#silmarillion scenario

[doodle-pops]

Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine Mairon manipulating you to his side.

(So I might have slightly turned this into Celebrimbor x reader x Mairon. Sorry if that’s not what you wanted, but the idea expanded a little. Also, sorry, I might have turned this darker than expected, but I hope You still like it. Be aware of the warnings thought,)

Requested by Anonymous

Warnings; Please be warned! There might be triggering things in the end which includes manipulation, stalking, creepiness, gaslighting most likely and a bit violence. Sauron is a brick in this. So read on your own accord. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------- -You thought you could forget the past, leave it all behind and forget it ever happened. 

-Why would you linger in the past? Your master was gone, and everything got destroyed in the war of wrath. 

-Angband was no more, and you had no idea what happened to others.

-There was nothing for you, so you decided to leave and live among the people as a nameless nobody. 

-You were just another elf, going on with their day, doing work and sleeping whenever Tilion shone brightly in the night sky. 

-You were just a silent weird neighbor nobody thought about much. 

-You were happy with it because no one would then try to pry into your life and discover you used to be a servant of Morgoth. 

-It would most likely end up badly for you. 

-You sometimes wonder when things were peaceful, and you willingly served Irmo in his gardens. 

-Irmo was never a terrible master like how Melkor made the Vala appear to others. 

-You wonder if he was still angry for what you did or disappointed when you deserted the blessed realm and became one of Melkor’s servants. 

-You didn’t know, and after everything that happened. You didn’t want to know. 

-You were too afraid to face Valar's judgment for your actions. 

-You were a coward. You have always been a coward and honestly not proud of it. 

-You tried to move on with your life. Go to work, go home and occasionally meet people. 

-It was boring at first, but you soon learned to find beauty in things and appreciate the peace. It was better than the metallic bangs of hammers and screeching of orcs you used to hear in Angband. 

-Interacting with the children of Illuvatar was troublesome at first because you couldn't stop thinking about how you were used to killing them upon your master’s request.

-Honestly, you never thought lowly of them like many others of your kind. Elves were troublesome during the first age because of the Silmarils. Everyone went crazy for them. However, they had their qualities. Humans were not much like the elves, and you pitied them when they were easily swayed by false words, but at least some of them were good. You don’t have much opinion about dwarves, but you admit they were a talented bunch. 

-You didn’t make many friends, and you didn’t have any motivation to befriend anyone. You did manage to befriend a human child who was a neighbor at your place. You technically started looking after them since the parents constantly fought.

-You never understood why humans were so careless toward their younglings. 

-One day, during a little walk with your little human. You were doing nothing but talking about life. 

-You came to a garden and dozed off for a moment before hearing something fall into the water and the little one yelling for help. 

-You quickly went to help them out, then another elf appeared and helped the child out of the deep fountain. 

-When the child was safe, it didn’t take long for you to recognize Celebrimbor and awkwardly stumble with your words as you tried to thank him and apologize for the trouble. 

-Celebrimbor just smiled and wanted to make sure the child was alright. 

-You two chatted for a while since he was curious about an elf with a human child. 

-You tried to keep the conversation casual, but you were sweating inside because you knew his family too well and knew what kind of things happened to one of his uncles. 

-You hoped it was just a one-time encounter. However, that didn’t seem to be the case because fate seems to bring you to him even from work. 

-He sometimes made small talk, and the conversations lasted because you didn’t want to be rude to him.       

-He was pleasant company, to say at least, and gradually you started looking forward to interacting with him. 

-However, the human child always decided to invite him to join your little hangouts

-They said it was to help you get close because it was clear that you liked him. 

-You did not understand till you forced yourself to think about it. 

-Celebrimbor’s beaming smile was like a ray of Arien’s light, and he seemed eager to meet up and spend time with you and your little human friend. 

-He didn’t even think it was strange that ravens and crows followed you or how you sometimes talked with them since they were your favored companions. 

-He asked if he could pet or feed one of them. 

-And he sometimes opened up about his past to you and the regretful things his father and family had done. 

-It was maybe the last straw because you wanted to comfort him, but you were scared because he shared the same feelings for you. 

-You sensed it from his fear. 

-The thought of love was frightening. It was a sign of weakness, and you would have been mocked for falling so low, especially with one of the Eldar. 

-You were afraid because of your past, but since the past was long gone. The future looked brighter, so you tried to embrace the feeling.

-You wondered if Melian felt the same when she decided to marry that Sindar elven king. 

-You weren’t sure how to reciprocate the feelings, but you tried. You end up listening to Celebrimbor’s voice most of the time when he spoke about things. His voice was soothing and always managed to bring a soft smile to your face. 

-Oddly, you started having dreams about life with Celebrimbor. They were bright and filled with good things and love. It felt like they were encouraging you to go forth and confess your feelings for him. It was strange, and you wondered if lord Irmo was behind them. 

-One time, the little human bugger decided to tell how you and Celebrimbor were like parents they always wanted. You felt embarrassed, but Celebrimbor smiled it off and described how it did feel like you two were like family to him. 

-It warmed your heart, and it was just a moment when you realized how you fell hard for this elf. 

-You didn’t like to admit it, but you now needed to thank your little human friend for bringing you two close. 

-Until he arrived. 

-He took a fair form and called himself Annatar, the lord of gifts. He claimed to be sent by the Valar to assist the Noldor and grant them forgiveness, but you knew the truth the first time you saw him. 

-You could recognize those golden eyes everywhere, and there was a shadow that followed his fair appearance. 

-You were frightened, especially, when he laid his eyes upon you. 

-You tried to avoid him because you knew you held no power against him and Celebrimbor already deeply trusted the Maia. 

-You hoped he didn’t come for you. You were a mere spy and an assassin. You had nothing against Mairon, the lieutenant of Melkor.

-Except for that one time when you rescued him from being killed. 

-Mairon almost died until you used your powers to turn every living creature who looked at you into stone. 

-The power of your gaze might have made you different from others, but you left everything behind after that. 

-You didn’t want to know what he was planning. 

-You stayed home most of the time. Celebrimbor often came to check since you started feigning illness to avoid going out. It pained you to worry him like that, but you deemed it necessary. 

-He talked a lot about Annatar and all the great things he helped him to create. 

-You were scared to tell him the fair messenger of the Valar was in reality, the cruelest servant of Morgoth, but you tried to convince him to be weary. You attempted to tell him all the possible dangers and lies Annatar might have told him.

-Celebrimbor being the lovable fool was sure things were okay but promised to consider your worries. 

