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polutrope · 11 months ago

Note

I'd love to see Fingon (with Mae if that's your jam, with anyone else if not) for hooking up for Christmas 🥺 please?

Thank you! While this was not officially a prompt (it was New Year's Eve haha), I decided it should be. I also added the tropical vacation prompt because no one sent it and I wanted to write it😁. ~1.2k words, rated a soft M, to be safe. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list (prompts closed). Beleria Cast of Characters Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and a lovely December day to all!

Maedhros woke to the trickle of water and the twitter of birds. Odd. He did not remember putting sleep sounds on last night. Maybe Fingon had? It must be early, still: his alarm hadn’t gone off. He pressed his eyes shut, clinging to sleep, and rolled over. God, it was hot! If Fingon had left the heat on…

“Time to get up!” Fingon’s voice chirped, stirring him from the haze of sleep.

“Why’s it s’ hot,” he mumbled. Registering that Fingon’s voice was coming from somewhere else, Maedhros claimed the bed luxuriously, splaying his limbs over crisp sheets, nuzzling his toes into the plush mattress.

Wait. This wasn’t his bed. His eyes shot open and he found himself in a room bathed in sunlight. Room was a generous assessment: it was more of a hut, walled by nothing but wire mesh and the thick jungle beyond.

Right. They were in Hyarmen. They’d arrived late last night, Maedhros in a fog after fourteen hours of travelling with barely a wink of sleep (he was definitely paying the upgrade for the extra legroom on the return flight – thinking he could do without was pure hubris).

The sound of Fingon’s laugh startled him from his shock. “Forgot we weren’t home?”

Maedhros hefted himself onto his elbows and blinked several times. His partner stood (shirtless) at a counter that cut the small space in two. He was pouring boiling water into a French press and smiling to himself.

“Morning,” said Fingon. “How you feeling? You slept almost twelve hours.”

Maedhros dragged his hands down his face. “And yet I still feel tired,” he groused.

“Good thing we have absolutely nothing to do,” Fingon said. “Though I was thinking it would be nice to go to the waterfall, and maybe snorkelling on the way back, and there’s apparently a great beach for sunset—”

“Sh, sh,” said Maedhros. “Coffee. Then plans.”

“You got it,” said Fingon, but Maedhros could tell it was taking great effort to keep a lid on his chatter because he started humming to himself as he took stock of the contents of their accommodation and placed the complimentary packets of tea and coffee in a prominent location where they would not forget to use them. Maedhros watched him with a swell of affection.

In his thirty-six years of life, Maedhros had never spent Yule without his family. A prickle of guilt intruded on his mellow mood at this thought. He imagined what they would be up to: Celegorm and Caranthir shamelessly sprawled on the large couch, Huan between them, criticising a recent blockbuster or offering uninformed opinions on the latest international relations issue, which Fëanor would chime in on every time he passed through the room, sprinkling his shrewd insights into the conversation like a pinch of salt in flavourless soup.

Celebrimbor would be in the basement reading while Amrod and Amras played video games on the couch across from him, and Curufin would be upstairs in the twins’ old bedroom wrapping presents, spending hours meticulously cutting and folding, a work of art that most of the gifts’ recipients would tear apart in only a few hours.

Nerdanel and Maglor would be in the kitchen, blasting carols and singing along, drinking endless cups of tea and getting gradually sillier as they baked batch after batch of cookies and prepped the components of the massive dinner spread.

If Maedhros were there, he would be drifting between all of them, often just observing. Later in the afternoon, it was tradition for him and Fëanor to take a walk together, the one time a year when they put work and the rest of the family aside to unburden themselves of personal stressors, complain in confidence, and share a private joke or two. How much each was willing to share fluctuated over the years but recently they had been more open with each other.

That was largely why Maedhros had dared to reveal, back in August, that he was considering spending this year away from home. With Fingon. Under the weight of the Finvesen family group chat’s subsequent silence, Maedhros had nearly buckled and withdrawn his statement. “Give me your phone,” Fingon had said, then stashed it away and dragged Maedhros on a four-hour hike. When they got back, there was a message from Fëanor: “That sounds like a lovely time,” followed by a series of emojis (some obviously supportive, others more ambiguous) from his brothers.

Maedhros had nearly wept. His eyes watered now, remembering it, when Fingon nudged a mug of coffee into his hand and flopped into bed beside him.

Fingon. He’d never spent Yule with Fingon.

“Thanks,” said Maedhros.

“How are you doing?” Fingon asked.

Maedhros shrugged and puffed a breath of air on his coffee. “It’s weird. Being here.”

“Yeah,” said Fingon. “It is a bit, for me too.” Then he watched Maedhros from the corner of his eye with a smirk.

“What’s that face?” Maedhros asked.

“I think you need to be distracted.” Fingon huffed a laugh, causing the coffee held to his lips to come dangerously close to overflowing its vessel.

“Yeah, I know,” said Maedhros, “you want to go swimming, and snorkelling, and—”

“No, no. I have a different idea now. I was gonna save it for tonight but…” Fingon grinned and Maedhros could see evidence of what he had in mind through his boxer shorts.

Maedhros took a sip of coffee and sank lower into the bed. “Fine. But I’m showering first, I feel disgusting.”

“Great, that’ll give me time to get ready.”

Ready for what? Maedhros eyed him warily but received no further explanation.

“What… when did you get that?” Maedhros sputtered when he emerged from his shower.

Fingon leaned languidly against a wood beam in the centre of the room wearing a red satin robe fringed with white faux fur. It was tied loosely around his waist, accentuating the curve of his butt while exposing a slice of one well-muscled leg.

“Happy Yule,” Fingon husked in his most seductive voice, then laughed. Without disturbing his pose, he asked, “Is it totally ridiculous?”

“Um.” Maedhros swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s…” Damn it if Fingon couldn’t make anything look sexy. “Fuck it.”

In two long strides he had his hands on Fingon’s waist and yanked him flush against his hips. While they kissed, Maedhros slipped his hands under the hem of the robe, exploring the plane of Fingon’s chest, then dropping lower to grope his ass.

Beyond the roar of blood in his ears, thunder clapped in the distance. By the time Maedhros had Fingon spread out on the bed, a deluge of rain drummed on the hut’s tin roof, almost loud enough to drown out the appreciative babble and groans tumbling involuntarily from Maedhros’ lips.

When it was over and they lay breathless, struggling to cool off in the humidity, Fingon asked, “So, does this still feel weird?”

Maedhros’ head lolled to the side to look at him. “Despite your best efforts to make it weird with that costume,” he grazed his knuckles over Fingon’s hip, “no. No, it does not feel weird.”

#maedhros #fingon #russingon #holiday prompts #modern au #beleria au #my fic #I ship this pretty ambivalently in canon universe but for some reason when they're modern dudes I just want them to make out

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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oooh holiday prompts! Can I ask for Maedhros & Maglor, and “singing carols” please? ❤️

Thank you for the prompt! Here we have ~1100 words of Maedhros saving the show -- a little canon fix-it, if you will. Handful of F-bombs, otherwise G-rated brotherly fluff. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list. Beleria Cast of Characters.

Maglor flung his hand under the tap and unleashed a string of curses entirely inappropriate for the greenroom of a children’s theatre school. Already blisters bubbled up on the tip of his index finger and the heel of his palm. There was a gash across his thumb joint from the broken ceramic.

Shit. He glared at the microwave as if it had personally injured him. What kind of shit-ass microwave only heats the bowl—! Why was it so damn hot!

“I swear, I could throw you out the fudging window right now,” he grumbled at the appliance.

“Hey, uh, Mr. Finvesen? Are you okay?”

Maglor startled. “What? Oh, hi, Galdor. Yeah yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” said Galdor with all the arch attitude of his thirteen years.

“I just burned myself a bit.” Maglor examined his blisters with trepidation.

“Why is there a shattered bowl and soup all over the floor?”

“Because that’s how I burned myself!” Maglor snapped, then took a deep breath.

“That doesn’t look like a microwavable bowl,” Galdor drawled.

Maglor grit his teeth and did not respond.

“Hey,” said Galdor, “how are you gonna accompany us for the concert if your hand is fucked up?”

“Galdor! Don’t swear!”

At that, Maglor’s eyes flooded with tears and he sank to the ground in front of the greenroom sink, cradling his bleeding, burning hand in his lap.

Galdor huffed and left him to his misery.

Relatives and friends filed into the small black box theatre at Lindon Studio. For all the effort that went into the children’s summer musical, it was the Yule concert that the kids’ families looked forward to most. The old metal folding chairs creaked as proud parents took their seats and boasted good-naturedly about their children’s many achievements that year.

Maglor stood in the entrance, greeting each group with forced enthusiasm and hoping no one would notice that his left hand was rammed in his pocket where it clutched an ice pack.

In the background, he listened anxiously to the garbled melodies Daeron was plunking out on the piano. It was not good. It was frankly embarrassing. Maglor had to implement Plan B.

But would he come?

There! Maglor nearly tripped as he wound a path through the press of bodies towards the head of red hair rising above them all.

“Oh thank god you're here,” Maglor said in a breathless rush.

“Whoa, hey. Of course I am,” said Maedhros, pulling him into a hug, which Maglor returned one-armed. His head fell against Maedhros’ shoulder with a pained choking sound.

“Uh, Cáno?” Maedhros pulled back to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“No, no. Not at all,” Maglor gritted through his teeth, aware of the crowd around them.

Maedhros guided him to a bench around the corner of the building.

“What’s going on?” he asked when they were seated. “Why do you have your hand shoved in your pocket like that?”

Maglor took a deep breath and pulled the hand and ice pack from his slacks. Then, eyes shamefully cast to the ground, he showed Maedhros the ruination wrought by his dinner plans.

“Yikes,” said Maedhros. “Still not using a rag to take things out of the microwave, then?”

“Shut up,” said Maglor.

“Sorry. Looks pretty bad.”

“It is bad. I’ve got to lead kids in a concert in twenty minutes and my hand is fucked! I can’t play piano!”

“Oh. Right, shit. What about Daeron?”

Maglor frowned and glared at Maedhros. He waited for the sound of Daeron’s playing inside the theatre to make itself heard.

“Is that him?” Maedhros asked, and grimaced. “I thought he was, like, super talented.”

“He is!” Maglor said, and stuck his throbbing blister in his mouth. “But he can’t read sheet music,” he said around the finger, “and barely knows his way around a piano. He taught himself by ear on a guitar, the fucking hipster prodigy.” He pulled his finger from his mouth and flapped it frantically in front of him. “That was mean. Don’t tell him I said that. Ugh! I’m just—!”

“It’s all right," Maedhros chuckled, "I know you like fucking hipster prodigies.” Maglor groaned. “Okay, so. Surely someone else who works here can play piano though?”

“No! Of course not! The admin is all actors who didn’t make it because they didn’t have these skills. Nelyo,” Maglor pivoted towards him, “you remember how to play, right?”

“Oh,” said Maedhros. “I mean, yeah, I guess, but…”

“Can you do it?” Maglor grabbed him by the shoulder and stared intently. “Please. Please, I am begging you. Save my dignity in front of these theatre moms.”

“I mean, I would, but…” Maedhros showed Maglor his right hand, which was wrapped in a tensor bandage. “The injury has been acting up. I’m down a hand, too.”

Maglor’s eyes dropped to his brother’s hand and back up. “Fuck.”

“Hey, hey,” said Maedhros. “No wait, I’ve got an idea.”

“Please,” said Maglor.

“Well you remember how we used to play duets, when I sucked too bad to do the bass and treble at once?”

Maglor smiled wryly at the memory. “Yeah, you were pretty terrible.”

“So we do that. People will love it.”

Maglor’s racing pulse started to even out. His eyes widened. “Nelyo. You genius. Agh!” He threw his arms around his brother’s shoulders. “I could cry. Again. You saved me.”

A discordant clang slipped through the theatre door. Maglor winced.

