#I just remembered galadriel but the point still stands

[lillcarrionbird]

Ok, I don't know what "discourse" the teens are having about this topic cuz I rarely engage with fandom, so I'm basing this rant entirely and exclusively on my personal experience as an ace woman.

FUCK (canon) romance subplots, and fuck Lon Harris. He sounds just like the dudes who cry and bitch because ONE out of the last 16 Star Wars movies did not have a man as the main character. People are telling him legitimate reasons why they're sick of seeing the way romantic relationships are portrayed by western media and he brushes it off as an "excuse".

Are romance and relationships a normal and common occurrence? Absolutely. But you know what else is equally normal and common? Not fucking your sexy coworker. Plenty of women, in fact the majority of them, do not fuck their sexy coworkers. But heaven forbid we ever see that shown on TV.

I've never watched the bear but let me guess, the romance option for the main male character is the only hot, available woman his age in the main cast 🙄 so original. Can't imagine why people would be sick of seeing that for the 500 millionth time.

After spending the last 30+ years being bombarded with straight ppl and their mandatory, forced romance between the token woman and whatever white guy they have as their main character, I'm happy to hear about this backlash.

The way most shows write romance is boring as shit. The majority of the time there is legitimately no reason for them to hook up other than the fact that one of them is a man and the other one is a woman.

Is this all a result of purity culture? I have no idea. This is the first time I'm hearing about this trend. But I can honestly say that I would rather watch another season of Robyn and Steve being friends then have the writers throw their relationship out the window the second one of them gets a girlfriend.

like…….doesn’t anyone ever think about what it would be like if certain (fake) people fucked anymore??? like……..what are you afraid of???????

[niniane17]

I mentioned it in the tags earlier, but I feel this deserves a post.

This may be a bit of an unpopular opinion, but I really liked that Adar chose not to reveal his Elf name. Sure it is a bummer that we won't ever know, but I loved it so much that I don't care. Adar's refusal to tell his old name symbolizes his rejection of his old Elvish identity in favor of his new one.

It's not like he doesn't remember being an Elf -he clearly does! He remembers his name and his old language and his old face! And he still rejected them! He could have kept the ring for himself, and tried to buy his way into the Elves again, but he didn't. He put on the ring, saw what it had to offer him, what the Elves (NOT Sauron) had to offer him, and he said "thanks, but no thanks". Why did he reject the power of the Elves, again? To stay an Orc. Sorry, an Uruk.

This is an incredibly powerfuI and brave decision from the show: it would have been easy to tie Adar's healed look into a "redemption" in which he immediately loathed his past as an Orc, especially since the show chose to use the idea that Orcs are descended from corrupted/tortured Elves. But they didn't! I will always love the show for this alone.

In a world where Elves are seen as the Best of the Best and Orcs as the lowest of the low, he chose the latter, not out of self-hatred or a shallow sense of power, but out of pride, honor and yes, even love. He loves being an Uruk, and he loves his children as Uruks. He's not trying to turn them into Elves, like a reverse Morgoth. He just wants a home for them, where they can live in peace. He clearly believes this is possible. And, for a while, they do too.

It is no accident he started to lose them the moment he began acting like Sauron, treating them as pawns and things to be sacrificed for his revenge. That doesn't excuse the Orcs' betrayal (like guys, come on!!!) but it does explain it -if they are going to be treated like shit, they may as well be treated like shit by the most powerful guy around, so they resorted to what they know best: backstabbing.

You know, I was going to make a joke about how the Orcs can't handle Daddy having a bad day, but then I realized it's not a joke at all -they literally can't! They never had a leader like that before! So they panicked and chose the old familiar pain Sauron represents. The curse of abusive cycle strikes again.

This is why Adar's death is so tragic: he was killed like Sauron was, but, unlike him, he sincerely wanted the best for the Orcs, or, at the very least, didn't want them to be slaves. The worst thing is that, as far as canon goes, this is be the last time someone truly stands up for them, and the Orcs will subsequently in enslavement for thousands of years.

RIP again king. You shall be missed.

(Also he and Galadriel should have kissed at some point and the ring scene between the two is clearly a marriage proposal but that's beside the point)

[rey-jake-therapist]

is it really *that* delulu to consider the possibility that sauron softened her fall tho?

i was thinking, and galadriel could barely manage to stand up after crushing down from those rocks with sauron!celebrimbor. it took her several moments of crawling on the ground and catching her breath to get up and continue fighting.

(also, reddit is such an un-nuanced place. after liking haladriel questions, i get notifs from the sub, and smn made a post saying how sauron kicks galadriel's sword bc he wants her to crawl for it. but they made it so clear that sauron wants her to stop fighting and she just refuses to, lol.)

so, my point is, if she struggled so much to take that small fall (while wearing nenya), HOW could she survive falling the fucking mountain? while nenya wasn't even in her hand anymore?

+ remember how she is drowning in s1 and sauron goes down to save her? would parallel well with her falling and sauron softening her fall with his magic.

Yes, that was exactly my thought while I was watching the fight again yesterday.

It just makes no sense for Galadriel to have survived this fall, even if she's an Elf. She was deeply wounded, extremely weak ! She definitely expected to die here, because she knew exactly what Sauron had done to her, and she knew the only way to escape him was to die before he could completely possess her.

I saw people speculating that Nenya saved her, but I don't think it's possible because she wasn't wearing it, and we never saw Nenya heal anyone unless it was worn by someone. I mean, Elrond could heal Galadriel's wound because he reluctanctly accepted to wear it, aware that it was the only way to save her friend (and how did he know that? Probably because Nenya "told him".) We also saw Adar's corruption taking over his face again as soon as he took Nenya off. Besides, healing is what Nenya does ; it doesn't prevent people from getting hurt ! Or that would be easy then : just keep Nenya in your pocket and you'll be immortal... That's not how it works, imho.

So far, the only theory I read that could work, imho, is that the Valar saved Galadriel, because they want her to stick around up until Sauron is defeated. I can see that and I think it will end up being the official explanation, if they ever give one (they probably won't and it will be just another plot hole I'm afraid).

But I also think it could be Sauron, as delulu as it may sound to some. It would explain why he didn't seem devastated but only bitter, because she rejected him again despite the bond he created between them. I'm currently working on a post where I'll try to explain that even after forcing Galadriel to bind herself to him, he still needed her to make the choice of joining him, while he could have just forcefully brought her to the Unseen World. He didn't seem affected by the prospect of her death which seems kinda strange, unless of course we admit that she isn't that important to him and he doesn't care if she lives or dies, since he doesn't want to make her his queen anymore.

But then, if he doesn't care I'm really curious as to why he looked shocked and *scared* when Galadriel fell, or why he turned his hand so he could catch hers...According to this logicn he should have rather tried to catch Nenya. It was clearly Galadriel he wanted to save here, anyone who says otherwise should get an eye check because it's pretty obvious. Nenya isn't even in this shot ! And yet Galadriel had rejected him again, so why trying to save her?

Or maybe those people who say that the show also wants to deceive the audience are right, but then I'm asking again : what's the point?? We know there's no redemption in the cards, it seems very pointless to deceive us about Sauron's intentions now.

Sauron kept his hand down and looked at her as she fell, so it's not beyond the realm of possibilites that he did something to soften her fall, yeah. It would also explain why he didn't immediatly shapeshift into an animal that could quickly go down the cliff and go pick Nenya, because he wouldn't want Galadriel to die from her wound. I mean, he wanted that ring, right ?

Ah yes I read that thread from Reddit. Lmao it's so ridiculous, I can't even. He "wanted to relish the sight of her crawling"?! Really? He didn't even look at her when he did his speech about seeing her/knowing her mind ! It's very much obvious that he wanted to get some time to speak before she attacked him again. They should rather wonder why he left her sword so close to her that she could easily take it and attack him again. I think I know the answer to that : he wanted her to have the possibility to say no again and keep fighting him. It would have been sooooo easy for him to best Galadriel at this moment. And yet in the end, he always lets her the possibility to make her own choices. Did you also see that in the same thread, they claimed that he stabbed her with the crown to "calm her down" lmao? Like, they believe that it was just a weapon to him. And he kept carrying it around with him while fighting, because it was so practical to fight carrying that thing I guess... What brilliant thinkers they are.

remember how she is drowning in s1 and sauron goes down to save her? would parallel well with her falling and sauron softening her fall with his magic.

Yep ! it would also mirror the ending of season 2, where he didn't save her but let her believe she was drowning (which she was not... her face wasn't even in the water when Elrond found her, and she was pretty much alive). It would all go back full circle...

[wreckedhead]

Guys, hear me out. Last night I had this insane dream where Galadriel and Sauron somehow got transported to our world, in the present day, but with all their normal modern human and their Middle-earth memories intact. I think this can be a really fun AU fanfic 😭

So, in this world, Galadriel(her modern name is not Galadriel btw) is a 20y.o something fresh graduate looking for a job, she still has both her memories from Middle-earth and modern world after she 'transported' herself from Valinor out of boredom. The same thing happens to Sauron, he has all his memories intact just like Gal. Things get spicy when Galadriel ends up applying for a job at Sauron’s company where he's the director. He’s reviewing applications for fun and spots one that stands out the most, her name might be different, but the resemblance from the picture is uncanny. Naturally, he sets up a personal interview to see if it’s really her.

Galadriel, confused because she had both her memories of Middle-earth and modern time at the same time, she’s confused, but since her current memories tell her she’s supposed to be job-hunting, she shows up to the interview anyway. It’s some kind of corporate lawyer gig (can’t remember exactly), but when she sees the interviewer, she’s stunned. Sitting across from her is none other than Sauron, the man she despised, longed, and the last person she wanted to see in her new life, except this Sauron looking man is sporting a modern look, short hair, Halbrand but very clean, and all that. Galadriel has to keep her cool and act like she has no idea who he is, all while trying not to blow her cover.

Anyway, Sauron calmly interviews Galadriel, who is stumbling a bit as she talks. In reality, Sauron knows exactly who the woman in front of him is, but he chooses not to reveal his identity (again), because there's a chance this woman might not be the Galadriel he once knew and longed for, so he obviously accepted her to the company with no hesitation.

Now, here’s the twist: While it’s Galadriel’s first time living in the modern world, it’s not for Sauron. He’s been stuck here for ages after THE one ring is destroyed. After countless failed attempts to return to Middle-earth, dying a bunch of times, and realizing world domination doesn’t really work in the 20 something century, he’s settled for just trying to blend in. But now that Galadriel has shown up, his heart is beating out of his chest (damn these weak mortal bodies!). He’s determined not to mess this up and is even entertaining the idea of a intimate relationship with her. This time, he’s not going to let her slip away even if he’s not sure if this version of her is the real deal.

Of course, both of them try to act like they don’t remember Middle-earth and this modern world is where they belong. But it’s harder than it seems, especially since Sauron still has some power over Galadriel at their workplace. Eventually, Galadriel gets so frustrated and accidentally blurts out something in Sindarin (oops). That’s when Sauron realizes she’s the one and only Galadriel of Lorien, and he’s beyond ecstatic. Finally, he’s not alone in this strange world anymore yayy.

Naturally, Sauron being Sauron, he starts getting possessive, and maybe a little obsessed. He even follows her home after work (yes, YOU style). He watches her closely at the office, keeps an eye on her at home, and tries to keep her around by piling on extra work. He’s trying to show his “affection,” but let’s be honest, it’s still kinda creepy. He tones down his sadistic and creepy side a bit though. Meanwhile, Galadriel is all mixed up. Deep down, she still has feelings for Halbrand, and she’s always fantasizing about him turning to the good side. But after seeing how much this Sauron’s attitude has changed, she starts to soften.

Their relationship gets intimate, to the point where Galadriel invites Sauron over for dinner at her place. But honestly before this, she was already suspicious of him and kept testing whether he was really Sauron or not right here in her flat. Sauron, however, plays it cool and convinces her that he’s just an ordinary harmless corporate slave in this world.

