#i am not projecting i would never project youre projecting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

power-handmaiden · 2 days ago

Text

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression.

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

#chuck tingle #2024 tingles my butt

444 notes · View notes

bloodygranuaile · 14 hours ago

Text

not to pick on anyone but i feel like post#3 in this thread is a perfect example of the problem mentioned in post#2. on social media, basically all you can do is espouse opinions. out in the real world, “support” as in “approve of” is one thing, but there’s also financial/material support, where you provide money or stuff; there’s emotional support, where you interact with the person directly to bolster their emotional state; there’s political support, where you do political organizing or mobilization to further their political projects/causes; there’s probably more. Some of them overlap (you can give money to a political project, etc.). but the post “people don’t think about how many kinds of support there are” is here followed by an attempt at *agreement* that just lists a variety of moral opinions you can have.

very few of us will ever be in a position of being able to feed someone to piranhas. what we might do is find ourselves in a position where we have to decide if someone’s behavior is bad enough that we cannot in good conscience give them money, recommend them a job, help find them a roommate, let them borrow our car, reassure them that their breakup is totally their ex’s fault, buy copies of their book, pay their bills just til they get back on their feet, run interference for them in a public scandal, run interference for them in a private conflict, vote for them in the primary, vote for them in the general, have your organization give them a big public endorsement and rack up 100s of volunteer hours knocking doors (these last 3 are VERY different levels of “supporting” an electoral campaign!), give a character witness for them in a trial, give to their GoFundMe, *run* their GoFundMe… there are people I would step in front of the riot cops for that I hope never to speak to again; there are people I can interact with just fine but I’d never lend them a dollar. I’ve got a political shitlist of “orgs/activists to avoid” that i’d never in a million years consider badmouthing on social media. “do i support x or not” is meaningless; the real question is “HOW am i supporting or not supporting x?”

Truly hate the way "did this person do something that actually harmed someone" and "do they deserve to be unpersoned for it" are considered the same question

31K notes · View notes

writingjourney · 3 days ago

Text

espresso stains // secondo

1k words, non-descript f!oc/third person reader (you can read this as my oc manon or just insert yourself/whoever), some self-esteem issues, reassurances, established relationship, mildly suggestive, 18+ MDNI

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

The espresso cup clinks gently as he sets it down on the matching saucer – ceramics irrevocably stained by years of use, adorned only by one clean brown line just below the rim, right where his mouth rested a moment ago. He sighs, weary after a full meal, licking the remains of coffee from his lips. An easy-going smile, a hand on her shoulder, kneading until the tension melts underneath his fingertips. Her own cup is empty, the tiny handle still trapped between two fingers, and he has to peel her hand away from it to fold it into his large palm.

"You know you don't always have to go out of your way to cook for me," she says.

"I am not going out of my way," he states.

Quiet, then, the rhythmic press of his thumb, gazes caught, that soft shimmer in his eyes when she relaxes under his touch.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asks.

"What?"

"To be taken care of."

His readings of her have become so precise that she thinks it must be written all over her face, how she doesn't feel like she deserves this level of attention, him standing in the kitchen for hours to feed her, running her baths, massaging her tense muscles, comforting her anxieties. It makes her want to cry, makes her feel like a child, that ever-present longing, a hunger for love that was never sated when she was small, and now that he offers her such care it is like she doesn't know how what to do with it.

"Not uncomfortable just–" She sits with the feeling, locates the core of it. "Unworthy."

He doesn't disagree but his brows pull together, the barest hint of tension giving him away. She chews on this reveal, though she has a suspicion that it is nothing new to him. It is hard to explain, how you can long for something so desperately and still find it impossible to accept.

"I find pleasure in it," he says after a while, still looking at her, still kneading. "Cooking for you, buying you things you would never buy for yourself, making sure you eat, rest, sleep."

He lifts her hand, pulling her towards him, and she follows willingly into his lap where he wanted her all along. His hands map out the shape of her, nose dragging up her shoulder, her neck, following the trail of her perfume with a soft hum.

"I find pleasure in taking care of you," he says, now so close, lips ghosting over her jaw.

"But– why?"

"Why?" he mirrors the questions. "Why does anyone? Because it is human, because we are made to care."

"Why me, then?"

Her hands find purchase on his shoulders just in time for him to lean back and away from her, searching her gaze. It displeases him, she knows this, when she speaks ill of herself, implicit– or explicitly.

"Because you are for me," he replies, as if that says it all. The long answer lies somewhere behind his eyes, the longing, that rare softness. For me, he says, meaning that she needs him, that for some reason he needs her too, that she has a deficiency and he has a surplus, that he too is lacking things only she can provide, that they are balancing the scales when they are together.

It scares her sometimes, to think that she is just a project to him, that one day the scales stop being even. The what ifs and what happens whens and the idea that he'll complete his mission and move on to someone who needs him more. He provides, it's what he does, he soothes and guides and teaches and brings relief to tensions that have been decades in the making. Would it be an illusion to think that he'll settle at last?

"No," he says, startling her awake just as her mind wraps around the question.

"No what?"

"You are in your head." His finger taps against her temple before his whole hand comes to splay out against the side of her head, a cocoon to trap her, so effective that the moment begins to feel real again. "I want you here with me, my dove."

"I suppose I am overthinking," she admits.

"As is your habit," he quips. "Always you slip somewhere else and I have to guess where it is, how to get you back."

She'd asked him once, after being intimate, after he'd admitted that he'd struggled to feel fulfilled in the past, who takes care of you, Secondo? And he'd been so sad at the question, but then he'd said, you do, perhaps you are the only one who does. It had been hard to imagine, then, that a man like him, so independant, so stoic and strong, could truly have need of her. But he had been genuine, perhaps the most genuine she'd ever seen him.

"I want to take care of you too," she states.

His lips curve. It's not much of a confession by any means, something she'd said in the past when he'd been so generous that she'd felt so very limited in her means to reciprocate. But somehow it weighs heavier tonight. He's a man so set in his ways, so used to being by himself in the moments when it matters, the stain of years of use, cracked ceramics glued together by spite, repressed pain of a lifetime yellowing the bottom of the cup like rings of old coffee. He doesn't have to pour it himself anymore, and perhaps it's enough that he knows.

"Will you accept me now?" he asks. "Let me take care of you in the way I've been wanting to all night?"

She nods, just so, and his hands dip low again, dragging her hips forward until they're pressed together. They share a sweet moan before their mouths come searching the other's taste, coffee and amarettini, the wine he picked for dinner. It's unhurried, slow and sensual, the type of kiss that doesn't immediately lead anywhere but bridges that gap between wanting and having, between need and relief.

Secondo's chair scrapes against hard wooden floor when he picks her up, carries her to the sofa where he'll have her for an hour or so, indulging in those very kisses, drawing them out before he thinks to take his time with her in bed throughout the night. Two empty cups on the table, a candle slowly burning out. He's not going out of his way, he said, and she knows he's right where he wants to be.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

this is another little ficlet that i took from what will hopefully be a full fic at some point but that i think works on its own as well. thank you for indulging me <3

#manondo #secondo x oc #secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x oc #papa emeritus ii x reader #reader insert #this has nothing to do with the song btw lmao

85 notes · View notes

lostatsea-blog · 1 day ago

Text

Aftermath Part 3 (Final Part)

Alexia Putellas x England Reader

Warnings: None

The immediate aftermath of the ACL injury. This is a 3 part fic and will go between different POVs

Alexia’s POV

The knocking continued and you felt yourself becoming frustrated. It was likely one of you team and while you knew they meant well; you wanted to be left alone. You managed to use your crutch to hobble over to the door and pulled it open ready to scold whoever was on the other side but the words died on your lips when your eyes landed on the one face you had wanted to see since this nightmare started.

Y/N stood on the other side of your door, her eyes filled with concern as she took in your appearance and in that instant, you felt the dam break. Tears streamed down your face and your body began to crumple. Strong hands caught you before you hit the floor and manoeuvred you back to the bed. You felt her strong arms wrap around you and she held you while you cried. She did not say anything or tell you that it would all be okay, which you appreciated, she was just there. Her presence bringing you comfort.

“I’ve got you baby,” she whispered in your ear whilst stroking your hair “I’ve got you”

After what felt like an eternity, you finally ran out of tears. Your body, which had been rigid with tension since your injury this morning, slumped against your girlfriend. Her strong steady heartbeat under your ear bringing a sense of clam to your exhausted brain.

“què fas aquí? (What are you doing here?)” You finally ask, “You are supposed to be in camp.”

“Maria contacted Serena” she explained “Sarina has given me time to come here and be with you. Maria was worried, she said you hadn’t spoken to anyone, wouldn’t eat and hadn’t cried”

“You did not have to come” You whisper trying to pull yourself together “You have a tournament to try and win and don’t need to be pulled down by a failure like me” Your self-deprecating words triggered something in Y/N and she took a firm hold of your face, forcing you to look at her

“Stop” she commanded you firmly “Stop with this self-depreciation. You are Alexia fucking Putellas and you are far from a failure! I have never known anyone to work as hard as you do for their team. This is a setback, a devastating setback but a setback. You will come back stronger than ever”

“What if I don’t want to come back?” You ask, your voice barely about a whisper “I am so tired, what if this how it ends”

“My love, you are tired because you carry so much on your shoulders and do not allow yourself time to rest” Y/N sighed “Alexia, you do not have to carry the expectation of an entire nation on your shoulders, there are others who can help carry that burden” she kisses the side of your face as she finishes her words

“I am scared” you admit and Y/N pulls you closer ensuring you can feel her support “I am scared of coming back different and not being able to play the way I have. I do not want to be an embarrassment to you” You utter these last words while staring at the bedsheets below. You could not bring yourself to look and see your fears confirmed. After your recovery, you will come to understand that you were projecting your own fears onto Y/N but she was a woman who didn’t take anyone’s shit. You felt her fingers lifting your chin so that you were looking in her eyes.

“I did not fall in love with you because you are Alexia Putellas, La Reina, Ballon d’Or winner. I fell in love with Alexia, my Lex, funny, kind, sweet, goofy, clumsy, shy but above all perfectly imperfect. I fell in love with you, not your football persona” She wiped away tears that you did not realise had started to fall “If you never kick a football again, I will still love you and be immensely proud of you” she promised “but I know that is not how you want to bow out”

“How do you come here and turn everything on it’s side” you ask finding it difficult to understand the change in your mood. Everything felt a little less dark

“On it’s head” she corrected and at your raised eyebrow she clarified “The saying is turn everything on it’s head and to answer, the most important job I have is my job as your partner. I have always told you if you need me, I don’t care what I am doing, I will be there” she leaned forward and took your lips in a gentle kiss. You felt her love surge through your connected lips and again, things felt a little less dark. You knew that the road ahead would be long and it would bring challenges but you had all the support you needed to get through it. while the Euros were not on the cards for you - you had twelve months to make it to the World Cup.

#alexia x reader #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femeni x reader #fcb femení #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #barcelona women #alexia putellas

84 notes · View notes

reallyromealone · 3 days ago

Text

Title: quirkless

Fandom: Tokyo revengers, bnha

Characters: mikey, power loader, reader

Fic type: reader insert, omegaverse

Pairings: Mikey x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, fluff, omegaverse, quirkless reader, Omega male reader, soulmate reader

Notes: this is a Patreon exclusive, all other chapters are on my patreon , I just thought this was a good way to advertise

Summary: on a rainy day, (name) decided to hide in an old shrine to get away from the rain but didn't expect to meet Mikey, a quirkless alpha

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸��🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The rain was heavy, (name) sighing while seeking cover inside the old shrine. The rain was clearly not going to let up and (name) couldn't let the documents in his bag get ruined... So he guessed he was hanging out here till it let up or his cousin could pick him up.

It was quiet in the shrine, deterioration over the years and he was frankly surprised it held up at all. ' might as well work on stuff while I'm waiting' he thought and pulled out his work, wanting to be helpful to his cousin and his projects "it would have to be... 'gari... You got this measurement off..." He mumbled and fixed his cousin's error without a care in the world, the iPhone his cousin bought him working as his calculator for this all.

He was thankful for his cousin taking him after everything, he was only in his 20s and took (name) in regardless.

It really meant a lot.

Especially with well... What (name) was.

A hero taking in a quirkless Omega?

Unheard of.

