#i'm just very slowly coming to see some things

[infinitesimblr]

I am not in the same boat, but maybe in an adjacent flotilla, and I see you.

This year was a struggle already, and I'm ending it with an infected tooth. Well, that's how it started at least, now it's spread. I'm not just in severe pain, I have been unable to keep anything - even water - down for about a week and a half.

I haven't missed any work, though, and customers and coworkers alike keep complimenting me on the amount of weight I've lost. No idea exactly how much, but I was in a US 24W pants, which I recently had to replace with US 22W pants, which are now quite literally falling off of me. I got new pants...IDK end of October? Beginning of November? All these people are just like, what are you doing? What's your secret?

My secret is that I'm worried I've landed in some strange land of septic but functional. Fuck me, anything but this. I would gain all that weight back in a heartbeat in exchange for being able to eat without pain and vomiting again.

I even went to the (local, notoriously callous/purposely obtuse but I was desperate okay) ER Tuesday night after work. They were busy but I got triaged in a pretty timely way, and the triage nurse actually listened and took me seriously. I got taken back to exam after about an hour and a half, they set me up for blood draw and a pee sample but then the doctor assigned to me comes in, looks at me for I shit you not an entire two minutes, decides to do none of the above and not even weigh me for correct dosage, turns and leaves like, yeah I'm just going to send in an antibiotic prescription for you. And just like that, I was dismissed. No IV fluids or anything.

Starving slowly to death is a very bad thing.

Being fat is not a bad thing.

people can be so disingenuous when telling people with EDs that they want them to heal. It's only when the person is anorexic AND skinny that they have sympathy, and they only want people to heal if they stay skinny.

When I started eating again during my ED recovery, I started gaining weight and holding onto it because my body was likely terrified of going without food for so long again.

And guess what? A lot of people in my life talked negatively about my weight gain either to my face or behind my back. People who *knew* that I had been starving myself. They claimed it was about my health, but I know now that it was fatphobia. It was much healthier for me to be eating 3 meals a day than starving myself 90% of the time, but they just saw that I had gone from skinny to fat, and to them, the fat was worse than the malnutrition.

I'm fat now, and much better off. No one who had bad things to say stayed in my life. And I'm better for it. But I worry about fat people with ED's who don't have the support I had. I worry about people who are ready to heal but the shaming from outside sources keep them in their illness or push them back in if they started to heal.

being fat is not a bad thing

[munsonsmixtapes]

wearing a matching set for eddie smut?

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) body insecurity, body worship, nipple play

There's not really a reason why you bought the lingerie set. It was pretty when you tried it on and it just so happened to that pretty red that Eddie loved to see you in. You wanted to surprise him with it, putting it on top of the t-shirts he stored in the bottom drawer of the dresser you shared.

You're washing dishes when Eddie comes home from work, trying your best to act normal as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, murmuring a "hey, baby" as he passes by you to head to your shared room to change into some more comfy clothes.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you slowly follow him into the bedroom, leaning against the door frame as you watch him make the discovery, pulling the bright red, thin panties out of the drawer, whistling as he takes a look at them.

"Shit, baby, what are these?" He asks, as he turns towards you. "I'm assuming they're not for me, because," he holds them up to his body and they don't look quite right on him.

"They're for you," you tell him, your cheeks getting warm. "I mean, they're for me to wear for you." You enter the room and stand in front of him, reaching into the drawer to pull out the matching bra.

Eddie's never seen this side of you, but he has to admit that he finds it really hot. Sure, you've worn lingerie for him before, but you've never bought any to specifically wear for him. And that makes him feel special. It makes him feel…hot.

"And what did I do to deserve such special treatment?" He asks, fanning his face dramatically.

"Nothing," you shake your head. "It's for you being you." You press a kiss to his nose then take the underwear from him. "I'm gonna slip into these and you just sit there and look pretty, okay?"

You head into the bathroom and close the door, taking a deep breath as you gingerly take off your clothes, changing into the lingerie, suddenly not feeling as confident as you did in the store earlier.

The cups of the bra seem to be smaller than you remember, more transparent, your tits on full display through the sheer fabric. And the panties are more tight, hugging you in all the wrong places. The whole thing looks ill fitting and now you’re unsure of whether you should change or not.

You stare at your reflection as you fix one of the straps that’s fallen off your shoulder. You almost don’t want to go out there, the idea suddenly feeling stupid to you. But Eddie is waiting and you don’t want to disappoint him.

You slowly exit the bathroom, covering yourself up as much as you can with your hands and arms, but eventually give up, showing yourself to Eddie as he leans back where he’s sitting on the bed, another wolf whistles passing through his lips.

“Baby, you look fucking amazing.” He’s grinning ear to ear and you almost believe him. Almost. He’d never lie to you so you don’t know why you don’t believe him.

“Do I?” You ask genuinely and Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He always thinks you look amazing and is very quick to tell you so.

“Of course you do. Can’t stop looking at you. Hey, what’s wrong?” He notices your frown and rests his hands on his shoulder, his head moving in the direction of yours, trying to get you to look him in the eye.

“Nothing, Eds. Don’t worry about it.” You shake your head before turning it to the side so he can’t see how ashamed you feel.

“Do you not like it? Are you uncomfortable? You don’t have to do this for me. You can change back if that’s what you want. I love you no matter what you wear. You know that.” He wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it. He hates when you feel anything but happy and wants to do whatever he can to make you feel better.

“Is it too small?”

“Small? No, baby, you look perfect.” His hand moved to one of the cups of your bra, his fingers brushing over the lace. “This, this is nice, but I think I like what’s underneath it even better.”

Eddie pushes the strap off of your shoulder then presses a featherlight kiss to it. He backs you up to the bed as his kisses get hotter and rougher, his lips sucking on your skin as your back collides with the bed.

“Once I’m done with you, you’ll know just how pretty I think you are. Especially when you see all of marks I’m about to leave on you when you look in the mirror.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment and he’s quick to get off of you, rushing to the other side of the room and grabbing something before hurrying back to you.

He straddles your waist and brings a camera up his face, making sure that you’re in the center of the frame.

“Need a photo of my pretty girl so pose for me.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself in a way that you think looks sexy, a pose that you’ve seen in the magazines he reads.

“That’s it,” he says then snaps a photo, the thing printing out of the camera. You take it and set it on the bedside table along with the camera before Eddie lies down on top of you once again.

He leans down and brings your nipple to his mouth, sucking on it through the fabric. You let out a whine and he takes that as an invitation to continue. His hands find yours and he pins them above you as he dives in for more, licking and sucking on the fabric as you moan underneath him, the sounds nothing but hot.

Eddie moves his hands underneath you and unhooks your bra, your tits coming into view and he feels his mouth watering as he stares down at your exposed chest and all of the things he wants to do to it. You’re right there on display for him like an all-you-can-eat buffet and fuck is he hungry.

He goes for your nipple, taking the whole thing into his mouth, flicking it back and forth as he sucks on it, wanting to get a full taste of it. He slides his hands underneath you, holding onto your bare back as he works, trying to giving himself more room, wanting to have his mouth on as much of you as he can.

You’re moaning and whining and he makes sure to press his rock hard cock against you so that you know just how hard you’re making him. That you know that he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as you are.

“Fuck,” you whine as he bites down on your nipple, arching into him as he bites down even harder, wanting you to moan as loud as possible so all of your neighbors know exactly how good he makes you feel.

You’re already reaching your orgasm and even though you’re embarrassed by it, Eddie is quick to let you know how good of a girl he thinks you are, how you’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to.

“Oh,” you moan loudly as you grab onto him, your nails digging into the back of his shirt. “Oh my god, Eddie.”

“That’s it,” he encourages as he helps you ride out your high. “That’s my girl. Sound so pretty when you moan my name.”

As you’re coming down, he moves lower, loving on every inch of skin he can get his mouth on, nipping and sucking on the parts of you he loves the most, stopping once he gets to your cunt. He spreads your legs wide and you look ready for him, already sopping wet through your panties.

Eddie gets undressed and puts on the first condom he can find before lowering himself onto you once again as he slides into you, pumping in and out slowly, knowing that this is exactly what you need. You want him to make love to you, not fuck you like he always does. You want him to show you just how much he loves you with his body.

“Wish you could see how pretty you are,” he says as he presses a kiss to your lips. “Because if you could see what I see, baby, fuck,” he sighs as he picks up the pace just slightly, his fingers interlocking with yours as his face is buried in your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin.

“Can we do this more often?” You ask even though you’re kind of afraid to.

“What? Go slow?”

“Yes.” Your face flushes as you’re confession but Eddie just looks as you lovingly.

“Baby, you can have anything you want. All you gotta do is ask.”

“So we can do this all night as long as I ask?” Eddie pulls back to look at you as if you had just asked a silly question, and you suppose that you did.

“No question,” he shakes his head. “Now lie back darlin’, gonna show you just what I think of that pretty little thing you were wearing.”

And you do that the rest of the night and into the early morning, and afterwards, Eddie takes that Polaroid from the bedside table and puts it in his wallet so he can look at it anytime he wants. And after he does so, he pulls you into his arms and cuddles you until the two of you fall into a much needed sleep.

[tan1shere]

Freaky Deaky

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: I got this idea when this song popped up on my Spotify the other day. I hadn't listened to it in soooo long but omg this idea SPRUNG into my brain - this is inspired a bit by the music video so if you haven't seen it go watch it !!! And lastly enjoy 🥰

Summary: she wasn't use to this from you. But on valentines day, you decide to let that side of you show.

Warnings: smut ! Daddy kink yall 😋 reader is super girly, and many more kinky surprises 😈

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @brat-at-the-disco @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu

Masterlist

"I've been feeling freaky deaky."

"You're on your way to see me."

14th of February. The day of love. Some is passionate, sweet, loving. And some is freaky, which is what tonight was for the both of you. You only got the courage to do this when she asked you to be her valentine. The usual flowers, chocolates and a sign. But, there was a small bag. You look inside to be faced with some lingerie. It was pink. Your favorite color. Not just any pink, a hot pink. The sexy kind of pink. It impelled you to be a bit more confident and open with her. You've had sex, sure. Countless times. But you haven't been dating for long, so ofcourse there were kinks and fantasies neither of you knew about. That changes, tonight.

