calming thought in that storm.

like. that was perfectly normal, right?

he didn’t ask why you weren’t at the presentation and he didn’t underestimated you for that either. and that’s all you wanted. to breathe peacefully and not being judged.

the second one, it happened 4 weeks after that. in spite of aizawa’s enormous lack of effort and energy to deal with professor sekijiro, they decided to unify the classes for the day and let the students review and establish in pairs how to manage their quirks whilst working with an unfamiliar sidekick.

you were incapable to control your wide eyes the second bakugo walked to you with heavy steps and serious eyes. some colleagues also noticed the strange occurrence and that made you a little unease. but you handled like the mysterious and confident person you pretended to be with him that day.

you held his gaze but you couldn’t fucking stop the sweat it was forming in the back of your neck.

because being honest, nothing really changed between you two, only a few exchanged glaces in the caferia but that was it. and being even more honest, class A was annoyingly famous around the school so you couldn’t (and didn’t have the balls) to approach the angrist boy in the faculty out of nowhere.

since the task was to be a sidekick you didn’t have to fight against him or anything, so you just took a sip of water and went on with it with your head held high.

bakugo was a handful with capital H but a brilliant leader, so it was a nice activity.

and you could really sense that each time it was an activity outside of your comfort zone, you were feeling less and less overwelmed with the noises. you were proud of that.

the training took practically the whole day and when everyone was tiredly getting back to the dorms, he passed by you. the bastard didn’t even look at you.

“meet me in the gymnasium in two hours.”

by the time the phrase is undestood by your brain, he’s already out of your sight.

but you already knew what it was going to happen. so, you went quickly eat some dinner, take a slow shower and mentally prepare yourself.

what is this feeling? excitement? nervouness? you tried not to look to closely at the tiny bit of giddiness also there.

when the time came you made your way to the gymnasium, trying to make your heart and brain settle down and as you entered the place you saw bakugo himself with his back to you getting ready.

you’ve seen him with those black tanks out and about from afar in numerous times.

getting a closer look of his perfectly broad back and designed bíceps made your brain and heart finally agree in one certain feeling.

that’s enough. he’s here to purely beat your ass.

you walk towards him and put your bag on the bench.

“took it to heart, i see.”

“no” he didn’t even look you.

“you’re kinda easy to work with” you admit swiftly as you start to get ready, taking your eyes off of him. “should make a great opponent as well.”

he grumbles in response.

“if you go easy on me i’ll walk.” you say.

and then you finally feel his eyes on you. “then don’t waste my time.”

and that’s how you had the most difficult practice of your life.

bakugo did not held back and you had to think ridiculously fast to survive every single insanely fast strategies he came up with. but you did not held back either and you’re very proud to say you put up with him for some good minutes before he won the match. the boy was almost number 1 of the entire school, you won’t minimize your efforts.

when it ended and you were on the ground he walked to you and offered his hand. and without saying another word you two spared again. and again. and again.

and it took you some time to get used to his explosions so near you but you think you could maneuver your reactions when you actually focused on learning his movements. you're not sure how he handles this loudness.

and he won every single time. but during fights you both were adjusting to how the other thought and moved. it was such an intense but pleasant experiment that you allowed yourself to comment to him your thoughts about his fighting, not judging nor imposing but simply a different point of view.

and you think you worded everything greatly because his eyes weren’t showing you an the usual amount of irritation and after a while he started to comment about you as well.

that was exactly 6 days ago.

right now, you were at the music room once again, sitting by the piano learning how to play twinkle twinkle little star through an app.

it was a choice you made after the festival and okay. not your proudest decision but it calmed you down when you needed. school is not easy and having a hobbie whilst wanting to become a hero is hard.

it was an inoffensive little bobbie.

you were think jingle bells was probably next.

you’ve been there for about 30 minutes when the door slammed open. they really needed to check it someday, people have not been gentle with it.