"You shouldn't be here" a voice called out and (name) snapped his head up to see a blond standing before him cold back eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

Mikey didn't know why he was compelled to show up to the old shrine, haven't been there since he was 16 and now at the age of 19 he still remembered every detail, parking his bike off and out of the rain and stepped up. Half way he turned around, a familiar vantage point and swore he heard the old Toman members call out before continuing up, those feelings pushed down and continued his climb to the shrine.

It was untouched by time, the graffiti Baji did still on the door and signatures they did on the wooden frame...

He traced Drakens carefully....

"'gari, I know you're smart but seriously what does this mean?! I don't speak your weird jot notes!"

Mikey was confused before walking in, footsteps silent and he couldn't help but stare at the Omega based off the collar, working away on some blueprints without a note of the world around him.

"You shouldn't be here" the words slipped out calmly and the Omega snapped his head up, clearly frustrated "I'm sorry?" The words coming out like a question, eyes locking.

Then he felt it.

And he could tell the Omega felt the same.

"You're not gonna want me" (name) said simply, trying to move this along... He always thought of this day, lifting a paper and trying to figure out the codes his cousin used "why would you assume I wouldn't?" Mikey asked pointedly and (name) snorted "quirkless male Omega... Not exactly the most wanted" (name) looked back at him.

"You're quirkless?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"So am I"

That made (name) halt "you are?"

"So why wouldn't I want you?"

(Name) Couldn't believe his ears, he didn't plan this one...

Mikey wasn't expecting to find himself chatting for hours with this mystery Omega who sat beside him and chatted with him like he was his oldest friend.

"So Mikey, are you even interested in pursuing this?" (Name) Asked genuinely, knees pulled up and head resting on his knee caps with a sweet smile that made Mikey's alpha swoon a bit.

"Do you want to?"

"I'm not sure, I never expected you to stick around... I always imagined my fated mate to be disappointed with the whole quirkless thing..."

"Same" Mikey never bothered since he was a child, focusing on toman and now Kanto... "Maybe take it slow?" (Name) Offered and Mikey huffed a laugh, something he hadn't done in years "take it slow? Sure" his life was fast and busy but for this stranger... He found himself willing to go slow for him.

When the rain inevitably lifted, (name) was happy "well, I better get going before my cousin thinks I'm dead or something" (name) offered his hand to Mikey to help him up, the Alpha taking his hand and the two directly before each other "you have an email?" (Name) Asked softly, the smell of burning wood and spices radiating off the alpha, making (name) feel hazy.

Mikey could smell the sweet scent of (scent) and already felt obsessed with every aspect of the Omega, not wanting him to leave already...

"Wanna meet here tomorrow? Same time?" (Name) Asked him looking at him with an expression that made Mikey want to kiss him,was this the cupids arrow he always heard about with soulmates?

"Yes."

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #omegaverse #bonten x reader #omega male reader #x male reader #anime x male reader #anime x reader #mikey x male reader #mikey x reader #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader

105 notes · View notes

auroras-void · 3 days ago

Text

*I'm* one of those feminine women who's attracted to this sorta blue collar work.

Have recently been seriously considering making a 180 from CS to working to become a General Contractor. I'm good at desk work, sometimes very good, but the thing is, long term any variation of it just makes me miserable in a way that working with my hands just doesn't. I fucking love working all day on my family's project house.

But the main thing that's stopping me from stepping on up from there and turning it into a career is sexism.

Like CS has it's own problems with it, and there's some crazy shit there, but it's at least getting better. But like, with construction, I haven't even needed to so much as dip my toes in to experience it. 80% men sucks ass, but it's a hell of a lot better than 95%.

My family has a couple of contractors they work with, most of them are friends, but I still see it right away. Like, I'm by no means an expert, I only really know what my dad taught me and what I've taught myself. But I've had them immediately assume I have no experience and try to teach me like I've never held a saw in my life before despite knowing who I am, or I had an electrician ask about the existing wiring and he instantly assumed that my brother knows more than me*.

And those are just these small little things but they piss me off so fucking much, and I can tell how indicative they are of so much more. It's like people see a woman and their eyes just glaze over me. Which on the one hand is very gender affirming but in the other makes my blood fucking boil.

So like if it's that bad just from the briefest of encounters. Being fully immersed in that kinda culture regularly, experiencing the *real* shit out there there, that just sounds like fucking hell.

Particularly given that I'm trans. I would sooner die than tone down my feminity for someone else. And I can pass stealth, even on a worksite, but I *know* there's still gonna be fuckers out there who will just see me as a man who needs to be bullied into conformity, or who think that working in construction somehow invalidates my transition. And, just I swear to god I'ma fucking murder someone if I have to work in that environment.

So... like ... ig... rotting at a desk it is then.

Like, I think I might still take some classes for my own sake and chip away at it. But I don't think I'm going to be looking at any apprenticeships or anything.. I'm.. not ready for that yet...

---

** (I literally got into this shit and got good at it *after* I transitioned ffs, I didn't enjoy it until I realized I could do it for it's own sake, until I didn't feel pressured into liking it to "toughen up" or "act more manly". I am a woman above all else, and no one has the power to overrule me on that.)

*(he's fucking clueless here, he's a poli sci dude who shows up maybe once a month in a fuckin dress shirt, he's your guy for election coverage and statistics, not construction. Meanwhile, I'm literally wearing my toolbelt and a roofing helmet with knee pads and my work outfit. I was literally the person who *did* the little bit of functional wiring repairs in that house).

There was a time when women did these jobs.

Some of them really liked the work and were keen to continue doing it. But society basically told them to collectively "get back in the kitchen" when the men returned home from war.

The tradition of conditioning women, from birth, to have a distaste for these jobs continued. Young girls are discouraged from even taking an interest in the toys representing these occupations. God forbid they put Barbie in the firetruck.

The truth is, most men do not want women doing these jobs. They complain about how dangerous this work is and use that as a metaphorical bludgeon in debates about equality. But when women actually try to be firefighters and combat infantry, they are told they *can't* do these jobs. They are inferior. Those who are hired have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. They are inundated with sexism and misogyny. And many end up quitting, not because they aren't qualified or they don't like the work, but because their male coworkers make the jobs intolerable.

And instead of fighting to make these occupations safer and valued properly, these men just complain that feminists don't know how hard it is and how they don't understand what it's like to risk their lives for no money or benefits. And then rich assholes like Elon stoke these flames because he doesn't want these men to realize this is a class struggle rather than a culture war. And that feminists and "woke activists" would actually be wonderful allies in helping them get better conditions.

Lastly, there are feminists talking about this. There are plenty of non-men interested in these jobs. But I doubt Elon keeps up with very much feminist discourse other than what he invents in his imagination.

Beyond that, feminists can't seem to prioritize stuff like this in the mainstream because they are too busy trying to regain control of their uteruses.

Did I miss anything?

Oh yeah, fuck Elon and fuck "End Wokeness".

#rb #personal

3K notes · View notes

tinkerbellknockoff · 3 days ago

Text

chemistry // jinx x fem!reader

chemistry // college!jinx x fem!reader

you've never been the greatest at sciences- you were aware of that. being placed into general chemistry to fulfill a lab requirement for college forced you to face your fears: writing lab reports and talking to pretty teacher assistants.

- college au

warnings: cursing

-- a/n: gonna be slightly projecting when talking about how bad reader is at chemistry lol

you thought the cliche chemistry professor that made absolutely no sense was only for the movies. but sitting here on a stool, watching the professor measure and start mixing chemicals that you couldn't even catch the name of made you flabbergasted and honestly- a little bit annoyed.

at your university, you were required to take one semester of a laboratory class. that's only about what- four months? you thought that was going to be a breeze- just get it out of the way, and you'll never have to touch a science class again! hopefully.

it had been about two-ish weeks of your general chemistry class, and by whatever is holy... you were miserable. unfortunately for you, your lab partner seemed to be on the same wavelength as you: massively confused. which, in a way, could be comforting because hey- you're not alone! on the other hand... your grades are screwed. and, unfortunately, you actually cared about your gpa.

the second half of your misery came from the fact you loathed asking for help. throughout high school, it was a breeze being able to figure out solutions to all of your problems, but now... you basically had to find every single resource that could help you. and, unfortunately, none of them did. you've never felt more lost in your life, which is how you have led to your position now.

slipping your backpack over your right shoulder, you then lightly draped your lab coat over your arm as you walked up to your chemistry professor. you decided it was finally time for you to ask for help- and by god, did it take some encouragement. there were still a few stragglers in the room- there being the professor, you, a couple of your peers, and the gorgeous blue-haired teacher assistant.

her name was jinx. she was recommended by another chemistry professor- professor silco, if you remember his name right- which gave her the job opportunity to ta a few general chemistry classes. honestly, she had helped you out a couple of times- she was a saint.

on the other hand, she terrified the living hell out of you. jinx, in the simple two weeks that you have spent in this general chemistry lab (two times per week, so maybe four times in the lab total) showed how... chaotic she was. in the first class, she was idly lounging around in random spots of the classroom, sitting on tables with littered chemical substances, and playing with one of the bottles in her hands. you remember, in that class, she seemed bored since it was simply laboratory rules and basics- but ever since the class started doing experiments? she seemed like the happiest girl in the world.

the professor made pretty basic explanations to questions he was asked- he was a little sassy, though. he'd say your name repeatedly, chastising you, then go, "haha! i am joking. wasn't that funny?"

... no. it was never funny.

then jinx. she would quickly prance to you the second you had your hand raised, entering your personal space as she would begin rapidly explaining, and would sometimes even begin doing the experiment for you. you loved it when that happened. honestly, even throughout that chaotic nature, she would explain things decently well. she talked a lot, but she was still able to deliver her understanding pretty well. you admired her for that.

even though she was incredibly helpful, in all honesty- you hated when she would be the one to come after you raised your hand.

she was too pretty. you couldn't focus.

"well, toots," is how she would always begin the explanation for you. you couldn't quite catch if she called literally anyone else that, but it was almost humorous how she always started off with those two words. you almost felt special. then, it would be how she'd lightly grab your hips to move you out of her way so she'd be able to access the experiment better- and even with you on the side, her side would still be brushing yours.

when she spoke, she never spoke to both you and your lab partner. her pink eyes seemed to stare you down. you were too scared to break the eye contact, and the more you reciprocated the staring the more entertained she seemed to be, her violet eyes swirling. you couldn't take it.

that happened every. single. time.

and every single time you felt like you were going to burst.

so, talking to the professor, you hoped to god he would just offer his office hours.

"hello, professor," you spoke, eventually standing in front of his desk, and he turned to look at you. he gave a smile (a little bit chaotic, you thought this profession was great for him), and he said your name in greeting.

"how can i help you?"

"i was hoping there would be some sort of office hours i could go to..." you spoke, swallowing your pride, "i was looking for some help with the lab reports and saw that your office hours were for request only."

he hummed in acknowledgment, giving you an understanding look, "okay. have you checked the tutoring center?"

you nodded, "yeah. all of the open tutoring sessions for gen chem are all when i have other classes."

"that sucks a ton, toots."

her voice came out of what seemed like nowhere. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, but you kept your seemingly relaxed demeanor as you turned your head into her direction, her eyes automatically locking onto yours. she already had a chaotic grin on her face, her pink eyes swirling with entertainment, "i could help ya out."

the professor seemed to not care for jinx's bubbly behavior, "could you, jinx? your times would possibly be more flexible than mine."

.... fuck.

jinx eagerly nodded, "don't worry about it. would be an honor to give a pretty girl some help!"

was that appropriate to say?

the professor didn't have a care in the world as he thanked jinx, and then waved you two off, telling them to go schedule times to be able to meet, and giving the reassurance that he would be able to for extra support if you needed it.

you walked out of the lab, jinx seeming hot on your tail. she loosely grabbed her bag along the way, it hanging off her shoulder in a similar fashion to yours. eventually, in the hallway, you turned to face her properly. all you had to do was schedule some times, leave, eventually actually do the meetings, then bam! you're done! don't have to be threatened by a pretty girl no longer!

"so, toots. wanna talk about times over dinner?" jinx winked at you.

you had to take a sharp inhale after that. oh my gosh? was this professional? was this allowed? you don't think she cared. at all, actually.

