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[fév. 9e, 2005|06:42 pm] |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) ithilwen's been writing that story about me that she promised to a while back. Go on, hurry up, check out her LJ to read some of it. You won't be disappointed (although I am a bit of a wuss in that second bit). Love you, ithilwen!
Yes, I'm very much around, why do you ask? |
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| That Time In The Woods |
[oct. 14e, 2004|09:35 pm] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | rufus wainwright - the consort | ] |
Leaving, but never far enough/like a ship caught in the bay/we'll show each other where it hurts/ and we'll make the fuckers pay.
- Some song she wanted written about.
So here is vague slash the girl wrote for that other girl a long time back, but never got around to posting because it is plotless, and has no excuse of major smut either. It is a mild R is all. And there's some but not much action-adventure that goes before.
Now someone must make a military Major Smut icon.
And of the other other girl I am most fond. She is my princess. Thank you for reading it.
( Thaw, rated R ) |
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| Fic. |
[sep. 19e, 2004|08:42 pm] |
OTP counterpart to nelyafinwe's wonderful Quendi-in-modern-days romance Grace. A humble offering to bandonbanshee, as a post-exam celebration, and to maelipstick, the egger-on of nefarious designs on Quendi.
At 12.48 a.m., he finally found his voice and, raising his hands almost reverently, asked, “Are you real?”
At 12.49 a.m. the other man was still laughing a resonant, musical, all-too-real laugh.
Warnings: Slash, Maedhros/OMC, disjointed narrative. And whoriquendi. In a starring rolecameo, Fingon son of Fingolfin.
( Gilt: A Tragicomic Fantasy In Thirteen Parts )
( A/N ) |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[sep. 12e, 2004|07:16 pm] |
Hello all,
Just popped in to see how you are all doing. How are you all doing? Also to tell those of you on my flist who may not have heard, I am now part of a fic project called ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) firetofire and I have just posted an entry there. Do go read if so inclined. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[sep. 8e, 2004|08:19 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | triangular | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | The Doors - The End | ] |
I am very fascinated by The Doors after having played a Doors Concerto in the studio a while back, although they troubled me a little earlier. I would have said 'frightened' but well, Noldo or no, there is no point to exaggerating that. Phrases like 'Roman wilderness of pain' and 'ride the highway west' just *feed* themselves into one's thoughts. Poor Nol is listening to a lot about compromise and cusps in her modernism classes, what with Prufrock and D H Lawrence (both liked by him, neither by myself.) She is getting rather cheesed off. So I make her sit down and listen to The Doors with me. Take a face from the ancient gallery, I say. We both like The End because among other things it is the soundtrack of the opening sequence of Apocalypse Now.
She explains the Oedipal implications and I am disturbed more but not enough to dislike the song. Can elves of the Blessed Realm have Oedius complexes? I had one about Maedhros' mother. For the longest time I thought she was the most wonderful woman in the world. *blush
The blue bus is calling us. |
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| Well, well. |
[aoû. 27e, 2004|08:58 pm] |
My father is here.
No, I love him. Really. With all my heart. He is my hero and I respect him as much as anyone else in the world, except for my mother.
For all those who want to know, the girl is fine, procrastinating today and reading Milton out loud. Bitch, bitch, bitch. |
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| GIP. |
[aoû. 21e, 2004|06:12 pm] |
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GIP. |
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| My weapon of choice |
[aoû. 4e, 2004|09:02 pm] |
theatrical_muse, not a home for me, asked about weapons of choice. Now this is automatically a subject of interest to me, and I decided to post about it.
Contrary to writers' assumptions, I am not primarily a swordsman, although I started out as one. It was quite by accident that I realised my knack for archery. My sister, the little she-monster began at an early age to want to go hunting, but she was terrible with the spear. No balance at all. My brother and I were quite fed up, so we sat down to make a bow and some arrows for her. The rest, as Thorondor and Glaurung among others will testify, is history. And to clarify matters, my sister grew up to have an astounding talent with the spear. (No Eol-jokes, please.)
We began to use the crossbow a lot after Maedhros' rescue. He learnt to shoot with one hand. Maedhros used to be a star archer, by the way. But then he has always had singleness of purpose.
I'm given to understand archery is not as romantic as the sword, for some. Well, quite apart from the fact that there's nothing romantic about massacre, I've loved archery for the way it frees one by narrowing down all centres of consciousness to that one, single point. There's nothing quite so intimate one-on-one swordplay (but if you must know we did duel often) but archery is so much more about oneself. Out in the field, it is only just one and one's wits. No heavy hand, no brute force. Blind luck, now and then, perhaps, but more often not. Archery feeds on instinct.
And I have very nice hands, too. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juil. 6e, 2004|09:18 pm] |
Thank you for your support, everyone. I am glad of it. Nol says I'm behaving very strange, less elf than human, less Patroclus (who I am NOT) than Ajax (who also I am NOT).
