Angels are watching over you.

Part 2 : Insecure Reader

Request: Hello! I have a request for a HC if it’s still happening ! (If not just ignore my ask no worries) but I was thinking of the prompt with Fingolfin and an insecure reader and I was wondering about a similar one but only with Curufin HC with an insecure SO ? (I’m on a Curufin streak) thank you !

A/N: I totally understand the Curufin streak! I was happy to do a similar one to the Fingolfin one! I hope you enjoy Anon!

* * * 

- Dating Curufin is nothing short of a big deal in many ways.

- Aside from the obvious that he’s a Prince and Fëanorian, it also means that Curufin respects you on an immense level.

- It also means that he cares about you deeply as well, if he didn’t the two of you wouldn’t be together as he wouldn’t even bother to waste his time. 

- Curufin does tend to judge others on their appearance and behavior, but it is usually about cleanliness and their manners. 

- He mostly feels that not only should others look presentable but that they should be respectful as well, especially to him and to you too. 

- Curufin might honestly come off insensitive sounding at first with you, not realizing that you are so insecure. 

- He does it unintentionally one day after you’ve dressed, pointing out that a different colored robe or tunic or gown would better suit a clothing item that you are wearing. 

- It sounds blunt and it is very too the point, and he doesn’t mean it at all to be offensive, though it definitely does the damage against your already sensitive and insecure nature. 

- Seeing how your mood dropped after stating his thoughts, Curufin hones in on your behavior for the rest of the day trying to gauge what happened. 

- Curufin is extremely observant and cunning, so he catches on quick to the fact that you are insecure and he probably made it worse on accident.

- Curufin isn’t one to apologize, but he tries to assure you that you look fine and he merely meant his earlier words as a suggestion and not because you looked terrible. 

- Knowing now that you are insecure Curufin will take the time to help you set up a foundation to building up your confidence. 

- Curufin does make sure to compliment you more often and support you better, as he wants you to know that he does indeed love you as you are.

- He even usually notices even the smallest of details that have changed about you and is quick to point them out in praise or content agreement about your decision. 

- But he doesn’t leave you to solely rely on his compliments and support to be the only way to bolster your confidence and he won’t let up at all from his method of confidence building until he is sure that it has helped. 

- Everyday when he is with you, he has you tell him something that you like about yourself, either while you are looking at him or looking at yourself in the mirror. 

- No matter how much pushback you might give about doing the exercise, I can assure you, Curufin is far more stubborn and relentless than you are. 

- And he absolutely will not tolerate self deprecating jokes if you try to spite him;

- “My dear I can certainly clear my schedule and we can sit here all day unmoving until you tell me one thing you like about yourself.” 

- Since Curufin spends his time trying to cultivate your confidence and help you grow, he won’t tolerate any naysayers and ill spoken words from anyone against you. 

- Happily will he absolutely pick them apart right before you, without even a second thought nor does he care about the confidence of the other person, you are the only thing that matters to him. 

* * * 

A SHITTY PERSON IS NOT NECESSARILY A BAD PARENT!

People can be bad at one thing, and good at another

Because people are multidimentional complex beings wouldya believe!

Maybe Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy hurt Draco by spoiling him rotten & raising him as a bigot & being a DE & a DE ally & a shitty DE at that

But they genuinely loved their son to the point that they were searching wandless for him in middle of a full blown battle! Narcissa looked Voldemort, a known strong occlumens, dead in the eye & lied to him for Draco ! Lucius was already out of favour with Voldemort and he still chose to beg for Draco instead of listening to Voldemort's orders! He & Draco seemed on such close terms that Lucius would send pieces of newspapers to him making fun of the Weasleys! No there was no "deeper meaning" to "my father will hear about this" they were just that close & Lucius had spoiled that brat like that!

Lucius & Narcissa's love for their family was their only redeeming quality!

& hate to put this problematic baby's name in a post in which i discussed Lucius & Narcissa Malfoy but now that we're on the subject Allow me to explain why there are reasons to believe that Fëanor was a good dad :

He seemed so close to his sons that usually when he was not in his smithy he was spending time with them. They followed him everywhere. They all went with him to Formeneos, they all took the oath unprompted just because Fëanor did it, they followed him to ME, again because they wanted to. Fëanor says to Nerdanel in Shibboleth "they are all determined to go with their father."

