#i think its less that he hated the job itself and a moreso a combination of not caring and not getting along too well with his coworkers

[shootingstarrfish]

DOES MY FAVORITE 33 YEAR OLD BOBBY GRILL (gender neutral) HAVE A JOB???????

yeah his job is being cute <3

[missromantic-x]

Peter Pan and Captain Hook

Shin Soukoku Week Day 4: AU My best piece, hands down. Oh goodness I love how this turned out. The shimmering blue waters of Neverland kissed the golden lips of the sand. Peridot coconut trees swayed in the light sea breeze. Seagulls screeched on the shore, and their shedded cream-white feathers drifted along the beach. Mermaids lazily say upon the rocks, picking lilies for their elegant flower crowns. Their scales refracted a thousand rainbows. The native children tackled each other with stray branches they’d found on the edges of the dense forest surrounding their campground. The sound of laughter and song filled the endless sapphire blue sky. Salt encompassed the air with the twinge of adventure. And there was Atsushi Pan, lounging in the midst of all the grandeur. He laughed to himself, remembering how he’d reached the land through the residual glitter from a dream. He believed he’d been eighteen at the time, but time on Neverland wasn’t sensical, per se, so his memories could have been slightly off. On a night when he’d been trapped alone in the orphanage cellar, one of many normal nights back there, a spunky little fairy had greeted him. According to her, she had come from a far away place called Neverland, where children never grew old and joy was at the end of every corner. But that beautiful peace was disturbed by the devastatingly handsome yet terribly brutal young pirate Captain Rashomon and his motley crew of scoundrels from the mainland. She had been looking for a strong boy to fight the evildoers, and, due to their tough upbringing and will to live and let others live with them, orphaned boys were the best pick. Well aware that he was getting kicked out of the orphanage thanks to his birthday being that day and eighteen-year-olds being legal adults, he gleefully took the fairy’s hand, and pledged that he would be the best hero the island ever wanted. The fairy, whose name he learned was Higuchi Bell, wasn’t wrong when she’d said Captain Rashomon was devastatingly handsome. He looked like the kind of man the female caretakers at the orphanage would be more than willing to spend a night with. He held a regal and mysterious air to him, despite his place as an outlaw. (Then again, Neverland didn’t have any laws.) However, the most notable thing about the captain was his magical blade. See, his right hand had been cut off, supposedly by his old leader on the mainland. In its place was the strangest thing: a piece of black cloth. But this was a magical cloth, one that could extend infinitely and acted almost like a cat’s tail in the sense that he treated it like a part of his own body. This fabric could become a whip or a sword or a combination of both if he so desired. However, Higuchi hadn’t been completely honest about Rashomon’s intentions. He most certainly wasn’t evil, moreso at a loss. He’d worked previously with another pirate whom had drowned at sea, and with that pirate’s body was his most treasured thing. None knew what it was. Regardless, he did pillage the land in search of it, and that was more than enough to call the inhabitants attention. Atsushi stretched out like a cat after a nap, yawning a bit. He’d heard three gunshots in the distance: those were a signature sound of pirates. Pressing himself off the ground, the brittle sand crunching under the sudden force, he leapt into the sky and flew towards the noise. As normal, Rashomon was alone. A small wooden rowboat sat at his feet, and if Atsushi squinted, he could see the Jolly Roger in the distance. But mostly, his eyes were drawn to the pirate. Today, he wore a dark red velvet tailcoat with black swirls, with gold embellishments on the pockets and the edges. His undershirt and jabot were a pure white, a stark contrast to his black pants. Over his left hand was a white glove, and his right hand had changed itself to look like a second glove. On his left cheek, there were elegant face-painted silver swirls that matched his eyes. He looked so beautiful it was hard to remember their supposed rivalry. It also made Atsushi’s leaf-patterned green tunic and black pants look even more basic. The cloth on Rashomon’s arm stretched out to Atsushi, and dumped him into the boat. Once he was settled with a job well done, he hopped in as well and began to row toward the hidden inlet they had discovered during their first battle. Ever since then, it was their self-declared battle space, as well as a place for other secret things. They landed without a hitch, and both climbed out of the boat wordlessly. A small smile crept up the captain’s lips as he brushed aside the palm fronds to reveal the special place. A small gasp came from Atsushi’s mouth as he took in the sight. Lining the entrance and the edges of the roofless cavern were pastel red candles that shimmered with tangerine flames. In the center lay an expensive-looking blanket with a flower centerpiece of yellow and violet. And on that blanket…Atsushi breathed in deeply through his nose…was what had to be the most delicious-smelling feast he’d had in long time. He caught scents of cinnamon, freshly grilled chicken, goat cheese, earthy vegetables, and newly squeezed lemon. “Did you set this all up for me?” queried Atsushi tentatively, unsure if he was dreaming. He never could discern the two in this place. Rashomon’s face was cleaner than a slate. “It is the best I can do for my rival. I would hate to win a fight due to having the unfair advantage of being well-fed, and since I have this food, I may as well share it.” This made Atsushi smile. Every time they did things like this, they were always coming up with excuses like this. They both knew that no secrecy was necessary in the hidden cave, but it was an odd habit the two could not break. Rashomon sat down on the blanket, and Atsushi sat on the opposite end. They ate in silence for a while. Then a thought came to Atsushi’s mind that was completely nonsensical but wildly addictive at the same time. Blushing madly, he whispered, his voice trembling a bit, “I do not think that some outlaw would set up such a nice meal for me. Surely he has poisoned the dish with something foul. In order to make sure he has no unfair advantages, I will pass the poison onto him.” Rashomon looked up from his food, clearly startled, but then he began to smile gingerly. “Ah! To think you have known me for this long and still do not trust me! I shall gladly prove to you that you are incorrect.” He rose from his seat and sat beside Atsushi. The cloth on his hand took hold of the hero’s chin to pull him in closer. Atsushi’s heart beat like a caged bird in his chest, and his stomach tickled with butterflies. He leaned in, still shocked that he had initiated this. At that second, their lips met. He could taste all the flavors of the ocean, from the waves to the driftwood floating in its depths. He could smell the lingering scent of seawater and jasmines. He could feel the curves of those perfect lips on his own. “I forgot how deadly the poison is,” Rashomon murmured. “Once one has a taste, they must have a second.” His fingers tangled themselves in Atsushi’s silver hair. “Alas,” Atsushi mumbled. “The poison has taken full effect on me as well.” He wrapped his own arms around Rashomon’s back, the soft fabric of his coat twisting in his tight grasp. At last, they broke the kiss. The two fell backward, their fall softened by the feathery grass behind them. Atsushi turned his head to look at the pirate. He looked so happy and peaceful, his face finally void of his hardened expression. Now, it was one of pure bliss. Rashomon’s beautiful eyelids fluttered, his dark eyelashes following in suit. “The second effect of the poison is one that makes you lose your sanity. Sometimes it results in people calling each other by their first names, no matter their status.” The sun fell between Neverland’s snow-peaked mountains, and the sky became an ombré shade of yellow and purple. “Then what is the final step of this poison?” He shifted to face Atsushi. “The afflicted say insane things, such as ‘I love you, Atsushi Nakajima,’” “I love you, too, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa.” They kissed again. “You know,” Atsushi began, “I’ve heard that you’re a little sickly and overtired.” Ryūnosuke raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t want to win a fight just because you got frostbite or because you because too fatigued and lost your balance. And, they say that people stay together to get warmer, and sleep to get less tired,” he rationalized. “Fine,” Ryūnosuke agreed. “We should be able to spar without issues tomorrow.”