"cat got your tongue?" jinx looked amused at your silence, her violet eyes staring at your expression, looking like a deer in headlights. "you're very expressive."

you cleared your throat, deciding to ignore that comment. takes one to know one. eventually, you found your words, "... fine. right now?"

you got it! look, you can talk to her. nice and easy!

her entertained expression and grin never left her face as she nodded her head, her bright blue hair bouncing in the movement. "i mean, when else could i possibly catch ya?"

"i dunno, email exists." you retort, you don't see her the reason for her to insist on going out to dinner to make plans.

"boring!" jinx continued grinning at you. doesn't her face ever start to hurt, "we can just go to the dining hall! c'mon, toots, don't be a snoozefest."

and to that, you finally caved in. her excitement seemed to elevate even more than it originally was as she started to basically bounce off the walls (not really, you're being dramatic), grabbing your hand. you were practically yanked, having to hold the lab coat in your arm tighter to make sure it didn't get dropped on the way. she energetically spoke to you the entire way, effortlessly guiding you, not caring if you were stumbling at any moment. you were surprised her relatively small statue had this much muscle. she was acting like she took 5 shots of expresso and did a line of coke.

hopefully, she didn't actually do that.

she kept rambling your head off as you both waited in line for your food. your dining hall offered an assortment of shops, which led you to get pasta, and right now you were waiting in line for the burger shop next to jinx. she eventually let your hand go, but you noticed over time that she always was touching you in some fashion. right now, her bicep was brushing against yours, her head tilted in your direction as she rambled on about some sort of engineering project she had taken up. you learned through her talking that she was a biochemical engineering major. so, basically, she was super smart. you're a psychology major, which caused her to erupt in a small fit of laughter when you told her,

"so what are you doing in chemistry, toots?! why not take like... i dunno, meteorology!"

that elicited a pout from you, scoffing, causing jinx to look at you with amusement in her eyes as she laughed harder, "you're so funny, toots! i couldn't get enough of you."

she was proving her statement.

you and jinx ate dinner together, and after some coaxing of the conversation, you got her to agree to a few study sessions over the next couple of months. every other sunday you two would meet up at the library, and have about a two-hour session covering the content from the prior two weeks. that sounded fair enough. you didn't know if two hours was necessary, but jinx insisted, believing that was the "sure way to shove everything into your noggin". you were humored by her wording of it.

even after you both had long finished your food, she insisted on sitting with you for a little bit longer, claiming that she was having the time of her life getting to know you. her behavior made you so flushed- but you tried your damned hardest to refrain from it showing. you tried desperately to act nonchalant, which jinx continuously called your bluff on, leading you to be super defensive, to which she would continue to tease you more.

"c'mon, toots!" jinx giggled. she was sitting across from you at a table, her elbow resting on top and her hand holding her head as she kept her other hand on the table, tapping her nails rhythmically, "tell me more about ya."

you were reclined back, slightly hunched in the seat as you hummed thoughtfully. your arms were crossed in front of you, which jinx found humorous. she could tell you were still a little bit shy.

"what do you want to know?" you humored jinx.

"anything. anything at all, as long as it's about you," jinx winked in your direction, her eyes never once leaving your direction, "... any... boyfriend?"

that question startled you. your eyes met hers once more. she was lightly chewing on the bottom of her lip, her eyes basically devouring you as she waited for your answer in anticipation. jinx's breath basically hitched in her throat with excitement as you shook your head,

"no. broke up with my girlfriend before college."

jinx clearly seemed giddy after your statement, only a blind man wouldn't be able to tell. you examined her behavior after, blinking, your thoughts finally catching up to you.

holy shit. you basically felt yourself erupt into flames, could she like me?

"aww, damn, toots!" jinx said, but the sympathy rolling off her tongue was feigned, "that sucks. any reason why?"

you shrugged, sitting up and fixing your posture, folding your elbows onto the table and leaning forward. "wasn't a good fit. you live and you learn, i guess. what can you do?"

jinx understood, her thoughts racing with pure excitement. jinx realized she had a chance- and she wasn't the one to let chances slip up.

so, for the next couple of months, she used the tutoring sessions as an excuse to get to know you. she would claim every half hour that you two had to take a break, and then ask you questions about your day, your week, and everything that could come to mind. you warmed up to her behavior, which made her feel so elated- you began to reciprocate all of her talking. she loved talking to you.

so, when your last session came, jinx was bummed. jinx stared at you longingly, which you didn't seem to notice as you flipped through the data you had gathered during your most recent lab, scanning between it and the lab report, making sure that you didn't miss anything important. you, with the help of jinx, were doing stellar in chemistry. you couldn't have thanked jinx more.

you brought your bag up onto your lap to grab a few folders, slipping the papers inside, packing up. jinx continued to stare at you longingly, her pink eyes unusually soft as she stared you down. eventually, you glanced up, meeting her eyes. she quickly changed her expression, looking more neutral.

"jinx, i really thank you enough," you spoke up, her heart soaring at the praise. but that elation dropped as she saw you stand up, causing her to quickly follow behind, moving to walk beside you as you two began to leave the library.

"it was really nothing, toots. what was i meant to do, let a pretty girl like you fail?"

those words sounded like something she said at the very beginning of all this. that caused a laugh to slip out of your lips as you bumped your shoulder gently with hers. she pushed the door open for the two of you, the cold winter air hitting the two of you in a gust.

walking a little further away from the door, you two stopped and stared at each other for a moment. jinx for once felt the words catch in her throat as her eyes met yours. you looked so cute, your nose slightly turning red from the winter air hitting your face.

you noticed her gaze. her pupils were blown as she was dead silent, something very uncharacteristic for jinx, causing you to examine her eyes with yours. when she noticed this, she met your gaze, both of you seeming to devour each other with your eyes, before you cleared your throat.

"so, this is it, huh?" you sheepishly giggle, holding onto the straps of your side satchel. your words, as corny as it is to say, almost broke jinx's heart on the spot then. it was just tutoring- why did she feel like it was the end of the world?

"... i hope it's not." jinx spoke, her voice abnormally quiet. your eyebrows rose at her unusual demeanor, your head tilting and causing your hair to flow to the side. jinx's eyes looked over every single one of your movements, absolutely infatuated with the way you moved- the way you were you.

no one had ever been any more perfect in her eyes.

"how do you mean?"

jinx cleared her throat, "would it be bad if i did something right now? that... you may or you may not like?"

your eyebrows furrowed at the question. what the hell did that mean? but, as your lips parted, you weren't given the option to question her as she grabbed the sides of your face with her clammy and cold hands, smashing her lightly chapped lips against your soft ones.

the kiss was startling for you, your eyes open wide in shock, being able to see the way that jinx so harshly had her eyes closed, her hands keeping you right against her. as if you would slip through her fingers. so, after finding your bearings, you finally closed your eyes, relaxing as you began to reciprocate the kiss.

jinx felt like she was on cloud nine, holding you as tightly as possible against her. your lips tasted like heaven to her, her being able to taste the chapstick that she saw you always use, one that she always watched glaze over your lips. she was doing what she fantasized about doing for so fucking long.

and to her excitement, you were kissing her back.

after a few moments, she parted the kiss panting. both of your eyes fluttered open as you both lightly panted, small puffs of white smoke leaving your mouths. you locked eyes with hers, both of your pupils blown wide. you were both impossibly close to each other, allowing you to hear jinx's faint whisper,

"i like you," her eyes scanned over your face, "a lot."

a laugh left your mouth. she loved hearing your laugh- but in this context, it almost made her petrified until she saw the bright smile that was on your lips.

"i like you, too."

#jinx x reader #jinx #powder #wlw #arcane #college #college au #x reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #jinx x y/n #jinx x you #jinx x female reader #jinx arcane #reader insert #fem reader #alternate universe

138 notes · View notes

urautismdiagnosis · 3 days ago

Text

Peso

Peso my lil Habibi <3 <3 <3

hes just a top tier character

my Hispanic coded son, mylil guy who's learning how to believe in himself

i just I lovepeso guys he's so pure and supportive and caring and lighthearted and silly and he's really doing his best??

he could probably cure my mentally illness with a bandage I'm sure

imgonna be so real I think he has game tho, like I'm 300% he could pull any maiden

he can become friends with like any sea creature too probably

hes my hero and my son and I think he low-key judges everyone internally

cuz like idk if y'all have met people who refuse to swear out loud verbally and hate confrontation, but the internal dialogue omg

i just know one of these days if he gets pushed too far hes gonna threaten someone with his slappity flippers

like y'all know the look birds do where they just sideye you??

that glance???

i think he does that whenever people do things that are stupid

like he loves them all dearly but shellington why would you touch The THing That Will Hurt you, no shellington you cant eat that for science-

Also I think he and dashi would listen to music together i think they might spend evenings relaxing together. I mean their rooms are right next to eachother so like I'm sure they've had some lovely little evening conversations and stuff 🥰 i can just imagine dashi tryna teach peso yoga and like 😩🙏his penguin body wasn't built for it but he still slays

Hes like the little sibling but in the actually I am the most mature way???

I think its cuz he looks up to alot of the other members (altho he's definitely gotten alot more confident as the show has progressed) but he also like..

He gives me the vibes of the oldest sibling of not just the siblings but of all the cousins??? This might just be me projecting but like why did u even become a medic for such a wide range of medical creatures and sign up to join the newly formed highly experimental water nasa???

I think he probably had alot of high expectations on himself because everyone just always believed he could do anything. And that sounds super supportive in theory but when ur like tryna be the oldest and first one to support ur family and everyone is always looking at u because like.. most other people in ur family are younger or ehatever.. that pressure and extra attention can cause alot of perfectionism and high self standards

That mixed with being The Caretaker in your family especially as a child is a pretty good recipe for getting anxious about any big goal in your life and how others perceive you. I think he tried to like humble himself by saying oh no I'm not really capable of all those amazing things so pls don't have those huge expectations hahaha but then it just turned into not believing in himself as much???

Also we slay genuinely caring and kind people having alot of pent up frustration they never show because they love everyone too much. It still hurts inside tho.

Anyways uhhhhhhhhhhh this totally ain't me projectin or anythin.

also hes like a mixed kid, but he's mostly gentoo penguin id say based on my own design

speaking of penguins I think that their homes would be actually made of stone lol. Their homes would have like different smaller homes for privacy around like communal areas.. they still gotta deal with predstors like albatross or ehstever tho. But their albatross for example might work in groups or even be larger.

Friendly reminder my lore for the octonauts is a bit different than the Canon. Sure People People being like hunted is wayyyy less common than irl but They're basically still playing their evolutionary roles kinda like how we see with sea otters in the show.

I'm gonna make the post for their social norms and etc on this within the next few days actually lol but back to peso

Do u guys ever think peso wouldve jumpscared the crew by being like "oh no the shelf is too tall!" And then busting out the "hey did you know that penguin legs are just folded and much horrifically longer than ud think they are?" On them 😩🙏

"Wh- why would ye show me this??"

" because no one will ever believe you"

Hes very sweet but I think he deserves to be a little bit of a sneaky sht

If uve made it this far thanks for reading the brainrot I hope it was comprehensible pls lmk ur headcanons about him cuz I need more ngl

#octonauts #my art #octonauts peso

41 notes · View notes

sammybunny711 · 2 days ago

Text

WRITING UPDATE

I began writing Morgoth's Shadow on 11/20/24. Today is 1/6/25. In 48 days, I have written 100,003 words on this project. This came after 4 years of barely writing anything due to life craziness and becoming a parent in 2020. I thought my creativity had gone underground and would never come out to play again. I've never been happier to be wrong. I have reestablished my daily writing habit and am so excited to be making so much progress. I have absolutely no fear that I will finish this fic. I have it all planned, it just needs the writing to go with the ideas. Thank you to everyone for your encouragement on this fic and this journey. I am elated. I'm going out to celebrate tonight with my little family. 🥰🥰🥰

#trop fics #trop fic #Trop #Rings of power #Morgoth's Shadow #My fanfic #Writing #Fanfic writers #Writing update #haladriel #saurondriel

35 notes · View notes

fangirlstorycreator · 3 days ago

Text

Alastor X Reader:

Context: When you discover it's Alastor's birthday, you want to suprise him with a thoughtful gift. But would it be one he'd like? And how would he show his appreciation?

