#indulge me with pippin pLEASE

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

sometimes i remember all the characters and worldbuilding that never made it into the films, and i'm both sad that not everyone got to experience them, but at the same time i'm so happy because they look only like i imagine them, they are unique, they are special, they are a bit like a secret between me and everyone else that knows the books, and they are ours only, only between the author and the readers, and those who only care about the action in the films will never get to see the world as a whole, its brilliance, never experience all those different characters and lifes and stories, and maybe it's better that way when the things that define them can't be stripped away for cinematic drama

#this is about lotr by the way #and the characters is mostly beregond im referring to #but also tom bombadil #i want everyone to be able to get to know them. i dont want them to get lost within some action film #there is so much worldbulding behind middle earth. so much Care in every single detail #if you only watch films for action and a bit of the plot i dont think you could grasp the genius of it all anyway #like the worldbuilding in lotr is something to indulge in and to obsess over (or thats how i see it) #its not an easy book to read. so when you read it at least for me its full in. im in this world. i am living there #you couldnt get that with films. as in thats literally impossible #a biscuit's rambles #anyway lets hear one loud cheer for beregond please who risked his life and job to protect faramir :) #he is the absolute best and i love him #and his relationship with pippin and everything- #ok im being carried away i could ramble endlessly about lotr

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Place to Grieve

Pairing: Aragorn x fem!reader (Aragorn and Strider are used interchangeably)

Summary: After losing a loved one, Strider offers you a place to grieve. 1.5k+ words

Warnings: loss of unspecified loved one, angst, fluff, Sindarin, canon divergent, spoilers for The Fellowship of the Ring

A/N: I’ve never written for Strider before but I really want a hug from him, so this is completely self-indulgent. Honestly, this weekend has been pretty rough and I was really unmotivated to write until I started this. I hope it’s okay and if you have any feedback please leave a comment or drop it in my inbox!🤍

Photo from Pinterest

“… is gone.”

Aragorn only hears the end of Gandalf’s news, but his sad smile and comforting hand on your shoulder are more than enough to show it is bad news. You shake your head in a small motion, blinking quickly before whispering something and stepping back.

This is no time to mourn. No place to grieve.

Turning away from Gandalf, you lock eyes with Strider. Nodding, you silently tell him you are fine. However, Strider is a good friend and a better ranger. Lying to him is not only impossible, it is unwise.

Gandalf leads you and the hobbits at the front of the company, sending concerned looks your way whenever you near him. Frodo and Sam distract you with stories of The Shire, and though you try to let your mind drift, you can only think of the gnawing sense of loss rooting itself deep in your chest. Learning of your loss, it feels as though you have lost a piece of yourself, a portion of your soul ripped away with hidden mourning.

Behind you, Strider ignores Legolas as he watches you. Your distant expression and sorrow-filled gaze worry him.

“An inn!” Sam exclaims. “We wish to stop for the night, do we not?”

Gandalf sighs, smiling as he gestures toward the city. Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin waste no time as they race toward the first sign of civilisation in countless miles. Legolas taps your shoulder kindly as he steps around you. After he falls into step with Gandalf, you take a shaky breath and close your eyes tightly, burying your rising emotions. Strider’s hand meets your arm, gently tugging you toward him. You look toward him but not at him, concerned you may fall apart if he asks what plagues your mind. Shaking your head, you pull away from him and follow Gandalf.

“Mell nîn,” Strider mutters under his breath. “Your heart calls out yet your mind silences it.”

Knowing that he is not always a good communicator, yet unwilling to risk losing your camaraderie and closeness, Strider often talks to you when you do not hear. Tonight, sensing the sadness deep in your being, he craves your words more than ever.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

Your breaths grow shallow and your eyes glassy before you stand, jostling your chair as you rush out of the dark pub. Strider follows you immediately, ignoring Gandalf’s soft laugh and guarantee that Strider can handle it. Gandalf knows that the hobbits and Legolas have grown attached to you; he has as well, but he is also the only one to notice your unique relationship with the ranger and rightful king of Gondor.

Strider says your name as he moves before you, raising a hand to stop you. You obey, halting as you wipe your freshly fallen tears off your cheeks.

Wishing to speak, comfort you, and welcome your words, Strider attempts to talk but falls speechless at the brokenness hiding behind your eyes, being slowly revealed as your tears continue.

“Excuse me,” you whisper, continuing around Strider.

He repeats your name, stopping you again. “I am sorry.”

“Why do you apologise?”

“Whatever news you have received ails you.”

Tightening your jaw, you move away from Strider again. Talking about it makes it real, solidifies it within your mind and heart and makes it impossible to hold yourself together.

“Please do not make me use force to comfort you, meleth nîn,” Strider pleads.

“You have no rule here, my king. There is nothing you can do to make me answer your questions,” you point out angrily.

“Then do as you are, take your anger out upon me, but do not run from me in your flee from feeling,” Strider answers, a mix of care and exasperation in his words.

The tears increase in both number as intensity as you lower your head. Releasing the first sob, you reach out for Strider, surprised when he pulls you into his embrace. His cloak grows damp under your cheek, his hand cradling your head to his chest.

“There is no shame in responding in this way, in being who you are,” Strider comforts quietly.

You don’t notice Strider move, but when you raise your head again, you find you are tucked between buildings. The dark corner provides the privacy you need to be honest with Strider.

Repeating Gandalf’s news, you tell Strider that someone you love is gone. His slow exhale accompanying his kind arms circling you makes you feel safe enough to accept it.

“I am sorry, mell nîn. Your loss will be felt through the miles and the centuries, I am sure.”

“This is no time to grieve,” you tell him. Hearing your thoughts aloud makes them seem inappropriate; as if someone so special is unworthy of your tears.

“I know what you mean,” Strider says, interrupting your thoughts. “This is a trying time and the company has a long journey ahead of us, but there is no good place, no good time to grieve.”

“Right here is acceptable,” you whisper, looking up at Strider.

His gaze drops, his arms still holding you against his chest. Though his words are few, they are never without meaning. The sudden silence during such a moment alerts you to your mistake.

“My apologies, my king,” you mutter, attempting to pull back.

“Then here you will grieve, will mourn, whenever you need,” Strider insists, refusing to let you retreat into yourself once more.

“But, my king-“

“I am no king,” Strider begins.

“Not yet,” you interject.

He smiles down at you, and the world seems to brighten. “But what kind of king would I be to deny a lady a shoulder on which to cry? To rest as she travels, as she experiences gains and losses with no other consistent place to rest?”

“You have responsibilities, as do I. And neither provide time for sadness. The grief will come later.”

“Your grief is not to be set aside. You are not a burden to our company, if that is your concern. Feeling nothing is not an option, meleth nîn.”

You nod, leaning closer to Strider.

“Thank you.”

“Mell,” Strider repeats quietly.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

It hits when it is darkest, a deep ache with no evident relief. Moving through the darkness, you approach Strider’s side, his watchful eyes gazing into the night.

“Strider?” you ask quietly.

He wordlessly opens his arms toward you, allowing you to rest against his shoulder as his cloak closes around you.

“Does it stop hurting?”

“Slowly. Soon the memories will be a welcomed kindness. A reminder of good times rather than an amplifier of the bad," he replies.

Nodding, Strider’s comfort, warmth, and kindness lull you to sleep. You wake tucked against his side and well-rested.

✨🗡️✨🗡️✨

After a week of sleeping at Strider’s side, you are not as sad as often as before. The emptiness has made way for early acceptance, though some moments still seem hopeless and void of all happiness. Your life will never be the same following the loss of another’s life, but you must continue living rather than stall in the moments of memories.

“Why are you so kind to me?” you ask Strider as he leads you to his guarding position.

“You are good. Everyone good deserves kindness,” Strider replies simply.

“The way in which you treat me differs from your actions toward Gandalf and the hobbits.”

“They do not hold a piece of nin hûr.”

Strider’s eyes are on you in the dim forest light.

“Why do you do that; speak in Sindarin, when you know I do not understand?”

Strider’s hands rise to pull you close, his fingers ghosting over your jaw.

“Because words are not easy for me. You mean more to me than words can express,” Strider admits quietly, his voice soft against the rustling leaves.

“Your hûr?”

“My heart.”

“Mell nín?”

“You.”

“So you have said,” you reply with a kind laugh. “But what am I to you?”

“My dear,” Strider says, dipping his head to kiss your forehead. “My beloved, my sweet.”

Smiling up at Strider, you repeat, “You hold my entire hûr, my king.”

“Ara.” At your confused hum, Strider smiles and translates, “King.”

“Aragorn,” you say, pulling yourself closer to him.

“Rían nîn,” he replies. “My queen.”

“Me?” Strider nods, pressing his head against your neck as your arms loop over his shoulders. “That is why you are so kind to me.”

“I have wished to love you since you joined the company. Since you joined my side.”

“What should I call you?”

“Call me whatever you wish, as long as I am yours.”

Moving your head to Strider’s shoulder, you return home.

“Thank you for allowing me to grieve. For welcoming me, my brokenness.”

“You are not broken,” Strider insists, standing as he cups your cheeks in his strong hands. “Your dark nights, your grief and mourning, do not define you. Your love, kindness, and joy with your friends do.”

“My heart, my love, my joy are yours.”

Strider falls silent again, pulling you against him as his lips meet yours in the dark forest. Though you miss those you have lost, Strider holds you close and leads you through the dark and the light of mourning.

#aragorn x reader #aragorn x fem!reader #aragorn x you #aragorn #aragorn my beloved #the lord of the rings #fem!reader #tw: death #tw: grief #cw: death #cw: grief

[kickedshins]

readalong riverdale playlist guide

songs have been added in no particular order. sometimes songs tie to broader visions of a musical episode, but some are just “they should have shoehorned this in somewhere in that classic riverdale way”. all songs are musical theater songs. yes i know they did superboy and the invisible girl but they did it wrong (sorry cami, you were great). this is an eternally updating playlist and guide. enjoy!

Corner of the Sky, from Pippin: Archie!!! This literally could happen anywhere at any point in time. What is this song if not Pippin going left Pippin going right. Put this wherever your heart desires. I want to come up with a Pippin musical episode plot because it’s so good. Jughead singing "Simple Joys" over a montage of Archie not dealing with his problems… I’m getting carried away.

Kind of Woman, from Pippin: Veronica would sing this in an entirely unselfaware way. I’m thinking early season two. Isn’t it a beautiful vision?

Superboy and the Invisible Girl, from Next to Normal: THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A COOPERS SONG. I’m mentally rewriting the n2n episode with this being a Coopers song.

Could I Leave You?, from Follies: A timeskip Veronica and Hermione duet at their respective shitty husbands. It ends with Hermione resignedly going back to the minutiae of marriage and with Ronnie shooting Chad in the face. Don’t worry about how this messes with plot this isn’t about that.

Your Fault, from Into the Woods: Read this post and envision a beautiful ITW episode.

I’ve Never Been in Love Before, from Guys and Dolls: Okay honestly? Archie and Josie duet. Cuter than "Fight For Me", imo.

Mother Knows Best, from Tangled: Alice, duh. Season one or season seven.