After dinner, they’re chilling on the couch, watching TV. Galadriel, exhausted from cooking, falls asleep on Sauron's thigh. While she’s asleep, Sauron starts stroking her hair and whispers, “For thousands of years, i searched for you and waited for you. I can’t believe you’re actually here, with your face, your body, your beauty that never changed. Don’t ever leave me again Galadriel.” He says it all in Black Speech, for no reason.

What Sauron doesn’t know is that Galadriel is only half-asleep. She hears everything and is freaked out but also thought that maybe what Sauron said was just part of a dream, since she was only half-conscious. She tries to stay calm and pretends to still be sleeping. The next morning, Sauron is gone as expected and Gal heads to work as usual but starts watching Sauron closely, spying on him to see if anything is off. For weeks, nothing happens. No weird behavior, no red flags.

Finally, she decides to invite him over again to see if he’s really Sauron. She uses the excuse of wanting to cook dinner again, because she had found a new recipe (Sauron and Galadriel often talked about food, since they both turned out to be big fans of cooking and trying new cuisines). but she’s secretly planning to confirm once and for all if this man is the Dark Lord himself.

After that, things in my dream got blurry, as they often do, but the gist of it is that during their second dinner, Galadriel invited Sauron to cook together. She was keeping a close eye on him the whole time, especially when he was chopping the ingredients. And of course, Sauron, with his usual expertise, sliced everything perfectly. It wasn’t enough to confirm anything for Galadriel, but there was a moment when he sharpened the knife using a technique she knew wasn’t from this era. That’s when she finally decided to say something.

“You know, there was someone i once trusted deeply, his knifing skill is legendary, and i admired him a lot, but he betrayed me… and basically everyone i cared about,” Galadriel said gloomly.

Sauron replied, “Oh? What did he do? Can you tell me more about him?”

“He did too many things for me to explain in just one dinner, but for short, he's a megalomaniac asshole. Oh, and also he had many names,” Galadriel added.

Sauron gave a small smile when she mentioned that the person from her past had many names, but also pissed she called him a megalomaniac asshole

“Tell me one of them. I’d like to know why he had so many names,” Sauron asked.

“I… don’t want to remember him. I’m happy with my life now, haha,” Galadriel replied, brushing it off with a laugh.

In that moment, Sauron could only stare at Galadriel as she focused on the meal she was preparing. Inside, he was wrestling with his emotions, he desperately wanted to tell her that he was the one she despised, the very being she had trusted and then lost. He longed for her to love him for who he truly was, not the shadow of his past nor the suave of a man he is right now. This was the first time Sauron felt genuine fear creeping in.

Fear of rejection. Fear of his identity being exposed. And fear that the deep longing he felt for her might never be returned. As he watched her stirring the vegetables, the walls he had built around his heart began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability he hadn’t faced in centuries. Would she ever see him as more than the monster he once was?

After that, things started to get jumbled in my dream, and I could only recall bits and pieces of what happened next. I guess you can let your wild imagination take over for the rest.

Honestly, in this dream, Sauron was pretty creepy. At one point, he even sneaked into Galadriel’s room while she was away and began sniffing her bed and clothes. It’s almost like Sauron was tapping into that possessive side of him, getting a little too carried away with his feelings for her. Maybe this is just who he is deep down, haha!

This has all the makings of a chaotic, toxic, fun AU with a mix of modern world absurdity, supernatural tension, and romance ofc. What do you think?

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Secret Identity: Characters A & B have secret alter egos- they’re both in love with the wrong identity.

Special thanks to @shantismurf and @ponycactus who were exceptionally insistent on this prompt. I might have gone a bit overboard.😅

Remember, I’m utilizing this prompt list. I probably won’t hit all, but I am trying to get to the highest voted ones in my polls. Trying to use different ships, but feel free to shoot me an ask or DM if there’s a specific ship you would like to see for any of the prompts.

I Didn't Know I Loved You

Ship: Bagginshield

Rating: G

Warnings: N/A

Words: 5515

Bilbo had learned by now that he didn’t have much of a role at White Council meetings other than to stand at Gandalf’s side and remain unseen. It was a task made all the easier by his handy little golden ring that turned him invisible. Still, it was dreadfully boring to have to listen to petitions from leaders across Arda, considering he might be sent out to help ‘rectify’ certain situations, yet he did not get a voice to give his own opinions. He had tried to sneak out a few times thinking no one would even notice, and it was true that only Lady Galadriel was ever aware of his departure. At least until Saruman had tried to engage with him. The white wizard was definitely displeased with Gandalf’s pet Burglar that day. To make things easier for his godfather, Bilbo refrained from wandering after that.

“It seems next we have King Thorin of Erebor.” Elrond addressed, ever the diplomat. 

Despite being invisible, Bilbo felt himself straighten at the announcement. This was the fifth time King Thorin had appeared before the Council, and his striking figure cut quite the impression into the hobbit. Even now as he strode up so regally, his black hair curling down his shoulders, his piercing blue eyes somehow simultaneously commanding respect as well as giving it. Bilbo wished for just a small moment that he could be visible so Thorin could notice him. Just once.

“Your Majesty.” Saruman addressed. “I would spare you the breath and deny your request, again, if I didn’t fear it would be an insult to your person.”

Thorin’s eyes hardened, and Bilbo found himself slipping another blackberry into Saruman’s pocket. Mostly just a bit of fun on his part, but he couldn’t help taking a small amount of satisfaction when the wizard discovered his white robes were stained with berry juices. Last week, it was elderberry.

“The White Council has been most gracious in allowing me the freedom to waste their time yet again.” Thorin replied coolly, making Bilbo hide his giggles. “However, my petition has changed slightly.”

“Oh? How so?” Gandalf questioned curiously.

“We found it.”

Everyone pressed forward. The Arkenstone. The Crown Gem of the dwarves, untapped source of magical potential, lost in the deep caverns of Erebor thanks to a dragon invading the mountain. After the dragon had run the dwarves out of their mountain, Thorin had sought aid from the White Council only to be turned down. He rallied their armies, along with help from the Men of Dale to kill the beast which accidentally locked them out of their mountain home. He asked at that point for a faster way to remove the stones blocking the main entrance, he was denied again. Thorin found a secret entrance unlocked by a key left to him by his deceased father, opening Erebor for the refugees just in time for war to find them from the Gundabad orcs in the north.

Thorin petitioned for help a third time, this time actually receiving aid, but only in the form of Radagast the Brown, a handful of the Eagles of Manwe, and Beorn the Shapeshifter. That particular slight was the loudest Bilbo had ever heard Gandalf argue with Saruman, and he was fully prepared to run off with the grey wizard the moment he gave the order. Instead, Bilbo had plenty of time to sneak all sorts of things in Saruman’s pockets within the time they remained safe and sound in Rivendell. Against all odds though, Thorin and his allies had pushed the orcs back. That led to sorting out the gold tainted by the dragon. Thorin had pressed the White Council for aid at that point citing the dangers of goldsickness to his subjects. Galadriel had made Thorin a special blend that when mixed with water would wash the dragon’s essence from the treasury. But that had been all they could do for him.

Perhaps it would be prevalent to make note at this point that the White Council wasn’t being particularly obtuse. Well, Bilbo was fairly certain Saruman was, but that was what the berries were for. Thorin’s predecessor, Thror son of Dain, was the one who had first discovered the Arkenstone. So overcome with the beauty of the gem and the desire of any who laid eyes on it, he purposely teased the White Council with it by decreeing they could only treat with ‘he who held the Arkenstone’. When the Arkenstone was lost to the dragon, the White Council became unable to help Thorin in his plight for his people. However, if he had the stone now…

“Show it to us, and we may proceed there.” Saruman demanded.

Thorin shifted in place, looking briefly at his advisor who gave a subtle shake of his head. Thorin heaved a deep breath from his nose, his eyes resigned as he spoke.

“It is being held deep in the caverns beneath the city by an unknown creature.”

Silence sat over the council before Elrond chose to break it first, his face grim.

“Your Majesty, you know that our hands are tied in this matter…”

“I know the agreement that stands between us, no matter how much I, Erebor’s current king, wish the terms abolished. I merely thought…after all we have suffered, you might grant us this when we were so close. You would lend us your…Burglar.”

Bilbo perked up as Thorin’s eyes roamed right over him as if attempting to seek him out personally to make his appeal. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the idea of actually being about to do something for Thorin and the poor dwarves of Erebor. He didn’t even care about the potential danger of some unknown creature. Bilbo had done plenty of dangerous missions at the behest of the council already. It would be nice to do a mission that he actually agreed with. However, before he could make his agreement known, Saruman stepped in.

“The members of this council are not available for you to pick and choose for whatever you perceive to suit your needs. And let’s not gloss over the fact that you still do not possess the Arkenstone. While sympathetic we may be, we will not go against the direct wishes of the former King of Erebor. After all, there are laws by which we govern even ourselves or we would be no better than the most base of creatures…”

Gandalf interrupted Saruman’s monologuing thanks to Bilbo’s insistent yanking on his grey robes, catching more than a few stray eyes. 

“Now, my dear Saruman, you seem to forget that Bil-our Burglar,” Gandalf corrected after an insistent kick from Bilbo. “Is not a member of the council proper. If he were to offer his services freely…”

“Oh and there’s an idea! Let the invisible hobbit galavant wherever he wishes. You seem to forget Gandalf, that he is governed by the same rules that we all are and when he uses those services for the White Council, he is seen as a tool of our interest, not an individual person.”

Bilbo aggressively stuffed as many blackberries as he could, not just in the pockets but in the hood and billowing sleeves of the arrogant wizard as well. Galadriel, who could somehow see him while invisible, tried to hide her laughter. Thorin, on the other hand, was not amused in the slightest. 

“So that’s it then.” He spat. “I’ve appealed to this council time and time again in our greatest need, and you cannot even grant this one favor after all we have suffered?! Then what use are you? A governing body that adheres to outdated laws rather than the needs of the people who seek you out. Rukhstulkh muha barkmêzu! (An orc-smith made your axe!)”

Without even a ‘by your leave’, Thorin turned on his heels marching back the way he came, the spluttering Saruman following him. 

“He’s…not wrong.” Gandalf muttered under his breath.

Elrond gave him a pointed look but couldn’t bring himself to argue.

“Hot tempered fool! He expects the world to run at his pace!” Saruman snapped.

“The world does run at his pace.” Galadriel reminded gently. “He’s mortal. A fate none of us can properly appreciate.”

Bilbo felt her eyes upon him even as she spoke. 

“Impatience is not a trait of all mortals! However, a legendary warrior falls into his lap to slay a dragon, and he suddenly thinks he is above it all!”

Bilbo was quite done with Saruman’s nonsense by that point. With a tap to Gandalf’s arm and a nod to the fair lady, Bilbo immediately gave chase to the dwarven party. He wasn’t quite sure which hallway to head down when he heard Thorin’s unmistakable voice giving air to his disgruntlement. 

“It’s a waste of time and slight to my dignity every time you force me to come here! I’ve had to do everything myself, why did I think this would be any different?”

“Technically Oakenshield has done all the hard work for us, but I understand your point, my King.” The older dwarf with him pointed out.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “In any case, we will have to think of another solution. I can’t very well send Oakenshield down into the bowels of my kingdom after this thing. It’s already proved itself to be quite slippery. It’ll hear him coming a mile away.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best. No one knows anything about this Burglar of the council. It may prove to be more insular than Saruman.”

“I take offense to that.” Bilbo spoke up.

The reactions were instantaneous as the dwarves spun around, hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes gliding right over the top of Bilbo’s head. His short stature having saved his life many a time while invisible, especially when dealing with the Menfolk.

“Are you the Burglar?” Thorin asked warily.

“I am.” Bilbo answered.

“Unless the council has changed their minds, I have no desire to talk.” Thorin snorted.

