#its multiple blorbos and blorbo in laws in one place

[rivkae-winters]

A snippet out of something I'm writing in post canon that I started on a whim.

Nothing like coming back wrong, less human than the monster you'd been before, and meeting an old friend on the other side. The living side.

He was not one to take things laid out and waiting to die. No, like many times prior he had chosen to be here. Unlike those same prior times he was happy with that choice. Genesis had things now he never could have dreamed of before. The chair made of wood older than the village he spent his childhood felt alive under him as he nodded and commented at the appropriate times to words that washed over him like water. The previously upbeat, if off tune, humming was absent from the steady percussive instrument being worked greatly beyond what it had cost them at the counter. He was here because he wanted to be. He was here because he chose to give love and people and being alive awake another shot. Genesis wishes this choice was fully independent of the fact that the familiarity was comforting as much as it was his own perfect punishment. Like the long added lengths that now weighed on his scalp, choppy and rough in a way that would have once given him tremendous pause.  He catches the tail end of loose black hair flowing out the door to follow Cloud somewhere Genesis was probably just told about.  It was too short. It was too thin. Where the body flowing like water the same as the other the illusion vanished the moment red eyes locked on to his own. A patchwork of familiarity and novelty broke out before him and the familiar top lip curved just a little too far and a little too wide in a motion Genesis returned. There is the pressure of observation building in dark blue eyes that seem to be cataloging Genesis’s very soul as they practically meld into his own. Angeal’s eyes hum with a light more intense than they had prior to the world cleaving itself in two. What had been a mostly unobtrusive basking glow that painted the high points of his face was now molten and violent. Were he a weaker man his eyes might be watering for that reason instead. Then again if his oldest companion was a kettle then Genesis was the soot covered cauldron. They both were brighter in the eyes now, too intense to look at directly or too monstrous to try. They had been changed and it seemed even though the mortal coils wove them apart they were still at the end of it all chained in a way.  They are both performing the same act of self flagellation after all.

[nehswritesstuffs]

polite

This thing needs to get out in the world please go and be free my problematic LawSan be freeeeeee~

4723 words; this is the first fic I had begun writing where the Straw Hats refer to Law as Traffy so you can see me working through that a little bit; remember kids: inhaling smoke/vapor microparticles is bad to do in real life because it fucks you up real bad but these are blorbos from the comic/cartoon they don’t live by the rules of reality; I’ve been looking over this thing for a while so if there’s anything that slipped please forgive me my eyes go cross at these words at this point

polite; Sanji cooks dinner and Law wants to thank him, properly. [modern AU; contains naughty times]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

There was no question that Law’s life was more eventful now that he was socially entangled with the Straw Hats. Unfortunately, he had enjoyed how his life was before: he had literally three close friends, a little over a dozen close acquaintances, and his dog. Everything was contained, he could trust everyone, and he would go home to his apartment to find the fuzzy ball with nothing in its brain other than lint ready to be adorable. There had been literally nothing missing from his life—nothing that he felt he wanted out of the world from what it could give anyhow—and things were likely better that way.

Except now, when he came home, there were often unauthorized people there, let in only Nika-knew-how. Why the Straw Hat Gang (which was, unfortunately, not the weirdest collection of people he knew with such a descriptor) thought they had full use of his apartment, he did not know, but it was getting fucking ridiculous as he would come home to multiple people with fewer braincells than his dog wandering about the place. Tonight was no different as he came in to find Onigiri bouncing around merrily on the carpet while Zoro was sleeping on his couch, Nami was watching his TV, and Sanji was using his kitchen to feed Luffy and Usopp.

“Give me five good reasons why I shouldn’t call the police,” Law droned, his voice clearly bored. “One for each of you, come on.”

“Don’t be so stingy, Traffy,” Nami said. “We’re not breaking anything.”

“Yeah,” Usopp added, mouth full of food. “Also, Onigiri’s fine, we don’t even have anyone looking for us, and Franky’s not trying to improve your alarm clock.”

“Oh, and ACAB,” Luffy nodded. Law pinched the bridge of his nose—he did not need this after eighteen hours in the trauma center. “You know we’re right.”

“I’m not in the mood; get out,” he demanded. “Some of us have jobs to recover from, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘cause you’re ‘an adult’ and ‘a functioning member of society’,” Usopp groaned. He and Luffy went to grab Zoro, dragging the half-awake moss-head out of the apartment with Nami not far behind. Sanji went to leave as well, only for Law to grab him by the upper arm.

“Not you—you’re helping me clean up after you take whatever you left in the oven out.”

“Want me gone, want me here; make up your fucking mind,” Sanji scoffed. “Oh, Nami-swan! I’ll be around later! Have to make sure Traffy’s kitchen isn’t mildly sloppy.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Nami said as she closed the apartment door. Onigiri whimpered as he put his paws up on the door, wanting the other people to come back. Four seconds of that and he was frolicking around the apartment again, seemingly forgotten the others.

“What do you have in the oven?” Law wondered. Sanji shrugged and went back into the kitchen, with Law sitting down at the island bar.