Do You Hear the People Sing?, from Les Mis: Season six union stuff baybee! Hand in hand with "Bread and Roses". It also would be really funny to have KJ and Vanessa, who in my opinion suffer the most from iPhone Voice in the cast, to do such a grand musical-y song. It would not be very good but boy would it be entertaining.

Therapy, from Tick, Tick… Boom!: BUGHEAD DYSFUNCTION DUET YES PLEASE. Let’s say season four. "Exquisite Corpse" vibe, but suppress it all. Maybe the problem’s simply codependency!

Get This Right, from Frozen II: Okay hear me out this is one of the most stupidly romantic songs I have ever heard. An Archie song, obviously. Timeskip Varchie. Maybe he’s actually about to propose, maybe not, doesn’t matter. All that matters is how much I genuinely think KJ could have slayed this song.

Being Alive, from Company: Obviously go read Jughead’s Weird Fantasy right now if you haven’t already. But even in Riverdale canon I would want Jughead to sing this in timeskip. If we’re getting specific it feels very Tabby tucking him in after he gets too drunk at the key party. Sorry for nixing the gay subtext by putting it next to a Jabitha moment jail for a million years for me I know. It could also be after Archie calls him when he’s in NYC. There you go, gay people.

Something’s Coming, from West Side Story: Season one or seven Archie. Just feels very wholesome. I think it would be cute. Could be performed on stage if season one.

How Did We Come to This?, from The Wild Party (Lippa): A Veronica La Bonne Nuit performance that somehow becomes a group number (she’s the only one singing on stage though). Season three. No "Queenie Was A Blonde" tag. I could make an AMV to this song. I should not do that I already have three in the works. But I could.

Run Away with Me, from The Mad Ones: This is purely self-indulgent because I like on-the-road Jarchie and I have a soft spot for this mediocre musical for personal reasons. 

Suddenly Seymour, from Little Shop of Horrors: Choni! Choni forever and ever amen. Season seven, I think, when Cheryl finally accepts that she’s a lesbian and is facing homophobia from her family/society/etc. Cheryl is Audrey which is funny because “mama was poor” lol no she wasn’t. They should go all the way and get the rights to change the lyrics to Suddenly Toni. Neither Madelaine nor Vanessa has the right voice for this song even a little bit. I do not care. 

Partner in Crime, from Tuck Everlasting: Betty and Archie. In my wildest fantasies this is like a season four flashback to them as kids and we have kid Barchie sing this song but other than that I think this could be a number when they’re hooking up in timeskip. Even though I don’t approve of Barchie hooking up in timeskip because I hate straight people I do think they would slay this. KJ specifically I think would sound great on this, it’s not really a Lili song but oh well. Another version that would be incredibly funny but not as good would be having timeskip Veronica and Reggie sing it about, like, actual crime.

Totally Fucked, from Spring Awakening: Kevin-centric group number in the style of "In" or "Beautiful". Could be anywhere from seasons two to four. Maybe we include the “did you write this?” thing with Betty and Jughead as Melchior. They did some expose for some paper. You know how it is. I wish the Riverdale characters were allowed to say fuck so bad.

Moving Too Fast, from The Last Five Years: Timeskip Jughead. It almost fits but doesn’t in a way that’s oh-so-Riverdale.

The I Love You Song, from The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee: Sad. Shared between Betty, Veronica, and Cheryl, but Veronica-centric (could be an unhinged La Bonne Nuit performance from her with cutaways to the other two, actually). Whenever the most amount of parents in this group are in jail. There’s at least one meaningful shot of Jughead reacting.

I’m Breaking Down, from Falsettos: Okay this one is sort of cheating because I don’t necessarily want to fit it into the actual canon of Riverdale I just think if Archie had come out in high school Veronica would have pulled a "The Ladies Who Lunch" and done this at La Bonne Nuit. I think Cami would body that.

What Is This Feeling?, from Wicked: Hear me out. Bret/Jughead duet.

For Good, from Wicked: Betty and Veronica, season seven. Or quad number in late s4/early s5 before the timeskip. I think Lili would sound gorgeous on this, especially the bridge.

Two-Player Game, from Be More Chill: Look Joe Iconis wrote music that was used in Archie: The Musical let me have this okay. Season one Jarchie. Jughead as Michael obviously even though he’s nothing like Michael and Archie is nothing like Jeremy. I just want to make Cole Sprouse say “favowite”.

Mother’s Gonna Make Things Fine, from A New Brain: I have a whole beautiful vision for an A New Brain musical episode that takes place in season four. It’s too long to get into right now but just know it’s there and it’s gorgeous and I’m going to fully flesh it out soon. Once again this is obviously an Alice song, except instead of well-meaning Jewish mom it’s overbearing evil (albeit MILFy) WASP. She’s fretting over Betty because Betty’s fretting about college or Jughead or something who cares. I just need Mädchen to do this.

Change, from A New Brain: This would happen about three quarters of the way through the episode. In classic Riverdale fashion they’d get a little insensitive with it and this would be a Ronnie La Bonne Nuit performance. Change the government kill the mayor! Say that! Even if the mayor is your parent! Especially if the mayor is your parent!

Brain Dead, from A New Brain: This is my favorite part of my A New Brain musical episode. It’s once again a Bughead repression duet. Just imagine the lavender marriage dream sequence anger tango they would do. I also think Cole Sprouse wouldn’t sound too horrible on this song. High praise. No lyric changes Jughead is saying “as the MD lifts me in his cruisy chiseled arms”. I’m getting angry about the fact that I will never get to see this on my screen I’m going to do some breathing exercises to calm down.

Take Me or Leave Me, from RENT: We’re gonna split this up among couples in classic Riverdale fashion. Timeskip, our Maureens are Kevin and Veronica, and our Joannes are Fangs and Archie. The Joannes don’t really work so maybe we’ll pull another classic Riverdale and cut their verses. Unfortunately the best line of the song (“Women, what is it about them? Can’t live with them or without them!”) has to be cut. I wish Choni could also sing this but alas it can’t work in this. Mostly this is an excuse to give Casey Cott more stuff to sing and I think it would be hilarious if he sung this.

Tango: Maureen, from RENT: Honestly, Riverdale both could and would do a really messy RENT episode. I should ruminate further on that. Anyway. I don’t actually know where or how this could work but I want it to be a weirdly sexually charged Vughead duet. But that makes Betty or Archie Maureen, and they are not Maureen… I don’t know. This one’s just in here because I like imagining Cole Sprouse dancing, and because I think Jughead is Jewish and it would be really funny to hear him say “Riverdale Jewish Community Center”. Let’s go with timeskip. She cheated! She cheated! Betty cheated! Fucking cheated! Oh, shit, could this be a Jarchie song in timeskip when Betty and Archie are hooking up? I think it could! Wow. Good work gang.

Razzle Dazzle, from Chicago: I’m also creating a beautiful Chicago musical episode that I don’t have time to detail right now but trust me it’s awesome. It’s in season four, Hermosa is relevant to it. Anyway this is another Kevin-centric group number where everyone is lying to different people about different things. Crucially, Cole Sprouse says the line “they’ll never know you’re just a bagel”.

I Can’t Do It Alone, from Chicago: Veronica’s asking someone to help her scheme!

Mister Cellophane, from Chicago: GAY KEVIN. NEED I SAY MORE.

My Own Best Friend, from Chicago: Beronica duet. Lives would be changed. They’re sort of fighting at this point in the episode so there would be an underlying current of potential hatefucking. But that’s sort of always the case with this song tbh. Also this isn’t on this playlist but imagine Reggie singing "Roxie". So bad. So good.

American Idiot, by Green Day/from American Idiot: Songs from jukebox musicals count too, right? Archie-led group number obviously. Let’s go with season six, but it could be season one or five, too. Maybe he is the faggot America. Jughead says the line “now everybody do the propaganda”. There’s a coordinated dance thing a la "Random Number Generation".

A Cockeyed Optimist, from South Pacific: Archie, duh. Season one, six, or seven. Probably sung directly to a Lodge.

Watch What Happens, from Newsies: Betty, season four. She's doing a piece on the community center that Archie and Mad Dog co-run. I think Lili would slay this honestly. I debated adding the reprise largely so that I could have Cole sing the snake line and to have an iconic "the poor guy's head is spinning" thing side note how can I make Davey and Jack about Jughead and Archie someone needs to shoot me. Anyway we'd cut the stuff about Katherine being into Jack in this song obviously because Betty is unhappily hetero with Jughead. Hashtag women in journalism.

Matchmaker, from Fiddler on the Roof: 50sdale girls. Really strong fun gay visuals exist in my brain for this one.

Anything You Can Do, from Annie Get Your Gun: Vughead. Neither can I!

Let Me Entertain You, from Gypsy: Ronnie duh. Season three-ish La Bonne Nuit Era. Or Polly Amorous.

I Cain't Say No, from Oklahoma!: 50sdale Betty sexual awakening era. I can SEE a beautiful beautiful dream sequence vision where she dances around flirting with Archie and Jughead and Reggie and Veronica can't you.

Tribulation, from Schmigadoon!: Yes this is a TV show not a staged live musical who cares. I don't like Music Man I'm not putting "Ya Got Trouble" on here. Alice gets a patter I don't think Mädchen would be particularly good at it but it would be extremely fun. Season seven most likely, but let's be real it could come at any point in the show.

Naughty Baby, from Crazy for You: You think I'm about to say Veronica or perhaps Cheryl don't you. WRONG Dark Betty. Oh it would be so cringe so painful so bad so terrible. It must happen. I don't know when in the show it happens it could literally be any time in s1-6.

With One Look, from Sunset Boulevard: Ronnie... I'm thinking s5 Riverbucks era.

that's all i have for now but there's more to come :]

#riverdale #kickedshins originals

[camille-lachenille]

A Merry and Eowyn fic!! And it's epistolary! Tell me more! — @emyn-arnens

Hi, gladly! It’s one of my favourite concepts so far.

It is the correspondence between Éowyn and Merry as they settle home, marry and become parents, exchange about the joys and pains of their lives and the gossips of the Shire and Ithilien. It’s very fluffy, with a healthy dose of Merry being his nerdy little self and Éowyn healing. There will also be letters between Pippin and Faramir but I haven’t reached this point.

Here’s some snippet I especially like:

But I am not here to complain but to rejoice! For I have two more wonderful children to love and care for, and a single of their toothless smiles suffices to brighten my day.

My dear Estella indulged once more my choices of names, and I am immensely grateful she let me honour one of the bravest and strongest people I met, and who I am honoured to call friend at that. Yes, Éowyn, I am talking about you! Faramir, please tell your Lady wife it is extremely rude to refuse a compliment.

For the wips game: https://www.tumblr.com/camille-lachenille/734460488516354048/wips-game

#camille’s ask box #wip game #éowyn #merry brandybuck #the lord of the rings #tolkien

[persefoneshalott]

list of musical/theatre characters I would love to see as butch lesbians:

1)Phantom from Phantom of the opera: "The requiem mass is not at all gay," Erik's voice resumed, "whereas the wedding mass—you can take my word for it—is magnificent! You must take a resolution and know your own mind! I can't go on living like this, like a mole in a burrow! Don Juan Triumphant is finished; and now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased." (@pureanonofficial first brought up that long quote and the whole idea to me !!<3) and the wedding dress being a family heritance!!! god!!!! i am obsessed

2)Pippin from Pippin the Musical

3)Creature from Frankenstein but only with the songs from the college rock musical. idk i just think he's neat

4)Jim Treasure Island (i've seen one that did it with jim but they made it straight between her and silver?? the silver & jim dynamic HAS to be queer) this is fully just self indulgent on my part as someone who related a lot to jim hawkins treasure planet and wants lesbian pirates

5)all the pirates from pirates of penzance (see prev justification also I just think butches in those open shirts...)