Bilbo swallowed thickly, suddenly able to admire the dwarf so much more now that they were feet apart. He bet he could feel the natural warmth dwarves exuded if he took just a couple more steps…

“The council may have made their decision, but I have yet to make mine.”

“I thought you were but a tool of the council’s will?” Thorin mocked.

Bilbo winced, shifting from foot to foot. It wasn’t Thorin’s fault that Saruman had made him cynical.

“Despite what Saruman seems to think, my will is my own. I find it’ll be rather difficult to stop me when I’m invisible anyways.”

Thorin and the older dwarf shared a look.

“That’s a tempting offer, Master Burglar.” The older dwarf stated. “But we wouldn’t be able to handle the fallout with the White Council when it was made apparent you went behind their wishes.”

“And yet if you had the Arkenstone, they would be forced to hear you out properly.”

Another shared look between the dwarves.

“Think it over privately.” Bilbo conceded. “You can let me know your decision before you leave.”

Thorin reached out a hand as if expecting Bilbo to walk away suddenly.

“Wait! How would we find you?” 

Bilbo thought carefully on his next words. He wanted to be seen by Thorin, and he might have a way to accomplish such a feat without jeopardizing his alternate identity.

“There is an oak tree in the center of the main courtyard. A hobbit gardener tends to the garden there. He will pass your message along to me.”

Thorin hesitated before nodding. “Very well, we will be there in two days.”

Two days. Bilbo repeated before finally allowing himself to skip away. He would actually get to meet Thorin. The heroic dwarf king of Erebor would know he existed beyond “the Burglar”. Bilbo hurried along to his rooms. After all, he had to decide on what outfit to wear for his meeting with Thorin.

***

The day King Thorin was to meet him, Bilbo could not be dragged out of the garden for any reason. Even Gandalf asking after tea was quickly sent away after making a request for him to drop off a picnic basket. Not that Bilbo had any sort of appetite as he breezed from his azaleas to his daffodils, always returning to the bluebells at the base of the oak tree. He personally transposed the tree from Bag End after losing his parents in the Fell Winter. Bilbo would never be more thankful to the wizard, rescuing him half-starved and frozen, to bring him to Rivendell to live with him. However, Bilbo felt less like a hobbit some days and more like…well, a Burglar. So it was nice to have something with roots to hold him to his own.

The sun rose and fell, and as the fireflies began to dance, Bilbo began to wonder if Thorin was coming at all. He hung his head with a sigh. He can’t say that he blamed him. He would be reluctant to trust someone invisible, someone who’s methods aren’t exactly honorable. He just thought that maybe if Thorin could see the real him…but even that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? After all, love didn’t work like that. Bilbo spun around only to stop short at the tall, burly figure wearing a mask. Bilbo clutched his heart when he realized he recognized the raven beak on the wooden mask. This was Oakenshield.

Oakenshield was the masked dwarven warrior who practically stepped out of legend to defend Erebor at its most dire. Oakenshield was the one to stand before Smaug single-handedly providing enough distraction for Bard Bowman to fire the black arrow that slay the beast. Oakenshield also risked life and limb after Azog had Thorin pinned to drive his blade into the Pale Orc, silencing the threat to Durin’s line forever. 

Bilbo had actually met Oakenshield a few times. He learned the warrior had a terrible sense of direction, and he had led him to the White Council’s balcony when Thorin first came to appeal for help. Any time a dwarven entourage came from Erebor, Oakenshield usually traveled with them. His great deeds were enough to see them over the Misties with relative ease. And while the warrior was often uncomfortably quiet, he seemed to have no problem with listening to Bilbo prattle on about anything he could think of to fill the silence. 

“You gave me a start!” Bilbo accused when he felt his heart slow back to a normal rhythm. “I suppose you were sent by your king?”

Oakenshield gave a single nod, and Bilbo tried not to display his disappointment too thoroughly.

“Of course. That makes sense. Your king is a busy individual after all. He wouldn’t have time for silly little gardeners like myself. Although you’re a grand warrior! I suppose you have far better things to do than run messages here and there.”

Oakenshield quite vehemently shook his head, making Bilbo tilt his own to the side in question. 

“I am always happy to serve my king.” Oakenshield stated in his deep grunt before giving a short bow.

“Oh! Well that’s very admirable of you! You must care for King Thorin greatly to show him so much loyalty.” 

Oakenshield seemed to shift from foot to foot before nodding. Bilbo smiled softly, thinking of all the loyalty he would show King Thorin if given the chance. However, this was neither the time or the place for such thoughts.

“Please, sit down. Unless you must return to your lord soon?”

Oakenshield hesitated before gingerly settling himself on the nearby bench. Bilbo plopped himself beside the dwarf having engaged in his company enough to be comfortable. He immediately started talking about all of the flowers and plants he had changed since Oakenshield had last visited. He wasn’t sure if the warrior was actually interested in such things, but Bilbo’s apologies for rambling were always met with insistent head shakes and quiet urges for him to continue. Bilbo figured it must be very lonely when everyone treated you like a legend. He was quite pleased to discover this softer side to Oakenshield and felt very privileged to be able to experience it. He hoped he was becoming a dear friend to him even if his request to maintain correspondence was denied. 

“Listen to me rambling on when you had a message to deliver. My apologies.” 

The warrior nodded even as his deep voice grumbled. “It was no problem. I like hearing you speak.”

Bilbo gave him a warm smile as he began to dig out his pipe for a nice evening smoke.

“But first, my King has a question about this…Burglar. What can you tell me about him?”

Bilbo chose the wrong time to inhale as he choked on the smoke accidentally filling his lungs.

“The Burglar?” Bilbo repeated. “What makes you think I know anything…?”

Bilbo trailed off at the pointed look he could feel coming from behind that mask. Right, both hobbits and Bilbo was supposed to pass a message to him. 

“Well…” Bilbo started, blowing a perfect smoke ring in the air. “He’s had a hard life. The Fell Winter was unkind, to both of us really. I suppose I hadn’t really told you about that, but in any case. Because of his…special ability, Gandalf asked him to serve on the White Council. He was told he would get the chance to help people.”

Bilbo fell quiet after remembering his first mission. He had been so eager to prove himself. So eager to do good. He was going to free some dwarves held captive in the prisons of Tharbad. He had snuck the keys right out from under the guards’ noses, somehow managed to keep the dwarves with their obnoxious boots from making too much noise. Got them all the way to the forest where he was supposed to meet Gandalf, only to find the dwarven guards from Ered Luin awaiting them. Bilbo had literally led them from one prison to a harsher one all because the Firebeards felt it necessary to dispense justice themselves. Bilbo still could hear the howls of ‘Burglar!’ from the betrayed dwarves in his nightmares. It mattered little when Gandalf tried to placate him with their crimes and how he did the right thing. It never stopped him from feeling…dirty.

Oakenshield cleared his throat. “It sounds like you two are very close.”

More than you realize. Bilbo just smiled and nodded. Things certainly got better, and Bilbo could see how what he did was for the greater good. But perhaps that’s why he wanted this job in particular. Retrieving a sacred gem for the one person in Arda who has earned the right at least tenfold. Oakenshield growled suddenly, jumping to his feet. Bilbo gave him a perplexed look as he seemed to pace in his agitation.

“Oakenshield? Have I misspoken?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, unsure of what exactly that would be.

“No! It’s not your fault. I came here because…” The warrior suddenly stopped, retrieving a small trinket from his pocket. “I confess I had an ulterior motive for meeting with you tonight. I wanted to present you with this.”

He fell to one knee in front of Bilbo presenting the object in his hand. It was a dwarven braid bead. Golden with dwarven runes etched on one side and an acorn on the other, it was not lost on Bilbo what this was. What Oakenshield meant to offer. He felt his ears burning as he carefully looked up into the raven mask of the warrior, barely making out his eyes shining in their sincerity. Bilbo swallowed thickly. Certainly, he has come to appreciate Oakenshield, but he didn’t feel the same way for the quiet dwarf as he did for his passionate king. It wouldn’t be fair. Even if Bilbo never actually got to meet King Thorin.

“Master Oakenshield, this is…”

Without waiting for an answer, he dipped the little bead from his palm into Bilbo’s. The hobbit furrowed his brow as the dwarf closed his fingers over it, but his words placated his ire.

“Please. It’s for you. I now know that your heart belongs to another, but all the same. I hope that you will keep it and remember me fondly even if I never get to braid it in your hair.”

Bilbo felt his heart tearing apart at the seams. He never wanted this. The poor lonely dwarf misinterpreting his regards for friendship as something more. He clutched the bead tightly in his fist, feeling it leave indentions in his palm.

“I’m so sorry.” Bilbo choked out.

Oakenshield’s hands hovered as if wanting to touch but feeling such a thing would be unwarranted. 

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I’ll treasure your companionship if nothing else.”

Bilbo nodded, unable to lift his eyes past his toes. He didn’t want to see the heartbreak he was causing. 

“I’ll go.” Oakenshield stated softly. “Thank you, Bilbo. For your honesty if nothing else.”

Bilbo remained frozen in his curled up state around the burning bead in his palm, listening to Oakenshield’s footsteps fade away. Before he completely left though, the dwarf paused.

“I suppose tell your Burglar,” He stated, venom leaking into his tone. “That my king will expect him at dawn.”

Tears sprang into Bilbo’s eyes after the dwarf’s departure. What had he done? He didn’t mean for Oakenshield to fall in love with him. To gift him a gorgeous bead to court him. In all his years, Bilbo had never felt more like a Burglar than he did tonight. Stealing someone’s heart unintentionally. What made it worse was the wedge it would place between warrior and king. Bilbo never wanted to come between them, and yet Oakenshield’s departure somehow made that more than obvious that he had. This trip was about to be uncomfortable, but he could be thankful for one thing at least. At least he would be completely invisible. 

***

Thorin felt sick. His One, the being his heart sang for was in love with someone else. A Burglar in every sense of the word, and now he was having to travel with said hobbit. Thorin knew deep in his heart, it was his own fault. He could have confessed who he truly was to Bilbo. 

Many times he meant to. However, the separation of “king” and “hero” had allowed Thorin to operate around many of the council’s so-called “rules”. For while they had no problem turning down King Thorin of Erebor, when he petitioned as the warrior, Oakenshield, they were quick to give him what he needed. Well maybe not exactly what he needed, but a few extra hands in a war and a basket of herbs were certainly nothing to sneer at. 

So he adopted the ruse with very few knowing the truth, and when Oakenshield met Bilbo and felt the Longing, Oakenshield was the one who had to continue pursuing the hobbit. Only to learn, it wasn’t requited. Bilbo was just truly a kind and compassionate being in love with another. A hobbit who escaped the perils of the Fell Winter with him. There was absolutely no other way to interpret the wistful longing in his voice when he spoke of the Burglar’s plight. And when Thorin, in a panic, rushed to present him with his courting bead, Bilbo all but confessed there was another. Someone Thorin now had to travel with as he was the only being who could solve his latest problem. The Burglar was fortunate he was invisible and not subjected to the envy he could feel burning within him.

The hobbit had tried to engage him early in the journey, even asking after Oakenshield. It took everything Thorin had not to bite his head off, and explain that Oakenshield was clearing their way ahead. How dare the little rat! Wanting to rub his victory in Thorin’s face. Balin had to remind him many times to remain cordial considering the Burglar was offering his services freely. The best Thorin could manage were single syllable answers when the painfully inquisitive creature asked about something. Otherwise Balin was left to engage politely with the other being. Something made all the more difficult by his invisibility as they never knew where to look. It put Thorin on edge! And he could honestly say he was never more relieved to see their mountain home.

He left Balin to escort their guest to his own chambers while Thorin marched his way straight to his private study. Blueprints for a garden littered his desk, and it took everything he had not to rip them to shreds. His heart let out a fierce and sudden ache as he sank into his chair, putting his face in his hands. It wasn’t fair. A knock at his door had him back on his feet, his body turned towards the fire the staff had prepared upon his arrival. His quiet ‘enter’ had his sister marching right into the room making herself at home on his divan. 

