I Don’t Know What Little Cat Needs To Hear This But. It Is Not Dinner Time. You Are Not Going To Starve

breaking news: local british magician collapses from exhaustion after carrying the entire fantasy genre’s gaslight gatekeep girlboss representation since 2004. “mr norrell is such a #icon,” our sources report. 

Hello! You have just been visited by the Crackship Fairy, as of now you will be given a crackship and you have to do good by them. Your crackship: Voronwë/Maglor

(This is much more of a gen take on their relationship than it is a shippy one, but my headcanon is that Voronwë is aro, so that’s just how it’s gonna be!)

~

It wasn’t often that Maglor came across another elf on these shores. They were rocky, dreary, generally abandoned; he liked to be alone, and this stretch of coastline was good for that. The few weary Secondborn who eked out a living here were suspicious enough to steer clear of him, and in return he did the same for them.

In ages past this land had been the border of Ossiriand, pressed up against the Blue Mountains. The mountains were still there, taller and grander than ever, but the seven rivers were sunk under the sea and the singing Laiquendi had long since fled for greener lands.

Mithlond was not too terribly far from these his favorite haunting grounds, but no matter how genial and polite Círdan was Maglor knew he was not welcome there: the Falathrim had not forgotten the ruin of Sirion. No, this was a place where he could wander alone, his mind free to catch forgotten melodies on the wind and his spirit unbound by any constraints of law or temptations of love.

And yet: here stood a simple dwelling, still clearly Noldorin in make, looking near as old as Maglor felt. He had wandered this beach a hundred times or more, and never before had he run across this little elfhome that appeared to have been here since Beleriand’s death throes had finally ceased and the lands he had bled and fought and suffered for settled under the vast ocean.

Entranced, Maglor approached the house, noting its angular shapes, the Tengwar over the door, shimmering with some faint enchantment. He shivered as his fëa brushed against it: he was not repulsed, per se, and yet he was permitted to pass through the barrier.

“Who goes there?” demanded a voice too soft for its tone.

Maglor turned around, tensing instinctively and letting his hand wrap around the hilt of his dagger. The speaker was an elf, as he had thought, though they conversed in Westron, and though his eyes did not shine with Treelight he had the stature and bearing of one of Maglor’s kin. Still, there was something a little off about him—the shell patterns on his clothing, perhaps, the shimmering blue of his blade, or the curve of his nose, which reminded Maglor strongly of a person he could not quite place. Perhaps he was of the Sindar as well as the Noldor.

“Peace,” he said slowly in Sindarin. “I mean you no harm. I was simply curious of your dwelling. I will leave you to your solitude.”

The ellon relaxed, though he did not sheath his sword. “Thank you,” he said in that soft voice. “But you have not answered my question. Who are you?” He glanced to Maglor’s cloak, tattered and torn and yet unmistakably blood-crimson. It was not the same one he had worn when he cast the Silmaril into the sea—that had long since unraveled into nothing but a painful memory—but thought Maglor no longer wore his father’s star openly, he would not abandon his Fëanárion pride, nor could he wash his hands of the blood upon them.

He could give the ellon a false name; he had done so to others in the past. But Maglor was so tired, of hiding, of running, of lying, and he did not have the heart to do so. He adjusted his grip on his dagger, knowing that if this ellon was part Sindar, there was every chance he would be met with long-sleeping anger reawoken.

And yet, still, he spoke his name.

“I am Kanafinwë Makalaurë Fëanárion,” he said, “though you may know me better as Maglor the singer; and you may wish my name had never had cause to be uttered here in the east. Certainly I wish that at times.”

“Oh.” For a moment the ellon’s resolve wavered, and then he grimaced, sighing, and sheathed his blade. “Well,” he began, switching to musical Quenya that made Maglor’s heart swell with a fondness long-forgotten, “by all I rights I ought to hate you, Fëanárion, and yet it is not often that I hear my father’s tongue spoken, especially not by a voice so lovely as yours.”

“Who was your father?” Makalaurë asked, dread coiling in his stomach. If this was another long-lost relative—

“Aranwë of Ondolindë,” said the nér, and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “I am Voronwë the mariner, once-friend of Tuor Ulmondil and Eärendil Morningstar.”

Voronwë—yes, he had heard that name before. A nér of Gondolin, a mariner, a friend to Eärendil and Tuor...and kinsman to Círdan, if he remembered correctly. Makalaurë shuddered, bowing his head.

“You were at Sirion,” he murmured. It was not a question.

“Not precisely,” Voronwë said. “Elwing, wife of my dear friend’s son, and her children—they were there. But I dwelt alone in a home not unlike this one, some miles away from the city, as I ever have since Tuor and Itarillë departed for the West.”

Makalaurë’s heart skipped a beat. “I—regret what was done,” he began, but Voronwë waved a hand.

“Come in,” he invited, walking past the protective enchantment around the perimeter of his little home and beckoning Makalaurë in. “That was an age long ago, and we have both suffered enough for our choices. I would speak with you, over supper, of those you called your sons—unlike Eärendil, I did not have the pleasure of seeing them grow to adulthood, and I would hear from you what they are like.”