“I didn’t have a lot to work with, and Nami wasn’t hungry, so I had slipped into a store on the way here and picked up stuff to make a casserole,” Sanji replied. He chuckled as Law raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a casserole.”

“Not in a long time,” Law admitted. He watched as Sanji took the casserole out of the oven; the glass dish showed the noodles and sauce, as well as some unidentified vegetables and meat. The top was coated in golden-brown breadcrumbs and it smelled nostalgic. “Doesn’t look like your normal dishes.”

“Bunch of heavy carbs; fills Luffy up fairly well,” the blond shrugged. He pulled out a serving spoon and a pair of plates, scooping out two servings and passing one to Law. “A lot can be said about what some consider ‘peasant food’, you know?”

“No shit.” Law took the fork that Sanji offered and muttered thanks under his breath before shoving a forkful of the casserole in his mouth. Was it the best food for him to eat? Probably not by a longshot, but a warm, comforting feeling crept through him as he ate, allowing his shoulders to relax and the throbbing in his head to fade. A few bites and he stopped, staring at Sanji with a sense of realization. “You made this for me, didn’t you?”

“I knew you were late from work, so I figured it might be the first meal you’ve had all day. Correct?”

“I… uh… yeah… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it; my job is literally to make sure people are fed. I’d be a pretty shitty cook if I did otherwise.”

Law grunted through his casserole and nodded. Part of him went back to watching his parents make the dish, his foster adult, and eventually his friends and him figuring out the recipe for themselves. Canned condensed soup was involved, a move that he had thought was certain would horrify the Straw Hat chef, but it seemed to not bother him at all. He took his own plate and sat next to Law, using a fork and knife to gather the noodly concoction and eat.

“What…?”

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s something, asshole. Why the fuck are you staring?”

“You have table manners—the rest of them don’t.”

“Nami-swan and Robin-chan can make finger-foods look delicate, but you’re right about the rest of them,” Sanji scowled. He ate another bite of casserole and a shudder overtook him. “None of them can eat with any sort of decorum.”

“Decorum? That’s a strong word.”

“It’s the word I’ve got.” He let Law eat some more before continuing. “You know… that’s part of why I love cooking for the ladies so much—they know how to hold themselves… sort of like you.”

“You saying I eat like a girl?”

“I’m saying you’re fucking polite; the idiots are appreciative, yeah, but they’re never polite. Can’t you take a compliment?”

“You used my kitchen without my permission, not to mention committed breaking and entering.”

“We have a key. It’s not breaking and entering when you have a key.”

“You all are exhausting.” Law rested his face in his hand, cheekbone nestled into the palm, as he leaned with his elbow on the countertop. “You, uh, usually make riceballs when you’re over here—why the change of pace?”

“Like I said: it would fill Luffy, and I’d still be able to save you a portion since it reheats and keeps well.” Now done with his own food, Sanji went back to the dish and began to portion out the rest in some resealable containers—where did those come from? “I’ll feel better knowing these are around; you’re too damn skinny.”

“I’m fine.”

“I can see your ribs through your scrubs, and Shachi told me none of them can get you to eat worth a damn. Fuck off.”

“You’re not my mother. Why should you care?”

“Idiot.” Sanji finished putting the leftovers away and put water in the pan to soak before sulking over towards the balcony. Law could see him from his chair, tapping his foot and fidgeting as he tried not to pace in lieu of a cigarette—ah, he fucked it up, didn’t he? Yeah, he was getting pretty sick of the Straw Hats just dropping into his life unannounced and usually with trouble trailing behind them, but at the same time… the man did have dinner waiting for him when he got home from work…

Figuring it was only fair, Law finished his food, partially loaded up the dishwasher, and went digging around in his room. Once he found the crushed, open packet of cigarettes, he brought them out onto the balcony and held them out towards Sanji, who stared.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Not often, but enough.” He waited until Sanji took one before grabbing one of his own, putting it between his lips as Sanji flicked on a lighter. Law leaned down and lit the end of his cigarette with the same flame Sanji was using to light his with, their faces close enough for him to see the blush on the blond’s cheeks with the light from the flame and the distant streetlamp.

“Th-thanks,” Sanji mumbled, closing the lighter.

“Thank you for dinner.” Law inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before letting it all out his nose. Sanji was almost slackjawed watching him—not many people had seen him smoke before, let alone any of the Straw Hats. “Now look who’s staring.”

“A-Again… I didn’t think you smoked.”

“You put me in a nostalgic mood with that meal,” he replied. When his smoking conspirator said nothing, he continued, “This was the brand the idiot who fostered me smoked; sometimes it takes me years to finish a pack.”

“This is the brand I smoke.”

“Lucky.”

Another silence.

“I… didn’t know you were also in the system.”

“That much actually surprises me, with how much our collective idiots talk.” Sanji scoffed at that—yeah, they both had some prime idiots in their lives, didn’t they? “Eight years—the last five was a series of group homes until Penguin became a legal adult and took Shachi, Bepo and me out, which was hard. The first three…” He took the cigarette from his lips and watched the smoke curl off the end. “Let’s just say it was a different kind of hard.”

