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ssreeder · 1 year

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ahhhhh sreedie I lost track of tiiiiime I missed an updateeee

but ykw that means?? you get double the amount of blather from yours truly this time around :D

lmao finally sokka is getting some sword training that isn’t zuko hitting him with a stick when he gets his form wrong

sorry sorry but sweaty sokka is making me think of this one tv show where the main character is panicking bc she has to distract this guy and what she decided to say as a distraction tactic is “I feel.. sticky” and I almost died of second hand embarrassment.

anyways sweaty sokka supremacy this boy needs more minor inconveniences to balance out the major inconveniences that bulldoze over his hopes and dreams

honestly I think sokka is coping pretty well given the circumstances

I’m going to expose myself here but when suki finally reunited with sokka I will admit I was physically wiggling in excitement

aw suki your girlhood dreams are about to be pulverised :((

also can I just say I adore you bc you’ve managed to perfectly balance the fact that suki is a teenage girl with what she thinks is a requited crush BUT ALSO she’s a leader and a tactician and is aware of anomalies in her surroundings at all times

slay kovi my new fav

ALSO ALSO I HAD THIS REALISATION LIKE LAST WEEK BUT WE’RE GETTING MORE AZULA WHICH MEANS WE’RE ALSO GETTING MORE CHEN OR CHAN OR CHANG OR WHATEVER THE ZHAOS BROTHER IS CALLED I FORGOT IM SO SORRY

yoooo suki coming in clutch with the gossip besties

SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV SHEN POV ok yeah I’m gonna be Sooo much more annoying about shen than anybody ever was about reho. now your never gonna wanna remarry me :(

shen is more dedicated to complaining about his sore ass than zuko is to self preservation fr

zuko and shen banter that’s actually purposeful verbal attacks but I’ll pretend is banter bc it’s funny >>>

it’s not Actually funny but it’s lowkey hilarious that shen is like “fuck now I gotta be chivalrous and save zuko over myself if I ever get the chance why must I be such a gentleman woe is me” like bestie if you really didn’t want to help zuko you could just.. Not

also I think you’re handling like the racist propaganda of the fire nation about the other nations really well btw!!

lmao not morrak singling sokka out as an instigator for potential mass injury so blatantly

okay sad that sokka is suffering with communication BUT HOPEFULLY when (and I mean WHEN sreedie istg) zukka are reunited he’ll maybe have a better time trying to get zuko to like.. actually fucking talk about how he’s feeling??? maybe?? a girl can dream okay. but also it’s so real to like not be able to open up to people able difficult topics (not that I have anywhere Near the trauma these boys have) just bc you haven’t yet started talking to someone about them and it’s overwhelming to even think where to begin bc it feels like even if you could figure it out it’ll be impossible to actually convey all the nuance of how you’re feeling bc there’s just so much of it

AUNT WU pls sokka enjoy hating on spirit shenanigans I was you to experience some joy

ohoho please PLEASE let quon’s assholery and ambition bite him in the ass P L E A S E sreedie I’m begging

dude not zuko genuinely considering whether he would maintain his pride better by literally shitting his pants. I can’t anymore with this boy

“are you a good person shen”

“not all the time”

WHAT A SLAY ANSWER OMFG HES AN ICON HES A LEGEND HES-

I’m not sure whether to be scared that quon Will be worse than zhao or laugh at quon’s confidence bc there’s no way he’s worse than zhao

quick question sreedie umm how hasn’t zuko lost any teeth yet am I just supposed to suspend my disbelief about how many times he can get punched in the jaw and not suffer some serious dental damage

awww shen you DO care about zuko :3

genuinely living for shen’s belaboured feral pygmy puma dad era that zuko is forcing him to suffer through its glorious

listen all shen needs to do is leverage sokka against zuko?? like literally just bitch at him about how if he gets himself killed then sokka will be distraught and that’s like at least 60% of his attitude issues solved

do I dislike jet? yeah. do I think it’s going to be wildly entertaining to have him along for the journey? yeah.

NOT MORE OF THE FUCKING BENDER SUPPRESSANTS FUCK OFF ohohoho alas quon you are unaware about zuko being bloody superhuman when it comes to this drug

I was going to say something else but now I have forgotten but!! it’s okay bc now I am going to read the second chapter and hopefully I’ll remember it at some point when I’m writing my next comment >:)

I have been thinking of answering your asks for DAYYYYSSSSS but these damn holidays don’t wanna let me DO IT. But don’t worry ex-lover I am here!

Suki & Sokka reuniting is amazing! She is going to be a good influence on him, I feel it in my BONES!

