ola-the-clown

[ola-the-clown]

she wiped the floor with him (actually)

Címrë (right) is @ola-the-clown's <3

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explosion magic

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resentment, not buried deep and allowed to fester, but boiling over freely

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Beleriand's worst best family unit 🫶

a bitch mom, a bastard dad and a shitling son (no blood relations) 🎀

Foinelen is my friend's ( ik he has tumblr but he gatekeep ) and so is Anca ( @vinyatar ✨️ )

[ola-the-clown]

Beleriand's worst best family unit 🫶

a bitch mom, a bastard dad and a shitling son (no blood relations) 🎀

Foinelen is my friend's ( ik he has tumblr but he gatekeep ) and so is Anca ( @vinyatar ✨️ )

[ola-the-clown]

I wanna suck on thisnold lady's bat

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[oc] two flavors

[ola-the-clown]

curufin's mad dog

[ola-the-clown]

combining two interests, my tolkien ocs and hanfu

[ola-the-clown]

Meleressë (Ellathos) and a certain trash for @angbands-last-hero

outtake comics below

how do runes work!

for science (he was okay)

[ola-the-clown]

arantëa cinnamon roll in nargo couture (styled after "diana wynyard in 'the silent knight'" by ethel léontine gabain)

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First Age Fëanorian vintage

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a drawing of mine and my friend's characters because fantasy romance is gripping me by the throat still 🌹

he burns bright, she shimmers forevermore

[ola-the-clown]

doodles of Mairien based on some plot points I had thought of + her backstory (under read more, as it's somewhat long) in the Silmarillion AU 🧵💎🌹

𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓

Born in Y.T. 1377 in Aman, she knew of the Middle-Earth only from tales and songs, the perilous journey to the Blessed Continent but an abstract concept, a past long-gone. The life of an upper nobility was a comfortable one, days spent on improving upon her embroidery — a beloved craft of hers, chosen due to Mairien's love for all that's beautiful, shimmering, and shining, and selfish motives of vanity but also a very personal wish to gift the fruits of her labour to those few, close to her heart — and bettering her aim. Though the act of hunting — the chase and pursuit — brought her enjoyment, the surrounding festivities a gratifying way to spend time, neither were the priority. No, to her, there was no greater joy than that of an arrow hitting its intended target; the more challenging the shot, the better. A tangible proof of her skill, deft fingers, and keen eyes. 

But all was not idyllic, the relationship with her parents slowly straining over the years. Her father, a master gemologist, jeweler, and metalworker, was set on teaching her his craft. And while Mairien had followed his wishes at first, truthfully, her heart was not in it, no matter how skilled her hands were — much to the man's immense but ignored chagrin and disappointment. She did what she was told to do, neither more nor less, and with an expression often pinched into a sour pout. Yes, she had interest in gems and jewels, and metals of various sorts, but rather than slaving away and making them, she preferred to use the finished products; incorporating them into her embroidery projects. At the same time, had it not been for the nearly forceful insistence of her father, she wouldn't have discovered the world of alchemy. A fascinating subject, one she took like a duck to water — though, again, her interest in it, while not lacking in passion, was somewhat vain. Dyes, polishes, solutions, all to aid her endless pursuit of beauty. But also poisons and toxins, if only out of morbid curiosity.

Her family's somewhat close ties to the House of Fëanor as relatives of Curufin's wife, meant she was less trusty of Melkor than most other Noldor — the prince's suspicion and uncharitable view of the Valar bleeding into her mind through the grapevine. Nor was she immune to the rumors of injustice and stolen birthrights that fanned at the flames of her ambition and further fueled her interest in lands never seen. It was, amongst many other reasons, why Mairien chose to follow Fëanor on the quest for revenge and glory — stirred by his beguiling words, blood boiling at Morgoth's treachery. Her parents, however, disapproved, choosing to stay in Aman rather than follow after their new King. She cursed at their cowardice, the lack of loyalty and indifference to Morgoth's crimes, before storming off — never to return. Later on, the prideful elf would come to regret her hasty departure; mourning the loss of her younger brother, who had no choice but to remain, and the missed opportunity to bid him goodbye.

Forever bitter about her parents' decision.

Actions were rarely greater than words, and it was no different this time. The kinslaying, the curse, the burning of the ships. The grass was not any greener on the other side of Belegaer; trampled and dead, under the feet of soldiers and orcs. The war efforts turned her hobbies into duties. Sewing wounds shut instead of embroidering, crafting dyeing solutions for armor rather than gowns as well as various medicinal cures and remedies — a domain she'd ultimately choose to focus on — and occasionally visiting the forge, the irony was not lost on the elf. Her fascination with poisons, venoms, and toxins proved useful as well, vital even, as their enemy was fond of such tactics. 

Later on — after Fëanor's death, capture and subsequent rescue of prince Maedhros, and the relinquishment of his claims —, having no close family of her own, she'd leave with Curufin and Celegorm's host, eventually settling in Himlad.