All day (in between family dinners and nibling wrangling) I’ve been reading the confessions sent to the very wonderful @goodwithcheese, who has so kindly opened up the confessional for us sinners so we can enter the New Year cleansed in the light of those soulful brown eyes.
And I can’t help but be struck by a couple of things.
First: the people talking about rediscovering desire, pleasure, working out their needs and wants, trying out new things and so on through being in this fandom and reading fic.
YES. I LOVE TO SEE IT. I RELATE SO ✨FUCKING✨HARD. (I also want to send copies of Emily Nagoski’s Come As You Are to all of you.)
Second: the amount of hurt and pain and loneliness out there in this strange, sort-of community.
Stories of feeling like imposters, of friends turning their backs or ghosting or using people, of cutting ties, of feeling like outsiders, of just feeling like you don’t fit in or no one wants you around.
(Unfortunately: also a lifelong hard relate from me, and in lieu of a brilliant self-help sex book I’m just sending a hug.)
And it’s so fucking sad. In the time since I’ve been here, I feel like there have been instances of division being sown and the emergence of cliques - probably normal for all social groups, however they’re constituted, but it’s clear that this has left so many hurt people in its wake. And maybe seeing this in the anons should be a bit of a wake-up call for some.
All this is to say: Megan, thank you for giving people a chance to be open, for your kindness, and for your beautiful, thoughtful advice about moving forward.
In particular, I’m taking this one with me into 2024:
Isn’t that lovely?
2024: Slower. Kinder. More honest. More respectful.
Oh - and more thirsty. 😏
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October 29th
Costumes
Oh, Russingon - my curse, my downfall, my fatal weakness - there you are.
Too many people deserve a mention and I quail at the idea of disturbing those revered authors in their peace with my silly little ficlet, so - ever the coward - I will abstain.
Nonetheless, it would be dishonest not to mention last-capy-hupping and arofili for being such lovely inspirations and supporters. Never forgotten also the amazing people thanked in my TRSB fics who have helped me figure things out.
Here they are, the pairing that changed everything, pulled me through TRSB, and made me go on writing for the Silm...the couple that made me go back on all my principles...
Here is the testament to "Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong..."
There's been a lot of discourse running through my head lately and I'm weirdly reticent to post this one...I guess I'm just afraid of what might happen...here goes nothing...
Words: 738
Warnings: LGBTQ+ characters, half-cousin incest, cross-dressing, trans!Fingon...the whole shablam 🙈
“I am so not going to wear this!” Maedhros grunted and glared at Fingon who was holding up a lumpy, oddly spotted, limp piece of fabric that looked suspiciously like a tent with sloppy a giraffe print plastered all over it.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Fingon purred, stepping closer and throwing aside his decoy costume to push his hands into the luscious mane of his lover’s hair; he loved every single strand of it and it was its glory that had inspired his real concept for this Halloween. “How brave are you, my handsome one?”
Maedhros gave a deep sigh; he knew that tone only too well and – after many long discussions – they had finally decided to wear matching costumes. It was not an official admission of their relationship status per se, but it was already a big step away from stealing kisses and pretending not to know each other too intimately when other people were around.
“I am not afraid of the costume,” Maedhros griped, “I just don’t want to look like a fool.”
Vulnerability and vanity painted his face a flaming crimson, but Fingon only repeated his question in a soft, tender, encouraging voice while he peppered small kisses along the ridge of Maedhros’ jaw.
“As long as you’re with me, valiant, reckless Finno, I can be very brave indeed,” he replied in a moment of foolish, cocky courage. “Bring it on!”
Reaching under his bed, Fingon produced a long tube, shimmering in dazzling reddish colours in the dimmed light of his bedside lamp and held it up to Maedhros’ body with a quizzical look on his face.
“Finno,” Maedhros growled warningly; there was – in his opinion – no way he’d fit into the criminally narrow garment that would, if he was to succeed against all odds, hug every non-existent curve of his bony body.
The reference picture on Fingon’s phone showed the drawing of a busty redhead with a smouldering gaze and a sensual mouth.
“Jessica Rabbit,” Fingon whispered, “the second-hottest ginger in the world.”
“Second to whom?” Maedhros grinned, taking the dress from him and rubbing the thin, flexible material between his thumb and forefinger pensively; his blood roared with an elating mix of excitement and dread.
“You, of course,” Fingon laughed and nodded at his wardrobe, “I’ll go as her sometimes-ex and often-husband, Roger Rabbit.” There was such raw, bare-faced, disarming hope in his face that Maedhros felt his neck melt; he nodded even while every fibre of his being bristled at the idea of letting everyone see just how pale and angular he was.
If it would make Fingon – who was ready and willing to wear a poofy rabbit tail and formless dungarees – smile, Maedhros would not be a spoilsport.
“Okay,” he breathed, leaning forward and letting Fingon impress that beatific smile onto his own lips so he could keep it forever in his heart and memory.
“I’ve asked my sister for help,” Fingon exclaimed excitedly. “I will do your make-up and straighten your hair.”
He had been so sure, Maedhros thought, deeply moved by this discovery; Fingon had been convinced that he’d manage to talk the stuck-up, often morose and sometimes craven man he called his own into wearing a skin-tight dress. The sudden onslaught of pure, infectious joy shooting like fireworks through his whole body him laugh aloud; yes, they would have fun and confuse many a person.
“Káno will be livid,” Maedhros grinned, “when I outshine him on the dancefloor.”
Inspired and overjoyed by Maedhros’ compliance – in truth, Fingon had fretted quite a bit about this – the would-be-rabbit resolved that he wouldn’t chicken out either; for the first time ever, he’d let others see his body, the truth written in pale scars – barely visible now – running along the underside of his pectorals, and the ridiculously slender wrists he felt so self-conscious about still.
“You’ll be the prettiest,” he promised Maedhros who seemed to grow ever more thrilled about the prospect of earning his mother-name by being undeniably beautiful. “And I’ll be the proudest critter at that rotten ball. Your brother will swallow his tongue out of sheer envy!”
It was a ludicrous way to come out, Maedhros thought hazily, a ridiculous proclamation of resilience, a preposterous declaration of love, but – the more he thought about it, the surer he grew – it would reflect and represent them, and all that they were underneath the polite and polished surface, perfectly.
@fellowshipofthefics here's one that's near and dear to my heart.
Lots of love from me...Please refrain from being needlessly cruel...I am just one person trying to put out some love; I've never meant to hurt/offend/anger anyone!
-> Masterlist
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