You had been laying on your bed, the pink fluffy sheets felt great on your skin. You were about to get up and get ready for your night with Billie when you get a text from her.

Bills💗

- "I'll be there in 25 baby."

- "Awesome can't wait ;)☺"

- "Me too mama.😈💋"

A smile spreads across your face, rolling over on your bed with a giggle. You adored the way she made you feel, forever giggly. You never really showed that side of yourself from past experiences but she brings a comfort, a safeness no one in your life has ever brought for you before. So, you can be your true selfaround her. You go to your vanity picking out the right makeup, moving onto your hair. You put it up in a cute messy but styled bun. "Cute." You say softly to yourself, messing with a few strands on the sides. Getting up and heading to your closet to pick out this satin pink robe, putting that over the lingerie Billie had gotten you.

The pink lace hugged your body just right, and she was very excited to see you in it. It'd be a lie if she said she wasn't dreaming of how you'd look in it. Shes finally getting to live that dream, and many more. You spray some nice smelling purfume on from Victoria secret, sealing the whole look. Feeling amazing. You hear a knock on the door going to open it, looking at her with a grin. Her eyes wander, going over your tits, sitting pretty in that bra. So perfectly. Your waist, hips. The see-through satin robe hid hardly anything. So she was looking. Loud and proud.

You invite her in, letting your hips sway as you go over to your bed. "The lingerie fits nicely, thank you for getting it for me." You say to her sweetly. So sweetly infact you hear her gulp. "It fits you very. Well." She joins you on the bed. "I got you a little something. Two little somethings." Her head shakes. "I told you I'm fine baby it's ok, I don't need anything." You move to grab it. "Too late. Open open!" You say handing her the pretty bag it comes in. She peeks inside seeing a strap and dildo both pink to match with everything. She looks at you, but you nod your head for her to look at the other thing.

It was these two chunky rings she had been after, you just had to get them for her. "Mama." She says looking at you. "Those were incredibly expensive, I would've gotten them." You just shake your head. "You've been so good to me I really wanted to return the favor." Your eyes were soft and genuine. "God I'm gunna fucking ravish you tonight." She growls, not standing anymore of the distance between the two of you. Her hands reach out, grabbing your face and kissing you with such lust. She slowly pushes you back on the bed hovering over you.

Her hands fiddle with the silky strings on your robe, getting it to come undone and take it off. You go to take the rest off but she stops you. One of her fantasies was to fuck you while you had something sexy like this on. She was adamant on fulfilling that. "Keep it on.." She trails off as if she wasn't done with her sentence. Her hand moves to the bottom of your underwear, snapping back a part near the crotch. You gasp as cool air hits you, biting your lip. You had no idea it had an opening. Your eyes look to her, she's just smirking. "I have things all planned baby, don't you worry." You blush, not that it was noticeable with the amount you dabbed on.

She reaches for the strap, the band being sparkly and pink, the dido being a lighter shade of that. She takes her shirt and pants off, grabbing the harness and then attaching it to herself. You watch Intently, deeply intrigued as she always just had it on whenever the two of you fucked. She notices this, slowing her movements. Almost as if she was giving you a little show. She lines up, observing how noticeably wet you were. Just for her, because of her. She was proud. Her fingers touch the skin of your pussy. Feeling the wetness. She gathers some, bringing it away and straight to her mouth. She moans at the taste, making your breath hitch.

The tip prods at your entrance, causing light moans to fill the room, whimpers. She soaks it up, repeats it in her own brain at how beautiful you sounded. She slowly sinks into you, nearly bottoming out but you grab her bicep. She kisses your head, letting you know she's right there. "Good girl, you got it." Her kisses move to your cheek. "Pretty girl, so good for me." The praise was going straight to your head. Causing your eyes to shut as the pleasure builds up. She begins to move slowly. But even at that pace it provoked your eyes to roll back, biting your candy pink lip once again. Her kisses move down to your neck, sucking hard. Marking you up. Her hands rest beside your head as she speeds up.

You move your head, opening your eyes and looking up in the mirror. Her back muscles flexing. Making your head spin as she hits the perfect spots.

Got the mirror on the ceiling...

You're in the mood to please me...

"Going to break your back." She snarls into your neck, far deep into her lust. Adoring how you'd arch into her thrusts. You moan into her ear. "P-please." She chuckles. "You want that? Want me to break your back?" You didn't even know this yet as she hadn't told you but it slips out past your lips. "Yes daddy, fuck!" Her eyes grow darker, needing to make sure she heard you correctly. "Say that again?" Then you panic, did she not like it? "I- uhm-" Her gentle hand makes contact with your jaw. "What'd you call me?" Her hips snap harshly, making your eyes yet again roll back. "Daddy!" You moan, loudly. "Fuck." She breathes. That was the thing she'd touch herself thinking about. And to actually hear it.

From the rightful source made her want to cum right then and there. "You drive me insane baby." Her tongue runs along your neck, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. You shiver

I get so infatuated and erotic with you.

Her thrusts become relentless making it impossible for you to hold on. "Mmm, please. I'm so close." She doesn't falter. "Yeah? Go on then, want a reminder of tonight. Never going to wash this one. Wanna keep it locked away for safe keeping." She was truly feral for you and it sent you off the rails. "Bills fuck!" You screech as you cum hard all over her, feeling your legs shake. Just from seeing that, hearing and feeling everything. It makes her close. The fact she could make you feel such pleasure makes her feel powerful. Wanting to protect you. She grunts feeling the base hit her perfectly. "Fuck you have no idea what you do to me."

She says, listening carefully to your moans. And within seconds she's now cumming, it leaking out, slightly onto you aswel. Your breaths were heavy together, calming down from such an intense round of pleasure.

Abd that was just the first of many. Many rounds that night.

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ SYLUS | dream come true (christmas special)

── ◜sylus x fem!reader — mini one shot 1.5k words ◜sylus decides to prepare a surprise for her as a christmas present author's note | christmas specials from the rest of the LI on my profile

Christmas wasn't her favorite holiday, but there was something different this year: Sylus was by her side. She knew he wasn't a big fan of the holiday either, she'd noticed, but the idea of doing something together excited her.

"Where are we going?" She asked, letting out a breath. A cloud of smoke came out of his lips, making her laugh. Even as an adult, that still made her laugh. Sylus had been leading her to 'a surprise' over ten minutes ago, but she just didn't see any surprises and she was freezing to death.

"We're almost there." Sylus turned to look at her and a small smile formed on his lips, barely perceptible.

She sighed in frustration and continued walking in silence for a few more minutes. Her gaze was fixed on her shoes and the way they sank into the snow with each step. Sylus had shown up at her house two hours ago, forcing her to get dressed saying he had a surprise for her. She wondered how he knew she had no plans specifically for that day, had Mephisto told him something? Had he spied on her schedule?

"We arrived." Sylus' voice brought her out of her bubble. She looked up excitedly, but her expression changed completely when she saw what was in front of her.

"What is this?" she asked confused, she hadn't even noticed when she had stopped walking, but Sylus had stopped in front of her.

"It's for us." She felt him take her hand and force her to walk with him, she followed him trying not to fall but she was still too shocked to walk normally.

A large ice rink was in front of her. She recognized it perfectly, it was the typical ice rink that the mall put up every year during Christmas. But it was empty.

"Sylus, I told you I can't skate," she muttered, trying to sound annoyed, but she still didn't sound shocked, she had told him that two weeks ago. She had mentioned to him that she had always wanted to do Christmas things like in the movies, like skating, something she didn't even know how to do. She had never tried to learn because she was embarrassed by the looks of the people around her.

"I know. I rented the whole ice rink for us, so you can learn." She blinked in confusion but forced herself to keep quiet. He'd rented the whole damn ice rink… for her.

She remained silent as Sylus helped her into the small space where there were benches to put on her skates. She also remained silent when she put on the skates Sylus had brought for her, she had really thought of absolutely everything.

"Sylus… I'm going to fall." She sighed in frustration as she looked at the ice rink in front of her. It was huge and completely empty, which was comforting.

"You'll be okay, I'll hold you. Come here." She stood up and walked very carefully to the edge of the ice rink. She stood there for a few seconds, there was some snow because there was no roof, but nothing that would bother her.

She blinked as she felt Sylus' arms wrap around her hips. Her body tensed and suddenly she no longer felt nervous about the ice rink… It was Sylus' body pressed against hers and his arms holding her close that made her nervous.

She entered the ice rink slowly. She kept her feet steady because she didn't dare let Sylus go, at least not at that moment. First she needed to find balance.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, letting Sylus lead her. He was actually the one doing all the work, pushing them both across the ice rink. She kept her feet completely firm, she was still too nervous and afraid that the second she separated from Sylus she would end up with her face against the ice.

"You said your dream was to ice skate during Christmas," he replied quietly, his lips too close to her ear. She remembered it, they had watched one of her favorite Christmas movies together. She was surprised that Sylus remembered. "You also said you were embarrassed to be seen."

"And that's why you paid for an entire ice rink?" She tried to look over her shoulder and when she turned her face she noticed how close Sylus was to her. She quickly looked back, feeling her cheeks warm. If she hadn't noticed, she could have accidentally brushed their lips.

Sylus smiled when he noticed the way her face had turned quickly. "Does it bother you?"

"I'm surprised." She shrugged. She knew that anyone else wouldn't have done the same thing, but Sylus wasn't just anyone.

It was new for her, she appreciated every detail that Sylus had with her, but no one had done the same before. She didn't know how to accept anything that came from him without feeling ashamed.

"I'm going to let you go now." She blinked repeatedly as Sylus' voice brought her out of her thoughts. She looked over her shoulder in fear but Sylus was no longer beside her and was not pressing his body against hers.

He pushed her gently, letting her skates slide across the ice. She gasped in a mix of surprise and terror of end up with her face against ground. It took her a couple of seconds to regain the balance and he prepared to catch her if she fell, but it wasn't necessary.

She looked at Sylus with excitement and slowly slid down the ice until she reached him again. He gently grabbed her wrists to hold her and smiled due to the excitement and happiness on her face. When the girl looked up again she met Sylus' piercing eyes, her smile fading slightly due to the nerves caused by the way he looked at her.

