#terrifying tolkien week

[tolkienhorrorweek]

Welcome to Tolkien Horror Week! This is a new event, following in the footsteps of Terrifying Tolkien Week, last run in 2019. This event celebrates all things spooky and creepy in Tolkien's work—both the things he tells us explicitly and the things he leaves up to our imaginations.

The event will run from October 27th to November 2nd and accepts all types of fanworks. There is an AO3 collection for the event here.

Below are some suggested prompts for each day of the week. They are not mandatory; feel free to combine them or disregard them entirely.

Day 1: Angband & Utumno | seeth all things crooked | captivity Day 2: Angmar, Rhudaur, & Minas Morgul | of such dread and dark enchantment | sorcery Day 3: Mordor & the Dead Marshes | the pitiless land | control Day 4: The Barrow-downs & the Old Forest | the clinging mists | corruption Day 5: Mirkwood, Nan Elmoth, & Taur-nu-Fuin | the shadows grew long in the forest | hunting Day 6: Nan Dungortheb & the Paths of the Dead | by perilous paths | terror Day 7: Isengard, Moria, & Númenor | we cannot get out | trapped

Please mention @tolkienhorrorweek in the body of your post and tag #tolkienhorrorweek and #tolkienhorrorweek2024 in the first 10 tags. You may also submit a post.

Given the nature of the event, please also tag for any potential triggers or content warnings and place any NSFW content beneath a read more/link to AO3.

For more information, please see the FAQ. If you have any questions, drop them in the ask box.

Art is by Alan Lee.

[emyn-arnens]

And while I'm at it, does anyone know what happened to Terrifying Tolkien Week? I'd love to have another Tolkien horror week for October but again don't want to step on anyone's toes if the mods are still active on here.

[vivwritesfics]

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Ten - Fired

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

Series Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner), talks of non consensual groping. she gets called a whore, choking, SA, 'missing' birth control, blood, pregnancy, hint at child abuse (not explicitly written)

Series Masterlist

Things weren't right, they both knew that. But they were pretending things were normal and, for the time being, pretending was good enough.

After a week of pretending, three weeks of her living in his home, Bob knew he had to address things. Not the baby, not until she was ready.

He sat beside her on the couch as she reached for her drink. Not coffee (something she was certainly missing). "Hey," he said, voice almost nervous as he looked at her face. But she wasn't nervous. No, she looked normal, and that was terrifying.

"Bob," she replied, holding her cup of water like it was a steaming mug on a cold day.

He sucked in a breath. "Do you want me to drive you into work? You know, talk to your boss so you can take time off and not get fired?"

She let a smile cross her face and put her cup down. "Thanks, Bobby," she said and stood. She went into the spare bedroom that had since become her own and got changed into the "grandpa sweater" Bob had brought home for her the other day.

She held it up to her nose and breathed in, but it didn't smell like him. It should have. That would have made her grandpa sweater perfect. But she didn't let it bother her as she left the room.

The moment she stepped out of the spare bedroom, Bob reached for his keys from the bowl.

She followed him out of the house. While he locked the front door, she climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. The entire time she was focusing on Bob, watching as he locked the front door of their house. No, his house. Not their house. It was his.

Her hand settled on her stomach. As soon as she realised she pulled it away as if she had been burnt, let it drop into her lap.

"You okay?" Bob asked as he climbed into the truck. He looked at her grandpa sweater and let himself smile. But his smile wasn't wide, it didn't meet his eyes.

She nodded and turned on the radio as Bob pulled out of the driveway. He hummed along to the radio and she turned it up just slightly, head against the window.

Moments like this with Bob had been few and far between since he'd gotten her out of the apartment. But she loved them, cherished them. Bob glanced at her for just a second, but she kept looking at him. She couldn't help it.

After Ken, she'd expected to be so fucking terrified. And she was, but not around Bob. Bob, Bobby, Robert. He was a man like no other. Every hand he had laid on her had been soft and gentle, to help her instead of harm her.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she directed him towards her office. When they drove past the café where they'd met, past her old apartment, she couldn't look away from him.

Looking at Bob kept her panic at bay. She didn't know what it was about him, but he made her feel so goddamn safe.

He parked up outside of her office building and killed the engine. Sucking in a breath, he turned his attention towards her. "Want me to come with?" He asked, voice soft and sweet and gentle.

He was too good for her, that much was clear.

She shook her head. "I think I have to do this one on my own," she said as she climbed out of the truck. And then she turned and braced her arms on the seat. "Wait here for me?" She asked with a quirked brow.

"Of course!" He responded, usually deep voice squeaking slightly. And then he ever so quietly added, "wouldn't dream of going anywhere."

Maybe she should have stopped grinning by the time she walked into the office. Her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth as she knocked on her boss's door and thought about the man in the parking lot. The one with the glasses that he thought were ugly but she thought were so damn cute.

"Come in," her boss called. She let her lip fall from between her teeth and strode into his office.

His eyes widened as he looked at her. But then the surprise dropped from his face and he rolled his eyes. "If you've come to beg for your job back, don't bother," he spat and returned his eyes to his computer.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "My job... what?" She asked and he rolled his eyes again. "Dave, have I been fired?"

Dave shrugged his shoulders. "You didn't come into work for weeks, what did you think was going to happen?" He spat back.

Helplessly, she turned and looked towards the office. Where her co-workers were. Well, ex co-workers, she supposed. "I'll pack my things," she said.

"No need," Dave said quickly. "Marjorie already packed your shit up."

She backed out of his office. As she walked around her co-workers desks, she couldn't meet their gaze, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. It was a mix of embarrassment and hopelessness as she made her way back to the annex.

"Hey, love," Marjorie said gently. She grabbed a box and placed it on top of the desk. A box full of her things. It was real, she really had been fired. "You'll be fine. You'll get on your feet in no time."

Sniffling, she grabbed a hold of the box. "Thanks, Marge," she said and took her leave. There was nothing left to be said, no point pleading for her job back. It was a shitty job, anyway. A shitty job with a shitty boss, she tried to tell herself. But she still wiped at her tears as she travelled down in the elevator.

As she walked out of the building, Bob reached over and pushed open the passenger side door. "How did it go?" He asked as she approached. He hadn't yet noticed the box in her hands or the look on her face.

Not until she placed the box on her seat. "What's this?" He asked as he reached into the box and pulled out a frame picture. A framed picture of her and Ken at their graduation, looking sickeningly in love. He placed it back, face down.

She wiped at her eyes and grabbed the box again, shoving it into the back of the truck. "I've been fired," she spat and climbed into the passenger seat. But then her head dropped. "I... he was right. I haven't been in for weeks. I don't know what I expected, really," she mumbled and sat back.

Knocked up, jobless, homeless. Fuck, she was gonna throw up.

"Oh, God," Bob whispered, his hand coming to rest on her knee. "I'm so damn sorry, Doll," he whispered.

But she just shook her head and rested it against the window. "Wanna go and get some junk food?"

The nod she gave was only small, but Bob still caught it.

Bob took her through the drive thru. "I don't wanna go back to the house," she whispered as Bob paid for their food. They drove to the next window, collected their meals, and then Bob drove off.

He thought about it for a moment. He parked up in the car park as he debated where to take her. He knew she only meant to the time being, but the images that flashed in his mind had the tips of his ears turning pink.

Her in Montana, collecting eggs from the chicken coops with him. Wearing one of those dresses that showed just how round her bump was. Squeezing into his small bed with him and sitting with him on the porch as the two of them watched the sun set. Bob's grandmother would love her, and his sister would come to visit nearly every day.

The spot he parked up in overlooked the beach. It was busy, family's on picnic blankets, kids building sand castles and dad's stood in the water, talking about something or other. It was just them in the spot that overlooked it. Nobody came to disturb them, not midday dog walkers, nobody.

"Thank you," she whispered as she stared ahead, at the gentle movement of the ocean. She cradled her bump in a way he hadn't seen her do before. It was, quite frankly, concerning. "I-I genuinely don't know if I'd still be alive if it wasn't for you."

It was horrifying, terrifying to hear. But, mostly, Bob hated that he couldn't disagree with her. He let gaze travel to her bump, but didn't let it linger.

No, he sucked in a breath, gathered all the courage he had. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Her eyebrows raised as she wiped under her eye. "Out of here as in out of the car?"

"I'm trying to be serious," he said quickly, but he couldn't stop his own laugh. "Out of San Diego. Out of California."

A hum left her lips. "Out of California, huh?" She asked, turning her attention towards the sea. She loved it here, on her good days. Loved the freedom of going to the beach whenever she wanted, loved the café where she did her writing, loved the area she lived in.

California wasn't the problem. But getting out of there sounded real damn good.

"Where would we go?" She asked as she grabbed her drink.

Bob drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "My family has a place in Montana," he said. "We've got a ranch with horses and chickens and stuff." He leaned forward against the steering wheel and turned himself towards her. "I think you'd like it. My grandpa put seating beneath the oak tree so my grandma could sit and knit while we took care of the cattle."

She grinned, straw between her lips. "Sounds amazing, Bobby," she mumbled as she reached across and touched his shoulder. "Are you sure you can get out of work?"

When her hand met his leg, he stared at it. It felt too intimate for the situation, but he didn't push her away. "I'll speak to Cyclone tomorrow," he said, hand touching hers.