-You decided to come out because you couldn't hide forever. There was a slight chance Mairon did not remember you since he often preferred to be held above others. It proved to be a grave mistake because he or Annatar turned his attention on you. 

-He spoke softly and like you two were old acquaintances, which was a painful truth. 

-You two never spoke like friends, but he did acknowledge you whenever you returned to Angband to deliver reports or trophies of your kills. 

-You remained polite but tried to keep things short whenever you interacted with him. 

-But, he was like a snake. Slithering close to you and talking sweet and casual things to bring down your guards, which you luckily didn’t. 

-However, he started interfering with you and Celebrimbor during your time alone and when you try to avoid showing him your relationship with Celebrimbor. 

-You almost cursed Celebrimbor for referring you as a dear friend and technically giving it away to the pretender. 

-Annatar seemed amused and looked at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. 

-The charade continued, and now Annatar started calling you little raven when he saw you interact with your birds. 

-He continued to unnerve you, and the way he interacted with Celebrimbor worried you, so you sent a couple of your ravens to keep watch if he tried something with Celebrimbor. 

-You should have been more careful. You managed to avoid the pretender most of the time and stayed at a safe distance, but this time he had managed to find your home and put you in a critical situation. 

-You found him reading a story to your little human friend, and the child was too invested to realize they were in danger. 

-Mairon hated humans. He always gave worse punishments to human thralls in his possession. He wouldn't even hesitate to harm a child.

-Luckily, you managed to convince your little human friend to go home while keeping your eyes on the Maia in your house. 

-When you were alone, he showed his true nature, and you two started talking. 

-You remained silent and respectful since he was still your superior. 

-Mairon asked what your plans were, and you told him you didn’t have any plans. You just lived among the elves like one of them. 

.-He knew that and told you it would be a waste and asked you to join his side. 

-It caught you off guard, but you tried to keep your guard and questioned what he would gain from you. 

-Your mind couldn't catch up when he kept talking, but you wished you escaped while you had the chance because the one in danger was you. 

“I do not understand,” You said, almost in a whisper. “Why are you so adamant to have me on your side?” You asked. 

“Because I can see the bad end for you,” Mairon started. “You will face suffering if you decide to take this path,” He said. You frowned. “What?” You questioned. 

“I wish to save you like you once saved me from those vassals of the valar,” He said, making you remember the moment when you uncovered your eyes and turned those soldiers into stone to save his life. You now silently regretted the decision. Two of your ravens watched the confrontation from the closed window. 

“I…” You started. “I can assure you that I do not need to be saved,” You explained while hopelessly trying to control your fear. “But why hide among people?” Mairon asked. “Why hide your true form and powers? Why so afraid to show them who you truly are?” He questioned. “I’m not…” You tried to find the words, but the questions caught you off guard that you weren’t sure about your answer. “But you are afraid, aren’t you?” He asked, looking into your eyes. 

You remained quiet because, in your mind, you knew he was right. 

“You shouldn't be afraid to show yourself. Our master favored you for your loyalty and work, so don’t you think you deserve better than what these elves can offer you?” Mairon asked, walking around you like a predator. “I was not… his favored. I only did what he told me to do,” You explained with a surprised tone for a moment. “Oh, but you were, out of all spies and assassins in his army. Your ravens and you were the most efficient,” He said. “So, you should think more highly of yourself than you do now;” He finished. You thought about his words for a moment. 

“If you join my side, you don’t need to hide, and I can offer you better things than this little elven city can give you. Do not stoop to their level because our master is gone,” Mairon said softly. You mustered the courage to look at him. “Why? I have never put myself above anyone, and I never thought lowly of any children of Illuvatar,” You explained. “And…” You struggled for a moment. “I know they made some troubling things during the first age, but they can learn. And they’re not that bad,” You said. 

“Not that bad, you say?” Mairon questioned. You shrank when you sensed the lowering tone in his voice and noticed a hint of disappointment in his eyes after what you said. 

“Tell me, is this about your feelings for that elven lord?” Mairon asked. Your heart started beating anxiously, as you knew he meant Celebrimbor. You felt frozen that you didn’t know how to answer. Love has always been seen; as a sign of weakness. 

“I have seen how fondly he looks at you, so is it love you crave from him?” Mairon asked. “Have you forgotten what you are and how you used to kill his kind without hesitation?” He asked. “No, I don’t!” You shook your head. “What will he think when he finds out you used to serve the dark lord who killed and enslaved his people? And how you watched when we tortured one of his family members?” He asked, coming dangerously close. 

“Do you think he will accept you and all will be forgiven?” He asked with a demanding tone. “No, I-!” You didn’t get to finish when Mairon suddenly grabbed you by the throat and pushed your back against the wall. Your ravens cawed anxiously. 

You winced when your back slammed hard against the wall. “Do you think that elf would love a murderer?” Mairon looked down upon you. He always stood taller than you or anyone, so your body almost started to shake with fear. 

You snapped your eyes open and stared right back at him with deep blue eyes with slit pupils. Heavy breaths escaped your lips as you tried to stand your ground. Mairon’s expression softened. “There they are. That unique gaze that would have turned me to stone if I was weaker than you,” He said, bringing your chin up to have a better look at you. He then chuckled and looked down at his wrist around your throat. You had a grip on his hand with black claws that went through his skin, making him bleed onto the floor. 

“This is what I am trying to save you from,” He said, freeing his hand from your throat. “Denying yourself and dooming yourself on a path that will only lead to a painful rejection from the world,” He explained, stepping back. “I’m afraid Celebrimbor will have second thoughts if he saw you like this and that human you, so adore. How do you think they would react when their favorite elf is someone from the nightmares?” He asked. You tried to keep yourself steady. Even though; it felt impossible. 

Mairon leaned down to your ear. “I can protect you from all that, little raven. I can protect you from the world that will eventually turn its back on you because the past is not dead to them. They will unjustly punish you for your crimes even when you tried to redeem yourself,” He said softly. You silently sucked your breath as his words lingered in your ears. “Of course,” He pulled back. “That is your decision if you still think they aren’t that bad,” He said, then walked toward the door. 

“My doors are open for you because I’m not someone to leave my rescuer in trouble, but I hope you think about my offer. The world is harsh, so think what is truly best for you,” Mairon explained. “I will see myself out till next time, little raven,” He said, then walked out of the door. 

After the door closed, you fell along the wall on your knees. Your eyes turned back, streaming with tears as you tried to control your sudden breathing. You clawed your hair, unable to control the sudden burst of emotions that caused nothing but pain. 