“I take it your petition was a success then?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. Not by any definition of the word. When he expressed this sentiment, Dis pried further forcing him to spill the truth not only about his disastrous meeting with the Council, but also his rejection at the hands of a hobbit gardener. She picked up one of his doodles with a pained grimace.

“I’m so sorry, Thorin.” 

He shrugged. 

“But you are being pig-headed, I’ll have you know.”

Thorin whirled around, his nostrils flaring. “What did you say?”

She scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll. “This Burglar is risking his standing with his superiors all to help us out of the kindness of his heart, and because your One is in love with him, you’re going to treat him like this? Balin told me that after every attempt at conversation with you on the journey here, the Burglar was left more subdued. You are not painting yourself or our people in a very positive light.”

He wanted to argue, to defend himself and his actions, but he knew deep down she was right. She always was. 

“I think you should express your gratitude to him, maybe before he goes down to deal with a dangerous creature that could possibly kill him.”

Was it bad that Thorin kind of hoped he would die? Then Bilbo would be free to love him. His expression must have said it all, because Dis’ dark eyes somehow became softer as well as her tone of voice.

“Nadad.” 

Thorin shut his eyes tightly against that soft reprimand. So maybe he didn’t want the Burglar to die, and not just because he was their only chance to retrieve the Arkenstone. Maybe in spite of all he did to keep the invisible being at a distance, he had endeared himself to Thorin. His animated curiosity, his jovial stories at the campfire, his warm tone when he spoke. Maybe Thorin could understand exactly how Bilbo fell in love with such a being, and maybe that made it hurt all the worse.

“I will speak to him. Tomorrow as I lead him to the path below the mines. I promise.”

Dis quietly got up, making her way towards him as she gently bumped their foreheads together. 

“I love you, and I am so, so sorry things didn’t work out with your gardener.”

“Me too.”

True to his word, Thorin personally went to fetch the Burglar from his room the next day. He kept himself busy by explaining where this creature they had dubbed ‘the Gollum’ seemed to be most active, what he looked like, and advice for how best to deal with it. The Burglar was a silent companion all the while, so much so that Thorin truly feared he was literally talking to himself like the fool he was. However, stopped outside the tunnel entrance, the Burglar finally chose to address him.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do what I can to bring back your gem and restore your power amongst the Council.”

Thorin sighed. Dis’ words from the previous night were even more of an echo alongside the guilt he felt.

“No. Thank you. You are doing me and my kingdom a great service. I’m sorry that I’ve been…unable to express my gratitude properly. I do hope that you succeed not just on behalf of Erebor, but for…those that rely on you as well.”

Thorin really hoped that would be the end of it, already finding it painful to talk about Bilbo even if indirectly. However, before he could take more than a couple of steps away, the Burglar called out once more.

“Can you pass a message to Oakenshield? In case…well in case I don’t see him again?”

Thorin grit his teeth as he felt his body go rigid. 

“What could that possibly be?”

The Burglar hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was much softer.

“Please tell him…that Bilbo is sorry. He greatly valued their friendship, and he hates…the rift it’s now formed. Between…the two of you, especially.”

Thorin froze. How did he know? How did Bilbo know? Who knew first and told the other, the Burglar or Bilbo? Thorin spun around to meet the gaze of the hobbit who knew his secret only to huff at the sudden remembrance that the Burglar was invisible. Then that was it then. Bilbo somehow must have learned Thorin was Oakenshield, and he still rejected him. Clearly, there was nothing more that he could offer him. Thorin searched the torchlight for any sign that the Burglar was still there, but found none. Perhaps that’s why he allowed himself to speak freely about it for once.

“I valued our friendship too. More than he can possibly know.”

Thorin waited, breath held, for perhaps some sign that his confession was heard, but when there was none, he gave a huff and continued on his way. He had two guards stationed at the entrance to listen for the Burglar and assist him if needed. There was a tug that seemed to be urging Thorin to stay, but unable to figure out why the dwarf could only shake his head and continue on his way. 

He waited for three days for the Burglar to emerge from the caverns below. Each day had him more anxious and agitated. In fact, after a particularly obtuse guild meeting had him snapping even more than normal, Balin called an end to the meeting early. With extra hours to now pace in his worry, Thorin stomped back to his study only to be drawn short at the sight that awaited him. 

There, sitting on his desk was the Arkenstone. A gem he hadn’t seen in so long, but could never forget its beauty. Yet, that somehow wasn’t what held his attention. Next to it…was his raven mask. The one he wore as Oakenshield.

“You were right about him being a slippery one. Threatened to eat me more than once. I actually had to best him in a game of riddles to get away if you can believe it.”

Thorin whirled around trying to seek out the source of the voice, but finding no one.

“Burglar?”

“I thought you were two different people. You and Oakenshield. I thought I was creating a rift between you and him. That’s what I meant by my words.”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Ah. Well, he certainly gave himself away there then. Except…why would the Burglar possibly think he had anything to do with the situation if he were separate from Oakenshield?

“You see, I thought you…well, I thought Oakenshield had realized that, I’m in love with you.”

Something deep inside Thorin sang at these words even as his brain struggled to unravel this confusing puzzle. So…the Burglar thought Bilbo created a rift between him and Oakenshield because the Burglar loved him? Well that wouldn’t make any sense unless…

“You’re not the only one who was keeping secrets, Thorin.”

With that, the hobbit suddenly became visible, standing much closer than Thorin had anticipated. His eyes, just as familiar and bright as Thorin saw in his dreams, were shining as he looked up at Thorin. Gauging his reaction. And something in Thorin settled with a feeling of rightness at the golden bead braided to the end of his bronze curls. Thorin realized a bark of laughter, for truly what else could he do in such a situation before grabbing Bilbo by the waist and spinning him in a circle. 

“You’re the Burglar.” He stated the obvious.

“You’re Oakenshield.” Bilbo confirmed instead.

“You’re wearing my bead.”

“I would have woven it in sooner had I known.” 

“I wish to court you, Bilbo Baggins, Burglar of my heart.”

“I had gathered as much.”

Well, there honestly wasn’t anything else to be said after that. So Thorin held him tight, and kissed him as he had always imagined doing, never realizing there could be a more wondrous feeling as Bilbo slid his hands around his neck returning the gesture just as strongly.

[maul-of-shame]

"Gilded Choices: The Reaping of Stars" new chapter is up!!!

She cast a glance over her shoulder to where Elrond still stood in the main room, frozen, his eyes following Galadriel as she moved.

And Elrond…

Elrond was not just standing there.

He was staring.

His eyes widening slightly, his mouth parting as he took her in, his own composure momentarily fractured. Galadriel saw him swallow, his gaze flickering down to the towel wrapped around her, and the look in his eyes—was that admiration?—made her feel dizzy. She fought the urge to pull the towel tighter around herself, but part of her felt an odd thrill in his reaction, watching the way he gulped, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks.

Nimue’s eyes darted between the two of them, her smirk bordering on impish now.

“_ Come with me, darling.”; She cooed, pulling Galadriel toward the mirror where her dress waited. She turned to elrond and added with a playful note that only made Galadriel’s pulse quicken. “ Elrond, you’re welcome to shower now, if you can tear yourself away!”

She managed one last glance at him, meeting his dark, captivated gaze before turning away.

And as she did, her heart pounded with the memory of his expression, that slight flush in his cheeks, the way he’d stood utterly still, as though caught off guard, as though seeing her for the first time.

Elrond stood frozen, the world narrowing down to a single point as Galadriel’s image filled his mind, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, and the towel wrapped snugly around her form. 

His gaze lingered where he shouldn’t—on the droplets of water glistening along her collarbone, her flushed cheeks, the faint shiver in her form. His throat went dry as he swallowed, his breath tightening as though she’d somehow stolen it. For a moment, she had seemed to glow with an ethereal warmth, as if every part of her drew light to her. She had looked back at him, a glimmer in her eyes, and he’d felt his pulse race in response, as though there were no barrier between them but the air they breathed.

But Nimue’s voice jolted him back, and he watched helplessly as she guided Galadriel away, leaving him standing alone...

HEY, FOLKS! 🎉🌟

HERE IT IS: Part One of Chapter 6, and it’s got more twists than a pretzel at a carnival!🎢✨ After much anticipation (and let’s be real, a few existential crises), I’ve decided to bless your feeds with this juicy segment that’s packed tighter than a hobbit’s second breakfast! 🍽️

Now, let’s get into the juicy deets. I couldn’t help but notice some o people out there throwing shade at Elrond and whispering sweet nothings about Celeborn being the ultimate knight in oh-so shining armor, being "GaLaDrIEL's HusBAnd", "Her AND ElRonD aRE PlaTonIC" etc etc.

If you're one of those people, babe don't read that one, BAHA- Celeborn’s getting roasted like a chestnut over an open fire turning Balrog XDDDD🔥🌰 I also made sure to serve up some extra spice for those who dare to say that Elrondriel is stupid—because I'm here to defend that ship and I have NO LOVE for Teleporno thank you very much.

As always, thank you for your patience while I crafted this masterpiece!!! Grab your popcorn (or your favorite snack), kick back, and get ready for some drama, sass, and just the right amount of absurdity. You won’t want to miss a second of it!👀

Now, without further ado, dive into the chaos that is Chapter 6! And remember: may the odds be ever in your favor—and may Celeborn get a serious reality check asap😉💥

[starspray]

I'd love your director's cut on On Wings Of Storm- Esp Elwing's attack on Maedhros! She's so vibrant in your writing, and I love how you portray her desperation too XD

Ooh, my first TRSB fic! First of all, I'm so glad you liked it! Second of all, I had to go back and reread it because I couldn't remember anything about it except for the artwork and like, the logistics of slaying Ancalagon, rather than the scene itself. Good lord it's riddled with typoes I am so sorry I don't have any idea how those happened. I swear I usually proofread my work.

So fun fact: the art was not my first pick for that TRSB; I was in the car on the way to some family Memorial Day thing and the google form glitched and I had to fill it out twice. This art of Elwing was pretty far down the list because I loved it but I wasn't entirely confident I could write something 5000 words long about it.

Turns out I could write over 11k, and honestly if I were to write this fic now it would be a lot longer. As I was reading I kept finding places and characters that I would have loved to see more fleshed out, but when I was writing it, it was for the very first Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang before the "oh no my fic has grown wildly out of my control" culture was established, and I didn't want to end up with a monster fic (hilariously contrasted with '21 and '22 where both fics were around 20k, lol).

So I don't remember a whole lot of what I was thinking when I wrote this fic, but definitely a lot of it was me trying to figure out how Elwing would get to that scene in the art, standing on Vingilot in armor with a sword in her hand (God, it's such good art!). I don't usually write her as particularly war-like, and I guess she still isn't, here, but she also knows her way around a sword and she's not afraid to use it.

I'm also not sure that scene where she fights Maedhros is Maedhros, tbh; that might be Amrod or Amras (there's another version of Sirion I've written where it's one of them she encounters before reaching the cliff; I may have been thinking of that). But the Elwing of this fic is not an Elwing who is just going to run away and not put up any fight. She also uses the Silmaril to blind her attacker there which is fun because foreshadowing! The scene on the cliff is also one I had written before, so I was trying to make it different; Elwing's last words to Maedhros are a moment of foresight for her because I was really leaning into her as one of Melian's granddaughters which means she has powers. Also fire seems to be something of a motif, what with Doriath and Sirion burning and then the dragons with their fire--and ultimately the fire that consumed Maedhros himself, though Elwing does not witness that. The reader knows what happens.

Aiwendil gets a cameo because I am very attached to my headcanon of he and Elwing as BFFs.

