#i hope you like him and that rhis is interesting 🥺

[curufiin]

Just found Calantar and I wanna know more about the baby🥺

OMGGG i’m so happy you like him 😭😭 okay let me try to explain his deal in an actually coherent way bc apparently i am bad at doing this

SO. He’s part of my curufin au, aptly named Ringmaker Curvo (fic coming never), where Annatar instead seduces Curufin while he’s still in Nargothrond to make the rings of power.

Basically after Luthien kicks his ass, and before Curufin gets thrown out of Nargothrond, Sauron decides he can’t go back to Morgoth like this and embarrass himself because Morgoth would kill him. So he ends up flying in the direction of Nargothrond, crashlands somewhere nearby from exhaustion, and is found by hunters from Nargothrond who take him there.

Once inside he snoops around, and finds out about the general chaos inside going on including the two C’s. Annatar proceeds to pretend ro have some super important request, is granted a meeting with Curufin, and they bond over their love of smithing. They end up going out pretending to go rescue Finrod, Curufin discovers Annatar is Sauron (he doesn’t really care and is immediately planning to use him and betray him later), they run into Carcharoth and murder him, and get the Silmaril somehow. Shoutout to @maironsbigboobs for helping me with this mwa

So anyway more unspecified things happen and honestly idk the plot of the AU. Onto Calantar. Celebrimbor disowns Curufin early and leaves Nargothrond by himself. Curufin is absolutely devastated, and by this point his sanity is at some questionable level, and he’s also kinda in love with Sauron (sauron x curufin ftw yay). So he approaches him, and is like “hey. My son fucking abandoned me. Give me another son.”

Obviously they can’t just procreate since they’re both guys and Sauron doesn’t feel like getting pregnant, so they decide to actually create a baby. Like, literally craft a baby. Curufin gives up a part of his soul for this (and almost dies), but they still need the flesh to bind the soul with. Sauron uses his flesh, probably cuts off a forearm, and after a long ritual involving necromancy and grave robbing and whatever, Calantar is made! He’s born as a toddler so no need to deal with an actual infant.

Originally, he was just named Laurinquar (golden fist) Curufinwe/ion because Curufin is awful with names. However, since he was made of Maia flesh, Calantar is *very* attuned with the Song, and his light powers eventually show up, hence the name Calantar (lord of light/bringer of light). He also inherited Sauron’s shapeshifting, but he can only shapeshift into elven forms, not animals.

Eventually Curufin is kicked out of Nargothrond anyway, plot happens, and he dies. I haven’t decided if Curufin should be taken to Angband as a “prisoner” or if he should die in the second kinslaying, but either way, he’s dead, Sauron’s got a ring, and Calantar is in Angband now.

The deal with Calantar is that he’s basically a mash up of every bad thing about Sauron, and every bad thing about Curufin. He’s arrogant, snide, extremely haughty, he’s a perfectionist, he thinks he’s better than everyone, and he is extremely loyal to his parents. He truly believes that Sauron is bettering the world, and he gets very aggressive when he thinks someone is insulting his family. He was also raised partly by Morgoth (who definitely also wanted to use this demon elf child for his own purposes) sooooooo

All of that means he functions as a very efficient attack dog for Sauron once he does grow up and get his powers under control. He isn’t really involved in the War of Wrath because he was still pretty young, but in the second age he does do a lot of dirty work for Sauron, including commanding his own battalion to attack Eregion. Ofc he has either no idea or only a vague idea Celebrimbor is his brother, and Celebrimbor has no idea who he is. When Sauron gets “imprisoned” by Ar Pharazon, Calantar is in Middle Earth managing Sauron’s henchmen and property (yay property manager!) and generally laying low. He fights in the Final Alliance, almost dies, and goes into hiding for many years.

Since he’s made of Sauron’s flesh, this means he’s also sort of bound to the ring in the sense he can feel its presence and can feel it calling to him. Eventually, he’s sent out to find the ring and return it, and this is where his elven disguises become useful. While Calantar is a huge asshole, he is perfectly capable of playing the role of a wise elven guardian and get people to trust him, only to turn on them at the last second. Watch out frodo

[saintmurd0ck]

RHI!!! A million congrats on 2.5k, I can't think of anyone who deserves it more 🥰 and so glad you're back and feeling ok! For the train, I'd loveee to take a trip to 86th st with Mikey Kinsella and “please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” “why don’t you come over here and make me?” i think the way you write it would be SO gorgeous and interesting ❤️ and also because im a slut, i just know id LOSE it over a stop at Heuston Station with Fratt x reader and ❛ you want gentle? wrong fucking address. ❜ Anyways I'm so so excited to read everything you do for this event 🥰 congrats again!!

all fired up

join my sleepover | main masterlist

pairing: michael kinsella x reader

warnings: amanda slander, a tiny bit of spice (minors DNI), aggressive michael / reader, yes we're a little mean but dont worry he gets the upper hand ;)

a/n: christie my gorgeous, thank you so so so much for dropping in 🥺 i hope you like this one, and i am gonna post the fratt request in a separate ask >:) btw i am amending the prompts to better fit the characters i am writing for, so i hope you dont mind xoxo

Michael’s silent rage simmers in your periphery as he leans against the wall like a fallen angel, gritting his teeth, letting his chest rise and fall in short, controlled bursts. Everything in the room is setting him off: the clicking of your pen, the faint hum of the air-conditioner, and the distant noise of traffic from the main road. 