Or he will gaslight her into thinking he is fine & she won’t be able to help with Shiiit….

Sokka hasn’t spoken to ANYONE about what happened to him except Zuko. & even his dad & Bato got the “safe version” so yeah opening up or even beginning to accept that this is a topic he will EVENTUALLY have to find words to communicate is very difficult… for some people it’s impossible. So I do feel bad for Sokka he isn’t an in easy spot.

It’s funny you mention teeth this was like a big convo in the server today so I’m going to go ahead & say zukos teeth are blessed by Agni themselves so they will not break or fall out it’s canon don’t question me.

Shens teeth are not though

I have my hand pressed against the glass window of my house staring across at your house because we don’t live together anymore but I miss you…..

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turtleblogatlast · 2 months

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[ cw: injury mention / jokes about death / ]

Love when people depict Leo like-

Leo, covered in grievous wounds and having several broken bones: Ew, Staten Island? Anyway lmao that sucked-

Leo, with a paper cut: My LIFE is OVER I am SUFFERING I am DYING I leave all my comics to Mikey, Raph gets my posters and figurines, April can have everything else in my room, I guess Dad can have my swords, Donnie you get NOTHING until you admit I was RIGHT back when-

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt headcanons #rise leo #100% Leo was the type to be like I can’t come to training I broke a nail #nah I can’t exercise today I stubbed my toe #what do you mean I can’t go out it’s JUST a flesh wound (said flesh wound is still actively bleeding)#*eight thousand puns about the terrible injuries he has just completely downplaying them*#guess a shell’s not all it’s cracked up to be! (he says with a cracked shell)#it’s CANON it is

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sunniss · 1 month

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tae-yi and do-yoon: (?)

#jazz for two #bl drama #asianlgbtqdramas #kbl #korean bl #my gifs #idk why this was so funny #also who releases 6 eps in less than a week???#whichever studio is behind this i hope you stub your toe #cause why'd i wait a whole week???

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illuflypop · 18 days

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frick u, im not finishing this >:(

#utmv #undertale #undertale multiverse #undertale au #dreamtale #nightmare sans #i stubbed my toe today

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thwackk · 1 year

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people underestimate the comedic potential of eobard’s existence and his extreme petty hatred for this one (1) dude

bonus because i just feel like barry would think he’s just hallucinating or something but came up with the WORST way to tell his mom that

#barry allen #the flash #eobard thawne #dc #nora allen #my art lol #he sucks at being normal #eobard thawne sleep paralysis demon #also please appreciate barry’s weird ass room i spent way too long on it #it looks like shit but yaknow. i tried my best #i rlly suck at stuff like that #of course rhis kid likes star trek AND star wars #are you insane? why limit it to one??#poor nora #eobard just wanted to put shaving cream in his hand but found he was not there and was thoroughly irritated by this and decided #to put shaving cream on his pillow but now there’s a child lookin at him with the autism eyes #i wonder how many small stupid inconveniences this man causes when he gets bored #how many of his pencils have you broken when he’s in the middle of a test #how many times have you moved furniture slightly out so he stubs his toe #this man is so petty i wouldnt put it past him yaknow #im telling you guys the comedy is endless #barry’s hair looks like bart’s a little bit cause i was trying to make it look messy and unruly #whoops

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8-bitbrainrot · 5 months

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i got WAY too into this thing and hardly remember making it these two are eating my brain like a pair of fuzzy parasites

+ bonuses ! (kind of an au idea??)

#sam and max #sam and max fanart #freelance husbands #sam and max the devil's playhouse #sam and max freelance police #sam and max freelance husbands #8-bitsart #i really wanted to add the devils toybox somewhere in there #but i forgot til later and would've rather stubbed my toe on linoleum than try and fix it

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06605 · 1 year

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NOISE

trent alexander-arnold x reader

summary: the reader wanted a late night snack..let's just say things get noisy.

pairings: trent alexander-arnold, reader

genre: fluff

a/n: someone tell me how to get 3 pictures aligned together on tumblr, mobile (comment or msg me) hopefully this makes up for me not posting for a week. this was requested by xevr, have a nice hiatus. <3 (feel free to request)

──────

You checked the time, it was 1:35 am.

You ran your fingers down your face, awakening up to reality, because you were so immersed in this book that you lost track of time and maybe disrupted your sleep schedule.

You turned around to see your partner, Trent, how calm he appeared, white disheveled sheets starting at his lower abdomen, dreadlocs tangled up against the pillow. Soft breathing coming from him, back muscles slightly tensed. He was quite the sight.

You put your book down on the nightstand and decided to fetch a snack before returning to it.

