#Fëanor x Námo

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Pairing: Fëanor x Námo

Themes: Angst

Warnings: None that I can think of

Word count: 1.5k words

Summary: After passing onto the Halls of Awaiting, Fëanor hopes for an audience with the Vala who loved him once.

A/n: Words in italics are for communication via osanwë.

Turn of the moon – a full lunar month.

This post was inspired by this little exchange in the tags between @cilil and myself.

Rules and taglist form here.

The great hall and throne room were painted to look like the vastness of the night sky. Tiny blue and white jewels all over the domed ceiling glittered with a light of their own. Fëanor had walked—no—flitted from hall to hall until he reached the vast and cavernous chamber his lover favored when meeting the fëar of those that awaited judgment. 

He sighed and looked at the ceiling. The jewels were of his making and given as a gift. He remembered Námo's smile when he walked in and saw them glittering like stars. It was a rare and beautiful thing. Fëanor treasured that memory dearly.

My lord Fëanor. Nienna had come up behind him. The Valië of mercy, pity, and mourning was all shimmering silver mist. She did not take on a physical form in her brother's halls. Not unless the occasion demanded it. You have come to this hall yet again.

And I will do so again and again, most gentle lady, Fëanor said softly and respectfully. Nienna was beloved by her brothers, and they would not take kindly to any insult to her person. And Fëanor did not wish to add to the miseries already plaguing him. Until lord Námo is ready to receive me. I have to try, my lady. I have to try for another chance.

The air around him stirred. Nienna drifted closer. The mist shifted as if it was taking form. Fëanor felt something warm and comforting caress his cheek.

He does not wish to see you, she said tenderly. Her voice was as soft as a kiss and tinged with great sorrow. Not now. Not ever. My brother cannot bring himself to forget what you did. He will never forgive you for what you did. He does not wish to give you another chance. Not even I could sway his thoughts on this. I am so sorry.

There is no need to apologize, my lady. The fault is all mine. Fëanor turned his attention back to the throne room. Námo looked resplendent in the inky black and violet robes he wore. A silver circlet crusted with amethysts sat amidst a black hood. A sheer grey veil concealed his face. His favorite hound, Gorgumoth, slumbered by his feet. But I must try.

Nienna accepted his choice. Then I will stay with you.

They stayed hidden and watched. Fëa after fëa drifted up to an imposing throne carved out of a single large block of black stone. Their words were barely louder than a whisper. Námo listened, patient as always, before pronouncing his verdict. Some accepted his words with gladness. Others grew mournful. Námo would counsel them before one of the Maiar that served him guided each fëa onto the Halls of Awaiting for cleansing and reflection. 

Time did not exist here. A turn of the moon could have come and gone and they would not have noticed. They waited and listened, watching as one fëa after another came and went. Námo seemed to tire. His veil fluttered, and his robes lifted and fell as if he was sighing. Fëanor stirred, hoping Námo was done and he could finally have an audience with him. Gorgumoth's ear twitched. He opened his eyes and sniffed at the air. The hound caught wind of something he did not like. He turned his attention to the shadows, where Fëanor and Nienna were. He lifted his head and bared his teeth, his growl echoing off the walls like thunder. The other fëar quailed at the sound.

Námo turned his attention to the shadows. He placed his hand on Gorgumoth's head. The hound quietened in an instant. 

"Beloved sister," the Vala called out into the dark. "You have a friend with you."

Nienna urged Fëanor to go with her. Make haste, she said, and pulled him with her as she drifted down the stairs. You will not receive another opportune moment like this.

Námo rose and made his way down the steps. Nienna changed her form and walked up to him, dipping into a deep curtsy when she reached the throne. Fëanor stood a few paces behind her. He did not hear what they were saying, but brother and sister looked at each other intensely. Námo made a sound of disgust and turned, his eyes filling with rage when they rested on Fëanor. The slain elf trembled and lowered his gaze out of fear and respect.

"Please, brother," Nienna pleaded softly. "All he asks is for a chance to talk to you. Please! For my sake."

Námo sighed softly. His fingers brushed her cheek as if he was wiping away a tear. "I never could deny you for long," he murmured, and removed his crown. "Very well. I will hear him out."

Nienna curtsied again. She took the crown off her brother's hands and went to several ornate chairs beneath the throne. When Fëanor raised his eyes, she already had taken a seat, the crown safely on her lap. It was a sign that while she acted on Námo's behalf, her verdicts did not carry the same weight as his. They could be overturned at any time. Námo's Maiar came to her. Gorgumoth silently padded over and stretched out beside her. The fëar peacefully formed another line, all waiting for her to hear them out.