Your two ravens opened the windows by themselves and landed beside you. They cawed, trying to offer their comfort. 

Mairon’s words lingered in your mind, taking effect on you. He sounded like Melkor when you accidentally murdered one of your fellow maiars with your gaze. He convinced you to join his side because he was the only one who could protect you from the harsh punishment of the Valar. You were frightened, so you said yes because you wanted protection. 

You wanted to be safe. You want to refuse the offer, but you could not stop thinking about how things would turn out badly when Celebrimbor learned the truth about you. The hate is justified, but you fear it would be too much to handle since you had feelings for him. 

You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the voices in the back of your mind telling you to take the offer and save yourself from hurt. You were a murderer. You don’t belong among the people of middle earth. You have followed orders all your life, so why refuse them now?

You took a deep breath, despairing how your future would turn out. 

Mairon has always been a ferocious wolf, and you were afraid. He had already ensnared you into his teeth. You couldn't escape him.

[galstelperion]

Look At How My Tears Ricochet (Finrod x Artanis)

A/N: just a reupload from my old writing account that I deleted.

Warnings: Noldorcest, Brother/sister incest, Angst, Hurt/no comfort (Check ao3 for full list of tags)

Words: 1,850

Summary: There is the will of Eru Iluvatar, who above all others, held utmost importance in every step and decision Finrod sought to make. There is the will of the Valar, which ruled over them in more immediate and tangible ways. When Finrod had first held his sister, pulled her out from between his mother's bleeding, trembling legs, he treacherously thought her above all these greater things.

Finrod Felagund had a sweet voice yet it always seemed full of a longing unknown to the elves who heard it. This longing weighed over him at the turning of every chorus, burrowed neatly under his skin. And ever he was haunted by unspoken truths and desires that seemed to be carefully crafted to destroy him in every way they could. 

"Come lay with me," she said, turning her head to gaze at him from where she lay on the grass. 

His index finger brushed clumsily over the wrong strings again, breaking the melodic tune into a state of disrepair. "It is better if I didn't, Artanis." 

Her big blue eyes remained fixed on him. Her strands of hair, a shade of gold too similar to his own, sprawled out over the grass like tendrils, gnawing and sinking into every crevice of his mind that denied what he truly desired. 

"Just like we used to," she pleaded softly, giving him that look he could never say no to. "Please, don't push me away."

There is the will of Eru Iluvatar, who above all others, held utmost importance in every step and decision he sought to make. There is the will of the Valar, which ruled over them in more immediate and tangible ways. When he had first held his sister, pulled her out from between his mother's bleeding, trembling legs, he treacherously thought her above all these greater things. 

Galadriel laid still as a muse for a devoted painter. He set his lyre down and took deep steadying breaths as he approached her.

"Things are not as they used to be, néra," He said, his voice strained. "It is time we get used to it. We must not dwell on how things once were at the expense of our better judgment." 

He laid down next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and despite the warning laced in his words, she quickly shifted to rest her head against his chest. He couldn’t blame her. For many years, clinging to each other this way had been a most natural instinct. A feat of physical and mental strength laid heavy upon him with the restraint he had to muster to not pull her in, to hold her, and cherish her as he wanted most. 

"There is nothing wrong with how we've always been," She protested. "You've never cared what anyone thought of us, why must we change now?" 

Her fingers curled into the collar of his tunic. She didn't need to look up at him to feel the frown etched onto her features. Gently, Finrod brought his own hand over hers. He let his thumb caress soft circles over her skin. He breathed her in, taking note of her sweet scent, locking it away in his memory before it slipped from him completely. 

"You know why, néra," he said, calling her sister again in their mother tongue. He whispered, sternly, “Amarië is to be my wife.” 

The statement felt imbued with a certain poison, not meant to kill him completely but to gnaw away at his good conscience at a torturously slow pace. Even as he said it, he felt he should have bent to his knees at the alter of Manwë and asked for forgiveness. 

Galadriel shifted again and raised her small leg over his, fearless in overstepping the bounds he knew they should never cross. He braced her arm to stop her from making any more movements. If he let her do as she pleased, she’d straddle his lap and push them both to a point of no return. No, this he could never allow. The thought of it lit a fire in the pit of his stomach, begging to consume him whole for even entertaining such a blasphemous thing. This beautiful blasphemous thing, ensnared with pure light, joy, and beauty, he felt assured he would never find in any other. 

She could feel his heartbeat racing against her hand. Galadriel smiled keenly, leaning down to ghost her nose over his, catching the feel of his heavy breath against her skin. His chin jutted up against his own volition, lips following hers but never exactly meeting, like opposing magnets fighting for reprieve. He remained still but his eyes were shadowed with that burden that had changed him so irreparably. She loathed it more than anything. 

"You cannot bind yourself to her,” she said, coldly. 

Finrod chuckled, letting himself feel amused at the bite of her jealousy. His features softened, delighted at the scrunch of her nose, the redness of her cheeks.

"Why not?" He asked, more calmly this time.

He realized his mistake all too late. The statement had been made to draw out this exact question from his lips, and he would have done better to simply deny the fact altogether. She had suspected it, of course, it was an obvious conclusion. But to hear his admission this way leeched all the blood from her face in an instant. Her pointed ears twitched at the clenching of her jaw, and her eyes widened as she stood at once. 

"Artanis." 

She ripped her hand away from his with a rough pull. He scrambled to his feet as she turned and ran towards the hill. She shielded her face at his approach. Her eyes averted to the ground when he came to loom over her. 

Finrod knew how she hated to cry. She would not permit him to see it. They would go home in painful silence, and Aegnor and Angrod would ask what he did that made her so upset again. They would sneak off to her room, pile on top of where she hid beneath the sheets, and they would try to coax her out for dinner to no avail. That would be that. 

The insufferable pattern would repeat itself, just as it had since his betrothal had been formally announced. 

Finrod Felagund had been sliced with the harshest blades, beat up in training till he could hardly walk or see, but the look on his sister's face when he'd stood at the head of Finwë's table and announced his engagement had been one more painful than anything he could have ever endured. 

The applause hadn't even died down. His grandfather had not even dismissed him. He hadn't dared to meet Galadriel's eyes as he stormed out of that hall to everyone else's bewilderment. He ran as far as he could that night before heaving out all the contents from his stomach. Never before had he felt like such a fucking coward. 

"Artanis, look at me." He begged, cradling her face in both his hands. "You are being unreasonable."