and you look up to find bakugo katsuki irradiating rage. it was clear he wanted to storm off to the couch he sitted last time but to your unfortunate it was close to the piano and he quickly stopped once he noticed you were in the room as well.

everything you knew about class A was from kirishima cause him and tetsu were strangely close. which is funny because he’s really close to bakugo too but you rarely talked to the blonde up until now.

well, you heard this week that class A had a very important evaluation today. the show-us-in-public-how-much-you-evolved-your-quirk-and-rescuing-people kind of evaluation. so this right now could be related to that information.

you tried to read in his expression if you’d be the target of whatever got him enraged but before you could analize anything he simply angrily sat and closed his eyes.

his irritation tugged something in you. a bit of impotence. you had no idea how to help him and you’re certain that ask him how is the absolute last option.

so you did the most reasonable thing. you look down and continue to play the piano.

twinkle twinkle little star.

if it helped calmed you down perhaps it did the same for him. the boy who smashed the drums. ha.

and for a fair 5 minutes that’s how you both stayed. once you thought you were beginning to understand how to differentiate the dozen of white sticks in front of you, you raise your head to find him in the exact position as before.

you don’t know him well but if you thought you did, you’d say the wrinkles around his eyes and the furrow between his brows seemed slightly relaxed.

“in the piano i’m better than you.” you say almost whispering and let out a chuckle. “ha!”

he shakes his head imperceptibly with his eyes still closed.

“you’re stupid.”

you play another verse of the one song you know on the piano before answering “i don’t think so.”

is that the ghost of a smile you see on his face?

“i can teach you.” you continue.

“absolutely doubt that.”

“you don’t trust me?”

he finally lowers his head and makes a face to you. a low and short grunt in response.

“oh no.” you shake your head “i thought we were past this. i swear i didn’t let you win when we trained. you won far and square, i promise.”

it was a single joke to lighten up his mood. you only intended to create a good and natural conversation but when you heard him snickering with a pinch of genuine laugh underneath it you wanted to make a few more jokes to keep hearing it.

“you’re stupid.”

“i thought we were past this too.”

“i’m gonna past you if you say that again.” his raspy but calm voice fills the room.

“i see you need a little more of twinkle twinkle little star in you.” you look down and start to play again with a surprising efficiency.

“for the love of god.” he looks up grunting.

“okay.” you stop playing.

you look at him again and his eyes are you. “learned this one today.”

“congratulations.” very sincerely sarcarstic of him.

“in half na hour. one note at of time” you add.

he grimace and you smile.

“just saying.” you add. you pass your fingers through the piano keys threatening to actually touch them. “do you consider yourself a good drummer?”

“i’m fucking great.”

you nod in response.

he raises his eyebrows for a millisecond. “how’d you know?”

now, that’s the tricky part. he doesn’t sound bitter or even rude. he’s completely neutral and you don’t know how to read this... challenge? audacity?

he noticed you weren’t at the festival and you know what he’s asking you now and you’re not sure how to continue the conversation. or how to take that in general

do you think you can handle how his view of you would probably change? if you’re confotable enought to share, does it matter? and surprising even youself, you think trust him to be honest without you getting hurt with him.

“are we caring about what the crowd says now?” your voice small.

“only the ones that don’t waste my time.” he replies just as careful.

well.

that was not good for your heart.

“let’s say” you start “i’m here learning an instrument. it’s not very different from why you’re here today.”

his brows immediately furrow “i think it is-”

“did we not” bold move interrupting him. “learn these instruments for the same reason?”

“careful.”

“and honestly-“

“aren’t you a honest person.” It comes out rough of him.

“this” you gesture lazily to the room. “it’s working for me.”

he is genuinely paying attention to what you’re saying. you don’t wonder if it’s because he’s getting angrier or you’re a easy distraction.

“at least that’s what i’d like to believe. i’m 3rd place in my class and i’m getting better... with everything else.” anxiety, you mean

he’s just staring and you keep going softly  “you’re practically top 3 of the whole school. and that’s a lot of pressure, i’d be terrefied.”