Brings me to my other point. He seems open minded. All his kids chose different professions according to their interests. He didn't like Fingolfin, but his kids were very close to Fingolfin's children. He didn't like the Valar, but Celegorm was besties with Orome. When Maedhros doesn't want to participate in the burning of the ships, he just stands aside & Fëanor does not even get upset. 'cause in an earlier version of the story, he gives Maedhros the earlier version of the elfstone before his death.(which Maedhros later gives to Fingon...unrelated but thought you should know.) That also shows that even in his worst moments, his anger is never directed at his children.

Nerdanel the wise had 7 kids with him. Elves have inner birth control & reproduce at will. If he wasn't a good father to the previous ones, Nerdanel wouldn't want to have more kids with him.

Also look at the way he just wants his two youngests to have their own separate mother-names! Precious!

What harm he did to his sons, was unintentional. Not thinking your actions through, especially when it concerns your children is not a good thing to do as a parent i admit. But he meant no harm to his kids.(the last thing he did, asking his sons to continiue the quest even though he knew it was in vain was very shitty tho.)

& there's nothing said about what kind of a dad Curufin was but we know that the reason Celebrimbor cut ties with him was what he did to Finrod in Nargothrond. Nothing about him being a bad dad. But don't you think it makes what Celebrimbor did more grand if Curifin was a good father? If Celebrimbor was loved and cared for but he still acknowledged that his dear father is not a good person & cut all ties & went his own separate way?

Like...Finwë & Fëanor's love for each other made Fëanor blind to what a selfish & harmful father & husband & even king Finwë was. & Fëanor & his sons presumed love for each other led to them blindly following him & creating a book worth of catastrophes. Celebrimbor could be the one breaking that chain.

Also also most importantly!

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

Barry reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocket sized composition notebook and paged through it.

“What was the name?” Oliver demanded as you, and everybody else at the table watched Barry, but you were the only one who didn’t know what he was doing.

“Uh… oh! Me? Sorry. Her name was Irene. Irene Schumer. Why?”

Barry went back a page and then looked up from the book at all of the heroes around him and shook his head sadly.

“When did you last talk to Irene?” Diana asked gently. Too gently. Gentle to the point that you knew something terrible was up.

There was a tightness in your chest as you tried to remember. I guess it had been a while, but not a lifetime ago. You still saw her spouse posting stuff on Facebook with their kid. But now that you thought about it, Irene was always tagged in the picture, but not in them… “It’s been a few years. Maybe… nine?”

After they all exchanged a glance, Bruce said solomnly, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have it on good authority that Irene has been killed.”

Shit.

Suddenly the room seemed to dim and all of the Justice Leauge were looking at you, Clark even leaned towards you as if he expected you to break right there. But you had more tact than that.

“You have it on good authority? What the hell does that even mean, Mr. Wayne? Who’s authority is good?”

Clark stopped Bruce from talking and slowly explained, “Once we found out about the… nature… of the experiment, we started trying to track down the results and the participants. Something that Barry found out… well… every year, one person from the trial was killed.”

“Sorry to interject,” Hal suddenly spoke.

That was the first time you actually paid attention to him. His features were nearly as strong as Diana’s and Clark’s, but his hair was much more… shaggy?

“But we thought that maybe the reason they were being killed was because of how dangerous the testers determined them to be-“

He stopped when you snorted.

“Impossible,” you insisted, “Irene was the only fully grown adult I’ve seen with a 1 above her head. I’ve had a three as long as I can remember until recently.”

“Until recently?” Diana repeated.

Oops. Probably best to leave out the fact you were a ten right now.

“Maybe,” Clark said when he saw you didn’t want to answer, “it has something to do with the type of power it is.”

Clark seemed to be trying to put you at ease more than anybody else sitting at the table.

“A person with superhuman abilities or whatever can’t give off a one. That’s… insane,” you started arguing.

“Unless her power was deception,” Oliver muttered. He looked at Barry and asked, “how many people are left from that experiment that haven’t died, disappeared, or become incompacitated?”