"Am I?" she sneered, eyes glossed over. "You want me to smile and nod while you so willingly make yourself a stranger to me?" 

She could set him on fire right there and it would ease him more than hearing such a thought fall from her lips. He could hardly stand still for the desperation that filled his mind, one which bade him to heal her from the pain he'd inflicted, from the pain he caused himself by denying her for years yet still insisting to keep her close. He’d been a fool to think it wouldn’t end up this way. 

"You think I chose this?" He snapped. "You think I enjoy seeing you hurt this way?" 

She flinched, startled by the rise in his tone. Carefully, she pried his hands away from her face, as if his touch had become a burden to her she could hardly stand to hold onto any longer. Immediately, he regretted letting himself be so overcome.  

"You wish to be the heir of Finarfin's house. You must appease father and grandfather, I understand that.” She said, hiding away what she had mistakingly let rise to the surface. 

She burrowed it neatly under her skin too, just as he did. And when she turned to meet his eyes again, it was as if a veil had been cast over her true self, and the joyous little sister he loved too much was a full woman, grown distant through unfettered longing and resentment. He grappled to search for her, to hold on to that feeling just out of his reach. 

“It is what you were born to do,” She continued, stepping back, eyes averted to the ground. “I would not ask you to give that up, and how I feel shouldn't matter." 

"Néra- 

He reached for her arm, but she pushed at his chest, her voice cracking against his approach. 

"No." 

She spoke to him coldly, again, casting that wretched veil over herself, refusing to let him in.  

"You will not concern yourself with my feelings, it was foolish to even react the way I did." 

"Not foolish, no," He shook his head, trying to lean into her, his voice strained. "Please, you don't have to push me away." 

"Finrod," She whispered his name on a strong gust of wind, closing her eyes as if it would give her strength just to hear it. “You are right. We must not dwell on how things once were at the expense of our better judgment."

She threw his own words back to him so easily, though now he realized just how cruel he’d been, and how unfeasible such a thing would be. To pretend as if they were not tied together since her coming into the world. To think he had been, at times, convinced her birth had been the equivalent to a splitting of Melkor’s anger, of the ones they spoke of in the songs of the Ainur that wove their fate. 

He had thought her first cry had been a disruption in that once great song, and that he knew right then as he held her in his arms, his love for her could only be connected to that ultimate destruction. His feelings, like Melkor’s disruption, could only be a mockery. Not part of Iluvatar’s blessed plan. It must be quelled. Must be fought against. His torment felt ever lasting, and his betrothal was not only an act of duty but a fruitless effort to try and fix it. 

Finrod Felagund would do anything to keep his truest desires hidden and safe, to keep his sister safe. He could not express this, for he feared if the tumultuous nature of his thoughts were set out for the winds and the trees to hear, he would not be able to hold himself back, and he should be struck down for even daring to hope she could lament with him over what would never be. No, he would not cause her any more pain.  

"The heir of the golden house needs a wife." She whispered, reaching up to cradle his cheek with a shaky hand.

A striking blow would have hurt much less. He held her wrist, looking only at her as he pressed his lips to her open palm. She blinked and a tear slipped down her cheek. She whispered low, a lasting curse to splinter that tether that bound them as one. 

"And I will always be your sister." 

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

If, hypothetically, people yell ‘stay’ as in ‘stay your hand’ as in ‘please I beg for mercy’, then the nurse screaming and clutching Elwing while Celegorm’s people dragged Elured and Elurin away would’ve looked like the weirdest divorce ever.

[thescrapwitch]

Tidbit Tuesday

Thank you for the tag @thelordofgifs! Right now I'm focused on trying to get my Feanorian Week fics all done on time. However, a sudden snowstorm on the first day of spring (ah the joys of living in Canada) and a lovely comment reminded me how much I love writing Silm-fics with horror elements. So have a little sneak peak of a dark fairytale-ish one-shot my brain's been cooking:

At night, Maglor tossed and turned.

Listen, it whispered. Can you hear me dreaming beneath you? My lips kiss the bottom of your feet. My mouth aches to taste your flesh. My teeth are waiting for you. Listen, oh singer of the shining lands, sweet voiced prince with bloody hands. I am hungry, so hungry. You of all others here know what it is like to be possessed by hunger. Will you feed me? Will you give me what I want?

Maglor sat up, sweating, shivering from a fear he could not name. He pressed his hands against his ears. The whispers in his dreams did not fade upon waking. They continued to mutter, to claw at him. Hungry, hungry, I am so hungry.

He reached out. He needed to feel the soft breathing of the twins, to know that both Elros and Elrond were safe.

No one else was in the bed with him.

Tagging: @dreamingthroughthenoise @lordgrimwing @echo-bleu @sallysavestheday @camille-lachenille @leucisticpuffin and whoever else wants to join in! No pressure, of course :)

[nevermindigotthis]

Feanor was at home AU!

[kradogsrats]

thinking again today about Beren going to the nethermost hall of Angband to take one of the three Silmarils from Morgoth's crown for Luthien as demanded by her father and Callum going to (the top of?) the Starscraper to take (one of?) the three quasar diamonds from the Corona of the Heavens for Rayla as demanded to rescue her parents

[meadowlarkx]

Finrod/Sauron and 28 (as a lie) for the kiss meme?

Finrod woke in the darkness and found Edrahil near him. His eyes were accustomed to the gloom of the pit now, and he surveyed their surroundings as he tested, with his spirit, the strength of his remaining enchantments. There seemed no imminent danger, no wolf-like growling and snuffling. The dim shapes of his companions were still, but their breathing was steady. So Finrod turned his attention on Edrahil and let himself take his hand.

His friend looked barely hurt. He glowed against the ceaseless night of the pit. An indescribable emotion surged in Finrod's chest like the tide. What regret, to have led such a friend here to die. What joy, to find him a faithful friend, nonetheless, and wonderful.

"I can only thank you," he said softly. "I have no heart yet to say sorry."

Edrahil nodded, and looked on him seriously. "Our errand…" 

His voice was more musical than Finrod expected to hear it. Perhaps after days of Orc-speech and wolf-growls the familiar grew sweeter.

Finrod raised his hand and kissed the knuckles, dragging both of their shackles with the motion. "Speak not of it."

“As you command, my lord.” 

Was that pause—assessing?

Finrod sighed, frustrated. His mind was playing tricks on him, making him distrustful of an Elf-captain he knew like his own soul. Edrahil would not give them up to Gorthaur’s listening ears; he was more pragmatic and tactically-minded than Finrod himself. “I should command far less, I think.”