As soon as they had eaten, Bob drove them back to his place. They didn't turn on the radio as they drove, but they still had something important to talk about. "If we're gonna go to Montana, I think you should make a decision about..."

"About the baby?" She finished, pulling her hand from his leg.

Bob swallowed, but he nodded his head. "Yeah, about the baby," he said as he turned into his street.

A sigh left her lips. "I know," she muttered. "Trust me, Bob, I know." Her hand settled on her stomach and a mournful smile crossed her face. "It would be nice, though, wouldn't it? A sweet little baby girl to spoil."

Pulling into the drive, Bob parked. "A baby girl, huh?" He said with a grin. He could see it, her little mini me, chasing the chickens in Montana. It was simply a dream. "You know I'd help you spoil the hell out of her."

Her eyes lit up. But she shook her head, though, and climbed out of the car, still sipping her drink. "You don't have to do that, Bob," she said, following him towards the front door. "I feel back enough that you're letting me crash."

The moment he pushed open the door and let her in, Frodo came running. He let out one long, loud, drawn out meow as he brushed his body against her legs. "Oh, buddy," she said, reaching down to stroke the top of his head.

She spied his empty food bowl, but Bob had her moving out of the way before filling it up himself. "I got it," he said, waving for her to go and sit herself down.

"Can we watch something?" She asked as she sat herself on the sofa.

"Of course we can," Bob replied, the sound of the dry food hitting the bottom of the bowl echoing through downstairs of his little house. "Put on anything you want."

As soon as Frodo had everything he needed, Bob joined her on the sofa as the movie began. Back To The Future, he noticed as he sat down beside her, his arm on the back of the sofa. Immediately, she moved closer to him, making herself comfortable against him. "This okay?" She asked, voice so quiet he almost missed it.

"More than okay," he whispered back, fingers brushing against the skin of her arm.

She fell asleep against him that night, drool falling from her lips and onto his shirt. But Bob didn't mind in the slightest. He halted the movement of his fingers, but didn't move his hand away from her arm.

Bob watched her, but he could never begin to imagine the horrors playing out in her head.

Taglist: @nurse-sainz

@not-nyasa

@burningwitchprincess

@darksparklesficrecs

@primroseluna

@littlemsbumblebee

@wretchedmo

@imaginecrushes

@calpalsbestie

@hiireadstuff

@lyn-js

@emma8895eb

@teacupsandtopgun

@finnydraws

@mp0625

@writtingrose

@afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff

@callsignwidow

@els-marvelvsp

@daggersquadphantom

[11x13kyle]

clyde will literally believe anything his friends tell him. tolkien goes to clyde and says “tweek ate a guy once.” and clyde goes “really????” and tolkien goes “yup.” and clyde walks around for the next few weeks terrified of being alone in a room with tweek because he thinks he’s next, meanwhile tweek is so confused and really stressed.

[lassieposting]

Lassie's Fic Prompts: Tolkien Edition

Usually I haunt mutuals or the prompt channels of Discord communities but the Tolkien ones are all massive and I have anxiety, so I'm gonna shove them in the tag instead! Fic concepts from your friendly local prompt goblin, because god knows my ass will never get around to writing them. This post will get updated as ideas occur to me. Tags are mostly to help express The Vibe™. Anyway feel free to come talk to me about this shit I have feelings.

Bagginshield

T+ || Fluffy || Post-Canon, Reunion Fic

When the ringbearers arrive in the Blessed Realm, as a reward for the great peril they have suffered on behalf of all of Middle Earth, they are granted a single boon by the Valar.

Bilbo Baggins knows that elves, dwarves and men go to different realms after death. But Mahal's halls are vast and grand, and he is only a very small Hobbit. Surely room can be found for a single burglar in the dwarven afterlife?

Barduil

G+ || Angsty || Post-Canon, Loss, Closure, Bonus Points For Bard's Memorial Surviving To Be Unearthed In The Modern Day

Before leaving Middle Earth, Thranduil pays a final visit to the memorial he had carved for Bard.

Saurondriel

T+ || || Debates & Bickering, Sauron Drawing Parallels Between His Life & 'Halbrand's', Sauron As A Calming Influence On Morgoth's Genocidal Tendencies, Galadriel's Black & White Thinking, Small Moments Of Goodness

Halbrand takes Galadriel out to eat with his first week's wages from the forge in Armenelos, but the puppetry performance going on in the plaza - in which she is the heroine and he one of the villains - proves a distraction from their definitely-not-a-date.

When Halbrand admits that he's never seen the Sauron/Morgoth duo portrayed as utterly evil before, coming as he does from a land of their allies, Galadriel asks him what kind of stories the Southlanders tell. Sensing an opportunity to humanise himself in her mind, Halbrand dredges up some painful memories to introduce her to Mairon, Melkor and the path to hell paved with twisted love and good intentions.

T+ || Comedy || 5+1 Fic, Sauron Doing His Best, He's Not Spectacular At Being A Human But He's Trying, Galadriel Is Suspicious But Doesn't Know Enough About Humans To Call Him Out, Entirely Normal Mannish Behaviour™, Galadriel Will See A Guy Leave Scorchmarks On The Bedsheets When He Comes & Be Like 'It's Fine They Probably All Do That'

Halbrand is quite possibly the most realistic fana Sauron has ever created. He's designed to be so believably human he'll fly completely under the radar. But ultimately, a disguise is only ever as good as the actor wearing it. Halbrand is a fire spirit piloting an exquisitely crafted meat suit, and Sauron's idea of Totally Normal Mannish Behaviour is sometimes...slightly off base.

Galadriel is beginning to suspect the truth: her new significant annoyance is many things, but human is not one of them. But that's a terrifying prospect. And - and she hasn't spent all that much time around the race of Men herself, really. She's used to other elves. So it's probably fine. It's totally fine. Men are just Like That, is all.

AKA, five times Galadriel notices Halbrand's weird-as-fuck Maia traits/behaviours, but deliberately excuses them as Just Human Stuff because she doesn't want to deal with who and what he really is.

And one time where she already knows who and what he is. Many years into their marriage, Galadriel is mostly accustomed to her king's more unusual quirks. But sometimes, Mairon can be so human it almost breaks her heart.

T+ || Future Fic || Redemption Arc, Sort Of, Ainur Family Drama, Where Is Celeborn? Who Knows, Sauron Slouching Less Into The Light Of Goodness & More Into The Mist Of Moral Ambiguity, For Galadriel™, Dagor Dagorath

At the close of the Third Age, the last of Arda's elves take ship for Valinor, leaving Middle Earth - and the disembodied spirit of its former Dark Lord - to the race of Men. For thousands upon thousands of years, the Undying Lands enjoy a hard-won peace.

But when Morgoth manages to escape the Void, that peace is shattered, and with Valinor itself under threat, Ossë is dispatched to the world left behind to find the one soul who knows the enemy as well as Morgoth knows himself. He tracks Sauron to the deep south, where he's managed to claw back a physical form and has been living out his powerless exile as Hal Brand, old-timey blacksmith to the local ranchers.

When Ossë appears on his doorstep with news of Morgoth's escape, offering clemency in exchange for information, Sauron suspects a trap, and turns the offer down, intending to go into hiding rather than face his old master's rage at what's become of his dark kingdom and faithful servants. To sweeten the pot, Ossë leverages Sauron's greatest regret: the knowledge that Galadriel is in Valinor, and the implication that she'd like to see her old enemy again. Unable to resist the opportunity to reconcile with her, Sauron agrees to finally go home and share what he knows of Morgoth's plans and likely next moves with the Valar.

But with age-old grudges and rivalries causing trouble in Valinor, and Morgoth determined to retrieve his wayward lieutenant at any cost, can Sauron really turn back from the darkness long enough to hand victory to the Valar in the Last Battle?

T+ || Hurt/Comfort || Trauma, Nightmares, Identity Reveal, Sauron Has Seen Some Shit, He Probably Has Impressive Telepathy Defenses Most Of The Time But Shh, He Loves Her & He Wants To Be The Person She Thinks He Is,

Fighting for his life on the road to Eregion, Halbrand slowly succumbs to a murky world of fever dreams and infection-addled hallucinations. Trying to ease his restless sleep, Galadriel reaches out to to touch his mind...and finds herself dragged into a disjointed maelstrom of her most hated enemy's worst moments and greatest fears: Morgoth's bitter rage, the judgment of the Valar, the agony of bleeding out in the snow at Adar's feet, the inevitable pain of her own rejection if ever he's discovered.

Too weak to repel her or even really realise what he's sharing, Sauron lets her in, taking comfort from her presence. Presented with an opportunity she never thought she'd have - to look through the mind of her enemy unhindered - Galadriel stays her hand long enough to look for closure, for confirmation that he is the monster she's been hunting, that he's been manipulating her all along. Instead, she might just find something worth saving.

T+ || AU || Enemies To Lovers To Enemies To Friends To Lovers Again, Yelling At Sauron As Therapy, Halbrand!Mairon, Probably Because He Feels The Most Himself With Her Or Something, Aulë Knows Whats Up, He 100% Lets Slip On Purpose, Healing

After the destruction of the One Ring, what's left of Sauron's spirit is rounded up by the Valar and imprisoned in Valinor.