“Aged out after ten in the back of the geezer’s restaurant and just never left,” Sanji admitted. He then thought for a moment. “Must’ve been a hell of a guy if he gets a doctor to smoke.”

“Surgeon, and…” Law wanted to agree, but it was… complicated. “He tried. I can’t fault him for trying.”

“No, I guess not.” Putting his hands in his pockets, Sanji leaned on the balcony rail and shrugged in an attempt to seem aloof. It made Law think back to his tweenaged years, tramping about as he and Cora tried to run from their demons. Nights curled up in a tent or the back of the station wagon; days going from hospital to hospital in an attempt to cure what the third rate hacks refused; growing close despite the arm’s length distance; the pain of living every day, though pulling it together because that was all either of them could do for one another. Through the smoke and the colored streetlights, the other man resembled Cora more than he wanted to admit, though at the same time…

No, Law couldn’t. He shouldn’t. Cora was not only the man who saved him all those years ago, but he went around introducing the two of them as father and son. Very few truly believed it, mind, but he still did it to avoid questions. It didn’t change the burning way which he missed him some days… one of the many ways Doffy missed him, he was certain…

…except Cora was dead, Sanji was alive, and Law wanted to thank him properly for making him dinner. He wondered if the man in front of him ever slipped out of his careful, measured Eastern accent into something that sounded like home and what it would take to make that happen. What did he feel like underneath those carefully-curated shirts and slacks and suits? How did he sound when he was the one being cared for through careful ministrations? Would his mouth turn even filthier in the face of affection? Was he really as limber as everyone joked? Did he taste just like the cigarettes and cheap wine of his hazy memories or was there more to it than that? He watched him stub out the cigarette on the building brick and toss the tarred filter in the heavy flowerpot Law used as an ashtray—the younger man sure could suck them down…

Law swallowed hard; oh shit.

“Please tell me how to thank you for dinner,” he requested, voice threatening to crack. Sanji looked at him with one curled eyebrow raised.

“I cook for my friends all the time. It’s fine.”

“No, I want to be polite and thank you…” He inhaled deeply on the cigarette and caged Sanji in against the balcony rail, leaning down to press their lips together so that he could exhale in the other man’s mouth. A wisp of smoke fluttered between them as Law pulled away, watching as Sanji flushed a deep pink as he finally let go of his breath and smoke came pouring from his mouth and nostrils, enveloping him in a dizzying, hazy halo. “…properly.”

It was a moment before Sanji’s brain began to function again, it having shorted out the moment Law kissed him. He watched as it was the older man’s turn to extinguish his cigarette, amber eyes flashing in the dim city night with something uncertain… something he wasn’t even sure Law himself understood. Hesitating, he calculated the risks involved with continuing, all of his math pointing towards one singular answer: the night was already full of surprises, and he wasn’t going to learn what they were by leaving now.

“I keep my men to a high standard,” Sanji bluffed. “Do you think you’re ready to meet and exceed them?”

“I know who is in your friend circle—that bar is on the sidewalk underneath us.”

“Not that low, but low enough for you if you play your cards right.” A slight breeze carried off the rest of the smoke and now the blond was Just Sanji again, though it was a Sanji who knew that possibilities were presenting themselves and he didn’t hate it. Sanji left the railing and went back to the door, pausing to look back at Law with a smirk. “Let’s get that kitchen cleaned up and then we’ll talk.”

Law nodded silently, following Sanji inside his own apartment as his anticipation began to build. He shucked off his scrubs and let them drop to the floor; Onigiri went to sniff the pile, yelped, and stumbled away. Now in just his sleeveless undershirt and a pair of oversized basketball shorts, Law moved around the kitchen with Sanji almost effortlessly, wiping counters and placing varied spices and utensils back where they belonged. A glance here, a light touch there, and the electricity between them only built. Once the dishwasher was set for a delayed start and Onigiri’s kibble and water refilled, the pair looked at one another knowing that they had put it off long enough. They stood close enough to smell the remaining smoke still clinging to their skin and clothes, not nearly as strong but still the same scent that was pulling them together.

When it was clear Sanji was not going to budge, Law made the first move, ducking down to kiss the shorter man, the action almost timid. He tilted the blond’s chin up gently, making sure their faces met despite the eleven centimeters between them. Cigarettes, yes, but none of the cheap wine and instant noodles he remembered(?), he imagined(?); instead he could taste the casserole and something else as their tongues scraped together, frankly surprised anything other than the ashy smoker’s aftertaste was present, let alone detectable. As he broke the kiss, his nose brushed against the other man’s hair; unlike his mouth, the hair smelled exactly the same, with the sweet, cloying scent that the specific cigarette brand left behind.

“Are you going to continue to be a creep, Traffy, or are you going to invite me to some place more manageable?” Sanji quipped. He watched as the almost-drunk expression on Law’s face darkened before he swallowed and tried to wet his tongue.

“Tonight, please,” he hoarsely half-whispered, “use my real name. Call me Law. You can’t call me anything else… not tonight.”