"Thank you… for this."

"You did it yourself." He shook his head not wanting to take credit for something so simple.

"I'm not talking about that." She rolled her eyes. She knew Sylus knew she was referring to the whole ice rink surprise.

She looked up at the sky, feeling a snowflake falling on her face, a sign that it was going to start snowing. He had fulfilled her Christmas dream.

[sagesbard]

What song the crew would play while ✨shaboinking✨

CW: NSFW MDNI I do NOT condone any of Jimmy's actions this is an AU where the crash never happens and pony Express is just a regular shipping company.

Curly

Dark red by Steve Lacy

Something about the beat just gets him going yk?

It's not to the point where every time he hears it he pops a boner but it definitely does something to him.

He doesn't normally have music playing in the background when y'all shaboink but sometimes he does it it's already playing.

There have been times where instead of telling you he's horny he just plays that song and you already know what's coming. (Him, he's cumming)

As you go up and down on him his moans echo in the room, bouncing off the walls as the song plays in the background. He's thrusting up into so you can't think straight but in reality he's doing to to the beat like Jimmy does.... The second he slips into you his brain goes on autopilot, the only thing mattering to him at the moment is you.

Seeing red by Dustin Lynch also kinda gets him going but not in the way Dark red does. (I'm just now realizing they both have red on the name what a cawinkydink.

When he listens to it it just makes him think about the two of you.

Daisuke

Redbone by childish Gambino 100%

He likes the slow beat of it but the part near the end turns him on like no tomorrow for some reason.

Probably because by the time that part comes on both of you are messes by that point, your moans paired with that song makes him go absolutely FERAL.

Similar with me and your mama by the same artist except he's a bit rougher with this one.

He actually plays music pretty often when y'all shaboink.

He's used to using music to cover up sounds.

When the base comes in it's almost like clockwork when he bites your neck or something along those lines.

Anya

Moonlight by Kali Uchis

Kinda like Daisuke she likes the slow aspect of it.

It's very relaxed and makes her feel calm in a way.

There have been times where she just needs to unwind so she puts on that song and you automatically know that she's either horny or stressed, both end with you eating her out.

Your fingers slowly going in and out of her as the music continues.

Jimmy

A little bit harder now by she wants revenge

He doesn't catch himself but when he's playing that song he ends up fucking you to the best of it.

His hips grinding against yours as you whine and moan until you realize it's the same speed as the fucking song. Nothing wrong with that though, you didn't mind as long as you got fucked dumb. Which you were every time.

Animal attraction is also on there. But he just plays that to kinda tell you he's in that type of mood ykwim?

The way his heavy breathing matches the beats and knocks of the songs is making your head spin. Each thrust burying himself deeper into you until you can't think straight.

A/N: OMG hiiiiii I haven't posted any head canons in a while so I thought I'd treat y'all to something while I work on my next one shot. Since exam season is over and I'll be spending the holidays with my family the posting schedule will probably be a little iffy. Anyways I love y'all and happy holidays 💗💗

[ajaxbell]

Fangs of Fortune (Bai Ze Ling): perfect on pure aesthetics alone, but also it will tear your heart out while being very gay.

I was lured in to this show by Tumblr gifsets and friends on Bluesky talking about how queer and poly this show is. I'm old and I've been in fandom more than half my life. I know how to read queer subtext. I'm also pretty well versed in cdramas, so again, I know how to read subtext. So I went into this ready to, well, read the subtext.

But no this show is just puts the queer it right there in the text. The vague information we have about Chinese censorship repeatedly left me asking, 'wait how are they getting away with this?' Like some of these jokes and implications are just so blatant it seems incredible this show ever made it to being broadcast. It just feels very much like queer media made for queer people even if t's more subtle than something western like Queer as Folk.

Even without the heavy coloring of gay this show is incredible and so much more than I expected from the title and the promo. The premise is essentially the death of the goddess, who governed relations between humans and demons, leads to an influx of demons in the human world. This brings together the goddess's disciple, Wen Xiao--seeking to restore the goddess's power. WX's childhood sweetheart, Zhuo Yichen--seeking to restore the demon-hunting bureau after the powerful demon Zhu Yan killed his father and brother. It opens on Zhu Yan, in human disguise as as Zhao Yuanzhou, volunteering to help the imperial court restore the demon-hunting bureau to quell the chaos. They are joined by Pei Sijing, a retired female general from the rival demon hunting sect, and a very young doctor (and comic relief) named Bai Jiu. It starts off as a sort of monster-of-the-week with a grim Scooby gang doing detective work and fighting monsters. Each major demon has a mini arc that relates to the larger case (restoring the power of the goddess to balance the realms), and they are repeatedly blocked by either the demons or the rival demon hunting sect. Each mini arc also acts as a mirror or parallel story to slowly revealed backstory of all the main characters as well. In true cdrama fashion it's a mix of adventure, intense emotional drama, romance, and comedy. And queer and poly jokes and romance. It also has a kind of manga vibe in the way the comedy is woven into the more serious story, and in the fantastical depiction of the characters and how the story unfolds.

It is also just insanely beautiful. Every single shot is lovely. The costumes, make up, and hair are incredible. The casting director made all the major demons inhumanly beautiful. The sets are spectacular. The effects are nicely done. Every bit of has the vague surreality of a fairytale. The perfection of each shot ads to the manga vibe, as if we're seeing each critical storytelling panel come alive. There's recurring water-based special effects that are just gorgeous. Based on aesthetics alone this show would be worth watching to me. That it is combined with a complex, very emotional story is a spectacular gift to the watcher. A lot of the negative reviews of this complain about the staginess or that it's overly contrived in how each scene is shot. But I think it's gorgeous, works perfectly with the storytelling, and if we criticize art on whether it achieves the goal it intended then this show is doing exactly and perfectly what it means to do and doing it beautifully.

Additionally the acting is also very good, but Neo Hou is the stand out for sure. I enjoyed him in Back from the Brink, especially the later part of the story, but in Fangs of Fortune he's transformed, utterly embodying the role, the way Dylan Wang is Dongfang Qingcang in Love Between Fairy and Devil. Neo Hou has the right look, a slightly uncanny beauty perfect for a gorgeous immortal not of this world. The show does incredible things with his styling between the various looks and personas the role requires. But in acting he somehow manages to utterly transform his face and demeanor to manifest each aspect of the character as story demands changes from him.

There is a lot of crying in this drama. Like early on I joked that there was going to be a character crying a single perfect tear in every ep. Lol nope. Multiple single perfect tears per ep and many outright full on sobbing scenes. This show is just waiting to rip your heart out and you see it right from the beginning. But it was such sweet pain all the way through. Just a truly engaging and utterly wrenching set of intertwined stories.

My only criticism is that the pacing falls apart in the last 3 episodes. But overall the story is solid through the end, though like so many cdramas, it's saved by the epilogue.

You should absolutely watch it if you want the chaotic bi polycule (it's her, her girlfriend, her boyfriend, her boyfriend's boyfriend who is also her boyfriend, their two idiot sons, and her boyfriend's ex-who is also eventually sort of his boyfriend again), or if you want your heart torn out and stomped on. Or even if you just like really gorgeous cinematic things. Also if you watch, please don't skip the ending credits, as they change as the arcs change, and the radiant joy Tian Jiarui has as he dances is an excellent antidote to the emotions of each episode.

[happilyhertale]

Take your Place – Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Summary: Your husband was away for months, leading the battle against the Triarchy and ultimately bringing victory. Now he is back and a ball is being held in celebration. Throughout the evening, you have spoken with many lords and ladies – but you have not seen the person you long for. So you go in search of him.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Sex (p in v)

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.8 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The hall is filled with music and laughter. Lords and ladies are sitting at the various tables, engrossed in conversation. The wine tastes good and has already caused a few men to slip off their chairs tonight. And this exuberant mood is appropriate, because the Triarchy has finally been repelled in the Stepstones and your husband is being celebrated for it.

You walk through the rows of tables, looking for your husband. You know that he is most likely sitting somewhere with his men and has already had way too much to drink. But although you would normally be able to spot his silver hair anywhere, you can't see him.

But then something grabs your hand and pulls you down roughly. You cry out a little and are about to answer this impertinence with a slap in the face. But you look up as you land on a lap, fingers on your face, caressing you, while a drunken smile reflects back at you.

“Daemon!” you say, but you can't stop the smile that is already spreading across your face. You slowly try to get up again, but Daemon has other plans. His arms wrap around you and he presses his face into the crook of your neck while pressing your back against his chest.

“Stay.” is the only thing he slurs, and you notice the wine on his breath, which he has been consuming all evening.

You just smile slightly, but nod barely noticeable, as you stay on his lap. Your eyes wander around and you were right, his men have spent the evening with him. Some are already hanging drunk in the chairs and a few others are still trying to talk, but you only perceive a kind of grunt.

Daemon kisses your neck, his fingers press lightly into your thighs as he whispers in a low voice, “What are we going to do after this ball?”

You glance slightly over your shoulder and your eyes meet. His gaze is almost soft and you have to smile, “well... I'm going to go to sleep after this ball... you'll probably throw up...” you say to him, trying to suppress a smile.

Daemon chuckles and then laughs a little – he can't deny how many times he's thrown up in a bowl while you've been in bed.

“You know damn well that's not what I meant,” he mutters into your neck as his laughter subsides.

Now you have to giggle a little, “No?” you ask playfully, “I don't know what you mean...”

Daemon leans in and kisses your neck again, breathing into your ear, “I mean that I'd like to spend some time alone with you, love.”

Your eyes are locked on him and you see the determination in his gaze.

“Are you sure you're capable of having a night of pleasure... you're very drunk ...” you say softly.

Daemon grins drunkenly and caresses your cheek. He leans forward and whispers seductively in your ear.

“I'm not too drunk to make you moan, love.”

Your cheeks flush and your eyes widen.

“Daemon!” you say, and even some of his men grin at you, seeming to know what he's saying to make you blush.

Daemon grins at you and his fingers press into your thighs again as he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“I'm not too drunk to make you scream for me, love.”

The blush is now creeping down your cleavage. You bite your lip lightly.

“Stop it, Daemon...” you whisper, but you try to squeeze your thighs together a little as you notice the pulsing between your thighs.