[gurguliare]

hey i’m putting this whole dumb mariner’s wife maunder under the cut because tumblr’s glitchy apostrophes really bother me, thanks

One thing I love about "The Mariner's Wife" is that it's as close as Tolkien gets to like, utopian drama, in that no one in the story is making decisions based off immediate need---poverty, war, et al obviously still exist, but they aren't the kind of threats they are in any other part of the legendarium. Even Valinor! once Morgoth is released. to quote Andie’s meta that I personally slid her $20 under the table for, "very few choices made in Numenor would lead to evil. Probably the worst thing that would happen due to bad human choices in Numenor were mass accidents." All external pressure, positive and negative, (let's say Middle earth’s tempting resources vs Sauron) is at a huge remove, enough so that the characters have almost perfect freedom in how they want to deal with it---except that that their actual reach is limited, and the combination is paralyzing, of course.

I really enjoy the fatalism of Tolkien’s base worldview as applied to the problem of maintaining rather than restoring peace: it’s one of his bleaker stories exactly because it’s ~pre-Fall, post-another-Fall, and tearing itself to pieces while worrying about, essentially, the wrong problem---“what weapons do we need to face the crisis that’s surely coming” rather than “what tools can we give our heirs?” Say that the usual conflict in utopian narrative is “how does the utopia survive,” with the added caveat that the utopia needs to preserve its identity plastically, and not become super-resistant to change---or, put another way, the utopia has to avoid being compromised by “realism” without sealing itself off from reality. Which can be the outside world, but which can also be the strains of rupture and change already present within the utopia, part of its heritage, and naturally produced within it as a society of actual people.