Maedhros patted Maglor’s back reassuringly. “Now let’s get your poor boyfriend off that piano bench ASAP.”

With his left hand resting on a fresh ice pack, Maglor lifted his right to the keys. Beside him, Maedhros did the same with his left. The house lights dimmed and voices dwindled to a hush. Maglor could sense the buzz of excitement from the choir of children huddled on the stage, holding their breath almost as a single being in their shared anticipation.

As the stage lights came up, slowly bathing the space in soft gold, Maglor looked at his brother beside him. Maedhros’ eyes smiled back.

“I might still suck,” he whispered out the corner of his mouth.

“Too late,” Maglor replied, and struck the first chord to cue the children: Jingle Bells was about to begin.

Maedhros did struggle a little, but Maglor barely noticed, overcome by the warm pride that welled up in his heart whenever he heard a chorus of young voices singing in harmony. Yes, he was terribly underpaid, and terribly overworked, and terribly stupid about handling hot objects —but he loved this job.

By the time they were singing Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, Maedhros was mouthing the lyrics along with them. Soon after, he was merrily singing along to Wonderful Christmastime (“ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, ding!”) with such performative gusto that Maglor laughed so hard he fumbled his own part.

No one seemed to mind.

#maedhros #maglor #holiday prompts #modern au #beleria au #my fic #can you tell I was a theatre kid?#what of the lords of gondolin are all kids?#if*

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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For the holiday prompts, @i-did-not-mean-to requested "Pets and decorations for the best boy in the whole story HUAN (Celegorm can come if he behaves)."

Here you are friend! Everyone came. ~1.2k words of Finvesen family holiday fun with Huan. One F-bomb, rated G. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list. Beleria Cast of Characters.

“Wow,” Celegorm muttered to himself as he stepped into his parents’ foyer.

Nerdanel had outdone herself this year. The Yule tree — a ten foot tall structure only vaguely reminiscent of a conifer — glittered silver and gold under the skylight. In place of branches it was girded in spear-like protrusions, spiralling up the bare wooden pillar at its centre and gradually decreasing in length until they reached a conical crown of clear glass. At the end of each javelin hung an ornament. One would have expected glass, or metal, the sort of costly thing typical of Fëanor and Nerdanel — but this Yule tree, in stark contrast to its structure, was adorned with balls of what appeared to be scrap textile.

It was hideous.

Celegorm shucked off his coat and tossed it on the shoe rack. There was no need to announce his arrival: Huan had bounded ahead the moment they came through the door.

Sure enough, the voice of Fëanor grew louder as he rounded the corner.

“Turko! Your damn dog is getting his hair all over the couch. It was just cleaned!”

“Hi, Dad,” Celegorm greeted him. “Nice tree.”

“Oh, you like it?” Fëanor asked, forgetting Huan’s trespass for the moment. “It’s quite unique, isn’t it? Your mother’s idea to use the old telephone pole and textiles. She’s become quite the proponent of upcycling.” Fëanor bracketed this last in scare quotes.

He looked skeptically at the tree then back to Celegorm. “It’s grown on me,” he mused. “But!” he suddenly pivoted to set his hands on Celegorm’s shoulders, “It’s good to see you, son!”

As they belatedly embraced, Huan came padding back into the room and yapped, leaping up on his hind legs in an attempt to join them.

“Down, boy,” Celegorm laughed. “Remember this is grandma and grandpa’s house, you’ve gotta be a good boy.”

Huan cocked his head.

“Aw, you’re always a good boy, I know.” Celegorm ruffled a hand between his ears. “Come on, let’s go to the basement, Dad won’t be upset if you roll around down there.”

Celegorm winked at Fëanor, who huffed and shook his head.

His father rattled off the usual stream of thoughts as he followed after Celegorm. “I thought you were arriving with Curvo — he is bringing Tyelpë I hope. How are they getting here? Is Cáno giving them a ride then? Have you spent much time with his boyfriend? Daeron. Of course I want my sons to be with whomever they like, but it really is uncanny with him and Nelyo and you finding partners who just so happen to be the children of — oh never mind, none of my business, is it? Can you believe, six months and he still won’t bring him over for dinner! Your mother is picking up the twins. They wanted to take the bus, if you can believe that. Nelyafinwë is picking up a couple pies. He insisted. Have you heard from Moryo, by the way? Your mother texted him but he hasn’t replied.”

Celegorm plopped himself down in a plush arm chair. “I don’t know.”

“Hello! We’re here!” Nerdanel’s voice called from upstairs. Huan bounded back up to greet her.

Fëanor frowned. “That dog is going to have to stay down here. He gets far too excited when everyone is together like this. Did you have to bring him?”

“Huan goes where I go, Dad.”

“Well we’re not spending the whole evening down here so I hope not!”

“Then you’re going to have to let my dog upstairs.”

Fëanor grunted and turned, taking the stairs two at a time to greet his wife and youngest sons. Celegorm took advantage of what might be his last moment of solitude before the storm hit in earnest.

A moment later, Amrod trundled down the stairs. “Hey!” he said.

Celegorm leapt up to take his lanky little brother into a bear hug. “Hey, it’s Red One!”

Amrod kneed him in the thigh. “I have a name.”

“You do?” Celegorm said, and released him with an affectionate smack on the shoulder.

“So, uh,” Amrod said, “what the fuck is with that tree?”

And so it went with each new arrival, exchanging knowing looks and murmurs and trying not to snicker at the texts Amrod and Amras kept sending the sibling group chat. Curufin was the only one of them who dared state his disapproval of the tree openly, scowling as he said, “It’s not to my taste.” Maedhros went the opposite direction, concealing his obvious (to his brothers) revulsion with effusive praise and a litany of questions about the tree's craftsmanship and inspiration and symbolism.

After a round of drinks, they all retreated to the kitchen to serve themselves from the spread of food. It was a Finvesen family tradition to get together for a casual meal when the Yule tree was erected. It used to be a decorating party, with a live tree and ornaments strewn over the ground, a memory attached to each one recalled with laughter — but with the move to Beleria, the last of the children finally moved out, Fëanor’s wealth, and Nerdanel’s increasing creative eccentricity, traditions had changed. Celegorm could not say it was for the better. He’d much preferred the joyful chaos back in Valin.

“Hey, guys,” Amrod said as he re-entered the living room ahead of the others. “Where’s Huan?”

Celegorm strolled up behind him to see his dog, indeed, gone. “Huan boy!” he called.

There was a playful yelp from the foyer, and Huan came barrelling in shaking one of the cloth ornaments in his jaw. He tossed it on the ground and disembowelled it of its stuffing. Then he ran back, and there was a crashing and yelping, and another ball rolled into the living room.

It seems Huan agreed with the general opinion on the tree. Celegorm laughed hysterically until Amrod clapped a hand over his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Curufin asked as he walked up beside them with his plate.

“Shh, shh,” Celegorm hushed him. “Pretend you don’t notice.”

"Oh. I see," Curufin said.

So they retook their seats, keeping up the mundane chatter, each brother shushing the others as they entered. Huan gleefully made a heap of his carnage in the archway between foyer and living room.

Returning second-to-last, Fëanor immediately caught sight of the mountain of destroyed ornaments. There was a tense moment of silence; then he turned to Celegorm, grinning, and winked as he took his seat.

“You’re all being very quiet,” Nerdanel said, plopping herself down last. “Is something going on?” She scanned the room. “Oh my god! What happened to my—!” She set her plate down and burst into the foyer. “Huan! Huan, bad! Stop pissing on my tree!”

Following Fëanor’s cue, the others all broke into laughter.

“You’re all terrible,” Nerdanel said, standing in the door frame with her hands on her hips.

Then she too chuckled, then laughed, then howled. “No. No, you’re all perfectly right.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s hideous, isn’t it? I don’t know what I was thinking. What do you say we go pick up a proper tree after we’re eaten?”

“Yes, please!” everyone shouted in unison.

#celegorm #huan #feanor #nerdanel #holiday prompts #modern au #beleria au #my fic

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polutrope · 11 months ago

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The Noldorans, Pt. 1

Continuing with the paper dolls for my modern AU... Fingolfin, Anairë, Fingon, Turgon & Elenwë, Aredhel.

#nolofinweans #beleria au #modern au #modern nolofinweans #fingon gets long hair in all universes

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polutrope · 11 months ago

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Various Beleria residents: Beren Escarra, Edhellos, Andreth, Celeborn, Mablung, Beleg

#beleria au #modern au #sorry-not-sorry I am going to keep posting these until I've done them all

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polutrope · 11 months ago

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For the holiday prompts if you'd like, because I miss the boys 😊

Hooking up on New Year’s Eve + Russingon

Well, it's late, but I ended up writing 8k words of disaster exes getting back together for this prompt.

Oh everybody waits so long

Rating: M Words: 8.1k Relationship: Fingon/Maedhros Characters: Fingon, Maedhros, Fingolfin, Anairë Genre: Modern AU

In the summer of 2017, Fingon is called to the scene of hit-and-run while on duty. He's shocked to discover the victim is Maedhros: his ex-boyfriend he hasn't spoken to in two years. Over the next six months, they stumble and fumble their way back to each other.

Read on AO3

#maedhros #fingon #russingon #modern au #holiday prompts #beleria au #my fic

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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For the holiday prompts:

26. Accidental drunkenness with Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin! Thank you, love your writing 🤍

Amazing prompt Anon, and thank you! This is also for @melestasflight who requested Caranthir with the same prompt and @grey-gazania who requested Caranthir + Ugly sweaters. 1.5k words, Rated T for a lot of swearing and drunkenness. These guys are awful. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list (prompts closed). Little context: Curufin owns a craft brewery and Celegorm works for him. Maglor's referenced boyfriend is Daeron. See Beleria Cast of Characters for the full scoop!

Curufin cleared their empty glasses and wiped a wet cloth over the bar. He didn’t usually like to drink at work, even after closing, but they’d tapped a keg of the new Red River Winter Ale to sample.

Curufin had been wound tight all month worrying that it wouldn’t be ready for bottling in time for Yule gifting — and it barely was. But it had turned out perfect: not too heavy, with a warm spice. He’d use the late release to his advantage, slapping plain handwritten labels on the bottles and marketing them to panicked shoppers as a limited release last-minute gift. They could sell the rest of the batch under a new label in the New Year.

That weight off his shoulders, combined with the loosening effect of the alcohol, had put Curufin in a light mood. But not so light that he fell for Celegorm’s suggestion to have another pint. It was a Tuesday, and while that might make no difference to Celegorm, he had to get Celebrimbor to school in the morning.

“How did you get here?” he asked Celegorm, who was mopping the floors.

“I rode the bike. Why? You need a ride?”

Curufin shrugged. He’d hoped his brother would say he’d taken the bus. He wouldn’t have minded the company on his commute tonight. A ride would be nice, in theory, but Curufin hated being crammed on the back of Celegorm’s motorcycle.; he hated being forced to cling to his brother like a limpet as Celegorm careened around the corners… but it was a cold, and late…

“I can take transit,” he said.

“Yeah, I know you can. But you just asked me how I got here, sooo.” Celegorm dropped the mop in the bucket and crossed the floor. “You’re obviously looking for a ride. I can drop you off, bro-nut, no worries.” His hand came down hard on Curufin’s shoulder and he jolted forward.

“I’m still your boss until your shift’s over, Tyelko,” Curufin grumbled. “So you can’t hit me.”

“Oh? I assumed my shift was over when we poured the brewskies.”

“It wasn’t,” said Curufin. He sighed, considering the pros and cons of accepting a ride—

—when the front door banged open.

Curufin shot daggers at Celegorm. “What the fuck, you didn’t lock the—! We’re closed!” he shouted at the intruder.

He was cut short by the entrance of a tall, black-haired man with an unmistakable red mark on his left cheek, currently dimpled by a broad grin. Caranthir gave a throaty laugh at the look of shock on his brother’s faces.