Daemon chuckles at your reaction and squeezes your thighs even tighter. He continues to whisper seductively in your ear, “Then stop me, love. Come on.”

You can't stop yourself and you move your hips slightly to create some friction. But then Daemon grabs you and lifts you slightly to turn you on his lap. Confusion graces your features until you straddle him. “We're not supposed to be doing this here,” you say quietly, but he just grins.

“What? You're my wife and you're happy that I'm back... and you show me that by sitting on my lap,” he says, his words slightly slurred. You just shake your head slightly, but before you can say anything, Daemon presses his lips against yours. You gasp slightly, but you respond to his kiss. He grins when he feels your hips moving again, grinding against him slightly. He caresses your cheek and pulls you closer to him, his tongue meeting yours and your kiss intensifying. You feel him getting hard and you let out a small moan, but not loud enough for anyone else to hear. Daemon smiles a little as he feels that you cannot stop moving, that you keep grinding against him. He pulls your hips closer to him as he speaks, letting his fingers glide along your thighs. His lips gently slide down your neck and whispers seductively, “I'd like to see your dress on the floor.” Your eyes flutter closed and his words elicit a slight moan from your lips. But you bite your lip to make no further sound.

“The skirt of my dress is very wide...” you finally whisper softly, breathing heavily. “Maybe you could unbutton your trousers and... I mean, I could sit on you and no one would notice...“ you say quietly.

“But you're already sitting on me...” he mumbles teasingly and gets an annoyed look from you. Daemon glances over at his men and tries not to grin. None of them are looking in your direction, they seem to be engaged in conversation or have their heads on the table, snoring.

“But maybe.. it could work,” he mutters finally. Daemon slides his hand under your skirt, begins to unbutton his trousers, and glances at you from time to time. You look at him, everything except for your upper bodies is hidden under the skirt of your dress. Daemon lets his hands move back to your hips and you move slightly again. Then you have to suppress a moan as you feel his hard cock, how its length presses against your folds. His hands slide to your hips, gripping you, as he presses his the tip of your cock against your entrance.

You look at him, gasp slightly and then lean forward to kiss him as you feel your cunt clench around nothing from the mere anticipation of getting to sheath him. Slowly you lift up and then slowly lower yourself onto his hard cock.

You let yourself sink all the way down, your breath catching. You don't move so that no one can see what you are doing, but you're breathing out heavily.

Daemon suppresses a groan as he feels you move. He leans back further in his chair, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly. His smile widens a little, you feel his cock twitch slightly inside you. “You're so filthy, love,” he murmurs. You bite your lip, moving your hips slightly. “Gods... Daemon...,” you whisper. You close your eyes as he fills you completely. Daemon's moans are becoming harder and harder to suppress. He looks around to make sure his men are not watching. He leans forward to speak seductively in your ear, “Good girl. You feel so good,“ and makes you whimper. “I've missed your big cock...“ you suddenly let slip, making Daemon chuckle briefly, but it ends in a groan as he feels you moving up and down slowly.

“Gods... You feel so good, my love.” He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth as he leans back in his chair and his hands return to your thighs. His hand finds its way under your skirt, his fingertips leaving a fiery trail on your skin.

His thumb glides through your folds until he finds your clit and begins to rub it, making you whimper again “Daemon... I... I...” you stutter as your hips move a little faster. You slide up and down along his length, breathing heavily, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, gripping him, and he growls. Daemon leans forward again, biting your earlobe, “Good girl. That's a good girl.” He leans his head back again, trying to suppress a groan. His gaze returns to you, and he feels your cunt flutter around his cock as you slam your hips down on him. His thumb rubs faster as he kisses you again.

“Come on... Show me how much you've missed this... Riding me... My cock deep inside your tight cunt,” he growls against your lips. And then you moan into his mouth. Your pussy clutches his thick cock. “Gods...” you whimper as your orgasm floods your body. Your cunt milks his cock as you slide up and down. He grunts as he feels his balls tighten. “Daemon...” you whimper, your hand on his neck slides into his hair, grabs lightly while you cum all over his cock. Daemon bites the inside of his lip to suppress a groan. His eyes are closed and his expression is full of lust; he is visibly enjoying it. You moan into his mouth as your orgasm subsides. You are breathing heavily, your eyes are closed. Slowly you open them again, you feel his hips moving slightly again. “Did you come?“ you ask in a whisper. Daemon sighs contentedly and looks down at you. He glances around to make sure that no one is around. ”Not yet, my love,” he speaks softly and caresses your face. “And you will help me finish it,” he grunts. You nod and lean forward again to kiss him. Your hips move slightly faster. “Come for me, my dragon,“ you whisper against his lips. Daemon is breathing heavily and his eyes are closed. He moans softly, your words making his cock twitch. He grabs your waist. "I'm close, love. I'm close.” “Fill me, my dragon...” you whisper against his lips. While you press your hips firmly against him. His cock is deep inside your tight heat as you gyrate your hips. Your hips move faster as you gently bite his lip.

And then he moans, his hips thrusting up and making you squeak slightly. He growls as he pumps his cum into you. You kiss him again and let your hips slow down. You slide up and down more slowly, milking the last drop out of him, to ride out his orgasm. His eyes are closed as he breathes heavily, clenching his teeth. “Love,” he growls.

Daemon leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. He tries to speak but nothing but breathless groans come out, although he tries to hide it. His breathing is slow and shallow as he holds you. “Gods, Love, gods.” he gasps quietly. You giggle slightly and gently kiss his cheek.

“Shall we retire to our chambers?” you whisper, and he just nods. His hands slide back under your skirt, fully covering himself again, and then he helps you up from his lap.

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects people to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general, I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look up to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

[genderqueerdykes]

hi um. i’d like to ask you for some advice, since it seems like a lot of people come to you when they need it. i’m a trans girl who’s been taking estrogen for 2.5 years but. i’m just so disappointed and unhappy with what hrt has done for me. i feel like i’ve been completely taken over by doomerism from me constantly comparing myself to other transfems both online and irl, and from spending too much time on trans reddit (i’m sending you this ask instead of writing another vent post on r/mtf). through this i’ve convinced myself that i will never be happy with my body, or that i’ll never have real boobs or a feminine body at all. i really really don’t want to give up hope, but it just seems so far out of reach, and i’m stuck down here in this inky abyss. what do you do in dark times when you need to regain hope, but you can’t do it yourself?

first of all, i wanted to say i'm sorry that you're feeling this way. medical transition is a very finicky thing. there is no way to predict what will happen and when, so it's okay to feel just. completely bummed the hell out when you're not seeing the changes you hoped for yet. i definitely see how it can be crushing, especially when you know your body needs to look a different way for you to be happy. it's important to consider people look a lot different irl than they do in photos and videos. camera lenses can only capture so much. pictures and videos can be edited. it's hard to compare yourself to something like that

& i did want to say that you're definitely not alone! there are a lot of girls in your exact situation. with everyone responding to HRT differently, you'll see girls who get changes right away, and girls where it takes a long time. changes with HRT generally happen very slowly, way slower than the eye can perceive, so it's okay if you feel like nothing is happening. your body just may need more time to adjust

have you ever increased your dose? if not, that is totally an option! you may also want to look into progesterone if you find that you're not happy with your breast growth after some time. it's best to look into progesterone first to make sure it's right for you, as it will affect more than just breast growth, but i wanted to throw it out there as an option! if you're not on an androgen blocker, this could also potentially help you

for both estrogen and testosterone HRT, it can take a minimum of 5 years for people to begin seeing the effects they were desiring. 5 years, minimum! that's a very long time, comparatively, you are very early on in your journey. the effects you want to see may just come along further on down the road. i know it's easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to others. it's good to remind yourself that they are not you, they do not share your genetics. they look like them. you look like you. it's okay that you don't look like those people- they're not you.

it doesn't make you any less of a woman just because you haven't seen these changes yet. there are plenty of women who look just like you, cis, intersex, trans, genderqueer, and otherwise. there are many cis and intersex women who don't "pass", and it doesn't make them any less of a woman: the same applies to you, and every trans girl. dysphoria can be a real pain in the ass and make things harder than it needs to be. it's okay to not be content with where you're at now. it's okay to be frustrated that you're not seeing the changes you want to right now. many, many trans people feel just the same way you do.

you may feel awkward and uncomfortable right now because you're literally in a transitional phase. think about when teenagers go through puberty, about how awkward they look and feel. cracking voices, bodies that are "in the middle" and not fully developed. that's what you're going through at the moment, and its okay. it just takes time for things to fully settle in.

what i would suggest is trying to find ways to do some self care that affirm your gender that don't involve your appearance. validating yourself in other ways is extremely important. building yourself up takes time. if you feel insecure about how you look, it's okay. you can start building your confidence in your identity and gender in other areas of yourself, first, then move on to your appearance. try to spend time with people who respect you for who you are, no matter how you look. try to surround yourself with people and things that affirm you

i hope you start seeing those changes you want to see soon. if you need more advice, feel free to ask! if any other trans girls on E have any advice for the asker, or relate to the experience, please feel free to chip in with some feedback on this ask, or by sending an ask! due to being intersex, i was taking estrogen and progesterone despite not wanting to, so i was not cataloguing what was changing or anything like that, so i can't speak from personal experience there despite having been on E HRT in the past.

take care of yourself for now. try to go easy on yourself, you're still in your coocoon. the day where you emerge as a butterfly is on its way, it just takes a little time. please feel free to come back any time. i hope we can get some good insight for you

[purble-turble]

i can 100% see Nezha and mk's relationship (regardless if it's platonic or romantic) being equally beneficial and detrimental. like there so much they could help each other with but also subconsciously cause serious problematic habits/ thought processes/ coping mechanisums for each other and themselves the biggest thing my brain latched onto was how MK could become Nezha's first truly safe space.