Why should I be Patroclus? I'll be Hector. Just because of that girl of mine and her story. No offense meant, Mags! You know I love you and your work.
Anyway. This is what she's been rather excited about (and consequently not working on) for the past four days or so. Blame it on the absent Lipstick, who wondered why, in all the fanfic, Thorondor so very rarely flew to the other side of Lake Mithrim. Nol says there's much in the story in her mind (since there's hardly anything on MS Word) that she owes to the brilliant Finch, both in tone and thought. At least, that seems to be the intent.
She finds it passing weird that fanfic makes her grieve that she has not had the time or opportunity to read more Christian philosophy.
( The long road to healing the breach between the Noldor. No, that is not the story title. ) |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juil. 5e, 2004|07:17 am] |
There are 114 individuals interested in "maedhros" on LJ.
There are 66 interested in me. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 21e, 2004|07:16 am] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| |  pleased | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | The Sound Of Strutting | ] |
I love getting Nol late for class?
Meldo? Don't you agree with this result, despitew the stubble and all?
( I am a Smut Novel Character )
Fanfic writers, please take note. Yes, Nol, this means YOU.
Although - *worried* that poor girl was wearing disgraceful clothes. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 19e, 2004|09:16 pm] |
Why does Nol always want stories to have happy endings? Does she believe that life imitates art?
For mortals, I think, life and art are interchangeable. We elves are simpler creatures. Art, is always incomplete. Even music, that makes the world; even language, that sets us apart from those who do not speak with tongues. We exalt our souls when we speak, Turukano used to say.
I do not think so. I think language is as limiting as a lack of it. Turukano suffered from the Noldor misconception that the mind and the soul are the same thing. It is only the mind that has limits.
I do not deal in words. Words and I have failed each other at all the important times. It is strange. I am a Noldo, I am my father's son. The tradition of bon mots, so to speak, can achieve no greater age or depth. And yet.
And yet.
:) See?
I love heights.
Maedhros made me hate them.
I hate the cold.
But the Ice was colder than cold. And sometimes, so is Maedhros. |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 18e, 2004|09:06 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | happy | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | Rufus Wainwright - He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother | ] |
Nol was too ashamed to post this in her own journal, so I, as usual, have taken responsibility. The reasons I am willing to do this:
1) Valiant, therefore unafraid etc. of public opinion.
2) It's a sweet story that probably really would have happened if we had heard of either Hollywood, or Serendip (which is from where English gets serendipity), in Aman.
Presenting: An unashamed bit of fluff made of polysyllabic words, precocious children, the barest hint of my first kiss with Maedhros, and backstory that is as incomprehensible as the title.
Nol does not want to drag others into this undertaking, but out of politeness she really ought to thank ladyitarille *hugs Itarille* for reading and encouraging.
I dedicate this story to everyone who needs it. All none of you.
P.S. Yes, it really is my mother-name. It's not incongrous, but that's a story for another time.
( Incomprehensible ) |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 13e, 2004|06:24 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | happy | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | Rufus Wainwright - One Man Guy | ] |
doltaghey, in response to my last post, suggested this. Thank you, doltaghey.
Nol goes to college tomorrow. Alas for her, this means no sleeping late. My poor girl will have to reverse her sleeping patterns now.
But as I was saying:
( Well, I never. ) |
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| Judging by the multiple numbers of Maedhros on my f-list... |
[juin. 11e, 2004|08:17 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | satisfied | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | Goo Goo Dolls - Iris. The 90's were so much better. | ] |
If there is someone on your friends list you would love to have a(n epic, sweaty, damn near legendary, 12 hour) fuckathon with, post this same exact sentence in your journal.
It may be presumptuous of me to suppose it, but I think it must be easier for same-sex couples. Although it must take the strength of the 'ancient world' to go on for a week, as he will testify. Also Finwean stamina. :)
Come to think of it, this meme is slightly redundant. None the less enjoyable for being a been-there-done-that exercise, of course, but a little too -flagrant- to be meaningful. I mean, we've done it before, we'll do it again, and it's excellent for the most part. What's there to say?
Now a name-it-we've-done-it exercise ... that might be significantly more lively.
Fingon,
whose masculinity is not threatened in the slightest by his love for a warm, simple cuddle. It's Maedhros. What's not to cuddle? |
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| (pas de sujets) |
[juin. 7e, 2004|09:31 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| | not worried. NOT worried. | ] |
Please excuse my writer over the next little while. She's very exhausted and is having a bit of a bad time in RL. She loves you all very much.
More importantly:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY FINCH!!