“Moryo!” Celegorm bounded across the room and smothered him in a hug. Curufin twitched sympathetically. “When the fuck did you get into town? Didn’t think you’d be here until the twenty-fourth. How you been? ”

Celegorm might as well have been Huan, yapping and bouncing around his brother as if they hadn’t just seen him two weeks ago.

“Never mind that,” said Curufin, “what the fuck are you wearing?”

He sneered, indicating the heinous sweater his brother had on: a chunky red knit that looked like someone’s first disastrous venture into a new hobby. Too short in the sleeves and too wide in the torso, with an awful depiction of a light-garlanded cat (orange, clashing terribly), snarling in what might have been intended as a smile but which looked like an oddly anthropomorphic grimace.

“Oh yeah,” Caranthir said, spreading his arms to display the garment. “It’s hideous isn’t it? It was free, though. Don’t get rich saying no to free shit, Curvo.”

Curufin rolled his eyes. “You’re absurd. So why are you here?”

“Got some freight I can’t take to the port until the morning so I’m here for the night. Then it’s back east and time to replenish my social arsenal before I hunker down in the trenches for the battle of Yuletide.”

By which he meant spending three full days with their family. Many (Fëanor chief among them) were baffled as to why Caranthir, who had been offered scholarships to pursue a PhD fully-funded by some of the best economics programs in Endor, had instead taken up a career as a long-haul trucker. Curufin wasn’t. It wasn’t about the job, which he hardly needed with his investments. It was about the solitude. Curufin could relate. Curufin resented him for it.

“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” Curufin asked.

“Hell no, and don’t you dare tell them. ’All’s they know I’m not here until the twenty-fourth like I said. Anyway stop being such a dick, Curvo — you should be honoured that I chose to spend this precious evening off with you.”

He, too, slammed his hand down on Curufin’s shoulder. Curufin withdrew behind the bar to shield himself from any further assaults.

“As if.” Curufin snorted. “You’re only here because Cáno wouldn’t let you stay with him. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong.” Caranthir perched on a bar stool and grunted. “But fuck Cáno. He has a whole spare room now that he’s fucking his roommate, but do you think he lets anyone use it? Nope! He’s ashamed of us, you know. Doesn’t want his environmentally-challenged boyfriend knowing his brothers are capitalists.”

“I’m not a capitalist,” said Celegorm.

Curufin and Caranthir both looked at him incredulously, then silently agreed not to respond.

Caranthir slapped the bar counter. “What’s on tap, brewmaster!”

“Nothing, we’ve closed up. Tyelko and I were just about to leave. I have to get home, it’s late, and—”

“Nope,” said Caranthir.

“Nope what?”

“Nope, you’re not leaving.”

“Nope!” Celegorm seconded, and jumped onto a stool beside Caranthir. “Come on, Curvy Scurvy, pull out some glasses, just one more round.”

Curufin frowned. He worked hard not to let on, but he felt as much the baby around any of his older brothers as he had since he was— well, an actual baby. He’d been seven when Amrod and Amras were born: it was too late to rewire the psychological violence inflicted growing up with four (gifted, brash, adored) older siblings. And now Celegorm and Caranthir leered at him from across the bar with those taunting smiles, and his resolve buckled under the desire to please them.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he said, pulling out two glasses.

“Nah nah nah nah.” Celegorm wagged a finger. “You’re having one, too.”

“No, I’m not,” said Curufin. “I have to wake up early to take Tyelpë—”

“Oh boo-hoo-da-loo,” said Caranthir. “I have to be at the port at six a.m. Drink, Curvo. It’ll be no fun if you’re just sitting there watching us.”

Curufin ground his teeth. “Fine. A small glass. And then I’m kicking you out of here.”

“… and then she says: ‘Yeah okay, thanks dude. You can leave now. I know how to replace a tire.’”

“What a bitch,” Celegorm slurred.

“What?” Caranthir said. “No, man, that’s hot as fuck.” He tipped back the last of his beer then reached across the bar and refilled it directly from the tap, sloshing more of it on the floor than into his glass.

“Yo, careful!” said Curufin, then laughed. He looked into his own glass, which was disappointingly still empty. Had he had a third? He didn’t think he’d had a third. No, he’d only had two. Or it might have been three. Well, he’d just have half to be safe. He dumped half of Caranthir’s pint into his.

“Hey!” Caranthir grabbed for the glass, but Curufin had already chugged most of it down.

“Sorry, gone,” he said, then gripped the edge of the bar as he felt himself swaying backwards.

“You know what’s funny,” Celegorm said, staring at the wall. “I have no idea why Aredhel is with me.”

“Oh god, please don’t be a sad drunk,” Curufin begged. He dropped down and rested his head on the bar. “I’m so tired,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “So fucking tired…”

“No, but really, you guys. I’m such a loser. Why would she be with me? You know, I almost told her I love her the other day. I mean, I’ve told her that when we were together before, but I haven’t said it again since we got back together and what not and— damn it fuck, you guys, I do love her.”

“So tell her,” Caranthir said, then barked a laugh. “Or at least don’t tell me— I don’t give a shit.”

“You think?” Celegorm asked earnestly. Curufin groaned. “Yeah, I should tell her. Why hide?”

Curufin’s eyes squinted open just long enough to catch Celegorm picking up his phone. He flung his arm across Caranthir to smack it from his hand. It crashed to the floor.

“Hey!” Celegorm yelled.

“Don’t tell her now you dumb bag of dick rockets!” Curufin shouted, and sputtered over his lacklustre name-calling efforts.

As he stumbled to retrieve his phone, Celegorm said, “Fuck you, you broke the screen.”

“It was already broken,” Curufin lied. He snuggled against the crook of his elbow and closed his eyes. “Guys,” he muttered, “how we gon’ get home? I’m so sleepy…”

“Agh, hold up.” Caranthir bumped Curufin’s shoulder as he reached for something. “I’ll call Nelyo to come get us.”

“Good idea…” Curufin said, "Nelyo'll fix it..." and fell asleep.

#anon #celegorm #curufin #caranthir #holiday prompts #modern au #beleria au #my fic

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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Beleria AU: Cast

A list that no one asked for of my Beleria Modern AU characters, for your perusal. To be expanded, edited, and retconned as the mood strikes.

The Noldoran Finvesens

Finwë Noldoran (b. 1922, d. 2015, aged 92, natural causes). 6'. WW2 veteran and founder of Tirion Technical University in Valin, Aman. A Noldorin revolutionary sympathiser.

Míriel Noldoran, née Weber. (b. 1925, d. 1960, aged 35, pancreatic cancer). 5’2”. Finwë's first wife. They were very much in love and wished to have children but were never successful.

Fëanor Finvesen (b. 1958), 65. 5’11”. Adopted by Finwë and Míriel in 1960. Míriel died the first month of his adoption. His biological mother committed suicide and his father was incarcerated for sedition in the Noldorin Revolution and never released. Bachelor of Arts and Sciences (joint), Masters Civil Engineering, PhD Economics. Left Valin for Beleria, Endor, in 2016 after losing a major land ownership lawsuit against the government of Aman. Founder and President of Ambar Metta Development Group.

Nerdanel Finvesen (b. 1957), 66. 5’7”. Retired landscape architect. Sculptor, occasionally does public art projects. Studied at Tirion Technical University, where she met Fëanor.

Their children:

Maedhros (b. 1987), 36. 6’5”. Physical therapist and VP of Community Partnerships, and a shareholder, of Ambar Metta. Moved to Beleria with his parents. In a common-law relationship with Fingon.

Maglor (b. 1989), 34. 6’1”. Associate Artistic Director of Lindon Studios children’s musical theatre school. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. Divorced. Was in a successful rock band with his ex-husband in Valin. Moved to Beleria in 2021 after his divorce. In a relationship and lives with Daeron.

Celegorm (b. 1991), 32. 6’2”. Veterinary college student, part-time bartender at Angrist microbrewery. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. BA in Philosophy. Moved to Beleria with his parents. In a relationship with Aredhel.

Huan (b. 2017). His dog, a German shepherd and a good boy.

Caranthir (b. 1992), 31. 6’2”. Long-haul trucker, investor. Co-founder of Angrist microbrewery. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. MA Economics. Moved to Beleria in 2019. Single.

Curufin (b. 1994), 29. 5’10.” Co-founder, owner, and head brewer of Angrist microbrewery. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. BSc Chemistry. Moved to Beleria with his parents, on whom he was financially dependent. Single.

Celebrimbor (b. 2013), 10. His son, a fourth-grader at Himlad Elementary. Likes machines and cool facts. Alwen (b. 1993), 30. Celebrimbor’s mother and Curufin’s high school girlfriend. Lives in Valin.

Amrod (b. 2001), 22. 6’3”. Undergraduate student in Forestry. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. Moved to Beleria with his parents.

Amras (b. 2001), 22. 6’3”. Undergraduate student in Applied Biology. Shareholder in Ambar Metta. Moved to Beleria with his parents.

Indis Noldoran, née Vasiliev. (b. 1933), 90. 5’11”. Finwë’s second wife. From Valma, Aman. Lives in an eldercare home in south end of Beleria. Nerdanel and Fingolfin are her most frequent visitors.

Findis Noldoran (b. 1962), 61. 5’9”. Finwë and Indis’ first child. Lives in Valin.

Elemmírë. Her wife.

Fingolfin Noldoran (b. 1963), 60. 6’. Finwë and Indis’ second child. Founder and owner of Hithlum Properties. Moved to Beleria, Endor with his family in 2017 during the recession in Aman.

Anairë Noldoran (b. 1959). 64. 5’6”. Fingolfin’s wife. A clinical counsellor.

Their children:

Fingon (b. 1989), 34. 5’11”. Firefighter. In a common-law relationship with Maedhros.

Turgon (b. 1992), 31. 6’6”. Postdoc in urban planning at Ondolindë University. Best friends with his cousin Finrod.

Elenwë (b. 1992), 31. 5’4”. His wife. School teacher at Tumladen Elementary. Was nearly killed in 2019 when her car, also carrying Idril (who was unharmed), was hit by a maintenance truck owned by Ambar Metta, for which she received no financial compensation after the company won a lawsuit blaming the City for black ice on the roads. Idril (b. 2018), 5. Their daughter, a first-grader at Tumladen Elementary.

Aredhel (b. 1993), 30. 5’10”. Divorced in 2022 after five-year relationship with Eöl. Temporarily living with Turgon and Elenwë. Yoga teacher searching for a more stable career. In a relationship with Celegorm, who was her boyfriend prior to Eöl.

Maeglin Lómion (b. 2019), 4. Aredhel’s son with Eöl over whom she has full custody. A kindergartner at Tumladen Elementary.

Argon (b. 1997), 26. 6’5”. Moved back to Valin. Close with Fingon.

Lalwen Noldoran (b. 1965), 58. 5’7”. Third child of Finwe and Indis. Owner of a Nordic spa near Beleria. Moved there at the same time as Fingolfin. Single, no children.

Finarfin Noldoran (b. 1968), 55. 5’10”. Fourth child of Finwe and Indis. Cinematographer and occasional film director. Moved to Beleria in 2021, after most of his children had already done so.

Eärwen (b. 1966), 57. Finarfin's wife. Former Olympic swimmer. Now a motivational speaker and author.

Their children:

Finrod (b. 1996), 27. 5’11”. MA Human Geography. Works at a coffee shop. Can’t stop travelling, does not know what he’s doing with his life. Lives with Curufin. Best friends with his cousin, Turgon. Single.

Orodreth (b. 1998), 25. 5’10”. Joined the military, to the befuddlement of his family. Of his siblings, only Finrod gets him. In a relationship.

Angrod (b. 2000), 23. 6’. Recent graduate and volleyball player. Didn’t make pro leagues. Coaches high school volleyball. Single.

Aegnor (b. 2002), 20. 6’1”. Student, varsity volleyball player. Single.