Curumo also gets a cameo because I needed someone to make Elwing's armor, and I thought it would be neat to see Saruman long before he ever starts down the road to becoming Sharkey; ever since I've looked for opportunities to do that again, but I haven't found one yet. I feel like I probably tried to think of a way to work in Olorin, but that clearly didn't work out. Instead I put in the scene with Nienna, because I needed a starting point for Elwing to start processing her despair and anger and trauma, and that's Nienna's whole jam. The mirror is obviously a nod to Galadriel's later in LOTR, but Nienna has both more and a different kind of power so it doesn't function in exactly the same way.

And the refrain of "She jumped." was definitely purposeful. There's the first time where she jumps to what she believes will be her death, in anger and despair; there's the second time where she jumps into battle with still plenty of anger but not so much despair--and this time she can use that anger, because now she can fly at will--and the last time at the end she's happy, and jumping is just the first step to soaring.

[blackdragontavern]

Here is the first chapter of a Novella that details events of the second age and leading up to the forging of the Rings of Power

Please enjoy 🙏

Chapter 1: Eregion Rising

The white stone of Ost-in-Edhil shimmered beneath the warm light of the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the valley. Towers, elegant and pale, rose steadily toward the sky, their foundations newly laid but already strong. The city, though young, was alive with movement—Elven voices carried on the breeze, mingling with the rhythmic clang of hammers and the crackle of forge fires. The scent of stone dust and molten metal hung in the air, sharp and earthy, blending with the fragrant blossoms that clung to the distant hills.

From her vantage point, Galadriel stood still, her gaze sweeping over the half-formed city. There was a beauty here, woven into every stone, every archway. The Elves of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain had poured their craft into this place, and Eregion was blossoming under their skillful hands. Yet beneath the surface, as light filtered through the young streets, she felt it—an undercurrent, a whisper of unease, as if the stones themselves held their breath.

At her side, Celeborn surveyed the city with quiet satisfaction, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. The gentle breeze stirred his silver hair as he spoke. “It rises swiftly, and strong,” he said, his voice a low murmur, steady as the roots of the mountains. “Ost-in-Edhil will stand among the great works of our people.”

Galadriel inclined her head, though her eyes remained distant. “Yes, it is beautiful, as all things wrought by Elven hands.”

Celeborn turned toward her, sensing the quiet tension threaded through her speech. “Yet something troubles you.”

She smiled faintly, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “We are makers, Celeborn. We shape and bend the world, forging beauty as we remember it. But the more we shape, the more the world changes around us. Even beauty casts its shadow.”

Celeborn’s brow furrowed, still, his speech remained controlled, his gaze steady and sure. “This city will endure. It is for our people, a place of light in Middle-earth.”

“Perhaps.” Her gaze drifted toward the distant forges, where smoke coiled like silver threads into the sky, disappearing into the haze of the afternoon sun. “But beauty is not immune to the gaze of others. And not all who watch are drawn to light.”

Celeborn’s hand found her arm, his touch gentle but firm. “This is not Valinor, Galadriel. We do not seek to rival the grandeur of the Valar. We build to preserve what remains of it.”

Her thoughts strayed to Valinor, to the fierce ambition that once stirred in her kin. She had seen where such fires led, but the time to speak of it had not yet come.

The sound of footsteps broke the quiet between them.

“Galadriel! Celeborn!”

They turned as Celebrimbor approached, his stride brisk, dark hair swept back from his face. He carried a rolled parchment in one hand, the edges marked with soot from the forges. His eyes gleamed with the light of creation, the thrill of new beginnings.

“My lord, my lady,” he greeted them with a quick bow, though his excitement barely allowed him to pause. “I’ve just finished the latest designs for the forges. You must come see.”

Galadriel’s gaze flicked to the forges where the flames still danced, their light casting a faint red glow against the white stone of the city. Celebrimbor had always worked with tireless fervor, driven by a love of craft, a desire to create. But there was something more now—a restlessness in his voice, an eagerness that stirred the air around him like the heat from the fires.

“And will these forges be the heart of Eregion?” she asked, her voice soft but measured.

Celebrimbor smiled, though his smile was tempered with something sharper, more urgent. “The forges are the heart, Galadriel. What we create here will endure beyond us. It is not enough to build beautiful things; they must last. They must stand against time itself.”

His words echoed in the air, and for a moment, Galadriel felt the weight of them settle in her chest like a stone sinking through still water. She knew this hunger—this need to create something that would outlast the world. It was the same hunger that had once driven her kin to craft wonders, to shape the very light of the stars into jewels.

‘Endurance is a high purpose,’ she said quietly, her gaze unbroken. ‘But it is not without its burden. What we fashion may stand the test of time, yet the gaze upon it will remain as well.’

A fleeting pause caught at Celebrimbor’s smile, but he quickly set it aside. ‘The shadow is far from us, Galadriel,’ he said, his voice calm. ‘Peace lies before us, and it is the future we must shape—not the memories of the past.’

Celeborn nodded softly, his voice calm but resolute. ‘We do not shape this world to conceal ourselves, but to stand, unbowed, beneath the open sky.’

Galadriel’s fingers brushed the edge of the parchment, feeling the rough texture of the soot-stained edges. Her gaze lingered on Celebrimbor. He believed in his work—he always had. But she had seen ambition burn too brightly before, and she had learned to listen to the silence that followed.

“Peace is fragile,” she murmured, her voice almost lost to the wind. “And the future is never as far as we think.”

Celebrimbor chuckled, though his tone was gentle. “You are wise, Galadriel. But trust me in this—what we build here will last. The forges will be more than places of craft. They will be the heartbeat of Eregion, where light and skill come together to shape what is worthy of the Elves.”

She offered him a faint smile, though her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She knew the weight of creation, and how easily it could tip into ruin.

“We shall see,” she said softly, her gaze shifting once more toward the horizon.

As they turned to follow Celebrimbor toward the forges, the sound of hammers rang out through the streets, their rhythm steady and purposeful. The fires of the forges glowed hot and bright, their light mingling with the cool air of the late afternoon. A faint scent of smoke and metal lingered on the breeze, and the stones beneath Galadriel’s feet seemed to hum with life, as if the city itself was breathing, growing with each passing day.

But beyond Eregion, in the unseen places of the world, she could feel it—a ripple, distant yet insistent. The world was watching. And not all eyes were kind.

[itariilles]

The Elves From Episodes 1 & 2 Of The Rings of Power

On the 30th I was lucky enough to attend the world premiere of The Rings of Power. This means that I've had some time to sit down and process some of my thoughts regarding how certain thematic elements were addressed in the show, from the adaptation of textual themes, to the altering of themes to better fit the narrative the show is attempting to portray.

Specifically, how the elven characters were portrayed. The breakdown of my thoughts have been included below the text break with commentary and context from various texts. I've limited myself to the published Silmarillion, LOTR and The Hobbit, and Unfinished Tales as I don't have the capacity at the moment to delve into additional contexts from Histories of Middle-earth.

Disclaimer: this is my opinion, and my opinion only. While I am trying my best to be fair in my critique, one has to remember that this is a show produced and streamed on Amazon with a 1 billion dollar budget —  the highest of any TV production in history. I am also basing my critique on the first two episodes only, meaning that there is much more to come, but I still believe that there are themes worth talking about that were established in the first two episodes that will likely reoccur over the duration of Season 1 if not the whole show.

@silmarillionwritersguild makes an excellent statement on the ethics behind consuming Rings of Power, and the labour and human rights abuses by Amazon.

Galadriel's Motivations

"Finrod was with Turgon, his friend; but Galadriel, the only woman of the Noldor to stand that day tall and valiant among the contending princes, was eager to be gone. No oaths she swore, but the words of Fëanor concerning Middle-earth had kindled in her heart, for she yearned to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule there a realm at her own will." — Of The Flight of The Noldor, The Silmarillion

The prologue briefly depicts a two minute summary of the Darkening of Valinor, Flight of the Noldor, and War of Wrath. We are shown Galadriel presiding over Finrod's corpse which bears scratch marks and a brand of the eye of Sauron which can be assumed to be after his infamous duel with Sauron during their duel in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

While it is extremely likely that Galadriel will bear personal animosity towards Sauron for the murder of her brother, it does feel odd to me that the choice was made to establish the avenging of her brother as her primary motive in remaining in Middle-earth.

Christopher Tolkien's note in Unfinished Tales on the passage above is interesting in that:

"Most notable however in the passage just cited is the explicit statement that Galadriel refused the pardon of the Valar at the end of the First Age." — History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales

This seems to fall in line with her established motivations in text with her desire to rule over a realm herself, as up until this point she has only aligned herself with rulers of other realms (Thingol and Melian in Doriath, Círdan in the Falas, etc.)

In the context of Rings of Power, Galadriel is portrayed as being "rewarded" a return to Aman by Gil-Galad as an honour which she too refuses for the sake of continuing her altered show motivation of avenging Finrod and hunting Sauron.

"She did indeed wish to depart from Valinor and to go into the wide world of Middle-earth for the exercise of her talents... and she felt confined in the tutelage of Aman. This desire of Galadriel's was, it seems, known to Manwë, and he had not forbidden her; but nor had she been given formal leave to depart... Galadriel, despairing now of Valinor and horrified by the violence and cruelty of Fëanor, set sail into darkness without waiting for Manwë's leave, which would undoubtedly been withheld in that hour, however legitimate her desire in itself." — History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales

The issue with this change of primary motivation is that it makes no sense with regards to her imperialist incentive in crossing over to Middle-earth which is something that is core to her character.

"Galadriel laughed with a sudden clear laugh. 'Wise the Lady Galadriel may be,' she said, 'yet here she has met her match in courtesy. Gently are you revenged for my testing of your heart at our first meeting. You begin to see with a keen eye. I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer[.']... She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. 'I pass the test,' she said. 'I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.'" — The Mirror of Galadriel, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

The completion of her character arc is when she rejects the one ring when it is offered to her, and with it she relinquishes her desire to rule. It is only then she willingly makes the journey back to Aman as she rejects her ambition and rule, and when that happens Lothlórien begins to fade, and with it the last of Noldorin imperialism in Middle-earth.

I must reiterate that while I take no issue with the idea that pursuing Sauron as a means of avenging Finrod's death is a motivator for Galadriel, it should not be her primary motive as has been portrayed so far. It is unclear whether or not at this early stage in the show if she has come into contact with the elves of Lórien, but this is something to keep in mind when she interacts with Amdir and Amroth later on if they do appear in this adaptation.

It is also absolutely crucial to acknowledge the complexities and nuances of Galadriel's imperialist narrative, and the settler colonialism of it all. I could go on for literally an entire essay's worth of points, but I'm saving that for a paper later on.

"In the Second Age their king, Oropher... had withdrawn northward... he resented the intrusions of Celeborn and Galadriel into Lórien." — Appendix B: The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves, History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales

While the text does seem to portray her imperialist ambitions either positively or neutrally, there are also characters who are shown to be critical of Noldorin imperialism.

"'You are of the house of Eöl, Maeglin, my son.' he said, 'and not of the Golodhrim. All this land is the land of the Teleri, and I will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of my kin, the invaders and usurpers of our homes.[']"

"'I acknowledge not your law,' [Eöl] said. 'No right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there. This is the land of the Teleri, to which you bring war and all unquiet, dealing ever proudly and unjustly... Your father commands you. Leave the house of his enemies and the slayers of his kin, or be accursed!'"

— Of Maeglin, The Silmarillion

@skyeventide has an excellent thread on Twitter analysing Tolkien's specific choice of Eöl as the narrator for his critical commentary on the Noldorin settlement of Beleriand and in-text bias favouring narratives of settler colonialism.

Additional links and sources:

Galadriel and Ayesha by William H. Stoddard

Fantasy Racism Against the Elves

The first time we are introduced to the fantasy racism element of the show is when a man from Tirharad launches a tirade against Arondir venting his frustrations over the elven presence in their lands, calling him "knife-ear" which is a slur taken straight out of Dragon Age. It feels cheap and delivers less commentary and insight into the power dynamics the show attempts to suggest with the elven garrison guarding Tirharad on orders from Gil-Galad.