Something clicked in Sanji’s brain and he nodded once. “Do you have something that you want to call me?” He watched as Law seemed to consider the notion, turning it over in his head before letting out one quiet word, voice dry and hushed.

“Cora.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Sanji considered this, then nodded. “I don’t know what the fuck this is about, Law, but don’t make me regret it.”

Taking that as all he needed, Law grabbed Sanji by the wrist and dragged him through his apartment to his bedroom, nearly throwing the other man onto the bed. He was almost immediately on top of him, putting hungry kisses on his neck as he pawed at the shirt and tie. The blond shoved him off in order to loosen his tie, a ruffled expression on his face.

“This is Doskoi—hold on,” he scolded. Sanji took off his tie and rolled it carefully, putting it in his jacket pocket, which then ended up draped on a nearby chair. His belt was treated in the same way, getting tucked into another pocket. “Not all of us go around in clothes that can be tossed on the floor, you know.”

“Work clothes,” Law defended. He sat on the bed awkwardly, the temptation to palm himself through his shorts very real. Sanji looked at him in the vanity mirror, catching the almost predatory look in the older man’s eyes.

“So… Cora.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “Who was he?”

“That… it’s not important.”

“Did he love you back?”

“I…” He swallowed, guilt blooming in his gut. “I don’t know.”

Of course, Law had not forgotten the last time he’d seen Cora. That abandoned warehouse, getting shoved in the crate; the very last thing he saw before the lid closed was Cora’s beaten face. He said he loved him, sure, but it was the first time those words had been said with any form of sincerity in years—he wanted more, craved more, and yet that night Doflamingo coldly took out all his rage and hostility on his brother. Law always wanted to ask why and how, tempted to go back to the corpse and see if it was really lifeless or just barely hanging on.

Surely he would have been caught had he did, right? If not by Doflamingo’s gang, then by the cop who drove them away. Cora-san had been a cop himself, well, right up until they went off-grid. That was how his younger self knew the man whisking him away from certain death in an organized crime ring could be trusted. No cops, no alternate crime bosses; just the two of them. Cora simply took him for himself and ran.

He never looked back and yet that was all Law could do.

“Anything that’s off the table?” Sanji asked, now in just his underwear. Damn, he was skinny. Law shrugged.

“Like…?”

“What are you not into?” Sanji’s lips pursed at the silence that met him. “Okay… what are you into?”

“I… erm…” Law just shrugged, still awkward. Sanji simply came over and tugged his shirt over his head, exposing his chest and back tattoos. He sat and traced one of the shoulder ones with a finger, attempting to parse out how to begin.

“Do you need to be called a good boy?”

He bit his lower lip—it was a start.

“How about a bad boy?”

It was subtle, but he bit down harder.

“Okay… then how about this: you gotta be on top, or bottom?”

“Can I… top…?” Law felt incredibly shy as he was beginning to regret this. Sanji just leaned into him further, their bodies pressing together.

“We don’t have to do this,” he said. Law nodded in response.

“I know.”

“Listen, Law…”

“You, erm, don’t have to talk or do a lot if you don’t want to; just… don’t worry about me.” He glanced over at Sanji, who seemed as though he was trying to piece him together mentally first. “What… what do you like?”

“Depends, just as long as who I’m with isn’t too lost in their own head,” the blond said. He leaned in and kissed Law, all ash and that delicious dinner. “I’ll invoke one of my idiots if I need you to pause, okay?”

Law nodded at that before gently placing his hand on Sanji’s neck and jaw, guiding him into another kiss. He pulled them both down onto the bed, positioning himself so that he was pressing the younger man against the mattress. They broke the kiss with an inhale, after which Law began to move toward the back of his jaw. The smell of smoke and food was intoxicating—mmm… this was good.

“You’re doing great, Law,” Sanji crooned. Law’s lips had been over his throat and the vibrations made him whine. That was when the blond decided to kick it up a notch to test the waters and let his natural accent come out. “You feel good; come on, make Cora feel good.”

Something clicked in Law’s mind as the smooth Northern tones of Sanji’s voice washed over him. It was not the same as Cora’s—not by a long shot—but they affected him all the same. He moved down to Sanji’s collarbone and bit, pulling a hiss from the blond.

“Naughty,” he chided. “Show me, Law; show me what you meant to back then. Be a good boy and show Cora a good time.”

Law grunted and rutted against Sanji’s leg, getting friction against his still-clothed erection. He continued kissing and grinding, hands finding their way over the other man’s slender body. A hand against the blond’s package revealed he was hard as well. He thought for a moment about riding him, feeling that cock swell inside him, but reconsidered as he reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out an old-yet-still-wrapped condom and a near-empty bottle of lube. Fuck, it had been a while since he did anything other than tug himself off and he was going to make every moment of it worth the wait.