You got up cautiously, keeping an eye on the others' motions so as not to wake him up.

When you got out of bed, you kept your eyes on him as if you were approaching something hazardous and wanted to tread softly, and didn't pay attention so you stubbed your toe on the corner of the bedstead. (ouch. relatable.)

SHIT, you said internally; biting inside your mouth to refrain you from making any noise. Making a sour expression.

Trent grumbled quietly and turned to the left side; you paused for a moment before exhaling slightly when you heard him snoring again.

Limping, you headed to the kitchen of your shared flat.

"Dark as hell," you said to yourself. Luckily for you, the moonlight projecting through the balcony window saved you.

You observe Prince and Koba resting in their cages, which is excellent; another obstacle to avoid if you want to wake up Trent. The dogs are notoriously loud.

You stood your ground for a minute, thinking about a plan of how to get a successfully.

After some thought, you tiptoed over to the, your gaze shifting to the dogs. You stubbed your toe on your way to the kitchen.

CHRISSTTT, you thought internally once again. You quietly fell to the ground touching the toe that was stubbed twice.

You stayed on the floor for awhile gathering your thoughts, why do I do dumb shit, the hell is wrong with me, AAAAAAA— you stopped thinking and got up you limping got worse and it hurt to tip toe again.

Why the hell is it so quiet at night, you kept yourself steady on the kitchen island counter, and inhaled and exhaled 3 times and returned to finding a late night snack.

It was dark, like pitch dark, no moonlight no nothing. You relied on your hands to guide you the way.

You sighed again, recovering your calm. You took a step and saw that it was safe to take another, so you did. You walked 3 steps to the main counter, where you brought your hands and move them side to side.

OOPS—

You dropped something, trying to wonder what it was it that echoed, sounded like a platistic cup, why this shit still going, you thought to yourself and you bent down trying to track the cup.

You grabbed it and placed it on the counter. You sighed, you didn't recall that getting a late night snack would be this difficult.

You raised your hand, looking for the cabinets; you located one and opened it. You just felt plates inside it. You carefully close the cabinet again.

You made your way slowly to the island counter, moving your hands trying to find something, literally something edible at least.

Your hands made contact with a glass bowl, you brought it closer to you and felt was inside, it felt like fruits.

JACKPOT

You took a bite of the fruit, and dropped your head.

You swore that you were just gonna burst put in tears and laughter because of your stupidity.

It was fake; it was a fake fruit.

You removed your teeth from the decor, and dropped it on the floor.

You felt around the counter again trying to see if you could find anything again. You felt a bag, you grabbed it and inspected it. It was a chip bag.

THANK GOD, You opened your chips, they were loud. Feeling relieved, you ate one and crunched on them, feeling satisfied. You sat on the floor enjoying your chips happily.

You heard faint steps, becoming louder.

Click—

The kitchen lights opened, blinded by them you rubbed your eyes getting used to the lighting.

Busted , you thought.

"...babe?"

You grimaced, "..down here Trent"

Trent appeared from where he was standing; you could see him clearly; he was very adorable, wrapped in a blanket; like a burrito."

"Fucking freezing in here" He said, scouse accent thickening.

"Why are you on the floor...eating chips...at nearly 3 in the mornin'.."

You shrugged, "Late night snack?"

"Is that the reason why I heard noises coming from here?"

"Yes. stubbed my toe 2 times, 'ought to feel pity for me." You said reaching down to massage your big toe.

Trent laughed, you rolled your eyes.

He sat besides you, you two didn't say anything for awhile.

"I was trying to stay quiet to not disturb you from your sleep.." you admitted under your breath.

Trent kissed near the corner of your lips. "Thank you" he muttered in your ear, his breath hot near your ear.

"Now then, let's head to bed." He got up, giving you a hand to remove you off the floor.

extra

You opened to door to and made your way to the kitchen, and you saw Trent in his usual fitting white underarmour shirt, and grey sweatpants.

He's on his phone doing god knows what, and you've just bought new groceries.

After placing them on the counter, Trent put his attention onto you.

"What'd you buy?"

"Fruit."

"..fruit?"

You grabbed the platter of fake fruits and dumped them out. Muttering to yourself, "who the hell just buys fake fruit."

"It's for decor, babe. Trent stated

"Y'know last night I bit into one of these thinking it was an actual fruit."

Trent bursted out in laughter, you rolled your eyes and began replacing the fruit.