6)butch and femme bonnie & clyde musical

7)Gleb from Anastasia the musical

7)Hans from Frozen the musical (sometimes I just want evil ambitious lesbians and that's ok)

8) JD Heathers bc I'm still not over that one youtube webseries of heathers they did where they were wlw

#idk what this is #butch #musicals

[pips-is-squeaking]

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Intro post yippee !! :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Haiii ! I decided to make a separate blog for my ramblings because I feel better having my art and talkins be in separate places :>

My name is Pippin , but I'm fine with almost any nickname version under the sun so go crazy ! (灬╹ω╹灬)

I have a lot of interests , so many I tend to forget some so honestly maybe just DM me if you think I like a media because I'm usually in the mood to talk about the stuffs I like !! :3

Right now I'm super into Penny Arcade so expect that to be the main thing I post about , but I'm sure I'll post about other things soon enough ehehe (⁰▿⁰)

🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷

Basic info about me , simple stuff I feel is important to know :

-As of writing this , I am a minor ! I don't rlly care about who interacts with me based on age , but I know some folks do so there's that .

-I am a quarter Japanese , and I'm super interested in Japanese culture and the likes so forgive me if I get a little self indulgent and project my Wasian upbringing on my faves hehe

-I kinda go up and down when it comes to activity online , so don't worry if I randomly stop posting . I'll be back sooner or later !

-I can sometimes get super shy and anxious , so sorry if it takes me a bit to reply ! I'm just thinking over my response and making sure it's right .

-I guess I'm okay with she/her , although I don't really care . Basically just whatever works for you !

-I feel a little silly putting this here , but please be nice to my interests ! I have a lot of passion for the things I post , and I care deeply for them .

-I draw ! You can go see my work on the account @pippin-squeaks !!

🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷♡🩷

I try to make my blogs and online postings safe for anyone to view , but I do swear and talk about a lot of subjects that tend to be sensitive . I try my best to tag things , but I'm certain there will be slip-ups. So while my accounts are open to most (if not all) , there is like a PG 13 kind of advisory in place

#Pippins squeakings #txt post #intro post #I dont quite know how to tag this

[tookishrogue]

love grows

pairing: Pippin x fem!hobbit!reader

warnings: none

requested by: no one! purely self indulgent lol

A/N: this is part one of a new series!! this fic is based off of this song:) it’s also part of the February Bingo, under the “love at first sight” category! enjoy, I hope you like it!

    It was an ordinary day in the Shire when Pippin first saw her. Her jaw was set, her eyes wild, and her fists were clenched. Her hair had very clearly been aggressively thrown into a messy bun, though it was barely pulled back at all at this point. Her dress was coated heavily in flour and cocoa powder, and in her right hand she gripped a rolling pin. She was practically sprinting, too; stomping so hard and so quickly with each step that he could practically feel the impact of her foot hitting the ground from several feet away. The other Hobbits in the small, open market watched too, as if her fury put everyone in a trance. As she marched past him, her eyes locking with his for a moment. Her eyes were startlingly beautiful; rich (e/c), bright and sharp. She slowed ever so slightly as she noticed his expression, but quickly looked away and moved on as she wove through the crowd. 

    Pippin watched as she approached her target: one of the most popular baking-supply shops. She opened the door far more gracefully and delicately than he would’ve guessed, smiling at the shopkeeper and politely gesturing to what she was looking for. Did he dare go closer? She was moving out of his line of sight now, and he felt the need to know more about her. He didn’t know anything about her, but he hoped beyond reason that he would soon. He waited outside the shop for a moment, waiting until she was farther down the road to enter. “That girl that just came in; who was she? Why was she so--”

    “Filled with rage?” the owner laughed. “Ah, that’s just Y/N. I’ve known her long enough to understand her, er..behavior. She’s having trouble with a recipe, that’s all. Before you go chasing after her -- which I can tell you want to -- I ought to warn you. She’s a bit..odd. She’s very temperamental when it comes to recipes. Very specific. She does her best to remain polite, but she tends to get lost in the recipe and her own little world, hence the flour and her hair. Personally, I think she’s a bit cracked.” 

    “Y/N…” Pippin muttered, disregarding the rest. “Where does she spend her time, do you know?”

    The Hobbit sighed. “Clearly you heard nothing past her name. Tooks, I swear..just follow her, boy! Just don’t provoke her further. Now, did you come here to ask questions or to buy something?”

    Pippin blinked. “Sorry. I suppose I’ll buy something. I’ll just take a raspberry scone then. Extra powdered sugar, please.” 

    Moments later, he was off, chasing a girl he had been told was ‘cracked,’ scone in hand. Normally he would’ve eaten it by now, but he was hoping she’d take it as a peace offering. Not that he’d done anything wrong, of course, but still; who wouldn’t like a fresh pastry to brighten their day? 

    After several minutes of running, he finally reached her. She had slowed down considerably and seemed to be muttering to herself as she rifled through the small bag of goods she’d bought. Noticing the young Hobbit, she glanced up at him. “Hello, who are you?”

    “I’m Pippin Took, milady. I, uh..bought you this. I saw you were upset, and food tends to make me feel better, so I was hoping it’d do the same for you!” he stammered, shakily handing her the scone. 

    Y/N smiled and took it gratefully. “Thank you, Master Took. I’m sorry if I looked..deranged earlier. Recipe’s giving me trouble; it’s very frustrating.” 

    “Oh, could I help? After years of raiding my mother’s kitchen after mealtime, I’ve developed quite a sophisticated palette. That is, I’ll eat just about anything that’s put in front of me. Anyway, I could be a sort of taste-tester, if you’d like! Not that I think your cooking is gross, of course--” 

    Y/N laughed. “No worries, I understand. I may not have siblings of my own, but I can understand that. Sure, I’d be more than happy to have some company. Keep in mind, though, I tend to ramble when I bake. I can’t help it; so many ideas and steps, it sort of tumbles out!” 

    “That’s more than fine with me! After all, just being in the company of such a beautiful young lady is more than enough!” 

    Y/N nearly stopped in her tracks, her face practically glowing red. “You..think I’m beautiful?” 

    Pippin had not even realized he’d said the words out loud. Now what? Surely she would pummel him with her rolling pin. How could he say that? “I, er..yes?”

    She raised her eyebrow.

    “I mean, yes! Of course I do. You’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

     They stood motionless for a few agonizing moments before she burst out laughing. “You’re quite bold, Master Took. Don’t worry. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but judging by the fear in your eyes, I suppose the baker told you I’m prone to violence. That’s not true in the least, by the way. Unless you’re a heap of dough, you have nothing to worry about. I may be particular when it comes to baking, but I’d never actually hurt anyone, so don’t worry. It’s very sweet of you to say that, thank you. I..haven’t ever been told that before. Most people avoid me.” She smiled at him, her cheeks still flushed. “Do you still want to join me? It won’t take long for me to finish my recipe. Once I’m done, maybe we could go on a walk? Up to you, of course.” 

    Eyes widening, Pippin found himself nodding enthusiastically. As they walked, he felt his arm and hand drifting towards hers. Their hands touched briefly, causing them both to blush and look away. After a while, they finally conceded and let their hands meet and their fingers knit together. Neither of them had worked up the courage to say anything, but Pippin realized that he loved her endlessly. 

#pippin x reader #lotr fanfic #rogue's fics #rogue's masterlist

[lovely-v]

LOTR (films) Review

So I finally watched the LOTR films (20 years later). I’m super excited to review these because I read the books very recently so I feel at least a little prepared to voice some opinions. Overall I loved the films, here’s a very long (but by no means exhaustive) compilation of my thoughts, which are of course, totally subjective:

(Warning: a lot of me saying “well, actually, in the book...”)

THINGS I LIKED

- Casting! not much to say here, I thought the casting was great. One of my favorite actors that I didn’t think i’d have a huge opinion on was David Wenham as Faramir. I was kinda ambivalent on him when I saw pictures but i thought he did a great job. he showed his quality.

- Music. so much has been said about the films on the music front. I can’t offer too much original insight but when a bit of the Shire theme started to play as Frodo tries to make his way up Mount Doom I cried a little.

- Boromir and Aragorn. I liked the scene where they interact a little in Rivendell. I also like how Aragorn saves Boromir in the Moria battle and gives him this little nod of friendship. I think the films did a great job portraying the dynamic they have where Aragorn is clearly suspicious of Boromir’s motivations but grows to respect him to the point where he doesn’t even blame Boromir for being corrupted by the ring because he understands that, at heart, Boromir is a good person. 

- Sam and Frodo in Osgiliath. I expected to be kind of annoyed with the way this plot point played out (I knew ahead of time that it strayed from the book), but I actually liked it a lot. As I’ll say later, there’s some gripes I have with the way the films extremely play up the disagreements between Frodo and Sam, but I loved the scene where Frodo pulls the sword on Sam and then seems so defeated when he realizes what he’s done. I was pleasantly surprised by how emotional this scene made me. It’s admittedly A Lot, but it was done nicely, especially in conjunction with Sam’s “there’s good in this world” speech.

- Treatment of the ending. I almost think I should dislike the ending as it is in the movies, but my heart is soft and I like that they sugarcoated it a bit. I know the whole point of the Scouring of the Shire and Frodo’s depression conveys a lot about war and trauma and I think that is important, but after watching these things for twelve hours I just wanted Frodo & co. to be happy and I was kinda relieved that they cut the Scouring. Does that make me weak and perhaps bad at film analysis? yes. do I care? no. I was also very glad that the movies didn’t portray how depressed Sam was about losing Frodo in the end. Yes, he cries, but when he walks home to his family he seems happy and in the books that scene came off so much bleaker. I definitely liked the lighter tone.

THINGS I WAS NEUTRAL ON/DIDN’T LIKE

- Arwen. (Neutral) I don’t hate her, I don’t love her. I think the story she and Aragorn have is compelling and I 100% get why the filmmakers decided to add it to give her character more depth, but it felt misplaced at times. maybe it’s just because it was the only storyline I didn’t know in depth, but the scenes with the Arwen/Aragorn flashbacks felt a bit confusing and disorienting. Don’t have anything against Arwen as a character though, I think she’s pretty alright.

- Gimli. (Complicated thoughts) I want to start off by saying I don’t dislike Gimli. I like him a lot! I just think the movies did him a bit dirty. He had some good movie-exclusive moments, but I think his character really fell into this place of being the butt of too many jokes. Would have liked to see some more serious Gimli development, especially with his relationship to Legolas. Their friendship felt too much like subtext here, whereas it’s explored far more in the books.