Makalaurë took a deep breath, then nodded. Voronwë’s offer of conversation, of a meal, of companionship was more than he deserved—but he spoke truly, that he was not the same nér who pillaged Sirion and kidnapped little children. And Makalaurë could never turn down an opportunity to sing the praises of his sons, no matter how little right he had to call them that.

So he walked inside, let Voronwë lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, and let go of some small portion of his sorrow.

Currently thinking about a Maglor Requiem: the kyrie is a seven-voice fugue

ATLA Gen Fic Recs!

this took a while but here it is! this is just going to be the fics that i've been reading recently, because otherwise this list would go on forever. if you want the full atla list of fics i read, check out my ao3 bookmarks.

How to Disappear Completely by aeoleus @ta1k-less : zuko unexpectedly gains custody of both kiyi and azula after his mom dies in a car crash. i love this one... zuko loves both of his sisters so much and he would do anything for them T_T

The [insert title here] and the Fire Lord by azenki: this one is technically gen but literally everyone thinks zuko is dating around. this is just such a silly and hilarious fic, really made my day after reading it.

Kintsugi by @discordiansamba : this is a series where zuko is just dumped in the earth kingdom after his agni kai and somehow becomes toph's bodyguard. i love the bonding between zuko and toph, and i abosolutely adore the oc's in this fic

Dragon Moon by Satirrian: technically so far this is gen but the author did mention there might be shipping later. THIS FIC!! It literally has so many different things going on but it works. Dragon!Zuko. that should already be enough to get you reading. June teaches Zuko how to be a bounty hunter and their bickering is hilarious. Zuko is such a sassy little shit in this one. Katara has a Mulan moment and it’s absolutely badass.

There Is No Fire Lord by OccasionalStorytelling: this one is inspired by Towards the Sun by @muffinlance. So zuko gets caught while escaping during the eclipse, he gets thrown in prison, and then when ozai is defeated zuko technically becomes fire lord but stays in prison. also his leg gets broken like 3 times lol

A Hundred Golden Suns by aeoleus (@ta1k-less): zuko dies at the agni kai but agni says fuck that and he is basically resurrected in the southern water tribe, where hakoda adopts him. this fic will hurt your heart but in a good way

In The Garden Light At Dawn by Rosemary_and_Geraniums: this one is Very Angsty and has a major character death so warning on that. I just had to include it because it's soooo good and i love angst fics, but if that's not your thing then skip this. This is a soulmate au, but not in a good way lol. zuko never got away after confronting his father during the eclipse. again this is Very Sad so skip if you get upset with unhappy endings

Consider Chaos series by @awesomeavocadolove : ChaosAvatar!zuko. How can you say no to that???

Pride Is Not The Word by @sword-and-stars : iroh gets a call from his long-lost nephew asking him to pick him up. then he discovers that his nephew has been homeless for a year after ozai kicked him out. iroh is having none of that and takes zuko in while quietly think of the best way to murder an abusive piece of shit

The Heat That Drives The Light (the fire it ignites) by isamagicdragon and thegracious: im obsessed with this one. azulon asks ozai to kill azula instead of zuko, who both say "fuck that" and run away to the earth kingdom. years later they hear about the avatar, who was captured by admiral zhao and kept prisoner in pohai stronghold. they decide to break him out

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris: another soulmate one because i am a slut for them. some people are born with soulmarks. zuko's were burned off by azulon when he was born, because they make you weak.

Doe-eyed by anonymous: a gift fic for @muffinlance. azula is the firstborn, and she is eleven when zuko is born. bigsister!azula is everything you didn't know you needed

East and West by @d-naggeluide : zuko, toph, and earth king kuei go on a field trip together. sarcastic toph, resigned zuko, and kuei who had no idea what he had gotten himself into

I like to think that Fingolfin made a big point of making sure that all four of his kids got exactly the same amount of hugs.

He never made a big declaration of it or rubbed it in Finwe's face but it was rather important to him to not repeat that particular mistake

Perhaps there was one kid that he found slightly easier to talk to (maybe Argon since hes the first one to tragically die, or Turgon as they were both on the "stay in tirion" team during the debate) and though this never affected his actions he may have carried the slightest twinge of low level guilt for it

content creators: please, please create IDs for your content. Obviously many of us are willing to create them for you, but you are the one who is best able to communicate the message of your image through text, because you created it. ATLA is a show with a blind character and so many of the modern aus I’ve seen have toph using a screenreader…which yeah! that’s what she’d do!…but many of you don’t seem to be able to make the connection that irl people might need ids for their screenreaders?

the hobbits organizing a blindfolded taste test with the fellowship except every single food is potatoes

Random person: You do know that romantic and sexual attractions are what make us fundamentally human-

Aros, turning to Aces: Gods?

Aces, nodding: Gods

If anyone wants a fic with this, I liked Drag0nst0rm’s Scion of Somebody, Probably on ffn

best Gil-Galad lineage headcanon is that he’s not descended from any of them, he’s a pretender to the throne and that’s why his story keeps changing