Part 1/2

Shouting, swearing and things being thrown and broken had just startled you awake after a terrible nights sleep. Just like every other morning in the hotel. Why did Angel and Husk always have to be at eachothers throats? Just once, you'd like to wake up normally, without being disturbed. But, it wasn't like your afterlife was easy, it was hell. Groaning as you sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes, still hearing Angel and Husk argue like an old married couple.

"Uugghh, please shut up you two"

This was the 5th time this week they'd done this. They didn't listen to Charlie when she asked them politely to stop, well, with your eye bags and pounding headache, they were about to be asked in a more aggressive tone. Once you were dressed, you made your way down the hallway, with a face like thunder, not wanting them to fuck up your sleep anymore. When you reached the top of the main staircase, you see Angel and Husk at the bar, Charlie desperately trying to calm them down, Vaggie struggling to get Nifty down from the curtains, and Alastor is sat on the sofa with Lucifer and Pentious.

"Angel, come on, let's just go for a walk huh?"

"Why the fuck would I wanna do that Charlie?! I ain't leavin till Whiskers hear says sorry to me!"

"I already told you! Don't call me Whiskers!"

"Then don't call me fake you stupid moth'a-"

"SHUT UP!!"

You scream down the staircase, making everyone go silent. The only ones who look slightly impressed are Alastor, Lucifer and Vaggie.

"For the love of god! You guys haven't let me get a decent night sleep all fucking week! I don't care what started this stupid little argument, but it's ending now! And I swear, if you wake me up with this stupid little war of yours one more time! I'll shove a vodca bottle so far up your asses, you'll be tasting it for a month!"

"There uh, there ain't no need to be like that toots-"

"Oh really Angel? There isn't? Tell that to my fucking headaches! You've both been asked by Charlie nicely to stop, but neither of you listened. Well now, your getting it from me! Both of you, grow the fuck up!"

".............I'm sorry toots"

"...Yeh...sorry"

Angel and Husk both say, embarrassed and unable to look you in the eye, Alastor and Vaggie just chuckle under their breath.

"Good. Now, I suggest you both make yourself useful and help Charlie by doing that project she wanted you both to help her with"

"Aww! But toots-"

"(Sturn look, raised eyebrow)"

"A'right, fine. C'mon Husk"

Charlie looks so relived, she mouths the words thank you before taking Angel and Husk to the activities room down the hall. When they leave, you exhale, rubbing at your temples walking to the bar, and grabbing a drink. In fear of you still being angry, Vaggie, Nifty and Pentious slip up the stairs. Alastor on the other hand, stands up from the sofa, leaving Lucifer and sitting on the bar stool infront of you.

"Bravo my dear! I am rather impressed. I won't deny, I came very close to doing something along those lines myself. But you beat me too it! And dare I say, in a much more entertaining fashion"

"Those two have been driving me crazy! Charlie's sweet, but those two need something more firm"

"I absolutely agree. I must say, it was quite possibly one of the most enjoyable moments I've experienced for quite some time. Even more entertaining than when Charlie's little father came along"

"Eh! I'm not little"

"Aha! You keep thinking that"

Lucifer scoffed, turning away and playing with a little yellow duck in a kings crown.

"I say my dear, you do look rather exhausted. Might a nap be beneficial to you?"

"I would if I could. Even when I was alive, no matter how hard I tried, I could never nap unless I was ill or on holiday"

"Well, why not imagine your on your holiday?"

"Alastor, have you seen where we are?"

"Hm, quite right. You have a point. Ah well, at least you mother'd those two imbesils into stopping their squabbles. They shouldn't make that same mistake again, not if they want to remain unharmed"

"I'm not usually like that. Just with a lack of sleep, I don't know what came over me"

"Worry not my dear, all of us hear know your not a spiteful or nasty person. In fact, since I've known you, I have often wondered on many occasions, why you ended up in hell rather than heaven"

"That's a story for another time Alastor"

"Of course, I wouldn't want to cross your boundaries. Ah! Would you look at the time, I must take my leave. I have a scheduled time to see my good friend Rosie. You remember Rosie don't you?"

"Yeh, the nice overlord from Cannibal Town"

"That's her. I'll tell her you said hello. I do hope you have a pleasant day my dear. (Kisses your hand) And Lucifer...eh..."

Alastor flips Lucifer the middle finger as he leaves, pissing him off, his horns slightly showing when his eyes glow red. They're relationship was just as bad as Angel and Husk.

"Just ignore him Lucifer, he just wants to get a rise out of you"

"Yeh, well it's fucking working. Hey? You mind grabbing me a drink?"

"Sure, what are you having?"

"Uuuuuuuumm? I'll have an old fashioned. Oh oh! And can you put it in a wide glass? I wanna float my little ducky in there"

You giggle at his cute request, he loved his ducks. After making him a drink, he sits next to you too, floating his little duck in the drink with a giddy smile and big shiny eyes.

"Hey, can I just say, Alastor wasn't the only one who liked the way you spoke to those two"

"I kind of guessed you did. Your eyes were darting back and forth between me an them. Like a child trying to listen in on a conversation he's not supposed to"

"Can you blame me? Other than the red asshole who lives hear, your the only sinner I've seen who has the balls to raise your voice in the hotel. And heck! I remember seeing you have a shouting match with that overlord Valentino a few months ago too!"

"Yeh, well, he hurt Angel. I'll always protect my friends"

"I know. We all know that. I think that's why those two listened to you when you scolded them. Your their friend, but you can be a stern mother figure if needed to be"

"That's so weird, both you and Alastor both said the word mother, I honestly never thought that word would be used to describe me"

"Well, it is now. I think this place needs a motherly figure. Even if it's to stop the everyday chaos that happens in this place. I mean, you remember when Charlie made that birthday celebration for Nifty?"

"Oh hell yeah, I remember. (shudder) Nifty's birthday was the definition of disaster"

"Yeh, thank golly that only happens once a year. But then, Charlie wants everyone to celebrate their birthday down hear, and that's probably gunna be even worse"

"Well, I doubt Husk won't try dousing his birthday cake in bleach like Nifty did. Isn't is Husk who has a birthday next?"

"Hm? I have no clue. The calendars behind the bar"

You grab the calendar behind the bar, flicking through it as you lean on the counter, Lucifer playing with his little duck as you read.

"Hm? That's interesting. Turns out the next person to have their birthday is Alastor"

"What?! Why do we have to celebrate HIM?! He's such an ass! Every single time he's hear, he always does something to piss me off!"

"Not everyone in hear hates him Lucifer. I know you and Husk do, it's understandable why Husk does, and with you, I think he just enjoys making you angry"

"Who the hell does like him then?!"

"Charlie does. Nifty, Angel enjoys trying to get a rise out of him sometimes. I like him too"

"Why?! He's a dick!"

"He's a dick to you. He hasn't behaved that way with me since we've met. If anything, he's been a real gentleman"

"Yeh, gentleman my ass!......Although, you do kind of have a point. I've seen him be nice to Charlie and Nifty, definitely more with you. You never know, he may have the hots for you. Don't fall for his bullshit if he does!!!"

"Lucifer, relax. You do know Alastor's Asexual right?"

"Huh?"

"He's not into sex"

"Not into!!-How the hell can someone not be into that?! Sex is awesome! I mean, me and Lilith back in the day, eheh, bow chick'a wow wow!"

"That's you Lucifer. Not everyone can like the same things"

"I just didn't know that about him. Right! I'm gunna tear him a new one about it!"

"No"

"What?!"

"Your not gunna do that"

"But why not?! I'm the king of hell! I can do whatever I like! Why-why'd you say no?"

"Think about it Lucifer. You'll be lowering yourself to his level"

"Oh shit, yeh"

"And your own daughter said this hotel is about bettering yourself. Don't copy Alastor's behaviour, rise above it. Have you ever heard of the phrase, kill them with kindness?"

"Well yeh, but how can-oooooooooohhh! I see what you mean!"

"Anytime he wants to make you angry, be positive. Because in failing to wind you up-"

"It'll drive HIM crazy! Yes! I love it! Thank you sweetie"

"Don't mention it. And, don't give him something condescending for his birthday either"

"Not even a duck in the shape of a big-"

"I know what your about to say, and it's a firm no"

"Nnuugghh ok. I'll....be nice to him or whatever"

"Good. Hey? Did I just hear your name?"

"Hm? Oh, I hear it too. Sounds like Charlie. I'll go see what she wants. See you later Y/N"

"See you Lucifer"

You can't help but chuckle, watching Lucifer jump down and dance towards the hallway, little duck in hand. Now it was just you, in blissful silence, ah it was wonderful. You knew it wouldn't last long, but it's nice to have it while you can. As you enjoy the peace, you look back at the calendar, seeing Alastor's name written on the page. You did wonder to yourself, what he would like, or even if he wants a gift? And his birthday was happening tomorrow, it was time to have a think. Later that afternoon, Alastor came back from his morning with Rosie, and saw you sitting on your own in the hotel lobby.

"Good afternoon my dear! How has the day been for you?"

"It's been nice thanks, Pentious and Nifty came through a few times, but everyone else seems to be busy doing their own things. How was Rosie?"

"Ah she was delightful, a lovely morning was had by all, haha! (Sits down next to you) What are you reading?"

"This? It's The Great Gatsby"

"Ah! I read that book before I died! I do believe it was published about 10 years before I ended up hear. It was a great read if I remember correctly"

"Did you know they made a film of it?"

"But of course! In 1926"

"Not just in 1926"

"I beg your pardon my dear?"

"Yep. They made it into a film two more times. The second time in 1949, and again in 2013"

"I say! One might think they would like to leave a classic alone once it's been put on the noisy electronic box. But they truly did it 3 times? I never witnessed any of them myself. The book shall be my only knowledge of the classic tale"

"To be honest, you weren't missing anything. I saw the latest film before I died, but I wasn't a fan. I much prefer the books"

"Aha! And that is why I truly enjoy your company my dear. Ahh, I sometimes believe you are the only person in this whole building whose company I genuinely like"

"Really?"

"Of course!"

"That's so sweet Alastor, thank you"

"Don't mention it. Actually, now that I have you hear for a moment, I did have a subject I wished to bring up with you"

"Oh? What's that"

"It's something I was waiting the right time for. More specifically, a time where none else was around to listen in on us. As you well know, I like to keep my life private, unless I choose to share it"

"I do"

"Well......as you are aware, aswell as a few of the sinners in this hotel....my....passions....desires.....they are not.....exactly the same, as everyone else. Case in point, my desires are almost on the opposite spectrum of someone like Angeldust"

"Yes. I remember when you told me about that"

"And while I do not enjoy or wish to take part in any form of sexual affection....it does not mean I retain from all forms of showing my appreciation. I don't know if you were aware, of me kissing your hand goodbye whenever I leave your company? And noticed that I do not do that with any other lady"

"I...may have noticed, yes"

"Well, that is my way of showing my affection to you. But there are times, I wish....I wish for your hand...to be your lips...."

"Alastor...I'm flattered"

"Thank you....but my question to you is....is this feeling...reciprocated?"

"(Blushing, tucking hair behind ear) It might be"

"My darling, if it pleases you, I would never much like to show you how much you mean to me. But as you know, being the radio demon and a powerful overlord hear in hell-"

"You'd rather keep what might happen between us, private"

"Indeed. But please understand when I say, it is not that I do not wish to be seen with you in public as my partner, I very much do. But if Vox or the other V's see you at my side as my partner, you may be at risk of being targeted by them, and you may be in danger because of me. I need to make sure I am strong enough to protect you against any of the V's"

"It's ok, I understand. To be honest, I'm not one of those people who loves to parade around the streets with a boyfriend. I'd rather spend my time with them, enjoying their company"

"Absolutely! But I promise you this, if this is something you wish to be a part of, we will walk hand in hand, side by side after a sensible amount of time. Once I know I am strong enough to take on and win against all the V's, I will not have to worry about your safety. Because your safety, my dear... is my highest priority"

"That's very considerate of you"

"(Chuckles lightly)"

Alastor's smile looks genuine right now, you can tell by how gentle his eyes were. Taking your hand, he places a kiss on the back like he always does.

"Alastor?"

"Hm?"

"I think you have a new target....don't you think?"

".....Aahh....my pleasure my dear"

Feeling his fingers delicately hold your chin, he looks deep into your eyes. Looking desperately at your lips, but lovingly into your eyes. He leans in closer, you can almost feel his lips, so close-"

"Hi guys!!"