Seeing that things were in order, Sanji wriggled out of his underwear and allowed Law to manhandle him, opening his legs and letting a slick-covered finger slide its way in. They kissed as another finger worked its way in, then a third, Sanji moaning into Law’s mouth with each new test and flex of the surgeon’s long digits. He grabbed at Law’s hair as his own cock was flushed and throbbing by the time the hand left him, precome dribbled down his stomach. Law wiped his hand on a nearby cloth and then flipped Sanji over, putting him on his hands and knees atop the mattress.

“Hey, what the fuck are you…?” He went to protest, only for Law to steal his breath with another kiss that held his attention for a bit too long.

“Don’t you worry,” Law murmured against his lips. “Let Law take care of you now. Don’t worry and just concentrate on me.”

Law slid off the bed and shoved his shorts and underwear down in one movement, letting the garments rest at his ankles as he slid the condom on and once again let his fingers trace the muscles on the powerful legs before him. They were meatier than Cora’s had been—not to mention shorter, since the man had been tall—but Law had grown since then, hadn’t he? All he knew was that he had a blond in his bed, a Northern accent in his ears, and cigarettes on his tongue and in the air. He lined himself up with Sanji’s entrance and pushed in, shivering as the other man cussed underneath him.

Ah, fuck! His ass was so warm and tight, enveloping Law as he thrust experimentally. Tight, yet pliable… willing… hungry. With his feet planted firmly on the floor, he explored the younger man’s body with great interest, listening to the noises he pulled from him. A shiver and he knew he found his prostate, holding a thigh with one hand and Sanji’s lower back with another as he snapped their hips together.

“Law!” Sanji cried out, the sound going straight to the other man’s dick. “That’s it, Law! Yes!” He thrust harder and harder, hoping to make it long enough to not embarrass himself. His muscles began to shake and he knew he was doomed. The world was starting to blur as he came closer to orgasm, spurred there even faster by the encouraging noises and sounds coming from under him. He couldn’t even think as words escaped his lips, mind in a complete orgasmic blackout.

“I love you too, Cora!”

At that he came, gasping as he bent over double, his chest pressing against Cora’s back as he thrust through his after-shocks. Cora said something sweet as he nearly collapsed on him, only barely able to pull out before collapsing on the mattress. Was that the sound of Onigiri skittering away from his door? Law felt Cora’s cock and found it was still hard, allowing himself to be eased down to the floor so he could kneel at the other man’s feet while he sucked him off. Gentle hands played with his hair and he felt so light… so content… what was even happening? Soft Northern oaths reached his ears as the cock in his mouth shivered and a spurt of hot hit the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, drinking up every last drop he could.

Cora said something and all Law could do was pass out.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A few hours later and Law woke up with a splitting headache and sore thighs, stark-naked between his bedsheets. He only just barely registered the other person in his bed, the fact that it was Sanji taking a few minutes to soak in. Yeah… he was naked… Sanji was naked… it smelled like sex… oh, and his condom was gone. Great.

“Oh, fuck…” he groaned, then winced at the sound of his voice. Oh… he swallowed dick, didn’t he? “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” Sanji replied, idly scrolling on his phone as he sat up against the headboard. Wait… why did he sound Eastern…? “Surprised it’s not eleven in the morning with how soundly you slept. I had to drag your ass into bed… and you’re not exactly light.”

“Sorry,” Law mumbled. He looked at Sanji and felt his face grow hot. “I… uh… don’t remember…”

“I didn’t roofie you, if that’s what you mean.”

“No… just… was it up to standard…?” The blond sighed—not a good sign.

“You’re fucked up, you know that?” Sanji locked his phone and tossed it on the other nightstand before sliding down into a lying position. “You might want to consider therapy.”

“I don’t have time for therapy,” Law admitted. The feel of Sanji’s fingertips against his skin, tracing his chest tattoo, felt so good it was almost ticklish. “Sorry if I’m…” He swallowed. “…fucked up.”

“Who isn’t?” Sanji shrugged. “You give a good sleepy blowjob at least.”

Fucking hell… Law wanted to hide under the covers and not come out until Sanji was out of his apartment building and in the next neighborhood. He just seduced a Straw Hat, of all people, and had shitty sex… his standards were tanking so hard it was a good thing his actual friends were all on a night shift. Sanji, however, simply propped himself up on his elbow and glanced down at Law as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You don’t have the time for therapy, I can’t afford therapy, and yet we’re right here, able to fuck it out until we’re good at something, don’t you think?”

“Don’t pity me.”

“…except I’m not, asshole; you’re realize that if you were fucking lucid.” He reached down Law’s body and cupped his junk, causing the other man to suck in a sharp breath through his nose; not quite over-sensitive, but not ready-to-party either. “Maybe while we’re waiting I can fix us up a snack?”

“I haven’t been to the store…”

“Then it’s a good thing I did before coming here.” Law thought about that for a moment before it hit him.

“You were planning on this, weren’t you?”

“Maybe… maybe not?” He leaned down and kissed Law on the mouth, their lips open and pliant against one another. “Guess you’ll have to find out, hm?”

Law’s life really was more eventful with the Straw Hat Gang entangled in his social circles… but at what cost…? Better yet: how exactly was he going to make the most of it?