#06605 #football imagine #football imagines #trent alexander arnold #liverpool #trent alexander arnold x reader #I actually stubbed my toe TWICE last night.#football #laugh #I'm funny I know

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tangeringe · 10 months

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EYESTRAIN / DISTURBING IMAGERY？WARNING⚠️

Blueprints ( @lyss-butterscotch )

#art #rw #rain world #five pebbles #rw iterator #rw art #eyestrain #I love it when disembodied hands start planning out operations on me #it’s so amazing #anyways he better not make me stub my toe again #(he didn’t do anything I’m just blaming him for all my life’s issues)#lyss pebbles abuse

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navyseal--t4t · 5 months

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Stuck thinking about Jay down playing what she's going through and comparing it to what the rest of the party are dealing with, all while running around on an incredibly injured leg that she still hasn't told anyone about

#jrwi #riptide spoilers #my girllll :(#she needs HELP!!!!#also a new leg because everything shes been doing with a partially melted leg sounds agonizing #i cant even stub my toe without crying and girls running from monsters and climbing ladders with bone showing

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thelordofgifs · 11 months

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the fairest stars: post iv

Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils, more sons of Fëanor than anyone ever needed or wanted get involved, things go extremely sideways: you know the drill. You can find the first 18 parts of this bullet point fic on AO3 here, and parts 16-20 on tumblr here.

We're starting out part 21 with a timeskip!

One year after the fall of Himring, north Beleriand remains bitterly contested.

The East is overrun. In Barad Eithel's great war-room the map of Estolad is covered in black arrows stretching from Lothlann down to the Andram Wall.

Caranthir and Amras maintain a last stronghold on Amon Ereb, with the people of Himring who fled there after its fall; but Ossiriand, they fear, will only remain undefiled so long as Morgoth's attention does not turn towards it.

Their Eastern allies, too, are unimpressed. Bór and his young sons were all slain not long after Himring burned; the few of their people who escaped the orc-raids have joined themselves to Ulfang in Thargelion, but they are none too friendly to the Fëanorians these days.

"And Nelyo says I'm bad at making allies," Caranthir remarks.

[yeah he's in this now. damn it why will they not stay in their place.]

"I wouldn't say this is Nelyo's fault," Amras says quietly.

It is a debate held, in one form or the other, in every free kingdom in Beleriand.

But anyway, the East does not seem to be Morgoth's main concern for now.

It is Hithlum, Fingon is sure, where the next assault will come.

Hithlum, the realm of the High King of the Noldor; Hithlum, where he reigns who once humilated Morgoth so thoroughly; Hithlum, where Maedhros holds a Silmaril yet.

If the last true stronghold of the Noldor falls—

And he is facing plenty of internal pressure, too.

His lords – many of them survivors of the Grinding Ice, and arch-loyal followers of the House of Fingolfin – are less than impressed by the rumours that have reached them of the fall of Himring, and Maedhros' actions there.

Fingon has tried to quell the whispers as best as he can. But it is impossible to deny the fact that the attack took Himring by surprise because its patrols were cancelled on Maedhros' orders, or that Maedhros left the field as their position worsened.

The healers who treated Maglor's stab wound have not been quiet, either, about the fact that it was an elvish blade that caused the injury.

And some of those who were at Himring have heard that Maglor was found in a pool of his own blood with Maedhros, subdued too late, unconscious beside him—

If only they knew, Fingon thinks furiously, they would not cast sly aspersions on his judgement and his taste in friends. They would not stop talking of anything consequential when Maedhros drew near, as if he is not to be trusted with the secrets of the war.

Of course when he dares to suggest to Maedhros that this might bother him, Maedhros laughs and says, "Finno, do you think this the worst humiliation I have ever endured?"

So. There's not much Fingon can say to that.

His father was a diplomat, a politician, a builder of alliances. Fingon is not doing a very good job of living up to that legacy.

Thingol returned no response to the letter Fingon sent him, informing him of Curufin's disappearance.

In fact, Thingol is kind of just Done.

So the Noldor turned out to be faithless. What else is new?

Also he didn't really want Curufin's head anyway. Where would he even put it?

Fingon cannot give him what he truly wishes for: his daughter.

In Lúthien's absence old age has fallen upon him, who has lived unwithered for long Ages of the Stars since his birth at distant Cuiviénen.

Melian sings no longer. The people of Doriath, who have known little but peace and splendour since the Girdle was first raised, begin to wonder if their blessings have been withdrawn.

So it is a Menegroth much changed into which Beren and Lúthien walk, hand in hand, one afternoon.

Their return is met with both joy and some consternation. Youth comes back to Thingol at the touch of his daughter's hand; but Melian knows that she will never smile again.

Lúthien bears it all, the feasts of celebration at which none can look her in the eye, her father's overwhelming gladness and her mother's sorrow, the halls that ring yet with the memory of her grief, for exactly two weeks; then she announces that she and Beren are leaving.