Many snuggles. Nol will tell you the story of your failed birthday stories when she can. |
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| IMPORTANT: ELF REQUEST! |
[juin. 3e, 2004|10:15 pm] |
| [ | Humeur actuelle |
| |  aggravated | ] |
| [ | Musique actuelle |
| | Cheb Khaled and Cheb Mami's rai. | ] |
It has come to my notice that more often than not, you writerly-types distinguish me by my hair accessories. Which I have nothing against. After all, it was the lover who first suggested them, and they did have a transforming effect. (That and the afterglow.) I went from an exceptionally handsome Finwëan to a one-Quendë industry of hott thanks to him.
*takes a moment to calm self over extreme good taste of Maedhros*
NOW.
The reason I call this to your attention is because almost all of you insist that I have black hair 'tied with gold thread'.
WTF??
I have hair that is over 3 1/2 feet long and is extremely thick and heavy and fragrant and .. yes. It forms a substantial part of my overall gorgeousness. It cannot, will not, is not to be held together by "gold thread". What part of my hair looks like a Valentines' Day card to you? It's also not "gold ribbon", because let's face it, Noldo or not, that is just tacky.
Therefore, consider this my humble plea to all you lovely Silmslashersficcers reading this to kindly stop referring to my hair as 'black with gold thread in it' or by any variants of the phrase. 'Braided with gold' would be the closest approximation. 'Gold cord' is acceptable, as is 'tie' or, in a stretch, 'band(s)'. I think it's best you avoid describing it closely if you can help it. After all, there are more important sex scenes with Mae things in your stories that you will want to concentrate on.
Thank you very much for your kind co-operation.
P.S. Yes, I still braid my hair with gold and yes, I still make women swoon with desire.
Nol wanted to post another random!drabble here but I restrained her. It is really awful and she spent very much time laughing over it. Besides, she has her own journal in which to descend the depths of bathos. |
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| GIP |
[mai. 29e, 2004|01:13 pm] |
So she found some place on the WWW where you can get these done.
I like the colour scheme, don't you?
*huggles up to s/w lover and gazes at candy heart happily* |
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| Story: A Last Reckoning |
[mai. 18e, 2004|01:08 am] |
Okay. Fuck Maedhros. This is what happens when Nol decides that I am a Norse demi-god.
*surreptitiously cuddles Ereinion because evil writer removed all traces of cuddliness from fic in a Nordifying bid*
Nol would like to claim that she wrote this fic as an experiment in elven nihilism, which is a sort of paradox. It will no doubt explain why a lot of this goes round and round in circles. In other news: this fic was also based on some lines from a Great War poem quoted at the end of this post, and therefore entered into a HASA challenge about the same.
In this attempt to trace "the terribly fated train of personal sacrifice" that runs through three generations of my (AU) bloodline, she began writing a story that almost spiralled out of control. Because we all live to humiliate her, and because people who read this LJ ought to have all sorts of horrible special privileges, this is the part of the fic that she cut out ruthlessly.
~*~
“Father.”
“Oh.” Fingon started a little and turned, then settled back against the fence and smiled. “I didn’t hear you coming, Ereinion.”
“I know,” he said awkwardly. “You…you ought to be careful.”
Fingon began to say something, then stopped and shook his head. “Yes,” he said, and smiled again. “I suppose I really ought to be.”
Other people had often sat with Ereinion and told him how unfortunate he was to have never seen Valinor, or never really known the bliss of the Long Peace. He had some memories of that time, but he had been very young when the Bragollach struck, and the grandfather he had never known very well had died fighting Morgoth. Mostly things had always been like this, grey and silent, with brief periods of tension, and his father had always been like this too, kind and tired, almost always away fighting, and preferring to watch the lake quietly, Ereinion at his side, when he was at home. Ereinion loved everything about his father. He hoped he would be like him when he was older; not exactly like him, perhaps, but more like the elf people said he used to be, someone he saw flashes of occassionally, and enjoyed very much.
“Grim weather,” Fingon remarked, looking up at the skies clouding over. They had cleared in the last few months, and he had been at home a little more often now. Things had seemed more – hopeful, somehow. And now Maedhros was here, and from the looks of it, there was some great plan afoot.
Still, he thought, it had not lifted the invisible weight off his father’s shoulders.
“That’s why I came out,” he replied. “We should go inside before the rain comes.” Rain was never good. It brought down poison from the clouds.
Fingon stretched lazily. “We can make a run for it.”
Ereinion looked dubiously at him, and Fingon laughed suddenly, and patted his arm. “We’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
That was the elf he wanted to be like.
Now read the REAL fic and see what it's like.
( A Last Reckoning )
There are heroes who have heard the rally and have seen
The glitter of a garland round their head.
Theirs is the hollow victory. They are deceived.
But you, my ghost, if you can go
Knowing that there is no reward, no certain use
In all your sacrifice, then honour is reprieved.
To fight without hope is to fight with grace,
The self reconstructed, the false heart repaired.
--Herbert Read,
To a Conscript of 1940.
Yes, yes, second post in two hours. Deal. |
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