- Two Towers Pacing. (Didn’t really like). The pacing of TTT was...weird. maybe I’m going into this with a closed mind because of the books, but it was odd to have the movie begin with Frodo and Sam and then have them only appear for a few rapid scenes after that. I think the fact that a WHOLE LOT of what happens to Frodo and Sam in TTT is moved to RotK is what makes it feel that way? In the books, Two Towers ends with Sam discovering that Frodo isn’t dead from Shelob’s sting, and I was surprised by how long it took the movies to get to that part. However, I will give the films a little leeway because I think they needed Frodo & Sam content for RotK, since most of what happens in that book is them walking through Mordor basically starving and dying. Doesn’t make for great cinema I guess, so they had to put the whole Shelob/Cirith Ungol saga into the final film. Still, I think there’s a weird lack of Frodo and Sam’s presence in TTT.

- The go home/missing bread arc. (Full of rage abt this one) yeah. so. my criticism of this is gonna sound pretty tired because people complain and complain about this part of RotK. but I’m gonna complain some more!! I don’t think the split between Frodo and Sam does anything for the plot. I really don’t. I guess it emphasizes the fact that Sam doesn’t understand how much Frodo is projecting onto Gollum, but it’s just. unnecessary angst? They had enough angst in the Osgiliath scene! Which I actually liked! And it simply doesn’t make a lot of sense for Frodo to suspect Sam of eating the bread when Sam had already offered Frodo his own food and made it clear that he would very much starve if it meant making sure Frodo could eat. But what I hate most about this scene is not that Frodo gets mad and tells Sam to go home. No. It’s that Sam actually... thinks about doing that? he actually? goes down the staircase? emotionally this is bad because Sam clearly cared enough about Frodo to follow him this far, to nearly drown for him, so why would he leave now. Practically this is bad because 1. how would Sam get out of Mordor alone and 2. where would he go. He turns around almost immediately, yes, but what was his plan. where was he going. why.

THINGS I LOVED

- For Frodo! This line, and every other shoutout to Frodo. In the books, they didn’t really actively talk about/worry about Frodo (and Sam) as much as they do in the movies. I like that they talk about Frodo more in the movies! I like that they’re thinking about him! I know it was implied that they were in the books, but I really like how it’s shown here. I think it gave a more complete picture of how much they all care about him on a personal level in addition to just needing him to succeed from a pragmatic standpoint. 

- Merry and Pippin! I feel like Merry and Pippin were so well rounded in the films. I’ve heard criticism about them being turned into comic relief characters (which they always were a little bit) but it honestly didn’t feel that way to me. They had a bit of a rough start because the films didn’t make their motives for going with Frodo as deep as the books did, but I think that by TTT they were absolutely amazing characters in every scene. In RotK their respective arcs hit really well and the scene where Pippin is singing to Denethor? *chef’s kiss* poetic. beautiful. sad. idk man I just feel like I have such a newfound appreciation for Merry and Pippin.

- Parallels! people have pointed out the parallel of Frodo and Sam’s hands before (drowning scene/mount doom scene) and I love how the movie did that. Just stunning. Also! The moving of the Smeagol & Deagol scene to RotK surprised me because in the books it was like,,,at the beginning of Fellowship, but I think the placement of it in the movies really helped emphasize the similarities between Smeagol & Deagol and Frodo & Sam (and how much Frodo fears this similarity.) There were a lot of other well done parallels between storylines and a few bits of dialogue that were repeated with great timing, but I can’t remember all of them at the moment.  

Edit: here’s one I remembered! when Frodo wakes up after being rescued and sees Gandalf, he says Gandalf’s name in a very similar tone to the one he used at the very beginning of Fellowship. It was a nice little subtle connection.

- I can’t carry it for you...alright this is self-indulgent. everyone knows I love this line. I’m just so glad it made it into the movie intact. Sean Astin’s delivery was amazing. I cheered. My mom cheered. It’s a raw line and it makes me feel secret emotions...like if shrimp colors were feelings. that line makes me feel shrimp feelings. idk i’m so tired i just watched twelve hours of movies this review is decreasing in quality by the minute but i’m about done for now anyway

Various silly afterthoughts

- I would have liked to see Sam kiss Frodo’s hands at least once. This happens 50 thousand times in the books, they could have given me one scene. one little extended edition scene. Please Peter Jackson I’m dyin’ out here

- They literally made Gollum so hateable. kinda the point yes, but I was so on board with Sam’s murderous rage. I know why Gollum’s a profoundly complex character, I know why Frodo pities him, I know why murder is bad, but I too would throw hands with that creature. also he literally body shamed Sam so much what was that skdjksdjksd. Sam is lovely. let him commit a small homicide. 

- the scene where merry and pippin drink the tall boy juice (as someone once referred to it in the tags of one of my posts)... not accurate to the books (since they don’t ever drink it with the end goal of getting tall) but so accurate to life. if I found some water that made me taller than my friends? let me at it

- Frodo panicking when he falls into the spider webs. so real bestie. i felt just as panicked watching that. i am terrified of spiders and Elijah Wood did an amazing job doing exactly what i’d do in the situation. yelping a lot and falling down.

- I feel like it’s never stated that Sam’s a gardener (or at least that he’s specifically Frodo’s gardener) until he tells Faramir he is. Did I miss this. Or do they really never say.  are you just meant to know. are you just meant to pick up gardener vibes from him.

*

This has been a very chaotic lotr movie review. Thanks for reading.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr movies #vee watches (!) lotr #fellowship of the ring #the two towers #return of the king #Frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #gimli #arwen #boromir #aragorn #gollum #merry brandybuck #pippin took #veesaysthings #long post #seriously SUCH a long post im so sorry #had to get these thoughts out though #im SO tired

[elvish-sky]

Fic Progress Update!

because i like talking about myself and writing and y’all deserve to know what i’m up to. ask any questions you have about any of this, please!!

I currently have seven requests! Some more ambiguous than others, but i’m gonna get to them all eventually.

and to that one person, non-anon, who has sent the same request in several times- i see it. i try to write in chronological order of requests so please be patient.

anyways! the requests are, in order of when they were sent in:

faramir x reader

legolas x reader

company x reader headcanon

fem! reader x fem!character (should i do Eowyn or Arwen for this? I can’t decide, please tell me!)

platonic!company x reader (so excited for this it’s gonna be such a crackfic)

pippin x reader

a self indulgent fic (that @kumqu4t requested cause she’s the BEST and knows that i won’t write anything self indulgent unless it’s requested cause i try to prioritize requests)

platonic! legolas x aragorn THAT IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE, YOU ARE A GENIUS ANON!!

and feel free to ask any questions or make any suggestions for these fics!! i love getting ideas from you guys and answering questions!

ok, now for my own fics that i’m working on.

that aragorn x reader fic that i’ve been working on for a literal month and a half (someone motivate me to get this done. please. like just message me and we can talk about it i need encouragement)

an angsttttyyyyy kíli fic that involves saying no to a proposal. not gonna tell you who says no and who proposes tho 😉

i’ve finallyyy started part 2 of Half! i doubt it’ll be up anytime soon, but i am working on it which is great.

last thing- should i do an epilogue for The Temptation of Regality? Let me know!

#writing update #update

[stronghours]

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking. 

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.��

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

 -

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”  

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

 -

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned. 

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

 -

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better? 

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.” 

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

#SAFEWORLD #intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat #beautiful friendships have been sprung for less #isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009

[saurons-pr-department]

Head Canon Time! Mairon’s Autistic and Melkor has ADHD

So, I mentioned recently that that these two are ASD/ADHD solidarity and I’ve decided to elaborate on that a little. (Is this just me wanting them to be neurodivergent because I am? Yes, yes it is. We’re all about the self-indulgence here)

Mairon:

As we know, Mairon likes order. There are certain ways he likes things to be done or to be arranged. Changes without warning to any of the systems of how Utumno/Angband/Tol-in-Gaurhoth are run distress him.

He manages much better with change if there’s a warning. It’s not unusual for him to change protocols himself with the aim of making things as efficient as possible. Even then though, things just feel wrong for a while and so even though he may be happy with the results of his changes the change itself still makes him uncomfortable.

Early on, he realised that he related to the world and people somewhat differently to his fellow Ainur. Out of curiosity he studied other’s behaviour in order to understand them better. Later on, he used this in depth knowledge of other people’s behaviour in his schemes and manipulations.

Due to often assuming various alias or impersonating other people, he is very good at masking.

He doesn’t mask though, unless his plans require it.

Cold things are a big sensory nope. Just nope.

Fluffy things are a big sensory yes, especially on his face. He finds few things more soothing than burying his face and hands into the fur of one of his wolves.

His clothing often incorporates fur 1) to keep him toasty in the northern fortresses and 2) so that he can touch it throughout the day, sometimes for soothing purposes, sometimes it’s just a nice stim.

He also likes shiny things for visual stimming. It’s a trait he shares with Melkor.

His special interests include illusion magic, necromancy and all things forge related (as in ores, metals, techniques, the history of metal work etc.). He’s written volumes and volumes on his research into these topics over the course of his millennia-spanning life.

Infodumping: In Almaren it was mostly Eonwe he’d start infodumping to. Eonwe had absolutely no understanding of the resources of the Earth and what could be wrought with them, he just liked seeing his friend excited.  In the early days Melkor liked to listen to him, but this decreased as Melkor’s condition began to deteriorate. Thuringwethil was happy to listen too, but just like Eonwe and Melkor, she didn’t actually share his interest in these topics. Now, Tyelpe! Tyelpe became equally animated once they got on to their shared love of all things metal craft. Once they got started they often forgot to go to sleep.

I present to you the image of Mairon happy hand-flapping after speaking with Pippin via Palantír and thinking that the Ring was finally within his grasp. Please enjoy this flappy, giggly Maia.

 I feel like he’s not big on eye contact. Mainly because I love the power move of adopting the symbol of the red eye for his heraldry. (They want eye contact so much, I’ll give them eye contact! All the time. They won’t be able to escape it! *proceeds to paint his eye on everything* Mwahahahahahahahaha!)

Melkor:

I mean...surely this is canon?  [Mairon] thus was often able to achieve things, first conceived by Melkor, which his master did not or could not complete in the furious haste of his malice. Constantly coming up with great ideas and then not seeing them out because you move on too fast is such an ADHD mood. (Quote from Myths Transformed, Morgoth’s Ring)

When did Melkor ever do anything in the Silm that told you he had good impulse control?? (Yes I am talking about the fact that he couldn’t just leave Valinor and go back to Middle Earth and instead had to kill their trees, steel the Silmarils and then nearly get himself killed by a giant spider). Impulse control is Mairon’s job.

Like Mairon, he loooves looking at shiny, sparkly things (including Mairon XD)

Staying still is just not his forte. But he’s not up and about much. He’s just very fidgety with his hands and feet.

He’s full of thoughts. They don’t stop. Sometimes they just swirl round and round and can’t be kept up with. They are always there.

Some hyperfixations he’s had include: 1) The Imperishable Flame 2) the shaping of Arda and all the things it could become 3) Mairon 4) the creation of new forms of life 5) The Silmarils

RSD* baby! He does not take well to rejection or criticism. He often responds explosively.

All his emotions are BIG and yet so hard to pin down...

He has absolutely no sense of time. Immortals have wonky senses of time under the best conditions, but an immortal with ADHD? He didn’t stand a chance. What’s a time?

He’s not good at controlling the volume of his voice, usually on the side of being loud.

He has lots of little hand stims like fidgeting with things in his hands.

He often forgets words and blanks mid-sentence. 