And it seems revealing to me that this bubble is the precondition for Tolkien writing, also, a domestic drama, knowing as we do his mixed opinion of character-driven literature (“stage-plays”). Obviously Aldarion and Erendis are each deeply concerned with How To Save Numenor: and although they're sort of obvious mouthpieces for transformation and conservation respectively, it’s not black-and-white---Aldarion recognizes the need to offer aid and tend old alliances in Middle-earth, but Erendis is the one aware of fissures within Numenor and the ripeness for conflict between unequal groups: men and women, shorter- and longer-lived Numenoreans, and, yes, elves and humans. These are problems that demand serious intervention, even with a status quo in all other ways worthy. So like... there’s enormous scope in which to work, despite the appearance of equilibrium there’s tons to do to keep alive the body paradisiac, and yet it’s exactly this relative innocence and freedom that makes it easy for the characters to suspect one another of perversity, and insincerity, in their respective choice of causes. Everything is equally urgent, and everything is also equally, secretly unreal. Erendis hates the sea and loves trees to spite me, thinks Aldarion; Erendis assumes that Aldarion’s voyaging is born of discontent with Numenor (but really boredom with her). Because Numenor is, in the moment, perfect---because the stakes are semi-abstract and it’s incredibly easy to dissociate intellectual possibilities from present risk if you don’t already feel the threat on an emotional level---it’s the most natural thing in the world to accuse the person with different priorities of playing games with facts, out of pure self-interest.

Hence Erendis’s speech about men; hence also why Ancalime thinks her parents fight for the “promise of sport,” not for considerations ideological or personal. In part because Aldarion and Erendis both consider themselves objective and think that objectivity alone will serve to carry the day eventually, they’re totally unable to communicate their respective visions to their heir, and they only ever get a partial glimpse at one another’s. Which sucks! Like, part of the tragedy of the Tree Subtweets is that Erendis herself represents something as irreplaceable as the trees: a loving devotion to the land and its people that needs no rational basis, precious exactly because rationality is in some sense inadequate to the momentous task at hand. Aldarion is a good steward of resources because he’s personally farsighted and has a basic grasp of logic---but he can’t make his descendants into equally sensible stewards, or rather, he can’t do so simply by being perceptive and expecting the same from others. Insert joke about cult of priests devoted to scaring people away from nuclear waste zones in the far future... but that’s the thing, right: some information is safer culturally embedded than it is passed down literally. Aldarion is born in the wrong time for even his longest-term preparations to be relevant, meaning that if he wanted any control whatsoever over the future, he needed to be forming close, trusting relationships within his own family, for even a hope in hell of continuity.

Which... it’s interesting, right? Tar-Meneldur does it; he abdicates because he lacks Aldarion’s perspective on the situation in Modern Middle-earth and because he (Meneldur) recognizes that action or inaction on his part are both choices he simply doesn’t have the moral license to make. But the thing is, that generosity doesn’t teach Aldarion, in turn, to be generous. I think we’re supposed to understand the abdication comes too late. The feeling I get from both Erendis and Aldarion is that part of the reason they’re so convinced of their own superb rationality is because, for their whole lives, their parents have been telling them how proud and willful they are, without regard for actual progress these stiffnecked children have made toward thinking adulthood. (Note: we see less of Erendis’s side but what we do get is the wayyyyyyy more concentrated version of this, unsurprisingly. One other big problem here is that Aldarion identifies Erendis as an equal opponent with all the same weapons he has, and she isn’t. But this post is already so long) ...The fact that Erendis and Aldarion are proud doesn’t make them deluded, and they know that; they have evidence no one else has, they see things no one else sees. They’re so smart! But then they take pride in pride, moreso as they’re scolded for it; they both develop this protectiveness toward the “right” to pride itself, because despite all the warnings, despite the condescension and doubt from outsiders, this burning self-reliance led them to the most important things in their respective lives (until, coincidentally, it became the most important thing in their respective lives). Ouch.

And pride without purpose (except self-protection) is the one thing that descends to Ancalime, and that sense of alienation persists in the Line of Elros without any final antidote. The one institutional takeaway is the wrong one: “don’t marry outside the Line” wedges open the split between Numenor’s “levels” of reality, again, if we say there’s a utopia-within-the-utopia---the changing present inhabited by its people and the dream of eternity, political and later personal, that haunts the kings.

...I would speculate here about the parallel to the Valar’s handsoff approach to “advising” Numenor but that would get boring fast! And isn’t really fair, or indeed, interesting---the thing that gets me is this entirely human plane of action, even the wasted potential of which is going to change the world. The point is, Tolkien does a really good job setting up personality cascades, and it’s funny. I could ... man I want to talk a bit more about the parenting thing because it’s obviously also connected to, uh, Meneldur and Almarien and Nuneth’s relationships to Numenor! and Numenor’s hypothetical future. But this post is so long and meandering and unedited already and I’m sick of it. GOD. SORRY. GOODNIGHT.