He didn’t even look at the book before saying “just one”

Every eye fell to you again.

It was like someone poured something hot over your head. Your scalp burned and tingled and then it trickled down your neck and spine and made your shoulders ache until your arms tensed. You had to decide if you believed them or not. They were supposed to be the good guys, Clark seemed to think you two were friends, but some of the stuff they were saying was… ridiculous. Impossible. Inconceivable. Unbelievable. Just… You picked your coffee up and took a drink. To mask everything you were thinking.

You set it down and tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Might need something stronger.”

That pulled a few smirks out of some.

“Okay,” you sighed, “let’s say-hypothetically- I believe you and I’m willing to go along. What is… I mean, what do you want… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, we started with meeting up with you for lunch to see if you’d be interested in joining us. Joining our little team.”

You examined all of them. Perfect, poised, powerful, with some kind of super power- besides Bruce (you assume). You had none of that. You had a history of hapkido, a green belt in tae kwon do, and saw floating numbers above peoples heads. That was hardly as impressive as anyone else at the table.

“Why would you want me to?” You finally asked. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m not a hero. I can’t throw buildings, or fly, I’m not bulletproof, at all. That’s not a… liability? Or a bad idea?”

“None of us think so,” Bruce Wayne leaned forward.

“Mr. Wayne-“

“-Bruce,” He corrected without making much noise.

“Bruce. What do you think I have that somebody else doesn’t have?”

It was a while before he said, “Skill. Spirit. Talent. But more importantly, a calling to be part of our team.”

Destiny.

The word your grandmother had said to you everyday since your parents died until her death echoed in your head. Everything leads to your destiny, but you have to know when you’ve reached it. Was this is? Did you reach it?

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Glancing around, you could see that everybody’s eyes were trained on you expectantly. They were waiting.

Where had your confidence gone?

“I-” Your throat caught on the words. Not a good sign. You tried again, much more successful this time. “I’m going to have to think about it.” You could practically feel the whole table let out bated breaths. Disappointment and something else rang through the air like a gong, reverberating inside your skull.

“I understand,” Clark Kent, a man you’d known for over a year now, nodded as he sought to relieve the tension in the air. “It’s a big decision to make. I trust that you’ll make the best one.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “I mean, my entire life changed the day I decided to become the Flash.” Your attention — and your head — snapped in his direction. So that was who he was? Your realization must have been clear, as he had made eye contact right after saying it with an upturning of the corners of his mouth that read something like: Oops… Well, too late now.

Diana spoke next, “Yes. The life of a hero is very different from that which you have known so far. You must make this choice for yourself.” Sincerity breached her face as she leaned slightly forward in your direction. “But I firmly believe this — the Justice League, with us —  is where you belong.”

Your eyes roamed around the table at everybody who had not yet spoken, taking in the malcontent clear on many of their faces. Guilt pinged in your brain against your will. No, you weren’t allowed to feel guilty. You had as much of a right to deny their offer just as you did to accept it. Besides, you didn’t even refuse yet, just extended the deadline.

You didn’t fail to notice Hal, Bruce, and Oliver’s silence, but right now the anxiety latching onto you was more concerning. Discomfort was racing up your spine and you couldn’t help but be reminded of the values that floated up above everybody’s heads; By agreeing to meet this group of people, you had knowingly put yourself in more danger than you had ever been in before. You rose to your feet and addressed the table once more.

“Thank you for your offer. As you understand, there is a huge choice in front of me and I need time to consider it more.” You nodded at them, receiving a few nods in return. “I will contact you with my answer soon, after I think about it.” You glanced at the two that you knew how to talk to — Clark and Bruce, of which the former was probably the best option — before turning away and taking careful, measured steps past the empty tables in this section of the restaurant.

As you approached an archway that led to a busier part of the restaurant, someone — was that Oliver? — spoke up. “Wait a second, we’re really just going to let them go? Just like this? They know our identities, you can’t tell me that’s not dangerous.”

A different voice this time, one you couldn’t quite make out. “Why wouldn’t they accept? This is a chance of a lifetime and-”

The words faded into obscurity as you got closer to the entryway.