"Daughter," Thingol protests, "you have only just returned to us – and soon—"

(Thingol does not know how he will ever handle the parting that is to come.)

"Will you not stay?" he asks. "This is your home."

Lúthien is not sure she knows what home means any more.

"I am sorry," she says, regretful but firm.

The next day finds her and Beren walking through Brethil, debating their next course of action – just as they did not so very long ago, when Celegorm and Curufin attacked them in the woods.

It is of that little skirmish that Beren is thinking now.

"They say Curufin is still out there somewhere," he argues. "It mightn't be safe—"

"I sang Morgoth himself to sleep," Lúthien cries, "and you think I can't take Curufin Fëanorion?"

"Tinúviel," Beren says, with a laugh, "I do not think there is anyone you can't take."

Lúthien allows herself to be placated.

"I am not suggesting we dwell alone in the wilderness," she says; "you made your earlier thoughts on that very clear. But I – I cannot go back to being Doriath's Princess, Beren, as if every part of me is not changed irretrievably since first you called my name, as if – as if you didn't die there, and—"

"Sweetheart," says Beren, kissing her forehead. "It wasn't permanent." And when she chokes out a little laugh through her tears, he goes on, "I know you do not wish to stay in Doriath. But we must choose somewhere – and somewhere safe. It seems as though the Enemy's reach has lengthened in the time we were, um, gone."

"I thought to go to Ossiriand," Lúthien says. "My kin the Green-elves still guard those lands."

"But only those lands," says Beren. "Estolad and Thargelion are overrun. The sons of Fëanor keep no watch upon the Eastmarch. If Morgoth were to learn that you dwelled there—"

"I'm not afraid," Lúthien says. "And even if I were – am I never to venture beyond the Girdle again, for fear of him? Is all my father's kingdom to be naught to me but a prison, as Hírilorn was? I cannot stand it – I will not."

Beren takes both her hands in his one and looks at her. "Tinúviel," he says, very seriously, "I will never cage you."

Oh, he knows her. What a wondrous, terrifying thing, to be understood so completely.

Perhaps Lúthien is still a little delirious with the rush of living once more, for she dips her head to capture Beren's mouth in a delighted kiss, and for a time they both forget all other matters.

Plucking strands of grass from her hair some time later, Beren says, "I have another idea."

"What! I thought I argued my case quite passionately," Lúthien teases.

"You said you thought of dwelling among your kin," says Beren. "What of going to mine, instead?" And, when Lúthien shoots him a puzzled look, "The House of Bëor is mostly ruined, but there are still remnants of my people who escaped Dorthonion ere its fall. Some of them dwell nearby, with the Haladin. And others went north to Dor-lómin – my little cousin Morwen is the lady of that land now."

"I do not wish to stay in Brethil," says Lúthien; "it is rather too close to Menegroth for my tastes. But the Land of Echoes, on the other hand..."

Her eyes are alight with that same fanciful gleam they used to get when Beren told her stories of the world outside the Girdle, of holy Tarn Aeluin and the dread Ered Gorgoroth alike.

You would think, Beren muses, that she would have had enough of adventure by now.

"I have," says Lúthien, catching his thought. "We are to live a very peaceful and retiring life. I insist on it! That is what I told Mandos we deserved. None shall dare assail us, in Dor-lómin." She rolls the name on her tongue as if trying to taste it.

"They call it so because of the terrible cry of Morgoth when Ungoliant assailed him," Beren tells her, "not for any sweeter music."

Lúthien laughs and flings her arms around him. Oh, his living body warm and solid against hers! It is a gift she does not intend to waste.

"Luckily," she says, "I am good at changing the melody."

Another conversation between lovers:

"Do you think it could be done?"

“I have already told you what I think.”

"But you haven't explained," Fingon persists, "you have only looked at me dolefully and proclaimed that it is not possible."

"Well, it is not," says Maedhros. He is lying curled in Fingon's arms, their ankles hooked together, and he is loath to disturb their contentment with arguing. Keeping his voice measured, he says, "If our strength were doubled I do not think it would be enough, Finno."

"The attack will come either way," Fingon says, also without much vigour. They have had this debate so many times now that it is become well-worn. "Why not meet it head on?"

"Because you have a defensible position here," Maedhros says patiently, "and a greater chance of holding than you do of storming the gates of Angband."

"My father did it," Fingon mutters.

"Your father died," Maedhros says, voice suddenly sharp.

Fingon looks at him. "Don't look so worried, beloved! I am quite turned off the idea of wasteful heroics these days."