Nezha going what i know and understand about his lore and what we can glean from the little we know in the show's canon, definitely has it rough in the celestial realm. he had a very troubled childhood and is clearly haunted by his past and is being defined by it despite his efforts to grow and prove that he's better now. he can command respect for his strength and power but people still question him as a person, always waiting for him to slip up. what relationships he does have he probably doesn't feel fully safe expressing his real self and thoughts because it poses potential risks. then mk comes into the picture. Nezha's given him a safe place to talk openly and he'd want to offer the same to the prince. even if he can't help directly he knows just having someone to vent to can help. its small stuff at first, little complaints here and there about work and the celestial realm, but slowly nezha starts to open up about more personal stuff. stuff with his family, with other celestials, and about his past. and to his amazement and relief is met with only empathy and understanding from mk, even after learning about the darker stuff MK never judges him. Nezha doesn't have to mask anything about himself around mk, infact he's being encouraged to relax and just be his natural self around him. he's truly safe when its just him and mk, that feeling has to be euphoric for the poor guy used to being on guard constantly even around the people he loves.

but of course, could easily lead to a mutually unhealthy co-dependency. nezha's already been isolated to some degree having never had much of a positive support structure, and mk's slowly isolating himself away from his established support structure. resulting in an echo chamber of two very well-meaning but very mentally ill people.

(i'm so sorry this turned into a short essay I've been waiting three hours to get of shift so i can spill my brains out about this. i have more but I'm going to end it here in fear that i'm being a bit much about these two)

Noo don’t worry about this being long, I absolutely love it!!

You’re so right, Nezha and MK are at the same time a good counterbalance for each other while also being accidentally self-destructive. MK is a chaotic lil gremlin who follows his emotions and worries about consequences later and Nezha (in LMK at least) seems to be trying very hard to come at things logically and approach from a more grounded, duty-based perspective. They both could use a splash of the other’s energy in that manner, so in that way it’s for sure a good thing that they’re getting closer.

Problem is, like you said, these boys are sooooo mentally ill 😂 The feeling that they need to constantly be proving themselves, giving a little more away every time, pushing their own boundaries and suffering in silence because it’s what someone else needs- these are things they might accidentally end up encouraging in each other…. Actually, probably not even accidentally. They see the other working crazy hard and being run ragged physically and probably emotionally too, and they’re like “I am SO proud of you for sacrificing so much!” ..and both of them have never felt so seen as when the other says that to them. It’s validating their worst impulses to just keep going and giving because their own feelings about it are less important than everyone else’s.

Also, the fact that they feel like they can expect to get that praise when they admit to being stressed might even make them be more open about it. Only with each other, though… if they were to mention feeling overworked or burdened to their families, they know already that they would not get the response they were looking for.. but again, even if it means they’re being more open, it’s still not a super good thing that it’s reinforcing destructive behavior. :U

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Full thoughts on season 7! (Or at least, as many as I can remember, sleep-deprived and emotional as I am)

Starting off positive: things I liked!

THE RUTHARI REUNION WAS EVERYTHING

Runaan's gentle kiss to Ethari's hand? The way the camera rotated around them for their kiss?? Their hug afterwards??? Ethari's little "my heart"???? This was worth the six-year wait

The moonfam in general was one of my favorite things about this season. Runaan calling Rayla his daughter again, his and Ethari's unconditional support of her, the way they interacted with Callum... it was exactly what I dreamed of

And speaking of Runaan: his speech to Ezran in 7x09 will be living in my head forever. The way his tears weren't pretty, they were real. The was he said "I'm alive". It was such a stunning conclusion to his arc

On that note: the voice acting? Spectacular. Callum and Soren had me in floods of tears when they met in the ruins of Katolis. And don't even get me started on Zubeia during her fight with Avizandum

The lighting and music were also so on-point

TERRY'S REDEMPTION ARC LET'S GO

His speech to Claudia was stunning

Also, his "hello, Zuko here" moment made me cackle

I love that he and Soren are on their way to friendship, I always thought they'd get along

I also really liked that Aanya was present throughout the season! Every time she was in an action scene I was screaming

I thought the plotline with Miyana being pregnant was really interesting, because it presents a moral dilemma that isn't explored a lot. Plus, the way Karim reacted, calling the baby his heir and never his child, was very telling of his mindset and priorities

This is going to sound really weird, but I loved the moment of Rayla taking up Runaan's bow to fulfill his promise. Like, obviously it's tragic and I was in tears, but also, it really shows her respecting Callum's agency? She was able to respect his choice and put his wishes above her own needs, and it was cool to see

I'm so glad they addressed the bird theory. There was way too much of a focus on Pip for it not to go somewhere

Things I disliked:

There were times when the animation really threw me off. Like, after Callum froze all the guards in 7x02 and they were trying to break free, they were just... tapping the ice with their weapons. Really slowly. It kind of axed any urgency. And during Ezran's speech at the end, some of the characters in the background were just... done in a completely different style? I'm sure it was a reference to something, but as someone who doesn't know what that was, it really took me out of what was supposed to be an important scene

There was a lot of explaining things over and over. Yes, we know Aaravos never lies, you don't have to keep telling us. Yes, we know the Orphan Queen wielded the nova blade, you don't have to keep telling us. Yes, we know people are not all good or all evil. You used to be really good at showing that instead of making speeches about it once an episode

Also just a lot of monologuing? Like, why did Callum have to explain in detail to Aaravos his plan to trap him before he did it? I know we the audience needed to know but from a strategic point of view, it was... not the smartest he's ever been. It would have made more sense if he was trying to explain it to Rayla, I think

It didn't really... feel like a finale. They left a lot of loose ends open, and beyond that, it felt like there was very little payoff for things that had been set up throughout the arc. Why did we spend two seasons looking for the nova blade if we were never going to use it? Why did we spend all arc foreshadowing Callum's corruption if it was never going to happen? I get that they left it for arc 3, but even so, the resolution of an arc should still feel like a resolution, much like arc 1 did

(Also, are we ever going to come back to that hallucination Callum had? Like, is he not at all concerned by the fact that he had a conversation with himself with seemingly no magical involvement?)

I wish we had gotten to see Anya act like a person. It was great to have her around, but it felt like she was in queen mode the entire time, and I'm really curious about who she is beyond the crown

Finally- the thing that I disliked the most was the way things with Callum, Ezran, Rayla, and Runaan were handled in 7x02, because it made it very hard for me to root for Callum and Rayla afterwards. I totally understand that Rayla has an attachment to Runaan and Callum has an attachment to Rayla, but neither of them seemed to actually consider Ezran at all. Like, here is this twelve-year-old boy, who just lost the home he lived in his entire life. Who lost his father at a very young age and, as a direct result, was forced into a responsibility that he absolutely should not have had to carry. I feel like at the very least the people who are supposed to love him the most could say, "hey, I understand that you're angry" instead of treating him like he's totally unreasonable. And then! They just leave him! A twelve-year-old who just lost his entire home! Who has literally no other family! And whenever they talk about mending things, it's never, "oh, I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I never took time to validate how you were feeling", it was just "we're family, we'll find our way back to each other eventually". That's not how it works. When there's a hurt like that, you don't just stop being angry without coming to an understanding. I love Runaan, and I wanted him to be free and happy, but I also think that he did in fact commit a murder (yes, technically just of a bird, but he didn't know that) and it's reasonable to expect him to face some consequences. Even if it's just, like, community service. You can be merciful without condoning

But just to be clear: I have absolutely no ill will for anyone with different views on this plot point. My frustration with it is more from a personal perspective than a writing one- my dad was killed a few years ago, so I'm siding with Ezran from an emotional standpoint. But I thought the plot was worth mentioning, since it really affected how I viewed the rest of the season

Overall, as a season, book 7 had a lot of moments that I really loved and will be rewatching very often. But as a potential sendoff, it didn't really leave me with much of a sense of closure. Fingers crossed for arc 3, I suppose!

[roryacker]

WereGhost part 4

writing is under the cut as usual <3 couldn't force the art out, for some reason my brain won't let art on my phone happen, I've been trying for days it just ain't workin, and I have gifts to finish working on so PC is a no-go. Still! Writing!!

I do oddly feel more confident about posting things if there's art with it? Like I faked myself out trying to post this one 3 times and kept adding more thanks to that because I was like "wait no not good :("

Maybe because art's like. My thing. But screw it, if I'm getting over my anxiety I'm hitting all the weird triggers, it's a silly werewolf AU I don't think people care if one part has art or not

Simon doesn't like how Johnny smells. He was fine before, but since that morning the older man left with him in such a hurry he's smelled different. To a normal person that wouldn't matter, but werewolves aren't exactly normal folk, and smell is a very important part of their routine, Simon's especially.

Simon was familiar with Johnny's scent before- warm and herbal, a comfortable smell that Simon wasn't afraid to admit was soothing. It's probably part of why he's stuck around. Since he got back, since the anxiety and stress faded out, he's smelled different. It changed. It was faint, but there- something odd and flowery. Simon knew he didn't like it, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it's the fact it changed at all, maybe it's what it might signals, to hell if Simon knows.

Johnny, from there, starts going out more often, for longer, starting at earlier times, and the scent only gets stronger. It mixes with his original one, shifting and changing, and Simon hates it.

He especially hates it when Johnny comes home in the middle of the day, just once, and immediately gets to shoving Simon under the bed, blankets and all, muttering out something about not being prepared and needing Simon to sit still and be quiet for a while- Simon growls and snaps at his feet, though his teeth never connect, but begrudgingly does as told, ignoring the way his heart thuds in his chest and ears flatten to his skull. After a bit, cleaning up and trying to make the place look nice, it seems, sweeping fur off of the bed and floor, Johnny leaves, and Simon is left alone, confused and quite frankly tired, watching the door shut from the little space under the blanket hanging off the bed.

By the time a few minutes pass, he hears the front door open, and another voice starts up. It's not the older man, it's not Johnny, it's new and unfamiliar, soft and feminine, and Simon can feel the fur on his neck raise at the sound. Oddly, he feels threatened. He doesn't like the new voice, doesn't like the scent that follows, doesn't like how it's the scent that's been drowning out Johnny's for weeks now. But he sits there, tense and uncomfortable, listening to them talk in the sitting room. He doesn't like it, but he does it, if only so Johnny doesn't change his mind about all of this and kick Simon out after all.

It lasts for a few hours, Simon unable to fall back asleep, until he hears the door open and shut again. He thinks Johnny might have left too, but no- footsteps come up to the door, and he steps inside the bedroom, crouching down with a sigh.

