WolffyLuna

I don't think its legal to draw a Cecil but not a Carlos. So here is Carlos!

“Then Beleg’s burial in those bleak regions did Flinding fashion; where he fell sadly he left him lying, and lightly o'er him with long labour the leaves he poured. But Túrin tearless turning suddenly on the corse cast him, and kissed the mouth cold and open, and closed the eyes.”

A scene that hit me gently with a sledgehammer in the guts. There is a bit of a humorous story behind that drawing actually. Long before reading a copy of The children od Húrin myself, I watched the fandom argue back and forth wheather Turin and Beleg were implied lovers or not. Argument for my beautiful doomed gays was the quote of Beleg:

"If I stayed beside you, LOVE would lead me, not wisdom"

So I got a german copy myself, but what do I read? The translator had translated the word LOVE with FREUNDSCHAFT (friendship)! The audacity! With all the rage one biromantic asexual woman can posibly have, I sat down and began to draw on my tablet. To cope? To protest? I don't know. But here is the result.

Reference below the cut lol

No such thing has ever been in question for Celegorm & Curufin, as princes who have always been backed by systemic power or only temporarily disadvantaged yet still construed as within the right in their framework of power; the Exile is a schism, Maedhros' abdication is unprecedented, Nargothrond is seized by rhetoric and populism, Doriath - as later Sirion - are assaulted by means of military power. And what examples has Fëanor given them? That subterfuge and infiltration are the tools of Morgoth (theft; disguise; lie) and the way that Fëanor himself had been wronged (infiltration of the family structure by Indis), not something a king or prince is liable or allowed to use. Fëanor himself utilises rhetoric and takes advantage of the legal framework, and if no other thing will avail, uses military power and force to achieve his objectives, and decries cowardice, where a line can be drawn to assume that direct, open conflict is thus assumed to be the morally correct path to attain what you want. Celegorm and Curufin, the two most likened to Fëanor, exemplify his lack of willingness to treat with anyone considered a traitor to the cause or compromise on their objectives perhaps best of all. To them, guile is both humiliating and morally suspect in this ideological framework; the sons of Fëanor in Beleriand utilise force, organise military operations, send intimidating letters and use political posturing, but nothing akin to guile even such as Fingon uses to rescue Maedhros from Thangorodrim. That brings me to the second reason: guile missions in the Silmarillion require a certain amount of faith and hope in things turning out the right way, and a certain amount of divine providence. Fingon would not have succeeded without prayer just as Lúthien would not have enjoyed the fruits of their success without convincing Mandos. But hope in divine favour is not something that people famously eschewing the authority of the Valar and undertaking a blasphemous oath not once, but twice, would champion; clinging to hope for aid from the same people considered to have betrayed the cause & good of the Eldar is not to be expected. In light of that, relying on goodwill clearly seems like a suicide mission, especially in the aftermath of the Dagor Bragollach which has revealed that all of the military might the Noldor have been amassing is still insufficient to move any closer to their goal. The only possible way forwards is more power, more resources, more bodies. There is no hope to talk of.

All three of them

Moonwatcher in the panelka

Turtle in the elektrichka

Winter in Vorkuta

meeble <3

My mother- who was a single parent raising me alone in my early youth- has never believed in baby talk. So when I was born, she started from day one talking to me and treating me like I was an adult. 

As a result of this, I had rather high expectations of other adults from a very young age, and despised being talked down to. The worst was being asked sweetly and stupidly y over and over, “can you say “hello”?” in a way that felt like I was an animal being coaxed into performing a trick. 

In my earliest years, I learned that using certain words and phrases could convince new adults to treat me the way I preferred. So to combat the annoyances of being treated like a subhuman idiot, I began purposefully expressing myself with a broad vocabulary. 

My mother started teaching me how to read when I was three. By the time I was five, my favourite thing to read was Calvin and Hobbes anthologies, partly because I loved tigers, but mostly because in every other book I’d read, kids my age were written as stupid babies with no thought process or agency who nobody seemed to think of as capable of thinking or contributing. Calvin, though, was only a year older than me, and had a rich inner world, and was capable of speaking meaningfully and eloquently while still being a kid. Calvin was a kid the way that kids WERE, not the way adults saw us.

As a consequence of this, I think, I developed a prematurely warped sense of humour wherein- again, starting around age five- the funniest thing in the world to me was to approach adults and instigate conversations wildly beyond my age range. Like “oh, you’re slowing yourself down for me? Bold of you to assume I’m not already four steps ahead”.

I imagine this was probably very annoying, as I mostly didn’t actually have the experience or context to fully understand a lot of the subjects I was talking about and was mostly just imitating the persona of a mildly disinterested and somewhat philosophical old woman, but I genuinely understood enough vocab to bluff around the gaps in my knowledge long enough for the funny part to happen. 

My preferences to spend more of my time fucking with adults instead of my peers slowly widened the already-existing gap between me and the majority of my schoolmates, which honestly didn’t bug me much because the two friends I DID have were way more fun than the rest of them anyways.  But I was probably a bit emotionally stunted by this point anyways 

Cut to me, age nine or so. Annoying know-it-all, deeply ironic, and the kind of kid who would rather lick a carrot peeler than suffer through the torture of meaningful emotional vulnerability with any adult ever

First real health class

We get the Puberty talk

Skin-peelingly awkward

Mr. Q, our fifty-ish something teacher, brings out a question box and a bunch of scraps of paper. Says he wants everyone to write down at least one question and he would pull a handful of them out anonymously to answer. 

I cannot resist

We all submit our questions

Question one. “What is a vulva”

Diagram. Clinical and age-appropriate response. 

Question two. “Is love nothing more than a chemical reaction designed to ensure the survival of the species?”

Long awkward pause

Teacher clears his throat

[This is hilarious]

Teacher speaks

“Uh…….”

“Well, um. I suppose… I love my wife. And I love my children. Or I would describe what I feel for them as love.”

Oh No

[Dawning realization that I have trapped myself and everyone in this room in a Feelings Talk]

[Panic and stare directly through the floor until he stops talking about his personal emotions regarding family and society and shit]

[Pain And Suffering And Hell because this is, in fact, what I signed us all up for, because boarding a plane to Alaska means that you are definitely going to Alaska, no matter if it was a joke or not, because the plane doesn’t give a fuck, because it is a plane and you are a moron]

The lessons in humour I learned that day have stuck with me ever since

Sincerity always wins

Lady Sybil Vimes is one of the ladies, so Sam Vimes is on the warpath until he can find her, while the watch desperately try to keep all infrastructure from falling apart without all the fat ladies who keep it together on a daily basis