He loves to tell Mairon all about whatever new plan he’s hyperfixated on. It’s usually accompanied by lots of hand gestures. He gets quite animated. He really looks forward to the ‘tell Mairon all about it’ stage of plan forming. 

 I think I’ll stop there because otherwise I would just keep going and going XD

*RSD= rejection sensitivity dysphoria: an increased sensitivity to real or perceived criticism or rejection experienced by many people with ADHD.

#mairon #melkor #silmarillion #sorcha's HCs #neurodivergent dark lords #lads i projected so hard writing this #i have adhd myself but not autism #so if i've gone wrong with mairon let me know!

[lastbluetardis]

Chemical Reaction (16/22)

Summary: Though their chemistry class is now over, the chemistry between James and Rose is just getting started. Together, they navigate the highs of new love and the lows of coping with past trauma to forge deep and unbreakable bonds of love and commitment. Part 2 in the Catalysis series. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: ~4500 words, explicit -- this chapter was getting to be 10k words long, so I chunked it into two smaller ones. Hopefully the next one will be up in just a few days since it’s already mostly finished.

If you like my stories, consider leaving me a tip? I know these are trying times, but if you are able, I would really appreciate it xoxo. And as always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated as well.

AO3 | FF | TSP

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 | Ch20 | Ch21 | epilogue

Over the last several months of sleeping—literal sleeping—with James, Rose grew accustomed to being woken earlier than she preferred. At first, it was because the cats, used to their routine, would barge into the bedroom at around seven-thirty and start demanding breakfast. She had nearly shrieked the first time Pippin launched himself onto their bed, yowling right at their heads. James had grunted and shooed him away, but the cat was persistent, and continued pestering them until James crawled out of bed and fed him and his brothers.

Eventually, the cats realized their new housemate wasn’t as much of an early riser as their master; on the nights Rose stayed with James, they would graciously wait until eight to start making a fuss.

James was usually awake by that point, and would slip out of bed, trying not to make noise or shake the bed too much, but invariably, Rose would wake up, too. Not completely, though, and she enjoyed spending the next hour or so drifting between dozing and wakefulness; she especially appreciated it when James would slide back into bed and they would cuddle, or sometimes indulge in lazy morning lovemaking. He only did it around half the time; the other half, he would get started on breakfast or would make himself a cup of coffee and sit quietly reading or studying or watching the television. It made the mornings he returned to bed with her more cherished.

Therefore, Rose wasn’t at all surprised to feel her boyfriend slip out of bed, even though it was dark through the windows. She didn’t have the energy to turn to see the time; plus, the ache between her thighs after three rounds of lovemaking the night before disincentivized her from moving at all. Not that she was complaining. There was something satisfying about the soreness left over from thoroughly having sex, almost like the pleasant burn after a vigorous, refreshing exercise.

Rose absently reached out and rested a hand on the warm imprint of James’s body on the mattress beside her, wishing it was his actual body instead.

The next thing she was aware of was someone picking up her hand and moving it. She cracked open her bleary eyes. James lay on his side, arms outstretched as he wriggled closer until he was pressed to her. Maneuvering until she mirrored his position, she flung a leg over his hips and draped an arm around his ribs. He was naked, same as her, since neither of them had bothered with pajamas the night before. The length of his body molded to hers until there was hardly any space between them at all.

Shivering lightly at the feel of so much skin touching hers, Rose tucked her head into his neck, breathing in the warm, musky scent of him. 

They remained like that for an immeasurable amount of time. Rose would gladly have stayed there for the rest of the day, but alas, she worked the afternoon shift at the grocery store. Speaking of…

“What time issit?” she mumbled.

“Seven,” he answered, his voice a low rumble in his throat.

Excellent. She didn’t have to be at work until ten, and she planned to stay precisely where she was until the last possible moment.

James, however, had different plans.

When it became clear that she wasn’t dozing off any longer, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up. He was so close that his nose brushed against hers. The warm puffs of his slow breathing tickled her lips, narrowing her focus to nothing except him. She could count the freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, if she wanted to. Could see the day-old stubble shadowing his cheeks in what would probably be a nice beard, if he ever decided to quit shaving.

Glancing up, she noticed his gaze was as intense as hers, his eyes dark and depthless, twitching ever so slightly as they traced her features. She wondered what he focused on, when they lay like this. Was there anything he particularly liked to admire?

“What are you lookin’ at?” she blurted.

He blinked, his gaze refocusing on hers. His brows knitted together as he replied, “Er… you?”

“No, I mean specifically. Are you looking at anything in particular? Like… up close, I like looking at your freckles.”

“My freckles?” 

“Mhm. You’ve got lots of ‘em, and they’re adorable.”

Rose reached up and brushed her fingertips along the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones, following the trail of freckles up his temple to the ridge of his brow. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth quirking into a smile when she rubbed the pad of her finger through his eyebrow in the wrong direction.

“I like that your eyes are slightly different depending on the lighting.”

It took her a minute, having forgotten her question. “Really?”

He nodded. “Right now, they’re dark. Almost completely brown, like mine. If I were to turn the lamp on, they would go to a more whiskey brown. When you’re in the sun, they go even lighter. Amber colored, like they’re reflecting back the sun’s light. Sometimes they’re hazel brown, sometimes hazel green. And if you’re wearing a lot of eye makeup, they can almost go gray. I love watching them, to see what they’re doing.”

She’d never paid much attention to her eyes before, or even thought about what they looked like, apart from generic brown.

“You’ve got very pretty eyes,” he concluded, bending closer to her. His mouth approached her eyes, and she shut them automatically. A second later his lips fluttered gently across one eyelid, then the other, before he planted a kiss low on her forehead.

She smiled at him when he nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. He hummed through a grin, eyes slowly closing again as he angled his head to the side and finally pressed his mouth to hers.

Kissing James was always a slightly out-of-body experience. Her head emptied of anything apart from the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands on her body. It was as though the universe melted away, leaving nothing else behind except for them.

The entire length of their bodies was twined together, their front halves in complete contact. Despite all the love they’d made the night before, Rose could feel James’s burgeoning arousal the longer the kiss continued. There was nothing urgent about his movements this morning, not like last night, when he’d been utterly insatiable and almost frantic. Nevertheless, Rose felt her herself beginning to respond to him. Her heart rate increased, pumping blood all throughout her body and sending throbbing, delicious heat to all the right places.

Even in the height of her relationship with Jimmy, when it seemed like all they did was party and shag, Rose didn’t remember it ever being this all-consuming. It was intoxicating, and not even the last four months of being physically intimate with James had cooled her lust for him. She wanted him just as much—if not more—now as she did at the beginning. The deeper in love she fell with him, the stronger her desire to share her body and soul with him. Sex with James was so much more than physical pleasure; it was emotional satisfaction unlike anything she had experience before. Which, of course, made the sex even better, too.

His hands roamed at will across her skin, tracing abstract patterns and shapes into her flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He placed his palm onto her hip and rocked his entire body into hers; his chest pressed to hers, and his hips rubbed deliciously against hers. Pleasure swept through her belly, settling low behind her navel. 

He repeated the motion, and it was only then that she realized he was trying to coax her onto her back. Disentangling her legs from his, she complied, pleased when James followed suit immediately. He hovered above her, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of Rose’s head as he lazily rolled his hips into hers, stimulating both of them as the hard length of him teased at her folds.

“Is this all right?” he murmured, his breath catching in his lungs. “We, er, did it a lot last night…”

“This is perfect,” she interrupted.

“Dunno what’s gotten into me,” he admitted. “Can’t seem to get enough of you.”

“I’m certainly not complaining. Well. At least not ‘til I can’t walk anymore.”

He snorted and puffed up with an insufferable, egotistical pride. She rolled her eyes and flicked his nose before tugging him down for another kiss.

It was one of the slowest build-ups Rose had ever experienced. It was as though she and James were more focused on kissing, caressing, and feeling. They were merely letting things progress without much thought, together in the moment and basking in the emotional and physical love that they shared. Lovemaking in one of its purest forms. 

Rose was hardly aware of the lingering ache between her legs when he slowly slid into her and began to move. They continued to touch and kiss each other, their rhythm unhurried. Gentle sparks of pleasure were fanned into a blazing fire that took them both by surprise when, minutes later, Rose gasped and moaned, clenching around him. It was more intense than she expected, especially considering she’d been perfectly satiated when they’d gone to bed eight hours ago. Instead, it felt as though she hadn’t had sex in months, and her body was overcome with hormones and endorphins, flooding her senses with pleasure and love for the man atop her, inside her.

When she came down from her high, James was getting close to his. His face was tense with concentration, eyes squeezed shut as he was able to selfishly focus on himself. Sweat beaded at his temples as he rocked his body into hers, his tempo quickening as his urgency increased. His breathing became ragged, and the needy little moans he let out squeezed her heart. She loved seeing him like this. She loved watching him lose himself in her. She loved knowing he was finding pleasure and completion with her, just as she’d found it with him.

“James,” she whispered, reaching up to rest her hands on his pectorals. She rubbed her palms through his sparse smattering of chest hair. He forced open his eyes, his rhythm slowing, to blink dazedly down at her. She clamped her thighs tighter around his hips in apology and in encouragement; she hadn’t meant to make him lose his rhythm, but she hadn’t been able to stay silent. “I love you so much.”

His throat bobbed as his breath stuttered. “Love you, too… Oh.”

His hips quickly found their previous rhythm, though with slightly less finesse as his desperation and desire took over. Grunting wordlessly, his back bowed and he arched his hips deeply into hers, finally giving in to his release and his pleasure.

Rose watched him intently, enjoying the pure relief playing across his face, slackening his features. She wanted to kiss him. When it seemed as though he was coming down from the throes of passion, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and guided him down for a kiss.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he reciprocated the kiss feverishly. When they broke apart, he dropped his head into the crook of her neck and slipped his hands under her back, holding her tightly. She returned the hug just as fiercely, never wanting to let him go again. Rose didn’t want to go into work; she wanted to stay in bed with James all day and do nothing more than exist with him, beside him.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice somewhat slurred. Rose cracked open an eye and saw him smiling sleepily at her. “Happy Birthday.”

The words came out so tenderly, so reverently, so confidently, as though it were her actual date of birth. For an embarrassing second, Rose worried she had somehow lost track of an entire month; she blamed the lingering endorphins for her foggy brain as she blinked wordlessly at him.

He broke into a sheepish, boyish grin. “So, not today then?”

It took her mind a minute to catch up before she realized the date. April had begun, and with it, James’s mission to figure out her birthday.

Snorting, Rose said, “No, not today, you numpty.”

“Though you could be pulling an April Fool’s prank on me,” he mused. “Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events?”

“I promise you, on my own life, your life, the life of my mother, and the lives of your cats, today is not my birthday. And for the record, I don’t like April Fool’s Day. Never been a fan. It gives arseholes an excuse to be bigger arseholes.”

James pouted. “Well, is your birthday coming up soon?”

“Sometime this month,” she replied innocently, feeling a wide grin stretch across her lips.

“Ro-oooose! Can’t you give me a hint?” he begged. “A teeny tiny little hint?”

Rose tapped her finger against her chin before she answered, “It’s not the first day of the month, or the last day of the month.”