"Think she likes me, Ghost. Might be the one, aye? Just have to see what to do about you, then..."

His heart sinks at the words, but doesn't reply- just growls lowly and shifts his weight, curling up further to avoid looking at the man.

"Aye, I know. Yer feelin' grumpy. Sorry."

Johnny tries to drag him out from under the bed, gripping the blankets tight, but Simon fights, of course. He can't go one day without being stubborn, especially not when he feels so personally wronged.

"Jesus, fine. Stay under there. Don't make a mess."

It continued on like that for a few days. Long, uncomfortable, grueling days, where Simon slowly began to set up a little den under the bed. It was nice and dark, so at that point it was really just instinct drawing him into it, pushing and arranging the blankets into a cozy little spot for himself. Eventually he manages to fall asleep even when Johnny has his bird over, as much as he might not like it- Johnny slides a plate of food under the bed to try and keep him from getting snappy, not that it ever works, and it becomes another routine.

Simon as tired of it the moment it began, but he tolerates it anyways, just to avoid being thrown out. His leg's mostly healed, and he knows he needs to leave, get out into the forest again, get back to his normal life.

But he doesn't want to.

He gets cooked food, he gets the warmth and comfort of soft blankets that smell pleasant- they're the only thing that don't have that new scent on them, at this point- he gets to sleep in peace without having to worry about wolfhounds scenting him out or humans coming across him, doesn't have to worry about any other predators trying to get a meal out of him, there's no hiding, there's no running, no wasted energy... but he can tell Johnny knows he's healing. He leaves the bandages on longer and comments on the progress he's made, and at this point Simon knows that if he doesn't leave on his own Johnny might just toss him out anyways.

The thought makes him uncomfortably bitter, a sour feeling that wells up in his chest and leaves him feeling nothing short of sick.

He tolerates it all for a few more days, making the most of it, and then watches intently as Johnny leaves, one morning slipping out from under the bed to watch him from the doorway as he leaves, locking the front door behind him. He loafs around for an hour or so, then shifts, standing on unsteady legs and adjusting to the feeling of being human for a bit- as close as he can get, anyways. Simon finds himself staring at a window for a long while, facing the woods.

With a sigh, he steps closer and pushes it open, and crawls out, shutting the window behind him and shifting back so he can break off into a run. He regrets it the moment he's outside, the air frigid and uncomfortable against his fur, feeling like needles against his skin, but he doesn't have much of a choice at this point. He does it himself or Johnny will do it for him, maybe throw him outside in his sleep or something. He's careful not to leave any prints, stepping lightly and never lingering in one spot too long. The beartrap that got him into this mess serves as a marker, telling him where to go, and from there it's just a matter of following old paths, and by the time night starts to fall he's found it again. His scent has faded from months of inactivity, but it's his territory all the same.

Suddenly it doesn't feel like home at all, but he reasons that it won't be come a few weeks, anyways, when the wolfhunts start again the second the town's dogs start to catch his scent, and he'll have to leave all over again. He curls up in a familiar hollow, surrounded on all sides but one so he can't be reached or found quite as easily, and falls asleep with the lingering thoughts of fleeting warmth and soft fabrics on his mind.

[thelordofgifs]

Part 37! In which several people fuck up.

"You are not easy to find, Curvo," Amras says thoughtfully, dismounting. "But I had my suspicions I would find you skulking around the Girdle eventually."

"I'm here, too," Celebrimbor says pointedly. "Much to my regret."

No one pays any attention to this. "Well, this is a surprise, Pityo," Curufin says, looking his brother in the eye. "I did not see you come rushing to our aid when Morgoth's forces overwhelmed the Eastmarch, nor indeed when Himring fell. But I am glad to see you can be drawn out of your fortress eventually, with sufficient... inducement."

"I am impressed you dare speak of the fall of Himring," Amras says, his voice very light and casual. "But then you never did have any shame, I suppose."

Curufin laughs loudly. A bird in a nearby tree takes off in fright. "So you have come to scold me, I see!" he says. "Well, I am afraid yours will have been a wasted trip in that case, Pityo. Have you not heard that I am beyond any sort of redemption now?" He casts Celebrimbor a swift bitter look.

How quickly the mask slips, Celebrimbor reflects, trying not to care. Not five minutes ago was Curufin trying to convince him that he was yet a devoted father.

"You did not need to tell me that," Amras says. "In Nelyo's place I would have disavowed you long ago."

"Oh, so it is Nelyo who sent you," Curufin says; "well, you might tell him that I am of no mind to come flying back to his shoulder like some tame songbird, and he should give up searching for me."

"He is missing," Amras hisses, his eyes bright with sudden anger; "I suppose no-one would have informed you of it while you have been cringing in the forests like the coward you are – he has disappeared from Barad Eithel, they have heard nothing of him for weeks. And you have the nerve yet to speak his name, after what you did to him!"

"This is all very interesting and important," Celebrimbor interjects, "but might you mind having this conversation somewhere else? You could both leave. Without me, even."

"What have you come for, then, little brother?" Curufin says coldly, ignoring Celebrimbor again. "I should imagine you were happier thinking me lost. Yet you have gone to all this effort to seek me out. One might even believe you missed me."

Amras gives him a thin-lipped smile. "Not that, exactly," he says; and then he twitches aside his cloak to reveal the bright dagger gleaming at his hip. "I just think it might be about time I finished some things that had been left undone."

Curufin laughs again. "So little Pityo has decided to assert his claim to relevance!" he says. "Shall you kill me, then – and doom me to the Everlasting Darkness with my Oath yet unfulfilled?"

Amras shrugs. "Why not? If it was good enough for Tyelko, and for – for Telvo, I see no reason why you should yet linger here, when all your machinations but serve to keep the Silmarils in the grasp of others, and condemn all Beleriand to Morgoth's dominion meanwhile."

"Do not speak of him," says Curufin, white-lipped in an instant, "you do not know—"

"You can expect no pity from me, Curvo," Amras says coldly, "you who yet honour our father's name after Losgar." He glances past Curufin at Celebrimbor. "Even to the shame of your own son. Tyelko is dead – and I am glad of it, glad he died when he did rather than fall any further from grace – and it is more than time you followed him, I think."

"You have not the courage," says Curufin, his eyes very bright, "you will not do it."

"Will you try to fight me, then?" Amras asks softly. He nods at the burn on Curufin's hand. "I do not think you will get very far, with that."

Curufin is silent.

"Give me a reason," Amras says very slowly, gripping his dagger-hilt. "One reason only that I should spare you." He meets Celebrimbor's gaze again. "Have you too nothing to say in your father's defence, Tyelpë?"

"Have you not heard?" says Curufin, lifting his chin. "I am not his father any more, he claims."

"I am glad to hear one person in this family has sense, at least," Amras says. He comes to stand before Curufin, who watches him through slitted eyes, and does not move, even when Amras rests the tip of his dagger very lightly at the base of his throat.

"Not a word more to spare yourself, Curvo?" Amras says softly. "I thought your slippery tongue would have more to do in your favour."

Curufin manages, marvellously, to smile. "If only Telvo could have boasted one such tongue," he says, "or Nelyo, for that matter, when he quarrelled with our father about the ships – why, he might not have burned at all."

Not a very witty comeback, thinks Celebrimbor, who has faced the cutting edge of that selfsame tongue more than once. Indeed it seems to him almost as though Curufin is goading Amras deliberately – and even that clumsy jibe seems to have worked, for Amras' eyes are black with rage, and Curufin is still making no move to step away – and then he glances quickly at Celebrimbor and all at once Celebrimbor understands—

Oh, the cowardice of it all! Curufin wants Amras to kill him. He is counting on it, after Celebrimbor's new rejection – thinks it perhaps an honourable ending, as though to scrub out the stains of his ill deeds with his own red life-blood – how much easier, after all, to die simply and tragically than work to fix your own mistakes.

Celebrimbor has always understood his father far better than he wanted to.

He is so angry that he is tempted, for a moment, to say nothing – let Curufin meet his end here at his own brother's hands, it is no more than he deserves – but then he cannot bear either to think of Curufin getting what he wants one last time.

"Stop," he says clearly. "Uncle, stop."

Amras does not seem at first to hear him; he presses the dagger against Curufin's throat again, drawing a bright little bead of blood, and smiles icily.

Curufin's eyes are closed.

"Stop," Celebrimbor says again, and he comes forward to put his hand on Amras' arm, and draws it away from Curufin's throat.

It takes Amras a moment to register that his blade has been moved. He blinks dazedly at his hand, and then at Celebrimbor, and then says slowly, "So you are your father's son after all, I see? He will not love you better for it, you know."

"I care not whether he loves me," Celebrimbor says coldly. "Only that I will not stand by and watch a Kinslaying take place before my very eyes. You ought to want better for yourself, uncle."

Amras smiles again, a flash of teeth. "So you set yourself up as the best of us!" he says. "You forget, Tyelpë, that the House of Fëanor has never had much compunction in spilling its own blood."

Curufin has opened his eyes. He is gaping at Celebrimbor in unbridled awe, his eyes very bright.

Celebrimbor manages a laugh. "For all your disdain, uncle, it seems yet to matter a great deal to you that you belong to that selfsame House."

Amras lifts his chin proudly, stung.

"Tyelpë," Curufin breathes, his voice shaky. "Tyelpë – I knew you did care—"

Don't, Celebrimbor wants to say, disgusted, don't thank me, don't even look at me, I wish you had died after all— But he cannot quite manage the words.

As he is trying best to formulate some scathing remark – wrapping together contempt and anger and exasperation all at once – he hears a voice calling for him through the trees.

"Tyelpë? Tyelpë, is all well?"

"Who is that?" Curufin asks swiftly.

Celebrimbor cannot move.

"There you are, cousin," Finduilas says cheerfully, coming into the clearing, and then she stops short.

Meanwhile in Dor-lómin:

Lúthien is wandering listlessly through the fields.

Departing her father's realm was a relief, but still she cannot deny that this land – which she once looked to with such girlish enthusiasm – can never truly be a home for her.

Beren, at least, is happier here than he had been in Doriath. He speaks little and smiles less, but there is at least now no fine line of strain between his eyes.

Is this what I died for? Lúthien wonders. Is this all that I could ever have hoped for?