You both sit back a little, a little spooked by Lucifer barging through the hotel doors, loud and proud.

"Whatcha both up to?"

"We were enjoying a peaceful conversation before you very rudely interrupted us! One might say, it was very inconsiderate to barge in on someone's conversation, without adequate reason"

"Ah get over yourself! This hotel's a free place! And my daughter runs it, so yeh! Hey hey Y/N! Wanna see the new little ducky I made today! Look look!"

Lucifer bounds over to you and Alastor, but only speaks and looks at you.

"Isn't he just adorable!!"

"Well, yes he is Lucifer. But uh? Why does he have a bottle of whiskey?"

"That's because I'm making little ducks of everyone in the hotel! It was Charlie's idea, but I like it! This one's the bartender"

"You mean Husk?"

"Oh! That's his name! I keep forgetting-"

"Excuse me! If you wouldn't mind, me and Y/N were actually in the middle of a rather important discussion"

"Oooooh! I'm so scared! What are you gunna do? Talk me to death?"

"Something like that can surely be arranged-"

Very quickly, you intervene, standing between them both when Alastor stood up, eyes darkening, and Lucifer smirking.

"Woh woh woh! That's enough! Both of you!"

"My dear, if he insists on causing an issue, I am in more than happy to deal with it"

"Awww! Is someone a little tetchy? Knowing your becoming an old man getting to you huh?"

"What?! How did you know I am to be-"

"It's on Charlie's calendar, dipshit!"

"That's it-"

Again, having to push them apart, this time, Alastor really looked like he was going to attack Lucifer.

"Alastor! Alastor look at me!"

You say calmly, taking his face in your hands, making him look at you.

"Look at me. Take a deep breath, in....and out...in....and out..."

If anyone else had asked him to do that, or touched his face, he'd push back. But because it was you, he didn't mind, and it was genuinely calming him down, even his eyes had changed back from black to red.

"That's it. Ok, we can finish our chat another time, but for now, why don't you just take some time to calm yourself in your radio station? You've told me thats your happy place. Please Alastor, please don't let this escalate anymore"

"........Alright my dear.......I'll take some time.....I shall see you soon"

His shadow engulfs him, sending him up the stairs and on his way to the radio station.

"Ah man, can you believe that guy? He gets so-"

"You know what Lucifer? I can't believe you!"

"Wait, what?"

"Didn't listen to a word I said today? About not lowering yourself to that level? Not doing to him what he does to you?"

"But I-"

"But nothing! You agreed to have a better attitude when your around Alastor and you've just thrown all of that out of the window!"

"I can argue with whomever I want Y/N! I'm the king of hell after all!"

"And your in this hotel to support YOUR daughter! Have you forgotten that? Stop acting like a child and at least try to make something work with Alastor"

"Why? Because you'll be disappointed?"

"Because this is Charlie's dream! You can't see how hard she's working to actually help people, and instead of doing what a father should be doing, your picking fights with Alastor! Stop acting so childish and help you daughter! I shouldn't have to tell you that!"

You can't talk to him anymore, and storm up the stairs.

"But Y/N wait! I...I AM trying to help Charlie"

"Then pack in whatever this is with Alastor, or at least try. Because it's going to be Charlie who's going to be affected. Just think about that"

Lucifer just stood there, frozen, feeling guilty, because he knew you had a point about Charlie and how hard she's been working to make this hotel what it is.

You on the other hand, slammed your bedroom door shut behind you, running your hands though your hair, headache pulsating in your head. This place would drive you insane some days. You throw yourself onto your bed, snuggling up with your pillow, wanting just 5 minutes of peace. But again, you lived in a hotel with many others. Three gentle knocks came to the door.

"Nngguuhh! Please go away....."

"(Muffled voice behind the door)....Toots? It's me. Can I come in?"

His voice sounded so innocent, sweet. Normally, Angel would be all proud, sometimes seductive with the way he spoke, but this sounded genuine.

"Yeh. Come in"

You say, sitting up on your bed, seeing Angel enter your room with a little smile.

"Hey. How yah doin?"

"I've been better. I just can't shift this headache"

"Well hear. (He says pulling out a packet of paracetamol) Maybe these will help?"

He sits down next to you on your bed, handing you the tablets.

"Thanks Angel"

"It's no problem. Hey uh...I just wanna say sorry for the way I've been actin recently. I dunno, I guess Husk just brings out that side of me. I swear, I didn't know I was wakin yah up"

"It's fine Angel. I feel like I should say sorry too for the way I spoke to you and Husk"

"Oh no no toots! What you did was great!"

"Wait, seriously?"

"Hell yeh! Me and Husk both said it was like a moth'a tellin off her kids! And I think we both needed that. Honestly toots, you didn't do nothin wrong"

"Ok, that's a worry off my mind"

"Can I uh.....can I share somethin with yah?"

"Of course"

"Having someone moth'a me like that.....I actually liked it. Not cuz I'm into strong, independent women, well, I am but that's not the reason. Since I died, I hadn't really had that feelin of being around family, and well......my moth'a used to keep me and my sister from having fights like that too.....you kinda.....remind me of my mom"

"....I do?"

"Yeh....and it's nice. It feels like with you, I've got part of my family down hear that cares about me. I know that's probably stupid of me to say-"

"Angel. That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I feel honoured that you see me like that"

"(Sighing in relief) I'm glad toots. Thanks, for everything"

"Come hear"

You and Angel share a sweet and tight hug, all 8 of his arms held you.

"I'll always be hear for you Angel"

"So will I toots, I promise"

A good 20 minutes had passed, just chatting with Angel in your room. Talking about the afterlife, his fights with Husk, and you take some paracetamol in that time too.

"Hey toots! Have yah thought about what your gunna get smiles for his birthday yet?"

"I'm not sure to be honest. He's a tricky guy to buy for, I'm not sure if he'd even like receiving gifts"

"Well.....you could always.....wait in his room, wearing nothin but a little bow around your neck..."

"Angel! That's-wait? Why would you-"

"I maaay have been walking past the lobby when Alastor and you were talking"

"Angel"

"Don't worry toots, your secret's safe with me. But dayum babe! You've got the radio demon himself wantin yah! You've gotta admit, that's awesome!"

"It is lovely being around him, I can't deny that"

"So? You gunna take my advice?"

"I would, if Alastor was into that"

"Oh yeh! He ain't is he? Damn it. Well, I have no clue what to get him. I don't know him that well"

"I've been trying to think of things that would remind him of happier times, or his memories when he was alive. Something like that, but I've had no luck just yet"

"Hm? That's interesting. Wait! Didn't he live in new Orleans?"

"Yes! He did!"

"Sweet! I'll think of something to do with that! Listen toots, I've gotta go now, but I'll catch up with yah lat'ah"

"Alright Angel, see you soon"

When he left, you tried to have a good long thing about what to get Alastor for his birthday. He was sometimes fond of trinkets, eh, not good enough for a birthday present. Come on think. He enjoys his radio, taking long strolls through pentagram city, spending time in his room that's also part swamp-huh! That's it! Angel had a point about New Orleans, Alastor lived there, and you were the only one he confessed to about his life before he died. And he had the swamp in his room for a reason, to remember. The perfect idea came to your mind, and that was it, you knew exactly what to get him. Getting out your phone, you search for any place you can go to 'acquire' this suprise gift. Hm? The only place that could have some luck is in the Wrath Ring. Somewhere called Rough 'N Tumbleweed Ranch, well, it's better than nothing. The next day was Alastor's birthday. And down stairs in the lobby, you walk up to Charlie, who was bouncing with excitement.

"Oh hey! Hey Y/N! What are you up too?"

"Just on my way out to get Alastor his gift. What about you?"

"Ooooooh! Exciting!! Well, I'm just trying to plan the theme for Alastor's party tonight. I'm not quite sure what to go for. What do you think? (Shows you her note book) big blue and sparkles? Or big red and sparkles?"

"Umm, somehow, I'm not sure Alastor is a sparkles kind of guy"

"Yeh your right. Ugh, I just don't know what theme to do, I'm stuck"

"I know, why not do a 1920's theme? Get everyone to dress up in clothes from that time, and maybe serve his favourite food? Jambalaya. And don't forget, he isn't a fan of sweets, so he wouldn't eat a normal cake. Try putting a candle on a roasted duck? He's said before that he likes that meat, and carving a slice would probably make him happy. And maybe the party food could be similar to the 1920's too? Like deviled eggs, waldorf salad, dutchess potatoes, shrimp cocktail, canapes, olives, or maybe oyster rockefeller?"

"Yes yes YES!! Oh thank you Y/N, your a genius! I'm writing everything you've just said down! (Squeaks) This is going to be perfect! Thank you thank you!"

"I can give you a hand later, but for now, I need to get going"

"Yes! Of course! Go go! Me and the others can make a start on this party, thank you again Y/N! See you soon!"

"Bye Charlie!"

And with that, you were off. Leaving the hotel as Charlie bounds with joy in the background. Taking a walk to the streets, you flag down a taxi and give him the directions to the ranch you saw online. It was a fair distance away, but you were happy when you arrived there, seeing the sign as the taxi pulled over.

After paying, you headed in and looked around for anyone, apparently, this place was owned by an imp family, who had many things in and around their ranch.

"Hey there! Can I help ya'll?"

"Hi! I'm Y/N. I hope you don't mind the drop in, but I saw your ranch online, and see that you sell things to people who offer a good price?"

"Thats right, what're yah wantin today? We've got vehicles and animals available"

"Can I look at your animals please?"

"Sure thing darlin, follow me"

This lovely imp lady takes you to a fenced area, with 2 types of animals already.

"Hear yah go darlin, we've got horses and hogs hear, I'll haggle the price depending on which size you choose"

"These are lovely animals, but I was just wondering if you had something that prefers to stay close to water? Or swampy areas?"

"Ah! I hear yah. Let me take you to the edge of the ranch, we've got a few little critters back there for sale too"

A short walk later, a marshy tree covered green pond, that's also fenced in securely, seems to have many more animals.

"A'right, we've got Hattie over there. She's a water snake, a little bitey though. Over there we've got Wade, the snapping turtle. Be careful around him, he'll snap your fingers off before you can say fuck! And over there we've got Dutchess, she's actually just had a new litter of babies about 2 weeks ago. Their quite cute when they're youngens, and surprisingly easy to train. So all these little thangs are perfect for swampy areas, just take your pick"

"Would it be ok to buy one of Dutchess's babies?"

"Of course yah can! We've got little animal carriers too for yah to take one home. Ya'll fussed about the sex?"

"If it's possible, could it be a female?"

"Absolutely. She only had one boy outta 5 girls. Let me just grab one, yep, this ones definitely a girl. She's at least 2 pounds, and a healthy one too. I'll give her to yah for 200 bucks"

"Sold!"

Link to part 2

#alastor #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel

51 notes · View notes

thelordofgifs · 1 day ago

Text

Part 38! Many revelations.

It has been long since last that familiar mind brushed against Curufin's.

In Himring's courtyard with the hordes of orcs clamouring at the gate, Maedhros would not look at him. His attention then was all for frail shivering Maglor, as though Curufin was of as little import as the horse he sat upon.

But now – now Maedhros is calling for him. Now he says, I need help.

Help? Curufin returns, trying to project naught but proud disdain. What help can you possibly need from me who only ruins things? Leave me alone.

Curvo, Maedhros insists, his speech-in-thought laced by something approximating a fraternal caress. Please. It's important.

Had I wanted to remain under your command I would not have left, Curufin says angrily. Himring is fallen; you are my liege-lord no longer. Ask Káno's help if you are in such need.

I cannot, Maedhros answers, and there is something jagged and splintered about his response, as though his mind is buckling under the strain of reaching out.

Belatedly Curufin recalls Amras' words: He is missing, he has disappeared from Barad Eithel, they have heard nothing of him for weeks.

Where are you, Nelyo? he asks, suspicious.

That does not matter, Maedhros returns swiftly, it is only that – I cannot do what needs doing at present, and you are the only one who may—

Do what? Curufin demands. I am not your errand-boy to fetch you cool water and sing you to sleep at night!

But at that such bright searing pain flares across Maedhros' mind that he subsides.

Need I remind you, Maedhros says, chilly in an instant, of what you owe me?

He bombards Curufin with a quick, tightly controlled sequence of memories.