When approaching racism as a concept, one must remember the dynamics of power and disenfranchisement, in which the group(s) that wield power exert and abuse their power over another group for gain and profit in one form or another.

Textually, there is an element of cultural hierarchy and supremacy judged by a Quendi group's proximity to the West with Calaquendi (most notably Noldorin in a Middle-earth context) hegemony on the top of that pyramid, closely followed by the Sindar. While this deserves its own essay, I think the fact that Arondir is a Silvan plays into the uncomfortable "lowly Silvan elf" narrative that was introduced in adaptation in Peter Jackson's Desolation of Smaug (2013). Any review that claims fantasy racism is a "new" element to Tolkien adaptation in Rings of Power is inaccurate in this regard.

This is also made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that Arondir is played by Ismael Cruz Córdova who is Black and Puerto Rican, and is so far the only elf to be portrayed by a non-white actor. This, coupled by the fact that he is also a Silvan OC highlights a bunch of in-universe, and productional issues with regards to the way in which racism and inclusion are handled.

“[Wood-elves] differed from the High Elves of the West, and they were more dangerous and less wise. For most of them… were descended from the ancient tribes that never went to Faerie in the West. There the Light-elves and the Deep-elves, and the Sea-elves went and lived for ages, and are fairer and wiser and more learned, and invented their magic and their cunning craft in the making and of beautiful and marvellous things, before some came back into the Wide World… Still elves they were and remain, and that is Good People.” 

— Flies and Spiders, The Hobbit

While there are definitely more nuanced ways to handle the element of inter-Quendi cultural dynamics, hierarchies, and conflicts, I don't think that establishing it using one-dimensional cheap commentary from a throwaway Tirharad man is the best way to go about it.

There are implications of Eldar holding power over men in the First Age, with men being portrayed as vassals in a feudalistic system under the Noldorin princes. In the Second Age there is less of this implication with the establishment of Númenor as the new mannish cultural centre, but it would have been better handled in the Tirharad context if there were points made about power dynamics with the Tirharad men treated as second-class citizens of their own lands or vassals of Eldar power and hegemony over their lands for the sake of their interests.

A line said by a Silvan soldier reasoning their station over the men of Tirharad as "descendants of those who served Morgoth" is uncomfortable as it plays into the established trope of South/Eastern men being inherently evil which links into Orientalist ideas of the East being percieved as fundamentally Other. This is an established trope in Tolkien which some of my links from my race in Tolkien masterpost linked below regarding the portrayal of Easterlings by Tolkien and in adaptation explain in more detail.

"The Silvan Elves had invented no forms of writing, and those who learned this art from the Sindar wrote in Sindarin as well as they could. By the end of the Third Age the Silvan tongues had probably ceased to be spoken in the two regions that had importance at the time of the War of the Ring: Lórien and the realm of Thranduil in northern Mirkwood."

— Appendix A: The Silvan Elves and Their Speech, History of Galadriel and Celeborn, Unfinished Tales

There is also a soft imperialism and cultural assimilation aspect to Sindarin settler colonialism in the Second Age, and while we have yet to meet the major Sindarin players of the Second Age (namely Oropher, Amdir, and Amroth), it may yet hold implications for Arondir down the line.

It feels rather strange that Gil-Galad is implied to hold dominion over Silvan elves, as it feels reductive of inter-Quendi dynamics from textual material. Unless Arondir and the other Silvans garrisoned at Tirharad are Silvan elves of Ered Luin or of the forests that fall within Lindon, there is no reason they should answer Gil-Galad's orders, much less recognise Gil-Galad's authority over them as a people group.

It is also strange that Gil-Galad appears to hold the more imperialistic narrative, rather than Galadriel who is explictly depicted as having imperialistic motives in Middle-earth. I question how this aspect of his character will be handled in the show, but I'm not holding my breath given how fantasy racism is often handled poorly and with little nuance in Tolkien fandom, adaptation, and fantasy as a genre.

The second instance in which we are shown the theme of fantasy racism is when Galadriel is rescued out of the water by human castaways. Halbrand reveals her ear, and the woman on board who had previously showed her kindness in offering water, turns on her and shrieks at the elf.

We do not know which people group(s) the castaways belong to, but Halbrand claims to be of the South.

The undertones of fantasy racism falls onto Galadriel's shoulder, who once again in adaptation is played by a white woman. I have written a thread on Twitter criticising fan responses to Morfyyd Clark's instagram posts, and how the Rings of Power fandom has ascribed to the actress the role of a white saviour in which it feels as if the conversation of racism is again being centred on whiteness.

Additional links and sources:

Please check out my Race in Tolkien masterpost for more links on the topic. I've last updated it 02/09/2022.

The Neoclassical Aesthetic Given to the Noldor and its Unfortunate Implications

Elves in their Roman mid-first century legionnaire-esque armour designs battle amongst the chaos against legions of orcs, and a mound of helmets as a symbol and testiment to the mighty dead. Galadriel adds a galea to the mound in sorrow and grief.

The scene shifts to Lindon in an unspecified time during the Second Age. A male elf crowned in golden laurels plays the lyre, and the female servants clad in their sleeveless Doric chitons linger in the background of shots.

As I mention above, the proscription of a neoclassical aesthetic to the Noldor exacerbates existing textual favourtism and cultural superiority, made all the more uncomfortable with recent discourses regarding the whiteness of the elves and the knowledge that real life facist and white supremacist groups have a habit of co-opting Classical Greek and Roman imagery. One need only look to Benito Mussolini and Identity Evropa as examples.

It feels less coincidental when considering the Classical Greek and Roman imagery and white actors the show has deliberately chosen for the Noldor.

This is a complicated and nuanced subject, with the popularisation of Ancient Greece and Rome as inherently white societies being a recent invention popularised in the 18th century by scholars such as Johann Joachim Winckelmann.

I brace myself and wince for the inevitable far-right white supremacist co-option of the neoclassical Noldor from the Rings of Power. It feels as if all my arguments against elves being inherently "white" are all for nothing, as in the past I have come face-to-face with white supremacists who have used the Peter Jackson film portrayals of Galadriel and Arwen as the pinnacle of white feminity to further their incentive to keep the elves in adaptation as white as possible.

Additional links and sources:

The whiteness of the Rings by Sean Redmond

Whitewashing Antiquity by Imara Ikhumen

Why the alt-right loves ancient Rome And Greece, too. by Sean Illing

[kyberphilosopher]

Androphobia

Requested? No Word Count: 7014

An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.

Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man. 

This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off. 

There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men. 

This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.

 * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.

Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot. 

Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried. 

(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”

“Shut the hell up.”)

The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one. 

You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point. 

And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day. 

And then...

As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.

So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man. 

[Sort of.]

“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”

“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”

“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”

He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn. 

“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”

Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering. 

In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard. 

“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”

“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above. 

He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you. 

You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible. 

“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”

Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman. 

But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath. 

It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do. 

You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks. 

The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?” 

You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”

Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.

“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”

Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”

“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”

Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something. 

“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”

“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that. 

“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”

“But the bias is the whole point.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’. 

“You talked to Connor about this?”

“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”

Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”

You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch. 

“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”

“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”

“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans. 

And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even. 

But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...

You snap your drawer shut. 

What’s wrong with you today? 

You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again. 

“Doctor L/N?”

You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person. 

And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark. 

“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”

“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair. 

“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins. 

Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close. 

“When?” you question. 

“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”

Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement. 

“I know that this must be difficult for you-”

“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”

The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”

And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.

“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”

“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”

“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.

“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”

There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine. 

And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself. 

And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half. 

“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”

Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”

Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones. 

Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response. 

“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”

You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”

“It’s just-”

“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings. 

As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused. 

Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike. 

A man, as usual. 

Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory. 

On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will. 

You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time. 

“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand. 

“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually. 

“The kid?”

“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment. 

Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change. 

“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”

You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all. 

“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot. 

“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”

Yep. Thanks, Hank. 

The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again. 

Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all. 

“You coming?”

“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”

“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”

“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”

“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately. 

Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth. 

“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”

“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”

“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something. 

“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”

Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last. 

“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed. 

Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away. 

Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him. 

You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around. 

“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly. 

“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly. 

“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”

“Alright. I’ll get you some.”

And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes. 

“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time. 

“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him. 

“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl. 

“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally. 

“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”

“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”

“Well... how would you like to address me?”

Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it. 

“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding. 

He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”

“What would you prefer?”

His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”

This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject. 

“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food. 

Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”

“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat. 

Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”

“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”

“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”

Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.

“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”

“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”

Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question. 

“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”

You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond. 

The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought. 

It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible. 

“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.

“Yes, thank you.”

You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.

Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.

“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.

“Hello,” Connor chirps back.

You just shoot Hank a glare.

“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.

“It was fine,” you tell him.

“Fine?”

“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump. 

You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one. 

Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense. 

Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend. 

Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe. 

The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt. 

“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded. 

“Doctor L/N?”

No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help. 

“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder. 

You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes. 

“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips. 

“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly. 

“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it. 

“You have... drool on your lips.”

You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”

“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building. 

“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”

“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

That night, it rains. 

Thunder echoes, with  ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands. 

You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes. 

A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning. 

You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it. 

You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual. 

Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.

Come on, Hank, you think.  Please protect me. Please do this for me. 

And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android. 

A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are. 

Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you. 

“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now. 

“Can I come in?”

Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in. 

As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good. 

“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor. 

That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?

Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?”

You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”

Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself. 

“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”

Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”

“I just- I can’t-”

You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes. 

“Can’t sleep.”

When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you. 

* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea. 

He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators. 

“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him. 

He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy. 

“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”

“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does. 

You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying. 

“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead. 

“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”

A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second. 

Then it goes quiet.

“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”

You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.

Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”

Connor’s led goes yellow.

“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”

Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.

It sounds like he really cares.

You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.

“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”

The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.

  * ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ  *

This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.

[emeraldskulblaka]

"Now and For Always" - Lines & Lyrics in the LotR Musical

"Now and For Always", Sam and Frodo's beautiful duet, is one of the most popular & touching songs in the show. The two of them reminisce about evenings spent around the fire back home in the Shire, the nature of Hobbits, and their deep friendship and love for each other.

Stories we tell will cast their spell

Now and for always

These lyrics take on an even deeper meaning now that Peter Howe, who originated the role of Sam in Toronto and London, passed away last month. May he rest in peace.

Lines and lyrics as performed in the West End version below the cut; it's a little different from the Toronto version in this clip.

This is my own transcript of the scene, not the official script.

A deserted place close to Mordor. FRODO, SAM and GOLLUM climb into view. The Hobbits are wearing their Elven cloaks. FRODO is more weary than before. GOLLUM points.

GOLLUM: There! There it is. Mount Doom.

SAM: Look at it, the way it lights up the sky - it reminds me of one of Mr Gandalf’s fireworks. Do you miss him?

FRODO: I miss his bushy eyebrows and his quick temper. And his voice. How far away are we, Sam?

SAM: Three days. Maybe four if we get all the cover we can.

FRODO: So close. 

SAM: (sitting down and unpacking his bag) Come on. Let’s eat something to keep our spirits up.

GOLLUM turns to the Hobbits and signals for them to follow him.

GOLLUM: Keep moving. Come. Come!

SAM: (to FRODO) No, no.

GOLLUM: (angry) Come!

SAM: (to GOLLUM) Wait! (to FRODO) You’re going to eat something, Frodo Baggins, before we take another step.

GOLLUM freezes and turns, hit by a sudden realisation.

GOLLUM: …Baggins? No no, not Baggins!

SAM: And then we’ll walk South to those… doomy fires, whatever they’re called so we’ll have this over with and get back to the Shire and how things used to be before we ever heard of magic rings and the like… (spotting something in his bag) Here, look. (he gets up and approaches FRODO) Lady Galadriel gave me this. It’s a box of earth from her orchard. She said it might reward us when we get home.

