Annaaaa 💛 have some Fingolfin & Fëanor in the 4th age
Later Fingolfin will not be able to tell you which part exactly set him off so spectacularly — perhaps Fëanor calling him brother finally only to goad him, perhaps the simple use of the word ‘cold’, perhaps his smile or his face or his propensity for never knowing when to shut the fuck up — but he has drawn his sword and crossed the room before the thought to do so even forms and Fëanor, when Fingolfin presses the tip of the sword to the hollow of his throat in the exact spot Fëanor had once pressed his against Fingolfin’s, has the nerve to look shocked and then amused.
For the trope meme: H/C with heavy emphasis on the H and not so much on the C.
A+, 104/100, extra credit. where I live, man. that sweet hurt/hurt/hurt/hurt/comfort, where most of it's just pain and then you get a glimmer of hope or sweetness or bittersweetness at the end. chef's kiss. so about it.
10. How do you stay motivated to finish what you’ve started?
I used to be one of those writers who would get three chapters into a story and stop when I got another idea. (It was all handwritten original fiction.) Nano 2004 taught be that outlines kill my ideas and that I can finish things. I've finished them ever since. Sometimes, it's just a summary of what I know happens later on because I got bored and want to work on something else. But they're still done.
So… basically stubborness.
12. Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?
Ideally, both. If someone is emotionless while reading, I've done something wrong.
42. Rudest review?
It was on Rise Again From Ashes, which is a Maglor-returns-to-Valinor novel exploring the aftermath of his return; it was the first one written in the fandom. It's one of the fics I will point to if I'm asked to pick a favorite or three of mine. I finished posting it in 2011.
Someone in 2015 commented (paraphrasing) that Maglor was too whiny and the plot didn't make sense. They commented twice, once halfway through the story and again at the end. I made the mistake of asking them why they bothered to finish reading it if they disliked it so much. They said they wanted to find out what happened and then proceeded to tell me I needed to rewrite my novel to their specifications. They didn't care that everything they were complaining about were things I'd done deliberately (or that it had been complete for six years!). They literally thought that because they took the time out of their day to leave criticism on my fic, that meant I had to listen to them and that I was wrong about my own story. I could not get them to understand otherwise.
Prompt, if you're still taking them: Aziraphale & Crowley for 24. “The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake.”
(Read at AO3)
Crowley ran his fingertips over a row of worn and dusty spines. “Dangerous things, words. Especially written ones.”
“Believe me,” said Aziraphale, with feeling, “I’m aware.”
“Remember when writing was invented?” Crowley let out a low whistle and shook his head. “You never saw so many old grey-headed men getting their knickers in a twist. Or tunics in a twist—whatever old grey-headed men wore in ancient Babylon, I forget.”
“Really? I thought clothes were in rather your line. Fashion leading to vanity and all that.”
“Oh sure, but I never bothered much with what the old people were wearing.” Crowley picked a book at random and flipped through it, but gently, so as not to damage the venerable pages. “Vanity in the old isn’t really a sin so much as it is an indulgence. It’s the young people whose souls are still up for grabs, so to speak. And the middle-aged ones who think they’re going to get a new lease on youth by wearing the latest fashions.” Aimlessly, Crowley leaned on the shelves and turned another page of his book, which had proved to be a very odd compendium of words and their definitions. “Always struck me as odd that your side never did anything to stop it.”
“What, fashion?” Aziraphale snorted. “Not with Gabriel being the strutting popinjay that he is.”
“Not fashion, angel, words. Written words. I mean, the thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake. That’s true for spoken word and doubly-true for written ones. I mean, look how much my side’s gotten away with, thanks to written contracts. Nobody ever reads them, even when they’re written in somebody’s own blood!”
“At that point, I suspect the pour entrapped soul is eager to just get the business over with.”
“…Okay, I’ll give you that. But the point still stands: Heaven should never have let humans get away with writing. Or language in general.”
“That’s going a little far, surely,” said Aziraphale, feeling that he must speak up for his beloved books and the art that had generated them.
“You think so?” Crowley flipped back a page or two and read off an entry in his book. “‘Languages. Noun. The music with which we charm the serpents guarding another's treasure.’ That’s all language is, isn’t it. Just a tissue of lies to help us get what we want.”
“You’d think so, after reading that book.” Aziraphale’s blue eyes danced with amusement. “Look at the title.”
Crowley frowned and flipped back to the cover. In burnished gold letters against blue leather stood three simple, direct words: <i>The Devil’s Dictionary.</i>
“Huh. Not sure how downstairs missed this one. Mind if I…?”
young Warlock wants to bake a surprise birthday...
A spite cake. Hehehe. This is adorable.
It’s a theme I think you’ll find in much of my work/life-- and I encourage others to adopt it as well.
It’s a mentality of “fuck you I’m doing something nice for myself to balance out how mad I am at you” and it is great for the blood pressure and gives one a sense of petty smugness.
Spite bath. Spite shopping. Spite spa day. Spite baking.
Because you’re worth it.
idleleaves replied to your post: Ferdinand completely failed to understand the...
If lap exists, cat must sit. :D
I wasn’t even sitting down when I was trying to take the pictures originally! I had to give in and sit down and put him on my lap because he kept wandering around pawing at my shins. In Ferdinand’s world, if lap doesn’t exist then cat must find a way to induce it, I guess. XD