Unfortunately for him, you’re far from caring today; not when you’ve scraped together the business proposal of a lifetime. One that could easily retire you in the blink of an eye.

You’ve worked your ass off to coordinate this, so isn’t it only fair that Michael, being the other major stakeholder in this business, quits his grumbling? It’s as if he can’t — or won’t — comprehend what this means if this works out. If you negotiate your way through this successfully, with Michael there or not, the Kinsellas land on top. They’ll control Dublin, and possibly the whole of Ireland, with opportunities to plant roots and spread vines across all the major networks in Europe. And as you’re the only decision maker not married to — or even fucking — anyone in the family, you’ve had to prove your worth, a thousand times more so. Simply being Michael’s closest friend and confidante didn’t sit well with the others, but you’ve made yourself far more capable than anyone in this business. 

And this deal will cement you into the Kinsella hall of fame. 

You cut a glance to where he’s standing, a momentary pang of empathy softening your expression. He’s exhausted from today, and it isn’t just the circles under his eyes that demonstrate it. You know his tells better than anyone; in fact, you know him so well that just by judging his body language, you can deduce who he’s been with, what he’s been up to, and what he tries hard to conceal. Right now, and at your disdain, you can see Amanda written all over him. It’s obvious in the way he’s carrying himself, with his chin pointed downwards, the tension almost shrugging his shoulders. Even his skin gives it away, from the warmth in his cheeks to the flush at the tips of his ears. 

“Let me guess,” you sigh, breaking the silence, “Amanda thinks you’re not doin’ a good enough job, and you shouldn’t be workin’ with me?” Saying her name is enough to set you off, but you do your best to diffuse the situation, to bring Michael back to the present. 

His eyes flick to yours at the mention of her name, and you grimace inwards at the sharp stab to your gut. “Somethin’ like tha’.”

It confirms what you suspected; that he and Amanda had met up today, for purposes you try not to burden yourself with. It isn’t your business what they get up to, or how many times you notice her silhouette beyond the frosted glass of his front door. 5 times this week, and it’s only Wednesday, you think, chewing on your lip. 

Unease courses through your veins, and so you go to do what’s natural, and sweep the thoughts under the proverbial rug in your mind. You gesture at the mountain of paperwork in front of you. “Are you gonna help me, Michael?”

His only response is a delicate muscle feathering in his jaw, and for some reason, it sends a lick of angry heat up your spine. The deadline to the deal looms in front of you like a ticking time-bomb, and all he can do is stay silent, and God forbid, mope about Amanda?

Your mouth thins as you take a moment to decide if you want to add to his anguish. To deliver an insult worthy of his attention. There’s a rush that flows through you, a sick kind of satisfaction, that tug the corners of your mouth upwards. If it were Eric, or Jimmy, or even Amanda, he would’ve lost his shit by now. He’d probably have stormed out and sulked home, making sure his gun was accessible from beneath his jacket at all times. His heart would thunder in his ears, itching for a fight with some unfortunate soul who’d then be promptly taken out by none other than the Magician. 

Your voice rings out across the room, coming out more confident than you’d played out in your head. “She refuse to blow you today or what?” 

Michael’s brows furrow together. “What did you say?”

“I asked you something, Michael. Are you pissed because Amanda didn’t open her legs for you?”

His mouth twists into a sneer. “I’d stop talkin’ if I were you.”

But you return his glare, your blood thrumming with challenge. “Actually, I commend her for doin’ that. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to fuck someone so miserable either.”

He’s in front of you in a couple of strides, seething cold fury as his voice drops an octave. When he talks, his breath fans your face. “I said stop fuckin’ talkin’.”

You swallow, feeling your chest heave as some unchecked part of you — the part that’s scared of no-one — takes over. “Or what?” You pout, cocking your head to the side. “Are you gonna run back to Amanda and tell her how mean I’ve been to you?” 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he spits, grabbing you by the collar, shoving you until the back of your thighs press up against the desk.

Your retort comes out just before he lowers his mouth to yours. Just before he wedges his thick hand between your legs. “Why don’t you make me?”