Galadriel does not find peace in the Undying Lands. After everything she has seen and done, she struggles to settle back into the realm of winterless spring. When a slip of the tongue from Aulë gives her the location of Sauron's prison, her restless nighttime wanderings begin to take her there to see him.

Sometimes, she is incandescent with rage and betrayal, and she vents her age-old anger on him without expecting any answers. Sometimes, she comes for information, and her questions are cold, cruel, demanding things flung through the bars. Sometimes, she is just sad and tired, and her questions are quiet things passed between them as they sit either side of the door. At first, there is no fight left in him: he takes what she throws at him in defeated silence. But the more she visits - to berate him, to needle him, to call him names, to ask him why, to reminisce - the more he starts to respond to her. And as her anger finally begins to die out, and their time together is increasingly spent remembering, and talking, and getting to know one another anew, the more the broken, amorphous creature in the cell begins to resemble the Man she once thought she knew.

M+ || Shameless Smut || Romance, Sauron's Complicated Relationship With Sexuality, Service Top Galadriel, Maybe Grayspec Maiar, The Mortifying Ordeal Of Emotional Intimacy, He Thinks She Wants To Subjugate Her Enemy, She Actually Wants To Love Her Idiot

Millennia ago, Mairon learned the value of sex as a bargaining chip, and he's been using it to get what he wants from the Incarnates - and Melkor - ever since. It's become a well-honed staple of his negotiation toolkit, a performance so well-rehearsed he barely needs to think about it. It's almost unheard of for anyone to notice that he tends to zone out partway through.

Almost.

Halbrand's tendency to seduce his way out of the doghouse hasn't gone unnoticed by his new queen, and nor has the way his eyes glaze over just as things start to get interesting. She's beginning to wonder whether anyone ever actually told him that intimacy is supposed to be fun. Determined to keep him in the moment with her, she decides she'll just have to teach him that herself.

AKA, Galadriel notices that Halbrand tends to dissociate and put on the act he thinks she wants from him in the bedroom. Concerned, she makes it her mission to show him he's safe to relax and enjoy himself with her - and absolutely wrecks him to make her point.

T+ || Canon Divergence || Galadriel Says Yes, Ainur Family Drama, Mairon's Aulë-Shaped Daddy Issues, Arondir & Theo, Could Be 5+1, Angst & Fluff, Maybe Comedy, Lucifer-Style Therapeutic Breakthrough, Aulë & Mairon Have Different Love Languages/Communication Styles, Galadriel Eyeing Sauron Suspiciously: What Are You Scheming Now, Meanwhile Sauron To Arondir: IDK Man I Just Never Felt Like I Was Good Enough YK? Why Wasn't I Good Enough?, Arondir Just: Your Majesty Have You Considered Therapy

Galadriel names Bronwyn advisor to the newly-restored crown of the Southlands, which means the new king and queen start seeing a lot of her husband and child. Mairon seems fascinated by the little family, and the pseudo-paternal relationship developing between Arondir and Theo - suddenly, he's full of questions about family dynamics for humans and elves. Gradually, the advice of his new wife and friends helps Mairon realise a few things about his own relationship with Aulë.

Alternatively, five times watching Arondir and Theo interact recontextualises a memory for Mairon, and one time he makes a parenting choice with Celebrían and saltily realises Aulë had a point in doing the same thing to him

T+ || Time Travel/Time Loop || Sauron Fucks Up The Timeline, Then Tries To Fix It Without Killing Finrod, Bonus Points If Halbrand Finds He Begrudgingly Likes Finrod, Alternate Meeting, Maybe She's Still A Soldier But Doesn't Remember Him, Maybe He Has To Go Back To Valinor To Even Meet Her, IDK Lots Of Options

The thing about Galadriel's rejection is that it all goes back to the death of her brother.

Either by his own power, or by the power of a Vala who wants to teach him a lesson, Sauron finds himself transported back to shortly before everything fell apart, and realises that, as Halbrand, he has an opportunity to fix everything...by breaking Finrod Felagund out of his own dungeon.

But he's surrounded by dangers, not least of which is his own former self, and time travel is tricky. Saving Felagund's life may have unexpected consequences - without her quest for vengeance, would he ever have met Galadriel at all?

Angbang

T+ || Angsty || Outsider Perspective, Ainur Family Drama, Melkor Is A Mess But He's Mairon's Mess, Even Evil Has Loved Ones, The Valar Concept Of Love & Melkor's Concept Of Love As Very Different Things

Angband is a smoking ruin. The Enemy is a captive of the Valar. The war, it would seem, is over.

But the Ainur are uneasy. Not all of Morgoth's forces have been subdued. The Enemy's favourite servant has slipped the net, and getting information out of Melkor is like pulling teeth. Under questioning - and even the threat of the Void - in Valinor, he still refuses to tell them where his devoted lieutenant Sauron has gone into hiding.

Aulë, waiting for news of his wayward Maia, tries to make sense of how even the most corrupted of them all can be beholden to forces like love and loyalty, and how it can be that none of them ever saw this coming.

T+ || Fluff & Comedy || Epistolary Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, Leading Armies Means Being Apart A Lot, First Age, Love Letters, Complaint Letters As Well Lbh They Probably Bitch To Each Other A Lot About Everyone Else

Melkor's rise and fall, as told by the orders Melkor sends to Mairon, the reports Mairon sends back, and the informal postscripts attached to both.

M+ || PWP || Creative Use Of The Mind Palace, Telepathy, I Could Not Find A Mention On The Wiki Of Where Sauron Was During This Siege, So Let's Assume He Wasn't Like. Also Stuck In Angband

During the 400 year Siege of Angband, Melkor uses ósanwë to leave the surrounded fortress and spend some quality time with Mairon.

T+ || Angsty || Sanity Slippage, Hallucinations, Melkor Trying To Envision His Happily Ever After Even Though He Doesn't Know What Happily Ever After Looks Like

Sentenced to eternity in the Void, and slowly losing his mind to the isolation and sensory deprivation, Melkor comforts himself with visions of his little fire spirit.

Silvergifting

G+ || Fluffy || Celebrimbor Has A Crush, But He's Very Sweet About It, Possible Angst, Celebrimbor Probably Needs Closure Too, Halbrand Should Not Be Forging But He Can Still Hang Out

Celebrimbor likes to work late. Flattered by the admiration of a handsome young king, and delighted to have a fellow passionate smith to bounce ideas off, he takes to letting Halbrand join him in his workshop in the evenings while the latter is healing. One night, while swapping theories about the mithril and definitely not watching the candlelight catch on Halbrand's hair, he finds himself making a gift of his own. After all, a king should have a crown, and what better crown than one made by 'the Celebrimbor'?

(Possible angsty bonus scene: many thousands of years later, Galadriel seeks closure and a final goodbye in Mordor after Sauron's downfall. In the ruins of Barad-Dur she finds the crown that Celebrimbor made for a king who never existed, kept in Sauron's quarters as though treasured. Maybe she rescues it to take back to Valinor)

Poly/Multiple Ships

M+ || Saurondriel/Angbang || Past Abuse, Telepathy, The Mortifying Ordeal Of Learning To Make Better Romantic Choices, Sauron Loves & Fears Melkor Equally, Letting Go, Saurondriel Is Not Healthy But In This Case It Is HealthIER, So Like. That's Something

Sauron and Morgoth were still telepathically connected when Morgoth was thrown into the Void. A fragment of his consciousness remains in Sauron's mind, manifesting as a hallucination that only he can see and hear. At first, he is Melkor, the doting lover Sauron chooses to remember, amusing and affectionate and comforting and so, so missed. But, as rage and fear take over and the Void begins to drive Melkor mad, he increasingly behaves like Morgoth, the side of himself Sauron would rather forget - the cruel master whose wrath he fled after his defeat at Tol-in-Gaurhoth. With 'his' Melkor appearing less and less, Sauron becomes more and more burned out under the slew of criticism and mockery, and his confidence in his own ability to lead takes an additional battering when his subordinate turns on him at Forodwaith. When he happens to cross paths with Galadriel, he realises almost immediately that the light in her silences Morgoth's voice in his mind. As they grow closer, her unwavering belief in him - or, at least, in "Halbrand" - makes him want to do good, to please her and prove he's worthy of her support. But Morgoth is not the only voice silenced by proximity to Galadriel, and letting Melkor go is an agony he's not sure he can survive.

T+ || Angbang, Saurondriel, Galadriel/Celeborn || Having The Same Conversation While Thinking About Entirely Different People, She's Thinking About Celeborn, He's Thinking About Melkor, Halbrand's Species Has A Mayfly Lifespan & A Casual Approach To Intimacy So She Is Not Expecting Him To Understand At All, But He Really Really Does

When their flirty banter turns to their respective races' romantic customs, Galadriel finds herself opening up to Halbrand about elven marriage, about her long-lost husband, and about her feelings of guilt over her attraction to him.

Halbrand empathises. More than she ever thought he could.

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: tricking team craig into thinking you're a magician ✧.*

✧.* tags: college au, ✧.* Characters: jimmy valmer, tweek tweek, craig tucker, tolkien black, clyde donavan a/n: i wrote tweek's then had the panicked though "i haven't written tweek for any of my other team craig posts" even though that's literally not true and i forgot that i didn't forget him? idk i put myself through the ringer for no reason lmao

masterlist

Jimmy

Finally! The other half of his magic comedy routine! 