In the distance she sees a stooped figure making her way back up to the great house from the well.

Morwen has serving-women to carry her buckets for her, Lúthien knows. She imagines it is some stubborn impulse that has driven her today to fetch her water herself, even now that her belly is beginning to weigh her down, and resolves to do nothing.

Morwen has made it clear enough, time and again, that she does not want Lúthien's help.

Still that reasoning cannot sway her when she sees the other woman stop suddenly, swaying under her burden, and then crumple to her knees.

Lúthien cries out and is by Morwen's side in a moment. "Are you well? I can fetch one of your women – or Rían if you would prefer—"

But Morwen looks more winded than truly hurt. "No," she gasps out, struggling back to her feet. "And especially not Rían, do not trouble her." She stoops to pick up the bucket again.

"I doubt very much she would consider it any trouble," Lúthien says lowly, "to care for one whom she loves."

Morwen merely looks silently at her, and does not answer. She grasps the handle of the bucket and a tiny wince flashes across her face, so swiftly that no mortal vision could have caught it.

"At least allow me to help you with that," Lúthien says, unhappily conscious that she is overstepping; but to her relief Morwen says nothing, and inclines her head with what might be gratitude.

The bucket is weightier than Lúthien was expecting. Her limbs have been heavy these past few days, as though some of the treacly stillness of Doriath's air yet clings to her in the chilly north.

But she manages a smile and sets her course up to Morwen's house.

Morwen rarely feels any inclination to fill a silence. Lúthien had forgotten that in the weeks since she last spoke with the other woman; now her lips keep twitching, stirred by impulses alternately to comment inanely on the weather or to ask, Did I really make you hate me so much that even Beren your cousin is not welcome in your house?

"I do not hate you," Morwen says quietly, with one of those strange flashes of not-quite-mortal insight. "Think you I of all people have no pity in my heart for those exiles of Beleriand, without even a hearth to name their own? I wished you and Beren only good when first you came here. But there is no use in trying to make a barren land bear fruit."

"No land is truly barren," Lúthien breathes. "I cannot be made to believe so."

Morwen gives her a look she cannot quite decipher. "Perhaps not."

"Beren deserves a home, after all he has suffered," Lúthien says. "And I may not rest until I have found him one."

"It is not here," Morwen says bluntly. "You know that. So what are you going to do?"

Again that impossible heaviness deep within Lúthien, an ache blooming at the base of her spine. "I don't know," she says (although she does).

Morwen gives her a level, assessing look. "You will have to decide soon," she says, cryptic again.

They have reached her house. She takes the bucket back from Lúthien and says, all politeness, "I thank you for your kind assistance," and then goes in.

Back in Doriath:

Finduilas is pale, but she keeps her composure admirably, casting Celebrimbor naught but one nervous glance.

Celebrimbor brushes his mind against hers, a fumbling attempt at reassurance, but he knows not what to say. It's all right? Run?

"Who is that?" asks Amras, who does not often leave Amon Ereb, has no interest in feasts and gatherings, and likely last saw Finduilas as a babe in arms.

"Orodreth's daughter," Curufin says slowly. He glances at Celebrimbor. "So you have kept up a friendship with your cousin, I see, Tyelpë. What is she doing here?"

"As if I am likely to tell you that," Celebrimbor says sharply, his hand going to his sword-hilt. "If you have any sense at all you will leave without sparing her another glance – both of you."

Amras bristles. "Think you to tar me with the same brush as your father? I have no record of abducting maidens in the woods."

At the same moment Curufin says, "She comes from within the Girdle, does she not?"

Finduilas has been listening to the back-and-forth Quenya with an uncomprehending frown. Now she bursts out, "Kinsmen, some may consider it discourteous, to guard your thoughts in a tongue not all present can follow."

Amras looks puzzled. "A princess of the Noldor has no knowledge of the language of her own people?"

"It was never spoken in Felagund's halls," Curufin says in Quenya, with a shrug. "The girl ought to have applied herself to studying it if she wished to eavesdrop on the conversations of her elders."

"It is a tongue best-suited to treachery," Celebrimbor says in icy Sindarin, "and you will not hear another word of it out of my mouth."

Curufin's face goes very rapidly from white to red to even whiter, which is what Celebrimbor was hoping his words achieve. The satisfaction is hollow even so, tempered as it is by unease.

Curufin is so inconveniently clever sometimes.

Case in point: he turns to Finduilas with a smile that attempts at avuncularity, and says, "So you were visiting the halls of Thingol, little niece? I did not know that Nargothrond yet maintained relations with the Dark-elf."

Finduilas regards him with unalloyed suspicion, but, remembering her failure, she cannot quite school her expression in time. "It does not," she says, trying to be terse.

"Finduilas," Celebrimbor says quietly, but the rest of the warning freezes at his lips.

"And yet you leave Menegroth alone, not escorted by any armed Iathren force," Curufin observes. "Your uncle yet remembers your kinship, I'll wager."

"Bold indeed for you to speak to me of kinship," Finduilas retorts. "I have nothing to say to you."

"No, indeed," Curufin says softly, reverting to Quenya. "But there is something you could bring me even so."

Amras looks at him with narrowed eyes. "Speak plainly, if you will."

"Do not dare," Celebrimbor says in Sindarin, gritting his teeth.

But Curufin smiles and says, "Thingol of Doriath wrested our father's Silmaril from Káno's very hands as he slept. Perhaps our little niece here will help right that injustice."

Finduilas, catching the word Silmaril in amongst the blur of Quenya, purses her lips. "I have no part in your foolish Oath," she says, "and will offer you no help in it. Do not presume to ask it of me."

"I am not asking," Curufin breathes.

Amras, behind him, has shifted the banked hungry fire of his gaze to Finduilas, too.

Celebrimbor steps in front of her and draws his sword again. "By treason of kin unto kin shall you be hindered," he says quietly. "Mandos spoke truly: I will slay you if you touch her."

"You would not," Curufin says, "mere minutes after sparing me. In truth you do know from where your own blood springs, Tyelpë."

"Is it true?" Amras asks urgently. "Does Thingol yet allow those of the House of Arafinwë past the Girdle?"

The indignity of it, thinks Finduilas with a flash of fury, to be turned away in disgrace from Thingol's halls only for the sons of Fëanor now to see the value in the connection!

"I do not run and fetch on your command," she says, moving to stand by Celebrimbor's side again. "There is nothing that will compel me to steal from my uncle for the sake of a usurper and a murderer."

"Nothing?" asks Amras, wetting his lips a little. He casts a glance, almost imperceptibly swift, at his nephew.

Celebrimbor laughs. "Here, then, is all your righteous outrage!" he cries. "What difference, in the end, between a father who would slay his son and an uncle who would slay his nephew? How swiftly the mask falls, when a Silmaril comes into play once more. But I say to you now that you will never lay a hand on the one in Thingol's halls, either of you."

"Tyelpë," Curufin says, his voice low, "be reasonable—"

"Is it reason that moves you now?" Celebrimbor demands. "Scarce hours ago you were doing all that was in your power to convince me you had changed, and I ought to forgive you – forgive you, as though I am the one you wronged! But one breath of a mention of the damned Silmarils and your true nature comes through in an instant." He casts a disgusted look at Amras. "You are all the same, every one of you, for all your high-minded speeches about justice and shamelessness—"

"Do not speak of that you do not understand," Amras hisses. "I am nothing like your father."

"I have no father," Celebrimbor declares, his eyes bright. "And yet you bear more than a passing resemblance to this pitiful creature before me. Do you claim now that to abduct a maiden in the woods is so very far below you?" He glances at Finduilas, pointedly. "Or else to spill the blood of your own kin, after the threats you have made today? No, uncle, if you are true-hearted in your quest for vengeance you will turn your blade first of all upon yourself – and until then know that you carry on the House of Fëanor's fine tradition of hypocrisy perfectly well."

"Tyelpë," Curufin breathes.

"Come, cousin," Celebrimbor says firmly, taking Finduilas' hand in his. "With luck we will run into one of your father's search parties sooner or later, and then you will be home safe again."

"But will you?" Curufin asks.

Celebrimbor meets his eyes. "Better than I would anywhere else," he says. He pauses, and then adds, "I really might have given you a chance, you know."

Curufin looks after him, silenced, as he leads Finduilas away to where she left her mount.

[his own horse was um. well there were a lot of wolves ok. sadly it is no longer true that no horses were harmed in the making of this fic]

"We can still go after them," Amras says.

"He was right about you, you know," Curufin says wearily.

"He was right about you," Amras counters.

As a child Amras never really squabbled. He and Amrod were so perfectly wrapped up in each other that they had very little inclination for quarrelling with their elder brothers, even Curufin who was not quite out of adolescence when they were born.

Strange now to hear his bickering, and stranger still when it falls so dreadfully flat.

"What now, then?" Curufin asks.

He supposes Amras might still decide to kill him, without Celebrimbor to stay his hand.

Without, without, without – it is over, he is gone for good, another casualty on Curufin's endless blundering trail of destruction—

But his brother shrugs.

"You will see me again," Curufin says in a low voice. "Whatever you proclaim. All five of us living are bound by ties deeper than blood."

"Think you I do not regret that daily?" Amras asks. "Were it not for your foolish scheming the Oath would not be burning in my blood each dawn when I awake. Were it not for our father and his madness Telvo would have at the very least died free."

Despite himself Curufin bristles. "Do not."

"All right, Curvo," Amras says flatly. He manages a wan half-smile, very different from the sharp glinting grin he wore upon first coming across them. "See you then." And he saddles up his mare again and makes ready to leave.

"That's it?" Curufin asks dully. And then, because Amras' icy fury was the most alive he has felt in many months, "I knew you had not the courage to slay me."

"You could call it that," Amras says, without turning to look at him. "Farewell, Curvo."

He is gone before Curufin can think of a response.

For a long moment he stands frozen in the empty clearing, wanting to shout, wanting to beg, Do not turn your back on me now—

He is still there when the call comes.

Meanwhile in Dorthonion:

"I have been thinking, Maitimo," says Sauron, coming suddenly into the cave after days – weeks, perhaps – of darkness.