"Then look to strengthening your defences," Maedhros says, "and drop this fool notion."

"But if we did try," says Fingon, "if we united all the Free Peoples under one banner, and marched on Angband together – think what we could achieve!"

His eyes are bright with hope. Maedhros hates to crush it, but crush it he must.

"Finno," he says, "the East is lost. My brothers do not have so strong a position in Amon Ereb that they can afford to march north to join in a war that could prove ruinous. Bór and his people are dead almost to a man. Belegost will no doubt have heard the rumours—"

Fingon glances at him sharply, but he speaks without bitterness. Which is concerning in itself, but Fingon decides to let it slide for now.

"—and there is little help to be expected from other corners," Maedhros continues. "Doriath has strength to spare, but Thingol hates you."

Fingon shifts uncomfortably. He never actually told Maedhros why Thingol hates him now.

"Nargothrond," he says, to change the subject. "Orodreth will answer to his High King."

"Orodreth!" says Maedhros, dismissively. “A king too ruled by the whims of his people. If he had any spine he would have turned my brothers out of Nargothrond immediately, and Finrod might have lived.”

If Fingon were crueller he might say, You didn't manage to control your brothers that well yourself. Instead he says, "But the people of Nargothrond are many and valiant. We should not discount them."

"If Nargothrond wishes to stay out of the wars of the north," says Maedhros, "I think it would be prudent to allow them to do so." There is a thoughtful, uneasy look in his grey eyes.

Fingon gauges it correctly and says, "Are you worried for your nephew?"

Maedhros looks at him unhappily. "Everyone in Beleriand knows what a mess – Curvo – made of – everything," he says.

(A year might have passed, but Maedhros still does not much like to speak of Curufin.)

"Tyelpë is safe in Nargothrond, where his father's deeds cannot taint him," Maedhros says. "I would keep him so." Then he shrugs. "But my opinion carries no weight now, beloved. Do as you will, and I will support you, for all that is worth."

"It carries weight with me," Fingon says fiercely. "And I am not ashamed to say so. But you have not yet heard the key element in my plan."

Maedhros smiles despite himself, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can keep his eyes focused on Fingon's face. The mass of his silken hair is pooled on Fingon's bare chest. "Go on, then," he says, indulgent.

"Gondolin," Fingon says triumphantly. "My brother took a third of our host with him when he disappeared, and yet more of the Sindar went with him. They have lived in peace for more than three hundred years; their numbers must be great."

Maedhros does not seem as delighted with this idea as Fingon is. "Finno, you don't know where Gondolin is."

"The Eagles bring them tidings, clearly," Fingon points out; "else they would have opened the leaguer and come to our aid when they saw the fires of the Dagor Bragollach on the horizon."

Maedhros frowns, attempting to parse this extremely backwards logic. Eventually, he says, "If Hithlum falls, Gondolin will be the last stronghold of the Noldor in the north. I do not know if its position should be risked."

"All war is risk, beloved," says Fingon, "and if I were to call upon my brother, Hithlum will not fall."

Maedhros says, as if he has been saving this blow for last, "Finno, if you call upon Turgon, will he even answer?"

It has been more than three hundred years, since Fingon last saw his brother.

“Do you think he won’t?” he asks, more sharply than he means to.

(Turgon didn’t tell him he was going. He didn’t tell anyone. He just – vanished.)

Sometimes Maedhros thinks things were easier during Maglor’s long convalescence, when his only concern was his brother, when every sleepless night was because Maglor needed someone to sit up with him and every meal was whatever invalid's food Maglor could be persuaded to choke down – when Fingon was his strength and steadiness, and Maedhros could yet wrap his blue cloak around him like armour.

Selfish – selfish. Maglor is better now, and Maedhros is so, so glad; and Fingon cannot always be his strength. Sometimes Maedhros must be his.

"I am sure he will," he says, contrite. He presses a kiss to Fingon's tense jawline. "I just don't think it wise to ask him."

Fingon sighs and puts his arms around Maedhros. "Fine," he concedes. "Perhaps you are right."

But later, when they have extricated themselves from their warm tangle of limbs and risen for the day, he sits down to write a letter.

A few days later the High King's messenger, having ridden swiftly along the Ered Wethrin and into Dor-lómin, nearly collides with a small child playing near the road.

"Be careful!" cries Lúthien, dropping Beren's hand and rushing forward to snatch the child up.

The messenger gapes at her, for it seems to him as though she has materialised out of the shadows themselves. Then, when he gets better look at her beauty, he gapes even more.

Lúthien is not paying attention. All her focus is on the little golden-haired creature in her arms. "That was nearly very dangerous for you, wasn't it, sweetheart?" she coos. "But you don't seem frightened at all. What's your name, dear one?"