Instantly wants you to go on stage with him

You guys do the circuit to different bars and coffee shops in south park

Honestly he doesn’t care if it’s fake or real

All he knows is it’s PERFECT for marketing

“You don’t want to know how I did it?”

“All i need to know is if you can do it again at 6 pm tonight at tweek bros coffee for a crowd.”

Give him a lil top hat and sparkley vest and he’s THRIVING

He’ll purposely mess up tricks to make people laugh and then you amaze them with an awesome trick

The poster for the show is him in one of those boxes where your legs get cut off with you holding a saw

Tweek

Terrified of any and all magic

You’d do a simple trick and he’d be spiraling all day

“Is this your card”

“AHHHHHHHHHH HOWD YOU DO THAT WHERE DID IT COME FROM”

Probably avoids you for the next week

You walk down the hall, he’s diving into the closet room to avoid seeing you

Skips study sessions for the next week because they’re at your apartment

You need to show him how the trick works before he begins to calm down

Even then, he gets suspicious if you find something a little too quickly or catch a falling pencil a little too well

Craig

Doesn’t care. 

Well, he PRETENDS he doesn’t care

Until you find a way to put a quarter in his hat without being anywhere NEAR him

Suddenly you are a threat

“How did you do that.”

“A magician never reveals their secret”

“No but deadass how did you do that.”

“I would tell you, but seeing you annoyed that you can’t figure it out is so much more entertaining.”

Que him doing intense researching into magic tricks to figure out how the fuck you pulled that off

Constant side eye whenever you’re in the same room because he’ll be damned if he lets you get another trick past him

Won’t admit it but lowkey thinks you’re actually magic

Trick successful >:)

Tolkien

I feel like he would think it’s cool

Not in a genuine belief way, but just as someone who enjoys magic

Another magic phase person. He was the opener for kyle and stan’s magic extravaganzas 

Probably specialized in card magic and can do some pretty sick tricks

Doesn’t think you’re genuinely “magic” or anything

But he wants to know more about how you do your tricks

Asks you to teach him them too!

“Yeah when I showed Kyle and Stan they freaked out so much they didn’t sleep for a week because they couldn’t figure it out.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“You ruined stan and kyle’s week just with a magic trick. Please teach me.”

Definitely keeps the magic trick in his back pocket until stan’s gang annoys him so he can send stan and kyle spiraling

clyde 

Tried to learn magic when everyone else had their magic phase but could never figure out how to do the tricks properly 

So now he just gets pissed whenever someone else is good at magic

Doesn’t want to see it at first

But then you do a trick that’s a little too good

And now he’s invested

Wants to see more

Genuinely thinks you’re a wizard like harry potter style

“Can you dye my hair black?”

“That’s really not what I specialize in”

“Ohhh haven’t learned that spell yet. I got you.”

“...yeah definitely.”

[emmanuellececchi]

Status check

Here where I am (after posting my last prompt about Boromir):

two prompts left to fulfill

a letter to answer to

two stories to beta read

the Tolkien OC week shorts to write

My FFXVI Two Idiots in love to finish editing

My FFXVI Following a dream to finish editing

My two novels to finish editing....

All my other fanfics, LOTR and FFXVI to finish

Am I writing too much? no. I am pacing myself. Right now I just want to write short, fun, LOTR stories. Many of those characters were living in my head, just waiting for me. I've decided to take a break from my "serious" writing, as well as FFXVI.

It feels good.

(it feels terrifying because I do not use beta reader and I know there are mistakes but you know what? it's also freeing.).

[raointean]

Tolkien OC Week-Day 6: Background Characters

Also part of my Broken Souls series, this is about Nethril (Maechui's mother) who is a refugee in Mithlond and makes boots for the army. I kind of wanted to explore how the "women's work" of the military might work out. (But really, it's just an excuse to write more in this au. The story follows Nethril reuniting with her son after 15 years apart)

All Nethril could hear was the blood rushing in her ears as she dashed across the plain, her son Maechui close behind. She did not hear the howls of the orc pack behind her, or the thundering falls of their feet, nor could she hear the shouts of encouragement from the soldiers’ camp they were running towards. All she could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other and looking back every few seconds to ensure Maechui was behind her.

Evidently, that was not enough. She was only a few steps away from the camp when she heard a sound that froze her blood in her veins. Maechui’s terrified scream, surrounded by the victorious hooting and howling of the orcs.

Nethril skidded to a stop and started back to save him, meaning to fight the entire pack of orcs with nothing but a pair of fabric shears and determination, but one of the soldiers caught her around the waist.

“Let me go!” she'd shouted. But the soldier had refused.

That had been nearly fifteen years ago. The soldiers had taken her in, dried her tears, bandaged her wounds, but they had not saved her son; they hadn’t even tried.

“We have to save those we can,” they had told her.

“We shall keep a sharp eye out for him,” they had assured her when she pressed.

“He is likely already dead,” they had admitted when she tried to leave to look for him herself.

“This is why you should not have children during times of strife!” one of them had finally snapped after a week of Nethril pleading with them to do something.

It was true, of course, but it still did her no good. Neither empty platitudes nor harsh truths could bring her son back to her; back to life. She had been led to the protected elven city of Mithlond when the winter snows became too thick to fight in, someone had informed her husband of their son’s death, and she had been given a job making shoes for soldiers.

Objectively, she knew it was an honorable thing to serve her king and her people in such a way (if, perhaps, a much less glamorous life than that of a merchant’s wife that she had lived before), but she could not bring herself to care. Her soul was tethered to her body by only a ragged thread, but still she plodded on. She rose from her bed every day to work, she fed herself most days, even washed occasionally. She did not know why she was still there as the world crumbled around her; her son dead, her husband all but a stranger, soldiers and civilians alike dying in droves every day, the lands to the west literally crumbling into the sea; and yet she still drew breath. She had decided many years ago that, while she would welcome the fading when it came, she would do nothing to hasten it. In the meantime, she may as well do something, even if that something was just making boots.

“Bess Nethril,” a low voice roused her from her work. A city guard; a young elf, too young to fight but old enough to hold a sword; stood above her workstation. “You are summoned to the barracks; there is someone who wishes to speak with you.”

After a moment of consideration, Nethril began stowing her tools and tidying up her workspace. She was nearly done for the day anyway, and there was no harm in leaving a little early. Despite the ever-looming fog that hung over her head, she found her interest piqued. Who would be summoning her? And to the barracks, no less?

“Why am I being summoned?” she asked as she swept the last of the woodshavings from her workstation.

The guard shrugged apathetically. “I do not know. I was only sent to fetch you.”

Nethril huffed, but followed him regardless as he led her to the south side of Mithlond, where all military operations were housed. They walked in silence, leaving her to guess about the identity of the one who had summoned her and their reasons. Her first thought was of the newly freed peredhel slaves King Gil-Galad had brought back with him from his last campaign. They were being kept in the barracks until the king could decide what to do with them.

That wouldn’t quite make sense, though, Nethril thought. She did not know any half-elves, nor did she know any couple that could have created one.

Perhaps, then, it was her husband. He was not due back in Mithlond for a few weeks, but he could have been injured! Or perhaps his commanding officer was calling her to him to inform her of her husband’s death. No! No! She would not think such things until the undeniable proof was before her. She did not think she could bear another loss so great.

Before she had time to worry herself too greatly, the rounded a corner and the barracks came into view. They were tall, compact buildings made of slate grey stones and framed by living trees to keep the walls in line. Many warriors were camped along the street and in the greens surrounding the area, presumably to make room in the barrack buildings for the rescued children.

They approached the door of the leftmost building, where Nethril was stopped by another city watchman. He looked older than the one leading her, but no more intimidating in his oversized armor. “Are you Nethril Ferediriel?” he asked her.

“I am,” she confirmed, wondering why she had been asked for so specifically.

The watchman nodded, seemingly satisfied, and opened the door behind him. Out stepped- no, it couldn’t be! A boy; nearly a young man, now; stepped blinking into the sunlight. He was much thinner than Nethril remembered and his curly black hair had lost its former luster, but a mother could always recognise her son.

“Maechui!” she cried.

With a wordless sob, Maechui ran and threw himself into her arms, clinging to her as if his very life depended on it. Nethril clung to him just as tightly. She couldn’t believe he was here, alive in her arms. For twenty years, he had been missing, apart from his friends and his family, dead as far as they knew.

For twenty years he had been… where?

She held him silently for several minutes, listening as his sobs faded to sniffles and trying to get her own storming emotions under control. At last, when she deemed him calm enough, she pulled back - just a few inches - to examine his face. “Are you hurt, ion nín?”

Maechui shook his head. “Not badly.”

That was not what she had asked. Had he been hurt so often that “not badly” was the same as not hurt at all? In defiance of her will, a tear slid down her face. “I am so sorry I lost you,” she breathed. “I wanted to turn back the moment they took you but was… prevented. You have not left my thoughts once all these years.”

Maechui scrubbed the tears from his face. “I missed you too, Nana.”

“What happened to you?” Nethril asked. She knew that she would not like the answer, but she had to ask anyway. It had not escaped her notice that he had come out of the barrack housing the peredhil slaves.

“The orcs took me alive, so they would have fresh meat when they needed it,” he began. Nethril felt her stomach begin to churn. She did not imagine that the rest of Maechui’s tale could be much worse than this, but already it was worse than she had imagined.

She was right, but only just. Her son went on to tell her of how he was rescued by a mannish war party, only to be immediately enslaved by said men. He told her how he was beaten, starved, and run ragged as an errand boy, and how grateful he was that he had it better than some of his friends. He told her how, a few weeks ago, King Gil-Galad had come to inspect their camp and been enraged at the thought of slaves doing his dirty work- so enraged, in fact, that he had sent their general to his death on the front lines. He told her how they had been marched to Mithlond, many of them confused and afraid, and been confined to the barracks while more permanent living situations were sought out.

What could she say to that? ‘I looked for you’? ‘Your loss nearly killed me’? ‘I am glad you survived’?

She said none of those things, but instead held her son tightly to her and whispered, “I am so sorry you had to go through all of that, but you are safe now. I will keep you safe.”

@tolkienocweek

[the-darklings]

Just a random idea I thought you would appreciate. It doesn't necessarily have to do with the Wanderer, but imagine introducing Morpheus to The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, etc. I feel like he would be absolutely overjoyed that Tolkien created something that inspired literal millions of people for almost a fucking century now. But I think he would also be so heartbroken that he missed that. He missed the spread of dreams about LoTR. He missed all the things that have been created because of LoTR. It would be a bittersweet discovery, but I think he would appreciate it, nonetheless.

good: Dream inspired Tolkien and/or made a deal with him the way he did with Shakespeare, and appreciates seeing how much hope and joy his stories has given to countless generations, and will continue doing so so for centuries further

bespoken: Wanderer encounters young Tolkien in the trenches during Battle of the Somme and seeing this young terrified man, neither of them knowing if they’re about to be killed, Wanderer instead tells him fantastical tales through the night while they wait for the inevitable. Stories about friendship and hope and good wining despite the deepest dark and how those things always survive just as he will. Tolkien, in return, tells her his tales of hobbits and elves and orcs. And when he asks Wanderer how they know they’ll live, she only shrugs, smiles, and says, “I don’t. But that’s why I hope. Sounds like you have quite the story to tell, John. And I think the world should hear it. Promise me you will tell it.” And when he awakens weeks later in a hospital bed, mysteriously alive, he knows he must.

[rebelrebelwrites]

I’ve decided to resurrect…

Fic Friday! ❤️ Weekly Fic Recs

Years ago, I did this back in the Reylo fandom, but I’m bringing it back for the Saurondriel/Haladriel fandom because: A) I’m still obscenely obsessed B) I’m all about supporting creators and C) Since I’m not currently writing for this fandom, I want to contribute how I can. 😊

Let’s do it!

This week’s recs are…

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal reading preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: Across That Fine Line by @myrsinemezzo

What you need to know going in:

A post-S1 that’s got hype for great reason. After stealing the mithril and Fëanor’s hammer, Sauron spirits away to Mordor with Gal hot on his heels. Once they reunite, things get spicy — we’re talking banter, manipulation (on both sides), a devious and devoted Sauron who’s also terrified of falling too far in love (too late, bro), and a Gal who’s rightfully wary but wants to believe that there’s a way to thread the needle with him. As their journey progresses, so does the depth of their dynamic. Plus! Some awesome inclusions/characters from Tolkien lore. All in all, an absolute must-read.

WIP, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and on AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: our souls were made from the stars by SilverWing12

What you need to know going in:

Oh gosh, where to even begin??? This lush, brilliant, meticulously measured slow burn of an AU is something I bask in every update. This story sees Mairon delayed in joining Melkor, and instead, he meets Galadriel in Valinor while she's still a child. Hundreds of years pass in which their friendship grows and grows, building to a point of mutual attraction and affection that is stifling in how well-realized and precarious it feels. The world-building, intentionality, pacing, characterization, and mounting pressure in this fic as Mairon falls deeper into darkness and Galadriel grows more suspicious (though both are clearly in love with each other) is simply luxurious.

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: Queen of the Southlands by @formerlyir

What you need to know going in:

Gal doesn’t find out about Sauron’s deception for years, and as a result, she becomes his Queen. The post-S1 ensuing romance, angst, delicious tension and SCORCHING smut is sublime. Get ready for a delightfully unhinged, very devoted Sauron and a Gal who’s rightfully sharp, incredibly brave, and demands what she’s owed. This fic more than sticks the landing at the conclusion — it shreds it. In the absolute best way. I cheered, folks. Cheered.

Complete, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Twitter, Instagram, on AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): Litost by @demonscantgothere

What you need to know going in:

It’s no secret that this story, as with every other story I’ve read by Helholden, is wonderful — expect to see their work on this list a few times at least. That being said, I think Litost might be my favorite. It’s post-S1, but by many years, starting with Galadriel being captured and brought back to Numenor as a prisoner of Ar-Pharazôn and his new High Priest of the Cult of Melkor… wonder who that could be? 👀🙃 You guessed it, everyone’s favorite Dark Lord! The resulting twists and turns in this fic continue to surprise, and the angst and longing (on both sides) simmers. The dialogue between these two, when they really communicate, is stellar at getting at the heart of their every conflict. It will pierce you — and you’ll love it.

WIP, Rated Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr or AO3.

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The Can't Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: Instruments of Salvation by @scriberated

What you need to know going in:

It's Gal who gets hurt when Orodruin erupts, and as a result, Sauron must save her the only way he can — by forging a bond, all while she still believes he's Halbrand, rightful king of the Southlands. As with all of Scriberated's works, the writing is impeccable, the smut is steamy as all hell, and the characterization is 🤌🤌🤌. As Gal and Hal/Sauron's bond grows in strength, so does the pace at which you'll consume this tantalizing treat of a fic. Stop reading because it's bedtime? Doubtful.

WIP, Rated Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr or AO3.

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🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don't see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don't fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your personal faves. I have plenty more to recommend... ❤️

Until next week!

[c-is-for-circinate]

Kind of want to toss more snippets of things that probably won't become long extended fics up onto tumblr. So: Eddie/Chrissy, with deeply bisexual ADHD disaster child Eddie, because we deserve it. (Also background hints of Steve/Nancy, but rest assured Eddie is 100% projecting and highly incorrect about that dynamic.)

Chrissy lives, through sheer dumb luck -- a tape shoved into a player out of some vague idea in the back of Eddie's mind that he could be smooth, could maybe help a pretty girl who for some godforsaken reason seemed to like him have a good time -- and it's great, it's incredible, it's more luck than any of them should've ever dared hope for--

And Eddie is thrilled, obviously. Terrified out of his mind, pretty sure he should be running for the hills, but. Chrissy Cunningham is alive, and for some bizarre, unfathomable reason, she seems to like him.

It's just...jesus christ, what is he supposed to do with that?

It's not that Eddie doesn't like girls. Girls are pretty, and smell good, and have curves in places he's maybe imagined putting his hands a time or two (thousand), and have generally starred in at least thirty to forty percent of his favorite jerk-off fantasies for the past several years. But the general class of females of approximately his own age in Hawkins, Indiana have heretofore been somewhat disinclined to follow up on Eddie's occasional flirtations, and somehow he doesn't think the other skill set is going to be much help here.

It's just...look. Eddie knows, he knows goddamn well that for ninety-nine point nine percent of guys like him, whose eyes skate over the slope of a gentleman's broad shoulders as readily as the swell of a lady's hips, that the easy road would mean playing straight for sixty-some-odd years, marrying a nice girl who doesn't ask too many questions, and maybe getting the occasional blowjob in a truck stop bathroom from a pretty boy you pretend you don't want half as much as you actually do. Of course he knows that. He's given those blowjobs, a lot more often than he's ever had a nice girl like Chrissy Cunningham look at him twice. Because that's the thing, isn't it, once again the Munson luck striking right at the heart of things. Once again, Eddie isn't like every other guy in Hawkins or Indiana or, fuck, the whole damn world probably. Can't just do things the normal way. Has to do everything opposite, and look where that's gotten him lately.

Truck-stop bathrooms are easy. The grit of them, the feel of cold tile through thin denim, the taste of latex and the smell of musk and sweat and come, a thick-fingered hand in his hair and the press of tight muscle under his fingertips, the rush of knowing that even on his knees, he's the one with the power here -- it's good. It's so good, the back rooms of that bar in Indy where one flash of his fake ID gets him an all-access pass to all the sex a boy could want, no strings attached. Slipping into that space is almost as easy, as natural, as slipping into the DM's seat at Hellfire. He doesn't even have to change his look, just makes sure the bandana is tucked into the correct pocket and they come to him, ready to let Eddie take the reins and drag them into something just painful enough to be really satisfying when they make it through to the end.

That's the thing about being a freak. That's the thing, that's always the thing, the backwards mixed-up thing in Eddie's brain that had him reading Tolkien before he turned nine but can't get through one Charles Dickens novel without wanting to scrape himself out of his own skin. He can calculate probabilities and percentage tables for a D&D game in his sleep but can't sit still through a single math class. It took less than a week to get note-perfect on the entire Master of Puppets guitar solo and six years might not be enough to graduate high school.

So yeah, Eddie knows how to be a freak and a faggot, can take a grown man to pieces with his hands and his voice and his dick if he just clicks into that zone where he has all the power to shape the world the way he wants it. That doesn't mean he has any goddamn idea what to do when Chrissy Cunningham smiles at him like that and he trips over his own feet.

He should be looking at Harrington. Steve goddamn Harrington is striding around like that, absolutely shirtless, streaked in dirt and his own blood like some goddamn primal warrior come to life. That would be safe. Safer. Something. Pretty boy in just the right amount of pain, Eddie should be enjoying the eye candy, but he can't because: 1) they're literally in hell and monsters could come after them at any time, 2) Nancy Wheeler apparently has a bedroom full of actual guns and is still in love with her ex-boyfriend, so Eddie's pretty sure he'd better keep his eyes to himself if he wants to keep them at all, and 3) far more importantly than all of that, Chrissy is scared enough to be holding his hand and he's terrified that his palms might be sweating. She's so pretty. He wants her to actually like him so, so badly. This is an absolute nightmare.

"You doing okay?" he asks Chrissy quietly, letting her lean on his arm to help her over some rough terrain when they have to take a detour around a knot of vines. She clutches at his sleeve and smiles timidly, putting on a brave face that makes Eddie want to do something insane like find a suit of shining armor just so he can bow to her in it.

"We're going to be fine," she says. "We just have to get to Nancy's house and it'll all be okay. Right?"

"Gonna let Wheeler make you a a total badass with a gun?" Eddie asks, and then mentally kicks himself. Who flirts with a girl by calling her a total badass? How do smooth guys flirt with girls if they stick around past the initial five minutes of inviting them to come see your band, which literally no girl has ever actually said yes to before? Eddie isn't even sure he has a band any more, if Chrissy's ex-boyfriend has anything to say about it, which means he's kind of out of ideas.

Eddie has one blinding, insane moment of wondering what would Jason Carver do here? before he almost chokes on his own tongue. Fuck. He really can't do this.

"Maybe," Chrissy says, a little shy, and slides her hand down his arm to slip her palm into his again. "Do you think I could?"

There's a smudge of dirt on her perfect nose. Eddie wants to lick it off. Oh god he's a freak. You can't lick cheerleaders. Fuck, Eddie doesn't even know how to go down on a girl. Fuck, why did he think about that. It doesn't matter! He's never going to get the chance! Chrissy is never going to want him to touch her like that anyway!

"I think if the last few days have proven anything, it's that literally anything is possible," Eddie says, and then realizes he just implied that Chrissy being a badass is even more unlikely than alternate dimensions, which is probably even worse than calling her one in the first place, and holy shit, how is it even possible to be this awful at this? Why is she still standing here with him? "I mean, I could even stop being a coward who apparently runs away from absolutely everything, which I've discovered I am now, that's how weird things are, so yeah, compared to that, Chrissy, I think you could absolutely be a badass if you wanted to be."

"I don't think you're a coward," Chrissy says, and she's stepping closer, why is she stepping closer, tucking their arms together. "I mean, I couldn't even run away. He would've gotten me right there, if you hadn't..."

"Luckily I think Harrington and Wheeler are big enough heroes for all of us." Eddie catches sight of them up ahead, Wheeler on point like a hunting hound leading the way, Harrington keeping watch on all sides with that flashlight ready to spring into action at any minute. It should probably be Harrington back here with Chrissy, if he and Wheeler weren't so obviously the perfect battle couple together. Hell, even Buckley, who's up front with Nancy right now and who Eddie knows he clocked checking out Chrissy's legs earlier. She's awkward, yeah, but on her it'd be endearing, and maybe Chrissy deserves better than cowardly asshole boys for a while anyway.

She definitely deserves better than Eddie. She tugs him out of the way of a vine half a second before he trips over it in the dark, like a klutz and a dumbass, and Eddie curses himself for a failure.

[emyn-arnens]

A little update on where I'm at with restarting Arafinwean Week and starting a new Tolkien Horror Week, since a lot of people have expressed interest in both events:

I've sent messages to both events' blogs and to the one mod I was able to find from Terrifying Tolkien Week. I'll wait for about a week and a half to see if I hear anything back from TTW, but if not, I'm planning on officially announcing and launching Tolkien Horror Week at the end of this month, so that people will have time to prepare for the event. I'm planning on having the event run from October 27th–November 2nd and will credit TTW with the idea for the event, in lieu of being able to connect with them (if that's the case).

If I hear back from Arafinwean Week and they're all right with me running the event, I'm planning on holding it during the first week of January. I would really like to hear back from the mods of that event, since I would be running the exact same event, but if I don't get a response by November, I'll plan on going ahead with the event and giving credit to the old event for inspiration, just like with TTW. But I'm hoping I'll get a response before then.

[vivwritesfics]

Shine A Light Into The Wreckage

Chapter Eight - Save Me

Bob Floyd was many things. He was an instructor at Top Gun, a lover of Tolkien books and a huge fan of coffee. But Bob was also clumsy. That was how he bumped into the table, knocking her drink onto her notebook. He felt bad about it. Bad enough to come back time and time again, in the hopes that she would be there. And, every time, she is. Each time looking a little worse for wear. It doesn't take Bob long to realise he has to save her.

Warnings: Abusive relationship! Abusive hair pulling! Abusive choking! Forceful sex! Domestic abuse! Seriously don't read if you're affect by stuff like this! Talks of stalking (but in a non serious manner), talks of non consensual groping. she gets called a whore, choking, SA, 'missing' birth control, blood

Series Masterlist

Worried wasn't the word Bob wanted to use. He didn't know her plans, didn't know what she was going to do. He'd desperately hoped that she'd break up with Ken, that she'd call him to help her move out. 

But it had been three days and he hadn't heard anything. He'd called and texted, but nothing, no response. Alarm bells would have been ringing if she hadn't at least been looking at his texts. 

God, he hated how much he missed. All it took was seeing her in his house, in that old Star Wars shirt one time, and he was hooked. It was a sight Bob would never get enough of. And, after not hearing from her in a week, he couldn't think of anything worse than never seeing her in his house, in his clothes, again. 

A week and a half after he'd dropped her at her apartment, a week and a half since he'd heard her soft, melodic voice calling out his name, Bob was given a distraction. A welcome distraction in the form of Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw. 

How long had it been since Bradley visited? Bob wasn't entirely sure, too caught up with other things. But, if Bradley was here, it was because Maverick was also here. 

They almost had all of the Squad back together. As much as Bob loved Jake and Natasha, Rooster and Maverick made a welcome change. Having them down at The Hard Deck while Slow Ride by Foghat, of all songs,  played brought back too many good memories, Bob could hardly grasp them all. 

They didn't even never to ask about her. It might have been one offhand comment about Bob's dating life and there he was, telling everyone about the girl he had fallen in love with. His cheeks were pink the entire time. 

It wasn't his place to detail the abuse, so he didn't. But he made it clear that Ken was an asshole, something that Phoenix and Hangman confirmed. Bradley's fighting spirit immediately came out to play. "Why don't we go jump the guy, get Baby Bob's dream girl back?"

But they all knew they couldn't. 

Until the next Saturday at The Hard Deck. Bob stared desperately at his phone as he waited for any sign of her. It had been two whole weeks since he'd last heard from her, abd he'd done nothing but mope around. It really was pathetic, wasn't it? But he couldn't help it. His dream girl seemed to be gone. 

And then Bob's phone rang. His breath hitched as her name appeared on the screen and he rushed outside to answer it. "Hey Doll," he said, holding the phone up to his ear. 

There was a noise, a noise like she wanted to say something, and then nothing. 

Muffled voices, that was all Bob could hear. He pressed his phone tighter to his ear like that would make any sort of difference. The voices muffled, but he could just about make out what was being said. "Barbie, there's still blood on the counter!" Roared a male voice. Kens voice. 

When she spoke, Bob could hear it a lot clearer. "I'm getting to it, Ken! I swear!" Her voice was hoarse, terror wrapped around her every word. 

The reply was muffled. There was so much happening in that apartment, and Bob didn't know what. It was so fuckibg terrifying.

The next sound he heard was a pained whimper. Natasha had come out to check on him, pausing and listening when she saw the look on Bob's face. Her eyes widened a the next noise, like something hitting the floor or the wall. 

Fuck, Bob couldn’t listen to this anymore. He said her name gently. "If you can hear me, lock yourself in the bathroom. I'm coming to get you."

There was no reply, the call just ending. 

Now, Bob wasn't stupid. He knew there was no way he could get in there and get her out without causing more harm. That was why he went up to Rooster, Hangman, and Phoenix. "I need your help."

That was all it took to get them into Bob's truck. He drove, knuckles white against the steering wheel as he headed to her apartment. The others found out what Bob wanted them to know, what he wanted them to do. 

It was a plan of sorts, but the word plan made it sound cartoon-y. Natasha was gonna keep the car running while they somehow got into the apartment. Bob was gonna get her while Jake and Bradley dealt with Ken. They didn't know what dealing with Ken meant, but they were prepared for anything. 

When they arrived at the apartment Natasha climbed into the driver's seat and Bob, Jake and Bradley climbed out. Bob led the way. He pushed into the entryway, but then he stopped. Which one was her apartment? Fuck, he should have asked on the phone. 

But then he heard shouting, loud and clear from the apartment on the top floor. 

Bob took off running, the others behind him. He took the stairs two at a time. At the very top of the stairs, he threw his shoulder against the door. 

When they met him at the top of the stairs, Bradley and Jake joined him, forcing the door open. It didn't take long before it gave and they were bursting in. 

"What the fuck!" Came the not so familiar voice of Ken. "Get out of my apartment!" 

Bob ignored him as he looked around. "Where is she?" He asked in a low voice, one the others hadn't heard from him before. 

Ken straightened up. "Oh. It's you." 

Before he could say more, Rooster strode forward. In an instant he had Ken up against the wall, holding him by the collar of his shirt. "Where is she?" He roared, spit flying into Ken's face. 

Bob left Jake and Bradley deal with Ken as he walked through the apartment. He ignored the broken glass on the kitchen floor and continued on. 

The first room he got to was the bedroom. It was a mess, sheets everywhere, broken photo frames and a smashed up phone on the floor. Paper everywhere, filled with writing but ripped up. But no her. Swallowing the lump in hid throat, Bob continued on.

There was just one other room. Bob tried pushing on the door, but it was locked. Knocking, he called her name. "Are you in there?" 

Pressing his ear to the door, he heard a muffled sob. "I'm here," he tried, pushing at the door handle again. "I'm gonna get you out of here. Can you let me in?" 

He heard the door unlock so he pushed his way in. He was slow, giving her time to move away from the door before he threw it open. 

And there she was, knees pulled up against her chest as she sat under the sink. The tears freely fell, but she didn't bother to wipe them. Didn't even bother to look up at Bob. 

His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at her. When he held his hand out towards her, she flinched away. His heart snapped in two. 

"C'mon," he said softly. She finally looked up at him. "I'm getting you out of here." 

As soon as she placed her hand in his, Bob pulled her to her feet. Immediately she was against him, holding onto him, arms thrown around his neck. "I got you," he whispered again and again and again. 

He held her against him as he walked her out of the apartment. She had nothing besides herself, but that was more than she ever thought she'd make it out with. Her hand was against his chest, feeling the way his heart was beating in his chest. 

It didn't stop the tears as he took her down the stairs. He didn't know what Hangman and Rooster were doing, just hoping they were following. And, on the stairs, she slipped. She would have fallen to her knees and all the way down if it wasn't for Bob holding her. "I got you," he kept saying as he got her to the bottom of the stairs and out to the truck. 

Bob was a gentleman. He would have helped her in no matter what. But there was no way she would have been able to do it on her own, not in that moment. 

"What now?" Natasha asked as Bradley and Jake climbed in. (Jake climbed into the back with her and Bob, but Bob kept himself between the two of them).

"Drop me back at mine," Bob said quietly. She was holding his shirt so tight, it was almost like she was never gonna let go. "I'll pick up the truck tomorrow.”

The drive back to Bob's was silent. His arm stayed around her, large hand comforting against her back. It was only a short drive, Bob kept a hold of her the entire way. 

When they pulled up, Bob helped her out. The others were silent, only exchanging looks with him as he opened the door and helped her in. 

He heard the truck pull out of the driveway, but the wasn't what he was concerned about as he sat her down. She furiously wiped at her eyes with bruised hands. Hands that Bob gently took into his own and laid them on his lap. 

"What happened?"

She looked so tired, so goddamn tired as she looked up at him. There were bruises all over her skin, lip split open. She looked terrible. But she kept her mouth shut, didn't answer him. 

He could have begged, could have demanded that she answer him, but what good would that do? Instead, he stood, walked into the kitchen, and got her something to drink. 

When he came back with a steaming hot tea and a glass of water, she was already sleeping, face pressed pressed against the arm of the sofa. Bob lifted her ever so slightly, slipped a cushion beneath her head and threw a blanket over her body. 

He left her there, sleeping on the sofa. Now, don't get me wrong, Bob would have carried her to the bed. But he'd never seen her so scared before, didn't want to do anything would would scare her more than she already was. 

He kept his door open, though. Any noise that she made had Bob in the doorway, checking on her. But she slept right through, Frodo curled up against her.

Taglist: @nurse-sainz

@not-nyasa

@burningwitchprincess

@darksparklesficrecs

@primroseluna

@littlemsbumblebee

@wretchedmo

@imaginecrushes

@calpalsbestie

@hiireadstuff

@lyn-js

@emma8895eb

@teacupsandtopgun

@finnydraws

[tolkienhorrorweek]

Frequently Asked Questions

What is Tolkien Horror Week?

Tolkien Horror Week is a week-long event to celebrate all the spooky and creepy bits of Tolkien's writing—both the things he tells us explicitly and the things he leaves up to our imaginations.

When is Tolkien Horror Week, and where is it happening?

Tolkien Horror Week will be hosted on this blog from October 27 – November 2, 2024. You can also post to our AO3 collection.

I think I've seen this event before.

Terrifying Tolkien Week ran until 2019. This is a new event run by a new mod but still with the goal of celebrating all things spooky and creepy in Tolkien's work.

Who's modding this?

@emyn-arnens but likes will come from her main blog @starsuncounted.

How can I participate?

You can participate by creating fanfic, fanart, edits, gifs, rec lists, playlists, headcanons—you name it. If you can make it spooky, we'll love it.

Given the nature of this event, we ask that you tag any trigger or content warnings applicable to your work. For more information on this, see the "How do I tag trigger/content warnings?" section below.

To have your work shared on this blog, mention @tolkienhorrorweek in the body of your post and include the tags #tolkienhorrorweek and #tolkienhorrorweek2024 in the first ten 10 tags.

You may also submit a post to this blog.

How can I make sure you'll share my work?

See the answer above.

Your post should be reblogged within 24-48 hours. If you see a like on your post from @starsuncounted (the mod's main blog), your post is probably in the queue. If it’s been 24 hours and you don’t see a like and your post hasn’t been reblogged, feel free to message or send an ask to this blog. Tumblr’s tagging can be wonky, to say the least.

What counts as horror?

That's up to your discretion! We'll take all kinds of spooky, spine-tingling creations—whether that's pure horror, gothic/gothic horror, dark fairytale, or any other kind of dark interpretation of Tolkien's work.

Maybe you want to write hobbits telling shiver-inducing ghost stories, or Frodo having an even worse time in Mordor (physically or mentally)? That's great! Want to lean hard into the torture of thralls in Angband? Right up our ally. Want to leave the gore implied? Perfect. Want to delve in the history of the Barrow-downs? Tell us more! Want to make an edit or gifset of all your favorite creepy Middle-earth locations? We want to see it. Want to create a playlist for [insert your favorite Elf]'s time in Angband, or a soundtrack for Sauron's time in Númenor? Awesome! Want to draw the transformation of Elves into Orcs? You get the idea.

Do I have to participate every day?

Nope! Participate as much or as little as you want, whether that's creating your own works or engaging with others' works and cheering on creators.

Do I have to follow the prompts?

Nope! The prompts are there to inspire, not to restrict. All Tolkien horror content is welcome, regardless of whether or not it follows the prompts.

Additionally, prompts can be combined (whether from the same day or different days), so don't feel restricted by the set of prompts for each day.

Does what I share have to be completed?

Nope! Don't worry about meeting a certain word count or only sharing completed pieces—we'll happily take short posts, drabbles, drafts, sketches, WIPs, etc. Feel free to update or promo ongoing Tolkien horror WIPs or re-share older Tolkien horror works, too.

Is there an AO3 collection for this event?

Yep! You can find the AO3 collection here.

Can I focus my fanwork on my OC(s)?

Absolutely! This is an OC-friendly event.

Can I post NSFW works?

NSFW works are welcome as long as the Tumblr post itself is SFW (or the NSFW content is placed below a read more) and the content is appropriately tagged. The easiest way to share would be to post your piece to the AO3 collection and create an SFW promo post for Tumblr.

Can I use generative AI to make something for this event?

No. Original, handmade work only, please. We want to see what you come up with!

How do I tag trigger/content warnings?

Here is a list of common trigger/content warnings.

For Tumblr, trigger/content warning tags typically follow either of these forms: #tw [subject] #cw [subject] or #[subject] tw #[subject] cw. Pick one and stick with it so your followers know what tags to block if they need to.

What if I don’t finish my fanwork in time for the event?

Feel free to post what you have and tag the event anyway—in-progress works are welcome!

Alternatively, tag the blog whenever you are finished and ready to post it—we're happy to promote Tolkien horror works year-round!

I'm not up to creating something, but I still want to participate.

Awesome! Reblog creations you love and let their creators know how much you enjoyed (or were creeped out by) their work. Or you can head over to AO3 and leave kudos and comments on fics that gave you the shivers. Or, if you really want to share the love, you can create a rec list of your favorite pieces/creators, or drop a note in their inbox telling them how much you appreciated their work.

Are there any rules?

Just a few. Please be a respectful and positive community member! Here's what that involves:

Do not repost content by other creators without their explicit permission. Please reblog instead to support their work.

Respect other people’s headcanons and interpretations, even if you don’t share them.

Content and creators espousing any form of negativity, bigotry, aggression, or discrimination against others will not be tolerated.

Disrespecting these rules will lead to being blocked from the event.

I have another question.

You can drop it in the ask box.

The event info page is accessible here.

This FAQ has been adapted from @nolofinweanweek run by @melestasflight and @tolkiengenweek run by @arofili.

