#junadala

[notdavidfincher]

i just watched the wolfman! i loved how gothic and camp it was. and ah the chemistry was so good, i wish it had a happy ending. i also honestly hoped at the beginning that gwen would be the werewolf like get it girl, disembowel your first lover, make your second lover a werewolf, kill the shitty dad. oh well..

i hope you don’t mind me posting this on my blog but the last part of your message has me cackling!! i’m so glad you enjoyed it though!

[woman-loving]

junadala replied to your post “woman-loving: It’s interesting to see how bi discoursers have started...”

reminds me of some quotes by sara ahmed: "whilst being queer may feel uncomfortable within heterosexual spaces, it does not then follow that queers always feel comfortable in queer spaces" and "we can feel uncomfortable in the categories we inhabit". ('queer' or any other identification/label in this regard) and that to me explains a lot with the existence of different understandings of labels etc

"we can feel uncomfortable in the categories we inhabit" Yeah, that resonates with me a lot. I feel like bisexual identification for me comes down to choosing to use a dissatisfying label just because others may be more dissatisfying for some reason for my given purposes, although there are also times when I choose not to use it and/or identify with something else instead.

[swilmarillion]

Long time no see, I got a FYD question! How does Thil & Ilmare's relaitonship differ from a public and a private setting? I'm longing for a Thil & Ilmare piece or just a snippet inside FYD of how they're like alone together, because ~they cute

You asked this a hundred thousand years ago, and I’m sorry it took me so long to answer!  I’ve turned it into a little Christmas ficlet; I hope you like it!  Thanks for always being around to scream about these babes with me <3  Merry Chrismas!

               “Areyou sure about this?” Thuringwethil asked.

               Ilmarëturned to her, arching one perfectly manicured eyebrow.  “It’s a little late now, babe.”

               “No,it’s not,” Thuringwethil said.

               Ilmarëlaughed.  “We’re sitting in the parkinglot,” she said.  “The time tosecond-guess has passed, I think.”

               “I’mjust saying,” Thuringwethil insisted, “that if you don’t want me to go, then Idon’t mind just going home.”

               Ilmarëfrowned.  “Do you not want to go?”

               “No,”Thuringwethil said, shaking her head. “No, I do.  I just don’t want youto feel like you have to take me.”

               “It’s aChristmas party,” Ilmarë said, a little exasperated.  “Not a deposition.”

               “It’syour office Christmas party,” Thuringwethil said.  “And I’m just saying that if you don’t wantyour coworkers to see us together—”

               “Oh,God forbid my coworkers see my smoking hot girlfriend,” Ilmarë said.

               “It’sless the smoking hot girlfriend part,” Thuringwethil said, “and more the factthat it’s me.”

               “Whatare you talking about?”

               “I knowI have a…reputation.”

               “Theonly reputation you have is as a kick-ass trial attorney that everyone’s afraidto have to face in court,” Ilmarë said.

               “Yes,”Thuringwethil said, grinning at the compliment, “but I also work for Angband,which has a less than stellar reputation.”

               “Ialways thought that was a little undeserved,” Ilmarë said charitably.

               Thuringwethillaughed and leaned over to kiss her. “You’re too nice,” she said.

               “One ofmy many faults,” Ilmarë said, smiling. She grew serious again.  “Listen,if you don’t want to go, we can go home.”

               “Youhave to go,” Thuringwethil said.  “It’syour Christmas party.”

               “No, Idon’t,” Ilmarë said, “and I won’t without you.”

               Thuringwethilkissed her again.  “I love you,” shesaid.  “And if you’re sure, then let’sgo.”

               The twoof them got out of the car, and Ilmarë whistled, shaking her head.  “Damn, you look good.”

               “Youlook damn fine yourself.”

               “Comeon,” Ilmarë said, offering her arm. “Let’s go get ourselves some free, expensive booze.”

               Thuringwethilwas uncharacteristically nervous.  Intheory, this was exactly the kind of party she loved.  The venue was extravagant, the dress code wasblack tie, the hors d’oeuvres were to die for, and the alcohol was top-shelf,readily available, and free of charge. She didn’t even hate the people that surrounded her.  She knew some of them, both professionallyand by reputation, and there were some she wouldn’t even have minded speaking to.  The thing that made her nervous, more thananything, was Ilmarë.

               Thatsounded wrong, even in her head, and it wasn’t even true, strictlyspeaking.  She loved Ilmarë, and she washappy to be here with her, but it was that fact, the very reality of being heretogether that made her nervous.  Itwasn’t going to be the first time she had seen Ilmarë in a professional settingsince they’d been together; they’d been at conferences and networking eventsand professional development gatherings in the months since they’d beentogether.  It hadn’t been a problem.  Those were professional events, and althoughthey were friendly and familiar, and people probably at least guessed that theywere friends, it was a different sort of thing than this.

               Thiswas a couples’ thing, and it wasn’t something Thuringwethil had ever donebefore.  She was nervous—not for herself,but for Ilmarë.  These were people Ilmarëworked with, people whose opinions she valued, and Thuringwethil was stillhesitant, no matter how proud she was of her own work and her friends, to linkIlmarë too closely with Angband.

               Ilmarë,it seemed, had no such reservations.

               Thefirst time Ilmarë introduced her as her girlfriend, it startledThuringwethil.  The second time, it madeher smile and squeeze Ilmarë’s hand.  Bythe tenth time, she was half-giddy with delight, and her cheeks had started toache from smiling.

               “Areyou alright?” Ilmarë asked.  They had madetheir initial rounds of greeting and had managed to snag a small table forthemselves, tucked away toward the back of the room.

               “I’mgreat,” Thuringwethil said.  “Why?”

               “Idon’t know,” she said.  “You’re just notusually this smiley in public.”

               “I’mhappy,” Thuringwethil said, a little surprised at the truth of it.  “I like being here with you.”

               Ilmarëlaid her hand on Thuringwethil’s and smiled. “I’m going to go get us a drink, okay?”

               Sheturned and headed off into the crowd, and for a moment, Thuringwethil wasalone, free to scan the crowd and pass silent judgement on the outfits of herfellow guests.

               “Sorryto bother you,” said a voice she didn’t recognize, pulling her out of herthoughts.

               Thuringwethilturned to see a woman she didn’t know standing at her table, smiling.  She looked vaguely familiar, andThuringwethil studied the pretty, elegant face, wondering where she knew thewoman from.  

               “You’reThuringwethil, aren’t you?”

               “Sorry,”Thuringwethil said, cocking her head to one side.  “Have we met?”

               “Idon’t think so,” she said, and held out a hand. “I’m Varda.”

               Thuringwethilshook her hand, and the name finally sparked her memory.  “Varda,” she said, realization coming in aninstant.  “Manwë’s wife.”  Varda nodded, and Thuringwethil smiled.  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said.

               “Goodthings, I hope.”

               “Mostly,”Thuringwethil said, and Varda laughed.  

               “Areyou here with Ilmarë?”  Thuringwethilnodded.  “That’s good,” Varda said.  “You know, I can’t remember her ever bringinganyone to one of these things before.”

               “Inever brought anyone to our Christmas party either, before her,” Thuringwethilsaid, and then wondered why she had.

               “Well,it’s nice,” Varda said.  “If anyonedeserves a nice girlfriend, it’s Ilmarë.”

               “I maybe biased,” Thuringwethil said, “but I have to agree.”

               Someonecalled her name, and Varda turned and waved, smiling.  She turned back to Thuringwethil.  “I have to go and schmooze, unfortunately,”she said.  “But it was nice to meet you,Thuringwethil.  Tell Melkor we saidhello.”

               Thuringwethilsmiled and watched her go, the crowds gently parting around her as she made herway through the sea of friends and acquaintances.  Then Ilmarë returned, and Thuringwethil’ssmile was real again.  “Come on,” Ilmarësaid, handing her a drink.  “I want to goshow you off to my coworkers.”

*****

               “Youknow,” Thuringwethil said thoughtfully, sitting down and slipping off hershoes, “I know intellectually that you work with a bunch of rich snotty people,but I was still surprised to see them there tonight.”

               Ilmarëlaughed.  “It’s a context thing, Ithink,” she said.  “It’s weird to seepeople you associate with work in a normal party setting.”

               “Iguess,” Thuringwethil said.  She reachedup and fumbled with the clasp of her necklace, long nails impeding her grasp onthe tiny mechanism.  “It was extra weirdto see Varda there.”

               “I sawyou two talking,” Ilmarë said, coming over to help her.  “It seemed…cordial.”

               “Itwas,” Thuringwethil said.  “We mostlytalked about you.  Definitely avoidedmentioning Melkor.”

               Ilmarëset the necklace aside and leaned down to kiss the nape of Thuringwethil’sneck.  “Thanks for that,” she said.

               “Ifigured causing a scene would be a bad move,” she said.  “Not least of all because I want to beinvited back next year.  That food was todie for.”

               Ilmarëlaughed and wrapped her arms around Thuringwethil’s neck, kissing hercheek.  “Thanks for going,” she said.

               Thuringwethilturned and pulled Ilmarë into her lap. “Thanks for inviting me.  It wasnice to be at one of these things with a date, for once.”

               “Itreally was,” Ilmarë said.  “Let’s do itagain next year.”

               “Assumingyou keep me around that long,” Thuringwethil said.

               Ilmarëleaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Well,” she said, the seriousness of her tone belied by the mischief inher eyes.  “I think I can be convinced.”

[icpe]

give Geralt and Ciri a moon prism power makeup sequence witcher style

sorry, only Geralt...

[swilmarillion]

Made-up fic title: You give love a bad name

you know what?  this would be a great opportunity for a history of fyd-verse thuringwethil’s bad romances up until she meets ilmare

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it

[swilmarillion]

The family is growing✨ Melkor should buy a huge ass mansion so all six of them can live there together.

This is a great and terrible idea.  Disaster party house ftw!

(Someone would commit murder in approximately 3 hours...)

[icpe]

If you gaze into the abyss, Gaunter O'Dimm gazes back into you.

[swilmarillion]

just wanted to come in and say i love you and everything that you do because i haven't done that in a long time. also, do you have any crossover headcanons for fyd and good omens? because i feel like those would be hilarious

Surprise niceness is exactly what I needed today

Now that you mention it...

What if Thuringwethil has a favorite weird bookshop that’s way across town, so she doesn’t get to it often, but when she does, she ends up chatting with the strange little proprietor (the elusive Mr. A.Z. Fell) for way too long.  They share a love of rare vintage wines and weird first edition books no one’s ever heard of.  She brings Mairon every now and again, and he always winds up in a weird, mostly-friendly trivia dropping battle with Mr. Fell.  Thil gets the feeling Mr. Fell might be one of the few people Mairon actually respects.

Melkor has seen Crowley around a few times, when he’s out trashing Manwe’s yard and Crowley’s doing some minor mischief in the neighborhood.  They’ve never spoken (or even really acknowledged one another, for that matter), but Melkor has to admit he likes the man’s style.

Thuringwethil runs into Crowley every other week or so, always at some garden shop or other.  They trade tips on orchids and tomato plants, and he tells her about the tough love shtick he uses with his house plants.  She likes him immediately, and swears its the reason her yucca has stopped dropping leaves.  

You and this anon had similar thoughts, I love it :D