FRODO: I don’t know if things will ever be how they used to be, Sam. It’s something Lady Galadriel said in Lothlórien, and something she wouldn’t tell me. But I’ve worked it out. Remember when we left the Shire? We met those Elves heading West.

SAM: How could I forget?

FRODO: They were leaving, Sam. Soon they all will. If Sauron gets the One Ring again -

SAM: He won’t. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t.

FRODO: Whether we do or not, the Elves will still leave. Gandalf said it. If the One Ring goes, then all rings lose their power. You see, Lady Galadriel’s ring is what protects Lothlórien, it protects their home. Without it, there will be no more Elves, no more magic - anywhere.

SAM: No more Elves? That’ll change everything. 

SAM returns to his bag and sits.

SAM: You know the stories in the old songs and tales, the ones we used to sing around the big fire at the Ivy Bush. Who knows? People went on journeys and they had big adventures, but nothing ever really seemed to change/changed, did it? Not like this. You know, the trouble is, we Hobbits only really like stories that end up just the way they started, don’t we?

SAM: Sing me a story of heroes of the Shire,

Muddling through,

Brave and true.

Stubborn as bindweed and tough as old briar,

Never too showy or grand.

Year after year

They persevere

Now and for always.

FRODO takes off his hood and settles down beside SAM.

Harfoots who planted and Stoor folk who ploughed,

Bred to endure,

Slow but sure.

Fallohide blood in your veins makes you proud,

Sturdy and steady they stand.

True to their aim

To stay the same

Now and for always.

BOTH: Sit by the firelight’s glow.

Tell us an old tale we know.

Tell us of adventures strange and rare –

Never to change

Ever to share

Stories we tell will cast their spell

Now and for always.

FRODO: You know, I used to think the great adventures in the old songs and tales were things special folk went out looking for. But they weren’t, were they? They were just things they got landed in.

SAM: I wonder what kind of story we’ve landed in.

Sing me the story of Frodo and the Ring.

Fearless and bold.

FRODO: (laughing) Tired and cold.

SAM: Sword at his side, an Elf-blade called Sting,

Crossing a mis’rable land.

Wouldn’t retreat

Just followed his feet

Now and for always.

BOTH: Sit by the firelight’s glow.

Tell us an old tale we know.

Tell of adventures strange and rare –

Never to change

Ever to share

Stories we tell will cast their spell

Now and for always.

SAM: I wish Gollum was in a tale, eh?

FRODO: He might be good in a tale.  

SAM: Better than he is in real life, anyway. A good deal less smelly. (laughs)

FRODO: Oh, for a piece of Mrs Bracegirdle’s plumcake.

SAM: Mrs Bracegirdle.

They share a laugh.

FRODO: They’re all so far away. (after a moment) It’s not me they’ll remember, you know? (getting no response) Sam?

SAM has fallen asleep.

FRODO: Sing me the tale of the bravest of them all.

Comrade and guide

At my side.

Stout-hearted Sam who wouldn’t let me fall,

Holding my life in his hand.

True to the end,

No finer friend.

Now and for always.

Sit by the firelight’s glow.

Tell us an old tale we know.

Tell of adventures strange and rare

Never to change

Ever to share

Stories we tell will cast their spell

Now and for – 

FRODO, too, falls asleep.

GOLLUM: - always.

[rey-jake-therapist]

A blog I follow just rb this post and while I stand by the position that people need to remember that this is a story about made up dwarves, elves, humans and 1 egomaniac demi-god and /it's not that serious/, it's still got some interesting interpretations dinalogos/765681766233210880. Curious to see what are some of your thoughts on this.

Well I think there are very good ideas in there, and up to a certain point it's a solid character analysis. I disagree with most of what they said about Sauron's feelings for Galadriel, and in general with most of what they wrote about the finals. Just like this person would probably disagree with most of my metas, because we strongly disagree about Sauron's feelings for Galadriel, and other things.

I won't enter into the details tbh because I don't feel good criticizing someone's meta in a post parallel to theirs... If I wanted to discuss with them, I'd just reblot their post. But we disagree so fundamentally on more than one level that it would probably end up in a mutual block.

Honestly, the moment I saw written "shipping is fun but...", I knew it was anti rhetoric and I just skimmed through their post. I'm not interested in those. This person respects fandom etiquette and didn't use the ship tags to share their meta, it's really all that counts for me... I respect their opinion but it's just not mine :)

[getlostsquidward]

Caught in the Middle (Part 2)

Hela x fem!reader x Galadriel

A/N: This is short but it's just a little backstory. I used he/they/she pronouns for Loki, please tell me if I did the wrong way of using multiple pronouns, tysm

Summary: You have the Goddess of Death, Hela; and the Lady of Light, Galadriel both smitten for you. You tell yourself to only choose one, but doesn’t everyone need a mix of light and darkness in their lives?

Part one | two | three | four

You help the servants prepare the feast that will take place tonight. A guest will be staying in the palace, for how long, you didn’t know. All you care is how your workload will be doubled, certain that the Queen would have you run errands in and out of the palace. Your mind wanders to the Lady that you had met earlier. You hadn’t seen her before, and she doesn’t look like an Asgardian. You just hoped that she wasn’t punished by Her Majesty.

Time in Asgard passes differently than in Earth and you don’t remember how long you have been here. You were friends with Thor and Loki since you accompanied Jane here a few years ago and you’ve been bugging them to take you to Asgard again for a vacation. You liked it here and half-joked that you could live here and not return to Earth anymore. They must have taken it seriously because one day they were at your apartment saying “Pack your things. We’re bringing you home.”

You’ve been on your own for too long that you have no regrets about leaving Earth for good. Besides, you can always visit (if the Queen permits), or have Thor or Loki bring you something from Earth if they visit Asgard. They said they need someone they can trust inside the palace, to aid their sister and Queen, Hela. You were beyond honored for the deep trust they have in you, so you swore that you would fulfill any of the Royal Family wishes. That’s where you are now, serving as the personal handmaid of the Queen.

Thor was traveling to different realms, finding his purpose as he didn’t want to be King; and Loki was… everywhere. The last you saw him; they gave you a picture of her and Mobius jet skiing in Australia. They will be back soon though, for they never miss an event in the palace. The summer solstice is near.

Your first interaction with their sister was quite… awkward. You were standing in the middle of the bridge admiring Asgard’s scenery when you felt a dagger pointed against your throat. Without a doubt, you thought it was Loki pulling pranks again so you hit him in their stomach and tackled her to the ground with you sitting above him to restrain their movement. “Loki, I swear to god-”

“You’ll swear what to me?” The person beneath you claimed. This… isn’t Loki. While they looked like him; black hair, color aesthetic, the weapon of choice; this isn’t the God of Mischief. The eyes and aura are completely different. “You- you’re not Loki,” you stammer, eyes wide in realization.

“Now, now, Y/N. Don’t kill her,” a familiar voice was heard at a distance.

“Yet,” another voice added.

“She’s our sister.” You whip your head at the approaching figures, it’s Thor. And Loki. You look at him and the woman beneath you repeatedly, trying to figure out who’s who. Still speechless, you quickly stand to get away from their sister.

She stood up gracefully and ran her hands in her head. A black spiky crown (again, similar to Loki) appeared. “Kneel.”

You were so scared your body moved on its own and kneeled. “Apologies. I’m sorry, I- I didn’t know-”

“You look like a smart girl with good instincts,” she cut you off, cocking her head at you analyzing your whole personality. “A good girl who knows her place.” The praise sent tingles on your body. You would love to hear more.

“I am Hela. Odin’s-”

“Firstborn. Commander of the legions of Asgard. The rightful heir yada yada yada,” Loki continued with a smug grin on his face. “Oh, I forgot, Goddess of Death,” they purposefully gave a dramatic effect on their voice to scare you. Damn Loki.

[thekingofwinterblog]

You know... Seeing GRRM essentially tell every single fan of Tolkien's books off as cunts if they don't like the Rings of Power previews, if they have already given up on after it's made it clear that the series will, in no particular order:

"Ignore the very detailed time-line that Tolkien spent decades and decades perfecting, compress hundreds of years into just a few decades, have Hobbits living in the shire that should not exist for millennia, insert a whole host of OC characters into a work that already had plenty of characters they could use to explore this time period, rewrite Galadriel, a woman who was meant to be the personification of a powerfull, regul queen as an angry, pissed off, emo teen despite the fact she's thousands of years old by this point, ignore the ACTUAL POC peoples of Tolkien's middle earth, their culture, their story, their humanity, and show us why their enslavement under Sauron was such a tragedy in favor of rewriting the ethnicities of people based on the people of the british isles and pretending that the Haradrim, variags and others don't exists, and all around looking horribly cheap despite the ridiculous budget."

-Has made me realize what a an enormous, unsufferable sellout he is.

Like... This is a guy who saw his magnus Opus be BUTCHERED on national television. The most spectacular fall from grace in television history...

And instead of trying to redeem it by focusing on winds of winter, and a dream for spring, he instead bitches at us for having the nerve to point out that he's well over a decade late on writing his book, when he's made countless comments over the years to the effect of "Just give me time and i'll get it out", promises it's his top priority, that it's all he's working on, and he instead takes time off writing history books about stuff that we don't need to know, and he actually promised he wouldn't waste his time on until the main series was done, and eventually just came out and declared, despite all his promises that he was working on winds of winter above everything else, he's now devoting most of his to other shit instead.

This guy has for all intends and purposes given up on his book fans. The men and women who were there for him from the start, and more importantly, are STILL there for him, even after AGOT burned out like junkie at the end and became forever remembered as trash.

And you know what? That would be fine. It's true, he doesn't owe us anything... But we don't owe him jack shit either. I have no interest in House of the dragon, or any of the other tv-shows Martin is sacrificing WOW for. But if he wants to make them, then by all means, go ahead and do that.

But don't fucking come here and critique others for standing up for a man who spent his entire life doing what YOU aren't doing.

Tolkien spent his entire life on his legendarium, he worked on it until the day he died. He finished it, he refined it, he released his appendices and their stories after he was done with the main story, and he spent over 50 years working on a small, not that important backstory prequel book about a character mentioned once or twice in the lord of the rings set, never releasing it before his death because he was just that dedicated to the quality of his writing and the world he made.

And he didn't do it for the cash, the fame, or the fact it made him legendary. He did it because he truly, genuinely loved his work, and you can tell that with every single bit of extra detail he put into fleshing out his entire world.

Tolkien was approached several times in his lifetime to adapt his work. And do you know what he said each time when it was made clear they wouldn't respect his source material? He told them to piss off, because he genuinely loved his work, and refused to see it be mishandled like "A Game of Thrones" was.

Tolkien would NEVER have stood for a single one of the changes I mentioned above, and fans know he wouldn't, because Tolkien made it very, very clear what his world was, and he refused to compromise on that world.

A mythology for his homeland of England, with a defined, clear, coherent timeline of one end of the setting to the end, with very clear backstories for his world and all the people in it, who refused to let anyone adapt it unless he felt they could do it justice.

Who the hell is Martin, an old man who sacrificed his own book fans for TV series that cannot salvage AGOT no matter how good they are, to tell fans who remember Tolkien, his dedication to every meticulous detail of the world he made, what he stood for, and refuses to acknowledge this garbled fanfiction as an addition to the world Tolkien made, when he made it abundantly clear what he thought of inaccurate adaptions, that they aren't real fans of Tolkien?

Tolkien is dead Martin. His legacy stands, because he made it, and unlike Star Wars, no one can come and claim that they're just "Continuing the story" with varying degrees of success regarding quality, because Lord of the Rings, and by extension Tolkien's entire legendarium is done.

We know damn well what Tolkien's story was about. We read it, We know it by heart. We know how it begins, and we know how it ends, unlike a song of ice and fire, which will never be finished. And that means we don't have to speculate "will this be faithful to Tolkien's world?" Because we can tell by a single glance whether or not it will be.