There was so much for you to think about, so much for you to consider. What kind of changes would there need to be if you accepted? What about your friends and family? What would this mean for them? How much would you need to lie to them about this? What would happen if you told the truth? Would they be safe? How much danger would be in store for you? How much danger was already in your life? Your mind wandered to the notebook that Barry carried; Obviously, there was already a lot in store for you if everybody else was-

Your thoughts wandered to Irene. Somebody that you had known for so long and now she was dead. What of the others on that list? All of them were dead too. All of them were kids that you had met back when you were ten. Just kids. And to think that they had been dragged into this just because of something their parents signed them up for? That they were just kids when they were condemned to this fate? When they were sentenced to death? That didn’t settle right with you.

Your feet never carried you any closer to the entrance. Injustice and anger and courage welled up inside of you, replacing the fear and anxiety and uncertainty that had been there before. This was the chance of a lifetime, something that would most likely carry you toward your destiny; you couldn’t just walk away now. Especially when chances were that you were the next target of whoever was behind this. You had to do something, if not for yourself then for all of the others that didn’t have the opportunity to protect themselves. Something was stirring inside you that made you turn in the other direction.

Somebody must have heard your brisk walk back toward the table, because all of them, all of these superheroes, were looking at the doorway when you came through. Fear no longer rose up when you saw these people again; you were a ten too, just as dangerous as almost all of them. You could handle yourself. This was what you were meant to be doing with your life, you could feel it. You stood at the end of the oblong table, next to where you had sat previously, and took a deep breath. Determination coursed through your veins and when you opened your mouth, you spoke the words that changed the course of your entire life:

Something that’s always bugged me? Indis and Fëanor’s relationship. Or rather the lack thereof of a relationship. If we go with the canon dates then Míriel died c. 1170 in the Year of the Trees when Fëanor was little more than an infant in Elven terms.

While Indis was Míriel’s closest friend. She was friends with Finwë too.

I doubt that she left Finwë alone during this period. And I suspect that she wouldn’t have left Míriel’s newborn child alone either. Indis might very well have inserted herself into Finwë’s household so as to look after Fëanor. Because something that we can’t forget is that Finwë was devastated by Míriel’s death. Canonically we’re given a hint as to how Finwë must have felt in the passage that talks about his and Indis’ marriage.

This is going to be long. So I’m putting a Read-More here.

Fëanor: Yeah, what are you gonna do? Threaten me?

Námo: I'm gonna tell Vairë.

Fëanor: So what?

Námo: She's gonna tell your mother.

Any person who has worked on a set for more than a few years has at least one person they know who died.  

Not usually on set, but afterwards.  Because we don’t have anyone shutting down production for unsafe practices when “unsafe” means 16 hour days.  Or more.  For weeks.  Finishing a day before hour 12 (not including lunch) is considered an early leave.

I had teachers tell us not to, unless we absolutely had to, take music video gigs because they’ll work you for 24 hours and send you to drive home.  And if we had to work that, pull over and nap in our car because multiple people per year fall asleep at the wheel and go over the canyons around LA.

I know you mean acting but please.  Don’t forget the crew.  We have a shockingly high rate of suicide because these working schedules leave us with no sleep, no time outside of work, and it destroys lives, relationships, and families.  Burnout is high.  Chronic illness and broken bodies are common.  Cocaine use in order to get through a 20 hour day is rampant.  Every single one of your reality shows is fueled by cocaine.

The number of days that are scheduled to shoot a feature has shrunk dramatically in the past two decades.  Which means longer days.

Netflix shows are notorious for being poorly organized, understaffed, and long days.

When I worked on BBC Causalty, as soon as it hit 5pm, everything stopped. The producer/director etc would have a quick meeting to decide if we’d go into overtime or schedule it in later in the week. And I got an extra payslip in the mail for every minute of overtime I did, even though I was paid a weekly rate.

I don’t care if it means producing less content. I don’t care if it means it costs twice as much - if treating your creatives and your crew like shit is needed to make your show, then your show doesn’t deserve to get made.

And that’s aside from the fact that actors are often exploited, neglected, coerced into doing scenes they’re uncomfortable with etc or outright abused by directors for the sake of ~performance.

Everyone: