#tolkien stop being so inspiring challenge

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

I love that I'm now back in a writing mood but what that means is that I can only get through about 10 pages of Fellowship before I need to write again

[angedemystere]

"The Night Shepherd": An Inklings Challenge Submission

Author's Note: Well, I did my best to follow the Team Tolkien prompts, but I definitely blurred (cheated) on the premises and genres. While I'm tagging this story as unfinished, there's an attempt to give it some temporary completeness. Thank you @inklings-challenge for setting this up!

Title: The Night Shepherd

Summary: A nun traveling with strange company finds herself thrown into an even stranger situation when her curiosity gets the better of her.

~

Sister Mor was no stranger to woodlands, but even so, having grown up near groves and, in her youth, ventured into them in the late (or early) hours, she found this forest unnerving. Was it the cawing of the nightbirds that prickled her skin? The chilly wind? The perpetual fog in the treetops? Even in the daylight, the trees wore a dreary cloak that frustrated the sun’s gleaming rays. Now, whether hidden by the branches or the haze, the moon had no chance of cutting the darkness. Only the fire of their camp could stir some comfort in her soul.

If she could but say her companions inspired comfort, too. Three of them she knew. They’d traveled together all the way from Wales. Brother Talfryn snored like a bear, and his brown cowl made it easy to mistake him for one. One clue to aid the unsuspecting intruder about the brown lump’s identity lay in the sword wedged under the brother’s arm. The weapon served to protect Sister Mor as well as its wielder, but that point didn’t please her. They labored in Christ’s name, the Prince of Peace. She had debated with Brother Talfryn many times that the Lord’s words, “I have not come to bring peace but a sword,” referred to his message about the Kingdom of Heaven rather than a literal sword. He countered that the Lord had advised his apostles to acquire literal swords shortly before his death. No matter how many times they parried over the use of violence, neither sister nor brother in Christ budged. Sister Mor trusted Brother Talfryn with her life. She wished she could entrust others’ lives to him, too.

The other two companions didn’t carry swords or daggers. Instead, Guar and her son Coch had teeth, claws, tails, and wings to defend themselves. They hunted like animals and ate raw meat. Another of their kin had met and joined them. Arculf hailed from Brittany. He wore scars from fighting other graiggwerin, a custom in their clan that was not evident among the graiggwerin living in Pembrokeshire. Perhaps Arculf had faced greater challenges to survival. But when any creature, including men, justified brutal actions with self-preservation, they became much more dangerous. If Sister Mor couldn’t caution a monk, she didn’t expect to cull the instincts of these intelligent but no less bestial beings.

And then, Lord have mercy, there remained the rest of the company. Two of them slept close to a tree at the edge of their encampment, a man and a woman. Danes, pagans. The woman, Vigdis, lay by the feet of the man, Stigandr. The man sat up against the tree with cords of thick rope holding him to the trunk. To think Vigdis, his sister, had done that to him, and with his cooperation! Sister Mor tried not to dwell on whether Stigandr might rip through those ropes, should he stir and suffer an attack of madness. Vigdis had this concern, too, hence her presence at his feet. Whether or not his madness would prompt a transformation into a wolflike monster, she could just as easily transform to stop him, and with her sanity intact. Well, so she claimed.

Sister Mor’s guts swam. Vigdis’s and Stigandr’s lupine forms loomed as a fresh memory. She prayed again that they’d sleep through another shift before it was Vigdis’s turn to keep watch.

She also offered a prayer for the thrall, the young man who slept a little further away from the Danes. He was Gwendal, a Breton. He knew the bare bones of cooking, and he could carry as well as his twiggy arms let him. Vigdis could carry more thanks to her years of training with a sword and axe alongside her brother. Gwendal looked like he’d done very little manual labor even for his own sustenance. He depended on his musical talent. Thanks to his angelic voice, all his previous masters used him primarily for this purpose. For Stigandr, Gwendal’s singing soothed his mind into sleep.

Sister Mor’s prayer for Gwendal not only entailed his freedom and safety, but that his voice might join a monk choir to praise and please the One who deserved it.

Observing these sleeping characters tempted her to shut her eyes, too, despite the harm any one of these people might do. Sister Mor bit her tongue and scribbled on her sheets of vellum. To help her focus, she wrote notes for a letter to her brother Cuan, a recent initiate to the monastery on Caldey Island. This was the same monastery where Brother Talfryn lived, and where he and specially selected monks, along with the abbot, monitored the comings and goings of the graiggwerin who sheltered among the island’s seaside cliffs. Poor Cuan became entrapped in this business because of her; the lad could only agree, being so young and already a likely candidate for monk, anyway, among the many children of Prince Ronain of Munster.

Sister Mor had preceded him in his connection with the monastery, but Cuan’s presence validated her visits to Caldey Island, which in truth centered on the purpose of composing a grammar for the graiggwer language. The graiggwerin borrowed many words from Welsh thanks to their contact with the Caldey monks, but the grammatical rules had clearly evolved from another linguistic source that Sister Mor could not decidedly trace to a human language. There must have been an old graiggwer tongue that had gradually transformed or became lost over the centuries thanks to this clan’s separation from others of their kind and more frequent human interaction.

By now, Sister Mor could converse with Guar and Coch and their clan in the Cliff Tongue. Brother Talfryn snidely called it Dragon Tongue. Sister Mor nearly pointed out that most dragons, or serpents, had either no legs or two legs, placing the graiggwerin in a unique category of super-natural creature. But the Southern Britons seemed to believe in the preeminence of four-legged dragons, as shown on their banners of red dragons. In fact, Coch’s reddish-ochre hide endeared him to most of the monks who belonged to the clandestine circle. They interpreted his birth as a sign that God was rewarding their piety and peaceable relations with the graiggwerin. The abbot believed Coch heralded the longevity of the Britons in the face of antagonism from Anglo-Saxons and Danes. But Brother Talfryn saw the graiggwerin as hardly more intelligent than wolves and just as trustworthy. (One could imagine his regard for Vigdis and Stigandr.) He agreed to come with Sister Mor to the mainland only because he didn’t believe anyone else took the peril presented by the graiggwerin seriously enough. She, despite Brother Talfryn’s anxiety, was prepared to risk her life to help the graiggwerin reunite with their kin from the north, who used a different language influenced by Danish, much like how the Cliff Tongue was influenced by Welsh. As the only fluent speaker of Danish, Welsh, and Anglo-Saxon who knew the graiggwerin, she owned the choice to embark on this journey, and here she was. Brother Talfryn called her ambition and generosity foolish both before and after agreeing to accompany her. And here he was, sleeping with his sword in the middle of a foggy forest, helping her stay awake with a probably deviated septum.

She wrote down these observations and honest thoughts to her brother (that he would likely never read—no reliable messengers here in the wilds of East Francia) until they and her stylus came to a stop thanks to one last wall of ignorance. She had many pieces of stories about her companions, all but one. This final, unaccounted-for member of the company was the only person, other than Sister Mor, who was awake. Well, she might have been awake, or she had fallen asleep while sitting up against a different tree than the one occupied by Stigandr.

The woman called herself Hulda. More accurately, she told everyone else to call her Hulda. She often wore her hood and drew it low to spare everyone the sight of her face. The hood still covered Hulda’s head while the travelers slept. If she’d left it down, maybe Sister Mor’s curiosity wouldn’t have nagged her. It knew Hulda’s face, but so much hid behind that face. Gazing directly at the split visage—half living flesh as fair as heaven, half dead and blackened like a tree charred by lightning—had convinced everyone to mind their own business about this strange woman’s origins. But by throwing a shadow over that grotesque vision with the hood, Hulda inadvertently invited Sister Mor’s attention now.

What could she tell Cuan about this woman? Only that Guar, in flight, had warned them of a tall figure approaching Sister Mor and Brother Talfryn. When Hulda had reached them, she’d said she would help them rendezvous with the northern graiggwerin (or fjallfolk, as she called them). She had the werewolf Danes and their thrall in tow and hitched them to the troupe.

Why was she helping them? “I was told to.”

By whom? “If you don’t know, you need not know at this time.”

Cajoles and demands did nothing to extract more information, nor did they drive away Hulda.

Very well. Then let her suffer a little human curiosity if she truly wanted to aid them.

Sister Mor tucked away her pages and stylus in her leather bag, shuffled to her feet, and tiptoed to Hulda’s reposing figure. Awak or asleep, Hulda looked cozy enveloped in her wool cloak. The cool air made Sister Mor’s breath puff into clouds. She quieted her exhalations and turned her ears in every direction. Memories from adolescence crept into her imagination: what creatures might be stalking them? Simple beasts? More intelligent folk like the graiggwerin, only worse? More like …

An image, a face, splashed across her mind’s eye with a mocking laugh. The cold, leering stare of a sid.

She shook her head, crossed herself, prayed for steeliness of mind against such memories. This forest was spooky enough.

An owl’s hoot made her flinch, but she kept her tread as mute as a cat’s until she reached Hulda. She drank in the slight chill, held it, and cleared her throat.

“My lady?”

Hulda sighed. “My turn already?”

Sister Mor blinked and frowned. “For what?”

“To be bombarded with questions.”

With a snort, Sister Mor came around the tree for a better angle to look at Hulda. She’d heard such tones from curmudgeons in her family’s royal court and even among the older sisters at her abbey, especially in her novice days. A few cross words wouldn’t deter her.

However, even the most wrinkled elder, man or woman, couldn’t make her shudder like the face under Hulda’s hood. A glimpse of the chin, mouth, and the tip of the nose betrayed the unnatural fissure that cut a jagged line down the center. The healthy skin turned bluish-gray before meeting the invasion of black, flaky flesh. The mouth on the dead side was little more than a crack until she opened it again to speak. White teeth blinked in the sparse light; so did gray, green, and brown teeth.

“Mind what you ask. You might wish you never learned the answer.”

Very odd to hear a pleasant voice coming out of that mouth, and speaking as though a child were pestering her.

Sister Mor straightened. She might well be a mewling child in Hulda’s eyes if the woman was as inhuman and ancient as she acted. That didn’t make Mor any less a prince’s daughter.

“I never ask a question when I fear the answer. If it disturbs me, I find a way to bear it. But I have not yet asked a question.”

“You did, and the answer is ‘no.’”

“What question?”

The living side of Hulda’s mouth smirked. “I am not your lady. Sometimes I’m granted the title, and others, but … what do you truly want to know? And why should I bother telling you?”

Sister Mor needed a moment to remember her diplomatic training to cool her tongue. “Seeing as we are traveling together, and you have volunteered your aid, a closer acquaintance can only improve cooperation. Such has been my experience as a princess of the Munster court.”

“The Munster court. Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Only that I am well acquainted with thorny characters who insist on forging their own paths and look down their noses at anyone else. These people don’t thrive in court, even if they’re part of the royal family.”

“How fortunate I am—I have no court to deal with.”

Maybe she ought to go back to Brother Talfryn and his snores, after all. Sister Mor let herself pause and think before trying another approach. “You serve someone who has an interest in our endeavor. Whoever they are, they trust you to collaborate with strangers. Why is that?”

Hulda didn’t answer right away. “That is a good question.”

Sister Mor scoffed. “You can’t be serious. You must know.”

Hulda tipped back her head. Now Sister Mor could see her eyes. One blue. One cloudy, as happens to corpses after a time before the sclera and corneas start to rot. Perhaps Hulda was blind in that eye.

“I’m not here to help you,” she said. “I’m here to help the fjallfolk. Guar, Coch, Arculf, and their kin. That’s my duty.”

Well, it was a start. Sister Mor nodded. “Thank you for your honesty. Then, your lord or lady cares about these, uh … do they care about Vigdis and Stigandr, too?”

“You presume that Vigdis and Stigandr want you to know the answer to that.” Hulda spoke dryly, but her eyes quickened like a cat’s as it torments a mouse.

Sister Mor stood even taller. “Very well, I suppose that much isn’t my business. Do you serve the fjallfolk?”

“Hardly.”

“Ah. Then … are you their steward?”

Hulda looked away, thinking. “I suppose I am.”

“Ah! Why is that? The graiggwerin strike me as an independent people, ruled only by their own tribe. But in a larger group, do they have a more sophisticated hierarchy? How do you—”

“Slow down, girl. I’m not about to give a history lesson on these people to whom you are, at best, an incidental boon. I will tell you this: while Guar and Coch might be amiable, most of their kin want nothing to do with humans, and that’s as friendly as they get.”

“For what reason?” Sister Mor took a seat beside Hulda. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I take no offense. Many humans have ample reason to detest one another.”

“Even though that’s against your creed?”

Sister Mor smiled. “‘Wide is the road that leads to destruction.’ Have humans harmed graiggwerin?”

“It goes beyond mere harm. ‘Harm’ the fjallfolk can handle. And it’s not only them.” Hulda nearly continued, but her brow creased, and she sharpened her stare.

“Not only the graiggwerin?” Sister Mor pressed. “Other races? It is … quite a vast number?”

Hulda closed her lips.

“I don’t find that shocking.” Sister Mor had made some headway, and if now she had to carry this conversation, so be it. “In my country, we have stories about the Tuatha De Danann, a mighty people of wondrous power who lived in Ireland before mankind. After a war with our people, they gave up their homes above ground to dwell in the Otherworld, Tir na nOg. If the legends are true, I can imagine it wasn’t a happy resolution for them, even if the arrangement came about by a treaty. Are the graiggwerin like the Tuatha de Danann? Or perhaps more like the Fomorians since they don’t possess the famous beauty of the Tuatha De. But these graiggwerin are good-hearted, regardless of their appearances. As you say, others of their kind might hate mankind for understandable reasons. Is this your way of warning me and Brother Talfryn that we should conclude our part Guar’s reunion with her distant kin as quickly as possible?”

“I wondered why you no longer live at your beloved royal court,” Hulda said. “I think I’ve found the answer. I know a few things about politics, and there are two useful skills to have: subtlety and brevity.”

Once again, Sister Mor joined her teeth and prayed for patience. “As you say, we’re not in court now. You could just answer my questions and be done with me sooner.”

“Oh, I fear the fount from which these questions arise gushes evermore.”

“I have good reason for it! I’m in a strange land, far from home, with only one of my own people whom I know and trust as my protector. If you wish to help, you could offer a little more information to guide us!”

“I will guide you exactly as you need to be, and no more. That is my only obligation.”

Sister Mor opened her mouth for a rebuttal. A light caught her eye. When she faced it, her retort flew away. The light came from a walking staff that leaned next to Hulda. Sister Mor had thought nothing of its presence until threads of light started climbing from base to top. They drew curves and rose in a spiral. The staff’s head was carved into a grooved, sharpened point, almost like a lance. At some angles, the white lines of light split into tiny rainbows. The streams multiplied and raced to meet each other at the pointed tip. It too glowed, and the effulgence spilled back down.

“What is that?”

Hulda jerked her head around. She gasped, then groaned as she pushed off the tree. “Now?” She looked up into the tree’s branches. “Truly? Right now? I’m already …”

A pause, then a sigh. Hulda brought her looming stature to bear. “This will be but a moment.”

“What do you—?”

Hulda touched the staff and vanished before Sister Mor could finish the question. She cried out, then clapped her mouth.

“Hnng?” Vigdis raised her head and propped herself up. “What’s happened?”

Sister Mor shuddered. It didn’t matter who had woken up. The words pushed their way out of her. “H-hulda. She … she’s gone.”

Vigdis blinked and woke a little more. “Where?”

“I don’t know. She’s disappeared.”

Vigdis blinked again. Her body sagged. “She’s a witch. She comes and goes. She’ll be back.”

“But—”

Again, Sister Mor never finished. Vigdis plopped back down into sleep.

A moment later, Hulda reappeared the way safe she’d left. Her staff no longer glowed. She placed it against the tree with slumping shoulders.

“Oh! Thank God and the saints. Where did you go?”

“Not your concern.” Hulda sounded tired. How? She’d been gone a handful of seconds.

“How does it do that? I … I mean, I know a little … that is …” Though her face burned with mounting embarrassment, Sister Mor kept watching the staff. “Are you a witch? Witchcraft is ungodly. But is it witchcraft or … Is it dangerous? Where did you get it?”

“Stop asking questions, girl. Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

Would Hulda be able to stand guard with that weariness? Or perhaps disappointment more than fatigue.

“Hulda, what happened? Did you see something … unpleasant?”

Hulda pushed back her hood and spared Sister Mor nothing. The face broadcast a glare that was bisected by life and death and framed by brittle gray hair on one side and full, thick brown hair on the other. All of it was wild and mussed by the abrupt removal of the hood. Harsh eyes and straightened lips scolded her.  

Yes, it was disquieting, but Sister Mor had met worse in her nightmares.

“Forgive me,” she said with a slight tremor. “If something is wrong, I want to help.”

“Leave it alone,” Hulda said slowly. “Go.”

The word landed like an executioner’s blade. Sister Mor began to obey the sheer force of it. She lowered her head and stepped away.

Another flare of light ran up the staff. The command to leave vaporized from Sister Mor’s mind. She stopped, gaped, and glanced at Hulda. The half-living woman turned around, too. She saw Sister Mor, the staff, the tiny gap between them.

Sister Mor reached out to the staff and its beckoning lights.

“No!” Hulda whipped around and lunged.

They touched the staff at the same time.

A sensation most easily compared to being headbutted by a horse collided with Sister Mor before oblivion spared her from further assaults. A moment or a lifetime later, she heard Hulda’s voice, a distant wave that grows in loudness as it rolls toward the shore—

“Mor! Mor! Can you hear me?”

A frigid, bony hand slapped her cheek. Sister Mor groaned and rolled her head away from the offending touch.

"You mad creature," Hulda grumbled. "Can you feel all your limbs?"

Sister Mor managed to flex her fingers and toes. They ached. She nodded.

"Good. Stand up."

That command met momentary resistance, not all of Sister Mor's volition. She whimpered in her effort to sit up. The muscles in her back clenched, and she collapsed on the stony ground. In the haze of pain, she wondered why she couldn't feel any dead leaves or wild grass that carpeted the forest. As the pulsing in her head died down, she could open her eyes.

A light burned behind Hulda's head. Was it the moon? The sun?

Some horrible, foreign smell hit her nose. Something was burning, but not wood or incense. It was like smelting, but even more acrid. Maybe this was Hell.

“Get up.” Hulda’s hands, one cold and one warm, grabbed Sister Mor’s elbows. She danced with vertigo but landed safely on her feet. The soles of her shoes clapped and made something clack on the ground. Was that gravel? She blinked in the nighttime gloom that the ball of light above them continued to dispel as best it could. She very nearly asked what it was, but other peculiar elements caught her attention and accrued her question collection. She guessed they were standing in a cemetery; headstones and a few mauseoleums raised their gray forms above sloping earth. Gravel-covered paths wound among them. A broader view of the scene directed her attention to a piked fence at the edges of the grounds. Who guarded cemeteries so vigorously? And where was the church? And that light—no, lights. She spied a few more about twenty paces from the first one outside the fence. She began to walk toward them—

Hulda caught her arm. “Where are you off too?”

Sister Mor blinked. Goodness, what was she thinking? She ought to be the one asking the questions!

“Where are we?”

Hulda regarded the cemetery. “Let’s look at the headstones.”

A surprisingly sensible suggestion. Sister Mor grasped Hulda’s intention and hastened her to steps to the nearest grave marker. It was in fact a double marker for two people. She managed to discern the names “Samuel Weld” and “Thomas Weld.” The letters she could read, being Latin, but she didn’t know the language. No year to mark either man’s passing. The style of the headstones struck her with their refinement and morbidity. A yawning death’s head floated above both names and epitaphs, but floral and equally delicate engravings decorated the stone, too.

Sister Mor checked behind her to ask Hulda if she knew the language on the stones. The witch had already moved on. She’d ventured down the path and found a low wall of red, rectangular stones. A plaque was affixed to it.

“This one is more helpful,” Hulda said.

Sister Mor joined her. She knelt and nearly brought her nose to the stone so she could read it in the dark. The name Joseph Dudley followed a mysterious abbreviation (Gov.). But Sister Mor forgot the name as soon as she read the numbers below it.

“One-six-four-seven. That can’t be right. Six … 1647 to … to 1720?” She read it three more times before looking at Hulda. “Do the people in this country have a different calendar?”

“More likely it’s the same as yours. Whatever the year is, it’s later than 1720.”

The year of the Lord was 880. And they were supposed to be in East Francia, and this language didn’t look like any Germanic dialect she’d come across. As these facts fermented into a wild conclusion, Sister Mor struggled move or breathe. When she finally recovered enough mobility, she used it to place one hand on the ground. Her eyes sought the staff. It wasn’t glowing at all. Its body comprised of ordinary wood.

“We … we didn’t just move in space. We moved … in time.”

“Yes,” Hulda said, as if Sister Mor were describing a route to the nearest market.

“With your staff.”

“Yes.”

“… oh. Oh, Mary and Joseph.” Sister Mor gave a sound that immediately mortified her; it blended horror and ecstasy.

“You insisted on touching a glowing stick without knowing what it did.”

Another yelp, close to a shriek, leapt out of Sister Mor. Hulda grabbed her arm.

“Ow!”

“Quiet! We don’t belong here, so don’t draw any attention.”

Sister Mor started panting, but she bit her lip, whined quietly, and began to calm down. “Nnnnghthen why are we here?”

“The staff sent me here. You’re here thanks to stubbornness and stupidity. But since you’re here, and I can’t send you back, you might as well get a grip and help me.”

Sister Mor gasped. “You can’t send me back? But, but it’s your staff!”

“I don’t control it. When it fills with light, I go where it takes me and seek the one I’ve been tasked to help. I didn’t even think until a few moments ago that another person could touch it and be thrown across lands and centuries, too. Thank your god that I touched it, too, or you’d be a very lost, very dead woman.”

“How do we get back?”

“We will return to your time when the staff gives us the power to do so.”

“How long will that be?”

Hulda shrugged.

“Then, we could be wandering across the ages for years. We could die.”

“I didn’t make you touch the staff.”

Despite herself, or maybe because of the panic trying to fill her chest, Sister Mor laughed. She did sound mad.

“Are you going to lose your mind,” asked Hulda, “or are you going to keep your senses and help me? Either way, I have work to do, and you’re not my priority.”

Of all the emotions to triumph at this moment, Sister Mor marveled at the joy rising above everything else. Terror lingered beneath it, but, in a way, that buoyed her joy even more. Maybe this was the first sign of madness setting in.

Still catching her breath, she smoothed her headdress and habit. “Very well. What are you bound to do?”

“Usually, I land near the soul in need. He or she must be somewhere in this graveyard right now. The One who gave me this staff is kind enough to afford me darkness and remoteness for my work. Most of the time.”

The archness in Hulda’s voice made a smile jump to Sister Mor’s lips. She quashed it for fear of offending the grim lady. “Who is this person?”

“It’s my concern alone. Your concern is staying close to me, and staying alive if you want to see your home and family again.”

The notion that she might never see Cuan or any of her kin made her shudder not by its incomprehensibility but in familiarity. She banished the reminder of another brush with a superhuman power that had whisked her away to a land that, if legends were true, also defied the bonds of time. Sister Mor nodded, brushed herself off again, and followed Hulda in standing up.

As Hulda predicted, they wandered the graveyard for no more than a quarter of an hour, passing a few more of those balls of light. They must have been lamps on tall posts, boxed in by glass to stop the wind from blowing them out. Sister Mor heard more of the world outside the cemetery: voices in that foreign tongue, shouts of alcohol-brined opinions, dog barks, hoofbeats, clattering wheels on cobblestone streets. And yes, that horrid smell. Hulda believed, having visited this period before, that they were in the age of coal combustion.

“Are we in a city?” Sister Mor asked. “I’ve only ever visited Dublin twice. Cities promise so much, but they appear more wretched than not. Dare I hope our descendants will improve on the idea?”

Hulda looked back at her and smiled. Sister Mor didn’t take that as a happy portend.

She was grateful, in light of this conversation, to soon meet another soul. Their presence meant the end of their visit.

Gratitude would evaporate into pity, then shock and revulsion.

Both women turned a bend on one of the paths and spied a prone man in front of one of the mausoleums. Sister Mor took him to be a drunkard or homeless beggar. The warring instincts to help and to turn away shamed her; how could she hesitate, especially as a religieuse, to minister to the least, as the Lord had commanded? Her hesitation allowed Hulda to move first toward the destitute man. She followed.

“Stay back,” Hulda ordered.

“Why?”

“If you value your life.”

Was Hulda threatening her to not help after all the fuss she made about Sister Mor girding herself for this adventure?

Then the man jerked up like a puppet hoisted up by a string, and he turned his head like owl-like dexterity. His eyes glinted like those of an owl, too. He gasped and groaned.

Hulda gave a “shhhhh” that matched the wind moving through the trees. In fact, the timing was perfect. A breeze brushed the trees growing throughout the graveyard as she spoke. The coincidence changed Hulda into much greater a force. Was it just a coincidence?

The man, the creature, didn’t move any more. Hulda stretched out her mummified arm to him, beckoning. Sister Mor stepped back.

“Don’t run, either,” said Hulda. “That will provoke him. He’s hungry. Trust me.”

Sister Mor fought to control her breathing. “Might not he hurt you?”

“He won’t.” New gentleness touched Hulda’s voice. It remained even as she deepened her tone and projected in the man’s direction. “Come.”

The man’s hands started twitching. His shining eyes narrowed. Step by step, he crept toward Hulda. Sister Mor quaked all over. Oh, how she hated his look. His features were perfectly human in shape. More and more, though, the pallor and sunken cheeks, as a corpse looks before bloat sets in, reminded her of a nonhuman face that had chased and tormented her years ago. Yes, all due to her own foolishness once again. This could be divine punishment.

When the man, or creature, came within two paces of Hulda, he whimpered and dropped to its knees. Mouth open, crying, he showed his pointed canines. He spoke what sounded like a full sentence, possibly a question.

“What did he say?” whispered Sister Mor.

“I have no idea. I don’t know his language well enough.”

The man, the creature, gawked at Hulda like she’d spoken in the tongue of angels and imparted a profound message from the Almighty.

Hulda moved closer to him. Her dead hand, still outstretched, rested on his scalp. He gave a deep, shaky sigh.

“Does he know who you are?” Sister Mor asked.

The man’s posture stiffened. Sister Mor stepped back again without thinking. His head rotated so his reflective eyes tracked her.

“Don’t move,” Hulda said.

Both Sister Mor and the man kept still.

“Sister Mor, this child of the night needs food. If we leave him, he’ll attack a poor soul and taint his own even further. Where do you suggest we find human blood?”

A simple answer came to Sister Mor, and she grimaced at it. A stationary search of the cemetery yielded no other options. “I … I could give him some of mine.”

Hulda turned to Sister Mor and stared as though she’d heard a string of gibberish.

“What?” said Sister Mor. “Isn’t that what you were implying?”

“Of course not! I asked because, as a human, you have more familiarity with human settlements than I do and would know where to find fresh blood. Do you want to die?”

“No!” Sister Mor flushed at the question. Her temper cooled. She touched the silver cross hanging around her neck. “No, but … will he die if he doesn’t eat tonight?”

“It’s not his death I’m worried about.”

That helped Sister Mor breathe more steadily. “Then … I will not send him off to some ‘acceptable’ source of blood. I have some here to keep him docile.”

She pulled up her sleeve. The man-creature lunged. Hulda swung down her staff and hit him in the chest. He screeched and dropped lower. Hulda stooped, too, either to check he was all right or to keep him at bay.

“It’s not that simple!” Hulda snapped. “He has no reason to show restraint.”

“Then keep him restrained, if you please.” Sister Mor finished rolling up the sleeve. She patted the pouch hanging from her belt. “Oh. I don’t think I have a knife.”

Hulda sighed. “I do.”

Sister Mor kept Hulda between herself and the creature, rustled about Hulda’s belt as quickly as she could, and thanked God when she found the knife. The hilt bore Danish runes that read “famine.” Sister Mor almost laughed.

“Does this have magic, too?”

“No. Cut the outside of your arm if you must. That will do.”

Ideally, Sister Mor would have cleaned or cauterized the blade. She settled for a swift wipe on an inner fold of her habit. A gasp left her with the knife’s slice.

“Be quick,” she ordered the man-creature.

The cut discouraged the man-creature from biting through her skin. She still felt the fangs. They pressed insistently. She flinched at first contact, and he growled.

Hatred for this beast boiled in her throat. She gave him her arm again and shut her eyes.

“Tell me when he’s finished,” she said to Hulda.

“You had better tell me when you’re finished, unless you want me to let him continue until you faint.”

It wasn’t so much the loss of blood as the smacking and slurping and the feel of his cold tongue on her skin that made Sister Mor lightheaded and long for escape. Anxiety made her head pound like a drum.

“That’s enough!” She ripped her arm away. Rather unnecessary in hindsight. Neither the monster nor Hulda had taken hold of her arm.

Hulda had him in her complete grip, like a farmer holding a young bull to fit him with a nose ring. The beastly man left no red drop wasted. His tongue wiped away his meal from his chapped lips. The eyes, more human-like but still a little luminous, gleamed without gratitude. There was only delight from a sated appetite. It was rather childlike, the manner of which convinced Sister Mor that she did not like children.

If Hulda had given her blood, she might not have rubbed the man-creature’s back to ease him further. Still, her presence was the only reason Sister Mor had even considered sharing her blood with this thing. She did worry her that Hulda cared more for the blood-drinker than any human. At least she hadn’t let the monster kill Sister Mor. That had to carry some import.

“What now?”

Instead of answering Sister Mor, Hulda tilted the man-creature’s chin. Still lean and vicious, he trembled under her steady stare. Hulda leaned down and whispered in his ear. He didn’t seem to understand whatever she said, but that soon didn’t matter. After a sly glance at Sister Mor, he shut his eyes and leaned into Hulda as she helped him stand. He muttered something. Hulda squeezed his shoulder, the side furthest from her. Sister Mor reminded herself to squeeze her cut with her handkerchief while most of her attention remained on the strange intimacy between the creature and the tall, half-living woman keeping him steady. Hulda did not radiate much warmth, but even a stone can give its own kind of comfort.

The staff, still in Hulda’s other hand, began to send tendrils of light up to its top.

Elated and fearful, Sister Mor dashed forward and grabbed onto it. “Thank God!”

Hulda chuckled. “Hold that thought.”

This time, although blackness did briefly swipe away her consciousness, Sister Mor came back to herself while still on her feet. This time, nausea punched her gut. She doubled over and wretched. The man-creature made similar noises.

“It’s not so bad after the tenth time,” said Hulda. She raised her head and whistled: a single, long, melancholy note. Just as Sister Mor stopped gagging, something flapped out of the trees—yes, the trees were back!—and cawed right before landing on Hulda’s shoulder.

“Take this one,” she said.

Sister Mor stumbled a step or two away and checked that no one was touching her. No, Hulda was nodding at the man-creature, the blood-drinker. She brushed his face with her living hand. The bird, a crow, practically barked at him, took off, and ascended into a loop. The grace with which it dodged the branches managed to enchant Sister Mor. Words passed between Hulda and the man that she didn’t hear. The crow redirected her to the pair when it flew over their heads.

Hulda pointed at the bird and pressed the man’s back. The instruction did not require a common tongue to be understood. The man hesitated, threw a fretful look at Hulda, then at Sister Mor without the former hunger or mischief. Finally, like a frightened child eager to get home, he walked into the forest to follow the crow’s path.

Sister Mor checked her cut—still clean and only slightly bleeding. Hulda joined her.

“Where is he going?”

“My servant will find a home for him.”

“But how do you know what he needs? You couldn’t speak with him.”

“I’ve helped many of his kind over the years, from all places and ages. They have nowhere else to go. Once that happens—once their lives, in a sense, have ended—I shepherd them to a new life that will keep them and the humans they might hurt safe.”

Sister Mor peered around at the familiar trees and mists. “Here?”

Hulda gave another of her small, not very assuring smiles. “You believe I would let you come to harm here?”

“Well …”

“Remember who volunteered her blood to a draugr.”

“Draugr?”

“An undead being.”

Sister Mor shuddered. Not just a blood-drinker, but an undead one. She’d let it touch her!

A dead hand reached for her. She jolted back. Hulda stopped. She seemed surprised not by Sister Mor but by her own action. Her hand joined the living one on her staff. Brittle fingers wrapped around it more tightly than needed.

A pang plucked at something in Sister Mor’s chest. It took some time to untangle her tongue. “Are you helping the graiggwerin—I mean, the fjallfolk—for the same reason?”

“Yes. And the vargfolk. And, on occasion, a human or two. Well, not to come here permanently, but in this woodland, you are under my stewardship. If any other folk trouble you, they will answer to me.”

Sister Mor could hardly breathe. She dared not think who Hulda really was, what sort of company she and Brother Talfryn and the rest of their party were keeping. She tried very, very hard not to think of the sidhe and their rules, their sense of entitlement over anyone who crossed into their land. Already she was beginning to ache for the comfort of her abbey, the strong stone walls that kept out the monsters of the world.

Yet they didn’t keep out all monsters. They didn’t banish the ones that had slipped into her dreams. Would she dream of that blood-drinker now? Would she dream of Hulda?

The same woman was silent. Her gaze drifted between Sister Mor, the ground, and the canopy and its wispy tresses. The staff had returned to its ordinary color. Brother Talfryn and the others weren’t in sight. So many questions buzzed in Sister Mor’s skull, and she couldn’t find the courage to let them out just yet. One did persist, sitting on her tongue until, at last, she had to breathe and set it free.

“Why do you have stewardship over this place?”

Hulda opened her mouth, left it open, gave a slow sigh, and finally said, “It’s a long story, and I’m not ready to tell it. But … I will tell you that the One who placed this duty on me gave you the same duty to help the fjallfolk.”

Sister Mor didn’t bother hiding her astonishment. She found her nerve again soon enough. “And who is that?”

A raised eyebrow. “Who else could it be?”

One moment, Sister Mor was stone. The next, she bubbled with laughter. She swallowed it, feeling rude for disrupting the forest with the noise. “But you don’t know anything about Him.”

Hulda had her turn to laugh. “The things I could tell you! But not now.”

The staff seemed to agree: it began to shoot its lines of light upward.

“Either this will return us to your proper time,” said Hulda, “or to my next appointment.”

In that respect, Sister Mor had no excuse to hesitate. She steered her hand to a spot on the staff just a little below Hulda’s overlapping fingers. A few frantic heartbeats later, they entered the blackness, then reentered the forest. This time, their sleeping companions surrounded them.

“There. Off to bed with you,” said Hulda.

Almost as soon as Sister Mor took her hand off the staff, it glowed again. Her stomach flew up like water when a stone drops into it, and in the same way, it settled again. She touched the staff.

Hulda frowned. “What—?”

“Will any time be lost?” Sister Mor asked.

“… no. Not if we’re brought back to this same moment.”

Sister Mor bit her lip and nodded. Her fingers clenched around the wood.

Hulda made that same bewildered scowl as the one in the cemetery. It couldn’t stop a smile, the biggest one yet from the grim lady. “As if I don’t have enough to worry about.”

“I’ll help you,” said Sister Mor seriously. “Haven’t I already?”

An intrigued hum. “We will see.”

They vanished into the air.

[nostalgiachan]

What's this? Two art posts in one day? Bah gawd. Yes, it's 100 OC Challenge Time!

But yes, since I already cleaned up these images for that group image I posted, it's time for the individual images, the OG designs from 2010, and character descriptions below the cut.

#57: Illus Artemida Idea: Arrogant elven archer Story: Dragon Tavern

Of course, my second Mountain Kingdoms squad wasn't going to go without a Moon Elf representative, so I rolled up the other Moon Elf class - because Moon Elves and Dwarves have two specific classes each - the Ranger.

Illus, like most of the Seekers, got most of his development with his first redesign in 2017. In particular, I built his design around two inspirations: Kenpachi Zaraki from Bleach and the uniforms of the Mongolian State Honor Guard. Illus had always been a bit flamboyantly designed, and I decided to make that a character gimmick. Basically, Illus is an incredibly talented Ranger and he knows it. Though he's fairly mild of temperament and doesn't tend to verbally boast, he so thoroughly believes in his skills that he wears brightly colored clothes, puts shiny crystal beads in his hair, wears loud and heavy silver bangles, and has sleigh bells dangling from his torso and tied to his ankles; in his words, "You will see me coming. You will hear me coming. You will not stop me."

Also his arm being that long isn't an anatomy fuck-up, Moon Elves are just lanky.

#58: Darja Handrukkari Idea: Dwarven berserker...or should I say, beerserker huehuahueahu Story: Dragon Tavern

When I was making the Seekers, I figured it was high time I stopped being a coward and made a dwarf. Like the Moon Elves, there are two classes specifically for dwarves: Dwarven Earth Sage and Dwarven Berzerker.

Since this squad was missing a melee fighter, Berzerker was the only choice. Unlike the Moon Elves, the Dwarves are still rather a WIP when it comes to lore overhauling. I'd considered having them be created literally from the earth, but uh...I didn't realize that was already a Tolkien thing. Darja herself, unfortunately, is equally a WIP; like most Berzerkers, she's a violently heavy drinker, which makes her a more fearless and unpredictable fighter, and she's rather stubborn and short-tempered.

#59: Faid Innamorata Idea: Puppeteer and Pierrot stan (derogatory) Story: Dragon Tavern

Faid (pronounced "fade") is one of the three characters out of the Seekers who happened to win the development lottery and get a little more thought put into her backstory. In the beginning, she was essentially Tira from Soulcalibur, except replace the ring blade with two life-sized puppets. In Dragon Tavern, Dark Puppeteers are a class that puppets various salvaged body parts, and they're noted to go a bit batty thanks to all the concentration required to puppet larger hordes of parts, but I thought "Fuck that, I want her to have full marionettes because killer dolls are cool." Her particular madness was essentially cribbed from Tira's Jolly and Gloomy modes; when she did small-scale puppet shows, she'd be jolly, and when controlling her full puppets in battle, she'd be gloomy.

And then years later, I tossed that. I kept the puppets and the madness, but the new backstory is as follows:

When Faid was at the dawn of puberty, she was a massive fan of one Pierrot Douleur; she'd go to as many of his performances as she could, bought multiple copies of his wax cylinders (because she'd inevitably wear one out, so she needed backups), and even took up puppeteering in the hopes that she could one day go on tour with him. And then three years later, he fell off the face of the earth. As far as anyone knew, he'd gone out beyond the borders of the Deadlands to "find inspiration". It would be another six years before Faid would actually find out what happened to him - or, more specifically, that the Gate Council would put out a reward for his capture.

In that time, Faid had become skilled enough in puppetry that she could control two life-sized puppets, a masculine doll named Silvio and a feminine doll named Vittoria.

However, she'd pushed herself far too hard far too quickly in trying to get that skilled, and between the stress of training and the general havoc of adolescent hormones over the years, she was already approaching the deep end. By the time she heads out into the world and joins up with two compatriots, the Death Knight Lusine and the Bone Lord Sirno, she's begun to see her puppets as living beings - when she's not in her right mind, she believes she's in love with Silvio and that Vittoria is conspiring to steal him from her. Over the course of the story, it grows so bad that she violently abuses Vittoria, and plans to make Silvio into a "real boy" - by building him a body out of corpse parts. When she confirms that Pierrot's still alive, her plan changes slightly - she'll either convince him to come away with her, or Silvio's real boy body will be Pierrot's.

#60: Lusine Awaria Idea: The Most Dyingest Death Knight Ever Story: Dragon Tavern

I promise that's not Geralt. When I first drew Lusine in 2016 (after procrastinating on designing him for six or so years because I sucked at drawing heavy armor and horses), I accidentally made him look a bit like Geralt face-wise. With this redesign, I decided to lean into it more and directly reference a popular Geralt cosplayer because I thought it would be funny to have a guy who looks like your typical post-Geralt grizzled fantasy man, but who 100% sucks at his job.

See, if there was anything Lusine came to be known for as I played him, it was dying. I want to say he died in battle more than any other character I have, which is baffling considering he's a heavily-armored death wizard on a mighty steed. So, I made that the defining feature of his character.

Death Knights are essentially undead paladins; through a particularly complicated and resource-intensive ritual, a candidate for knighthood is trapped in a state of undeath. They're not completely immortal, as eventually the magic keeping them from passing through the Death Gate completely will wane, but until that time, they can only be temporarily killed . They're supposed to present a middle ground between the magic-oriented Necromancers and the melee-oriented Bone Lords, what with their combination of sword and sorcery.

But then there's Lusine. While Death Knight candidates are typically chosen from among the most elite soldiers of the Deadlands, and Lusine was presumably one of them, something must have changed once he underwent the ritual. Perhaps the process severely dulled his combat prowess and magical capabilities, perhaps he was suddenly possessed by a spirit with ill intent, or perhaps he was never actually a capable soldier at all.

Whatever the cause, the truth of the matter is that Lusine has died more than any Death Knight in history. Creatures big and small, magic wielders of all kinds, sentient being and automaton alike, all have at one time or another laid waste to this man. And yet, for all of his constant failure, he always manages to fail upwards. He'll get disemboweled six ways from Sunday and lose a limb or four, but somehow, he always wins the day. Surely, if the Gate Council could see the embarrassing displays Lusine put on in combat, they'd undo the ritual and put the man right through the Death Gate immediately.

Well, lucky him, he works alone so there's only the results to speak for him. Yet, despite his ability to fail upwards, Lusine feels that eventually, someone's going to actually catch wind of what a fuck-up he is and it'll all be over. So, when word is sent out about the Seekers, he jumps at the chance to get the hell out of the Deadlands for a while; perhaps by going out into the wider world, he can finally get his shit together and become an actually competent Death Knight.

[oldtvandcomics]

Happy Queer Media Monday!

Today: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

It is often cited as a Christmas story, but actually, both confrontations with the Green Knight take place on New Year’s Day.

(My paperback copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the Tolkien translation. Picture taken in front of my parents' Christmas tree, with two of my figurines: The Knight With An Axe and The Enchantress.)

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a 14th century chivalric poem, author unknown, about King Arthur’s nephew, Sir Gawain, and his encounter with the mystical Green Knight.

On New Year’s Day, a knight dressed completely in green with green hair and beard rides into King Arthur’s court, and challenges the assembled knights to a game: They may give him a blow with an axe, and in a year, he will give the exact same blow back. Sir Gawain is the one to take him up on the offer, and cleanly beheads him. At which point the knight picks up his head and tells Gawain to come find him in a year, which Gawain does. On his way, he stops to spend Christmas at a castle, where the Lord challenges him to yet another game: An exchange of gifts. He goes out hunting, while Gawain stays at home to rest, and at the end of the day, they both give the other what they find. The Lady of the castle immediately starts hitting on Gawain, putting him in an uncomfortable position where he can’t insult her by refusing her advances, and also can’t accept them because he can’t just sleep with the wife of the man whose home he’s staying in. In the end, he ends up accepting a kiss from her each day, which he all gives to the Lord in the evening. The third day, he also accepts a belt that is supposed to make him invulnerable, which he keeps. On New Year’s Day, he meets with the Green Knight, who doesn’t behead him, but tells him off for having kept the belt. As it turns out, he and the Lord of the castle are the same person, and he’d been working together with his wife to test Gawain.

This text is a very important part of literature history, as it is one of the best-known Arthurian stories and keeps inspiring storytellers to this day. There have been many adaptations, the most recent example being the 2021 movie The Green Knight, though it does take a lot of liberties with the story. 

It is also an important part of queer literature. Though the Middle Ages is a very different culture, so determining the sexuality of its heroes is tricky at best, Sir Gawain as a character can be easily read as bisexual, in a large part because of this text. I recommend this video by YouTuber Kaz Rowe for some further analysis.

If you want to experience this story for yourself, then a version of it is available as audiobook on LibriVox. Or you can read this comic adaptation (picked somewhat at random) by Emily Cheeseman. I know that there are many others, so I would like to ask everyone to add their own favorite adaptations of this story.

Queer Media Monday is an action I started to talk about some important and/or interesting parts of our queer heritage, that people, especially young people who are only just beginning to discover the wealth of stories out there, should be aware of. Please feel free to join in on the fun and make your own posts about things you personally find important!

[bakuliwrites]

Fanfic Writer Questionnaire

I found this great questionnaire! Post is here. I thought I would answer these for fun. I'd love to see other fanfic writer's answers to these as well, if you want!

List all the fandoms you have written in:

The Arcana, Fire Emblem, Jujutsu Kaisen, The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings, My Hero Academia, Castlevania, The Elder Scrolls

How many published fics have you written?

I currently have 22 up on AO3! And a smattering of random Tumblr exclusive short fics.

In terms of wordcount, in which fandom have you written the most?

The Arcana, by far. My total word count for the fandom (excluding headcanons and Tumblr-exclusive fics) is 153,453 words.

At the moment, which one of your fics is your favorite/you are the most proud of? (you can include unpublished fics)

I am definitely most proud of End Up Here. It's my longest work yet and has been an incredible journey so far. It's helped me prove to myself that I a) can write something novel length and b) can stick with one project and be dedicated to it. I feel like it's my love letter to the Arcana, as a piece of media that has helped me find my voice.

Which writer (fanfiction or not) inspires your own work?

J.R.R. Tolkien and Kazuo Ishiguro (mostly in my non-fanfiction writing, but I'm sure they've inevitably inspired elements of my fanfic writing in some way or another, too).

What was your first fanfic about?

Oh gosh. If we are talking very first fanfic that has never seen the light of day, then Star Trek: Deep Space 9 and Star Trek: Voyager (back when I was like 11 or 12 haha). But if we are talking published ones, then it was a spicy Xander x Reader for Fire Emblem: Fates.

Out of all the characters whose POV you have written, which one do you feel you identify the most with?

Great question. Probably Julian Devorak. But I don't necessarily feel that I fully identify with any of them. Just elements of each character I write about, in one way or another. But Julian's tendency towards feeling guilty for things he didn't do and his journey to accept his own strength are things that resonate with me.

What do you feel is your biggest challenge when writing?

Overcoming the idea of perfectionism. I have the tendency to get frustrated and scrap everything when I feel like it's not up to the standard I want it to be. But I'm trying to remind myself that a first draft is a first draft for a reason: it does not have to be perfect. End Up Here has really helped me in learning that lesson, since I write each chapter as I go. There's only one round of me editing each chapter before I publish it, so it's been a huge learning curve for me. And freeing as well.

Do you generally outline your fics or do you prefer to write spontaneously and then revise?

I do a skeleton of an outline and scribble unintelligible notes on scraps of paper or in my notes app on my phone. But a lot of my writing now is just me going with the flow and letting the characters tell me the story. I used to plan a lot, but it became sort of toxic for me and my tendency towards perfectionism, so I stopped being so precise about it. I let things change as they need to.

Which one of your fanfics has the most hits? the most comments? the most kudos? (if applicable)

Intimate has the most by far on AO3! And Upon a Forest Throne has the most on Tumblr. Thank you to everyone for the support and all your many kindnesses 💜

What proportion, if any, of your fics are rated M or above (# of M-plus fics/ total # of fics)?

86% of my fics are rated M or above. I mostly write adult content.

Finally, tease us with the title of one of your upcoming fics:

So, I'm going to come out with a Gojo x Nanami x Reader fic sometime in the future. I plan on calling it Starlight. Here's a teeny little snippet from it:

How Satoru manages to trap infinity in his eyes is a mystery to you. His blindingly azure gaze meets yours, a vast expanse of twinkling starlight imprisoned in icy pools of blue. You glance to the side, met with Kento's softer, brown eyes. He is the sun, radiant and warm, the quiet light of early dawn and late evening. This must be what it feels like to be enveloped by the very fibers of the universe. Held in a delicate balance.

Thank you for reading! This questionnaire was super fun to answer :)

[apple835]

A long yet respectful rant about The Rings of Power

This are my thoughts and comments after watching the first four episodes, and although I want to clarify this is not a hate post, it is a negative review of sorts, and this doesn't mean that you should stop watching it if you enjoy it. With that out of the way.

I am of the posture that the Silmarillion and second age of middle earth should not be adapted, it's simply too monumental of a task and it would require a lot to keep them both faithful to the books and entertaining to the audience.

I had my doubts from the very beginning regarding the Rings of Power because there were some questionable choices made on the first stages of production, however I tried to watch it with an open mind, understanding the limitations and challenges of having split rights, I truly wanted to like it, even as a sort of inspired tv show, after all videogames like Shadow of Mordor exist and they are good even if they have nothing to do with Tolkien's works. So I'll number my issues, but I'll also try to point out some good things in the series, few as they may be.

Is it truly an adaptation?

I believe that as an adaptation, even if you can and should take some liberties in order to make it enjoyable in the new medium, should follow certain key points, certain plot lines, certain events that lead to a cohesive storyline, but if you alter it to the point it's unrecognizable from its source then why take the names? Why not make a new story? And yes, I know greedy capitalists, but let's only judge the series itself here, we'll talk about Amazon later.

Now, let's buy for a moment that they do in fact struggled to make sense of the few things written about the second age and had to add new characters in order to make it coherent. That still doesn't justify some of the changes they made, the had the rights to a lot of it and simply decided not to add it which leads me to

Galadriel

I hate her, not because she's stubborn and revenge driven, but because that's not what Galadriel is meant to be, to have her running around, flirting with some mortal dude, and screaming her way out of things is exactly everything she is not, she as a character is meant to be this elegant and classic woman whose strength lies on her words and influence, not her sword, she is strong because she is calm and wise, because of her femininity not in spite of it, and is also very much married which is also an important part of her character to the point 90% of the time they are referred to as "Galadriel AND Celeborn", and they do have the rights to it, why they chose to eliminate him is beyond me. It is this same kind of fundamental misunderstanding of the few books characters they have that makes this a whole different story.

Elrond being an ambitious politician? Dwarf friend instead of Celebrimbor? Swearing an oath? Elrond who specifically turned down kingship and told the fellowship not to make an oath because of how dangerous they could be? How can you misunderstand a character so fundamentally that you have them be everything they specifically are not.

The many plotlines

Why? They shrunk the timeline in order to fit both the forge of the rings, war with Eregion and Numenor's fall in a couple of years, all these are supposed to happen simultaneously (and I understand why they chose to do this so I won't complain about this); they are cramping all these events in a single moment, why would they need so many plots? I'll number them so far

Galadriel's revenge

Elrond's visit to the Dwarves

Celebrimbor building his forge

The Hobbits that are not called Hobbits alongside meteor man that is totally not Gandalf.

The elf-mortal romance in the southlands which subdivides into the elf meeting a Sauron wannabe, the woman leading the escape and the son having Sauron's sword I think.

Parallel to Galadriel's we have that man whose name I forgot but it's totally not Sauron

Elendil and Isildur family drama

7 plotlines out of which none are truly compelling or engaging, to be honest they are quite boring and half of the characters are downright annoying, and if not they are simply boring. The episodes are over an hour long, so why has nothing happened? The plot has not advanced in the slightest, even ignoring the liberties taken it's a boring series, and that's even worse than not being fateful to its source.

The characterization

The costumes are awful, there's no other way to describe them other than boring and plain, there's not a single moment in which I felt at awe, particularly when talking about the elves, they are supposed to be otherworldly so why do they look so plain? And yes, it's the lack of wigs and horrible choice to have their hair look like Harry Styles (no offense to him) but that's not a magical look for magical creatures that live forever and yes, the casting itself is awful Not because the black elf dude but because none of them feel like they are another race of immortal people and that's again a characterization problem, it's an awful cast because the ages are all off, Galadriel is the oldest of them all, why are they treating her like a child? Why does Celebrimbor looks so old in comparison? The Dwarves are ok though, the mortals too but again, the characters are as boring as their looks, and the Hobbits that are not Hobbits? They are the worst of it all, they bore me to tears and their costumes are jarring to look at, a complete eyesore, not a cast problem though

One praise

The scenarios are gorgeous, Numenor and Eregion particularly, they do feel like someone understood these places and put a lot of effort into making them feel as they should, so props there.

Final thoughts

I know why Amazon put Tolkien's name on this thing, again greedy capitalists, but they I still feel like someone at some point could have chosen to do this different but did not, and that goes beyond the greedy corporation desires, they gave the money, it's the showrunners who decided to be incompetent and ended up with something that is both and awful adaptation and a boring tv show, and it makes me sad because as much as I'm against adapting the professor's works I also believe they could have done a masterpiece like Peter Jackson LotR, which most agree are perfect adaptations, and it makes me sad rather than angry (which I still am)

For me it's a skip, if a show doesn't catch me in 3 episodes I'm out, no matter how much they put Tolkien's name on it.

Again, if you enjoy that's also fine, this is merely my opinion

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 9

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3k

Rating: T (some chapters E)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, life has been a bit hectic lately! Special thanks to @linasofia for helping me out with this one and always being there to send me inspiring photos or to send virtual hugs when I struggle with my writing. Love you wifey 💙

Read on AO3

In the following weeks, Richard and I grow even closer as we settle into the new rhythm of our shared life. At the college, we act as though we are nothing but colleagues, though we often can’t help but share lingering glances and soft smiles during meetings or across hallways. Then the night comes. Some evenings, we are both too busy with research or correcting, but usually, we work side by side, either at his house or my flat. We cook for each other, exchange advice over our papers or discuss books we are reading, and make love as often as we can. In other words, I have never been happier.

Fortunately, my worries about dating a colleague don’t seem to have had any real founding. Not only is it relatively easy to keep our relationship a secret—although it is hard not being able to go to the restaurant or the movies together, or even just for a walk outside—but it only fuels the passion between us. When no one is looking, Richard sometimes sends me the most intense gazes, or he will brush my hips imperceptibly as he passes by me. The notion that each glance, each touch between us is forbidden is incredibly arousing, and when we are finally alone, all the pent-up desire of the day comes crashing down and brings us to new heights of pleasure I would never have imagined could be possible. Just last night, I was cooking dinner at my flat and the moment he came in, this overwhelming need for him rose inside me, and we ended up making love on the kitchen counter, half-naked as we couldn’t even wait to be fully undressed. Heat rises up my cheeks at the memory, but I force myself not to think about it. Not here, in a classroom, while I’m packing up my things after a lecture.

“Professor Browning?”

“Yes?” I look up as I pull my bag over my shoulder and find one of my students, Jane, smiling at me.

“I was wondering if you had some time to discuss my paper topic quickly?” she asks.

“Of course! I’m going up to my office right now, but we can talk on the way,” I say as we head out into the packed hallway.

“I found both the prompt on ecocriticism and the one about literary influences really interesting and I wondered if it might be possible to combine them?

“Absolutely! I’m guessing you had something specific in mind?”

Smiling, she nods and says, “I’m interested in analyzing the significance of trees in Shakespeare and Tolkien.”

“That’s a great idea!” I say, smiling knowingly as we climb the large staircase leading to the offices. “Do you know what texts you’ll be focusing on?”

“I was thinking Lord of the Rings and Leaf by Niggle. For Shakespeare—definitely The Tempest, but Macbeth seems too obvious, so I still need to figure that out.”

As we reach my office, I place the keys in the lock and glance toward Richard’s office, trying to discern if he’s still here. “Oh,” I say in sudden realization, “do you know Professor Armitage?”

Jane’s eyes light up at the mention of his name and I have to bite my cheek to stop myself from smiling. “Yes, I know him! I’ve taken all his classes in the past two years—he’s great!”

“Yes, well, you could go to him and discuss your idea with him. I know he’d be more than happy to give you some suggestions.”

“Alright, I’ll do that!” she replies, her smile growing wider. “Thank you so much, professor. Have a great weekend!”

“You too, Jane!”

As she turns and heads toward the stairs, I step into my office, chuckling to myself and wondering if Richard knows how many of his students have a crush on him. Then a familiar hand stops me from closing the door.

“I was just thinking about you,” I remark as we step inside and he closes the door before anyone can see us.

He raises his eyebrows and smiles. “You were?”

Richard leans against the old wooden door, the soft umber of his tweed jacket the colour of the bookshelves that fill the walls of my office. The dark waves of his hair glow in the light of the setting sun which fills the room, and I can’t help but think how perfect he looks—as if he had been made to stand in these ancient rooms and all the knowledge they hold belonged to him.

“Yes, you see, I was just with one of your groupies.” I cross the room to set my books on my desk then turn to face him, smiling at the expression of utter confusion on his handsome face as he walks toward me, his arms now crossed over his chest so that his hands rest over the elbow patches on his jacket.

“My … what?”

“You groupies!” He continues to stare at me. “You really don’t know do you?”

“I know you’re not making any sense right now.”

Chuckling, I move toward him to wrap my arms around his chest. “I was just talking with Jane Taylor—apparently she’s taken all your classes in the last two years.”

Richard nods. “So?”

“Well, she’s in my Tolkien class and she just told me about a brilliant idea for her paper, but she wants to make a comparative argument with Shakespeare as well, so I told her she should go to you and ask for some advice. I tell you, the way her eyes lit up when I mentioned you … it’s true love.”

“Lorelei.”

“What?” I chuckle. “She’s not the only one, you know. You walk past them in the hallways and they just …” I press my hand over my chest and let out an overly dramatic sigh.

“Stop that,” he groans. “Jane Taylor asked me if I wanted to be her supervisor for her thesis. Why would you tell me that?”

I press my lips together and caress his back, feeling slightly guilty, but I love teasing him too much and I know he doesn’t really mind it. “Seriously, I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

The frown on his face recedes and he offers me a tender smile, gazing deeply into my eyes. “Well, my mind was rather preoccupied with a certain groupie all these months.” Then, he leans in to kiss me, his lips soft against mine while his beard scratches my cheeks in that familiar, deeply intoxicating way.

When he pulls away, I smile and raise a hand to caress his hair. “You might want to pay attention to your students, Professor Armitage. It wouldn’t do for them to notice how distracted you are.”

“Hm, well maybe you should stop wearing low-cut blouses to work,” he replies teasingly, an enticing smirk floating to his lips.

I chuckle and shake my head, then ask, “Did you want something?” because I know that if there was a reason for his visit he’s on the verge of forgetting all about it.

Richard wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly against him. “Do I need a reason to come see my girlfriend?” he says in a low, rumbling voice before pressing his lips against mine, and without thinking, I let my hands slide down to the hem of his shirt, then slip beneath it to skim his warm skin. His responding groan sends a familiar, pleasant wave of heat through me, and I have to force myself to pull away. “But as a matter of fact,” he goes on, squeezing me tight against him, “I did want to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“What are you doing next weekend?”

“Hm, finals aren’t until the week after so I won’t be overwhelmed with correcting yet,” I ponder. “So, nothing, I think. Why?”

“Well, I told you about the British Shakespeare Association conference, right?” he asks and I nod. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come with me?”

A smile floats to my lips as I note the shyness in his voice. “To the conference?”

“It’s in Bath this year. The papers are only a few hours each day, so I was thinking I can go for a little while, present my paper, and then we’d have the rest of the weekend to ourselves. It would be nice to be able to go out in public for a change.…”

My smile widens. “I would love that!”

“Yeah?” Hope flashes in his eyes as though he had been worried I would reject his offer, so I hug him tightly.

“Yeah,” I repeat, then rise up on my tiptoes to press my lips against him. “And I’d love to listen to your paper—if you don’t mind.”

Richard looks away, shaking his head. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Richard, please, I want to,” I say, reaching out to force him to look back at me.

“You do?”

“Yes, I do,” I repeat emphatically. “I love hearing you talk about your research. You’re an amazing scholar and an even more amazing speaker. You’re so knowledgeable and passionate, it’s—it’s beautiful to watch.” A blush creeps onto his cheeks beneath his beard, and I smile softly.

“Alright,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat. “You can come for my paper.”

“Thank you,” I reply before welcoming his lips against mine once more.

The sound of approaching footsteps against the old wooden floor in the hallway makes us pull apart, but soon they fade away, leaving our secret safe.

“So, what time do you get home tomorrow?” Richard asks as he moves away to lean against the backrest of the armchair behind him.

“Er, the seminar goes until five so I should be home by 7,” I tell him, the fear of being discovered lingering inside me, tightening my chest.

“How about I come by and cook you dinner?”

“You’re perfect,” I say with a sigh, causing him to chuckle. “My knight in shining armour.”

“At your service, princess,” he replies with a wink.

My heart flutters in my chest, but I say, “Oh, I am not a princess. I am a badass warrior queen, thank you very much.”

Richard’s responding laugh is warm like the golden sun that pours in through the diamond grid window, and I melt as it caresses me, all worries gone from my mind.

“Alright then, see you tomorrow, my badass warrior queen.”

***

The following evening, I get home with a head even more full of ideas than my messy notebook. Richard called me an hour ago to let me know he would be here around 7:30, which leaves me with enough time to change into something more comfortable and do some work before he gets here. Unfortunately, my phone rings as soon as I sit at my desk and open my laptop, and I can’t hold back my sigh when I see that it’s my mum.

“Hi, mum,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

“Hi, darling, are you busy?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” I reply somewhat reluctantly. “How are you?”

“I’m great! What about you—how is everything? We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry about that—I’ve been really busy. But I’m good. Really good. And work is just as amazing as it was the first day,” I say, smiling to myself while I glance over my emails.

“Oh, that’s good! I’m really glad to hear that,” she says. “Listen, your father and I would love for you to visit soon. You could come for dinner or—”

At that moment, the front door opens and Richard walks in. When his eyes fall upon me, he lifts up a bag of groceries and says, “I bring gifts for my queen—”

I immediately wave my free hand to silence him, but it’s too late.

“What was that?” my mum asks on the other end of the line. “Was that a man?”

“What?” I say while continuing to wave my hand as Richard looks at me with a puzzled frown.

“That was a man!” my mum exclaims. “Lorelei, are you seeing someone?”

“Mum, you don’t even know where I am—for all you know I could be on the street! And, I’m obviously not dating all the men out on the street that you might happen to overhear on the phone.”

“Are you on the street?” she asks pointedly.

A pause.

“No.”

“So are you?”

With a sigh, I turn to watch as Richard sets the groceries on the kitchen island, still eyeing me curiously. “Yes, I am.”

“Really?” I can almost see her surprised, but pleased smile as she speaks, and despite everything, I find myself smiling with her. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Since when? Why haven’t you told me about this?”

“Sorry, I’ve been so busy with work. …”

Guilt creeps up my neck at the excuse, and I know I won’t be able to evade the subject forever, but the last thing I want right now is for her to pass judgment on my relationship.

“Well I must meet this mystery man! You should both come over for dinner soon—”

“Oh, I don’t know—we’re both really busy lately,” I reply quickly, biting my lower lip.

She ignores me and says, “How does next weekend sound?”

“We can’t—he has work stuff.” I smile to myself once more at the thought of a whole weekend in Bath with Richard, free to go out in public without the fear of bumping into someone from work.

“How about the weekend after that? The 6th of November.”

“Uhhhh, I don’t know—”

“Wonderful!” she interjects, completely ignoring me once more. “We’ll see you then. Have a good evening, Lorelei.”

And with that, she hangs up and I let out a deep groan.

“What’s wrong?” Richard asks.

“That was my mum,” I begin as I walk over to the kitchen and accept the glass of wine he offers me with a grateful smile. “She wants to meet you and have dinner with us.”

Richard wraps an arm around my shoulders to pull me toward him. “Is that so terrible?”

“What—no, it’s not terrible. It’s just—I don’t know, I’m a bit nervous….”

“Why?” he asks, but he’s not insistent, only concerned. “I thought you and your parents got along really well.”

“We do, I’m just a bit worried about how they’ll react … to you,” I stammer, avoiding his eyes. A moment of silence follows, his hand moving to trace a soothing circle against my back, giving me the courage to go on. “I mean, you’re older than me and you’re my colleague. And while that doesn’t matter to me, not anymore,” I hastily add, “it will matter to them.”

“So that’s why you hadn’t told her yet.” When I look up at him, he says, “I figured that from your conversation on the phone. See, I’m a regular Sherlock, too.”

With a chuckle, I wrap my free arm around him and squeeze him tight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell them earlier. It doesn’t mean anything—I hope you know that.”

“I know, don’t worry.” He leans in to press a soft kiss onto my lips, and the tightness in my chest recedes. After a moment, he pulls away and steps out of my embrace. “I’m going to start dinner now.”

“Alright, I just need to finish something quickly and then I can help you. Is that ok?”

“Of course,” he replies with a smile that makes my heart melt. “Do you mind if I put some music on?”

“Not at all,” I answer as I move back to my desk. “You can connect your phone to the speakers or you can browse through my records.”

With that, I turn my attention back to the Word document on my laptop, in which I started to write down some ideas for a new paper. Using the notes I took today, I write a few sentences and possible sources—but then the music starts. I let out a surprised chuckle as I recognize the first notes of ABBA’s Dancing Queen. The sight that greets me when I turn around is even more surprising. Richard is dancing in the kitchen, swaying his hips to the rhythm of the drums. Then, when the vocals kick in, he starts to sing along, using a wooden spoon as a microphone and causing me to burst out laughing.

“You’re crazy,” I giggle as I stand up and walk toward him with my glass of wine in hand, all thoughts of research gone from my mind. “I never would have guessed you were an ABBA fan.”

Richard smiles brightly, still dancing to the music. “If a person doesn’t like ABBA there’s something seriously wrong with them.”

“I’ve always said so,” I concur, smiling up at him. Then, with a small laugh, I say, “Thank God there’s nothing wrong with you.”

Richard laughs as he closes the space between us and kisses me deeply, our lips moving in a sensual dance that is becoming so familiar but never less intoxicating. His arms circle my waist, pressing me against his solid chest, and he starts to sway us from side to side. For a long while, the two of us dance and sing in the kitchen, giggling and sharing soft kisses, as the city outside fades into the night.

Later that evening, as we are reading together in bed, Richard sets the open book on his chest and looks down at me, his lips curling into a tired smile.

“I don’t know if I made that clear earlier, but I really don’t mind meeting your parents. In fact, I would love to meet them.”

“Really?” I ask in surprise, stifling a yawn.

“Of course. They’re an important part of your life—and I want to share every part of your life, Lorelei,” he says, unfaltering, and the tingles in my heart spread through my whole body.

I am so shocked by the honesty and ease with which he speaks these words that it takes me a long while to answer. “I do too, you know?”

We have not known each other very long, yet the words come easy to me. And I mean them. I mean them with my whole heart.

Richard smiles in response before moving to press a soft kiss onto my forehead as he places the book onto his nightstand.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” I reply, smiling as I cuddle against his broad chest.

—

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[fruitcoops]

Could you maybe write a “73 questions with Sirius Black” Vogue one? Or something like that.

Yes! I had never seen these videos before and it was a fun challenge to write. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

The house is large, two stories tall and painted a soft gray with white trim around the windows. Holiday lights have yet to be taken down and shine in all colors of the rainbow from the eaves as the camera crew walks up the front steps. The curtains in the window tremble for a moment, then a dog pokes her head through—she is all-black and curious, and looks quite large.

Dorcas Meadowes knocks on the front door; a moment later, it swings open and reveals Sirius Black. “Hey, guys, come on in! You can leave your shoes by the door inside.”

“Thanks, Sirius.” Dorcas kicks off her flats and follows him inside as he sets a dish towel on the end table and leans against it. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing pretty well. Morning practice was productive and I’m feeling good about our upcoming game.”

“We’re here today to ask you 73 rapid-fire questions while you lead us around. Sound good?”

“Sounds good. You can all come inside instead of freezing on the porch,” he laughs, waving them closer. The door shuts with a gentle click.

“First question: on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“Hmmm. A solid seven.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I do!” Sirius leads them into the other room, where the dog is curled up on the couch below the window; he picks her up and gives her a kiss on the head. “This is Hattie and I love her very much.”

“Cute! If you could do a dramatic love scene in a movie with anyone, who would it be?”

Sirius sets the dog down and thinks for a second. “Aside from my fiancé, I’m going to say James Potter. We would kill it and I don’t think it would be that awkward.”

“What’s the origin of your name?”

“Pretty much my whole family has star-themed names. Sirius is the dog star from Canis Major.”

“Brightest star in the sky, too. What’s one thing people don’t know about you?”

“I’m an introvert. Lots of people assume that I’m super social because of my job, but I’m very quiet in real life.” He walks back out to the entrance and takes the towel off the table, then moves into the kitchen. It’s well-lit and painted a deep, warm red. The countertop is scattered with knickknacks and picture frames—clearly, this is a place people spend a lot of time. Hattie, who followed them in, lays down by the oven with a heavy sigh.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

Sirius reaches up and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. “I wake up around seven am and make coffee while Re is in the shower, then rinse off and get dressed while he makes breakfast. It’s a good system. Want some tea?”

“Sure. What’s your bedtime ritual?”

“I don’t think I have one,” he says as he puts the kettle on and ignites a burner on the stove. “Usually we read or watch a movie, then go up to bed and talk for a while. There’s not a big routine or anything.”

“Sounds nice. What’s your favorite time of day?” Dorcas sits on the other side of the kitchen island while he takes a box of peppermint tea down.

“That’s a tough one. I like the in-between spots, like just after sunrise or dusk. Three in the afternoon is usually pretty chill as well. Does anyone else want a cup?”

There are a few murmurs behind the camera and he takes two more down. “What is one thing no one knows about you?” Dorcas asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “If I told you, everyone would know, and it wouldn’t count.”

“Fair enough. Dream country to visit?”

“Anywhere. I think I want to go to Ireland first, though.” Small wisps of steam begin curling out of the kettle, but it doesn’t whistle.

“Do you ever feel pressure to post things on social media?”

Sirius makes a face. “I used to. Eventually I just got tired of it, you know? The whole point of social media is sharing bits of your life with people and it makes me happy to show off my dog, or Re, or my friends. I post things just for fun now.”

The kettle begins to hiss and he reaches back to turn it off. “Sneakers or skates?”

“Skates.”

“Vintage or new?

“Vintage, especially for t-shirts and sweaters.”

“Who is your biggest role model?”

“Pascal Dumais.” Sirius stops pouring for a moment to look up at the camera. “If you ever get a chance to meet him, listen to what he has to say. You’ll be better for it.”

“Wise words. How do you deal with negativity? Oh, thank you.” Dorcas wraps her hands around the mug and takes a small sip while Sirius passes the other ones to the crew.

“Honestly? I don’t give a shit. It used to really bother me, but I’m happy, I have a job I love, and my family cares about me. Why should I care what people I’ve never met think of me?” He sits on the counter and rests his elbows on his knees, blowing on the hot water.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“My dog, Remus, and my family.” There is no hesitation in his voice.

“Not hockey?”

“I’d be devastated if I couldn’t play, sure, but it’s not the central focus of my life anymore.”

“What’s one ingredient you put in everything?”

“Does salt count?” He winces as he takes a drink. “Ugh, burned my tongue. I put salt on a lot of things because I drink so much water that it throws my balance off.”

“What is something you’re completely bored of right now?”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Gossip columns and tabloids in general.”

Dorcas hums in agreement. “What’s your biggest fear in life?”

“Losing my loved ones.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Window. Anyone walking by always steps on my foot or hits my elbow if I’m in the aisle. Plus, I get a good view and an easy nap spot.”

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

“Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I’m watching for the third time already.” He shakes his head. “It’s just so good.”

“Favorite app?”

He takes a second to think. “Spotify.”

“Secret talent?”

Sirius looks at her over the rim over his cup. “This is going to shock you. Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Hockey.”

“You’re the worst.” Despite her words, Dorcas smiles. “What the most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?”

“Uh, probably going to Europe with some of the guys last year. We had a lot of fun, but it was crazy.”

“I can imagine it was. How would you define yourself in three words?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“And apparently not humble,” Dorcas teases. “Favorite piece of clothing?”

“Hoodies.”

“Clothing item everyone should have?”

“Hoodies.”

A door opens behind them and the camera turns; Remus walks out of the basement, covered in sweat as he wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt and holds his skates in his other hand. “Baby, have you seen…” he trails off when he sees the group of people in the kitchen. Hattie’s tail thumps on the floor. “Um. Hello.”

“Hey, Remus, how are you doing?” Dorcas asks mildly.

The camera pans out to catch both Sirius, who is laughing quietly, and Remus, who flushes pink. “I’m good. I thought you were coming at ten?”

“It’s ten-thirty, sweetheart,” Sirius says, hiding his smile in his tea.

Remus glances at the clock before giving an awkward nod and walking toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take a shower, then. Sorry about that. Uh, carry on.”

“What’s a superpower you would want?” Dorcas asks as soon as he disappears.

Sirius shakes his head with a grin. “Uh, teleportation. That would be really cool.”

“What’s inspiring you in life right now?”

“Ah, une grande question.” He thinks, then tilts his head toward the staircase. “Moments like that. And the Stanley Cup, of course.” He reaches back and knocks on the wooden cupboard.

“What cause is closest to your heart?”

“LGBT+ rights, especially trans rights. I’m privileged enough to have a platform and I intend to be loud as hell about that.”

“Good.” Dorcas sets her almost-empty mug on the table. “What’s one thing you’d say to your teenage self?”

Sirius lets out a long breath and drums his hands on the light blue ceramic of his cup. “I would say…it gets better. It really, really does. You’re going to feel super shitty for just a little bit longer, but then I promise you will be so incredibly happy that you wake up every morning and it hits you all over again.”

Dorcas nods, and the kitchen is quiet for a moment. “What’s a book that everyone should read?”

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R Tolkien.”

“What would you like to be remembered for?”

“This is going to sound so corny, but I want to be remembered for just being a good person.”

“That’s not corny. How do you define beauty?”

“Remus Lupin.”

“That’s corny,” she laughs, making him smile. “What do you love most about your body?”

“I’m a big guy, which can be a little bit intimidating, but it means I give really great hugs. I’m sure everyone saw the video that went around a while ago.”

“Cap Cuddles?”

He snorts. “Right. You’ve got Finn O’Hara to thank for that.”

“In your opinion, what’s the best way to take a rest or decompress?”

“Being alone,” Sirius says. “There is literally nothing better than getting home and sitting down with a book or something while I can hear Re doing his own thing and Hattie’s napping. It’s one of my favorite parts of the afternoon.”

“That’s the most introverted thing you’ve ever said.” Dorcas grins and finishes her tea just as a faint beeping noise begins in another room. “What’s your favorite way to experience art?”

“Through music, for sure.” He slides off the counter and walks down the hall, leading them toward the laundry room. He gives the camera crew a look as he pulls dry clothes out of the machine and heads back to the living room. “What? Did you think I didn’t do my own laundry?”

“You lost a sock,” Dorcas informs him, picking it off the ground and laying it on top of his head.

“Thanks, D.”

“What question do people ask that you wish they wouldn’t?”

“Lots of people have asked me when I decided to be gay, which is wrong on so many levels.”

“If you could master one instrument, what would it be?”

“Guitar or piano.” He dumps the load of laundry on the couch and opens the back door, holding it for the crew as they walk out into the sunshine. Hattie weaves through their legs and disappears into the bushes along the back.

“I might have to take your dog home with me. If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Sirius mock-glares at her. “Let me have my girl! Um, I would love to have a tattoo somewhere on my arm.”

“This might be a hard one. Dolphins or koalas?”

“Oh, that is hard. Probably dolphins. The ocean is terrifying but those little guys are just having a blast.”

“What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?” Dorcas asks as he picks up a tennis ball and throws it across the yard. Hattie emerges from the bushes and races after it in a blur of black fur.

“An engagement ring.”

“Yeah, it was.” Remus walks into the backyard and kisses Sirius’ cheek before bending down to catch Hattie in his arms. His hair is still damp from the shower. “Hello, sweet girl!”

“Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Queen.” Sirius laughs at her surprised look. “I’m gay, what did you expect?”

“True. What’s your favorite board game?”

“Monopoly.” Remus and Hattie disappear from the frame, but the bouncing sound of the tennis ball creates some background noise and Sirius watches them for a moment with pure affection.

“Favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Least favorite color?”

“Orange.”

“Bowties or knot ties?”

He frowns. “Don’t they all have knots?”

“Smartass.”

“Yep! Uh, regular ties.”

“Bowties are superior!” Remus calls.

“Get your own questions!” Sirius laughs.

“Going off your music answers: records or CDs?”

“I don’t own a lot of records, so I’m going to have to go with CDs. I love the way vinyl sounds, though.” His eyes widen as he looks to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Remus wheezes. “I didn’t need those ribs anyway.”

“For the viewers, the dog just football-tackled him into the grass,” Sirius says, and Dorcas snorts.

“Your hair is famously luscious. Blow-dry or air-dry?”

“Air dry.”

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, but tea is nice in the evenings.”

“What’s the weirdest word in the English language?”

Sirius laughs. “There are so many. Uh, ‘jeez’ is the one that comes to mind first.”

“What about the French language?”

“Oiseaux,” he says in a crisp accent. “It means ‘birds’, and you pronounce about three of the actual letters.”

“Good to know. Do you prefer dark chocolate or milk chocolate?”

“Dark chocolate.”

“Stairs or elevators?”

“Elevators. I don’t want to walk up three floors after playing hockey for two and a half hours.”

“Summer or winter?”

Sirius bites his lip in thought as they walk around the yard, where small flowers line the fence in beds and colorful pots. “I love summer because I have actual free time to be with my friends, but winter is hockey season. I don’t know, next question.”

“What’s a dessert you don’t like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of caramel. It’s too sticky.”

“A skill you’re working on mastering?”

“Will you ban me from more interviews if I say hockey?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’m working on keeping plants alive, as you can probably see.” He taps the nearest flowerpot gently with his foot; it has ‘Harry’ painted across it in sloppy blue letters. “My godson made that for my birthday.”

“What’s the best thing to happen to you today?”

“This, for sure,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t seen you and Marley in ages.”

“We missed you, too. What’s the worst thing that happened to you today?”

He pouts slightly. “Burning my tongue on tea.”

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Hugs! Though I’ll accept kisses from a few very specific people.”

“Do you have a favorite smell?”

He pauses and cranes his neck to look behind the cameras. “Re?”

“Yeah?”

“What shampoo do you use?”

“Uhhh…” There’s a moment of quiet. “It’s something with lavender, I think.”

Sirius turns back to Dorcas. “Something with lavender.”

“How specific,” she laughs. “What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

He smiles to himself. “There was a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, that came to one of the games earlier this season. I saw her standing with a puck and went over, and while I was signing it she looks at me and says, ‘you are exactly what I wish my older brother was like’. Turns out, she was bisexual and her brother wasn’t super accepting of her. That was…” He shakes his head. “That meant the world to me. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve definitely made a big impact on the community,” Dorcas agrees. “What’s the last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?”

“I watched ‘Soul’ the other night and almost had to pause it at one point to pull myself together.”

“Do you prefer animated movies or live-action?”

“Animated, mostly because I wasn’t allowed to watch Disney movies as a kid, so I’ve been catching up as an adult and they rock.”

“What’s your nerdiest quality?

“I love watching documentaries.”

“Sweet or savory?” The back door creaks a bit as they walk back inside and the camera catches a few frames of Hattie and Remus running around the yard together.

“Sweet.”

“In ten years, you have a daughter. What age do you let her date?”

Sirius gives Dorcas a look. “Whenever she wants to. I’m going to impose curfews and stuff, but I’m the last person on the planet to police her love life.”

“Good answer. What’s a song you can listen to on repeat?”

“Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. Absolute banger.”

“If you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be?”

“Arthur Weasley,” he says after a moment. “I would love to know what it feels like to get up in the morning and know you’re about to spend another day wrangling our team. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed us all with his clipboard.”

“How do you know you’re in love?”

“Oh.” Sirius blinks at her in surprise at the sudden topic change. “Well, for me, I think it’s just…being comfortable around someone. Being able to spend time with them without saying anything and knowing you’re safe, no matter what. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“What are you most excited about at this time in your life?”

A slight smile crinkles his eyes. “Getting married. That’s going to be awesome.”

“Who is your go-to for having a good laugh?”

“James Potter. He’s the best, and I love him.”

“Last question,” Dorcas says, sliding her list into her pocket. “Many LGBT+ people, especially teenagers, have spoken about how you’re an inspiration. Any words for them?”

Sirius hums in thought. “First of all, thank you for being so open and welcoming. I would never have expected the sheer force of people’s love to come through like that when so many people were saying horrible things. Second, to any kids out there who need to hear it: I’m proud of you. It takes a lot to be true to yourself and even if you’re still in the closet, you’re just as valid as the rest of us. Stay proud.”

“That’s a wrap.” Dorcas gives him a quick hug that he happily returns. “Thanks for letting us crash your morning, Cap.”

“Any time. Thanks for tuning in to Lion Pride, everyone!”

[kittenshift-17]

Hi! I've really been craving some snamione fics, and your writing has made me picky 😬 do you have any fic recs or authors you go to when you're wanting something good? (the spicier the better)

Girl, you came to the right place. My Snamione loving heart is all aflutter. MY TIME HAS COME!! 

*scampers off to fetch list to all her fave Snamiones in no particular order*

Self Slain Gods on Strange Altars by scumblackentropy What do you want me to say, Granger? That you are mine and I am yours? You are. I am. Let's not fuck around.

Pet Project by Caeria Hermione overhears something she shouldn't concerning Professor Snape and decides that maybe the House-elves aren't the only ones in need of protection.

FALLING FURTHER IN by kaz2 Hermione begins to learn something of the man behind the dark sarcasms of the classroom.

Chasing The Sun by Loten AU, from Order of the Phoenix onwards. Hermione only wanted to learn Healing; she discovers that Professor Snape is a human being after all, and his actions dramatically shape the course of the war as events unfold. Complete.

Pride of Time by Anubis Ankh Hermione quite literally crashes her way back through time by roughly twenty years. There is no going back; the only way is to go forward. And when one unwittingly interferes with time, what one expects may not be what time finds...

Inkspots by mezzosangue When you are a double spy with two masters, no one is a friend. But the war ended last May, and Severus is now his own man. An owl brings a letter of change, but is it a good change? Canon Compliant, disregards Epilogue. Eventual SS/HG romance.

Splintered and Broken by A plus He had watched as the thin wood snapped across her knee with a violence he had not known she possessed. He had been her teacher for seven years and had never seen this girl give up at anything. Voldemort wins, Hermione leaves, Severus waits.

The Tattered Man by Aurette I was once asked to write a Marriage Law Challenge fic by someone who loves a sad tale. This short story is it. Angst, Character Death. Tissues recommended. COMPLETE

Saving your life by lilmisblack  When Hermione is captured by Death Eaters, Severus knows there's only one way to save her. 'What are you doing? ' she asked, her voice shaky. 'Saving your life,' he said, just as he started kissing her neck.

A Murder of Crows by Hogwarts 91 14 yrs post-war: Hermione’s teaching at Hogwarts when an un-aged Snape awakens from stasis and returns to the school. Sparks fly when they meet. Can they learn to trust and love in time to defeat an evil plot bent on changing the wizarding world forever?

Advanced Floriography by Viridiantly Snape's first question to Harry about wormwood and asphodel in the Language of Flowers means 'I bitterly regret Lily's death'. Harry never gets the message behind the question, but what if Hermione does, years later? Mostly set in HBP, DH and after. A story of messages with flowers, the wizarding war, and different kinds of love. Slow-burn. Not canon-compliant, but canon-inspired.

Looking for Magic by Hypnobarb Severus Snape and Hermione Granger deal with traumas past and present and find they have more in common than they realize as they prepare for the ultimate confrontation with Voldemort. SSHG pairing. Not HBP compliant. This is a novel length story.

Synergy by Laurielove Hermione is being followed, and she suspects she knows by whom. But when they come face-to-face, how will she react to him and his startling request? SS/HG. M readers only, please. Written for the 2011 LJ SS/HG Exchange.

Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten "After Darkness, Light." A chance meeting ten years after the war may not be just a coincidence, and may prove to have very far-reaching consequences. A story of many things, but primarily of healing. SS/HG; rated M for later chapters. Complete.

For the Potions Master's Amusement by snape.submiss Now Complete! Severus Snape is not a kind man, but Hermione Granger is past caring. She wants his approval and will do anything to get it. How far will she go? Even she has no concept of the depths to which she will fall in her quest.

Latent Loveliness by Ladyreason Bellatrix gets in one last curse before her defeat which causes Hermione to fall into a deep sleep... She'll only awaken to one man's kiss. And boy, will she awaken. eventual SSHG pairing

Babble On by Aurette One person's nervous tic, is another's nervous joy.

Liminal by Cybrokat Severus Snape keeps running into a student playing piano. Why does he stop to listen, and how does she respond when she is asked to invite him when she plays? And what about Voldemort? Here there be fluff, romance, drama, and angst.

Sins of the Father by Emmaficready 9 Months after the end of the war, a destitute Severus Snape, practically living rough, gets news that will change his life forever. Severus Snape Lives! / POST DH / EWE WARNINGS: Abuse, Neglect, Character Death, Rape, Sensitive/taboo topics.

The Marriage Law by teshara 020 rewrite and update! When Hermione Granger and Severus Snape are thrown together by the ill-conceived Marriage Law, no one doubts they'll make a good undercover team for the Order. No one suspects that they'll find mutual respect, love, and a plot to destroy the world. A story in 3 parts.

A wizard s trial by snapeophil Hermione is out after curfew when she witnesses something that will change her relationship to her DADA professor forever.

The Prisoner and the Occlumens by duskywolfdaemon Hermione's plans to spend her seventh year on the run with her friends are shattered when Severus Snape shows up with a proposal she cannot refuse. *AU 7th year with Hermione attending Hogwarts. Eventual SSHG. M for reasons. ***COMPLETE***

Unintentional Inveiglement by onecelestialbeing Takes places during the summer after OoTP, the Golden Trio is forced to stay in hiding at Grimmauld Place. Hermione (who is of age!) begins gravitating towards Snape without knowing why, and he attempts keeping her at arms length, but will be able to remain doing so? AU

Innocent Shadows by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse "You'll sort everything. Gods, Hermione, you fought five Death Eaters to a standstill *and* defended and saved Snape."/ "Professor Snape."/ Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. That." He waved his hand at the bed. "So this? Piece of cake." /Marriage Law /ss/hg HEA...always *grin*

Turned Over by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse Severus Snape inherited Hermione Granger at three o'clock on a rain-soaked Saturday morning in March. SS/HG HEA...Always :) COMPLETE

The Irony by awakethelion Hermione Granger gets stuck in her Animagus form and is put in the care of the only one strong enough to control her - Severus Snape. The over-achieving know-it-all Gryffindor, is, in the eyes of Hogwarts student body, home taking care of her ill parents, while in reality she is now living life posing as Professor Snape's familiar. J.K. Rowling owns all the characters.

Camerado by MillieJoan Hermione seeks knowledge from a reluctant Snape in order to help the War effort. What she receives is more than either of them expected. Set beginning in Hermione's sixth year, continuing into a slightly AU post-DH era.

Unto Their Own by CRMediaGal The Light has fallen, Darkness abounds, and Hermione Granger is struggling to survive in a far more sinister Wizarding world. When she is sentenced into Snape's charge, Hermione begins to wonder if everything is truly as it seems. For better or worse, their worlds are about to collide, perhaps even unite them against a common enemy. AU, Post-Hogwarts, Rated M.

Vixen by SLovingLecter After her parent's deaths Hermione is bound and trapped in her Animagus form, first for her own safety, then to ensure the safety of others during the war. Who is she bound to? Severus Snape, of course.

Another Dream by dragoon811 Due to his injuries, Severus is unable to resume his old life. He's determined to be lonely and miserable, but the yearly Order Christmas party becomes a bright spot, thanks to Hermione Granger. Complete. 

The Prisoner and the Occlumens by duskywolfdaemon Hermione's plans to spend her seventh year on the run with her friends are shattered when Severus Snape shows up with a proposal she cannot refuse. *AU 7th year with Hermione attending Hogwarts. Eventual SSHG. M for reasons. ***COMPLETE***

Entangled by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse No doubt, she'd been showing off obscure spells she found in the archives, again. Apparently, she did that whilst drunk. Hermione never yet had any memory of it. / SS/HG HEA...Always :)

Time Immemorial by FawkesyLady Hermione loses it after the Battle of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, she still had that time turner and she uses it, sending her back in time, a mystery for the denizens of Hogwarts, circa 1976. OC's are important. Please note, chapters 21-26 could be considered crossovers with JRR Tolkien's Return of the King. In for long haul, y'all. Nominee for Marauder's Medal 2018, Best WIP.

The Offer of Just One More by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse The feeling in her chest twisted. Tightened. Ronald Weasley didn't want children. SS/HG HEA...Always :) This one's a slow burn.

Time's Hammer by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse She was about to break the time stream. Not just break it, but take a bloody hammer to it. SS/HG HEA...Always :)

Clash of the Conjurers by llorolalluvia In a world where the mere flap of a butterfly's wing can cause a hurricane on the other side of the globe, can one simple glance save a man's life? When Hermione and her professor are forced together against their will, can they overcome their differences, find order amidst the chaos, and save the Wizarding World? not Cannon compliant. Rated M for sexuality and violence. DUBCON!

Turned Over by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse Severus Snape inherited Hermione Granger at three o'clock on a rain-soaked Saturday morning in March. SS/HG HEA...Always :) COMPLETE

One Step Forward, Two Decades Back by corvusdraconis AU/AO: [HG/SS] What-if Story. Hermione Granger gets erased due to a badly phrased, vague, and bitter wish. She is Hermione Granger no more. Now, thanks to Ron, she is Hermione Ankaa Black, sister of Sirius & Regulus Black, & member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Now what is she going to do? Multiple pairings in later chapters, and JP starts out as a rampaging jerk.

Absinthe by Aurette A dark deed on a dark night sends two lives spinning out of control. To forge a future, both must confront their pasts. AU, EWE, SS/HG, HEA

The Love You Take by Subversa Hermione is cursed by the Death Eaters, and Dumbledore believes Professor Snape is the only one who can help her and keep her safe. Hermione is 18 years old in this story, but she is still a student.   

[theritualofourexistence]

Odes to Old Gods

I started this year intending to journal about things I survive. Then at the end of the year, I could look back on my challenges and think about them in a more positive way--wow, look at what I overcame! The plan was to document everything, both good and bad, so that I could think about them more as experiences and lessons learned than as... good and bad. 

Needless to say, I stopped keeping track of those things in April. 

Earlier this month, I pulled out the journal again to update the list. I ended up quitting on that too. 

I do think, though, that in a less chaotic year, thinking about my life this way would be good practice. So, here I am, sharing my list with you in the form of an end-of-year, wrap-up blog post. 

A few quick caveats: 

This year was hard for literally everyone except maybe Jeff Bezos. 

It is not healthy to compare challenges or struggles or suffering.

I am not sharing this because I am looking for sympathy... I believe that being vulnerable is a very important part of the human experience but we can all also use a reminder that we never really know all of what anyone is experiencing. We shouldn’t need that reminder to treat others with love... but the older I get, the more I think those reminders might be necessary.

Things I have survived in 2020:

- A bit of a stalking experience in January which has since been resolved.

- Losing my job, hunting for a new job, securing a new job, training for the new job.

- My first Harry Potter tattoo for my ten-year tattooiversary.

- The fires in Australia.

- An absolutely wonderful trip to NYC with my dad when I got to see both Beetlejuice and Hadestown and have an enormous strawberry cheesecake milkshake from Junior’s. 

- Losing Kobe Bryant.

- Parasite absolutely CRUSHING the Oscars.

- Having a really, really good visit with my grandparents in March before all hell broke loose. 

- Weinstein being convicted and sentenced.

[Everything after this point happened during a global pandemic.]

- Losing Grandmom. I was unable to attend her funeral and still have not had the chance to grieve this loss with my extended family. 

- Losing my health insurance.

- A Zoom party for my Grammy’s 80th birthday.

- Losing Breonna Taylor. And George Floyd. And so, so many others. This is the first year I have really committed to understanding the current race-related issues this country faces and BOY, do we have work to do.

- The stress but success of orchestrating a safe family trip so that I didn’t have to go an entire year without seeing my brother.

- Losing my shifts at my primary job due to virus-related concerns.

- Countless other family happy birthdays over Zoom.

- My 60-year-old mother returning to work face-to-face with a student population that largely ignores all virus-related guidelines despite her working tirelessly for months this spring to offer UHS providers an adequate work-from-home option. 

- Being diagnosed with hypertension.

- A nightmarish friend trip. Despite our best laid plans for a safe and healthy visit, Mother Earth decided to trap me 90 miles north of my best friends for 4 days. I eventually got to see them for about 12 hours and honestly, it was worth it. That is the only time I’ve gotten with them all year.

- Losing Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

- The selection of Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court.

- Our sweet girl Clio being diagnosed with a seizure disorder and then coming down with a life-threatening upper respiratory infection. 

- Learning that my grandmother would be voting for Trump in the 2020 election.

- The actual election.

- Losing Rooster, my sweet, sweet boy.

- Learning that my uncle has been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.

- Missing Thanksgiving with my extended family.

- Getting really excellent holiday gifts for my favorite people.

- Missing Christmas with my extended family.

- Safely spending some holiday time with my immediate family.

That is FAR from everything. But I don’t have the energy? Capacity? Time? to sort through everything.

Here are the things from this year that I am still currently surviving:

- A global pandemic! And all the associated chaos. With my asthma and high blood pressure and obesity, I am considered high risk and am still not able to safely return to my primary job. 

- Hypertension! More on this later.

- Grieving Rooster. In the days after we said goodbye, I wrote a memorial that I will eventually share here. Psychology has recently analyzed data suggesting that losing a pet can be equivalent to losing a relative... I have never felt grief like this. It’s been over a month. I cry every night. 

- Managing Clio’s health. She is still adjusting to her seizure medication, which she gets twice a day, and is still on medication to help with lasting symptoms of the respiratory infection. She is fussy about food and her weight fluctuates a lot week to week. She is also a feral rescue who has only ever been handled by me, my mom, and our vet. If mom and I are ever going to vacation together again, we will need to find someone who can manage catching and pilling her twice a day... no easy feat. Fortunately, at the moment, vacations aren’t really a thing for either my mom or I and I am working hard to approach these concerns in a cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it way.

----

This year has been overwhelming. The last two months alone have been overwhelming. And they would’ve been overwhelming without the added spice of a global pandemic. The number of Americans we have lost to this virus has doubled since I last posted here in mid-August. Some time this week we are likely to reach a point where we’re losing 4,000 Americans per day. PER. DAY. This year has been overwhelming.

----

There were some good things this year, of course. I am so, so thankful for all the time I got with my immediate family and the very brief but vital time I got with my friends. Fortunately I am only ever a text away from my closest friends and we are able to message pretty much every day. I am also extremely glad to have found a place in the fantasy enamel pin community. The family I’ve found in pin-land has carried me through some of my lowest points this year. I spent more time in view of the ocean than I typically do in a given year... even though much of that time was still riddled with anxiety. I did art this year. I read books this year. Some really important ones, in fact. If you read nothing else in 2021, read The New Jim Crow. I also got tattooed! I’m going to include those here because I think the significance of each reflects something interesting and important about all I have survived and am surviving this year.

----

In January, I got my first Harry Potter tattoo! My favorite quote from the entire series is delivered by Hagrid during the Triwizard tournament:

”What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

I got that incorporated into a tattoo. In January. 

Also in January I got a “Prisoner of Donuts” tattoo... because life just wouldn’t be manageable at all without donuts.

In March, I got a bird of prey carrying a book to represent one of my all time favorite poems, “On Thought in Harness” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The final lines of that poem:

“Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen. Depart, be lost, but climb.” 

In July, I was able to safely navigate getting a tattoo that symbolizes the saga told in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. LOTR is my first and oldest fandom and the story is still so, so important to me today. The lessons I learned from Tolkien when I was a kid also carried me through some of my hardest moments this year.

Also in July I got a Plumpy tattoo. That’s right. Plumpy. From Candyland. If you haven’t played the game in a while, you may not remember Plumpy. He’s one of the first characters you meet on the game board... and one of the worst cards to see when you’re close to winning the game. You could be three damn squares from the finish line and pull the Plumpy card and back to the beginning of the board you go. Plumpy is a really great reminder that even when we have no choice but to lose ground, we can gain that ground back again. And hey, once you pull the Plumpy card from the deck, you likely won’t see him again for a good long while. 

In October, I was able to safely navigate getting my second Harry Potter tattoo. Neville has always been one of my favorite fantasy characters and I chose to carry him with me permanently. His courage, despite so, so much bullshit, inspires me every day. I also got a nautical tattoo for my mom’s ancestors who came to this country and fought in the Revolutionary War. Just as my family has a long and proud history of fighting for what matters, I too will carry that banner, even if it looks very, very different in the modern age. My third tattoo of the appointment is a cuckoo holding playing cards, a nod to one of most important stories I’ve read: Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” This book has informed not just my personal journey with mental illness but my passion to work in the field as well. My final tattoo of my October appointment, less than a week before the 2020 election, is a weeping Lady Justice. 

----

This year has made me look critically at things I very comfortably ignored for a long time. I would hope that it has done the same for most of you. Very little if any of this year was easy for me... but the most important lessons are never easy to learn. I’ve spent this year more worried and more angry than I’ve ever been before... and all I hope to do moving forward is use that fear and that anger to make this country, this world, a better place. Miss me with your resolutions this year. Every single day we should prioritize surviving and treating others with understanding and active love. I worked hard to do that this year and I will continue to work hard to do that every day. I’m proud of the work I’ve done. And in case it wasn’t clear, I’ll be dragging as many of you as I can on this journey with me. If you really feel the need to make a resolution this year, resolve to learn. Resolve to understand. Resolve to read The New Jim Crow and then TAKE ACTION. Take action with your votes and your voices and your money. Resolve to act.

----

This year wouldn’t let me escape it without being put on blood pressure medication, despite my best efforts to lower my blood pressure without it. Although I had gotten back down into a healthy range for a few weeks, RBG’s death and the landslide of utter shit that followed that completely wrecked all the progress I had made. I’m not happy about adding a new medicine to my regimen. I’m not happy about adding a new chronic diagnosis to my already lengthy laundry list. I did not expect 30 to look like allergy pills and three daily moisturizers and foot stretches and Metamucil and acid reducers and migraine medication and iron supplements and six prunes a day and chronic pain and blood pressure medication... but here we are. I’m exhausted from working so hard to be healthy just to have all that work not be enough. I feel very much like my body is giving up on me... and that is a feeling I am struggling with a lot right now. My soul is a vibrant but powerless passenger in a car speeding towards the edge of a cliff.

I’ll keep trying though. I start my new medication tonight. Hopefully it helps. Hopefully the side effects are manageable. I don’t really feel like I can handle much more... but I guess we keep going until we can’t.   

----

I have no expectations for 2021 to be better. I don’t have much hope for it to be better either. This vaccine will saves lives and that’s really good news. But a lot of other things will be difficult, will stay difficult, will become difficult. I’m going to try to keep fighting, and I hope you do too. 

“What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

[kotokeke-kirishimaismybaby]

about this askgame,,, pal just answer what you feel like answering rn i wanna know all of em if im honest

hehehhe challenge accepted 

Asks for Fanfic writers 

drop a number and a fandom in my askbox and I’ll answer:

1.      things that inspire you hmmm music, other writers, projecting my own need for relationship lol

2.      things that motivate you uhhh idk I think just wanting people to enjoy their time reading fanfic, because fanfic have

3.      name three favorite writers omg I have so many… chonideno, shippeh, newamsterdam

4.      name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why I know longer have recollection of published works, what are book XD umm I’ve always loved JRR Tolkien bc of his world building, theme of friendships, and kickass imagination and dedication to his work

5.      since how long do you write? August 30th 2019 lol my first fic

6.      how did writing change you? Makes me feel like I’m good at something

7.      early influences on your writing any kiribaku fanfic

8.      what time are you most productive? Probably the evenings/ nightimes

9.      do you set yourself deadlines? I want to… kinda did once but got too stressed when didn’t meet them

10.  how do you do your researches? Mmmm google! And flipping through bnha manga lol

11.  do you listen to music when writing? Either whatever song is setting the mood for a fic or anime lo-fi beats playlists on spotify

12.  favorite place to write cuddled up in 9+ blankets in my bed

13.  hardest character to write tetsutetsu…

14.  easiest character to write Bakugou mfking Katsuki… bc self-projection probably

15.  hardest verse to write the nightmare that baku has in ‘I fall away and you don’t let me go’

16.  easiest verse to write Kirishima naming Baku in “a heroes name”

17.  favorite AU to write haven’t written any other than in the canon world

18.  favorite pairing to write kiribaku

19.  favorite fandom to write my hero academia

20.  favorite character to write bakugou

21.  least favorite character to write uhh I don’t think I’ve run into this problem yet

22.  favorite story you’ve ever written “you’re not some useless idiot in my life, got it?”

23.  least favorite story you’ve ever written “I fall away and you don’t let me go”… idk why I can’t stand that fic, it’s my most popular fic too

24.  favorite scene you’ve ever written post-sports festival spar between kiri and baku from Fated Red…. But that fic also has future scenes I’ve written that are just incredible imao

25.  favorite line you’ve ever written Kirishima gives a laugh and reaches a nervous hand to the back of his neck, “I wanted you to have a good time. Seeing everyone pissed you off already… so I thought you’d rather just go for a walk!”

Bakugou deadpans, “You thought that going up 80 floors is the best alternative for cheering me up.”

“Well you said before you liked mountain climbing, so I figured this was close enough.” >>>>> make myself laugh lol

26.  story you’re most proud of Fated Red, but mostly the unpublished parts I’m trying to bridge the gap to get to lol

27.  best review you ever got all the reviews from sweetonmylove make me cry happy

28.  worst review you ever got I’ve been blessed with such good reviews so n/a

29.  favorite story/poem of another author Heartbeat Thunder by shippeh is 10/10 my favorite

30.  hardest part of writing writing lol

31.  easiest part of writing when the characters talk for you

32.  alternate title for (insert story title) hmmm n/a I like my titles

33.  alternate ending for (insert story title) “you’re not some useless idiot in my life, got it?”--- alt ending has a kiss lol but just didn’t fit in

34.  alternate pairing for (insert story title) n/a, I basically only do kiribaku lol

35.  single story or multi-part story? Single?

36.  one-shot or multi-chaptered story? One-shots for sure… multi chaps are so freaking hard

37.  canon or AU? canon

38.  do you reread your own stories? Omg yes… and wonder how tf I did that

39.  do you want to be published some day? Hmm maybe???

40.  which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series I would have loved to see “If I was Stuck on An Island, I Would Bring You” as part of the mha two heroes movies XDXD

41.  one song that captures (insert story title) I listened to Touch by Kehlani for almost all fics to keep it soft

42.  do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind? Plan but so much changes as I write

43.  would you ever write a sequel for (insert fic title here) I want to write a small sequel to “you’re not some useless idiot in my life, got it?”

44.  do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it? All the time future scenes and I never know how to connect them to what I’ve already written

45.  share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet Kaminari mentions to Bakugou at band practice to “not hurt Kirishima” and he proceeds to be petty by pointedly aggressively caring for kiri… ends in confession

46.  share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet Ground Zero and Red Riot are an inseparable hero team since the beginning of second year at UA, where the provisional licenses extended to allowing student hero pairings on patrol. They have practiced defense and coordinated attacks, and a reassurance where they both know they are safe with the other around. Kirishima loves every minute with his boyfriend, as his partner both in love and as heroes.

It always amazes Kirishima when he’s surrounded by the flashes of Bakugou’s explosions as he moves around in his attacks. Kirishima sometimes tries to take down his villains as quickly as possible just to watch Ground Zero take down his target with his powerful explosions. They are beautiful and loud.

 But it starts slowly, the inevitable.

 Kirishima begins to come home from patrol with headaches and blaming them on fatigue and hunger. A low ringing sounds in his ears that sometimes continues even to the next day. Some days it’s hard to concentrate. And other days, Kirishima finds himself turning around in confusion with a question of “what?” before he realizes he’s missed what was said to him.

What didn’t he just hear? >>>>>> it’s a kiribaku hoh fic that I’m completely in love with and don’t wanna mess it up

 47.  how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time? 5.. and only two are slow updates

48.  three spoilers for (insert story title) “Faded Red” – Kiri and baku gets OFA, the emotion trigger for deku when he gets kiri quirk is love…, it’s honestly self-indulgent kiribaku slice of life scenes with an undertone of them being fated together….

49.  writing advice I need some lol maybe to remind yourself that this is for you and don’t have to prove anything to others who may not like it

50.  open question to the writer question I want to answer maybe? Will I keep writing and finish fated red and fake it? Answer is yes, eventually, hopefully soon when I stop being blocked and life gets out of my way

[mongrel-eyes]

Everything I Read in 2019

In total, I read 45 books of my own accord in 2019, and there were probably about one-fourth as many that I started but never ended up finishing. A loose goal for myself (which I formed in the later half of the year as I realized that I had read quite a lot) was to reach 52 books so that I would effectively have one book per week of the year. That obviously didn’t happen, but it’s not something I feel was of great importance. Last year, I read 10 books (I think I may have read a few more than that, but I don’t remember). That was more than all the books I’d read in the past 7 years added together. The past decade has been a rollercoaster, but this final year has brought something of a conclusion, closure, and some healing. It’s the end of one novel of my life - time for the next.

2019 Booklist

The Slow Regard of Silent Things // Patrick Rothfuss

I have read all of the books published for The Kingkiller Chronicle thusfar; however, The Slow Regard of Silent Things honestly trumps both The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear for me (and I do not say this lightly because I think both novels are fantastic, and I was practically drunk and grinning from ear to ear after reading “A Silence of Three Parts” for the first time). Auri’s quirks and the way she sees and moves through the world is nearly identical to what I have experienced for much of my life. The first time I read this book, I wept because I saw myself so vividly written in its pages. Though it is short, and I think many would deem it as not particularly exciting or significant, I understand it very deeply. As Rothfuss writes in his end letter: it is not a normal story for normal readers; it is a story for the storytellers and the dreamers.

The Magician’s Nephew // C.S. Lewis The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe // C.S. Lewis The Horse and His Boy // C.S. Lewis Prince Caspian // C.S. Lewis The Voyage of the Dawn Treader // C.S. Lewis The Silver Chair // C.S. Lewis The Last Battle // C.S. Lewis

I grew up reading C.S. Lewis’s stories of Narnia. One of my earliest memories is of listening to an audiotape recording of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I remember exactly where I was in this memory, and the exact sentences of the book being read to me through the car speakers. Narnia has always and will always hold a special place in my heart, and it was good to visit again after such a long time away. Thanks to a variety of health problems which had all but wiped out my long-term personal memories, I remembered only an echo of the enchantment of these books, and when I picked them up again early in the year, I was not disappointed.

Educated // Tara Westover

Educated was a hard book for me to read. It was raw and powerful, and I know a fraction of the pain and circumstance Westover describes. In one portion of the book, she writes that believing you are not hurt is sometimes the way in which abuse hurts you the most. I understood that, and by the end I felt so proud of this strong young woman who challenged her entire world. It wasn’t always pretty or heroic (oftentimes it was ugly and lonely), but it was true.

Bridge to Terabithia // Katherine Paterson

I grew up 10 miles away from the small town which served as the inspiration for Lark Creek. It has been a powerful and significant story in my life from the time I first read it early in 2009. Again, due to failing memory, I only recalled an echo of what it really was. One spring morning, I walked outside, hung in my hammock and didn’t budge until I had read this book from cover to cover. It was like reuniting with a very old friend.

Mortal Engines // Philip Reeve

I became interested in Mortal Engines because of the trailers for the upcoming film that kept showing up for me in Spotify. I was thoroughly warned by the internet to steer clear of the film (I still would like to see it at some point, but I don’t have high hopes), but my friend highly recommended that I read the book. I actually listened to the audiobook recording from Hoopla. Barnaby Edwards is a brilliant narrator, and I loved every minute of it. It was not the kind of story that struck me to my absolute core (personally), but it was powerful and captivating all the same.

Where the Forest Meets the Stars // Glendy Vanderah

I picked up this book because I liked the title, nothing more. It turned out to be a beautiful story of the making of a beautiful family (it also made for a beautiful hardcover). It was unfortunately triggering at one point, but despite that I enjoyed the story and the characters and the cleverness crafted into Ursa’s character.

Perelandra // C.S. Lewis

In the Fall/Winter of 2018, I listened to Out of the Silent Planet on my commutes to and from school. Many years ago (I can’t even remember how long), I had read Out of the Silent Planet but had quite forgotten anything about it other than that the main character’s name was Ransom. After returning to it at the end of last year, I listened to Perelandra in late May. Out of all of books in the Space Trilogy, I found this one to be the slowest and least interesting. However, that is not to say that I did not enjoy the book. Lewis’s descriptions of the world on Venus were riveting and vivid, and listening to and analyzing the debate/war between Ransom and Weston was of particular interest and importance to me.

That Hideous Strength // C.S. Lewis

Following Perelandra, I immediately listened to That Hideous Strength. It surprised me later to learn that this third installment of the Space Trilogy was received with the least positive appraisal of the three. I found it to be my favourite of them all. I see many echoes between this fiction and the reality which we face, and that was somewhat intriguing, frightening, and comforting all jumbled together. I have a theory (or more accurately, a hypothesis) which I refer to as “the mortal gods.” I won’t go into any details of it here, but I felt in That Hideous Strength that C.S. Lewis understood my mortal gods. He just called them by different names.

Night Flights // Philip Reeve

I listened to this book on Hoopla, and though it was short I thoroughly enjoyed learning more about the character of Anna Fang. This story provides details on how she rose to become the notorious Wind Flower plaguing the cities from Mortal Engines.

I Rode a Horse of Milk-White Jade // Diane Wilson

I first read this book when I was younger than 9 years old. Even back then, I loved this book, and when I returned to it this year, I loved it again. I had not even touched it for over 10 years. When I was very young, I had a great respect for the Mongolian nomads; and, of course, since this book brought those people to life, it became and is very special to me.

The Bible (English Standard Version)

Though I was raised in a religious household, I had never actually read the Bible from cover to cover (although I had read the majority of it in bits and parts throughout my life and been lectured on it for countless hours). It took me 3 months to slog through it, but in the end, it wasn’t just slogging. I found that if I put aside everything I thought I knew about this book and read it as if it was historic mythology instead of whatever rigid, legalistic stories and verses I had been led to believe it was when I was younger, it came alive in the way the story of Icarus comes alive every time you read a new rendition or see a new painting. C.S. Lewis described it as “true myth,” and I am inclined to believe that approaching it as “myth” is perhaps the most accurate of all the different ways in which I see people trying to describe or understand it and failing in their attempts to squash a god (seriously, the thought of a god in and of itself is mind-bending if you really stop to think about it) to fit into the tiny boxes of their mortal lives.

The Wanderer’s Journal: A Journey Through the Heart of Hallownest // Kari Fry & Ryan Novak

Saying I loved the game Hollow Knight is an understatement. Of course, when Fangamer announced they would be publishing a wanderer’s journal in collaboration with Team Cherry, I had to read it. I’ve always loved field guide-esque books (specifically, Dragonology), so of course I was especially delighted while reading the journal.

The Hobbit // J.R.R. Tolkien

Previously, I had only listened to The Hobbit as an audiobook. Once. That was over 10 years ago (probably closer to 13 or 15 years). This summer, I finally read the words written on the pages myself. Middle Earth is home to me, and it was good to be home.

The Book of Three // Lloyd Alexander The Black Cauldron // Lloyd Alexander The Castle of Llyr // Lloyd Alexander Taran Wanderer // Lloyd Alexander The High King // Lloyd Alexander The Foundling // Lloyd Alexander

I remember I was in the car with my mom and sister on the way to Nowhere one day. I was reading a book of my own in the back (I have a vague recollection that it might have been from the Redwall series by Brian Jacques) when my mom announced that she had a new series from the library that she wanted us all to listen to together in the car. Initially, I was annoyed because my mom did not always pick out the most interesting of books (there had been occasions where I was bored to tears when she picked something), but I grudgingly gave in. Of course, it was The Prydain Chronicles. I returned to these books this summer and barreled through them within two days (during which I had been excused from work with a doctor’s note due to a curious situation). Middle Earth is home, but Prydain (alongside Narnia) has to be a close second.

Native American Myths // Diana Ferguson

I have held great respect and admiration for the Native Americans and their cultures for as long as I can remember. Over the years, I’ve read books on Norse, Welsh, English, German, Greek, Egyptian, and Sumerian mythology; however, finding good books on Native American mythology seemed almost impossible (at one point I did find a book of Native American myths centered around Raven in a used bookstore but it was 60USD, and while I did want it very much, I was a poor student who couldn’t afford expensive second-hand books). Ferguson’s compilation of myths was fascinating to read. Some of the stories I had heard echoes of before in various places, but Ferguson also provided anecdotes and insights of how these myths were woven into the Native American tribes and cultures. Needless to say, I thoroughly enjoyed learning even a little bit more about these people whom I have admired since I was a small child.

The Fellowship of the Ring // J.R.R. Tolkien

[ See The Return of the King ]

The Remarkable Journey of Prince Jen // Lloyd Alexander

I started out reading this story expecting it to be one thing, but it turned out to be something else entirely. I had read it before a long time ago and gotten it mixed up with a different story I have been able to vaguely recall but unable to find for 10 years and counting. Jen’s story is captivating and lovely in its own right – simple and enchanting, like a dandelion wish.

The Two Towers // J.R.R. Tolkien

[ See The Return of the King ]

Tolkien and Lewis: The Gift of Friendship // Colin Duriez

Despite having read the vast majority of Tolkien’s literature and a good amount of Lewis’s, I had never read a biography of either of them. I found this biography addressing both authors and their unique friendship. I enjoyed learning more about both of them and how their relationship formed and affected each other’s work.

The Return of the King // J.R.R. Tolkien

[Unlike Narnia and Prydain, I felt I couldn’t lump the titles of The Lord of the Rings together and still maintain the chronological list; therefore, the first two titles received no paragraph, but here is a summary for all three.]

In lieu of how easy it is to just watch Peter Jackson’s film adaptations, it’s easy to forget how deep and rich Tolkien’s writing really is. I can say this with honesty and without judgement, because I forgot too. Relearning the depths of Tolkien and rediscovering why I came to love and live and breathe Middle Earth in my childhood in the first place was powerful and healing for me. If you’ve only watched the movies, you’re honestly really missing out. Yes, Tolkien loves to talk about plants and trees and forests to no end, and maybe that’s not your thing and that’s okay; however, these stories are pure magic – tried and true.

The Raven Boys // Maggie Stiefvater The Dream Thieves // Maggie Stiefvater Blue Lily, Lily Blue // Maggie Stiefvater The Raven King (+Opal) // Maggie Stiefvater

I had tried to listen to The Raven Boys on Hoopla earlier in the year and become bored to tears – the narrator was just that bad and I felt the whole thing was just doomed to become a terrible love polygon. Several months later, a friend encouraged me to give it another try. I did (this time reading it straight from the page), and I was delightedly surprised. I had heard of The Raven Cycle for years but been too scared to pick it up (honestly, love polygons can be terrible things), but I’m glad that this year I finally did.

Carry On // Rainbow Rowell

I heard of Carry On while in the midst of reading The Raven Cycle. I found it to be highly amusing: reminiscent of Percy Jackson, but perhaps with better writing (in my personal opinion; I still have a fondness for Percy).

Comet in Moominland // Tove Jansson

I have seen screenshots of the 90’s Moomin show for years but never bothered to truly figure out where they came from until recently. I learned that Moomin originally came from a book. I thought it would be a picture book, and I was pleasantly surprised when I learned that Moomin actually came from a book book. I found Comet in Moominland to be heartwarming and cute with beautiful illustrations and words that can speak to the oldest soul, despite being a children’s book.

Call Down the Hawk // Maggie Stiefvater

Ronan was my favourite character from The Raven Cycle because I felt I understood him the most, which is a rather amusing sentiment to me on the surface level since I am probably one of the least edgy people you will ever meet. Learning more about Stiefvater’s world of Dreamers was particularly interesting and important to me (dreams have always been important to me, and dreams have shaped a good part of my life, actually). Chapter 3 (starts on page 19 of the hardcover copy) was very much like reading The Slow Regard of Silent Things for me: I understood, and I felt understood.

Tales from Moominvalley // Tove Jansson

A collection of cute short stories from Jansson’s Moomins. These were amusing, but at this point Moomins are important to me, so the book was very special all the same.

Six of Crows // Leigh Bardugo Crooked Kingdom // Leigh Bardugo

Six of Crows is a significant book to me. I remember when it was first published in 2015. I heard of it and immediately wanted to read it; however, there were many circumstances and unfortunate happenings which led to me not being able to read it until this year. The duology is now ranked among the stories which made me. To me, it’s a victory song.

The Moomins and the Great Flood // Tove Jansson

I had heard talk of the Great Flood in Comet in Moominland and been slightly confused from it being out of context. This book provided the context for this flood and is somewhat of a prequel to the rest of the Moomin books. As always, it’s a cute story with wonderful illustrations.

Shadow and Bone // Leigh Bardugo Siege and Storm // Leigh Bardugo Ruin and Rising // Leigh Bardugo

After finishing the Six of Crows duology, I learned that it was actually a sequel series to Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone trilogy. I finished Ruin and Rising last night and while I didn’t enjoy the trilogy as much as Six of Crows, it provided context for some of the characters featured in the duology, and I enjoyed the characters of Alina and Mal as well as learning more about Bardugo’s Grishaverse.

Other Reading

For school, continuing education, etc… Basically stuff I was compelled to read in one way or another.

Gilgamesh (English version by N.K. Sanders)

“The sleeping and the dead, how alike they are, they are like a painted death.”

The Song of Roland (translated and with an introduction by Robert Harrison)

I’d read this long ago, and re-reading it would have been a better experience if I wasn’t being pressed into writing a paper about it for a professor who was Machiavellian in behaviour but only intelligent in his own pride (these are gentle words).

The Prince // Niccolò Machiavelli

I seriously hate this guy.

The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious People // Oscar Wilde

I read this for a compare-contrast essay between the original play and the 2002 film adaptation. I thought it would be annoying and tedious to re-read, but I actually enjoyed it because the professor was simply a delight to work with.

A General Introduction to the Bible // Norman L. Geisler and William E. Nix (8th printing, 1975)

I’ve always been interested in how the Bible came to be compiled because almost no one talks about it (asking questions on this topic basically got me excommunicated when I was 12 hah). I read this book to find the answers to the questions I suffered for asking. I found some answers and a whole lot of data (seriously, these people aren’t messing around).

In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens // Alice Walker

A beautiful short story – perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of writing I have ever read.

[fjorn-wanders]

If it's no trouble asking, how do you stay inspired to write?

No trouble at all, my friend.

To answer simply: I don’t…but I’m stubborn, frustrated by years of struggle, and yearn, above all other things, to create…and so I find inspiration again and again.

At the moment, everything inspires me to write. From the morning stars shining with their silver light, to the break of dawn with its cool breeze…the rustling of leaves, the rolling of thunder, the pattering of rain, the singing of birds…I feel that everything has a tale to tell, or a part to play, in the life that dances around us on a daily basis. I can’t even walk outside without getting inspired by something, but the same is also true for any creative thing that I interact with, whether it be music, art, or another’s written work. (Lord of the Rings, Princess Mononoke, The Rising of the Shield Hero, Breath of the Wild, Skyrim, medieval literature…these are just a handful of the things that inspire me.) 

My inspiration to write (and to create in general) comes simply from living and interacting with the world around me. Writing is a way for me to express my experiences, admire the world’s endless beauty, wrestle with the life’s complex issues, and give others something to enjoy and contemplate as they continue to live, struggle, and create beautiful things of their own. To me, that is more important and meaningful than landing a good-paying “adult” job, and so I struggle, stubbornly, to remain a writer and creator. 

But I haven’t always been this way.

I suppose the crux of this question is this: how do I stay inspired to write when all seems against me doing so? Perhaps a not-so-brief story will help.

I’ve had an interest in writing since middle school, at least. I even have a sketchbook from that time with ideas (Arthurian-inspired, mostly) that, believe it or not, I’m still using in my current writing project. Nevertheless, social pressure indirectly veered me away from ever taking writing seriously (as a viable career option), and so I ended up as an Engineering major when I first started college (though I did contemplate Art, at first). I kept at it for about four semesters, even getting an Astronomy minor and completing Calculus I and II without much trouble…but I wasn’t as happy as I convinced myself I would be. It felt like something was missing, to risk being a bit cliché…but it’s the truth.

I ended up switching my major to History in my search to figure out what I had lost, and that’s when writing slowly crept its way back into my life. One of the first history classes I took was Viking History, and it wasn’t long before I was “secretly” writing a new story inspired by the things I was learning. For awhile, I hoped that I could become a medievalist that also wrote high fantasy (kind of like Tolkien). I even shared some of my sketches, maps, and ideas online (mostly on DeviantART and Facebook, at the time), but my uncle left a comment that disconcerted me: “looks like you have too much free time.”

In that moment, although I retorted with “you say that as if I don’t work or go to college,” I gradually began to lose my inspiration to write. It’s truly unsettling how a single comment like that can shatter a person’s hope and drive for several years… Within a month of him posting that comment, I had stopped sharing my writing online and focused more on becoming a better Historian. Of course, grumpy adults still regard history as “a complete waste of time and money,” but I suppose it felt like a more “proper” career path for me to take at that point. My uncle, for one, was very much against my decision to leave Engineering behind—and so was my father, for that matter. Nevertheless, I spent the next four years of my life studying medieval history (mostly Vikings and Icelandic literature) with my eyes set on an eventual PhD. During that time, I hardly wrote anything creative; I didn’t read any fantasy, paint any landscapes, nor practice any of the instruments that I knew/wanted to learn…I just focused on proving that a person getting a History degree could end up in a respectful career.

Part of me truly wanted (and still wants) that ideal life as a medievalist who also writes fantasy literature, but this past winter was my second wake-up call. Academia was not as ideal as I wanted it to be, and I once again found myself less happy than I had been telling myself I would be. I realized that I had not painted for over two years…not once. That bothered me, since painting (perhaps more obviously than wiring) had always been an integral part of who I was. So I abruptly decided not to apply for PhD programs, which frustrated my major professor and caused my unofficial major professor to worry. I told everyone that was taking a break, reflecting on what I wanted in life before committing to an expensive and arduous PhD program.

The first thing I did was start painting again, but it wasn’t long before I started drawing original characters from my previous writing endeavors (the most prevalent being Fjorn, whose name I bear on social media here and elsewhere). By April, I had bought myself a new journal for writing, and since then I have filled about 120 pages of it with ideas and summarized stories. With my mind free to wander along its own path, I gradually found myself creating more…I painted, drew, picked up my dusty instruments, started blending my own teas, and began writing more earnestly than I had ever done before. 

And so here we are.

Over the course of my life, I’ve lost my inspiration to write several times…but it’s always been with me. I’ve often lost sight of it, and yet I could always feel its warm glow wanting to burn brighter. I’ve been fooled and trampled on by society and snooty adults countless times, but I’ve always managed to snap out of it and stubbornly create things despite how much society insists on telling me that I’m wasting my time and condemning myself to poverty. And although I’m in a good place right now, I will continue to face those challenges in the future.

I suppose I’ve been lucky, though. I’ve stayed inspired to write because I’m stubborn and (perhaps hopelessly) idealistic. I’ve also had the privilege of a life that has allowed me to take shape turns and change the course of my life several times…not everyone has such opportunities.

In the end, I suppose the key to staying inspired is to never give up. Even though there will be (and likely have already been) times in your life when everything goes astray, remember that it’s never too late to come back to writing, so long as you are breathing and in good health (both mentally and physically). Be stubborn, and perhaps even selfish, in your desire to write and create beautiful things for yourself and others to enjoy. But most of all, keep hope. All stars shine in darkness—even our own; but the light of others will always reach you.

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

Many people have argued that Luthien is a Mary-Sue; not just because of her beauty but because of how unbelievably perfect she was. What do you think?

Well. Personally, I don’t see how the idea that Luthien was anywhere near perfect came to be. As I was reading The Silmarillion, I noticed quite a few flaws in her character and was quite… pleasantly taken aback. Considering what I knew of her beforehand - that she was impossibly beautiful, and that she had some epic love story with a human man - I expected that I wouldn’t really like her. And oh boy, I was wrong.

Luthien is one of my favorite characters ever, and her flaws make me adore her all the more, far more than I would have were she really perfect and flawless as the general perception seems to be.

And of course, Luthien has amazing traits as well (traits of personality, not of power, although she was extremely, extremely powerful). Let’s begin with those and discuss them in detail; they’re important in this (kind of) meta because those flaws of Luthien’s are irrevocably intertwined with (most of) these traits.

1. She’s determined (as all fucking hell)

This one is pretty much a given for anyone who knows Luthien’s story. Nobody can ever tell this girl “no”, nobody, and if you try, she will, without fail, get your ass out of her way. Luthien Tinuviel is not here for your shit.

Her (overprotective and controlling but somewhat understandable) father? Not a chance. Magic hair-growing, activated. Guards? Put to sleep. Two unpleasant elf-princes who tried to force her to marry one of them? Bye bitch, she’s so awesome (and they’re so asshole-ish, let’s be honest here) that their hound decided to help her instead. Sauron “I’m-the-greatest” the Deceiver, Lieutenant of Morgoth, one of the most powerful Maiar in existence? No dice. Sleep-inducing magic: on. Huan: in attack mode. Sauron: ass-kicked, thoroughly beaten, and contemplating running the hell away (Luthien stops him, more on that below). Beren himself, wanting to treat Luthien like a damsel-in-distress and drop her off back home before he continues his quest? Luthien basically tells him, “Sorry, you’re stuck with me forever”. See quote:

‘You must choose, Beren, between these two: to relinquish the quest and your oath and seek a life of wandering upon the face of the earth; or to hold to your word and challenge the power of darkness upon its throne. But on either road I shall go with you, and our doom shall be alike.’

But Beren doesn’t stop there. In an (understandable) attempt to keep Luthien out of harm’s way, he sneaks off to continue his quest alone while Luthien and Huan are asleep. Luthien wakes up, probably rolls her eyes and sighs, and goes after him instead of leaving him to fall victim to his stubbornness. She sure loves the man, but she’s not taking any of his bullshit either.

Now Beren and Luthien are deep within Morgoth’s realm. Enter Carcharoth, basically the scariest, most vicious werewolf ever (and I mean ever). He doesn’t stand a chance of getting in Luthien’s way, either. This girl is not having it; she casts a sleep spell, and he’s out like a light. Then we have Morgoth, the ultimate Big Bad of Tolkien’s universe. Sauron who? This is Sauron’s boss. Sauron is afraid of disappointing this guy. Luthien doesn’t flinch. She dances in front of him and puts him (along with all his minions) to sleep through her awesome singing and the power of her magic hair cloak.

Then on their (remember Beren, the guy who accompanied Luthien? Yeah, neither do I) way out, Carcharoth, who is now pissed, confronts them. Drama unfolds, Beren’s hand is bitten off, and poisoned through the venom in Carcharoth’s (I’m assuming) teeth… and Luthien sucks it all out. No measly venom from the “greatest werewolf” ever is going to stop her.

Then more shenanigans. Then Beren dies. His spirit will travel beyond the spheres of Arda as Eru Iluvatar decreed for men, while Luthien, upon her own death, shall go to the Halls of Mandos and be reincarnated in Valinor. They can never meet again, for The All-Father Himself set separate fates for Elves and Men.

From grief, Luthien dies. She arrives in Mandos’ Halls, but not even death and fate are going to keep her from getting what she wants. She sings a song so beautiful and sorrowful that Mandos, the Vala of Death, for the first and only time in his existence (and keep in mind that Mandos is literally older than the universe), is moved from pity. See quote:

“Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and listening the Valar are grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars.”

He speaks on behalf of Luthien to Manwë - my precious baby, hurt him and I will fight you - who then speaks to Eru about the matter. And Eru offers Luthien a choice: live out the rest of her days (which is to say, eternity, since she’s an elf) in contentment and bliss in Valinor, forgetting all of her troubles, or be granted a second life along with Beren, following him in death outside of Arda and losing all hope of seeing her family and friends ever again. Sounds daunting, yep? But Luthien opts for the latter. Even the prospect of eternity without her kin and companions isn’t going to stop her.

So, let’s recap, shall we? Things that have tried to stop Luthien and have learned from it the hard way.

Elwë Singollo, her father, an ancient and powerful elf-king

Celegorm and Curufin, two sons of Fëanor (and arguably the douchiest elves to ever grace the pages of The Silmarillion)

Sauron, no explanation needed

Beren, her boyfriend, attempts several times to no avail

Carcharoth, the greatest werewolf to have ever lived

Morgoth, basically the Satan of Arda, Sauron’s lord

Death/Fate

Don’t try to stop Luthien Tinuviel. You are wasting your time.

2. She’s brave (again, as all fucking hell)

I’d say anyone who defies their powerful father and runs away from home to save her boyfriend, and later accompanies him on a quest that her father literally intended to be impossible, is pretty damn brave in itself. But Luthien accomplishes some of the most notable feats accomplished by any singular Eldar or Man (the race, not the gender) in the entirety of Tolkien’s legendarium. And keep in mind that Luthien was most likely quite sheltered when she was growing up, considering her father’s personality. Maybe Melian opened her eyes a little, but I doubt she’s really gone anywhere. This is something we really have to take into consideration for perspective when we think about just how courageous Luthien is.

Despite her relative inexperience with the world, Luthien, after being practically kidnapped and held against her will by Celegorm and Curufin, a pretty traumatic experience in itself, and way more so for someone who has hardly been outside her father’s kingdom, rides straight for Sauron’s fortress (with Huan) to rescue Beren. It’s not certain if Luthien has heard of Sauron - presumably, she has, since he’s - well - Sauron, but I doubt she knows the full extent of his malice. Still, her mother is Melian the Maia, who’s most likely familiar with Sauron (and perhaps even knew him as Mairon), and I think Melian probably regaled her daughter on Sauron’s treachery and betrayal of the Valar, and his position as Morgoth’s lieutenant.

The initial first-hand warning sign for Luthien that Sauron is not a nice guy is the aesthetic of his fortress. I mean, this looks so welcoming:

But I digress. Terrifying fortresses are nowhere near the scariest things that Tolkien’s characters face. Then Sauron starts sending werewolf after werewolf at Luthien and Huan, and later, Draugluin, the oldest, biggest, and baddest. Now, considering Luthien’s sheltered upbringing (again look at Thingol, does he seem like he would let her have any interaction with werewolves?), I think it’s quite impressive that she didn’t lose her nerve at the sight of werewolves attacking her and Huan with the intent to maim and kill (well, subdue in the case of Luthien, but she probably doesn’t know that). But again, this isn’t too terribly noteworthy among Tolkien’s characters, so, while it’s pretty brave, it’s not exactly awe-inspiring in the context of the LOTR universe.

But then things escalate. After Draugluin is defeated, Sauron himself decides to show these little fools who’s boss, shapeshifts into a werewolf, and comes out to greet them. And Luthien encounters first-hand just how potent his malice and evil is: the force of frightens Huan enough that he leaps out of the way, and to Luthien herself, it knocks her out cold.

‘So great was the horror of his approach that Huan leaped aside. Then Sauron sprang upon Luthien; and she swooned before the menace of the fell spirit in his eyes and the foul vapour of his breath. But even as he came, falling she cast a fold of her dark cloak before his eyes; and he stumbled, for a fleeting drowsiness came upon him. Then Huan sprang.’

(Can I just say, about the “foul vapor of his breath”…? Sauron, brush your damn teeth, please. People will like you a lot more if you do. Trust me.)

Yet Luthien, once she recovers from Sauron’s mega-evilness, basically tells him, “Don’t be a whiny baby and sit your ass down”. Personally, after experiencing his malevolence first-hand and being sent into a brief coma by it, I’d be more than a little terrified to even look at Sauron, yet alone speak to him. Yet:

“Lúthien came to him, and said that he should be stripped (of his body)… and his ghost be sent quaking back to Morgoth; and she said: ‘There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield to me the mastery of thy tower.’”

I mean, this is pretty indicative of her mental strength and resilience, and by extension, her bravery. Even the elves of Finrod’s kingdom say, “a maiden had dared that which the sons of Fëanor had not dared to do.”

But that’s not all, nor is it the highlight. Far from it.

Later, Beren attempts to convince Luthien to go back home and leave him to complete the quest. And as stated before, Luthien isn’t having it. She tells him that whether he wants to forgo his oath to her father and elope with her or insist on finishing his super dangerous, intended-to-be-impossible quest, she will go with him. After all that she’s experienced for what seems to be one of the few, if not the first, time she’s been outside her father’s kingdom - which is to say, kidnapping, brushes with death, the evil of Sauron himself -  this is extremely courageous. The fact that she knows Beren’s quest requires him to be within a three-feet-proximity of Morgoth? And she declares herself willing to follow him? Doubly astounding. But it might also have something to do with all the shit she’s endured since she ran away from home - she’s probably not quite as naive to the world as she might have been. (Ooooh, character development.) Personally, I again think that the fact that she’s experienced so much in such a short period of time and hasn’t been cowed yet serves as both character development (better understanding that the world can be very harsh and deceiving) and speaks of her bravery.

After that, Luthien and Beren are minding their own business when Celegorm and Curufin appear out of literally nowhere and attempt to nab Luthien again (leave her alone for God’s sake). They come close, as Curufin actually manages to get Luthien up onto his horse. This is the Tolkien equivalent of being shoved into the car of the person who has deceived and kidnapped you once before, and is clearly attempting to do it again. This, combined with the horror of seeing that your other kidnapper is trying to run your lover down and squash him, is pretty damn horrifying. But then Curufin tries to shoot an arrow at Luthien and presumably kill her (though Huan intercepts the arrow with his jaws). If this isn’t scary enough, Curufin tries his luck a second time and would have succeeded in killing Luthien (or at least wounding her seriously), had Beren not stepped in front of her and gotten hit in the chest. Double, triple horror - in the span of a few seconds, you almost died, then you almost died again, but now your boyfriend is critically injured trying to save you.

So basically, the Jerkwad Duo’s attempts at kidnapping/killing Luthien are foiled, Huan chases them off (ha), Beren now has an arrow in his chest, and all the readers are smh-ing at Celegorm and Curufin, thinking:

After this drama, Huan brings Luthien herbs to treat Beren, and treat him she does, with those herbs, and with magic.

Fast forward to when Luthien and Huan are pursuing Beren, who ran off while Luthien was sleeping, in another attempt to keep her out of the fire line. Luthien and Huan, knowing they would look far too out-of-place going into Morgoth’s realm the way they were, (cosplayed) donned disguises of Thuringwethil and Draugluin respectively. Obviously, Luthien knows into where (Morgoth’s realm) she’s headed, but she doesn’t let that dissuade her from her mission (to help Beren). Considering Morgoth and all that he’s done, that’s impressive. I mean, if Sauron’s malice knocked her out, what might his boss be able to do? Yet Luthien remains undaunted. That’s brave.

Still not the apex of her bravery, though. Let’s continue. Luthien and Huan keep chasing Beren through a dark forest “filled with horror” that, like everything else, fails miserably in cowing Luthien. Once they reach Beren, Huan says he can go no further with the two of them, so Luthien, still (cosplaying) disguised as Thuringwethil, and now Beren, who is now (cosplaying as) disguised as Draugluin, since Huan’s absence leaves the skin suit available for him. The two go over deeper in Morgoth’s domain, probably once again facing a bunch of horrifying crap, if the comment that they endured “through all perils” is anything to go by.

Eventually, at the gate of Morgoth’s lair (fortress? Stronghold? Whatever he wants to call it), Beren and Luthien are halted by Carcharoth, who’s perplexed at the sight of them, probably squinting at (cosplaying) Beren and thinking “Dad?” (Draugluin was likely his sire.) Luthien uses the opportunity to reveal herself, which is kind of courageous considering where the fuck they are, and, as stated before, casts a sleep-spell Carcharoth.

Luthien and Beren then continue deeper into Morgoth’s fortress. I can’t imagine the kind of fear that they’d be feeling as they progress further, considering that they know their quest requires them to steal from Morgoth. (And Thingol is probably shaking his head violently back at Doriath.) But they keep going - again, brave - and at least, arrive directly in front of Morgoth, sitting on his throne, with his grotesque minions around him. And then this happens:

‘For they came to the seat of Morgoth in his nethermost hall that was upheld by horror, lit by fire, and filled with weapons of death and torment. There Beren slunk in wolf’s form beneath his throne; but Lúthien was stripped of her disguise by the will of Morgoth, and he bent his gaze upon her. She was not daunted by his eyes; and she named her own name, and offered her service to sing before him, after the manner of a minstrel.’

Beren, understandably, is cowed, but Luthien, who is “stripped of her disguise by Morgoth’s will”, remains unflinching under and endures the force of his gaze. I repeat: she remains unflinching under and endures Morgoth fucking Bauglir’s gaze. This is the origin of all evil in the universe, the entity that Sauron is afraid of disappointing. And Luthien stands her ground. Not only that, she tells him who she is and offers to sing for him, for the sake of distractions. Holy shit. This here is one of the most astounding displays of courage in the entirety of Tolkien’s universe - a girl traveling deeper and deeper into (basically) the Devil’s stronghold, being revealed before and facing him, who has so many people cowering in terror. And she stands firm. She retains who she is, what she wants, and acts upon what she wants, all as he stares down at her. She’s experienced Sauron, and he’s a servant in comparison to this guy. And still, she’s not deterred from her goal, which, I may add, includes thieving away something he treasures. I cannot emphasize enough how awesome this is.

And so, Luthien dances for Morgoth and uses her magic singing and her sleeping-spell-cloak to put him (and everyone around them) to sleep. Beren takes a Silmaril by forcing it out of Morgoth’s crown with his knife, but then attempts to take the rest as well. Very unfortunately, while he’s trying to remove the second one his knife breaks and a shard of it pierces Morgoth’s cheek. Morgoth starts to stir, and at that point Beren and Luthien quite sensibly nope the fuck out.

They encounter Carcharoth again, Beren’s hand is bitten off along with the Silmaril, and Luthien treats him (let me just gush over the fact that she sucked the poison out of a bloody, gaping stump again) and binds his wound, then Thorondor and two other Eagles rescue them just when it looks like Morgoth’s minions have surrounded them. Thank you Huan! (He asked his animal-friends to keep watch for Beren and Luthien and help them if need be.)

Then passes all craziness of the hunt for Carcharoth, and Huan and Beren’s deaths. Luthien, as well, dies of heartbreak, and as I stated before, sings to Mandos and manages to get herself a choice: live in Valinor in happiness for the rest of eternity or live by Beren’s side, become mortal with him, and follow his spirit beyond Arda upon their deaths. Now Luthien’s actions when facing Morgoth were brave, but here, I think she shows a different kind of courage in choosing the latter.

She’s leaving behind everything she knows, for the rest of time. All her life Luthien believed that even if she does die, she’ll be reborn in Valinor, and there’ll be an opportunity for her to meet her mother, father, and friends (Daeron was her close friend, she probably knew Galadriel as well, and considering Beleg and Mablung’s positions as chief of the marchwardens and chief captain of Thingol respectively, might have known them as well) again. If she chooses mortality with Beren, there will be none of that. She’ll literally have to exit the planet and leave all of her kin behind, never able to see them again, never able to reunite with them. She doesn’t know what lies beyond Arda, what awaits the souls of mortals - no one does. And even before death, she has absolutely no certainty that she will be happy. Perhaps she and Beren will fall apart and she’ll have sacrificed everything for nothing. But she willingly turns down the guarantee of eternal happiness, and chooses the uncertainty and pain that comes with morality, because she just loves Beren that much. And I think that’s touching.

To recap:

Runs away from home, alone, leaving it for one of the few or possibly the first time, in order to rescue Beren from the clutches of Sauron

Is not dissuaded from her quest despite the first major thing to happen to her once she leaves her father’s kingdom is kidnapping

Doesn’t give up her mission when faced with violence and blood and death for the (presumably) first time, when seeing Huan fighting the werewolves

Faces Sauron and the full potency of his evil and yet comes out of it relatively undaunted, going as far as to give Sauron some rather scornful “advice” (in warning him that if he runs back to Morgoth with his tail between his legs, Morgoth will be extremely displeased with him), then continues on her quest

Despite all she’s faced, firmly tells Beren that if he wants to continue his potentially suicide quest to steal from Sauron’s boss, she’ll do it with him

Is nearly kidnapped again by the same people who kidnapped her before, then almost dies, then almost dies again, then sees her lover shot in the chest right before her eyes, but still doesn’t waver

Endures the horrors of Morgoth’s realm without faltering

Remains composed before Morgoth himself and the rest of his monsters and dances while they’re all staring at her

Chooses to become human with no guarantees of happiness, and after death, pass beyond the spheres of Arda and face whatever comes afterwards, leaving her kin and friends behind forever, for the sake of Beren

So, Luthien Tinuviel - indisputably one of the most courageous and resilient elves to ever walk the face of Arda.

3. She has this remarkable ability to stay calm in terrifying situations

Once more, I emphasize that Luthien has probably lived a very sheltered life. Yet she remains quick-thinking in pressurizing moments. After she’s nearly been kidnapped for a second time by Celegorm and Curufin, who have already kidnapped her once, and Beren is dying with an arrow in the chest, Luthien still keeps her head on her shoulders and heals him. This either means that she has medicinal knowledge to be able to know which herbs she needs (more likely since you still need education to use herbs), or Huan knew himself and brought them to her (less likely). But in any case, the fact that Luthien had the clarity of mind to treat Beren in that situation is impressive. She not only needed to use herbs, but also had to use magic, and for a princess who’s not very experienced with battle and blood and death, the fact that she pulled it all off successfully is notable.

Then later, under the pressure of Carcharoth’s suspicion, Luthien is still quick-thinking enough to use his distraction to her advantage and put him to sleep. Keep in mind that not only are she and Beren under Carcharoth’s scrutiny, they’re deep in Morgoth’s sphere of influence. I image it to be something like the tension and nervousness of breaking into and sneaking around a serial killer’s house and trying to remain quiet, multiplied by a thousand. Personally I would curl up in a ball and cry, but Luthien remains fairly level-headed.

Finally, when Luthien dances for Morgoth, she, once again shows a shocking ability to stay rational in the face of utter terror, when most people lose their sense of logic. She uses Morgoth’s lust and dark appreciation to her advantage, using her magic singing and her sleeping-spell-cloak to put him to sleep. Never mind the fact that most people would be too scared to even dance or sing properly; Luthien actively schemes while being watched by the culmination of evil in Arda.

4. She shows surprising mercy

Amazingly, this isn’t discussed much, but I find it mind-bogglingall the same. In the second instance that Celegorm and Curufin attempt to kidnap Luthien, Curufin ends up pinned to the ground by Beren - and Luthien demands that the son of Fëanor be spared. Why is no one talking about this? Curufin (and Celegorm) has lied to, kidnapped, and held her against her will. They just attempted to do so a second time, and tried to kill her lover simultaneously. Yet she wants Beren to spare him. If it were me, I wouldn’t give a shit. In fact, I would cheer as Beren strangles the life out of that asshat. Don’t get me wrong, I do find Curufin and Celegorm to be nuanced and complex characters, but from Luthien’s perspective, these men have been nothing but liars to her at their best, and outright attempted murderers at their worst. I wouldn’t be too concerned with their safety or their lives if I were in her place.

To me, those are the four fundamental strengths, the beauty, of Luthien’s character. Yet all of these traits, except for the third one (ability to remain calm in tense and even terrifying situations) are juxtaposed with the fact that, when interpreted negatively, they can be considered flaws. Here we go.

Reason 1. Her determination = selfishness?

Perhaps not all aspects of Luthien’s determination can be considered selfishness. After all, we can hardly call her selfish for the inherent actions of escaping from her captors (Celegorm and Curufin) and defeating Sauron, nor can we fault her resilience and refusal to give up despite how potentially traumatic some of her experiences are. Yet all of these actions, as well as her running away from home, her journey into Morgoth’s realm, her dancing in front of Morgoth and putting him to sleep, and her decision to forsake the immortality of elves are incredibly hurtful and even insensitive towards the two people I think Luthien wronged most - her parents, Thingol and Melian.

I doubt I need to elaborate much on this. Luthien put herself in such mortal danger time and time again with her “determined” (in quotes, because, while they indisputably make her an extremely resolute person, it’s not supposed to be a compliment in this context) actions, and I can’t even begin to imagine how worried Thingol and Melian were. Perhaps Thingol more so than Melian, since Melian seemed to have some kind of foresight about Luthien’s fate.

But then again, maybe that would have brought her even more sorrow - knowing her daughter’s eventual fate. And imagine how Thingol felt, hearing that his daughter chose to follow Beren into a mortal’s fate, and that once she dies, he’ll never see her again. Ever. It’s clear through his controlling actions (imprisoning her in a treehouse) just how much Thingol loves Luthien and wants desperately to protect her.

One could interpret what was above called Luthien’s “determination” as egocentricity that spat in the face of her mother and father, especially the latter, who wanted so much to keep her safe. You could see it as a sort of, “They did so much for you, and this is how you repay them”? After all, she chose to separate from her parents for all of eternity, just because of her love for Beren. When things are taken that way, it doesn’t exactly paint Luthien in the best light; it makes her look selfish and ungrateful. So Luthien is indeed determined, but she’s also self-centered as well, in a way.

Reason 2. Her bravery = foolishness?

Like I discussed in (excessive) detail above, Luthien is brave. Like, seriously, awe-inspiringly, astoundingly brave. And while I think she’s very well capable of being clever in the moment, she doesn’t strike me as being particularly wise overall. All of her “brave” actions are surprisingly rash and have zero pragmatic basis. Why would anyone run away from home, alone and without assistance, to face Sauron? Her desire to rescue Beren is understandable, but she’s putting a lot at risk by going against such slim odds alone.

Time and time again, Luthien throws herself headlong at seemingly impossible problems and tackles them one by one. Time and time again, she manages to come out relatively unscathed, but never does she have any prior guarantee that she will. Even when she chose mortality with Beren, she had no certainty that they would remain together; that everything she sacrificed for their love might end up being pointless. Being an INTP, I find myself questioning that recklessness a lot. As amazed as I always am at her courage, I’m also reminded that, in my opinion, courage should ideally be balanced with logic, and most of Luthien’s decisions don’t strike me as being particularly logical. (If I could diagnose her MBTI personality type I’d definitely say she’s an xxFx.) So, Luthien is awe-inspiringly courageous, but may rightfully come across as very rash as well.

At the same time, though, Luthien may have been fully aware of the impossibility of what she was trying to do, but she felt that her father just wouldn’t allow her and Beren to be a thing. Therefore, from her perspective, she was doing the one and only thing that she really could do: take matters into her own hands, no matter how colossal the odds stacked against her were.

Nevertheless, the lack of practicality in her actions also ties into the next topic…

Reason 4 (like I said, Reason 3 really has no equivalent). Her compassion = naivety? (Kind of; at least, the more apt name is “Her bravery - again = naivety?”)

There’s far more to Luthien’s possible naivety then merely her sparing of Curufin, but nonetheless, it is important; this “compassion” nearly gets her and Beren killed. After all that they did to her, we have to wonder, why in the world did Luthien think that Curufin was worth sparing? Did she believe that everyone has good in them and everyone deserves a second chance? That sounds pretty naive (though arguably not so out-of-place with Tolkien’s narrative, where such notions of compassion and forgiveness are central themes).

However, this situation can be considered rather shaky grounds for indicating that Luthien is naive. We don’t know what transpired between Luthien, Curufin, and Celegorm when they held her hostage. Perhaps she learned a little bit about them somehow and recognized that they weren’t totally evil (not in the way Morgoth and Sauron are, anyway) and came to care about them, prompting her to demand that Beren spare Curufin. We don’t know.

But her “brave” actions, again, draw a fair bit of skepticism. Along with making her look courageous, yet reckless all at once, add naive to that list; Why is she doing all this? We get that she loves Beren, but does she seriously think that things will end all well and good for them? Usually the world rarely works the way we want it to.

You would think Luthien would consider that one of them might actually die trying to pull everything off. Perhaps this can be attributed, again, to her sheltered life; being an elf, surrounded by elves, and the daughter of a minor deity and an elven king, I seriously doubt that Luthien really understood the concept of death and just how final it is for humans - especially given that elves don’t stay deceased permanently. This can point to more naivety on her part; naivety that places both herself and Beren in danger.

Her decision between the Fate of Men and the Fate of Elves might also be something else that is indicative of naivety, for the same reasons that I noted above that they might be indicative of foolishness as well: Did she consider that she and Beren might not have a happy ending, even if she chose the Fate of Men? Did she think about the possibility that all of her actions might be in vain? Who knows? We have absolutely no insight on Luthien from her perspective; all we can do is speculate and interpret. Personally, I think she knew and was willing to risk it all, and I find that beautiful, but it may come across negatively to some.

One possible (quite morbid) interpretation for Luthien that erases her flaws of being reckless and/or naive, but serves to make her a much darker character and appear even more selfish, is that she knew exactly how little chance she had of succeeding in her quest, and how much chance she and Beren had of dying. Perhaps, she didn’t care. Perhaps, to her, as long as she and Beren could prove their love, it didn’t matter to her if one or both of them died along the way. Even this interpretation of her makes her an extremely heavily flawed individual, increasing her selfishness by a drastic amount.

That’s why, in my personal opinion, Luthien is far from being perfect and I don’t quite understand how the notion that she’s flawless came about. Personally, when I first read about her in The Silmarillion, she struck me as more of a child, a hopeful and idealistic girl, than a mature, adult woman. Sure, she’s insanely beautiful and has a level of luck that’s out of this world, but that doesn’t make her perfect (imo), not with so many flaws in her character.

There’s one last criticism of Luthien that I’ve noticed in the fandom: That her story begins and ends with a man (Beren), and that her entire character revolves around him. I disagree.

In my opinion, Luthien’s story begins in her father’s kingdom, long before she met Beren. She was sheltered and doted upon, and didn’t know much about the outside world. Her father was a powerful king, and her mother was a literal angel; they were both good parents and both treated her with overflowing love and affection. That was the world that Luthien knew.

Enter Beren, a scruffy, sweaty, vagabond mortal man from the outside world, someone who has endured a tough, tribulating life in the wilderness, betrayal, and the death of his father and his companions, someone who is being pursued by Morgoth. He falls in love with her, and Luthien falls in love with him. How exactly Luthien fell in love with Beren is never elaborated upon by Tolkien.

But in my personal opinion, imagine being in Luthien’s perspective, looking at this man - the first of the Secondborn that she’s ever encountered in her long life. Imagine how utterly fascinating he would be; at his (to her) young age, he’s endured more hardship than she, who was born into peace and privilege, can understand. He brings her stories about the world outside, a world that she can only imagine. And he’s kind to her. He’s in love with her. This man who has been through so much is in love with her.

Beren was Luthien’s first contact with the outside world - the real world, not the one that her father tried to keep her safe and sheltered in. He introduced to her just how dangerous and harsh it can be, but it was because of how perilous the world is that Luthien was able to develop as a character, overcoming hurdle after hurdle. In my opinion, that’s a part of why Luthien loved Beren so much. He connected her with the rest of the world and enabled her to form her own perspective of it, outside of where Thingol wanted to protect her. And I think that’s heartrending; he showed her the world, and she’s willing to give up the world for him.

I’ll tag my friend @martaaa1506 in this, because one of the few Tolkien topics we (happily and amicably, I still love her no matter what) disagree on is Luthien, and I want to hear things from a different perspective. 

[emptymanuscript]

Lords of Pain 1 - 1/24/20

I am not actually one of those writers who is innundated with ideas. I know how to generate them but in terms of just having a decent story idea just strike me like lightning, I get one of those once every thousand years or so. 

And having an idea is never the same as developing it. So, inspiration to story is long or never. So it goes.

One of the few bolt out of the blue ideas that I can feel has meat on it but which I still have no idea what to do with now quite a few years after I had it, I knicknamed for myself as Lords of Pain.

Lords of Pain is simple, as most good story ideas are. It’s the sort of thing that is easy for pretty much anyone to do. Also actually the mark of a good idea way more often than most people think. But one which lends itself to the execution being hard to produce identically. Which is actually the real key to good ideas. Not the story as a whole but to create the framework for something that any given individual writer will produce quite differently from any other given individual writer.

ONLY Tolkien would have written Lord of the Rings the way we got it. And even arguably better writers who tried to copy Lord of the Rings never managed to get the same thing. Same essential idea very different executions.

Lords of Pain is simple, as I said, The core idea is that there are Psychics whose only power is that they can literally feel the pain of others. An untrained psychic has chronic pain themselves as all the pain that is around them leeches into their system. So catching and training them is important even for their own health. A trained psychic is a valuable health care worker, able to feel exactly where it hurts, how much, and in what way even if the patient can’t communicate it. They can even accurately judge the pain because they have felt lots of different types from lots of different people and can actually compare apples to apples. Of course, the downside of all of this is that they are literally feeling it themselves. Their “psychic probe” of a dude with a broken leg feels like their leg is broken.

Unfortunately for me, that’s as far as I’ve ever gotten and while that’s very sticky it is simply not enough to make a story out of. So I just kind of sit on it. 

But I think about it a lot. The original inspiration for Lords of Pain was being in pain myself while having a friend in much more serious pain and I wanted a way to know “FOR SURE” if I was just being a whiner or not. The Wish Fulfillment of the Lords of Pain fantasy was that knowing. Even if it hurts, now you KNOW. With the bonus double wish fulfillment of pain having purpose. At least there is a tangible benefit to my hurting. Which I wasn’t feeling so much at the time but my friend was.

These days the idea has been bouncing around in my head more and more often as my chronic pain is shooting up through my roof. These days I think a third wish fulfillment is coming through: the idea of pain maybe being combatible. Since the obvious plot twist somewhere in there is that the system benefits from the Psychic’s pain and therefore has a vested interest in it not stopping. Which means the Psychic will eventually get the choice about whether to accept that the benefit outweighs the cost to them - as I put it to a physical therapist trainee helping me out the other week: if a billion people aren’t starving anymore, that’s a fair trade for me having some medical issues and not being able to safely eat bread. OR they can reject that their pain is an acceptable price for whatever good they may or may not do. 

Which by the way is the probably difference between an “Adult” story and a “Younger Audience” story. In the “Adult” version the Protagonist sacrifices their permanent interests for the benefit of their community. In the “younger” versions the Protagonist asserts their individuality against the harmful demands of their community. 

Of course, adultness and maturity has nothing really to do with it. That’s just our arbitrary labeling. Society just has a vested interest in the “Adult” point of view so it works to encourage and reward that however it can. 

Which is one of the reasons YA has been so popular the last few years with people who are very much not young adults. Beyond the quality of the stories, we’re in a time of deep disatisfaction with our Society and its direction. People, in general, no matter their socio-political affiliations, believe we’re going in the wrong direction and therefore desperately want the fantasy of telling Society to go shove it all the way to the grave. 

“Good” and “Bad” as defined for us is being challenged at the level of our cultural psyche. 

Which returns me to Lords of Pain. Because that’s the origin and now the struggle of the story. Lords of Pain originated because I wanted to make my pain, and how I acted because of it, “Good.” But these days I’m not feeling those old definitions. I don’t feel like I can make pain good. Which means the story is probably racing along toward becoming an actual story. When there’s no easy answer but you feel something anyway, that’s a story that’s going to work for you. 

And it was pointed out to me this week that as I talk a lot about pain and all this outside of writing AND I have the wish fulfillment of expression, that this - what I’m writing here and now - might be the “Good.” I can’t feel other people’s pain but I can express my own. And for those who might not have that power, having someone who not only does but uses it, might be of real value. Which might give me some mastery and therefore relief: some feeling of being a Lord of Pain myself. 

So, lying to myself that it is about writing, maybe as a reference. Yeah, everyone needs some references about pain. Totes. And probably using this as a distraction as much as anything - I think I’m going to try. These will not be happy posts. Because... well... pain. So I’m labeling them all. No surprises that way. And they’re going to be personal because it is personal, that’s the point. So I won’t have anything nice to say about someone trying to take a shot at what I’ve said. But if anyone wants to reblog and add their own personal experience or something that it inspires in them about their own life and interactions, I think that too is the point. Go for it. 

For instance, you might ponder if Pain can be good in your outlook. Or if only certain types of Pain can have a moral value. Do you find yourself espousing a moral outlook toward Pain in your writing? Is it one you realized you had? If you’re in Pain, do you WANT it to have moral value?

[irandrura]

Around 13 hours in, at the Garif Village:

There are still elements of the plot that make much more sense in hindsight. Ashe’s visions of Rasler were unclear on the first playthrough; but now I know that the Occuria are sending them to try to manipulate Ashe into destroying Archades with nethicite, in order to stop Cid and Venat from using their nethicite research to overthrow them, I can see where the visions are leading. In other words, the visious have moved from being vaguely sad and ominous to being interpretable as moves in a game of power politics. The Occuria are the closest FFXII has to visible or active ‘gods’, and even they are concerned with relatively straightforward matters of political power and ambition.

(I do mean to write a post about religion or divinity in this game, since I remember finding that an odd topic, but I think it might have to wait until Bur-Omisace.)

However, what stands out to me most strongly at this point is the game’s emphasis on motivation.

Put simply, none of the heroes seem to be very clear on why they’re doing any of this.

Well, for half of them, at least. Fran, Basch, and Penelo all have motives that boil down to “follow and help the person I am loyal to”. They’re there because of another character. But the people they follow – Balthier, Ashe, and Vaan – all have quite ambiguous motives that they themselves don’t even seem to understand. The game has gone to some effort to establish plausible reasons for each character to be on this quest, but then it keeps coming back and problematising them.

Based on Vaan’s prior words and actions, there are a range of reasons he could be here. He could be just seeking adventure. He could be trying to become a sky pirate: either by obtaining enough wealth from this adventure to buy his own ship, or by tagging along and learning from Balthier. He could be acting as a Dalmascan patriot, either seeking revenge on Archades or liberation from Dalmasca. In that light he could be tagging along with Ashe’s resistance, or following Basch out of a desire to avenge Reks. Any one of those reasons, in a different game, could be enough for his character arc. Here, though, Vaan seems to often change his mind. When Balthier asks him why he’s here in Rabanastre, Vaan is lost for words; and in Jahara, the best Vaan can come up with is “I need answers, and I think I can figure them out if I keep following you.”

In some ways I quite like this, and even find it more psychologically credible than heroes of other games. Vaan’s only seventeen: he’s still figuring out who he is. If I remember myself at that age, I didn’t know who I was going to be or what I wanted. I was exploring a lot of different possibilities, and following the paths that seemed interesting, in the hope that my purpose might become clearer over time. The same is true for Vaan.

Balthier, on the other hand, is more enigmatic. Noticeably I haven’t seen any ‘personal’ scenes with him thus far. He puts up a glib, confident front, and unlike Vaan or Ashe, hasn’t shown much of his deeper self to the player. This makes him more of a cipher. The surface interpretation of Balthier – and the one that Ashe expresses to Vossler in Raithwall’s tomb – is that he’s just after money. However, for a supposedly mercenary character, Balthier doesn’t seem to care that much about it. He was lured into the tomb expedition with the promise of Raithwall’s treasure, but when he discovers that treasure is just a summon, he offers nothing more than a snarky quip. He doesn’t seem at all irritated to be denied the treasure he was promised. As we go on we see Balthier going to pretty extreme lengths to help out, even though the payment seems far too meagre. He demands Ashe’s ring as payment for going to Jahara, but would a single ring be worth very much? He says he’ll return it if he finds “something more valuable”, but he doesn’t appear to have any idea of what that might be. The impression one gets is that he only asks for the ring in order to test Ashe’s commitment to her beliefs – but why would a mercenary care about that? And finally in Jahara, when Basch rightfully calls him on his motives, Balthier changes his story again and claims he’s just in it to see where the story goes.

Of course, with the benefit of hindsight, I can speculate that at least part of his reason for being here is daddy issues. Even so, the idea that helping Ashe’s quest would lead to Cid or any resolution of his family issues is pretty far-fetched: this is a very circuitous route to Draklor. Beyond that, Balthier’s been running from his father, so why he’d want to change directions now is even more unclear. It’s hard to resist the conclusion that, like Vaan, Balthier doesn’t really know why he’s here at all. He’s an older man so it’s less likely to be youthful confusion. Is he driven to stay by some fascination that he himself doesn’t understand?

I am vaguely aware of a reading of FFXII that sees romantic subtext between Balthier and Ashe, which might give him a further reason to stay. All I can say here is that so far I can see no subtext like that. In a different story I can imagine the ring scene coming off like that, but so far Balthier has shown pretty much zero interest in Ashe as a person, and similarly zero sign that he even considers her attractive, so I tend to stick with the mercenary interpretation. I might have more thoughts on shipping later in the game, but right now I see nothing that isn’t just blatant eisegesis.

That leaves Ashe. She is, I would argue, the closest thing FFXII has to a ‘hero’ or ‘protagonist’, and on one level her motive is very obvious. Ashe wants to drive out the Empire and re-establish a free and independent Dalmasca with herself as queen. The thing is, though, that’s very easy to state – and very difficult to work out in practice. So far Ashe is very good at making dramatic resolutions and projecting confidence, but they often don’t seem very well thought out, and she finds herself needing to change her mind. The most dramatic instance would be Ashe’s declaration that the Dawn Shard will be her sword against the Empire – and retreating when Vaan points out that she has no idea how to use it, or even how it works.

It’s also striking, of course, that Ashe made that bold promise to use what is to all intents and purposes a magical nuclear bomb against Archades, and then a few scenes later, in the Garif village, she’s willing to listen to Larsa and go with his proposal to establish a negotiated Archadian withdrawal. And this also soon after she felt so betrayed by Vossler’s attempt to negotiate an Archadian withdrawal and independent Dalmasca! What’s going on in Ashe’s head? Does she hate the Empire or not? Back in Bhujerba she was pleading with Ondore to support an open resistance movement, and now she seems to accept Larsa’s claim that they need to stop Ondore launching a revolt.

It’s hard to resist the conclusion that while Ashe wants to be queen of a free Dalmasca, she has no earthly clue how to achieve that. She’s being buffeted around by the winds of fate, grasping at the first thing in front of her that seems like it might help. I think it shows that Ashe has been raised to be a princess, to project confidence and duty in public, but underneath that she’s still a young woman who’s in way over her head. She knows she’s surrounded by cunning and patient older men who’d love to use her as a figurehead to boot. Ashe is skeptical of those demands from outside, but she still follows a path laid out for her by others – Vossler, Ondore, Larsa, and ultimately the Rasler vision and the Occuria – because she hasn’t yet figured out what her own path should be.

So ultimately, what’s striking me most about FFXII right now is that I’m following a party of characters none of whom seem to clearly understand what they’re questing for or why.

It’s cleverer and more subversive than I remember. The quest motif is everywhere in fantasy, but in the traditional, Tolkien-inspired form, it’s usually very clear what the goal is and how it will be achieved. The Lord of the Rings outlines the quest of the Ring halfway through the first volume and the heroes never substantially deviate from it. The challenge is to accomplish the quest. Most follow-up fantasy has a similar clarity to it, especially in video games. In the original Final Fantasy you want to light the orbs and defeat the fiends. In Dragon Age you want to stop the Blight. In every Star Wars game ever, you want to defeat the Empire and/or dark Sith lord. In The Legend of Zelda you want to defeat Ganon. In Chrono Trigger you want to stop Lavos. In The Elder Scrolls you want to stop Dagoth Ur/Mehrunes Dagon/Alduin. There’s a clear goal (defeat the bad guy) and a clear process for accomplishing it (defeat the lesser monsters, unite the various factions, collect all the magic tokens, etc.).

In FFXII, the challenge is to figure out what the hell your quest should be

It’s kind of weird, isn’t it?