“You may command me always,” said his friend’s sweet voice. “Long have I loved you.” He kissed Finrod with the ephemeral caress of a flickering flame.

[runawaymun]

So we all are aware of the various pining possibilities re: “it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrían, and loved her, though he said nothing of it.” I usually like to take this the mutual “they’re stupidly competent at everything but each other” pining route, but can we also consider: Elrond falling fast & hard for Celebrían to the point that it’s not even a question that she’s his One True Love but also suppressing all outward signs to the point that no, one— absolutely no one— is aware that he’s in love with her.

So consider, someone suggesting like “hey, so-and-so is really cute and I think you two might get along, why don’t you two go out on a date?”

Elrond: “I can’t ask them out! I’m marrying Celebrían!”

Everyone, including (especially) Celebrían:

[aotearoa20]

Huan as a Maia of Oromë

[anghraine]

Quora sent me a conversation about an AU where Melkor never rebels and becomes the noble and faithful leader of the Valar under Ilúvatar. The intra-Valarin revolt comes from ... Tulkas, while Sauron Mairon is an immensely powerful and honored Maia of Valinor, something like Eönwë.

I mean, the whole conversation was between some Tolkien bros who definitely didn't call it an AU fanfic plotbunny, lol, but it's ... exactly that and a pretty interesting one.

[doodle-pops]

Echoes of Healing Hands

Maedhros x modern!reader

Request: How about Maedhros x reader from modern world, where reader was a med student from her world and somehow ended up in Middle Earth. Reader makes use of her skills and becomes one of the well known healers. The two meet and reader creates a specialized prospethic hand for him. The two kinda gets close and reader reveals how Angband was the first place where she ended up, having been forced the thralldom and use her knowledge and skills to escape. A bit angts where she is still traumatized by the experience (Maybe that's also how she regognized he had been a thrall himself) One shot might work with this and you can decide where the relationship goes. - @animatorweirdo

A/N: I chose to leave the relationship ambiguous between Mae and reader, so you all can decide if they’re friends or something more.

Warnings: modern reader in Middle Earth, fluff and comfort, humour, small touches of reminiscing the past, reader had spent time in Angband, consumption of alcohol

Words: 2k

Synopsis: You spend a moment with the Lord of Himring, demonstrating your skills while he returns the favour with a touch of gratitude and sympathy.

“It might be tight at first and slightly discomforting, however, give or take a week or two, you’ll merge and become one with it,” you explained as you fastened the straps of the prosthetic hand to Maedhros. “For now, practice holding small and light objects before advancing to larger and heavier ones. So, what do you think?”

The light from the fireplace flickered against his porcelain skin, casting hues of golden swirls which seemed to highlight his brilliant head of red, loose curls. They cascaded around his shoulders and stopped at his chest now that the moon had risen to signify another day had come to an end. You watched as he cautiously lifted his right hand, grimacing at the notice of the additional weight before attempting to curl his fingers and admiring your craftsmanship. Maedhros inspected your newly designed gadget with slight apprehension despite the feeling of gratitude arising.

“It does bear a slight pinch around the wrist, but I assume that is for now,” he replied. “The colour, red and gold, an excellent touch!”

“You’re lucky I didn’t paint it pink and purple with a touch of flowers since we’re in spring,” you snickered under his glare. “It would match the aesthetic of the season, and you. Come to think of it, I’ll make for the other seasons.”

“Please,” he begged with a worried expression as he looked away from his hand to meet your amused expression. “I beseech thee to not. One is fine, plus, you do not have any other projects to complete. So I think it is worth sharing a drink with me on this fine night, do you not think so?”

Scoffing as you sink yourself in the seat opposite him, you reach for the flask of wine and pour two glasses. “You do know that drinking leads to intoxication, and your idea of ‘a drink’ normally implies bottles.”

Taking the offered glass from your hand using his gifted hand, he carefully held the glass, finding a secured grip and brought it to his lips for his first deep swig. There was an evident glow on his face the longer the glass remained confidently in his hand. “Rest assured, ‘a drink’ in this case implies one, for your kindness. Thank you for creating this. While I do not believe that I am deserving of this gift, especially after all that I’ve—”

“You seem to have a problem saying, ‘thank you’ without reminiscing on the past, don’t you?” you smirked over the rim of your glass as you took a sip. “You elves and your million fancy, flowery ways to say, ‘thank you’ and then proceed to depreciate yourselves. However, you’re welcome.”

He frowned with a bemused expression on his face. His mouth was opened and ready to counter, yet the smirk you sent his way made him reconsider his choice of words and left a faint heat on his cheeks. “You…” he began as he struggled to spit out his words, “you have a strange way of speaking ever since I met you. You seem to despise the manner in which we elves speak.”

“Yeah, I definitely do,” you muttered and laughed, causing him to frown deeply. “Where I’m from, we just say what needs to be said without a bunch of mumbo-jumbo attached. No beating around the bushes.”

Maedhros’s frown morphed into scepticism as he listened to your scolding on their dialect while making a mental note to be more direct and upfront anytime he needed to speak to you. “Mumbo-jumbo?” he puzzled while furrowing his lips before he straightened in his seat. “Where are you from, if you do not mind me asking? You had not exactly told me other than your time in the Iron Fortress. Where is this ‘where I am from’ you speak of?”

“While isn’t it obvious?” you stated in a matter-of-fact tone to which he awkwardly shook his head. “I’m not from this world, duh! I’m from a far, far, away place where all these things still exist, only ten times worse. The only difference is that I was never involved in anything the way I was forced to…”

The air between you two fell into silence with the crackling of the firewood in the background. Neither of you spoke, causing the let the moment of reflection to resurface. Your memories, despite not facing anything tormenting as Maedhros suffered, were still frightening. Appearing in Angband decades after his escape and being forced to find a way to save yourself from being harmed, you offered up the skills you earned from being a medical engineer to design new artillery. Anything to prevent that bitch-ass redhead from feeding you to the wolves, literally.

The constant fear you felt in the short time you were there was enough to surmount the volume he felt. They were evident in your eyes and on your skin beneath your heavily adorned garments.

You and Maedhros were in the same water, at different depths, yet still drowned.

“I…Accept my condolences for what you might have experienced,” he gingerly whispered, setting the glass on the table.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too, but what’s done is done,” you half-heartedly chuckled and took a deep swig, wincing as the wine burned your throat. “It is what it is.”

Pausing with his mouth hanging open at your unapologetic, coping statement, he muttered, “That is an odd thing to say given your trauma, however, I shall not judge. But what I want to know is, how did you get here from this other world of yours?”