Galadriel (b. 2003), 19. 5’10”. Second-year undergraduate student in psychology at Ondolindë University. Varsity swimmer. Single.

The Singh-Goels

Elu Singh-Goel (b. 1960, Cuivien), 63. 6’7”. Mayor of Beleria. Immigrated to Endor in 1970.

Dr. Melian Goel (b. 1957), 66. Professor of Pyschology at Ondolindë University, planning retirement to become a tarot card reader and astrologist.

Their children:

Lúthien (b. 1989), 34. Director of Neldoreth Dance Company. Engaged to Beren.

Daeron (b. 1994), 29. 5’7”. Collections Assistant for Beleria City Archives. Singer-songwriter and local history vlogger. BA Linguistics. Environmental activist. Vegetarian. Bisexual. In a relationship and lives with Maglor.

Beren Escarra (b. 1998), 25. Former Dorthon oilsands worker. Son of refugees, father deceased and mother in long term care. Currently Volunteer Coordinator for an environmental conservation group. Vegan. Foraging enthusiast. Engaged to Lúthien.

Their friends and acquaintances

Húrin, 32. buddy of Beren's who works up north.

Morwen Ethel-Wang, 33. His wife. A pharmacist. Pregnant with their second child.

Túrin, 9. Their son.

Miscellaneous Residents

Eöl (b. 1983), 40. Former Alquin ferry engineer, laid off when Fëanor Finvesen privatised the ferry service. Aredhel’s ex-husband and Maeglin’s father. Single.

Círdan (b. 1955), 68. Park ranger at Eglarest Beach. “Communist” (when it suits him). Old friend of Elu. Single, no children.

Rúmil, 70. Friend of Fëanor, developing an app with him.

Celeborn, 19. Student.

Galathil, 21. Student, Celeborn’s brother.

Beleg, 20. Student and intern for the City of Beleria.

Mablung, 20. Student and intern for the City of Beleria.

Edhellos, 18. Student. Friend of Galadriel. Has a crush on Angrod.

Nellas, 19. Friend of Galadriel. Dancer with Neldoreth Dance Company and friend of Lúthien.

Saeros Green, a flamboyant and corrupt music producer. Offered Daeron a record deal which he declined.

#silm modern au #beleria au #cw suicide mention #cw cancer mention

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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For the modern AU holiday prompts @i-did-not-mean-to requested Beren + accidental drunkenness, and MoonLord requested Thingol, Beleg, Túrin, and Mablung + Decorating a tree. ~2.2k words, rated G. [The Edain in this AU are officially whatever age and relation I want them to be.] Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list (prompts closed). Beleria Cast of Characters

The flamboyant man at the booth in the back cried out, “Another round for the bar!” and Beren and Lúthien joined the patrons in a celebratory whoop.

Lúthien threw her head back and laughed as a server set two more two more beers on the table.

“I can’t believe this guy,” she said to Beren. “Who is he?”

“His name is Saeros,” the server answered. “A regular. I think he owns a record label or something. Celebrating a chart topper.” She smiled and cleared their empty glasses. “Enjoy.”

“No way,” Lúthien said, and left her mouth hanging open.

“What?” said Beren. Lúthien continued to gape. “What, what? You know him?”

“Yeah! Saeros Green. He offered my brother a record deal years ago.”

“And Daeron turned it down?” Beren asked.

Lúthien dipped her chin affirmatively with an air of pride. “He did. The guy is a smarmy bastard. Milks his artists for everything they’ve got. I mean, look at him!” Lúthien said, gesticulating with both arms in his direction. “Look at all that bling! And the red velvet suit, on a Thursday afternoon, really? Looks like he got in a fight with the Yule display at Mírdain Mall!”

“Ssshh sssh,” Beren said, giggling. “He’ll hear you! Anyway, I like him. Free booze!” He raised his glass in a toast and took a large gulp.

Lúthien was laughing when he lowered it. “You have foam in your beard!”

Beren grinned, making no effort to remedy the situation. “How do I look? More wizened?”

“Like an idiot!” Lúthien blurted, and laughed again.

She was so beautiful. Beren fell into a besotted stupor, staring at her face lit with mirth, listening to her musical laughter… he could die happy right here, right now, getting day-drunk with the most beautiful woman in the world—

“Beren,” she said. “Beren! Your phone is ringing!”

“What, birdie?” he said, surfacing.

“Your phone!” she said, and shoved it into his hand. “Someone’s calling you.”

He looked at he call display: Morwen Ethel-Wang. “Shit,” he said. “Shitshitshit.”

The call dropped before he could answer. Lúthien stared, awaiting an explanation.

Beren exhaled a long breath before giving one. “You remember a few months ago when we talked about my buddy Húrin’s son staying with us for a few days while his wife is at a conference in town?”

“Oh yeah!” Lúthien said. “When’s that happening?”

“Um,” said Beren. “Today. They’re at our place now.”

“Shit,” said Lúthien.

On the monitor, the minutes of the last City Council meeting swam in and out of Elu’s vision. He sighed. The permanent bikeway through Hithlum park had been voted down. Again.

His eyes drifted to the thick folder of letters his intern Beleg had dropped on his desk earlier, from the Hithlum Homeowner’s Association — all variations on the same template, laying out the supposed dangers of a “bike superhighway” through a “family-oriented” neighbourhood. Since when were bicycles dangerous? He pushed the folder aside. Well, they got what they wanted.

It was those damn developers from Valin! Hithlum used to be the alternative neighbourhood back in the 80s, where the artists and students hung out, now it was overrun with wealthy— Elu took a deep breath. He valued the diversity of Beleria. He did. But by god if it didn’t make it impossible to get anything done in this city! You would think, as Mayor, that your word actually meant something—

His phone pinged.

Lúthien💮💗

Hey papa! I know you’re working but I have a biiiig favour to ask.

3:14pm

Elu Singh-Goel

What is it, sweetie?

3:15pm

Lúthien💮💗

Sooo Beren has this friend and his kid was supposed to stay with us this weekend and we kinda forgoy

forgot*

Anyway him and his mom are at our place now and we’re… not lol

3:16pm

Elu Singh-Goel

Oh? Where are you?

3:18pm

Lu?

3:21pm

Lúthien💮💗

Sorry!!

We went to Gabilgathol for lunch and accidentally got drunk

3:23pm

Elu drew back from his phone. That was not like his daughter. It was times like these he found it most difficult to accept her choice of partner. Beren was an admirable man, with respectable ambitions, but he was so young. Accidentally drunk…

Lúthien💮💗

Some guy was buying rounds for the house lol

3:24pm

Elu Singh-Goel

I see. And how do I come into this?

3:25pm

Lúthien💮💗

Can she bring Túrin to the office?

3:25pm

Túrin is the kid

Just for a couple hours! Nellas says she can take him tonight if we’re not sobered up

hahaha

3:26pm

Beren says he’s quiet. Just give him some crayons and paper.

3:28pm

Elu’s thumbs tapped out ‘OK’ before his mind had a chance to catch up. He stopped them, hovering over the send button. What had happened to him? There was a time he would have locked Lúthien up in her room for the weekend for getting drunk at 3pm on a Thursday! — but he couldn’t very well lock up an adult woman. Certainly not one he was going to lose.

Well, not lose. Not entirely — that had almost happened, when he’d tried to talk her out of marrying Beren, but he’d soon repented of that mistake when she disappeared for two weeks without a word to anyone. A cold current shivered down Elu’s spine. That had been a terrible winter.

But now, every day was another closer to her and Beren moving to Dead Man’s Isle. It was ridiculous: she had not needed him nearly half her life now, and yet Elu’s heart dropped when he thought of her so far away. Not around the corner, not where he could drop by on an evening stroll to say hello with a container of leftovers or a tin of Melian’s homemade lembas biscuits.

Because of all this, he had become a complete sucker and lost all ability to say no to her. And damn it if she didn’t know it, he thought with a rueful smile.

Elu Singh-Goel

OK.

3:26pm

Lúthien💮💗

Omg thanks so much papa!!

Beren will tell Morwen to bring him by

3:26pm

Elu Singh-Goel

Don’t to worry about it. I think I can send my intern to pick them up. Tell them to wait at The Dimbar.

3:27pm

Elu set the phone down, then picked up the receiver on his desk phone and dialed Beleg’s extension.

“Hey big guy, what’s up?”

Elu smiled. He really ought to impress a more professional attitude on his interns (it’s what they were there to learn after all), but there was something… rejuvenating about this one’s breezy familiarity with him — and besides, it was good for the ego to have some carefree college student call you “big guy” once in a while when you had a pile of letters on our desk addressing you as “Your Worship”.

“Beleg,” said Thingol. “Would you be able to run a little personal errand for me?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to go pick up a kid and bring him to the office.”

Half-an-hour later Beleg rounded the corner at the end of the hall, running with a lanky, dark-haired boy clinging to his back.

“Here he is!” Beleg announced, and let the boy down. “Túrin, the Master of Fate! Isn’t that right?” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “We outsmarted fate six times on the way over, didn’t we little guy?”

“Red lights aren’t fate,” Túrin said, in the tone of a child who thinks he knows better. “They are for controlling traffic flow.”

“Beleg.” Elu did his best to conceal his amusement with a frown. “I hope you were not racing lights in a municipal vehicle again.”

“No sir,” said Beleg. “No racing. All very strategic.”

“Mm, I don’t think I want to know.” Elu rose from his hair and came around the front of the desk. “It’s nice to meet you, Túrin. Welcome to the office of the Mayor. I’m Elu.”

Túrin did not look impressed, and made no move to take Elu’s hand when offered. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Túrin.” Then he turned back to Beleg. “Can we go on your computer now like your promised?”

Elu lifted a brow, for Beleg’s benefit, as he addressed Túrin. “He promised you, did he? Funny, because Beleg does what I tell him to do, and I do not remember telling him to do that.”

Beleg laughed, not sounding nearly as nervous as he should have.

“Oh.” Túrin paused, visibly processing this new information. “Well can you tell him to play games with me?”

Elu had to laugh at the boy’s quick tactical adjustment. “I’m afraid Beleg doesn’t get to play games at work. But, while he was off picking you up, I thought of something else we could do.”

“What?” said Túrin and Beleg at once.

“Well,” Elu perched on the desk so he needn’t tower above them, “in the storage room there should be one of those fake trees and a box of decorations. We used to set it up in my office every year. I’d forgotten all about it, but since we’ve got you here, Túrin, I thought it would be a nice thing to do. What do you think?”

Túrin seemed to be deep in thought.

“Hey!” Beleg nudged him. “Sounds fun to me!”

“I don’t know,” Túrin said. “I barely know you. Tree decorating is for families.”

“Oh,” said Elu. “I suppose it’s something families often do together, yes. But they can be set up by coworkers, too, or even strangers, like us. I bet we won’t be strangers when we’re done.”

“We didn’t get a tree at my house this year,” Túrin disclosed. “My dad is away for Yule so my mom said we don’t need one.”

“I see,” Elu said, beginning to lose hope in this venture.

“All the more reason to set one up here!” Beleg offered.

“Yeah.” Túrin shrugged. “I guess.”

“Excellent!” said Elu. “Beleg, why don’t you take Túrin down the storage and have a look for it?”

They were gone a long time, and Elu was just beginning to wonder if he should go looking for them when they appeared toting two large boxes — and another of the interns.

“Hope you don’t mind if Mablung joins us!” Beleg said cheerily, setting the tree box upright in the corner of the room. Mablung placed the box of ornaments on Elu’s desk. “He said he was bored, I said he could help us.”

“Of course, of course. The more the merrier!” Elu said absently, distracted by fiddling with computer speakers in an effort to get the music to play. He groaned and threw up his hands. “Can one of you young people figure out why these blasted speakers have turned themselves off again?”

To his surprise, it was Túrin who answered the summons, running around behind the desk to investigate.