No games today, at least. There is that to be thankful for. He wears his usual guise, fair-haired and flame-eyed, robed all in white.

Maedhros blinks at him, and says nothing.

(He could not speak even if he wished to – his mouth is bone-dry, his throat parched and stinging.)

Sauron kneels before him, caresses his forehead with burning fingers. "My poor sweet one," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "I would not have to keep you bound were you only a little more – stable."

You made me so, Maedhros wants to cry out. It is good, in a way, that his thirst has gagged him so: he does not want to give Sauron the satisfaction of an answer.

It will not last for ever; soon enough Sauron will grow bored with this dull-eyed silence, he knows.

"But answer me this, Maitimo," Sauron says, his voice soft and thoughtful, "your conscience held you back when last you entered Menegroth, did it not? What makes you so very certain that you will have the mettle to take the Silmaril from Thingol this time?"

It is not that any of this will have occurred to him just now, Maedhros knows. Likely all these arguments and counter-arguments were clear to him in the moment they first struck their bargain; and now, while they wait for Morgoth's answer and the Silmaril from Angband, the Silmaril Maedhros will not be able to touch, Sauron seeks to amusing himself by toying with him.

Well, he will keep his silence.

Sauron shifts so that all his weight – and he can make himself impossibly heavy for all that his form is so slender, as though the mass of all the rocks in the cavern is concentrated in him – rests upon one of Maedhros' shattered legs. "I asked you a question, Maitimo."

His breath on Maedhros' lips is hot and dry, like a desert wind.

O for the gift of Míriel, for her endless, peaceful slumber!

But Maedhros spent long enough yearning for death on the mountain to know it cannot be that easy.

He takes his tongue between his teeth and bites down hard, hard enough that his mouth is filled with hot metallic blood and he can at last wet his lips a little.

"What answer will satisfy you?" he manages to rasp. "That I have faith in myself, or that I do not? Your decision is made either way."

"Still I wish to know," Sauron says silkily. He cups Maedhros' cheek with one hand, and Maedhros leans into the touch despite himself. "You ask me to depend upon you a great deal."

He should not play the game. He should hold his tongue and take whatever beating Sauron metes out in response; it will make no difference either way, the Silmaril is coming regardless.

But Maedhros does so like to be clever.

"Depend instead upon my Oath," he says, "for it compels me to deal death to him who witholds a Silmaril from me. Thingol has bound himself to his fate."

"And yet you walked away from Menegroth, leaving a Silmaril in his power," Sauron points out. "That is not the behaviour of one driven solely by his Oath to reclaim the jewels."

"It was in my brother's possession when I left Thingol's halls in search of the other," Maedhros says. This much at least is true – though he does not like to speak of Maglor in Sauron's presence, does not like to remember that they two both exist in the selfsame world. "I was foolish enough to trust that he would not surrender it. I will not make the same mistake twice." There, that is scorn enough in his voice to fool anyone.

"And yet you trust him now to hold the one in Barad Eithel," Sauron muses. "Do you not claim the jewel for your own, Fëanor's eldest son? You were unkind enough to shine it in my eyes on the battlefield."

"He will guard it with care," says Maedhros, "and it is his by right as much as mine – more, even, for he suffered for it during the fall of Himring, and besides—" He pauses.

Sauron leans in and presses his hot lips to Maedhros', licking clean the last droplets of blood clinging to his cracked skin.

"Besides?" he prompts.

Bile rises in Maedhros' throat. He shudders, but Sauron holds his jaw closed tight, forcing him to swallow it rather than retch.

"I'm waiting, Maitimo," Sauron says softly.

Maedhros spits blood in his face, which seems only to amuse him. "Besides he is better than you," he hisses, "and better than me, and it will never burn him as long as he lives—"

The pressure on his leg vanishes abruptly, leaving him oddly light-headed.

"So it will burn you, my sweet?" Sauron says softly.

His voice now comes from far above Maedhros' head. He tries to tilt his head back to see – long experience has taught him to keep his eyes on Sauron as much as possible – but the cold wall of the cave arrests his motion.

"You and I were always more alike than you wished to admit, my little liar," Sauron murmurs. He reaches down to tousle Maedhros' matted hair. "You will never be able to pass through the Girdle, will you, Silmaril or not? Well, then."

"Are you going to kill me, now?" Maedhros asks, the faint flicker of what may be relief in his chest. "I can be of no use to you after all."

"I keep my promises, Maitimo," Sauron says briskly, "even to those as faithless as you." And with a swish of his robes he is gone.

That is a bad thing – he is sure that is a bad thing – what was it Sauron promised?

But he is so, so tired, and he cannot remember, and now that Sauron is gone he is alone once more with his thoughts, and all he wants to do is sleep until the breaking of the world.

But he cannot – just yet. For Maglor's sake.

For the first time since he came here he opens up his mind, just the tiniest of cracks, and reaches out.

Are you there? I need help.

(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)

[kassian-ck]

I might do a whole ass series of posts regarding Miguel and Robby just staring at each other an analyzing what might be going on behind those glances. The writers sucked at giving them the depth they deserved, but giving credit where credit is due, they do know sometimes how to show and not tell, and the quiet glances that they give to each other from time to time does that pretty nicely in my opinion. Xolo and Tanner also help bring these messages across so kudos for their acting 🗣🔥

Or I could be completely wrong and they just staring at each other cause oh they're rivals grrrr.

ALSO THANK YOU EVERYONE for the feedback in the last post. I didn't think so many people would read what I wanna say. Yall real ones 😭🫂

So this time, I'm going alllll the way back to season 3 to talk about a scene that goes pretty under the radar when it comes to them and I think is really interesting (excuse the quality):

This one is a bit long ngl

Getting what's very telling out of the way – is insane that Miguel's look here barely resembles any kind of anger or hatred towards Robby. The situation isn't really the best for him to bring up any of that and he knows that, but Miguel isn't exactly the best at hiding his emotions, and to hide any (justifiable) anger he had towards Robby after what happened during the school fight wouldn't have been easy at all for him.

His experience was insanely traumatic. That's not something you can simply forget, nor your mind nor your body. But yk the writers, they don't actually like to explore anything with Miguel in depth–

Finding each other after going through one of, if not the hardest and most traumatic events of their lives at that point must have brought up pretty complex emotions they aren't sure what to do with. When they meet in Miyagi Do earlier in the season, Robby does resort to his anger from how betrayed he feels by the people he thought he could trust completely turn his back on him (in his pov). There might have been resentment towards Miguel, but I feel like that act of throwing a punch at him was more out of impulse caused by a fresh wound and the behavior he had to keep for months in juvie.

In this scene, Robby is angry but I heavily doubt any anger is directed towards Miguel at that moment. Instead, they look at each other blinking slowly as if it was hard to believe that they were in the presence of the other now that the situation had nothing to do with their rivalry.

Especially for Miguel. Not only for what happened between them but for what he thought of Robby once he saw him stepping out of the dojo right behind Kreese.

He didn't look angry. Man, he barely even seemed angry towards Robby regarding his injury compared to how he was with Johnny. Because even if he didn't know much about Robby, he did know one thing about him. Miyagi Do is about honor and balance, and he's seen Robby uphold those teachings with pride since the first time he fought him in their first tournament. Something that he massively lacked and nearly loss complete sight of when Kreese came into the picture.

Even if they weren't in the best terms in season 2, Miguel at least esteemed Robby's honor and balance the more he saw that Cobra Kai's teachings didn't have those principles he himself believed in. Maybe at some point he saw that what Robby did to him wasn't out of revenge or out of pure hatred towards him, it was because he was angry and he let his emotions take control, causing an accident that he knew the Robby he fought against in the tournament would have immediately regretted.

So to see this Robby come out, wearing a Cobra Kai gi and taking the side of the same old man who's philosophy nearly pushed him towards a very dangerous ideology had to feel like being hit by a truck. Because as much as it might be hard for him to admit it due to his ego, Robby was supposed to be better than him. He was supposed to be more honorable and with more integrity than him; to see that the rhetoric Cobra Kai wants to push isn't the right way to do things.

How was somebody like Robby now in the same position he was in? In the position that brought them to where they were in the first place? Miguel can only guess so much with what he knows from Johnny. He doesn't know that he's pretty much homeless or that his mom isn't available for him. He barely knows what he went through in juvie, or how Johnny chose him over his biological son and how that made him feel.

He's completely left in the dark wondering why Robby didn't care anymore. Thus, looking perplexed as he does in the scene.

If this is the case, he might have been the only one of the teens to see Robby past the mistakes that were made and past the choices he took from the very beginning. He wanted to understand what was going on, but who was he to even approach him?

This is why in season 4 I honestly would have loved it if they had fought instead of Eli fighting Miguel. Keep Eli winning, I liked that he won the tournament a lot, but just give Robby and Miguel a fight 🙏 It's not a 1:1 parallel but since they have pretty much flipped sides, it would force them to look at the other in the eye and notice sides of each other that they have not seen in earlier fights, giving them a sense of deja vu yet see what made this different. We could have gotten Robby's reaction to Miguel feeling a sharp pain in his lower back too after attempting that jumping kick. I feel this way the tournament could have had so much more weight emotionally, and it could have added another layer to the relationship that could work well with Robby ultimately turning away from Cobra Kai and deciding to stay in Mexico to search for Miguel with his dad.

[hl-obsessed]

in the moments like this, when i just rebloged that post with how the boys changed over the years, it hits you that for some time yet we will have recent Liam photos to use, but then, little more time will pass and... and they won't be recent enough. and we will have to just miss him for the rest of our lives. it won't ever go away. not like with some people we can forget about mostly, push it to the back out or minds. we will always remember him. there will be forever an empty space. something and someone missing. all the time in future. how's that ever supposed to get easier.

[thecodeveronica]

OH HEY I reached 200 hits now on my first Burnfield fic!!! (which was also the first fic I wrote at all in a long time and tbh I functionally consider it my "first" fic)

That may not sound like much to more prolific writers but it's A LOT to me when I truly didn't expect anyone to read it when I posted it, so I'm kinda over the moon :') It was kind of the impetus for several more positive things in my life so I'm quite fond of it for that reason too

Sooooo anyway I drew a quick, crappy little celebratory drawing which I'm NOT tagging lmao