“yeah?” he hums.

“uhum.” red is a fucking intimidating color. “even the most powerful person in school needs a little bit of easiness. i hope this place helps you as it helps me...”

the last part comes out almost like a whisper. and you’re aware you’re talking too much but the boy already saw you sitting in a corner of this very room with ruined makeup. it doesn’t get worse or realer than that.

 “we just need to work on our control.”

then even his aura changes. he carefully tilts his head, daring you to continue.

“we?”

“don’t get me wrong-” you add.

“i’m not.” he hiss. shit.

“what i’m saying is...” you hesitate and push aside any warning in your head. and your exploding heart. “i don’t know you well, and i don’t want to assume. how could i know you from other peoples opinion?”

you can see him relaxing again. it’s very subtle. he’s not guarded anymore, so you take that in consideration. you start playing jingle bells in the background of your head to motivate you.

“but i come here to calm my mind and if you’re just like me... then you’re probably losing control of your brain too.”

you look down to your fingers and your breathing stabilizes. if you truly think about it, you were acutely more nervous about the fact of letting what you’re feeling out of you than him blowing your head out of you for what you said.

“are we psychoanalyzing each other?”

“no.” you shake your head “i just want you to enjoy twinkle twinkle little star with me.”

you want to look up but you’re scared.

“you know what i think?”

but with that you do look at him. he’s the softest he can be.

“that you are actually letting it control you.”

now, what the fuck.

how does he know things?

you’re the one with the furrowing brows this time. okay. he secret is always pretend you’re confident and in the control of the situation.

“oh bakugo,” you smile a little “are we friends now?”

“for a honest person you’re dodging a lot.”

goddammit. his aswers are always so quick.

“alright.” you compromisse “can we make na arrangement?”

“hm” that's all you got.

“every wednesday we train together after hours, that’ll help me” this part is true “and in return you’ll work on whatever makes you almost break the poor door everytime you come here.”

he was sending you a gaze that could blow you into atoms in the blink of an eye but you see that he thinks before answering.

“i'm not holding anything back."

him going along with you in this was enough as it is. "i'm not expecting you too."

"and then what?"

"then we meet at christmas and whoever is better will get a gift."

you bite a laughter when his response is rolling his eyes.

"like friends do." you add.

"i get it." he growls.

all of that leaves you with a sweet and fresh feeling. like when you're a little kid and you spend the day with your best friend of a week that is also your little crush that you don't know it's a crush cause you're too young and naive.

and that discovery doesn't ruin anything, cause you're a centered person. you're not expecting anything at all from this. having him as a friend is more than enough and you're grateful.

his phone seals the conversation when starts to ring but stops after he even got out of his pocket.

"fucking hate when they do that." he mumbles.

you look down again, not letting your mind twist.

"when i win and meet you in a month." he says very collected as he starts getting up "i'll need you to be very honest with me, got it?"

your whole body hair did not just went up with that. is he always like that?

"careful, bakugo." you hope you sound as nonchalant as him.

he's already by door when he answers you. "great. we have a deal."

he leaves closing the door more gently than you could.

[welcomingdisaster]

Who would win in a parking lot fistfight?

The rules of the fight:

They are unarmed, shirtless, and have had the equivalent of two shots (everyone, elves and men, equally inebriated)

Currently the parking lot contains: one broken beer bottle, many cigarette butts, eight sewer rats, discarded curly fries, a big stick, Finwë's gorgeous Noldorin jewels, and angrist.

Victory is declared once one person surrenders, dies, is knocked out, or flees the scene.

ROUND 2, MATCH 4:

Notes: Thingol has had a very close fight with Finwë, winning by only 2.2%. He enters the fight with a dislocated shoulder and an overwhelming sense of guilt about hurting his old friend. Turin has won a decisive victory against Curufin, killing him instantly. He enters the fight with a sense of hubris which wars with the unspeakable horror of taking a life.