And rings of Power, even if it was the best story ever told(And it's not going to be), is not the story Tolkien tried to tell. Not by any stretch of the imagination. It doesn't even try to be.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

You know, I’ve been thinking today about how Alina doesn’t even really work as a Reluctant Hero, compared her to Frodo to see the key differences (since Frodo is pretty much the Poster Child for the Reluctant Hero), and then I realized... 

You know, I think L/eigh B/ardugo wrote TGT as a very black-and-white fairytale, where Alina is the princess, Mal’s the knight in the shining armor, and the Darkling is basically the dragon, except it doesn’t really work because the worldbuilding requires an approach that’s... a lot more grey? 

The thing is, though, I realized... Alina and Mal are basically meant to be Frodo and Sam. Except that, again... it doesn’t really work. 

Frodo works as a Reluctant Hero, because he makes it clear multiple times that he doesn’t want to carry the Ring. He asks Gandalf to do it for him, he asks Galadriel, he asks Aragorn, and they all refuse, because they are (or are called to be) in a position of power, and while them being in a position of power is presented as good, the One Ring essentially represents the fast, easy way to get to it, which will ultimately corrupt them rather than have them fight their way towards their goal. 

Frodo, meanwhile, is the right person to carry the Ring, because he comes from a humble place and he doesn’t really have any aspirations to become powerful. And while he’s clearly burdened by having to carry the One Ring, and that he makes it clear that he wishes the Ring had never come to him, he still goes on anyway, despite all the hardships he faces, because his ultimate goal is to save the Shire and his friends, and that desire is stronger than any fear or greed he may have. 

Now, J.R.R. Tolkien himself said that he didn’t really see Frodo as THE Hero, and that Sam is the real Hero of the story to him. Which makes sense, given how Sam was based off young men from rural England he met while fighting in World War I. But also, the story makes it very clear that without Sam, who’s arguably the most pure-hearted person in all of Middle-Earth, Frodo would have definitely failed in his task. The reason why he resists the temptation to carry the One Ring is LITERALLY because him protecting and helping Frodo is more important to him. Sam doesn’t give two shits about power. Helping Frodo save the Shire and coming back to everything he’s ever loved is more important to him. 

Both Alina and Frodo are pure-hearted orphans who are given tremendous power: Alina is the Sun Summoner, and Frodo carries the One Ring. In both cases, power is represented as a corruptive force, that makes people go mad with greed. It works in the context of The Lord of the Rings, given how the rings were given to leaders of Elves, Dwarves and Men, and that Sauron created the One Ring to rule over and control all of them. The Grisha, on the other hand, unlike the Ring-bearers, are not in a position of power, given they are essentially victims of Fantastic Racism in pretty much every country. While Ravka treats them slightly better than in Fjerda or Shu Han, it’s still not ideal and it’s something that could be taken away from them at any moment. It would be an entirely different matter if the Grisha were the ones rulling over Ravka and viewing otkazat’sya as lesser, and in that context, Alina being the Sun Summoner would be a very obvious road to her becoming corrupted. 

Frodo refusing to carry the One Ring and asking other people to take that burden from him comes from a place of genuine fear of what the Ring might do to him. In his place, we’d probably all do the same thing. That’s what makes his acceptance of his task all the more admirable. Alina, on the other hand, refuses to be the Sun Summoner and to help her fellow Grisha because that stands in the way of her ending up with Mal. She never gives any sign that she’s truly empathizing with the Grisha’s plight, she tries to run away not once, but twice, and most importantly, she never sees herself as one of them. They are othered, but it matters little to her, because she doesn’t want to be othered herself, because that stands in the way of her running off with a boy. It’s basically the equivalent of Frodo being overcome by fear after seeing the fate of the Shire in Galadriel’s mirror, and just demanding to be sent to the Grey Havens straight away to save his own ass from it all and just leaving the One Ring to whoever wants to deal with it. At that point, it’s not being a Reluctant Hero: it’s being a coward at best, a selfish bastard at worst. 

(And that’s why I don’t really buy her when she tells Aleksander that they could have had it all if he had told her all the truth from the start, because... again, she didn’t seem to care about the Grisha that much and Aleks telling her everything would have actually been a sure way of having her run as fast as possible the other way. I know the story is trying to tell me otherwise and that the plot point I’m supposed to see here is that Alina was willing to do something until she felt betrayed by Aleks, which is... not what was shown here, and it’s especially annoying considering how Alina is a deserter in every sense of the word, and that any army would have court-martialed her for running away.) 

So if Alina is meant to be a pure, selfless heroine, who loses her powers because she also refuses to be greedy... that just falls completely flat, because if anything, she’s as selfish as Frodo is selfless, because all of this really just boils down to her wanting to run off with Mal. 

Now, onto Sam and Mal. Both of them are basically Everymen who are there to help the Hero and keep their feet on the ground. As mentioned earlier, Sam is the one who helps Frodo finish his mission to Mordor, and the story makes it clear Frodo would have failed without him. TGT meanwhile presents Mal as Alina’s “True North”... which could work on paper as Alina’s reminder to temper Aleksander’s efforts and to remind him that in order for Grisha to be viewed as people, it is important for them to also remember that balance and peace between Grisha and otkazat’sya will be essential, so resentment and hatred can be healed between both groups. 

The key difference here is that Sam is completely supportive of Frodo at all times. Even when Frodo sends him away in the film, Sam goes back after him the minute he realizes he’s been tricked by Gollum. He never shames Frodo whenever he falls prey to temptation, he simply reminds him of who he is and what he must fight for, and even when he’s climbing Mount Doom, he still carries Frodo on his back despite being probably completely exhausted, because Frodo’s more exhausted than he is. He completely accepts Frodo as both his friend, the Hobbit from the Shire, and the Ring-bearer he needs to help, even if he might die in the process. 

Mal (in the books, that is) makes it very clear that he does not accept Alina as both the girl he knew and the Sun Summoner. He only wants the girl, and whenever Alina makes steps towards being the Sun Summoner, he basically sulks and yells at her for not paying attention to him. Despite Alina becoming othered in the eyes of the world, he refuses to see her as othered, mostly because it is inconvenient to him rather than because he loves her for who she is. That’s why in the end, people feel like Alina lost her powers in order to be with Mal, because Mal would never accept her in her entirety. Sam, on the other hand, accepts Frodo as both Ring-bearer and Hobbit, because if he didn’t, Frodo would have failed. 

And while they made Mal in the show a lot nicer than his book counterpart, he still doesn’t work as Alina’s “True North”, because he cossets her in her selfishness. He may say he doesn’t care about how Alina is a Grisha in this one, but he also doesn’t consider the implications of it all - which is especially glaring given he’s a soldier himself. Like, look, if you’re going to slap in a racism plotline to make Mal/ina work, you’d think that being half-Shu would give Mal a little awareness that people are going to treat Alina badly for being half-Shu AND a Grisha, and given Alina is the MOTHERFUCKING SUN SUMMONER AND A SAINT, maybe, just maybe he’d tell her: “Heh, it’s kinda lame we’ll just run off and let everyone else in the dust, you know, especially since we could make our lives as well as everyone else’s better?” Seriously, if you’re going to make Mal Alina’s “True North”, have him face her duties and her calling whether she likes it or not, don’t coddle her when she wants to run the other way because she wants to hide under a rock for the rest of her life. 

With all that being said, that leaves us with the Darkling, who... I mean, given his whole schtick is that power corrupts and makes you evil and crazy, I guess that makes him Gollum, but sexy. 

Gollum, but sexy. 

That single expression has been haunting me ever since I started writing the above novel and I fucking hate it. You’re welcome. No one wanted Sexy Gollum. Absolutely no one. Fuck this shyte. See, this is why I want Darkling Redemption. I do not want to live in a world where Gollum is sexy. I need brain bleach. 

Even here it doesn’t even fucking work because Gollum hid in a cave with the Ring with a strategically placed cloth because no one wants to see his crusty ass family jewels anyway, while Aleks worked his ass off to give the Grisha a safe place to live and to at the very least ensure they’re useful enough to not be killed like animals. Like, if you’re going to give the world something that’s gonna definitely not make me sleep tonight like Sexy Gollum, at least do it right. 

[cocoabubbelle]

Opinions on Rings of Power: Ep. 3-4, and the overall series so far…

Firstly, I must say that it’s fun learning from the people I follow on the internet their differing opinions that range from enjoyment to disgust over the series.

Ex. One person can’t stand a character, while another loves them. Some are frustrated by how the show steers away from canon, while others who also read the original canons are intrigued. Even those who know little to nothing about the original works of Tolkien still vary in their overall reception to the show.

Again, Rings of Power is not my favorite adaptation of Tolkien’s works, but I’m still curious about it enough to keep watching.

Spoilers!

Other people were surprised that the mark of Sauron was a map an not an eye. Was I the only one who turned my head when I first saw the symbol in episode 1 and thought “that’s the Dark Tower”?

I don’t understand why people keep comparing Nori to Frodo and calling her the female version of him when she is CLEARLY the female Meriadoc Brandybuck.

Either the fallen elf dude the orcs worship had some magic that was able to mask all of their presence from the elves, or the elves of this show are seriously a lot weaker than those from the source material for the sake of drama and tension.

NOOO!!!! Not Arondir’s…friend??? I’m sorry, who was he supposed to be again?

Oh dang now all of them got killed except for Arondir. Fight scene was neat though.

Isildur’s father has a really rich voice that I could listen to all day.

Not really sure how I feel about the “defer” and “reapplying for admission” scene. It probably wouldn’t have sounded as forced if the writers figured out what the pre-medival versions of those terms/actions were.

I like Poppy more than Nori. That being said (and what I forgot to say in an earlier post), I think it’s really visually creative how Amazon chose to depict how the early hobbits camouflage themselves with their attire, their surroundings, and their portable homes.

I will be sad if Meteor Man turns out to be bad.

I feel like Rings of Power wants us to see potentially romantic chemistry between Halbrand and Galadriel. Sorry, but I don’t ship.

The dwarves continue to be the best part of this series; them and Durin + Disa’s friendship with Elrond. Bonus: loved the prayerful singing of the ritual to help the trapped dwarves.

I thought for sure that Durin’s dad had died sitting up before he and his son made up and I was genuinely panicking.

Oh great, the barman is an evil geezer trying to enable Theo’s already problematic behavior.

No Harfoots???

I think I would have an easier time understanding Galadriel’s actions and feelings were she a character other than Galadriel. Ex. Her daughter that Elrond eventually marries, or an original younger elf recruit that serves and admires Lady Galadriel but is also hotheaded and determined to prove herself but is often limited by her own short-sidedness, occasional immaturity, and elven pride. She’s an okay character, but she’s too different from the Galadriel we know from the books and the movies to be taken seriously: She’s impulsive when she should be rational; she cannot read social cues when she’s supposed to possess high-level empathy; she’s startled by the vision the palantir (?) gives her when she’s supposed to be a really skilled sorceress (I may be remembering this incorrectly, but I also think she’s supposed to know the future or it’s many possibilities); even mortal men keep pointing out how she’s no better than an immature child when she’s meant to be several earth’s ages older than nations. She feels more like an amalgamation of the surface qualities that someone thought the original Galadriel and Eowyn possessed with all other traits that made them more dimensional as characters discarded.

^^^BTW, for anyone who assumes that I wouldn’t have a problem with Galadriel’s characterization if she were a male: WRONG. He would be just as frustrating were he supposed to be Celeborn/Gandalf/any character who is canonically established to be wise, patient, empathetic (well, I guess Gandalf isn’t that patient but I digress 🤣), etc, yet the show chose to reinvent him as this watered down version who is a holier-than-thou know-nothing-know-it-all ready to start a fight with anyone who contradicts him.

Edit: I just learned that Jed Brophy is also in this series.

Dude’s everywhere.