James groaned and face-planted into her breasts. Giggling, Rose carded her fingers through his hair. “Poor baby.”

“You’re making it very hard to be a prepared boyfriend,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

“Now you know how I felt on your birthday. Besides, spending time with you is all I want for my birthday. And maybe some birthday sex.”

“How am I supposed to have sex with you on your birthday if you won’t tell me when it is?” he challenged, grinning smugly.

“Guess you’ll have to shag me every day, just to be safe.”

“You drive a hard bargain. But I suppose I can rise to the task. All in the name of love.”

Rose pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then nudged for him to get off her. “I should get a shower. I have to be at work at ten.”

“Bugger, I forgot.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re finished.”

With a parting kiss, they rose from the bed and parted ways.

True to his word, James had a stack of waffles and eggs waiting for Rose when she stepped into the kitchen. He was also stirring honey into a mug of tea, which he set at her place at the table. They ate their breakfast and chatted mindlessly about their plans for the day and school assignments: James offered to proofread her essay for her English composition class, while Rose offered to quiz him with flashcards for his upcoming political ideologies exam.

After they’d eaten, they cleaned up from breakfast and dinner the night before. Their bowls were still in the living room, as were piles of their clothes.

“Aha!” Rose had forgotten where she’d left her phone until she spotted it sitting atop her jeans. She picked it up, and saw she had quite a few email and text notifications. Her stomach churned when she saw Jimmy’s name. In the passion from the night before and that morning, she had forgotten about Jimmy and how she had told him she was ready to talk to him. She was beginning to regret that decision.

After taking a deep, calming breath, she unlocked her phone and opened WhatsApp. There were messages from Jimmy, her mum, and a friend back home. She tapped Jimmy’s name to bring up his message thread.

Thanks for hearing me out. I've been spending the past week figuring out exactly what I want to say to you, but it doesn't feel good enough.

I don’t know if I can ever tell you how sorry I am Rosie. I’m sorry for everything, but especially for hurting you, and not pulling my weight in our relationship. I’m sorry for going out all the time, and wasting our money. I’m sorry I left you with the bills and for never paying you back. And I am so sorry for cheating on you. It makes me sick, and I wish I had a good reason for why I did it, but I don’t, except that I’m an awful, terrible person.

“Ready to go?”

Rose jumped and had to fight not to hide her phone from James. Instead, she backed out of Jimmy’s messages and opened her mum’s. They were the usual “good morning” messages, along with some gossip from the estate.

“Yep, just wanted to check my messages. Nothin’ important.”

She slipped her phone into her back pocket and gathered up her clothes from the floor. She dumped them into the laundry basket to do later, then followed James to his car, where he drove her to work.

All morning, Rose thought about Jimmy’s messages, trying to mentally transcribe a reply. For all intents and purposes, his apology seemed genuine—she would have to tell Elsa, who had bet he wouldn’t actually give a real apology.

However, after years of putting up with his apologies only to have her heart broken again, Rose was wary about getting caught up in his honeyed words. She made a pact with herself: she would accept his apology, thank him, and then put him firmly behind herself so that she could look ahead to her future with James.

She didn’t have a chance to respond to Jimmy until the late afternoon, by which point she wasn’t sure if he would be awake or not, what with the five-hour time difference. In any case, she sank onto her sofa, exhausted from her day of running the cash register at the grocery store, and opened up his messages. She read them again, and was no closer to having an answer for him than she did when she first skimmed his words.

Maybe simple was the way to go.

“Thank you for apologizing,” she typed and sent.

A few seconds later, she saw that he was typing. Still awake, then.

I really am sorry, Rosie. If I could turn back time and do it all over again, I would change everything.

Rose snorted to herself; he would have to go back to almost the beginning of their relationship if he wanted to make any real changes. And honestly, if someone appeared in her living room with a time machine and offered to let her go back and change the way her relationship with Jimmy had gone, she would not even be tempted to take the offer. For as painful and traumatic as it was, it had eventually led her to James; he was the one thing in her life she would never regret, the one thing in her life she would never want to change.

Deciding to be perfectly blunt with Jimmy, she said, “I wouldn’t. You broke my heart, but I came out all the better for it. I’m in a good place now. Well. Apart from when you first texted me. But even that was a good thing. It showed me I hadn’t let myself grieve for everything that happened, but I’m fixing that now. I’m happy.”

I heard you went back to school. In America?

“Yeah. Got a full tuition scholarship from…” Rose deleted that last word; she definitely was not going to give him her specific location, thank you very much. “I decided I needed a fresh start.” Best decision I ever made.

Rose would have gladly left the conversation there, but something compelled her—the niceties of polite British conversation, perhaps—to reciprocate the questions back to him. “What have you been doing with yourself? Still making music?”

Nah, the band broke up a year ago. For a while I tried to make it solo. Things didn’t work out.

I’m working in construction now. Hard work, but the pay’s good. I’ve got my own flat and everything. It’s nice.

“Still with… your girlfriend? Can’t remember her name.”

Who, Brenda? No, we split an age back. God, it must've been two or three years since I’ve seen her.

Rose’s chest hollowed out. Not only had Jimmy destroyed their two-and-a-half-year-old relationship without a care in the world, he’d destroyed it with a woman he’d only had a short fling with. She tried not to let it bother her, really, she did; but it was crushing to know she hadn’t been satisfactory enough to keep Jimmy invested. She and their relationship hadn’t been interesting enough, hadn’t been important enough, for him to stay.

This is a Jimmy problem, not a Rose problem. He’s a wanker, and that is not your fault. It’s a reflection on his character, not yours.

The little voice in the back of her mind sounded suspiciously like Elsa, and Rose couldn’t help but smile. She would have to tell her friend that she was invading her inner thoughts. Elsa, her own personal Jiminy Cricket conscience. 

“I hope you find happiness, Jimmy. I really do.” She sent that message, then followed it up with, “I appreciate your apology, and I hope it gives you peace, too.”

I feel I haven’t done enough to atone to you. You were the most important person in my life, Rosie. And I still care a great deal about you.

“There really isn’t much more you can do. You’ve said your piece, and to be honest, I think we both just need to accept that things ended badly, but we’ve moved on. Or at least, we should move on.”

And what if I don’t want to move on? I love you, even after all this time.

The air gusted out of Rose as though she’d been punched, and her ears rang loudly in the silence of her flat. What the bloody hell was he playing at? There was no way—no fucking way—he could be serious. He could not love her. They hadn’t spoken in three and a half years. He hadn’t made any effort to contact her until now. While she was unspeakably grateful for that, that wasn’t the behavior of someone who supposedly loved her.

Take James, for example. On the days they didn’t see each other in person, they exchanged texts daily, even if it was something as small as “I hope you’re having a nice day” or “Thinking of you” or “Love you xoxo”. She couldn’t imagine going even a day without hearing from him in some way, shape, or form. On the days where one of them was in a bad mood, or they had a minor disagreement, they checked in with each other. Because that’s what love is. It’s eternal and enduring, even though the most trying of circumstances.

Shaking herself out of her head, Rose tapped away furiously on her phone.

“The feeling is *not* mutual. I have moved on. I’m in America. I’m studying something I love. I…” She nearly told Jimmy she was in a happy, healthy, loving relationship, but decided he didn’t deserve to share in or know about her joy. James was hers, and she had no intentions of letting Jimmy taint him. “I am happy you’re doing better, but I won’t give you hope of there ever being an ‘us’ again. We were young, we made mistakes, and we’ve learned from them. I have no intention of going backwards.”

Okay. Though I would like to do more for you. I left you with loads of bills to cover. It’s not fair you were out all that money. I would really like to pay you back.

Rose’s lungs seized up. “No. The debt has been paid, and I want to forget about it.” I won’t dare give you a scrap of ammunition… I won’t let you dangle this over my head in the future. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m going to decline. I’m also going to stop the conversation. I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

I’d like to discuss it with you further though. When you have the energy. Just think about it, yeah? You paid six months of rent on your own… that’s a lot of dough. Consider it reparations. Think on it, and we can talk about it later. Good night, Rosie.

Rose rolled her eyes, but closed out of her phone. Wanker. Wanker, wanker, wanker! A wanker who clearly grew and matured over the last three and a half years, but a wanker nevertheless.

She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, where a dull ache was forming behind her brow. Wanting to instead chat with someone who most certainly was not a wanker, Rose grabbed her phone, pulled up James’s number, and dialed it. He answered on the third ring.

“Hi!” he said brightly, a grin evident in his voice.

“Hey,” she replied, her body releasing all of its tension as she let his voice wash over her.

“Finished with work? Wanna hang out? Or do a long-distance Netflix and literal chill date night?”

Rose bit her lip around a laugh. “What, too worn out to do a proper Netflix and chill date night?”

He was silent for the span of a few heartbeats before he confessed, “There must seriously be something wrong with me if I would gladly have a real Netflix and chill date with you. We’ve had sex, what, four times in the last twenty-four hours? Not even… more like twenty hours. My bits are gonna fall off. And how are you even walking?”

Giggling, she said, “Quite full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Pfft, well clearly I haven’t done a good enough job, then.” He sniffed. “But seriously… isn’t this weird? I thought we were beyond the horny hump.”

She choked. “The horny hump??”

“Yeah, you know…” With the way he paused, it was not at all difficult for Rose to picture him in her mind’s eye, gesticulating vaguely with his hands. Her chest warmed with affection for him. “…the honeymoon period, I suppose. The time where all we want to do is shag. January. I thought we’d worked it all out of our system in January, but it’s like a second wave has hit, because good God, Rose…” He let out a wistful sigh that clenched her heart. “I want to make love with you over and over again. I want to lie naked with you and hold you and touch you. I want to be with you, exist in the same space as you.”

The yearning in his voice settled heavily in her heart, and all of a sudden, she wanted him in her flat right now so she could hug him. 

“I’ll be at yours as soon as possible,” she promised, standing from her couch and slipping her shoes on.

“No, wait, you don’t have to,” James hurriedly said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“I want to,” she said simply. “I miss you, too. And I… if it’s something you still want, I’m really looking forward to moving in with you when my lease is finally up.”

“Something I still want? Of course I want it. I will never not want it, Rose.”

Even though it felt woefully inadequate to how she felt, all Rose was able to get out was, “Me too. I’m on my way. Love you,” before she ended the call and hailed an Uber ride to take her to James. To take her home.

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #au #alternate universe #university au #romance #soft lemons #my fic #chemical reaction #catalysis series #chemical potential sequel

[artificialqueens]

Talk Me Down (Jankie) - Pippin

A/N: welcome to my writing resurrection, it’s been a long time x

Summary: Jan’s a nurse and she thinks her patient looks all too familiar

Word Count: 2839

Content Warning: mentions of physical assault, hospital setting

Title from Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan

feel free to say hi here x

***

Jan couldn’t help but let a small yawn out of her mouth as she checked her phone for the first time since the start of her shift.

No goodnight text from Jackie. Terrible girlfriend conduct.

12:30am on a Friday. Gross.

Just over 6 hours until Jan finished her fifth night shift in a row. She could feel the sleep-deprivation migraine coming on quickly, and before she knew it she felt a cup of water and two paracetamol being pushed into her hands.