The little girl giggles and hides her face in Lúthien's sleeve without answering.

Beren feels a little dizzy, looking at the picture that they make, and at the bright tender look on his wife's face. Someday, he tells himself, someday.

He looks around. The messenger has dismounted; it seems the great house up ahead is his destination. A house of lords, clearly, surrounded by gardens as lovely as any in the chilly northlands, and with a bubbling stream running just past its walls.

Well, here they are.

He is pondering what the etiquette is here – should they knock? wait here until someone spots them? – when he catches sight of a second child, a little older, dark-haired, watching them intently from around a tree-trunk.

"Good day, lad," Beren says gravely. "Might I ask your name, and those of your parents?"

The boy regards him with suspicion for a while, before he finally says, "I am Túrin son of Húrin, and that is my sister Lalaith."

(One little-appreciated consequence of the fall of Himring: for the last year, Morgoth's attention has been on the final desecration of the March of Maedhros. He did not have time to send the Evil Breath to Dor-lómin.)

"Lalaith!" Lúthien says, delighted. "What a fitting name."

"Then, son of Húrin," says Beren, "we have reached our destination indeed. Might you do me the honour of introducing us to your parents?"

Túrin looks unimpressed. "Who are you?" he asks.

"My name is Beren son of Barahir," says Beren, "and we are kinsmen, son of Morwen."

Túrin frowns even more. "How do you know my mother's name?" he demands. "And Beren is dead."

Kind of hard to argue with that.

Before Beren can come up with a suitable response there is a small noise from the direction of the house: the children's mother has come out to call them in for the evening meal. She stands so still she might be made of stone, were it not for the wind whipping up her dark hair behind her.

Beren finds his own mouth is very dry.

He buried Baragund his cousin, and avenged him; and he has not thought of his slaughtered companions for a long time.

(There's only so much survivor's guilt one person can have, and it is usually the screams of Finrod and his Ten that haunt Beren's nightmares.)

Morwen is not now the thirteen-year-old he remembers, her face sterner and more sorrowful, but somehow she is the image of her dead father.

"Hello, little cousin," he croaks out.

Morwen stares at him.

Lúthien comes to the rescue. "You must be the lady Morwen," she says warmly, setting Lalaith down so that she can drop into a graceful curtsey. Her Taliska is hesitant, but beautiful. (Everything about Lúthien is beautiful.) "Beren has told me so much of you. And your children are charming."

"Beren's dead," Morwen says at last, shakily. "And – you—"

"I was dead," says Beren, "but now I'm not. I don't know how to explain it, cousin, but—" He holds his hand out to her, letting the Ring of Barahir gleam green upon his finger in the setting sun. "It really is me."

Morwen makes another small sound, swaying where she stands. Her hand rests on her son's dark head as though he is the only thing keeping her upright.

"Mother?" Túrin says nervously.

Before things can get any more awkward the lord of the house comes out to seek his family, perhaps wondering what is taking them so long. "Morwen," he says quietly, seeing her stiff posture.

But Morwen takes a breath. "We have guests, Húrin," she says, composed again. "This is my kinsman Beren Erchamion, and his – and his wife, the Princess of Doriath."

Lúthien turns her dazzling smile on Húrin. "A pleasure to meet you," she says gaily. "But call me rather the Lady of Dorthonion."

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #beren #luthien #fingon #maedhros #russingon #here we gooo!!#very excited for where we're going with this arc #this thing definitely needs more editing but I lost patience so have it now #say hi to a bunch of new characters (more are coming later too)#and a new set of political problems #also guess who DOESN'T appear here for the first time in 21 parts I'm as shocked as you are #(he'll be back next time dw)#also nobody died or got stabbed or had a breakdown or got nearly executed or like. even stubbed their toe here so BE GRATEFUL

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capricores · 8 months

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having a pisces rising is so fun. my feet are always cold. i stub my toes and injure my feet often. i have to buy old lady orthopaedic shoes in my mid-twenties. i'm extremely sensitive to physical environments and have to take extra precaution to not get sick. my nervous system is in fact very nervous. i have a very confusing social battery that even i don't understand. if someone's vibes are even vaguely off it ruins my entire week. i take everything personally and people's moodiness is a direct attack on my wellbeing. struggling to recover people pleaser. the one everyone loves to trauma and responsibility dump on. the eternal "wise/old soul" (i had to raise my own parents). pisces rising things <3

#theres a lot of good things of being pisces rising #i wanted to really just complain about stubbing my toe but then i went on a journey with this post im having a day guys sorry #pisces rising #astrology #luna.txt #mine

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thedisablednaturalist · 7 months

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Office disability culture is so fucked in environmental science and fieldwork. Like the mindset that to do the job you have to be in perfect physical health or you should just quit. Like I'm not talking about something that is 100% physical labor here, everything is mostly achievable with aids and you don't need to be able to do every single thing. But there's this weird like..pride..that my older coworkers have. They work out in the gym and brag about how many reps they did. They tease each other for having medical issues. They don't ask for accommodations because they fear that their legitimacy will be hurt. That it means that they can't do their job anymore. That they won't be TRUSTED to do their jobs anymore. That it will get taken away.