With the change in topic, you glanced over to witness his eyes swimming with eagerness. The possibilities of another world existing were unheard of by the Valar, so could it have been an untold work of Eru? Another realm that dwelt beyond the Timeless Halls?

“That’s something I really can’t figure out to this day. Cause all I knew was that one day, I was taking a long nap after my stressful exams, and then bam! I woke up on a table with that bitch-ass of a redhead hovering and asking his dumbass questions. I felt as though I could have strangled him, and then he made me abuse my medical practices.”

“Mairon! You appeared in Angband out of thin air and the first person you met was him?!” you gasped.

“Yeah, and it was pretty scary. I thought I was dreaming at first because no way in hell a place like that could exist in real life. But when things got heated, I realised that it was real. I had never prayed so much to wake up, especially when I told him my whereabouts but he didn’t believe me. He was going to throw me to the wolves.”

“I’ve heard of his cruelty from others. I was fortunate to not have met him during my…”

“Trust me, you were bloody lucky,” your voice trembled. “If I ever saw that bastard again, I’d feed his ass to the wolves. Never thought that I would hate redheads so much!”

The moment your last sentence slipped past your lips, Maedhros’s face morphed into dejection. What little light that shone in his face, vanished, as did the glow of his hair. As much as he tried to focus on the rest of your words, the loudness of your hatred towards redheads resonated exponentially in his head, prompting him to sulk. However, he was far from subtle since his dejection was visible to the eye which you eventually noticed.

Gasping with an apologetic expression, you vomited a whirlwind of words. “Oh God no! I didn’t mean you! I don’t hate you; I hate him—he’s the only redhead I despise! But you, you’re nice! I like you a lot; you’re so sweet and kind. I like you, Mae. So don’t take it to heart; you’re cool.”

He puzzled. “You like me?”

Your body’s natural response mechanisms were taking over, replaying all those embarrassing gestures you used to perform when you dwelt in the modern world around your friends. Unable to resist, your fingers lifted to form finger guns, as you aimed them at him and made a clicking sound with your tongue. “Of course I do. Why else would I make you that prosthetic hand and indulge in all your temptations even though I complain? It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

He felt his lips tugging at the corners to stretch into a smile. Maedhros couldn’t say when last he felt like this for it had been too long that the pure feeling of bliss overcame him. Dropping his eyes to the floor as his dimples became prominent, it didn’t matter how hard he bit his lip, the smile kept forming. The little awkward nods of his head followed as he accepted your words, wanting to keep things light.

“I like you too; you are very nice,” he finally managed to spit out with a goofy grin which left the both of you flustered like two teenagers.

“Cool,” you murmured and swallowed the last bit of wine before reaching for the flask to refill your glass to the brim. Anything to wash away the awkwardness that unfolded.

Entertained, Maedhros made a tsking sound and wiggled his prosthetic finger at you. “Did you not scold me for wanting to share a drink with you, and now you are consuming two glasses?”

“Oh shut up! The conversation is going too well to deserve one glass, plus, I can do whatever I want. I’ll just suffer the consequences of a hangover tomorrow. I’m a doctor, I can nurse myself back to full health,” you quietly chortled with a roll of your eyes.

Unbiasedly staring at you as you drank the wine with heaviness, he glanced over your humane features and felt a wave of sadness that this could indeed be a strange dream. One day, he too could wake up and you would be gone forever. Or what if he had never left Angband and the image of you was a conjured coping mechanism? “But what if all this was a dream and you had to wake up, would you want to leave?”

Prying your lips off the glass, you fell into a contemplative silence that left you fretting. You would admit, life here wasn’t the best nor was it the worse, but there was something that existed which wasn’t present in your world. You helped and taught your medical practices while learning the ropes of incorporating magic and natural remedies into your etiquette. Life had its ebbs but they brought you forms of adventure no one would ever experience.

“I don’t know; I can’t answer that honestly. I’d be lying no matter what response I give,” you supposed. “However, I will say that I am grateful to have met and helped you. It was an honour to utilise my knowledge to build you a hand and form a bond with an elf. I never thought I’d meet one, so tall and wasn’t Santa’s little helper, and get this close, thanks to my medical abilities.”

“Likewise. You have been a great companion during your time here with me in my lonely castle. You have given me something to look forward to each day with your strangeness.”

“Of course you would enjoy my company. I’m far better than the ghosts living here,” you snickered. “But I too, enjoy your presence. It’s nice to connect with someone who understands.”

Maedhros offered a genuine smile as he fought to ignore your jest, and reached for his glass with his prosthetic hand and gingerly lifted it to make a toast. “I propose a toast to your hands then. Worry not about what they were forced to do, but the great things they have achieved. Perhaps that is your purpose here, to use your gifted hands.”

“You elves and your poetic words,” you jokingly scoffed while reaching out to knock glasses with one another. “But yes, to my hands and yours that can be detached and thrown at someone who annoys you. I am thankful they have gotten me this far and for meeting you.”

“Good, now make haste and finish that glass of wine. The night is still young, we have much to celebrate and I have a new blend for you to try. Might be too strong for a human, regardless, I want you to try it.” He sauntered out of his seat and towards his wine showcase where dozens of flasks sat, some still sealed for decades, leaving you appalled. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the downside to using your talents. Becoming his new drinking buddy.

You scowled as he returned with a flask while showing off his strength to hold the bottle with his new hand. “I should have sent your hand instead of bringing it myself if I knew this was to be my fate.”

“I would have visit your chambers nonetheless.”

“One glass, Maedhros. Just one glass.”

“Of course. One glass as prescribed,” he grinned with the intention of finishing the entire flask tonight in one sitting with you.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @ladyenchanted @mcwentfandomtraveling @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @elficially-done-with-life

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine being Caranthir's daughter and accidentally learning a curse word from him

(Sorry if this is too short for your taste. But I hope you like it.)

Requested by @eunoiaastralwings

Can I request for Cara with his toddler daughter please ? 🥺

How about she picks up a bad word from Cara and accidentally shouts it out in the most awkward situation – like during one of his courtroom days

Thanks for considering hun 💝

Warnings: An innocent child learning a curse word from dad.

------------------------------------------------

- Your life was well in Thargelion. Your father, Caranthir, was a doting father, despite the frown he usually wore on his face. 

- Whenever he saw you or heard you call out to him, his brows would soften and he would not hesitate to pick you up whenever you wanted to be carried by him. Your mother frequently teased him for his soft spot for you, but he did not mind since he had a soft spot for you, his own daughter. 