[crownedwithstars]

I wasn't going to partake in this thread again because it looks like it's okay to show grace to a mass murderer but not to a woman, never mind the fact that in her position most of us would probably do exactly what she did. It's telling that fandom will go beyond its way to justify a man's actions no matter how terrible and find ways to release him from responsibility, but the same never applies to a woman, even if options available to her would not ultimately change someone else's actions (Míriel would still want to stay dead, Finwë would still want to remarry, there would still be discontent in the House of Finwë for Morgoth to prey on). I keep coming to the unfortunate conclusion that the core reason people hate Indis is because she is a woman whose actions gave issues to a male blorbo. Looks like the only roles still available to Míriel and Indis are Madonna and a whore. 

It's okay not to like Indis. It's also fine to talk about her marriage to Finwë and whether it's right or not. It's a fascinating conversation even and especially when we discard the virulence and the need to hate her for the sake of a man (don't tell me it's for Míriel: she herself states she's glad that Indis' children lived and if you are defending her right to choose to live only because you think Fëanor needs a mother, then it's not really about Míriel). The fact remains that she is integral to the narrative. Without her, we don't have a story - just as we don't have a story without Fëanor's downfall and the terrible things he did. 

That there was some trickery about Indis and Finwë meeting is such a bad faith reading - especially when the actual text reads that Indis sang "without forethought in great joy". The text doesn't state that Finwë just suddenly fell in love, only that his heart turned to her, and he seems mostly concerned that this is a new chance and a comfort to him. It really sounds like Indis should live in a box so that Finwë can't see or hear her, and he shouldn't process the grief in a way that suits him, like by moving on.

Do we know for fact that no elf ever remarries or wishes to, though? Where's that said? The case of Finwë and Míriel is probably only the most famous one, and which - at least in Valinor - sets a precedent. That the Valar make the effort of making a whole law about it (see Morgoth's Ring), instead of fumbling some kind of a special exemption for Finwë, proves that they saw it as a real possibility in Arda Marred that required dealing with. This takes place in the very beginning of the history of Arda, in a time that hell of a lot of Elves were dying or about to die in violent and traumatic circumstances, and it's kind of a weird thing to expect that nobody will ever again come across this problem. And there is also the question of the Elves who never came into Valinor, Avari in particular. Are we really going to assume that these people who want nothing to do with Valinor are going to just resign to eternity in widowhood?

You seem to like to read the Valar's actions in the worst possible light and with the benefit of hindsight, and ignore that they operate in the Arda Marred as much anyone else and it is always going to cause trouble and mistakes, and even when things work out somehow, it's in a bittersweet way. From another point of view, the situation can also be read as the Valar choosing the future where they could save most lives without interfering with the free will of the Children beyond their own jurisdiction - but the very idea of them "choosing a future" is questionable because it implies that there were multiple ones. But the Music of the Ainur rather implies there is this one way things are going to happen, and the Valar have some degree of foresight because of it. And the actions of the Children are obviously something that they can't always understand and they certainly won't try to control it. Tolkien makes it clear that the Valar are not omniscient or infallible and I don't know how we can expect these primordial creatures who clearly have a hard time understanding incarnates to be mental health professionals. Or that they even could know how Finwë's remarriage would impact Fëanor. Also I'm not even going to touch the claim that the Valar "stole" the Silmaril - not beyond pointing out that "whether your property rights are still valid after multiple mass murders, stealing somebody else's priceless semi-sacred property and destroying it" is another can of worms. As for the sea-longing, I'm not sure where Tolkien says that the Valar specifically created it or that it was meant as a curse? And we don't know if all Elves had it, or heeded it. Tolkien also talked about the Elves who remained in Middle-earth, which rather implies that some of them never did sail, but remained until their bodies would fade. The absence of the Elves from Middle-earth is another sign of Arda Marred and like Gimli says (I think it's Gimli, anyway) in LOTR, if all the Elves go to Havens, it's a duller world for those doomed to stay (kinda the whole point, actually).

I don't think Indis being a Vanya played a part in the Valar sanctioning remarriage? Because at least in The Later Quenta Silmarillion (Morgoth's Ring) Finwë comes across Indis after the Valar have given their decree. The Valar recognise that death (and the possibility of a desire for remarriage) are not natural for how Elves were created, but they are nevertheless a fact in Arda Marred, and so it needs dealing with in the terms of Arda Marred (they also note that those who remain steadfast even when bereaved belong in spirit to Arda Unmarred). They also consider that while it's unlawful to pressure the Dead to live, it is also unjust for Dead to compel the Living to be alone until the end of time. You don't have to like it but this is their attempt to resolve a difficult moral question, and they are not wrong to consider Finwë's part as well as Míriel's. After all, it's her who has the final say in the matter.