“It’s muted,” he said almost at once, and tapped a key on the keyboard. The bouncy beat of I’m the Happiest Christmas Tree spilled from the speakers.

The other three laughed, but Túrin crinkled his nose and hit skip on the song.

Soon, Beleg and Mablung had the tree set up and were arguing about the best placement for the string of lights. Once that was decided, they turned to debating how best to balance the bauble distribution.

Túrin seemed more interested in rooting through the box for the most unique ornaments. Elu watched him wistfully. He had not realised how much he missed being around children and their infectious wonderment at the world.

“I like this one,” Túrin said, pulling out a golden dragon. “My dad has one like it.”

“Oh, yes, very nice!” Elu said. “Why don’t you keep it?”

“Really?” said Túrin, his face brightening. He did not wait for confirmation before he shoved it in his pocket.

“Hey, what’s this now?” Beleg ambled over. “Mayor Man is giving away his ornament collection? Mablung, let’s see what’s in here!”

Beleg peered into the box, shoving aside some silver baubles and pulling out a long black icicle.

“Oh, sick,” he said, letting it dangle from a finger. “This is some goth sh— stuff.”

“Interesting,” said Elu, watching the strange ornament twirl. “I am not sure where that one came from.”

“Ohh, mystery ornament!” Beleg enthused. “Can I have it?”

“Really, you want that?” Mablung put in. “That’s weird, man. It looks like a weapon.”

“No way, it’s cool!” said Beleg.

“Well, if you want it,” said Elu, “I certainly don’t.”

“No, I want it!” Túrin shouted, and closed his fist around the icicle.

“Hey, kid, whoa, easy,” said Beleg. “You could just ask nice—!”

Beleg screamed. The ornament flew towards the ceiling, then arced back down and shattered on the floor. Túrin careened and toppled backwards, just missing Mablung lunging to break his fall.

Beleg gawked at his finger, which was bent backwards as a very unnatural angle.

“You dislocated my finger!” Beleg cried.

“Damn,” said Elu, and he was thinking neither of his injured employee nor of the crying child on the floor, but of the weeks of workplace accident reporting paperwork he’d just created for himself.

#beren #luthien #thingol #beleg #turin turambar #mablung #saeros #modern au #beleria au #holiday prompts #my fic #this one got a little out of control :D

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polutrope · 1 year ago

Note

And:

30. Embarrassing childhood videos // with celegorm + aredhel <3 thank you!!!

Thank you for the prompt! Here's a little something from my Modern AU Holiday Prompts. 1.2k, Rated G, No warnings except a little swearing.

“How disappointing!” Nerdanel said as they stepped out into the crisp evening air. “I was really looking forward to that film.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you go to the indie theatres, mom. Their equipment is shit.”

Aredhel elbowed Celegorm in the ribs.

Ignoring him, Nerdanel inhaled deeply with a contented smile on her face. “The night is young and I have the rare pleasure of my son’s company. I had seven of you, you’d think it wouldn’t be so difficult to spend with one of you, and yet — oh, and you, Aredhel! I am so glad to have you back around.”

“Mom, please.”

“What? I am. So! What should we do instead?”

Celegorm gave Aredhel a look that suggested he’d been hoping the cancelled showing of The Helcaraxë Express would mean the evening with his mother, which she had been doggedly trying to make happen for weeks — ever since little Celebrimbor let slip to grandma that uncle Celegorm was seeing “that loud short lady with the poufy hair” again — was likewise cancelled.

“Oh, I know!” said Nerdanel, setting an affectionate hand on Aredhel’s shoulder. “Why don’t you two come over to watch a movie at our place? I’ll give you a ride home after. Or homes, if you prefer.” She winked at Aredhel.

A panicked look seized Celegorm’s face. “Uh, I don’t know if that’s—”

“Don’t worry, your father is at the office with Rúmil working on that app, he won’t be home until midnight. At the earliest.”

Aredhel looped her arm through Celegorm’s and grinned. “That sounds wonderful, Nerdanel.”

Aredhel surveyed the foyer of the elegant home. It was more modest than the Fëanorian’s hillside mansion in Valin, though of course located in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods in Beleria on the very edge of the city.

“Would you two like something to drink?” Nerdanel called from the kitchen. “I’ve got wine, scotch, brandy, vodka… I could make a cocktail if you like? And I think we have some eggnog, let me see… Oh, there’s these beers the twins left behind on their last visit, I know you like beer.”

As he removed his boots, Celegorm muttered under his breath, “I’m sure as hell not drinking that college kid swill.” He slanted Aredhel a knowing smile, then called in answer: “Scotch, please. Neat.”

“For me also,” said Aredhel. “Thank you.”

They relocated to the living room, where Celegorm sprawled on the leather couch in a failed attempt to appear at ease. Aredhel probably shouldn’t have found it endearing that when it came to the tactics he employed to cover up discomfort, he’d hardly changed in five years.

“You okay?” she asked, and perched on the armrest beside him.

“Fine,” he said.

“You know, you should be grateful that I can see right through your insecure bullshit,” she said lightly, “or I’d already have dumped you again. Stop being an ass to your mom.”

“Thank you, Aredhel,” said Nerdanel, entering through the archway with scotch glasses in hand. “You always were a good influence on him.”

Celegorm groaned, but apologised as he accepted the drink from his mother.

Nerdanel slid open one side of the credenza under the giant wall-mounted TV to reveal three packed shelves of DVDs. Aredhel could sense Celegorm biting back a remark on the antiquated technology, and when he managed to say nothing, she gave his bicep a congratulatory squeeze.

“Hmm.” Nerdanel scanned the collection a moment then sprang up from her crouch. “Aredhel, why don’t you pick something for us? I’ll make some popcorn.”

“I can make the popcorn,” Celegorm offered, and traipsed into the kitchen. It brought back memories of a tall, handsome, and enchantingly unromantic 21-year-old not-so-casually strolling off when he caught sight of the campus police rounding the corner of the old chemistry building, where they used to pregame Friday nights with a six pack of Losgar Light (now referred to as “college kid swill”).

Nerdanel exchanged a pleased smile with Aredhel, who plopped herself down cross-legged in front of the credenza. As soon at the popcorn maker began to whir, Nerdanel said, “You’re an angel for taking him back.”

Aredhel grunted with amusement. “Well, let’s just say I’ve learned that I could do far worse.”

Nerdanel’s comportment tensed. “I’m really sorry about all that.”

“Thanks,” Aredhel said as she scanned the movie titles. “Don’t worry too much about it though. I got custody of Lómion — and I wouldn’t give him up to change any of it.” She cast a smile Nerdanel’s way. “Celegorm’s good with him.”

Nerdanel’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’m so happy to hear it. I’d love to meet him sometime. If you ever need a babysitter! I mean, I’m sure your mother can’t get enough of him, but I do miss having little ones around, and Tyelpë, oof, that kid has attitude and energy— well, you know of course…” She trailed off. “So, do you see anything you like?”

Aredhel released a relieved breath. Nerdanel sure could babble, but she had always been good at sensing when a person didn’t want to continue with a topic (which wasn’t to say that she didn’t often persist to spite them, particularly if the person was a son of hers).

“Hmm.” Aredhel’s eyes landed on a set of plain white DVDs with handwritten titles: Formenos Christmas (1998-2004); Taniquetil Ski Trips (1992-1996); Cáno Recitals; Nelyo and Cáno Equestrian; Tyelko Hockey &— Aredhel squinted to make out the next word —Figure Skating.

“What?” she said aloud, and instinctively reached for this last one. A photo had been slotted into the sleeve: A skinny, gap-toothed Celegorm, grinning in his tight sparkling red leotard with gold-fringed epaulettes, hands on his hips and one skate-clad foot daintily extended.

“Oh my god,” said Aredhel, and turned to Nerdanel with her mouth hanging open. “What is this?”

“Oh!” Nerdanel laughed. “That was Nutcracker on Ice!”

“Celegorm did figure skating?” Aredhel asked, her brows climbing higher up her forehead.

At that moment Celegorm reentered the room, one huge bowl of popcorn in each hand. “Okay ladies, you can stop talking about me now—” he froze, looking concernedly between Aredhel and his mother, whose expressions were quivering with contained merriment. “Wait, you were actually talking about me, weren’t you?”

Aredhel flashed the DVD cover. “How did I not know you were a ballet dancer?”

The tips of Celegorm’s ears immediately pinkened. “Not ballet. Skating. You knew I skated.” Popcorn leapt from one of the bowls as Celegorm set it forcefully on the coffee table and fell back onto the couch.

“I know you played hockey, I did not know you twirled around on ice in shiny body suits.”

“That’s enough. Put that away. What are we watching?”

“Oh, we are definitely watching this. And afterwards,” Aredhel pulled out another title, “Formenos Christmas?”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Nerdanel clapped. “I haven’t seen those in ages.”

Celegorm groaned and sank deeper into the cushions.

#celegorm #aredhel #nerdanel #aredhel x celegorm #aretyel #holiday prompts #beleria au #modern au #my fic

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polutrope · 11 months ago

Text

Beleria New Year's Eve Special!

For the modern AU holiday prompts. Seven prompts combined into one big New Year's bash.

Relationships: Daeron/Maglor, Fingon/Maedhros, Aegnor/Andreth, Edhellos/Angrod, Celeborn/Galadriel, Feanor & Fingolfin Characters: All of the above and Nerdanel, Finarfin, Earwen, Anaire, Rumil, Orodreth. Rating: T Warnings: Swearing, sexual content, recreational drinking and drunkenness Words: ~5.6k

On AO3. Beleria Cast of Characters

Maglor propped his elbows on his knees and leaned over the board. If he moved the bishop to take Daeron’s pawn, he’d expose his rook in three moves; but no, that would expose his other bishop first.

“Oh my god just make a move already,” Daeron complained. He threw himself dramatically over the arm of his chair.

“Shh,” said Maglor. “I’m thinking.”

“You think too long. Just make a move.”

“Fine.” Maglor took the pawn. Two seconds later, Daeron took his bishop with a knight.

“Goddammit!” said Maglor. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not going to win,” Daeron said without mockery.

“Maybe not, but I’m still seeing it through to the bitter end.”

Daeron sighed loudly. “I think one of your New Year’s resolutions should be knowing when to quit.”

“Yeah? Are we writing each other’s resolutions now? Fine.” Maglor withdrew his attention from the game and considered. “I think you should resolve to have more fun.”

“What? I have plenty of fun. We’re playing a game right now. Games are fun, aren’t they?”

“We’re playing chess, on New Year’s Eve when everyone is out getting drunk and kissing people they shouldn’t.”

“Is that what you want to be doing? Kissing people you shouldn’t?” Daeron pouted.

“No.” Maglor grinned. “Just you, Dae-bae.”

Daeron rolled his eyes at this, and just as Maglor was considering leaning over the coffee table to grab him and demonstrate the veracity of his statement, his phone buzzed against the tabletop.

Maedhros SOS. Dad’s at the party. Sunday, Dec 31 • 8:05 p.m.

“Oh shit,” Maglor said aloud. He began typing a reply.

“What is it?” Daeron asked.

“It’s my brother.” Maglor glanced up from his phone. “Maedhros,” he clarified. “Remember I told you he and Fingon were going to that big New Year’s party hosted by Hithlum Properties at the Lómin Hotel?”

“Yes…”

“Well apparently my dad went.”

“Oh,” said Daeron.

Though Maglor tried his best to guard his boyfriend from the family feud disguised as a property development war between his father — the adopted, but elder, child — and grandpa Finwë’s biological firstborn, Daeron was, after a year of living together and six months in a relationship, well-aware of the significance and danger of Fëanor and Fingolfin being in the same room.

“Why??” Daeron asked.

“I have no idea, just asking my brother now.”

Maedhros Rúmil talked him it. Something about networking and a promising investor for the app. I dont know. But he’s here with mom talked him into it*

Maglor chuckled, recognising in the missing punctuation and typos the signs that Maedhros was approaching a state of inebriation.