- You were often watched by nannies since your father and mother were busy with their duties. You did not mind since you would get lost in your own fantasies whenever you played with your toys. 

- However, this time you got bored and decided to sneak away from the nannies. You decided to go and seek your father, wanting him to cuddle with you. 

- It was a bad habit as you were quite good at sneaking away and causing your nannies to panic. 

- Even though you were a little toddler, you had a keen memory of the places where you could find your father and the study where he worked most of the time. He didn’t usually mind your surprise visits, but this time you caught him at a moment of frustration with his work.

- You stood at the door, watching him frown at the papers before him. He then groaned and uttered ‘Fuck’ which was a strange word to your mind. 

- Your father seemed really frustrated, and since your mother taught you not to bother him when he was frustrated, you left him be. However, the strange word began to repeat in your mind, and you could not help but wonder about the use of it. 

- You started singing the word while playing with your toys, uttering the word when your toys became frustrated. 

- Unfortunately, you yelled the word during a court meeting under your parents' watch. 

- You were so in your head with your playing. When your doll was betrayed by the bunny who was supposed to be the love of your doll’s life, in your head your doll cursed, but you also ended up yelling the word ‘Fuck’ so loud, that everyone in the courtroom heard it loud and clear. 

- Everyone froze and turned to look at you, including your parents. 

- Your mother called out to you and asked where you learned the word. 

- You innocently pointed at your father and then explained your doll got betrayed by the love of their life and became mad about it. 

- Caranthir felt his blood run cold when your mother glared at him before slightly scolding you and telling you not to say such a word again. You were confused till your mother explained that it was an adult world, and you were too young to use it. You took it and left with your mother when she decided to take you away, sending glares toward your father. 

- Let’s just say, your father watched his mouth even when you were not there in hopes you don’t end up learning more words from him.

[arofili]

39 with summer?? Russingon?????

under the cut for nsft ;)

~

“Hold still,” Findekáno groaned, pressing his hand down firmly on Maitimo’s chest.

“Finno—!” Maitimo gasped, trying and utterly failing to obey. How could he, when Findekáno was straddled over his lap, slowly sinking down onto his cock?

“What did—ai, Russo, you’re so big—I just say?” Findekáno hissed, slipping down another half-inch, his face screwed up in pleasure-pain.

“Can’t help it,” Maitimo whined, trembling all over. “You’re too—hnng—tight—Finno—”

Findekáno squeezed, his legs tightening around Maitimo’s waist, and with a lewd, slick noise, he seated himself the rest of the way onto Maitimo’s cock. Maitimo wailed softly, his hips jerking up involuntarily into that hot, tight bliss, and it took every ounce of his remaining self-control not to spill immediately.

Findekáno moaned, pressing one hand to his slightly distended belly. Ai, Maitimo could feel that pressure, however slight; he could feel Findekáno everywhere—

“Russo,” Findekáno croaked, holding maddeningly still, even when everything in Maitimo screamed and begged for movement, friction, heat—

“F-Finno,” Maitimo whimpered in response. He fumbled to grab his lover’s other hand and clutched it tightly, channeling all his desperation into that connection, for if he let himself focus on their other point of contact...

“I th-thought,” Findekáno gasped, “I could t-take you—”

Maitimo’s blood ran cold. “Finno?” he asked, terribly concerned. He knew he was big, he knew they should have waited, but Finno had been so sure, so eager—

“I can,” Findekáno hurred to assure. “Just—ai—let’s go—slow, alright?” He was shaking—but Maitimo saw how hard he was, also, and felt him clenching his hand with just as much repressed desire. He wanted this. He did.

“Slow,” Maitimo agreed, and breathed in deep, willing the frantic beating of his heart to calm. “Slow. For you. My Finno.”

“Yours,” Findekáno agreed, and—slowly—smiled, gently rolling his hips until they were both utterly lost in pleasure.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

anyone want my 1600 unstructured rant about morality and fate in the first age? Here, it’s yours.

Absolute morality concerning doom and fate in Tolkien’s Silmarillion

The justification and persecution of the first age and its participants are heavily discussed, heavily disputed topics. In this we will explore the relevance of the first age to Eru’s plan, the extent of its events as products of fate, and the eventual moral judgement of participants in light of actions and given circumstances. Lore used follows the published Silmarillion (Ainulindalë, Valaquenta, Noldolantë) and the End of Days prophecy most recently given by Tolkien. We aim to draw accurate moral judgments and either demonstrate reasoning for or create hypotheses of characters’ fates by examining textual evidence of Eru and the Valar’s moral standings and involvement.

Of Eru Iluvatar, little is given. Here, we assume he is motivated by love for creation, and he would pass this to the three races of his children as their purpose of existence. Therefore the End of Days ushers in a peace free of evil that is devoted entirely to creative progress. However, the action of the first ages is concerned with the destruction of evil (being wilful and unprovoked immorality) due to Melkor’s rebellion. Let is infer that Eru has foreseen Melkor is incurably evil, and thus sees he must be wholly destroyed or absolutely captured; we infer also the existence of a law of conservation of power as a tenant of Eru’s plan (which men alone can withstand). Given this, the hand of men is needed to overcome Melkor’s power. Eru, who has power to create souls tied to the life of Arda, possessive of greater power— elves, and souls dissevered from it, possessive of lesser— men, contrives to mix them and breed a new race.

This new race is that of the Dúnedain. They have strength enough to face Melkor and can subvert the law of conservation of power, evidenced by the prophesied role of Ar-Pharazon’s fleet in the End of Days (wherein they will be unburied and their alliance decide the winning side). Before the siege of Utumno the quendi were taken to Valinor, and must return to meet men and breed the numenorean race. To the end Eru applies himself.

After Melkor’s first capture, he is offered mercy. This is a principled act: though Melkor had no remorse or feasible excuse, it is overhasty to punish a first-time offender. Melkor is instead given three ages of waiting and a chance to beg for release. This is similar to the fate of slain elves in Mandos. It is reasonable to assume that Eru was aware Melkor was incurable but knew also the initial forgiveness was necessary. In anticipation of his betrayal, and the darkness to come, Eru brought to life Fëanáro, greatest of elves, and put it into his mind to create the Silmarils. Fëanáro and his bloodline are designed as the vassals of the Noldor, responsible for leading them to Beleriand and protecting them from Melkor (evidenced by the march of Maedhros) while the first peredhil are born. Finwë’s second, marriage, too, was of Eru’s devising: he perceived Fëanáro and his kin were too volatile, thus the line of Fingolfin sired the numenorean race.