“I know that face, sister,” Gigi laughed, taking a minute to sit next to Jan at the nurse’s station and indulge in the small quiet patch they’ve hit, “I have no idea how you still have the capacity to take on five in row, pretty sure I lost that superpower when Crys and I started living together. One can only handle so many days a week of their partner waking up at a normal time and doing normal person things.”

Jan let out a snort in an attempt to hold back her laughter, but she knew what Gigi was saying was true. She loved her job, but saying goodnight to Jackie as the sun rose began to take a toll on Jan after day three. The same could be said for Jackie who, as much as she was proud of Jan, wasn’t the biggest fan of living in the same house as her girlfriend but hardly seeing her. Jan was proud of the career she was beginning to build, but she also missed building her domestic life with Jackie. She missed the little things - waking up together, having breakfast together, going grocery shopping together. They both knew that this part of Jan’s career wouldn’t be forever, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Gigi and Jan had reached that point in the night where, for the first time during their shift, the emergency department had finally slowed down. Luckily for them, this meant that they had a spare two seconds to focus on something nearly as important as patient wellbeing — caffeine.

“Coffee run?” Jan proposed, watching as Gigi rubbed her temples and threw her head back.

“I can’t leave the floor, I’m the in-charge.” Gigi whined, logging into a computer and starting to type, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

“Abysmal,” Jan chuckled, “double shot latte?”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Gigi grunted in response, not taking her eyes off the patient flow sheet in front of her.

“That’s what they tell me,” Jan sing-songed, “call if you need me!”

In an attempt to keep herself awake, Jan made a mental list of everything she needed to do once she got home - laundry, groceries, sex, get her sleep pattern back to normal-human phase. She relished in the fact that she was about to have five days off; five uninterrupted days at home, sleeping while the sun was down, drinking coffee in the morning, being outside in the warm May sunshine with her favourite person in the world.

When Jan arrived back on the floor, two double shot coffees in hand, she could hear ambulance sirens outside. She picked up her pace, leaving the coffees next to Gigi’s computer before gowning up and stepping into a chaotic trauma room. She weaved her way through less experienced nurses, and made eye contact with Gigi, who was standing at the head of the gurney. Gigi was no stranger to advanced care and was never one to lose her cool on the floor, and yet she looked terrified. Jan always knew it was a dire situation when even Gigi looked overwhelmed. Gigi’s attention was quickly brought back to the nearly lifeless woman lying in front of her, and Jan grabbed a pair of gloves before tuning into the paramedics’ report.

Jan looked the patient up and down - she made note of the way the woman’s body was covered in marks, the way the blood seeped through her torn clothes, the way the bruising on her face made her unrecognisable. Jan didn’t catch all of the handover, she was too busy trying to maintain a patent airway, but certain parts of it were clearer than others. Hell’s Kitchen. Physical assault. Looks mid-to-late twenties. No ID. Jan could feel her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she took another long look at the woman in front of her and noticed the colour of her skin. Beneath the scratches, bruises and blood she could see that it was the same warm, tawny colour she had grown to love - and that’s when Jan felt her breath get caught in her throat.

“Does she have any belongings?” Jan cut off the paramedic talking to Gigi, “a wallet? A purse?” Jan’s anxiety was skyrocketing, and Gigi could feel it radiating off her. Jan’s mind was only focussed on one thing - Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. Jan was no longer thinking rationally, no longer thinking like a nurse - rather like a distressed family member. She studied the woman for a third time - she tried to remember what Jackie was wearing when she walked out the door that morning, if the gold hoops looped through the woman’s ears were the earrings she bought Jackie for Christmas, if the broken nose could possibly belong to her girlfriend. Gigi felt stuck between two worlds - and as much as she desperately wanted to help Jan, the patient in front of her needed her more.

“Step out, Jan. Go and ring Jackie, see if you can get hold of her. Don’t work yourself up for no reason.” Gigi spoke softly, trying not to make a bigger scene than the one Jan was unknowingly making. Jan didn’t acknowledge that Gigi had spoken to her, continuing to inspect the woman for some sort of identifying feature. A tattoo, a freckle - anything.

“Someone needs to take Jan out of the room, please,” no matter how much Gigi wanted to help Jan, she had a team to lead and work to do. Another nurse wrapped an arm around Jan’s waist, and Jan almost looked offended at being told to wait outside, “Jan, I’m sorry, but I need to be in here, and you aren’t in the right headspace to stay. Trauma room 4 is empty, I’ll come and see you when I get a chance.”

**

Jan paced silently in the empty trauma room, her anxiety brewing as yet another phone call to Jackie went through to voicemail. She didn’t know what else she could do, every attempt at contact had been unsuccessful - no one was answering her calls or returning her messages. Just as it felt like her head was about to explode, Jan heard the door to the room click shut and felt a warm hand squeeze her shoulder. Gigi.

“It’s not her,” Gigi’s tone was soft, and Jan felt the weight lift off her shoulders with the news, “too many tattoos.” Jan let out a shaky exhale, full of relief and newfound adrenaline.

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“I think so. Eventually. It’ll take a lot of plastics work,” Gigi hummed, taking out her disheveled bun and retying her raven hair into a high pony, “how are you?”

“Overwhelmed. Drained.” Jan’s response was short and simple, and even though Gigi knew there was more she wanted to say, she didn’t dare push her. Not tonight.

“This was always my biggest fear working in emergency; that someone I loved would come through the door. I was so scared. Just wanted to see something so I knew it wasn’t her. Fucking hell,” Jan sniffled quietly, brushing away a few stray tears, “guess we should get back out there.”

“You should go home. You need to make sure Jackie’s there. You aren’t in the right state of mind to go back on the floor, Jan. I’m telling you this as your in-charge, but more importantly as your friend. Take some time, enjoy your days off, and come back next week.” Jan opened her mouth in protest, somewhat offended that Gigi thought she was incapable of doing her job, but she realised that she was right. She was spent, exhausted even, and she was no longer capable of putting the needs of others before her own. Jan dug the toes of her sneakers into the floor and nodded wordlessly. Just as she was about to leave the room, she felt Gigi’s hand wrap around her wrist.

“Are you right to drive home?” Gigi’s voice was soft; warm and nurturing in Jan’s hour of need, “Crys can come and pick you up.” Jan nodded her head, she could feel her throat constricting in an attempt to hold back another wave of tears.

“Okay. Well, message me when you get home. I’ll call you later.” Gigi pulled Jan into a tight hug before they went their separate ways; and the last thing Jan saw before leaving the floor was Gigi’s shoulders relaxing as she finally got to take a sip of coffee.

**

For Jan, pulling into the parking lot of her building usually came with a sense of relief; it usually reminded her that she was one step closer to a glass of wine, a shower and her bed. But that relief never came. Despite everything that had happened that night, and no matter how much she was looking forward to the benefits of being home; being back nearly 5 hours earlier than she was supposed to made Jan feel uneasy. Her brain, no matter how much she tried to convince it everything was okay, was still in overdrive. She pulled the key from the ignition and rested her head on the steering wheel, once again trying to control her uneven breathing.

It took Jan the better part of 15 minutes to summon the courage and the energy to get out of the car and let herself inside. She waited, albeit impatiently, for the elevator to reach the lobby, and sent Gigi a text during the ascent to her floor. She unlocked the door to her apartment quietly and pushed the door open, letting go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding when she saw Jackie’s keys and purse on the dining table. Jan made a beeline for the bedroom, peaking through the open doorway and feeling the wave of relief finally wash over her when she heard Jackie sleeping soundly, the occasional snore slipping out of her mouth.

They were both home, they were both safe. Everything was okay.

Overcome with emotion, Jan couldn’t help but let the tears roll down her cheeks for the second time that night, quiet sobs filling the kitchen as Jan carefully cradled a freshly poured glass of wine in her hands.

However quiet Jan thought she was, it was evidently not quiet enough. Jan heard her name being called out softly, and she grimaced when the kitchen lights were turned on. Jackie leaned against the dining table, a confused look on her face, clad in just a baggy t-shirt and some black panties. Jan had never been more relieved to see Jackie in her life, leaving her glass on the counter as she walked towards Jackie and pulled the brunette into her arms. Jackie’s arms wrapped around Jan’s waist almost instinctively, pulling her even closer. There had been many times where Jan had come home overwhelmed, teary and distressed, sometimes it was a mix of all three - but she had never come home 5 and a half hours early. Jackie didn’t want to pry, knowing Jan preferred to not bring her work home with her; but she also knew that something big must have happened for Jan to have come home at 1:30 in the morning.

“A woman was brought in by ambulance tonight,” Jan beat Jackie to it, and Jackie felt relieved that she didn’t have to ask. She nodded quietly, so as to let Jan lead the conversation, “someone found her on the street, Jacks. She was assaulted beyond recognition. She looked like you.” Jan cried, and this time it was Jackie who pulled Jan into her arms, rubbing her back and whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Gigi wouldn’t let me stay in the room, you didn’t answer the phone - and I assumed the worst. Felt like a million years until Geege told me it wasn’t you. I was terrified.” Nothing more needed to be said. Jackie knew that this had always been Jan’s biggest fear; and that part of it just came to life. Jackie continued to rub Jan’s back in an attempt to soothe her, unsure of what else she could do for Jan in that moment. Jan was openly sobbing into Jackie’s chest, and it wasn’t long before she could feel Jan’s tears beginning to seep through her shirt.

“It’s so stupid,” Jan sniffled, her voice barely audible through the wet cotton beginning to stick to Jackie’s chest, “it wasn’t you, I don’t know why I’m still upset.”

“It’s not stupid, Jan,” Jackie assured her, continuing to rub circles into Jan’s back, “you’re only human. You’re allowed to feel things, you’d be a horrible nurse if you didn’t let yourself get emotional. What happened tonight could have happened to anyone. You’re exhausted, Jan. I’m safe. You’re safe. We’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” Jackie crooned, pressing soft kisses to Jan’s hairline, “I’m gonna take tomorrow off work. No work, just us.” Jan pulled her head from the comforts of Jackie’s sternum and looked up at her, eyes glassy and lips pushed into a pout.

“Jackie, don’t be ridicu-”

“I’m not,” Jackie chuckled as she pressed a kiss to Jan’s lips, “work will go on without me.” Jackie relished in the idea of having a three day weekend; and the fact that she got to spend all three days with Jan made it a little bit sweeter. Jan yawned quietly and nodded in defeat - the idea of the two of them having three days off together made her physically, mentally and emotionally relax, and she knew excitement would wash over her when the sun came up.

“Can we make pancakes?” Jan asked softly, looking up at Jackie and batting her lashes. Jackie yawned in response, her eyes starting to feel heavy with exhaustion.

“Of course,” Jackie nodded, “anything you want.”

Jackie took a minute to really look at Jan and noticed the way that the fatigue was starting to weigh her down. Purple bags were starting to develop under Jan’s eyes, which were reddened and beginning to sink back into her skull. As much as she knew that Jan working 12 hour shifts and living off crazy schedules wasn’t forever, Jackie wished that the blonde would be able to catch a break soon. Jackie took Jan’s hand in hers and pulled her towards their bedroom, turning the kitchen lights off on their way through. The pair found comfort in the darkness, just the soft glow of New York City lights peaking through the curtains.