Curufin himself riding through Himring's gate, his voice cool and flat, They're dead, they're both dead. All the world glossy and distorted and artificial, a monstrous demonic thing lurking under Curufin's features. The swift sure snap of Maedhros' left wrist as his knife plunged into Maglor's side—

Enough, says Curufin, pulling his mind away, enough. Believe me, you need not retell my own wrongs to me.

Were it not for you— Maedhros begins. Again the odd fractured quality to his thoughts, as though some sharp burning thing is pressing down hard on the fragile thread of their minds' connection. He seems then forcibly to calm himself. If you will not obey my command as a brother, obey your own twice-sworn Oath at the very least. Morgoth has sent forth the Silmaril from Angband.

What? Curufin tenses instantly. How can you possibly know that?

Never mind, says Maedhros, and his mind is beginning to tear a little now, in the manner of old fabric shearing under too much strain; all that matters is that I do know it – I have reason to believe Sauron has requested it of him. He lingers now in Taur-nu-Fuin, we saw him emerge from that land to issue against Barad Eithel. But you might have a chance of intercepting the Silmaril if you circle around the highlands and reach the Anfauglith with sufficient speed—

On foot? Curufin demands. You're mad. How will I ever reach it in time?

[what happened to Curufin's horse, you might ask? he took it when he abandoned Maglor, didn't he? dw this one is actually fine. he set it loose to pasture in Estolad]

Well, how am I supposed to know where you are? Maedhros asks tersely. You've been missing for a year and a half. His mind spasms oddly, the link between their thoughts going shaky for a moment; inexplicably, Curufin's mouth fills with the taste of blood, and shooting pains run down both his legs.

Before he can do more than gasp, Maedhros adds, I have to go, there's a – council meeting. Bring that Silmaril to Barad Eithel, Curvo, else we will all be cast into the Everlasting Darkness until the end of time. Do not let me down for once.

Then he is gone.

Reeling from the finality of his departure, Curufin takes a moment to regain his bearings.

Maedhros is lying to him, he knows. Plainly he is not in Barad Eithel at present; and it makes very little sense why he would not go after the Silmaril himself, if indeed Morgoth has consented to part with it.

But Curufin has no choice either way, for all his protestations. He is Oath-bound to pursue even the breath of a rumour of a Silmaril; little though he likes it, his path turns northward now.

He thinks briefly of Celebrimbor, imagines his expression of unsurprised contempt.

Then he sets out on his thankless journey.

Meanwhile in Dor-lómin:

Lúthien is on her hands and knees in Indor's entrance hall, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the floor.

"Tinúviel?" Beren croaks from the stairway. His face, when she glances up, is drawn and horrified.

"Come and watch," she says, making her smile as inviting as she can. "There is something very satisfying in it."

"In scrubbing?" Beren says. "If your father knew—"

"—there would be nothing he could do about it," Lúthien says firmly. "I'm trying to be helpful, my love. And I do not mind the work, if it is unglamorous. Look!" She sits back on her haunches to examine her handiwork. "I tried to sing the stain out, but it would not budge, I cannot fathom what could have caused it. But half an hour with a bucket of water and vinegar and it is already so much faded!"

"Vinegar?" Beren repeats numbly. He does not seem as pleased as she is.

"It's acetic," Lúthien explains, "and does very well for dissolving grime and the like, I'm told. Oh, Beren, do not look at me so! I am enjoying myself. Sometimes – sometimes work is hard, and dirty, and uncomfortable. But it behooves us all to do it anyway."

“O, my cherished one,” Beren breathes, and then he kneels beside her and kisses her right there on the grimy floor over the metal bucket, tangles his fingers in her neatly-bound hair and draws her in closer, and it is every bit as lovely as those kisses they would share in the flowering glades of Doriath with the birds singing sweetly above them.

When they have broken apart Beren says, his voice yet regretful, “It is not the life I would have chosen for you.”

“But I choose it for myself,” Lúthien says. That is missing the point, she knows. "Still I know – I know it all pains you." She waves her hand vaguely, trying to encompass the housework and the desolation and the look on Beren's face. "I would make it better for you, if I could."

"You do," Beren tells her, "by being mine. And if it does grieve me – unable as I am to give you the home you deserve—"

"But you do," Lúthien murmurs, "for my home is where you are. O, my love, I count myself luckier by far living with you in this borrowed space among your people than I do the very High King of the Noldor, for all his glory! I knew what I was choosing, when I chose you. I can never regret it."

"Nor I," Beren says, and he looks at her so tenderly that she can only smile at him for long moments.

But after all this is not the forest of Neldoreth in the springtime, and they two are not the only people in the world, their fortune not everyone’s fortune.

A heavy thing to have to bear, Lúthien reflects, thinking of Morwen’s stoic suffering and Maglor weeping on her shoulder. “I wish – I wish everyone could be as happy as we,” she says quietly.

“My tender-hearted one!” says Beren, with a smile. “I too perhaps have been mired overmuch in my own misfortune to consider another’s. But what troubles you today?”

Everything, Lúthien wants to say, and your own unhappiness most of all.

But she is learning that to speak all of what is in her heart is not always for the best. “I grieve for Maglor,” she says instead. “He does not seem inclined to write to me any longer. But I know his brother’s disappearance was a cruel blow to him.”

"Strange to think how little you might know a person," Beren muses, "for surely he had no inkling Maedhros was planning such a thing. And in his letters to me too—" He breaks off sharply.

"What?" Lúthien asks, looking swiftly at him. "What is it, Beren?"

"Maedhros’ letters," Beren breathes. "The letters he sent me, Tinúviel – he asked me about Dorthonion. Its geography, its weaknesses, its secret ways. He was very interested to know where one might conceivably set up a base there."

Lúthien thinks she understands, and does not think she wants to. "Because he suspected Gorthaur lingered there, after I cast down Tol-in-Gaurhoth," she says. "And he was right – Gorthaur showed himself during the battle."

"And now Maedhros has gone to seek him out," Beren says. "It all makes sense. He is in Dorthonion, Tinúviel. I know not why, but he has gone to Gorthaur."

Lúthien thinks of Maedhros' eyes when last she spoke with him. They were desperate eyes.

"You are right," she murmurs. She swallows. "Beren, I have to go to Barad Eithel."

She is by far the swifter rider, between the two of them. They both know it.

Beren smiles at her, and his eyes are warm. "Come back safe to me."

"I will," Lúthien promises.

Within the hour she is saddling up her horse for the ride through Hithlum.

Too late:

Fingon, recovered from his mishap, is holding a banquet.

He tugs off the bandages around his shoulder – see, Makalaurë, it's barely stiff at all – and calls for his heaviest, most ornamental robe, all blue velvet and gold brocade.

He has never been much at ease in ceremonial finery. But he does not need Maglor’s pointed glances to remind him he had best put on a show of splendour today.

Despite all this the feast is not so bad. His lords all seem relieved to see his injury was not severe, and the food is nice.

Maeglin is especially solicitous. “You were very greatly missed, uncle,” he says gravely, passing Fingon a plate piled high with the table’s choicest delicacies. “I hope you will take better care of your health in the future.”

“I will certainly do my best to avoid any orc-blades I run into!” Fingon says lightly. “Beyond that I fear few promises can be made. No King is he who skulks behind his stone walls, after all.”

He casts a glance to his right as he says so, wondering whether his words will provoke some reaction; but Maglor, tense and taut as a harp-string, picks at his food in silence, and says nothing.

If Maedhros were here — oh, if Maedhros were here he, not his brother, would be seated in that place of honour, and he would manage the more barbed comments with a sharp smile of his own, and trade wry quips with Fingon as they ate, and perhaps take a turn about the dance floor with him after—

But then Fingon remembers the way Maedhros looked at him, when they kissed after the battle. It is all fantasy, really.

“You might try to be festive,” he hisses at Maglor, more sharply than he really means.

Maglor smiles wanly at him. “I am feasting, am I not?”

His plate is nearly untouched, but Fingon does not press the point. He touches his cousin’s arm in conciliation. “Will you sing for us after, perhaps?”

“All right,” Maglor breathes. It is, Fingon knows, Maglor’s own apology, for his prickliness in recent days. He does not sing very often now.

In the end Maglor does not get the chance to sing.

Not long after dessert is served there is a commotion from the direction of the entrance hall. One of the guards posted at the fortress’s gate comes in in a flustered rush, and announces without ceremony, “My King, this… messenger insisted upon speaking to you at once.”

According to all protocol Fingon should tell him to wait. He ought to conduct diplomatic work in private, and besides the feast is not yet finished.

But his pride bristles at the thought. For too long now have his lords implied that he is not fit to rule; let them see how well he handles kingly matters!

“Let me see him, then,” he says, ignoring the swift dart of Maglor’s sidelong glance at his words.

But his voice fails for a moment in his throat when the messenger is brought in: a tall ragged elf with copper-brown hair and old scars on his face, who walks as though every step causes him pain.

The resemblance is superficial, but Fingon knows from Maglor’s sudden inhalation that he sees it too.

In crisp, classical Quenya, enunciating every thorn, the messenger says, “Hail, Findekáno the Valiant, High King of the Noldor! I come from Sauron the Lord of Werewolves, who sends you his greetings. He has a great desire to bargain with you."

There is an odd ringing in Fingon's ears. Through it he says, "I have not the slightest desire to treat with a common thief and a murderer — one, moreover, who showed his own weakness so decisively when he fled at the very sight of the lords of the Noldor. You may depart my lands, and tell him so."

The messenger executes a strange, too-sharp bow, as though puppet-strings bend him in half at the middle.

The light brush of Maglor's thought puts into Fingon's mind the image of Sinda thralls taken by Morgoth long before the Sun's first rising, the jerky quality of their motion and the jagged over-brightness of their smiles, and the damage they wrought until the Fëanorian camp learned at last to turn them away.

This unlucky elf is likely a more recent captive of the Enemy. There are rumours that not all those prisoners freed by Lúthien when Tol-in-Gaurhoth fell made their way to Nargothrond and safety; Fingon does not think it so implausible that some dwell now in Sauron's new lair.

"My lord foresaw that you would speak so," the messenger says now. "Far-reaching and all-seeing is his wisdom. But he bade me insist upon your hearing me nonetheless: for, he says, he has happened upon a prize that may well intrigue you."

Fingon manages a harsh laugh. “No craven torturer has anything that will tempt me.” He nods at his guards, who move to march the messenger out.

“Not even,” says the messenger silkily, and his voice now does not sound elvish at all, “the location of Maedhros your lover? Faithless indeed are the Kings of the Noldor! It was told once that you loved him well enough to brave all the forces of Angband for his sake. But perhaps it is otherwise now.”

Just in time Fingon holds up his hand to stop the guards from seizing the messenger. “You lie,” he manages to croak. “Where is he? You lie.”

The hall, previously so cavernous, feels suddenly very close and tight. Every breath seems to hurt.

“He is a guest of my lord,” says the messenger, “and being treated with all the dignity owed one his rank. And so my lord poses the question to you, o King: once before did you win your back kinsman with a great feat of courage. If you choose to do so again – well, my lord awaits you.”

A flurry of movement to Fingon’s right. Before he can snatch at Maglor’s arm his cousin has taken three swift stumbling steps down from the dais to stand before the messenger.

“When last such a missive was sent to me, there was at least a token with it,” he snarls, his voice a jagged, splintered thing. “Could Sauron not summon up so much as a lock of hair to lend some credence to his lie? Or are we supposed to take the Deceiver’s word on faith?”

“Not at all,” says the messenger. “There is this.” And from his ragged, filthy cloak he produces a dagger.

At this Fingon leaps to his feet with a shout. “Makalaurë!”

The guards leap forward at once, their faces blank with shock – there must have been some enchantment on the blade, for it to evade their search—

But the messenger seems very calm. He meets Maglor’s eyes, and then plunges the dagger into his own right side, as deep as it will go.

Entrails cling to the blade when he pulls it out again, and he crumples to his knees, still smiling.

Fingon cannot hear anything, over the commotion in the hall and the clamour in his ears. But he looks at Maglor, and Maglor looks back at him, white-faced, the pool of blood at his feet beginning to seep into his shoes.

(to be continued)

the fairest stars: post vii

Yet more of the "Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils" AU! Masterpost with links to all previous parts on tumblr and AO3 here.

Part 35: on stories, and the ways they repeat themselves.

Finrod goes to Mandos' throne room, and kneels – such as it is – in supplication before the Vala.

"Son of Arafinwë," says Mandos. "Having turned down our boon, have you come to ask another?"

"Not for myself," says Finrod. "But for my cousin."

"Whatever vow you have made," says Mandos, "Turkafinwë Fëanárion is not ready to be released from my Halls, even were he willing."

"Not – not Celegorm," says Finrod, "but Amrod his brother. Has no judgement been passed on him? It is many centuries now since he burned to death at his father's hands."

"The judgement was passed," says Mandos, "when he swore his Oath, and bound himself to violence. No one compelled by such a force can be released into the peace of Aman."

"But he regretted it," Finrod argues. "He meant to turn back as my own father did, and beg pardon of the Valar. He would be free of it, if he could."

"But he is not," says Mandos, implacable.

Finrod is good, and pious, and faithful. Finrod is not going to lose his temper with a Vala.

"Is there no pity in these Halls?" he asks. "Is there no way to set him free of a bond he does not want?"

"Lúthien your cousin asked a similar thing when she came before me," Mandos says. "And I will tell you what I told her: it is beyond my power to undo an Oath sworn in the name of the All-father. The Valar are not gaolers, child. Telufinwë's chains were of his own making."

"It wasn't his fault," Finrod says tightly, "it was his father who bound him—"

"I cannot give you what you want," Mandos says, interrupting him.

"Then pass the boon you have given me onto him," Finrod says; "transfer it away from me, I do not want it. Grant him his release, he has lingered here long enough."

"That is not how it works," Mandos says. "You are free to leave these Halls whenever you desire. It is not my way to retract mercy once it has been offered."

Do you call this mercy? Finrod does not say. He takes his leave instead.

“You did not need to do that,” Amrod says, when he returns.

Finrod is in no mood for Fëanorian self-pity. “Do you want to rot here forever, then?” he asks sharply.

“So it was decreed,” Amrod says, “and I told you already that I never expected any mercy for myself.”

“Yet you would have me extend it to your brother,” Finrod says.

“That,” says Amrod, “is not precisely what I said.” He makes some spirit-approximation of a shrug. “You know Tyelko as he is now better than I do. Is he past saving? Perhaps. But it is for your own sake that you are trying anyway, I think.”

“But if even you are condemned to remain here forever—” Finrod says, unable to keep himself from bitterness.

“I’ve killed people, Ingoldo,” Amrod reminds him. “Three of them, in fact.” He shudders briefly. “Why me? Why Tyelko, for that matter? There are many worthier souls in these Halls to demand your attention. After the Dagor Bragollach the Exiles came pouring in here in their thousands, and every one of them lies under the Doom of Mandos – all except for you. You could be pleading for any one of them, instead of your Kinslaying cousins, who are anyway bound by a greater chain.”

“Because,” Finrod says, irritable, “chains can be broken. And I cannot bear to see you deny that, again and again – you as well as your brother! Forever need not always mean forever. There are brighter things in store for you, for all of us, than to mourn here for eternity in the dark. Valar help me, I did not fully realise it, until Lúthien showed me it was so – and yet—” He stops suddenly.

Amrod looks at him with sympathy. "It is not only us you are angry with," he says.

"I do not want to be angry at all," Finrod says wearily. "I want to find a way out, I want to believe that there is hope for all of us – for you and me and your brother and my Ten and those we lost on the Ice and all the doomed and damned and grieving Noldor – can it be so? Or is it always the same story over and over again, all of us trapped in our roles until the end of the time? The Ainulindalë had space in it for new themes, did it not? So why must we condemn ourselves over-hastily, name these chains unbreakable for ever?"

"Perhaps they are," says Amrod, "for the rest of us, if not for you."

"I do not believe that any more," says Finrod. "And I am going to speak to my brother."

Back in Middle-earth:

Finduilas and Celebrimbor have ridden swiftly, their journey uneventful. They are coming now to the borders of the Girdle of Melian.

Finduilas smiles at Celebrimbor, more bravely than she really feels. "This is where we part ways."

To her eyes the Girdle is clearly visible, a sharply demarcated shimmering in the air, whereas all Celebrimbor can make out is a blurred sort of wrongness, as though the world itself is bending around Doriath's border.

"It isn't too late to change your mind," Celebrimbor tells her. "We can go back to Nargothrond, we can tell your father we only got lost in the mists—"

"It has been too late for that for a long time," Finduilas says, decisive. She smiles again. "Don't fret, Tyelpë! The worst Thingol can do to me is speak harshly. I am not the one in danger."

"I will be fine," Celebrimbor tells her. "It is the northern stretch of the Girdle where danger lies thick." He thinks of the desperate flight from Himlad after the Dagor Bragollach, and shivers a little. "You had better not tell Thingol that I am here, not after what my – my father tried."

"You aren't your father, Tyelpë," Finduilas says softly. She leans over to kiss his cheek. "Take heart! With any luck my errand will not be a long one, and we will have an escort of Iathren marchwardens to take us home."

Celebrimbor thinks that is overly optimistic, but he only says, "I will be here when you return – and good luck, coz."

He watches as she rides away from him, through the Girdle and then into the darkness of whatever lies beyond it.

It is a perfectly nice clearing they have chosen for their meeting-place, and he spends some time the next day setting up camp; then he gets bored, and invents a better mechanism for collecting rainwater for drinking, and then makes himself a makeshift chemistry lab out of the weird plants growing near the Girdle; and then he carves every fallen stick in a mile's radius into a miniature wooden animal, and ends up with a host of Eagles and an army of bears and No Dogs At All; and then and then and then

He's really bored tbh.

In Barad Eithel:

One thing about Maglor is that he needs a Job or he will go a little mad.

He is like Maedhros in that, Fingon reflects, and tries not to indulge the stab of the thought.

Unfair, to blame unhappy Maglor for not being his brother, for not having Maedhros' smile and Maedhros' bright thoughtful eyes and Maedhros' commanding presence—

Anyway: usually this does not pose much of an issue, because Maglor has made Maedhros his Job and attends to him both capably and contentedly.

Now, on the other hand, he is restless, and when Maglor is restless he hovers.

Fingon does not mind this most of the time. He likes his cousin's company, despite everything, and also Maglor is a better and more sensible advisor than most would give him credit for.

But there is really not that much for him to do today, and he is maybe driving Fingon a little crazy.

"Makalaurë," he says, "you might go down to the armoury."

Maglor smiles drily at him. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"No," Fingon lies, "only it occurred to me that you are certainly the most skilled person here at testing the metal for minute flaws – the same way you use its resonance in swordplay. And it would be good to make sure everything is in good shape while Morgoth seems to be unwiling to attack again."

“You are trying to get rid of me,” says Maglor, not really offended.

An hour later finds him in the armoury, sorting swords that need mending from those whose metal sings cleanly; he is so absorbed in the work that he does not at first notice there is someone else in the room, until Maeglin comes to stand before him.

“I did not know you had any interest in metalwork,” Maeglin says, in lieu of any other greeting.

“Not particularly,” Maglor says mildly, “but my father was the greatest smith of the Noldor, even so.”

Maeglin’s expression seems to imply that he intends to change that.

Maglor decides he might as well try to be friendly. “We have spoken little since you came to Barad Eithel,” he says; “forgive me, I have been too absorbed in my own affairs to greet you with the courtesy due so close a kinsman. But I am glad to meet Írissë’s son at last.”

Maeglin says, “Were you close to my mother?”

“Not as much as my younger brothers,” Maglor admits, “but even so I thought her fearless, and kind, and never reluctant to speak her own mind.”

“She was different,” Maeglin says in a low voice, “when I knew her.”

Maybe it would be good to change the subject.

"How well do you like Barad Eithel?" Maglor asks. "You have made friends among the lords of the Noldor already, I am glad to see."

Maeglin is looking at him guardedly. "Everyone has been very kind," he says, his voice neutral. "Although my uncle has had less time for me than I hoped."

Maglor bites his lip. "He has much to trouble him at present, too," he says, as evenly as he can. "But you should know he speaks highly of you."

"I am glad to hear it," Maeglin says. He looks at Maglor in silence for a little while, and then says, "You are close in his counsel, I think."

Maglor is kind of regretting his decision to be friendly.

"We have been friends for a long time," is all he says.

"But not as close as he was to your brother," Maeglin says, watching Maglor very carefully as he speaks.

"You were on the field after the battle," Maglor says, trying to keep his patience. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Forgive me," Maeglin says then, and flashes Maglor a quick rueful smile. "You are all names I have only ever heard in half-complete stories. There is a great deal I must learn. And nobody had ever told me that the High King was wed to his cousin."

"They are not wed," Maglor says automatically, Maedhros' customary rebuttal; then he wonders why he is still making Maedhros' arguments for him, still playing the lieutenant when the war is long since over, and the weight of his loss seizes him around the throat anew.

Belatedly he realises Maeglin is speaking. "Turgon my uncle was not happy to learn of it," he says. "But perhaps it does not matter so much now, since your brother is – well." He has the grace to look vaguely sympathetic, at least. "Some of the other lords are beginning to say that it would be wise for the King to take a wife, now that he is free of any other attachment. But that seems to me unkind."

"Unkind," Maglor asks, "or just contrary to your own hopes, which rather depend on his remaining unwed and heirless?" He raises an eyebrow.

Maeglin tenses. Maglor's eyes rest on him the way Idril's used to, as though seeing some ugly nub inside him, invisible to Maeglin himself.

Maeglin does not want to think about Idril.

"I have told them it would be cruel," he says, "to raise the matter to him while he has so many troubles."

"I see," Maglor says, and some of the pressure of his gaze relents. "Since they seem to listen to you, you might tell them that Fingon loves my brother, and is not so faithless as to waver in his affection now." He manages the flicker of a smile. "Or perhaps it would be wisest if you do not say that: they might like you less, then, after all."

"You are determined to mistrust me, I see," Maeglin says stiffly. "Strange, when half the court thinks you a spy for the Enemy, and your brother his puppet."

"Those accusations," Maglor says, "are older than you by many centuries, and have lost much of their sting. I am not a spy, and Fingon knows that. But you mistake me, Maeglin. I am not determined to mistrust you. I am only worried – for you, not just because of you." He looks directly at Maeglin again. "You are very lonely, I think."

Maeglin lifts his chin. "I am perfectly content," he says, his voice clipped, "and have very little need for your concern, thank you."

Maglor decides to take a risk. "You are not the only one," he says softly, "who knows what it is to drag the weight of a father's madness behind you. I too understand a little of that grief – it is a heavy thing, and solitary. But I am here if you wish to share some of the burden."

But Maeglin bristles. "What do you know of my burdens and my griefs?" he asks, scornful. "Spare me your pity, please. I do not need it – least of all from one cast so low as you. What now is the House of Fëanor but a set of traitors and invalids, clinging to glory they have long-since lost? In truth I think you envy me – envy that the High King trusts me, and gives me duties the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Maglor cannot stifle a laugh at this speech. "Yes," he says, "that must be it."

Maeglin glares at him and then storms out.

"At least you tried," Fingon says later, when Maglor relates the story.

(Some of it, at least. He does not think Fingon will take kindly to hearing about the speculation on his taking a wife; and Fingon is already rather too prone to lashing out at his lords at the moment.)

"You ought to spend more time with him," is all he says. "For your sake as much as his. He is rather too invested in who shall be named your heir, I think."

Fingon smiles drily. "Well, at least someone is looking to the matter of the succession," he says; and when Maglor gives him a Look, he throws his hands in the air and adds, "he's barely out of childhood, Makalaurë! Do you really think he's sneaking about plotting to poison me in my bed? My brother trusted him, clearly."

"Everyone trusted Curvo, too," Maglor mutters, "and look where that got us."

But when Fingon glances sharply at him he subsides. He does not have the appetite to argue with Fingon.

Fingon changes the subject. "I have not heard you speak so of your father before," he says quietly.

Maglor's ears twitch uncomfortably. "How unthinkingly we bound ourselves," he says, "gave up our freedom and our will and our innocence because he asked it of us – and how could we ever do otherwise? He was our father and we would have done anything for him." He draws a shaky breath.

Fingon has his own complicated feelings about his father, but he is simply Not Engaging With Them. "He has been dead a long time, Makalaurë," he says after a moment.