Nargothrond and Gondolin, devised at Ulmo’s will by Turgon and Finrod, were both indispensable in the creation of the peredhil lines. Of Nargothrond, King Finrod Felagund’s loyalty saved Beren Erchamion; of Gondolin, Tudor and Idril there met. They are therefore necessary to Eru’s plan. Of the meeting of Elwing and Earendil, it may be said that the respective falls of Doriath and Gondolin were necessary, though the manner in which this occurred (the turning of kin against kin) may not have been.

Now we examine the independent actions of Noldoli relevant to the designs of fate above described. First and foremost is the oath, which can be named rather rash than evil (though there may be evil in Fëanáro’s forcing of its swearing upon his children, the acts committed in its name are independent). Fëanáro’s following of Melkor to Beleriand to avenge his father and reclaim his property is not suspect, but the first kinslaying is. It was later proven that the Helcaraxë was not an impossible path, therefore making the weighing of Fëanáro’s need against the Teleri’s sentimentality obsolete. It can be claimed that the Teleri ought to have joined in Fëanáro’s cause or given the boats willingly, but it cannot be claimed that battle was an appropriate solution. Of the burning of the boats, we say Fëanáro’s actions were wilful, but not unprovoked: the early death of his mother, remarriage of his father, and the latter’s recent murder suggest significant grief and trauma, such that Fëanáro’s actions, while morally wrong, were not evil.

Fëanáro is the first elf we can properly describe as victimised, as his parents’ situation was outside of his control. Eru likely arranged it such so that Fëanáro would grow hale and steely, and thus be capable of leading his people to exile, and it is a similar thing that is done to Maedhros. His captivity in Angband taught him the internal strength needed to hold the east against Melkor, and thus allow the births of the peredhil and creation of the numenorean strain. These situations (and many similar) complicate the judging of acts based on immediate morality alone, for the undeserved emotional suffering occasionally accounts (as in the case of Dior withholding the Silmaril). Of Celegorm and Curufin in Nargothrond, much of their actions can be ascribed to the power of the oath: explaining but not justifying their part in Finrod’s death. This was their treachery not wilful and not evil. Their withholding of Luthien may be pronounced evil, though softened as it did no lasting damage— except, perhaps, politically between Doriath and the sons of Fëanáro, excusing Thingol and Dior’s withholding of the Silmaril.

Of Beren and Luthien, their actions were sound though directly contributed to the provocation of the oath and subsequent kinslayings (explaining but not justifying them). Whether the retrieval of one Silmaril was necessary to Eru’s plan or not is questionable: what would have happened if Thingol had not demanded such a price? Their quest is the crux around which the first age falls, and though it inadvertently caused great tragedy, it is likely alone responsible for the meeting of Earendil and Elwing, and their sailing to and convincing of the valar (a last resort). Thus is the second kinslaying in a sense completely justified: as a necessity of fate.

Unless one holds the Silmaril itself responsible for the safe passage of Earendil to Valinor (thereby necessitating the third kinslaying) then for Sirion can no excuse be made. The action of the oath alone and the psychological torment of the remaining brothers is sufficient to turn hate into pity; though one may not go far as to say they had no choice, one is compelled to offer forgiveness. Integral to the viciousness of this act are both the relatively defenceless state of Sirion and the importance of the Silmaril to its people: in this case, the benefit it brings outweighs the natural claim Fëanáro’s sons have for it. Elwing would have been morally right to suggest surrendering the Silmaril on the condition the brothers keep it in Sirion, but her suspicion of them due to their ransacking of her home prove this is not unprovoked, though still unjustified.

Here the nature of the oath is discussed. Foremost in discourse is its universal nature, such that even Fëanáro and his kin themselves are subject to it, and the supernatural power it has upon the foresworn. It is unclear whether the oath refers only to current perpetrators, or to those past including. If the latter is true then doomed are all foresworn, if only the former then the oath’s end shall come at the End of Days, when the Silmarils are broken (this particular act unspecified in their oath) and the oath becomes void.

Of Elu Thingol can we be most judgemental. If we hold the necessity of Beren’s quest in creating the numenorean line as unproven, then his hubris may be condemned as rash (similar to the swearing of the oath). Indeed, these two acts work against each other in the kinslayings. Thingol’s initial coldness towards the noldor is explained by their slaying of his brother’s kin, and his refusal to surrender the Silmaril by his hatred for their capture of his daughter. The latter especially is morally incorrect, though the Silmaril’s growing hold on him (which would lead to the fall of Doriath) again would turn our hate to pity. Thingol’s actions may be judged as no better nor no worse than those of Fëanáro’s sons.

Thus is no individual in the first age wholly evil, though the kinslayings and Thingol’s bride price may be held as morally wrong (as are Thingol and Dior’s withholding of the Silmaril). Of punishment, the suffering of the perpetrators would beg mercy, and, indeed, the fates of Maedhros and Maglor may be called apt. The torment of Maedhros as necessary in his role as Lord of Himring in particular may absolve this, and the peculiars of his mental state regarding the Nirnaeth Arnoediad as relative to its inspiration by Beren’s quest further complicate the matter of Thingol’s innocence, and further insinuate that Maedhros’ actions were not entirely wilful.

Inconsistencies between the silmarillion and our understanding of Eru’s plan may be understood through the intervention of men. Beren being the most prominent: his and Luthien’s love, provoking the bride price and then the quest, was doubtless unexpected. The Silmaril’s retrieval being half Luthien’s doing, it is possible that Eru foresaw her completing a similarly great deed (simply the overthrow of Sauron’s tower, perhaps) which he would hold to provoke the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: in his eyes, perhaps, a winning battle. It is, though, Ulfang’s betrayal that ultimately ruins the plan. Thought this text concerns itself only with the fates of elves, of Ulfang it can be said his deed may only be repented should the numenorean fleet side with the Valar in the Dagor Dagorath. Indeed, the End of Days alone brings full forgiveness for many actions of the first age, the fate of the Silmarils being with both entwined.

[arafinweanappreciation]

Crack AU where instead of it being Thorin’s Company getting Bilbo to help them reclaim Erebor from Smaug, it’s Turgon and the Lords of Gondolin trying to find Gondolin. Nothing written in the Silmarillion has changed. Tuor and Maeglin are both there. Gondolin is still under the sea. They all remember what happened. At no point does anyone comment on any of this. They play out the entire plot of The Hobbit. Gandalf is still in charge.