Despite being adamant she could put herself into pyjamas, Jan found her arms being lifted above her head so Jackie could peel off Jan’s navy blue scrub top and replace it with an oversized t-shirt. Jan’s bra, sneakers and scrub pants soon joined her top on the floor, and before she knew it the soft purple comforter was being thrown over her body. Jan felt her muscles relax into the mattress, cocooned amongst the blankets and pillows. She pulled one arm out from the safety of the sheets, patting Jackie’s side of the mattress as if to coax Jackie to join her - not that she needed any convincing. Jackie was more than happy to climb back into bed, but she was even happier to have Jan there with her.

Comfortable silence filled the air as Jan repositioned herself so her back was flush against Jackie’s chest, Jackie’s arms wrapping around Jan’s waist like a reflex. Jackie inhaled deeply, catching the faint scent of Jan’s lavender shampoo and the remnants of her sugary perfume. For Jackie, being cuddled up in bed with her girlfriend for the first time in nearly a week, was home. The small, Hell’s Kitchen apartment Jackie used to live in by herself wasn’t just her house anymore - it was her and Jan’s home. And while it might have been overflowing with mismatched pieces of furniture and dying pot plants, every inch of space was full of love, and Jackie wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Thank you,” Jan whispered, pulling one of Jackie’s hands to her lips and pressing a faint kiss against it, “for everything. I couldn’t do this without you. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too,” Jackie replied, basking in the glow of Jan’s praise and nuzzling her head into the space between Jan’s shoulder and neck, “thank you for living life with me. I’d be a different person without you.”

The room was soon filled with Jan’s deep breaths and soft snores, with the promise of pancakes still lingering in the air. She was safe, Jackie was safe, they were home.

***

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #fluff #lesbian au #nurse!jan #hospital au #pippin #tw mentions of abuse #tw description of physical assault #concrit welcome #s12

[camille-lachenille]

Day 13 of All of Arda is Autistic:

Prompt: wandering thoughts

Rating: Gen

Featuring Rorimac Brandybuck and Sigismond Took, two of Bilbo’s cousins that I picked in the family trees. They are all close in age and I headcanon they are a bit the predecessors of Frodo, Merry and Pippin.

“The storm last night wasn’t half as bad as I expected,” someone around the table said. “Though the road to Tuckborough is flooded…”

Bilbo tuned the conversation around him to a distant droning, his mind caught on a word. The road goes ever on and on… It would make a very good song… what comes next? The road goes ever on and on, and I must away… No! It didn’t work! Maybe… over hill and under tree. Mmm, better but still not that. He’d had to…

“What do you think Bilbo?” The Hobbit snapped out of his thoughts and gave an apologetic smile to his cousin.

“Sorry Rorimac, I was distracted. Could you repeat you question, please?” Bilbo said, fidgeting with the content of his pocket. Rorimac obliged and Bilbo gave his opinion on the quality of Longbottom’s pipeweed from the year. It wasn’t as good as the harvest from the two previous years due to bad weather, but still far better than the foul leaf the Dwarves favoured.

Well, I was happy when they shared with me. The thought came unbidden, and Bilbo’s mind immediately followed the path of memories. I miss my Dwarves, lack of table manners, smelly socks and all. How are they doing? I hope cleaning the mess left by Smaug wasn’t too tedious. The stench was something to behold for sure! “Mmh? Oh, don’t worry Sigismond, I managed to retrieve everything that had been sold at the auction. Yes, even the silver spoons from Camellia Sackville-Baggin’s clutches. But I reckon I’ve met a dragon less greedy than her!“ there was a lull in the discussion at Bilbo’s mention of his adventure before returning to more proper subjects.

About dragons, I heard in Rivendell that Smaug was small compared to the dragons from past ages. I wonder if I can find something about them in the books Lord Elrond gave me. And now, Bilbo missed Rivendell’s extended library and its hundreds of tomes containing long forgotten lore. I really should learn Elvish more seriously though, if I want to read these books. The Hobbit’s musings were, once again, interrupted by Rorimac. “Could you pass me the potatoes, please. Thank you. But you seem a bit distracted today, cousin. Are you lost in your adventures?”

Bilbo made a vague sound of agreement, his mind returning to the bit of song that had hatched earlier. The road goes ever on and on, over rock and under tree… Yes, that was it! But maybe he could compose something more specific to his adventure with the Dwarves, too? That was an idea to keep in mind.

Again someone asked for his participation in the conversation and Bilbo indulged with good grace. He was a guest to his cousin, after all, and favouring his own thoughts over the current discussion was very rude. But he couldn’t prevent his mind from wandering away every other sentence, caught over a word and threading its own path from there.

After all the social niceties were said and done, Bilbo shrugged his coat on for a walk around Buckland to clear his mind. Rorimac gave him a knowing smile as he handed him an umbrella just in case. “You’re always wandering, Bilbo, even when your feet are still.”

Bilbo smiled back at his cousin. “What were you expecting from a wanderer like me, Rori? I am much more of a Took than I care to admit… but the road is now calling, and I’d like to have my walk before it rains!”

Bilbo closed the door behind him, breathed in deeply and followed the road to the edge of the Old Forest, humming under his breath. But instead of the familiar, gnarled trees, he was seeing the dark and twisted branches of Mirkwood. The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Yes, that was the perfect beginning for his song.

The various bits of songs come from ‘The Road goes ever on’, by Tolkien, and ‘The Last Goodbye’, from the Hobbit movies, and I played around with the verses as Bilbo composes on the spot. The right version is in the last paragraph.

Also, I found very fitting to write about Bilbo when the prompt was about wandering thoughts.

#all of arda is autistic 2023 #tolkien #the lord of the rings #bilbo baggins #autistic bilbo #autistic character #wandering thoughts #ficlet #writing prompt #autism acceptance month

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

🎶 Random Question Time! 🎶 What songs/tracks do you LOVE? Is there any song out there that means the world to you???

This is an almost impossible question to answer because the songs that are meaningful to me are always changing, and sometimes if a song is meaningful I don’t know why it’s meaningful, it just is? And I have a ton of songs like that, so how does one choose? How does one narrow it down???

Okay, here’s how I’m going to narrow it down. I just (tearfully) finished the last chapter of The Lord of the Rings today and I can’t really think about anything else so I think I’d like to talk about some of my favorite moments in Howard Shore’s Complete Recordings for the movies, because I always like to listen to them when I read the book, and all those songs really do mean the world to me. So here we go! (This is maybe the most annoyingly long and self-indulgent post I’ve ever made though, so please feel free to ignore any of it that you would like to ignore.)

“The Council of Elrond Assembles”: This song is so gloriously dreamy and ethereal and it puts me under a spell every time I hear it.

“Gilraen’s Memorial”: This is when the Fellowship is getting ready to leave Rivendell, and there’s this little bit on the violin that just pierces my little heart, because to me it so perfectly represents the innocence of Frodo and the sweetness and heroism and tragedy in his choice to be the one to carry and destroy the Ring.

“The Fighting Uruk-Hai”: This one’s long and covers actually quite a bit of story but I love it, particularly the first half-ish which is when the Fellowship is leaving Lórien and Galadriel is giving them gifts, and you can just hear the beauty of the place in the music, and also the reluctance of the characters to leave its safety and comfort and venture out into the world again. In the book I believe it says that they all wept when they had to leave and in a way I feel like this song fits the book even better than the movie.

“The Three Hunters”: Aragorn and Legolas and Gimli running around on the Emyn Muil and the plains of Rohan heroically looking for their lost friends while the most epic soundtrack plays in the background. What more is there to say.

“The Dreams of Trees”: This one is short and not as dramatic as the others, but there’s something about it that I really love, a sort of heartbreaking sweetness and simplicity about it that to me kind of symbolizes Merry and Pippin.

“Gandalf the White”: This scene, when Gandalf meets Gimli and Aragorn and Legolas in the forest and they realize he’s not actually dead, always makes me cry, and I think a lot of that is this song.

“Théoden King”: This song has the Rohan theme that I love, but it also has Éowyn singing at the funeral for her cousin, and it continues into the scene where Théoden cries for the son he lost. Very sad, but so beautiful.

“One of the Dúnedain”: Arwen and Aragorn’s theme for the second movie. Arwen is having to deal with the fact that Aragorn is mortal, and that no matter how long he lives she will probably outlive him, and you can hear both her love and her grief in the music.

“Flight from Edoras”: The first parting of Merry and Pippin in the story, and it’s sad but also very sweeping and dramatic and adventurous, which is fitting, I think, considering that Pippin and Gandalf are on their way to Gondor where a big battle is about to take place.

“The Lighting of the Beacons”: Come on. I had to include the Lighting of the Beacons.

“The Battle of the Pelennor Fields”: I don’t think I’ve ever listened to this song without either tears or goosebumps (and sometimes it’s both). The Rohirrim are arriving at the battle and they’re screaming, “DEATH! DEATH!” at the top of their lungs and then they charge into the battle.

“The Houses of Healing”: Liv Tyler sings this, and it’s just. So pretty.

“The Fellowship Reunited”: Another gorgeous, long song with like a zillion themes. Starts with Frodo waking up after he’s been rescued by the Eagles, and goes to Aragorn’s coronation and the Hobbits’ homeward journey and Sam’s wedding and Frodo realizing sadly that he can’t go back to the way things were.

“Use Well the Days”: This song just does things to me. “Into the West” was chosen to be the end credits song instead, and while I love that song, I love this one better. It reminds me of when Sam tells Frodo he feels torn between his love for his wife and his loyalty to Frodo, and Frodo, knowing that he will be leaving soon, tells Sam, “You will be healed. You were meant to be solid and whole, and you will be.”

#anyway thank you so much for the question and i apologize for its answer i'm just feeling things #random question time #lord of the rings

[paraphernaliawagon]

yeah... pippin is one of my favorite musicals because it’s just weird as hell from beginning to end AND because they made charlemagne (for the brief period that he is in the story) hilarious. even when he’s talking about deciding how many of his soldiers’ lives are expendable. i think this is what “dark humor” actually is

(meanwhile his mom is living in the middle of nowhere and not giving a fuck about anything)

(and some kind of trickster archetype and their entourage are constantly interrupting to do random cabaret-type nonsense, sing most of the only good songs in the show, and unnecessarily explain the plot to the audience)

(meanwhile part of my mind is going “oh OF COURSE you like ‘Pippin.’ it’s EXACTLY the type of pretentious nonsense that you always like. about a boring spoiled brat who thinks he’s special self-indulgently whining about ‘trying to find his place in the world’ or some shit while ignoring all the important people in his life. which is what everyone rightly thinks that you are, you loser. you like it because it’s about how people like you suck and you subconsciously recognize the truth of this. you’re so predictable. please don’t inflict any posts about this musical on the world”) not fishing for compliments or anything. please don’t reply to this. i really appreciate that some of you actually like me but i’m not looking for reassurance and it won’t help

(as a kid it took me forever to understand the idea of “fishing for compliments”. i was always surprised and annoyed when people responded to me saying mean things about myself with stuff like “that’s not true! I think you’re great!” because to me it sounded like they weren’t listening. i didn’t realize that they might think i actually WANTED them to respond with stuff like that. i still forgot that a lot and then i remember and get really anxious that people might think i’m just trying to use them to boost my ego

#imagine christopher lee playing THIS version of charlemagne. i'd kill to see that