How do we know that things would have been better if Finwë was refused? Or that Míriel was ever coming back while Fëanor lived? (*Could* she come back while he lived? She said "her life had gone into him", and interestingly, she does feel the desire to live again once Fëanor dies.) Finwë was still the King of Noldor. He had all the means he needed to make trouble and unrest if he wanted. Would he just have contented himself with staying alone, potentially until the end of time? Have we any right to judge him? The Valar are not guilty for Morgoth being Morgoth. He was always going to find something to work on. In the absence of sibling rivalry, he could very well have used Finwë's desire for a larger family and a spouse, perhaps turning him against Fëanor, maybe even suggesting that without Fëanor he could have had everything he wanted. Morgoth was always going to use the Finwë/Míriel problem. The guy who shows up to turn people against each other and keeps pouring out his malice is responsible, not the group who go beyond their way to keep peace, even if they fail. Yeah, they made mistakes, that's obvious. But we would not have a story without those mistakes.

The Silm literally says that among those Finwë loved, Fëanor was always foremost and that he was most beloved of Finwë's sons. He even goes as far as leave his own people when Fëanor is exiled to Formenos - and he does this at a time when Noldor are in a state of unrest and deeply need their king to guide them. His going also causes Fingolfin to take over - something Fëanor was paranoid about. So there's significantly more evidence for Finwë playing favourites than there is of Indis favouring Fingolfin.

Olwe is a bad friend and a coward? If a friend shows up in the middle of the night and demands the keys to your Rolls Royce Phantom II so that he can go chase Satan, you don't give them do you? You tell your friend to calm down. Just because Fëanor has a beef with, well, everybody, doesn't mean that Olwë should feel comfortable with doing something the Valar clearly don't endorse and is probably pretty dangerous. Know what is also being a bad friend? First telling someone you're going to help them to build their house so that you can be brothers and sisters forever, and then later showing up and telling them that the thing that was supposedly freely given in friendship actually has a price. Moreover, if Fëanor is justified in not giving the Silmarils so that the Trees can be restored and others may benefit from the work of his hands, then Olwë is every bit as justified to keep the ships. Having caution is not cowardice, and as a king he is responsible for his people and their safety and well-being. Refusing to rush off to a quest to bring down Satan in the middle of night, without a chance to prepare or the mariners say goodbye to their families, or even to make sure their ships can make such a crossing, is not cowardice. It's highly unlikely that even with the Teleri on his side, Fëanor and his company could have brought Morgoth down, as he is clearly warned against it before he even leaves Valinor. And you could argue that by acting so rashly, Fëanor actually blocks the Valar from dealing with Morgoth immediately (because they will not interfere with free will or its consequences, which the first Kinslaying and the Doom are), and that because of him hundreds of thousands of Elves and Men in Middle-earth suffer and die deaths that could have been prevented.

I'm not even saying that Morgoth's second chance is somehow comparable to Fëanor's? That's only an allusion to OP comparing them. And either way, that Fëanor was less awful than Morgoth doesn't excuse the things he did. As I said in the previous post, Tolkien's own view is that Morgoth had to be a second chance and it was the only way the Valar could avoid becoming like him. You don't have to like it, but that's what the author thinks. That they don't know Morgoth had not truly repented is not "supposed", it's literally in the text and for a long while he is helpful and seemingly cured from evil, giving them every reason to believe that the brother they thought they had lost has come back. It's easy to judge in hindsight because the reader knows the trope of the evil Dark Lord but it's a mistake to assume that the characters have the same information. But the moment they learn that Morgoth has deceived them, the Valar take up and try to find him. That they were somehow lazy about it or didn't do enough is another assumption. Because he was still the most powerful, the craftiest and most cunning of them. He could still shapeshift and hide himself, so it's not a wonder that he was able to avoid his hunters. And where else should the Valar keep Morgoth after his seeming reform? He asked for mercy and was able to convince them that he had changed. No criminal is ever going to become a member of society again without any trust.

And I think this is the last thing I will add to this post. Our reading of the text is clearly too different, and I don't have energy to argue on whether female characters should be granted the same grace and benefit of the doubt as male characters and especially male blorbos.

I don’t understand people who demonize Feanor pre 1st Kinslaying because genuinely what was he supposed to do?

How is he wrong for despising Indis who was creepily obsessed with his father even before his mother died and took her first chance to throw herself at his grieving father given the opportunity?

How is he wrong for not loving his half siblings who are a permanent reminder of his father & the Valar betraying his mother & leaving her to die?

How is he in the wrong for not giving up the Silmarills?

How is he wrong for wanting revenge for his murdered father when the actual villains are the Valar who doomed him, his kin, & his people for…. seeking justice for their king?

The Valar had the power to help this severely traumatized, depressed, & mentally ill person and guide him to be less destructive.

The chose not to. Every action between Feanor & the Valar are them actively making his life worse and then Manwe has the audacity to cry over him as if he couldn’t have prevented this tragedy.

While I think Olwe & the Teleri should have been willing to teach the Noldor to build ships at least, the 1st Kinslaying is obviously still unjustified since Feanor did have a way to middle earth without killing (the Helcaraxe), but before that everyone else is being a bigger asshole than Feanor and pushing him to his inevitable breaking point.

[silmarillaure]

It's telling that fandom will go beyond its way to justify a man's actions no matter how terrible and find ways to release him from responsibility

Except most Feanor fans like myself do not justify his wrongs, we only acknowledge that a lot of shitty stuff happened to him which he did not deserve.