So they FURTHER hurt their bodies by not resting, not taking breaks, not using ergonomic equipment, not using safety equipment. Not drinking enough water. Not using mobility aids when they are so old that it's supposed to be acceptable. They don't use the scooters at the grocery store, they don't use their handicapped placard, they don't use knee pads or compression gloves.

And here I come in, 24 years old, looking perfectly healthy. And I use walking sticks, I sit down a lot, I have my care bag, I have a ton of gadgets for making fieldwork more comfortable, I have boundaries and limits, I wear braces and knee pads and compression gloves. I use my handicapped placard.

They react in one of two ways:

1. How DARE I. I'm so lucky to be young and no one sees THEM having to do all those things (literally nothing is stopping them but pride). Like old man if you need a break take a fucking break. I'm not going to hurt my health to make you feel better about hurting yours. I'm not risking a flare up to spare the 65 year olds feelings. Im gonna take my break and use my equipment cause my boss doesn't care as long as the work gets done. I'm tired of glares from 100 year olds making themselves struggle across the parking lot when they could also be using the fucking scooter. (I never take the last scooter, there's always another available. Also it's not my fault if walmart only provides 2 scooters for the whole store).

2. It shows them its okay. Its okay to need aids. When I first showed up at my job it was very...macho..everyone was afraid of seeming old (theres probably only 3 of us under 30 in the whole department, most people are at least 50, mainly 65 year olds). Then they saw me using my walking sticks, taking my medicine openly, bringing a chair with me when working away from my desk, using my TENS unit. I overheard one lady ask her granddaughter what fibromyalgia was (apparently she had spotted my pain tracking journal).

My older coworker with a bad knee got a walking stick like mine and beamed when she showed me. The grandmother uses a cane and a walker interchangeably and more often. I get asked where I get my little portable fan and pocket heaters and special clothing. Even abled coworkers are doing it. My coworker who's younger than me sets alarms to take breaks now just like I do. People seem more comfortable using things that help them now.

My boss has really struggled. He has a lot of internalized ableism and hates thinking of himself as crippled. He spent his whole life physically active and strong and all these health issues and overexertion are catching up with him. Like he did environmental testing in areas with fucking radon. He did work where they threw asbestos around like snow for fun. He's done a ton of really hard physical work. He grew up with the mentality that pain was just something everyone has to push through. But I think seeing a young person make the choice not to push through is helping him a bit. He wants to make his own walking stick, he goes to the doctor more. We bond over having constant medical issues and I even gave him the name of my surgeon. Yea he still says stuff like "shoot me if I have to use a wheelchair" (not as much anymore since he now knows I use one) but he's getting there.

Yeah so I've had this in my drafts for a bit and I wanted to update that my boss has been walking around with a fucking broken ankle for the past couple of weeks. He thought it was just arthritis pain and eventually couldn't take it anymore and went to the foot doctor. The doctor has no clue how the fuck he's been walking on it. Now he has to wear the boot and he's banned from fieldwork while he heals.

Older people and the elderly need to learn that it's okay to not push through the pain and ask for help. Everyone needs to learn this, and not be like my fucking boss. Go to the doctor, get that sore joint checked out. Get those tests done. Use that aid. Stop walking on a broken ankle just because you can.

#chronic disability #chronic pain #spoonie #disability #from the field #wrenfea.exe #literally fucking flabbergasted #he walked in after leaving for a bit to go to his appointment and came back like so yeah my ankles been broken #BUDDY #everyone needs help sometimes you dont deserve to be in pain #like thats some catholic guilt shit im pretty sure #this man has had 4 major back surgeries so i guess a broken ankle is nothing compared to that #but still...jesus fucking christ #not sprained..BROKEN #and thats along with all the rest of the pain hes in #like i get being used to pain but if i stub my toe during a flare up I can't handle it because it pushes my pain level over the edge #so it actually makes me less tolerable since im already in pain #but im used to a higher pain level than abled people are #ok im done rambling for now im gonna go play Minecraft

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