Maglor Shit. how’s it going?

Maedhros they haven’t spoke to each other yet. spoken* we’re gonna get out here before it gets bad out of*

Maglor Gonna bail on the big party hey? Where?

Maedhros Finarfin and Eärwen;s place Angrod and co are having a party there

Maglor You’re gonna go to a house party with a bunch of 20 year olds?

Maedhros Shut up. Maybe I’ll forget about my rapid aceleration towards death Acceleration*

Maglor More likely you’ll be made acutely aware of it

Maedhros Come pick us up.

Maglor huffed and shook his head.

“What’s going on?” Daeron asked.

“One sec,” said Maglor.

Unappeased, Daeron stood and came round to plop himself at Maglor’s right and read over his shoulder.

“No, we are absolutely not picking them up,” he said.

Maglor No way. Take a cab. Daeron and I are having a quiet New Year’s in.

Maedhros Come on its like a 50km drive

“I’m not going,” Daeron said decisively.

Maglor pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before typing his reply.

Maglor And how do you intend for us to get home? If I’m gonna go to a house party with a bunch of estranged cousins ten plus years younger than me then no way am I not drinking.

Maedhros Angrod says everyone’s staying over. Finarfin and Eärwen are here at the hotel, they won’t be there til tomorrow. House is ours.

Maglor lowered the phone and folded one leg onto the couch, pivoting his body to face Daeron, who was frowning deeply.

“Okay,” said Maglor, setting both hands on Daeron’s thighs and affecting his most alluring puppy-dog eyes. “Before you say no — again — hear me out.”

When he spotted Rúmil at the coat check, Fëanor waved off a passing caterer and strode confidently towards his friend.

“There you are,” he said, forcing his way into the pleasantries Rúmil was presently exchanging with some young man in an obviously-rented suit.

“Ah, Fëanáro!” Rúmil exclaimed, his eyes alight beneath the droop of his wrinkled lids. He had always looked old, even back when they had met in university, but he wore his age well, appearing more wizened than weary. “You came! I suppose I owe thanks to your lovely wife?”

“You two always did enjoy uniting against me,” Fëanor said jovially, then drew his mouth back into a line. “So where is this investor?”

“Oh, he’s here.” Rúmil winked as he handed his coat to the clerk. Then he took Fëanor’s arm just above the elbow and guided him towards the centre of the hall.

Rúmil paused along the way, shaking hands with every other cluster of people they passed. He was a good business partner, Fëanor admitted. Frankly he was the only person alive Fëanor could still tolerate collaborating with, besides Nerdanel. But Rúmil, whom Fëanor had met as an undergraduate during his brief flirtation with the humanities, was an Ideas Man. Not particularly driven towards results and the perfection of those ideas (which was why he’d retired last year without ever making full professor). Results, then, were Fëanor’s role in the development of the app — a highly intelligent business communications translation tool — that they had been working on for the past year. For his efforts, it was agreed that seventy percent of all profits would go to Fëanor. Income he greatly needed if Ambar Metta was to claw out of its legal debts.

Catching sight of his son across the room, Fëanor frowned. Maedhros had been one of those people he’d tolerated collaborating with, when he’d been the company’s chief legal officer. Then the young man presently clasping Maedhros’ shoulder and doubling over with uninhibited laughter had stuffed his head full of values. The only value a corporation needed to uphold, in Fëanor’s opinion, was the cash value of its bottom line.

Well. He supposed he was glad Maedhros had not altogether turned against him: he was doing good work building community relationships for the company now. Fëanor just hoped it wouldn’t come at too high a cost.

And, as baffling as it was to Fëanor that a spawn of Fingolfin Noldoran could make a pleasant conversation partner, never mind a satisfactory domestic partner (or whatever new-fangled thing they called one another) Fingon still seemed to make Maedhros happy after all these years. And Maedhros’ happiness was, Fëanor admitted, also a valuable thing. He’d come to accept the change.

Turning his gaze from his son and smiling to himself, Fëanor sipped from his champagne flute. As he lowered it, his eyes landed on someone his heart would never, so long as he lived, be moved to accept.

The evening’s gracious host smugly grinning down at him.

“Fingolfin,” Fëanor said coldly.

Before Fëanor could react, Fingolfin had seized his hand and was giving it a firm shake. Fëanor drew back as if he had been burned.

Fingolfin’s expression betrayed no acknowledgement of the slight. “Brother,” he said. (The audacity!) “I am so glad you came!”

“Please do not call me that,” Fëanor whispered through clenched teeth. “I’ve never had a brother.”

He felt Rúmil’s long fingers curl around his shoulder and was aware at the same time of Nerdanel’s auburn head making its way through the crowd towards them. She flanked his other side.

“So, I suppose Rúmil told you?” Fingolfin said.

Told him what? Fëanor wondered, beetling his brows. But Fingolfin did not wait for answer.

“As a lifelong admirer of your business acumen, I am needless to say thrilled that we will finally be working together. Mr. Finvesen.” Fingolfin winked and an image of his champagne breaking over those chiselled cheekbones flashed across Fëanor’s mind.

“What do you mean?” asked Fëanor. “Is this some kind of joke? I have no intention of working with Hithlum Properties.”

Fingolfin laughed but looked nervous. “No! On the app! Rúmil,” he finally released Fëanor’s eyes to look at the other man, “don’t tell me you failed to mention my name.”

Fëanor had lurched to the obvious and odious conclusion before Fingolfin had finished speaking. “You are the investor?” He jerked out of Rúmil’s grasp and cut a glance at Nerdanel. “And you both knew this?” Nerdanel opened her mouth to speak but Fëanor cut her short (that would cost him dearly but his blood boiled too hot to care). “No,” he said, raising a hand to silence them all. “I will not abide this indignity. I do not need your charity, Noldoran.”

“Charity!” Fingolfin chuckled, a little too shrilly. “Is it charity to invest in a brilliant concept?”

“I don’t need your flattery, either,” Fëanor snarled. “What is your game here, Fingolfin? You think Finwë’s restless ghost is waiting for our reconciliation? Hm? Leave it be already. He’s a corpse in the ground on the other side of the world.” Fingolfin’s lips and the skin around his eyes twitched, betraying his distress. Good: That had been Fëanor’s intent.

“Unhand me!” he said to Rúmil and Nerdanel, though neither of them had a hand on him. “I will not do business with this man.” He jabbed a finger in Fingolfin’s direction. “I don’t care how much money he lays out in front of us like a greasy block of cheese, as though we were some mangy rats he wants to entrap in his network of ‘friends’. I am not his friend and I never will be.”

With that, Fëanor spun on his heels and stormed out of the hall and did not stop until he was standing outside the hotel in the dark drizzly night without a coat.

In the passenger seat of Maglor’s hatchback, Daeron impatiently bonked the headrest with the back of his skull and slumped lower in the chair.

“Where are they?” he complained.

He needed to get to a place with wine as soon as possible, and that place was still an hour’s drive away. An hour that he would spend tying himself in knots speculating on every possible social misstep he could make that evening among dozens of people he’d never met before. He could not believe he was doing this. But ultimately it had been impossible to refuse a whole week without having to prepare a single meal — plus certain… other favours he had negotiated.

Maglor frowned and pressed his palms into the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go in and find them…”

“Yes,” Daeron agreed. “Do that.”

“But if anyone sees me—”

“Put your hood up,” Daeron said, and did for Maglor as he’d suggested. Then he pulled sunglasses from the ceiling compartment. “And wear these.”

“Ow—” said Maglor, as an arm of the sunglasses nearly struck his eye. “I’m not wearing these,” he said, pushing Daeron’s hand away. “Fine, I’ll go in. But I’m warning you — it could be a while if anyone spots me.”

“Fine. I’ll be taking a nap,” said Daeron. He reclined his seat and put the sunglasses on his own face. Maglor sighed, then the door thumped shut behind him.

No more than two minutes could have passed when his heart nearly launched itself from his chest at the sound of fingers tapping at the window.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, and sat bolt upright. The shadow of a face obscured most of the driver’s side window. Daeron yanked the sunglasses off.

“Yes?” he said, affecting as much calm as he could. “Can I help you?”

The stranger mouthed some unintelligible words and pointed at the seat. Then the door swung open.

Daeron recoiled. “Get out!” he screamed.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the stranger said in a polished, level voice. “I’m Fëanor.” A long hand plunged out of the dark and into Daeron’s personal space. “And you must be Daeron. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“Uh, hi,” said Daeron, and not knowing what else to do accepted Fëanor’s handshake.

Fëanor gave an approving grunt. “A solid handshake, that’s a good sign.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Fëanor laughed. “I apologise for barging in on you like this. I assumed it was my son when I saw his car and had to find out what he was doing out here— he came with you I assume? Where is he?” Daeron opened his mouth to answer but Fëanor forged ahead. “But when I saw you there, well easy enough to put together who you were, and I have been dying to meet you. I was beginning to wonder if Cáno had made you up to get us all to stop trying to set him up with someone. We just wanted him to stop moping around! Which is why I knew he hadn’t made you up, because he stopped moping. As much.”

Fëanor chuckled. Daeron did not. He decided not to remind Fëanor that they had, in fact, met already — the day Daeron signed the lease to rent the room in Maglor’s place. But then he was just a tenant, not his son’s boyfriend.

“Yep,” Daeron said, “believe it not, I’m really dating your mopey son.”

Fëanor let loose a peal of laughter.

“A solid handshake and a dry wit! I like you already, Daeron. Isn’t it funny, though, that my two eldest sons are dating the sons of the two men in Beleria who cause me the most grief? By the way,” Fëanor pivoted towards him, “why didn’t your father come to this soirée of Fingolfin’s?” Fëanor smiled smugly as if this pleased him. “I suppose the Mayor of Beleria is in high demand on a night like this, though. Did Elu have somewhere better to be?”

“Uh, no, actually,” said Daeron. “He’s at home.”

“I see,” Fëanor said, and smoothed his tie. “Not giving any special speeches for the people or anything?”

“Nope,” said Daeron.

“Interesting. Elu is usually into that sort of thing, isn’t he? Pandering to the masses?”

Daeron scowled.

Fëanor laughed again. “Good, good. I like people who wear their feelings plainly. You’re a very transparent person, I can see why Cáno likes you.”

“Thanks?” Daeron said, half-sincere. No one had ever remarked on this trait of his positively before.

“He’s rather transparent, too, you know. That could be a problem between you.” He puckered his lips thoughtfully and looked Daeron up and down. “Just make sure you remain your own people. Separate entities, don’t bleed into each other. That’s what happened with his ex-husband. He was a musician, too, as I am sure Cáno has told you.” Maglor had told Daeron, at more length than Daeron thought necessary. He was not keen on hearing about it again from his father. “They were in the same band — don’t start a band with him!”

“Oh, there’s no risk of that,” said Daeron. “I only do solo work.”

“Good! I am an individual competitor myself. Everyone tells you you have to be a ‘team player’ to do well in life.” Fëanor wagged a finger. “Wrong. You have to be a strong leader. You have to know your ideals and stick to them. Actually, before I came out here for a breath of fresh air, I was put in a very unpleasant situation by a fellow I am ‘collaborating’ on something with—”

“Dad??” The driver’s door swung open to reveal Maglor, mouth gaping in an expression of horror and concern. “What are you doing in my car?”

“Oh, hello, Cáno,” Fëanor said cheerfully. “I was just getting to know your boyfriend you’ve refused to introduce me to.”

Maglor’s protest was cut off by Fingon, then Maedhros, piling into the backseat, laughing.

“Hello!” said Fëanor, craning his neck to look at them. “Are you two leaving already?”

Daeron could not see, but he could feel the despair settle into the sudden silence behind him.