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Field of Cormallen

And now, the comfort section of our hurt/comfort story

THE EAGLES ARE COMING! THE EAGLES ARE COMING!

Ooh, so interesting that when Sauron’s attention is turned away from his armies, they all falter. It’s like they’re all a little brainwashed and compelled outside their will.

Still love how poetically Tolkien describes a volcano erupting LOL

The response of the Men of Harad and Rhun is interesting. Some of them stand and fight, and it’s almost as if they have the same noble, against-all-odds courage that our heroes have all this time. Others run, and others throw down their weapons and ask for mercy. They’re not mindlessly terrified like the orcs and trolls, but try to do the smart and brave thing in their situation. I dunno. Kinda cool.

If Frodo and Sam hadn’t walked a little further down the mountain, Gwahir wouldn’t have found them; they would have been consumed by the fire. There’s something deep in there somewhere. Something about obedience making way for blessing.

And just in time, the Eagles bore them away…

AND THEN!! SAM WAKES UP!! IN ITHILIEN!!

And he thinks of the day he made that rabbit stew ;^;

AND THERE’S FRODO LYING NEXT TO HIM AND MISSING A FINGER

AND HE REALIZES IT WAS REAL

Wait, wait, wait, hold on—didn’t I say a long time ago that I headcanon Frodo as a side-sleeper?? Didn’t I draw him like that here and here???

IT HAPPENED AGAIN. I SUBCONSCIOUSLY REMEMBERED/ACCIDENTALLY PREDICTED THE BOOK AGAIN.

AND GANDALF IS BAAAAAAACK *happy crying*

“Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?”

That line. That. Line. I can’t even begin to tell you how much that line has stuck with me throughout the years. One day death will be defeated, and everything sad will come untrue, and we will all rejoice in light and glory forever…

And Gandalf LAUGHS! And Sam CRIES! And then he LAUGHS TOO!

“How do I feel? Well, I don’t know how to say it. I feel, I feel—I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!”

Aaaaahhhhh it’s so beautifulllll TTuTT You said it plenty well, Sam.

Also the fact that he waves his arms when he can’t figure out what to say. Sam is so heckin’ cute. I love him. X-3

And then Frodo wakes up and HE LAUGHS!! AAAAAHHHH!! All the sad things, all the sad things, all the sad things coming untrue!!

I can’t help but feel like Sam’s stomach must have dropped to hear Gandalf start off with “the fourteenth of the new year”. Like “HANG ON—I’m pretty sure it was MARCH when we made it to Mordor. How long were we out?!?”

AND THEN!!! THEY HAD!!! A BAAAATH!!

It was very glossed-over and only mentioned in passing but THEY HAD A BATH!!

I TOLD YOU BATHS WERE IMPORTANT IN THIS STORY

Can you imagine how good it must feel to HECKIN’ BATHE after weeks of dust and dryness and your own stench? No water, no water, no water, and then suddenly MORE WATER THAN YOU COULD ASK FOR. Sit in it and soak until your fingers and toes get all wrinkly amounts of water. And soap that smells sweet like flowers, and now YOU smell clean and sweet; and the dirt and dust comes out of your hair, and it goes from oily and crusty and heavy to light and fluffy and springy, and the curls pop up again like flowers that just received a spring rain; and your wounds are cleaned, and your skin is soft, and you feel fresh and rejuvenated and ALIVE AGAIN and UGH it’s so good.

I’m forcing myself to go slow here and take in the beautiful description of the land as we go. Just the way that the topography of the place gave Frodo and Sam some privacy as they recovered, while still being open and beautiful to look at, and also hid from sight the armies amassed on the other side of a corridor through the forest—it’s all so lovely and magical and ALIVE. I heckin’ love it when the trees make a “hallway” with walls of trunks and a roof of leaves, and this is the most brilliant usage of it that I think I’ve ever seen (aside from the Treebeard chapter).

AND THEY SEE ARAGORN ON THE THRONE AHAHAHA

AND HE SITS THEM ON THE THRONE IN HIS PLACE!! They must look so tiny and adorable on it oh my WORD—

AND SAM!! GETS TO HEAR!! SOMEONE TELL THEIR STORY!! JUST LIKE HE ALWAYS WANTED! GOODBYE I AM GOING TO C R Y—

And now Frodo and Sam get to change into something nicer, good.

It’s interesting to see the hard line Frodo takes about being a pacifist now. I wonder what’s his thought process there…

And they get little crowns ;u; aaaaahhhh I’m gonna have so much fun drawing this—

Pippin being a self-satisfied little snot as usual ahahaha I love him X’-D

And now they get to sit and talk and catch up with their friends. Aaaahhh, it’s so cozy and nice ☺️

I love how Sam is most befuddled out of everything by Merry and Pippin’s heights, LOL! He’s just a simple lad at heart, after all, and sometimes it’s the closest things to home that are the most amazing and confusing.

Sam: “Can’t understand it at your age! But there it is: you’re three inches taller than you ought to be, or I’m a dwarf.” Gimli: “That you certainly are not.” 🤣🤣🤣

In which Gimli continues to be the Mom Friend. His whole speech to Pippin sounds strangely reminiscent of the “I was in labor with you for TWELVE HOURS” guilt trip that moms use on their kids.

In which Legolas details his career plans and then randomly bursts into song

Samwise Gamgee, who just helped to save the world: “Dang, wish I could’ve seen more oliphaunts.”

[niennawept]

Tag Game - Fandom Edition

Tagged by @somebirdortheother, thanks so much, lovely! This was fun!

Your Name: On here, Nienna or Ni, if you please. I have 4-5 names that people regularly call me outside of that (IRL nicknames) but I prefer to keep that private.

Your First Fandom: Tolkien. Before I even knew what fandom was, I was composing fanfiction in my head about being Bilbo Baggin's niece (yes, before I read LotR, I somehow knew that he would have an adopted child because he definitely wasn't marrying a woman - A+, baby Nienna). At the time, I had no concept of what fanfiction was or what a self-insert was, but here I was, doing the thing at age 8. I think it counts, lol.

Your Current Fandom: Rings of Power specifically, wider Tolkien Legendarium also. And the thing you must know about me is I have two fandoms which are special interests of mine. 1) Tolkien and 2) Star Trek. Normally, when one is dormant, the other wakes up. So we'll count Star Trek too, even though that interest is currently sleeping (shhh, she needs her rest).

How did you first get into fandom?: Um, doomed by the narrative? My dad read The Hobbit aloud to me when I was little and then proceeded to read me LotR out loud a year later. I couldn't NOT form my whole personality around that (and Trek, which he introduced when I was 10).

How long have you been engaging in fandom spaces?: I discovered fanfiction online when I was 14. I used to write a long time ago, but college and grad school got in the way. I lurked for years (reading a couple longfics a week) but I didn't have the energy to create much myself. Adar and Rings of Power brought me out of that shell. So I guess the answer is: it's complicated.

How often do you read fanfic?: I'm almost always reading at least one longfic, although I have slowed down significantly now that I'm writing a longfic. These days I squeeze in reading one-shots because I set too ambitious of an update schedule and I'm trying not to get burnt out.

Top three characters from your current fandom?: Adar (my love), Tar-Miriel (who I am so worried about going into the next season), and probably Galadriel. I really admire how they let her be nasty enough to be credibly accused of being Morgoth's successor, by someone who would know. That's brilliant and gives her character a lot of room to grow into the Galadriel we know in the Third Age.

Have you ever written a fic for a fandom and if so, shout it out!: I do not think any of my very old fic still exists (thank the stars). But I'll link a few Rings of Power fics here (use caution, all three works are 18+):

Scars of Silver and Gold: A Second Age romance/adventure (Adar/OC) that will eventually answer the question "what is the best case scenario for Adar and his uruks that still fits within the constraints of Tolkien's legendarium?"

Until the Stars Burn Out: Set in Cuiviénen, under the light of the stars. Eren, the one who will one day be known as Adar, shares a moment of tenderness with the partner he was made for, Erenyë. (Adar/OC). Based off of "Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n"  by @dwarveslikeshinythings

Mistletoe Mischief: Christmas-themed smutty Adar/Reader fic. Modern AU.

Have you ever drawn fan art for a fandom?: I have, but I am not willing to share anything yet, because I'm just not where I want to be skill-wise.

Share a personal headcanon that you feel strongly about: Mmmm. I have many headcanons. It is hard to pick one. I'll say this: the elves that went to Valinor from the Waters of Awakening knew that some of them where kidnapped and taken but they did not see any orcs/uruks until the Noldor made it back to Middle-earth. It makes the Battle-under-Stars that much more existentially terrifying. Thinking about writing a horror one-shot about this - imagine recognizing your old friend, twisted by centuries of torture among the dead. *shivers*

You’re trying to convince a friend to get into your current fandom(s) with you. what episode, clip, or scene are you showing them?: Mmmmm. I don't think there's a clip of ROP that I can pick that doesn't have spoilers. All the parts I'm most attached to are in pretty deep.

And finally, what does fandom mean to you?: Community. Enjoying the thing you enjoy on your own is marvelous but enjoying it with other people is even better! People have such wonderful different ideas about things and that's very cool.

Tagging (no pressure, just love): @dwarveslikeshinythings, @lazymeriadoc, @bananaphanta, and anyone else to whom this looks like fun!