Feanor died an awful corrupted person, that's undeniable. But no, Feanor the child did not deserve to be called "marred" and deserved better than having a father & stepmother who condemned his mother to eternal death out of selfishness.

Finwe favoring Feanor later in life doesn't make up for the loss of Feanor's mother. He insulted Feanor's mother even after her permanent death by choosing to mispronounce her name, and Indis did the same and insulted Miriel as well.

Favoritism does not heal those deep scars that Finwe gave Feanor himself, and if Finwe wasn't capable of loving all his children the same, it's more proof that he shouldn't have had them.

I don't have energy to argue on whether female characters should be granted the same grace and benefit of the doubt as male characters and especially male blorbos.

Except you grant Feanor ZERO grace & benefit of the doubt. I've seen on your blog that you think he was a terrible unloving father who's sons only followed him out of fear.

You refuse to empathize with someone's grief over loosing their mother in a world where no one else does, you refuse to empathize with Miriel being unable to control the fact she was drained by childbirth & accused her of abandoning her husband and son, but Indis deserves sympathy?

Miriel is a woman as well, yet you hold no sympathy & understanding for her situation and are basically saying it's a good thing she died along with saying she's at fault for abandoning her family.

don't tell me it's for Míriel: she herself states she's glad that Indis' children lived and if you are defending her right to choose to live only because you think Fëanor needs a mother, then it's not really about Míriel

Miriel is a nice person who’s choosing to see the best in the circumstances. And wtf is wrong with thinking Feanor deserved an opportunity to see his mother?

Even if Miriel & Finwe were a childless couple and she somehow died, I’d still defend her right to live over Finwe’s right to have children. He made the choice to marry her, he knows how permanent elven marriage is.

Morgoth being Morgoth. He was always going to find something to work on. In the absence of sibling rivalry, he could very well have used Finwë's desire for a larger family and a spouse, perhaps turning him against Fëanor, maybe even suggesting that without Fëanor he could have had everything he wanted. Morgoth was always going to use the Finwë/Míriel problem.

You're making up what if scenarios here but if I do the same thing and say Feanor would have been a lot happier had Finwe not remarried, you would disagree.

It really sounds like Indis should live in a box so that Finwë can't see or hear her, and he shouldn't process the grief in a way that suits him, like by moving on.

You always bring up Finwe's "grief" (he couldn't even respect Miriel enough to say her name right, It's doubtful he grieved her much) and how Indis's feeling are so valid, but again and again, you invalidate Feanor's grief and demonize him for being unhappy with the situation.

Also I'm not even going to touch the claim that the Valar "stole" the Silmaril - not beyond pointing out that "whether your property rights are still valid after multiple mass murders, stealing somebody else's priceless semi-sacred property and destroying it"

So do you think Feanor deserved to have his work stolen in the first place? If you have something stolen from you and law enforcement chooses to do nothing about it, are you saying you should "get over it".

And if Feanor (the creator) & his sons have no right to the silmarills, who does? Why does Luthien deserve something she never made, why does Thingol, or Dior, or Elwing, or Earendil?

Finwë was still the King of Noldor. He had all the means he needed to make trouble and unrest if he wanted. Would he just have contented himself with staying alone, potentially until the end of time? Have we any right to judge him?

Finwe shouldn't have to content himself with being alone but Feanor has to content himself with loosing the chance to meet his mother ever?

And we have no right to judge Finwe but it's completely ok to judge Feanor for grieving his mother & being unable to get over loosing her?

Why is it that you refuse to have any sympathy for Feanor's losses when you sympathize with literally everyone else?

He was not a Kinslayer when he lost his mother and was being called "marred", he was some kid going though the unthinkable but you gloss over his grief every single time.

(I know you said you didn't want to continue adding onto this post but I would love a reply. Although I will never see things they way you do, I do want to understand your perspective more on things I've questioned you about.)

I don’t understand people who demonize Feanor pre 1st Kinslaying because genuinely what was he supposed to do?

How is he wrong for despising Indis who was creepily obsessed with his father even before his mother died and took her first chance to throw herself at his grieving father given the opportunity?

How is he wrong for not loving his half siblings who are a permanent reminder of his father & the Valar betraying his mother & leaving her to die?

How is he in the wrong for not giving up the Silmarills?

How is he wrong for wanting revenge for his murdered father when the actual villains are the Valar who doomed him, his kin, & his people for…. seeking justice for their king?

The Valar had the power to help this severely traumatized, depressed, & mentally ill person and guide him to be less destructive.

The chose not to. Every action between Feanor & the Valar are them actively making his life worse and then Manwe has the audacity to cry over him as if he couldn’t have prevented this tragedy.

While I think Olwe & the Teleri should have been willing to teach the Noldor to build ships at least, the 1st Kinslaying is obviously still unjustified since Feanor did have a way to middle earth without killing (the Helcaraxe), but before that everyone else is being a bigger asshole than Feanor and pushing him to his inevitable breaking point.