"I know!" Maglor says, bitterly. "I know: and we are still not free. I am tired of it."

Maedhros' name hovers in the air between them. Neither of them speaks it.

"You know my thoughts on your Oath," Fingon murmurs instead. "Chains can be broken, Makalaurë. Just because you have done evil before does not mean you are obliged to do it again." He gives Maglor a sympathetic look. "I am a Kinslayer too, you know."

"Did you tell Nelyo that?" Maglor asks, breaking their unspoken pact, and Fingon flinches.

[this is known as failing the Maedhros Bechdel Test]

After a moment, Maglor says, "I used to think – to hope, even – that maybe you were right, that Lúthien was right to tell me I need not lament forever. But here we are! Five hundred years have passed and the Oath still binds us tightly as ever it did, and he is gone, it has taken him from me once more – must it always be the same story over and over again? Shall I never be singing anything but the Noldolantë – must its themes echo through time for ever? I am tired, Finno."

"I know," says Fingon, "I know," and he puts his arms around Maglor, and Maglor leans shivering into the embrace, but it is not enough.

In Doriath:

Finduilas' entry into Menegroth has gone smoothly, and she is privately beginning to believe that Celebrimbor's fearmongering was just that.

Nobody has stopped her on recognising her (for she came here often, with her father, in the peaceful days of her youth before the Sudden Flame).

Nor does Thingol turn her away when she goes formally to her knees before him in his great throne room, and says, "I have come as an ambassador from Nargothrond, in the name of Orodreth my father."

"Little niece," says Thingol, with a flicker of humour at the corners of his mouth, "strange are the days when you whom I dandled on my knee not so many years ago now come to treat with me as a foreign king. But you will always be welcome in Menegroth, child."

Finduilas beams at him, and feels her confidence wax – until she hears footsteps behind her, which halt abruptly.

"What's this?" Lúthien asks sharply.

Finduilas spins around to face her.

Lúthien looks – good. Flourishing, even. Mortality suits her, adds some shimmering quality of transience to her loveliness, as if some light beyond the circles of this world is already shining through her skin.

A far cry from how she was when Finduilas last saw her, her face blotchy with tears, her nails ragged and torn – help me, cousin, please, let me out—

"Cousin," Finduilas says, summoning up a smile. "I am glad to see you again."

Lúthien ignores the greeting, looking past her to Thingol. "What is the meaning of this, Father?" she demands. "Why have you allowed her past the Girdle?"

Thingol looks troubled. He does not think he has ever seen Lúthien speak with such untempered anger. "The kin of Olwë my brother have always been welcome here, Lúthien," he says.

"Kin," Lúthien repeats. She looks at Finduilas now, her eyes hard. "That is one word for the way they treated me, certainly."

"I am sorry, cousin," Finduilas breathes. "I did not look to find you here, or else I would have come prepared with some gift of apology for you: but it is for that reason that I have come to plead Nargothrond's case with your father, because I am ashamed of how things happened, we are all ashamed – and my father has cast the sons of Fëanor out of the city—"

"I know that," says Lúthien, "they tried to kill me after he did so, you know."

Finduilas bites her lip. This is not going at all how she pictured it.

Lúthien makes a disgusted sound. "I can't do this," she says, and turns to her father again. "Either she leaves or I do," she says; "you know ultimatums are not my habit, Father, but I will not dwell under the same roof as she again."

She walks out.

Once she is gone Finduilas falls to her knees again. "Uncle," she says, "uncle, please. I have come for the sake of both our realms – please, give me another chance."

Thingol's eyes are colder now. "It is not my intention," he says, "to go against my daughter's wishes again."

"Let me make it right with her," Finduilas pleads, "she has every right to be angry, but I would see our old friendship renewed, if I can."

Thingol hesitates a moment, and Finduilas holds her breath. If he turns her away now, it will all have been in vain—

But at last he nods, and Finduilas is directed to Lúthien's favourite haunt, a clearing aboveground (for Lúthien above all other Elves cannot bear to be caged out of sight of the sky).

She stiffens when Finduilas comes across her. "Still here?"

"I know you are angry," Finduilas says, in a low voice, "and I have come to apologise. I should have protested harder when Celegorm sought to imprison you – I should have found some way to set you free – forgive me, cousin. It was not what I wanted: and I was not brave enough to speak against them."

Lúthien makes no indication that she accepts the apology. "Why have you come here, Finduilas?" she asks. "You were never the sort to pay much attention to politics."

Finduilas chews at her lip. "Nargothrond is weakened," she admits. "My father does his best, but after what the sons of Fëanor did – our unity is failing. Nor is he willing to ally with the High King in the north. I would not have us lose all the friends we once had."

"The friends you had," Lúthien says casually, "when Finrod was your King."

Finduilas does not want to agree, does not want to acknowledge that her father is not the king his brother was. But perhaps her silence is agreement enough.

"So you are here to win back Doriath's might," Lúthien muses, "afraid, perhaps, of the prospect of it mustered against you."

Finduilas feels hot with embarassment. "No – no, you mistake me, cousin," she says. "I want to make things right. Nargothrond grieves what was done to you."

"Nargothrond," Lúthien says, her voice now very sharp, "was complicit in it, every single one of you who were too afraid to do what you knew you be right, too cowed by the sons of Fëanor of all people – two cowards who were bested by Beren and a dog, a dog who had more courage in his heart than your whole rotten city put together—" She draws a furious breath.

Finduilas blinks back tears. "I am ashamed of it," she says unhappily.

"But you still do not think you are really to blame," Lúthien says. "Dear little Finduilas, o best-loved niece and least-noticed daughter, the last princess of the Noldor: who could ever fault you for anything? Why do you think my father allowed you to stay? He too holds you blameless in all Nargothrond's failings, naught but a pretty spectator." She looks coldly at Finduilas. "I do not. You should have done better. You should have helped me." She pauses, as if gathering her strength for the blow, and then adds, "Finrod would have lived, had you helped me."

Finduilas draws a breath.

"I was only hours too late for him," Lúthien says, very softly, her eyes distant. "Had I come sooner, he would have been saved." She shudders, and then looks at Finduilas again. "So do not speak to me now of Nargothrond's troubles. They are of their own making."

Finduilas' eyes are stinging again. "Tales are told of your friendship with the eldest sons of Fëanor," she says angrily, "and yet you will not spare so much as a sliver of pity for your own kin?"

Lúthien shrugs, undeterred by the barb. "Call it selfishness, perhaps," she says. "Darling little cousin, did you think to take me for your model, to come here and win my father's quarter with your smile, and carry home some great boon? Give it up. You are not me."

"Does it mean nothing that I am sorry?" Finduilas cries. "Perhaps I am not brave like you, or clever like you, or so well-favoured by the Valar: but I grieve what was done to you! Does that not count for anything?"

"Not really," says Lúthien; "not until you are willing to realise the part you played in it." She looks at Finduilas then and manages a smile, a real one. "You are part of this world too, coz, a strand of the Great Music just as much as all these great lords and princes. Own it: and once you have done so perhaps we might reach some sort of understanding. But for now there is little I can say to you."

Finduilas walks away at that, and Lúthien manages to exhale.

She was harsh, she knows. Unfair, to blame Finduilas for all Nargothrond's crimes, to think of the blood underneath Lúthien's own ragged fingernails as she clawed desperately at the door and pin it all on her little cousin as though she was Lúthien's sole gaoler.

It was Sauron, Lúthien reminds herself, who killed Finrod.

Still she cannot keep the hot tears of guilt from her eyes.

Back outside the Girdle:

Celebrimbor is still Bored.

He is also quite worried about how angry Orodreth is going to be with him for absconding to Doriath with Finduilas.

It would have been easier, he thinks sometimes, had he left Nargothrond with his father and uncle.

Not better. Not right. But easier, maybe.

If Finrod had lived, if he had been the king Celebrimbor had thrown his allegiance behind, it would have been better received, he is sure.

But he could not have gone with his father either, he reasons to himself. Look what became of Curufin! Nobody even knows where he is; but the stain of his deeds marks all Beleriand yet.

Perhaps Celebrimbor might have stopped him and Celegorm from attacking Beren and Lúthien, had he been there.

Perhaps Huan would have stayed – would have lived, if Celebrimbor had been there.

Easy to fantasise. But Celebrimbor did nothing when he had the chance, did not speak against his father and Celegorm until it was too late to mean anything, left Lúthien sobbing in her lonely gaol instead of working to free her.

Lost in these unhappy musings, he does not at first notice how quiet the forest has grown: but there are no birds singing, suddenly, and the rustle of small mammals through the undergrowth has stilled.

It might be the Girdle, and the strange effects of Melian's magic, Celebrimbor reasons to himself.

Then he hears the growl.

The problem is – for just one crucial moment – his traitorous heart stills – and he thinks, Huan is here, he is come back for me as he always did—

The wolf-pack is lining the clearing by the time he realises his mistake, cutting off his chance of running.

Ah.

Celebrimbor has seen true wolves before, as a child in Valinor.

Once his father took him on a hunting-trip in the wilds near Formenos, just the two of them, and bade him be very quiet when they came to the sparse northern plains; and then he whispered in Celebrimbor's ear, Look! and, looking, Celebrimbor caught sight of an animal nearly bigger than Huan and snow-white all over, with a fine thick tail and a proud snout.

Typical, he thinks now, that Sauron could have perverted even so noble a beast: for the werewolves surrounding him now are mangy and thin, their frames twisted in the same painful way orcs are built, their eyes like dull hungry flames flickering in their heads.

It is not fair, a childish part of him wants to cry out, Tol-in-Gaurhoth was cast down, there should be no wolves roaming these lands now—

But Celebrimbor is a Scientist. He knows better than to trust what he believes over what he sees.

He scales a tree.

The wolves close in around its base, snarling up at him.

No Carcharoths, these, only relics of Sauron's experiments: but that will not matter, when their teeth sink into him.

Everything about you is derivative, some ugly voice seems to whisper to Celebrimbor, its sibilance woven into the wolves' growls; Celegorm your uncle was slain by a greater beast than these poor prototypes, and Finrod Felagund whom you loved at least saved another before they killed him, but you are going to die here, alone and forgotten and unmourned—

Celebrimbor grits his teeth, and ignores it.

He is not going to jump out of the tree to some foolish death. He is going to live forever, and leave a greater mark on the world than that of his father the traitor – he will not end like this—

Besides, Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

He leans against the trunk of the tree and settles in for a long night.

By the morning things are rather more dire.

The wolves have not tired; Celebrimbor, on the other hand, is very thirsty, and also growing worried for a new reason.

Finduilas is expecting him to wait for her.

If she comes back to the clearing where she left him, and the wolves decide she is an easier target—

She could perhaps run back to the safety of the Girdle in time – but the wolves are fast, and hungry.

Celebrimbor briefly imagines riding alone back to Nargothrond to inform Orodreth that his daughter is dead.

No: he will have to find a way to drive the wolves away, and quickly, for he does not know how much longer his cousin will be.

He grips his sword-hilt and then hesitates.

There is a pressure on the back of his neck, an oddly disapproving one, as though to say, Don't even think about it, child.

"I am not a child," Celebrimbor says aloud, and the wolves look up at him, snarling as though in agreement.

Finduilas is in danger, Celebrimbor reminds himself, and then he draws his sword and jumps down from his branch.

The wolves are upon him almost instantly. There are many of them, but Celebrimbor is quick, and moreover learned to fight wrestling with Huan long before he was ever given a sword.

He ducks and weaves and rolls, slashing with his sword as best as he can; but then one wolf lands a lucky blow with his claws on his thigh, and another collides with him from behind, sending him sprawling onto the ground—

Celebrimbor closes his eyes, and does not bother to cry out, for nobody will hear him.

Then he has the brief muddled impression of a thud, and sudden pressure on his chest, and then before he can catch his breath or work out what is going on the weight on his legs is lifted, and someone is snapping at him, "Get up, Tyelpë!" and his sword is suddenly back in his hand—

Celebrimbor knows that voice. He scrambles to his feet.

Standing before him, currently locked in a struggle with one of the last few wolves, dishevelled and bloodied but very much alive, is his father.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #curufin #maedhros #luthien #beren #fingon #maglor #it’s taken a while but. here we are!!

100 notes · View notes