“Don’t look so horrified, Nelyo,” Fëanor said. “I wish I could leave this damn party! All right, all right, I know when I’m not wanted!” He swung one leg out of the car and turned his body back to shake Daeron’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Daeron. We’ll have to continue this conversation again soon. Good night! Good night, Cáno,” he said as he stood and gave Maglor, still stunned, a quick embrace. “Good night Nelyo, Fingon, happy New Year!”

He trotted back into the hotel, arms swinging at his sides but visibly shivering.

“I’m so sorry,” Maglor said. He was pale with panic. “Are you okay? What did he say to you?”

“It’s fine,” said Daeron, and chuckled. “He seems like an interesting guy. I think we’ll get along well, actually.”

Maglor’s eyes widened while his mouth contracted into a tight ball. He looked deeply perturbed by this idea.

“Come on!” Fingon shouted from the backseat. “Let’s go!”

“They really need to build a bridge here,” said Orodreth. He huffed impatiently. The tunnel was backed up for kilometres, bumper-to-bumper traffic crawling down the Sirion Expressway. He just wanted to be home. Well, his parents’ home, which was the only permanent home he had.

The drive from the base at Minas Tirith had been a nightmare. Having already missed Yule after his deployment was extended by a week, he and Lorneth had then been stuck at the base for two days due to a blizzard. When they finally got out, there’d been a road closure on the Sirion that had them zig-zagging through the countryside for three hours longer than it should have taken them. And, of course, entering Beleria and nine p.m. on New Year’s eve meant going through three DUI checkpoints. (“No, officer, we don’t drink. Just going home, sir. Asleep before midnight if we can manage it, sir.”)

No, Orodreth was not ‘fun’, and that was how he liked it.

Thirty minutes later, they rounded the bend toward the cul-de-sac where Finarfin and Eärwen had the sprawling beach home he and his siblings had grown up in.

“Someone must be having a party,” Lorneth said. “Look at all these cars parked.”

Orodreth grunted. “Hopefully not one of the neighbours.”

But as they drew nearer to the house, a feeling of dread took root in his stomach.

Lorneth voiced his fear. “No, not a neighbour. Looks like it’s at… your place.”

Indeed, rolling slowly past the packed driveway, the house pumped so loudly with music he could feel it through the car’s metal casing.

“Fucking hell,” he said.

Aegnor slumped further into the Adirondack chair on the deck and tugged his wool coat across his chest. It was a beautifully clear night. Thanks to the shot of whisky Fingon had insisted they take to inaugurate the auspicious arrival of a “former party king, out of retirement for one night only!”, the stars glittering over the dark ocean swam in and out of focus. It reminded Aegnor of a painting. Straining to hear the slow rise and retreat of waves against the shore, he was almost able to tune out Angrod and Fingon’s karaoke rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody as it deteriorated into chaotic screaming.

“Mind if I join you?”

Aegnor startled and looked towards the voice. It was the cute brunette he’d been stealing glances at all evening. Words congealed on his tongue.

“Yeah, sure,” he managed.

Stay cool, he thought to himself. Unlike his siblings, Aegnor was terrible with girls. He knew he was, objectively, attractive enough, but he was entirely lacking the charisma that came so naturally to everyone in his family. Well, except Orodreth: but Orodreth had found himself a marine as boring as he was to marry and that was that.

“I’m Andreth,” the woman said, slanting him a smile.

“Aegnor,” said Aegnor.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You do?” Aegnor sat upright.

Andreth shrugged and took a moderate sip from her red plastic cup. “Edhellos gave me everyone’s names.”

“Oh. Are you friends with my sister?”

“I have a class with Galadriel, yeah. But I mostly know Edhellos. She wanted me at the party as her wingman. But seems she’s doing fine without me.”

That was when Aegnor noticed a woman’s voice had replaced Fingon’s on the mic. There was more giggling than singing on her part.

“Yeah,” said Aegnor, and smiled. “If it’s my brother she’s after she won’t have any trouble with that.”

Andreth’s laughter wasn’t like most girls’ Aegnor’s age — all high and airy. It was genuine, a little wry, a soft low roll of amusement. He felt like a helplessly flopping fish being reeled into her orbit. Realising that half his torso was, in fact, reaching towards her, he pulled back sheepishly.

“So what class are you taking with my sister?” he asked, for the sake of saying something, but also because he was bursting with the desire to know everything he could about this person.

“Existentialism,” she said.

“Wow,” said Aegnor, then idiotically added, “you’re really smart.”

Andreth laughed again but didn’t deny it. “What do you do?”

“I, uh…” I’m a dumb jock, Aegnor thought. Definitely not good enough for you. “I play volleyball.” He didn’t mention it was for the varsity team. People tended to judge when they found out their athletic fees went towards your tuition.

“Cool,” she said, and the clenching beneath Aegnor’s ribs loosened when she didn’t scowl in distaste. “Your family is pretty athletic, huh?”

“Yeah, they are. Except Finrod. My oldest brother. He’s not here. I think you’d like him. He’s into deep shit, too.”

Then Andreth did scowl. A charming sort of scowl. “I don’t know, I find most philosopher types pretty annoying. Besides, what’s the point of filling your life with people who are just the same as you?”

Aegnor stared at her, seeing his own reflection in her big round glasses. His hair hung in his face, and he had a stupid grin plastered across it, but the openness, the warmth of Andreth’s expression put him entirely at ease.

She sipped her drink again without breaking eye contact, then licked a dribble of red wine from her lips. “Wanna go for a walk?” she asked.

Aegnor leapt up from his seat, and his head spun with the suddenness of the motion. “Yes, definitely!”

Fingolfin found his brother on the balcony, his forearms resting casually on the railing as he contemplated the street below.

“I don’t know why you bother with him,” Finarfin said, straightening. His bright green eyes caught the glow of the city light.

“You saw, eh?” Fingolfin sipped his champagne.

“Heard more than saw,” said Finarfin. “What was it about this time?”

“I extend my hand for him to take!” Fingolfin replied, exasperated. “I offer my help, and he hates me even more.”

“What did you do?”

Fingolfin sighed. “I offered to invest in his project. His translation app.”

“Oof.” Finarfin shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

“What do you mean? I thought to show my admiration of his ideas, I thought to build a relationship with him around something that wasn’t real estate-related.”

“You insulted him,” Finarfin said.

“How?!”

“Come, don’t be so naive. You think he wants your charity?”

“Charity. That’s what he said.”

“You know,” said Finarfin, “if you’re looking to dispose of money you have a brother whose always in need of producers.”

“I’ve told you before I’m glad to support your ideas, any of them.”

“Good! Because I was thinking of making a short documentary about the housing crisis in Beleria…”

Fingolfin glared down at him, and Finarfin grinned.

“I’m kidding, of course. I have no interest in getting involved in any issues, least of all yours. Nope. I’ll stick to the important stuff: staying behind the camera making romantic comedies to keep the masses distracted while my brothers pull at the edges of a fraying society.”

“Arvo…”

“I know, I know. You’re different.”

“I am,” Fingolfin asserted, as much for himself as for his brother. “In fact, I have been thinking of resolutions.”

“Have you?”

“Yes — and I think in the New Year I am going to conduct a company review. See if we can afford to do what I’ve always wanted, since the beginning. Affordable housing.”

“Really? That’s what you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes. And — I was thinking of mentoring one of my senior staff as a replacement and making a transition to politics. Elu has hinted that he intends to retire after his current term. I’d like to run for Mayor.”

“Huh,” said Finarfin. “That sounds like a great way to butt heads with Fëanor ten times more often than you already do.”

“Maybe I could inspire him to change, push him towards a more benevolent—”

Finarfin laughed, loudly.

“What’s so funny?” said a new voice.

Behind them, Fëanor loomed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh hello, Fëanáro!” said Finarfin. “We were just talking about you.”

Fingolfin shot him a look. “We were not. Finarfin is drunk.”

“I wish,” Finarfin muttered, and frowned into his empty glass.

“Never mind, I don’t care,” said Fëanor, and flicked a dismissive hand in Finarfin’s direction. “I’d like to talk to you about your investment offer,” he said to Fingolfin, jutting his jaw forward proudly.

Fingolfin nearly dropped his drink. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve had a moment to consider.” (He’d spoken to Nerdanel, Fingolfin guessed, and had to bite his cheeks to keep from smiling.) “And I think it might be a sensible…” he squinted, as if the next word pained him— “partnership.”

Even though Celeborn had come to this party expressly to talk to Galadriel, it had taken him two hours to work up the courage to do so.

“Hey,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “I saw your drink was empty, and I uh, got you another one.”

He held out the cup for her to take. Vodka soda, right?” he confirmed, even though he’d conducted thorough research beforehand.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking him up and down.

A lump of dismay lodged in Celeborn’s throat. But of course, why would she remember him? He might have been thinking of her for weeks, he might have contrived to find himself at this party for the sole purpose of crossing paths with her again, but she was… well, way out of his league, like Galathil had said. He wished he could sink through the floor.

“Yeah,” he managed to squeak. “We met at the Nordic spa, a few weeks ago. It was your birthday, I think.”

“Oh!” Recognition lit up her face and she accepted the drink. “Right, I remember. Tel-something, right?”

“Celeborn,” he said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “Yeah.”

“Nice to see you again, Celeborn. How’ve you been?”

“I don’t do karaoke,” Daeron had said, when Maglor had tried, shortly after their arrival, to drag him to the stage set up in the corner of one large room.

Some time later (who knew how long, time had blurred about half-way through the third beer), Daeron bounced beside him, belting, “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy! But here’s my number, so call me maybe?” while Maglor’s attempts at harmonising were increasingly marred by fits of laughter. The alcohol helped, certainly, but Daeron was no less immune to the thrilling effects of an approving audience than Maglor.

After Angrod had disappeared with that vapid redhead and Fingon had escorted his sloshed redhead away from the festivities (Maglor had not seen Maedhros let loose like that for years and was happy both that his brother was having fun and that he would be Fingon’s problem in the morning), no one had contested Maglor and Daeron’s monopoly of the karaoke equipment. Which was good, because Maglor had no intention of ceding the spotlight to anyone else — besides, of course, Daeron.

“I’m worried,” Anairë said, then scraped an olive from her martini stick with her teeth. She chewed it thoughtfully.

“Oh, forget about them, girl!” Eärwen gave her a light smack. “Arvo will keep them under control.”

“I don’t know, they seem to be completely unaware of your husband’s existence,” Nerdanel said to Eärwen.

“Poor Arvo,” said Eärwen. “Maybe I should rescue him…”

“No.” Nerdanel extended one long braceleted arm to stop the other woman from stepping forward. “You’re right. He’s a tempering influence, even if they are ignoring him.”

“I can’t tell if they’re arguing or aggressively agreeing,” said Anairë, squinting. “The latter seems extremely unlikely, but…”

“One can hope,” said Nerdanel.

“Eeee!” Edhellos squealed, and stamped her feet excitedly.

“What was that about?” Angrod smirked at the delightfully rosy-cheeked girl he’d just pinned against the back of his bedroom door.

“I can’t believe it’s happening!” she gushed.

“What?” Angrod asked, though he had some idea. He nuzzled at her neck to bury his smug expression.

“You’re gonna be my midnight kiss!”

“I plan to be doing more than kissing you by then,” said Angrod, and dropped to his knees. His hands lingered over the curve of her ass. “God, you’re so hot.”

Across the bay, a single firework boomed and burst into a hundred golden rays.

“Must be almost midnight,” said Andreth. It was the first thing they’d said to each other in a while — ever since their hands had somehow found each other on the log between them.

“Mmhmm,” said Aegnor. He thought about checking the time on his phone but was too scared to move and break the spell of the moment.

“You wanna go back to the party for the countdown?” Andreth asked.

“I don’t think we’d have time,” Aegnor said.

“No, probably not,” said Andreth, and shuffled closer to him so their shoulders brushed.

Aegnor held his breath.

“Ger ready, folks! One minute to midnight!” a musician announced from the small stage at the front of the hall.

Anairë tutted. “This is his party, Fingolfin should be leading the countdown.”

“Shh. Leave them,” said Nerdanel, attention rapt on their husbands still locked in conversation.

“Well,” said Finarfin, pocketing his phone. “It’s almost midnight, I’m gonna go kiss my wife.”

Fëanor and Fingolfin were far too intent on each other to notice him leave.

“Hey guys! Twenty seconds to midnight!” someone screamed over the music.

“Shit!” said Maglor, abruptly interrupting a very entertaining rendition of Single Ladies.

“Someone dim the lights!” Daeron shouted.

“Ten, nine, eight…” Maglor yelled into the mic, a few seconds off.

“Do you hear that?” Angrod asked between gasps. “I think it’s midnight.”

Edhellos bent over him and shoved her tongue down his throat.

“… seven, six…”

Celeborn stared ahead, his cheeks bright pink.

“You okay?” said Galadriel.

“Hm?” he said as she tugged on his hand.

“…five, four…”

Not bothering to wait out the last three seconds, Galadriel grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him, drawing a surprised squeak from his throat that quickly slid into an adoring sigh as his hand found her waist.

“… three, two…”

“Why is everyone shouting?” Maedhros groaned, blearily blinking awake to see Fingon sprawled beside him on a strange bed. “Shit, did I fall asleep?”

“You did.” Fingon handed him a glass of water. Rivulets dribbled down Maedhros’ neck as he poured it back.

“Ugh. I really can’t do this anymore.”

“No. But I love you any way.” Fingon kissed his mouth, which must have tasted awful. “Happy new year, babe.”

“…one.”

A bouquet of fireworks exploded over the lights of Beleria in the distance, and nothing had ever seemed more natural to Aegnor than leaning in to push his fingers into Andreth’s dark hair and capturing her lips in a kiss.

“Happy New Year!!” chorused a hundred voices.

“My god, is it midnight already?” said Fëanor, pressing a hand to Fingolfin’s chest in his surprise. He had not realised they were standing so close.

“Guess so.” Fingolfin laughed.

“Well, brother,” said Fëanor, holding out a hand, “shall we seal our deal with a midnight handshake?”

A reckless, wicked smile, one he had never before seen, now leapt to life on Fingolfin’s face. “Am I not good enough for a kiss?” he said, and before Fëanor could protest Fingolfin had him in both arms, swooping him low and planting a firm kiss to his lips.

“Oh my god,” said Anairë. “Are you seeing—”

But she didn’t finish because Nerdanel’s lips had sealed off her throat.

It had been sloppy and broken up by giggles, but Maglor could not remember a more exhilarating kiss in his life.

He stared at Daeron. Daeron stared back. It was strange: they’d lived together a year, been sleeping together half that time, and yet, perhaps because of the haste and ease with which they’d fallen into a domestic rhythm, they’d neglected many of the customary milestones of a new romance.

Maglor said it first. “I love you.”

“Really?”

Maglor laughed. “Yes, really. Obviously.”

When Daeron continued to stare, Maglor nudged him. “Well? Are you gonna say you love me?”

“Yeah. Just… kiss me again first.”

“Gladly,” said Maglor, and did so, longer and less messily this time. Someone in the crowd whooped.

“Happy New Year,” Daeron said when they pulled apart. “I love you.”

The prompts for this were: Daeron/Maglor + Board games from @searchingforserendipity25 and same + Enduring the in-laws from @melestasflight (who also requested Russingon hooking up), Orodreth/His Partner + Winter driving from @acretosorien, Feanor & Fingolfin + Kissing at midnight (it's platonic) and Fingolfin & Siblings + Reflections and resolutions from @ettelene, and Aegnor/Andreth + Kissing at midnight from @emyn-arnens. I also included some bonus follow-up on this fill for Celeborn/Galadriel and Angrod/Edhellos. Whew!

#modern au #beleria au #my fic #daemags #aegnor x andreth #russingon #new year's eve #new year's fic #feanor #fingolfin #arafinweans

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polutrope · 1 year ago

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#13 doing crafts with maeglin Celegorm and Aredhel?

Love this prompt! There will be a part 2 to this, hopefully tomorrow, using another of your prompts. ~1.3k words, featuring Aredhel/Celegorm, tiny Maeglin, plus Elenwë and tiny Idril. Rated G. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list. Little context: Aredhel and Celegorm are related by adoption only (Feanor was adopted). They dated in university and recently got back together after Aredhel's divorce. She and Maeglin are temporarily living with Turgon and Elenwe. See Beleria Cast of Characters for more!

Aredhel plopped Maeglin on the ground at the end of the walkway and fumbled through her hip bag for her house keys on the way to the front door.

“You’re sure your brother’s not gonna be home?” Celegorm asked.

She glanced back at him. He was hoisting one of their two stuffed shopping bags over his shoulder to free a hand for Maeglin to hold. Huan trotted beside them.

“No,” Aredhel answered, “he’s been spending most days at the university now that classes are over. Says it’s quieter than home.”

“And Elenwë?” Celegorm asked.

“Idril has swimming lessons after school. Then they usually go visit my mom and dad afterwards.”

“She’s already doing swimming lessons? Isn’t she, like, three?”

Aredhel chuckled as she turned the key in the lock. “No, Tyelko. She’s five. She’s in first grade.” She pushed the door open. “Hello?” she called.

“I thought you said no one was home.”

“Well,” Aredhel grinned, “you never know. A lot of us live here!”

Celegorm eyed her warily as he passed over the threshold behind her. He kicked off his boots and proceeded to the kitchen where he dumped the bags on the dining table and flung his bulky coat onto the couch. As Aredhel hung her own coat in the closet, she watched Celegorm help Maeglin onto a chair. They set about unpacking the craft supplies.

“Hey!” Aredhel said. “Don’t bring that all out yet. Turno’s gonna kill me if we don’t put down something to protect the table! And Lómion, you need to take your boots off, dear.”

“Oh yeah,” said Maeglin, seating himself to yank them off. He threw them on the floor and Aredhel sighed. She let it go: proper shoe etiquette would be a battle for another day -- one when she wasn't also fighting against Celegorm's unhelpful behaviour modelling.

“Okay,” Aredhel said to her son, “why don’t you go get your paints and brushes from our room?” Maeglin hopped off the chair and trundled off down the hall. “Tyelko, help me set up here.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were seated around the table, now adequately protected by a bright yellow vinyl tablecloth. Open tubs of paint, each speared with a fat paintbrush, were lined up down the middle. Celegorm tore open little bags of glitter, pompoms, googly eyes, and many sequins shaped like stars and trees and snowflakes and (for some reason) dinosaurs, then handed each of them off to Maeglin. He in turn inspected each new material with wonder before dumping the bag’s contents into recycled plastic containers.

Aredhel carefully removed coloured paper sheets from the pad and spread them over the table.

Yule pop classics spilled from the speakers and Huan, mercifully, was curled up contentedly on the couch after a long walk earlier that day.

Maeglin clapped his hands. “Craft time!” he said gleefully.

He grabbed two sheets of paper and shoved them in Celegorm’s direction. “You fold, I decorate,” he instructed.

“That’s it? I just fold?”

“Yes, and make sure it’s straight,” Maeglin said soberly. “Don’t be sloppy.”

Celegorm laughed.

“All right!” Aredhel had pulled a crumpled list from her bag and was smoothing it over the table. She counted up the names. “Looks like we need… twenty cards? I am probably forgetting someone. Let’s see. My brothers, Mom and Dad, your brothers, your parents, Grandma, Finarfin and Eärwen, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Galadriel. Any other family?”

“Orodreth,” said Celegorm.

“Oh, shizzle, you’re right. I always forget him.”

“Who’s Oro’deth?” Maeglin asked.

“You haven’t met him yet, Lo-lo. He’s in the army.”

“Does he have a gun?” Maeglin asked, amazed.

“He probably does, yes.” Aredhel added Orodreth to her list. “Tyelko, do you think I need to do two for Amrod and Amras?”

“Yes,” said Celegorm.

“Really? Okay, well that’s another one then.” Aredhel set the list aside. “We better get to work. Whose card would you like to make, Lo?”

“I wanna make one for Uncle Finno.”

“Great! He’ll love that.”

“I’m gonna draw a spider on it because he’s Spiderman.”

“That’s right, he is, sweetie.” Aredhel grinned remembering Maeglin’s enthusiastic reception of her brother’s Halloween costume.

“A spider. How festive,” Celegorm drawled.

Maeglin snapped his head up to look at him.

“Don’t worry,” said Aredhel, “Celegorm is just grumpy because he’s not a superhero like Uncle Finno.” She winked.

“Oh.” Maeglin frowned, thinking. “You can be a superhero, too. You’re… Dogman!”

Celegorm shook his head, but Aredhel watched the flush of satisfaction claim her boyfriend’s cheeks at his new title. They shared a smile across the table.

Gradually, the table filled with bedazzled handmade cards, laid out to dry.

Maeglin, however, was unimpressed with his adult companions’ work.

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose at Celegorm’s latest uninspired creation: a green tree decorated with sequins against a red background. “You should put more effort, Tyelko.”

“Noted, boss,” said Celegorm.

“Put a dog on it,” Maeglin suggested, and turned his attention back to the card he’d spent the last twenty minutes on. He had almost completed the border of alternating star and dinosaur sequins around the folded blue sheet.

“Who’s that card for?” Aredhel asked.

“Idril,” he replied. “Blue is her favourite colour, she told me. And I like dinosaurs.”

“That’s sweet,” said Aredhel, stroking his mop of black hair from his eyes.

“I like Idril,” Maeglin said.

At that moment, a key clicked in the door. “Hello?” It was Elenwë. “We’re home!” There was some muttering and rustling, then Elenwë strode into view.

“Doggy!” With a delighted shriek, Idril darted past her mother and clambered onto the couch beside Huan. The dog obligingly lifted his chin to receive her pats and scritches.

“Oh my goodness,” Elenwë said as she entered the dining area and caught sight of the crafting chaos cluttering the table. “You have been busy! Oh, hi, Celegorm.” There was a tense moment of silence; then she smiled. “Nice to see you.”

Celegorm exhaled audibly. “You too, Elenwë. You look well.”

“Shoot, what time is it?” Aredhel said. “Sorry, El, I thought we’d be done by the time you got home. We can clean up—”

“It’s no problem,” Elenwë said, pulling some leftovers out of the refrigerator. “Maybe we can make some with you, what do you think, Idril? Do you want to do some crafts?”

Upon seeing Idril, Maeglin had risen to his knees on the chair and assumed a stooped, defensive position over his card like some sort of gargoyle. His wide eyes bore into Idril, but she was far too preoccupied snuggling with Huan to notice.

“Yeah, okay,” Idril agreed.

“No!” Maeglin snarled.

“What?” Aredhel and Elenwë asked at once.

“No, we can’t make cards with her!”

“Why on earth not, Lo?" Aredhel asked. "You just said, you like Idril. You’re making her a—”

“No, I don’t! Am not!” Maeglin snapped, and turned his glare on Aredhel. “I never said that. She’s mean, I don’t want her to make cards with us.”

Idril looked up from patting the dog. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms and scowling. “I won’t.”

After some conciliatory efforts on the part of both their mothers, Maeglin and Idril’s dispute was settled, and the children agreed it would actually be quite nice if they all made cards together.

Plates of leftover lasagna and salad were passed around to fuel their efforts. After dinner, Celegorm took Huan for a walk and came back with a bag of marshmallows and a box powdered hot chocolate from the corner store, winning the adoration of the kids and the intrepid gratitude of Elenwë and Aredhel, who exchanged knowing looks as both of their children downed cups of sugar at 8pm.

It was in this way that Turgon, coming in exhausted after a ten-hour day of grading papers, found them.

#aredhel #celegorm #maeglin #idril #elenwe #holiday prompts #modern au #beleria au #my fic

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