"Walk with me, Fëanor, son of Finwë." Námo turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the throne room. Fëanor had little choice but to follow him through one silent corridor after another.

He wanted to weep. He trembled when he could not. There would be no tears, none came to fëar, but he mourned all the same. Fëanor, son of Finwë. That was what Námo called him. Once, in another life, it was "my own heart."

You tremble, Fëanor, son of Finwë. Námo did not turn or look over his shoulder. To do either was a sign of forgiveness, of a softening in his stance. Námo could not do that, no matter how much it pained him. And it did wound him more than words could say. Fëanor had been his other half once. Where Námo was stoicism personified, Fëanor brought with him every emotion imaginable. If Námo was the ice, then Fëanor was the inferno that threatened to burn the world to ash. And he nearly did. And Námo could not bring himself to forget or forgive. He looked straight ahead and tried to harden his heart. What troubles you?

You. Fëanor kept a steady gaze on Námo's broad back. He tingled when memories of that back trembling beneath his fingers came unbidden. I know I wounded you, and...

Wounded me? Námo whirled, his eyes ablaze with pain and black fury. Long-buried sorrow and rage bubbled to the surface. You dare speak of such a thing? You who stole and murdered and encouraged others to do the same? You who forgot what we meant to each other and shattered every hope, every dream?

And Námo was not done. I would have helped you. He touched the corner of his eye. There were no tears. What tears he had left were frozen in his heart. Had you come to me, I would have gone to the others, and we would have found a way. Why? He asked, his voice thick with sadness. Why did you not come to me? I know how much you loved your father. I know how much the silmarils meant to you. Even more than me, I think. 

Why indeed. It was a question that had plagued Fëanor for as long as he could remember. Why did he not go to Námo when Melkor murdered his father and made off with the Silmarils? Why did he not seek the aid of others instead of being consumed by his arrogance and need for vengeance? Fëanor did not have an answer. All he had was shame and sorrow and guilt engulfing him. Námo was right. Fëanor valued the silmarils even more than the love Námo bore him. He could not bring himself to look Námo in the eye. 

I wept for you. Námo looked into the distance, despair coursing through him like mighty waves when he caught glimpses of what could have been. Yes, he nodded when he sensed Fëanor's shock. I wept for you. Many were the tears that were shed, and how I mourned your fate, how it crushed me to pronounce your doom. Watching you spiral into a world of darkness and chaos was more than I could bear.

My own heart, Fëanor inched his way closer, slowly and respectfully. He stopped when Námo flinched and backed away. Through the veil, he could see Námo's countenance contorting in pain. Is there nothing I can do to take away your pain? There must be something, surely. Please tell me. For the love we bore each other...

Love. Námo said bitterly. He thought of what they had, of what could have been. He wanted to weep over a future that no longer existed and how it all pained him so. He had to end the conversation and leave, lest his frozen tears finally break free. I knew love. The love in your fierce heart, in the flames that burned bright within every fiber of your being. It warmed every ounce of my spirit and filled me with so much hope, a ray of light for me to grab onto even in the darkest of times. That light is hidden from my eyes now. The words came out like a strangled sob. I cannot see it, no matter how hard I try.

Fëanor reached out to him, his despair as keen as Námo's. So much had been destroyed, and by his own doing, no less. My own heart, I...

Never call me that again. Námo turned away just as the first bitter tear fell. And never seek me out again. We are finished.

Fëanor could only watch him leave, silently damning himself in the darkness that crept in after Námo's departure. 

 tags: @cilil​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @fictionfordays​ 

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Mind Control

Let's kick the darker part of December off with Námo having an idea, Irmo enabling his brother, and Fëanor having a very bad time because of it...

Please be advised that this story, as all stories, are on the fringe of consent and good taste at times.

Please proceed warily! Take care of yourselves, loves!

Prompt: Mind Control

Characters: Námo, Irmo, Fëanor x Nerdanel

Words: 2 210

Warnings: Minor Manipulation, confusion -> dubcon, NSFW, nudity, reference to potential incest, vaginal sex

“Brother!”

Irmo looked up in surprise—it was rare that Námo came to see him at work for the eminently dignified Lord was usually entirely absorbed by his own tasks.

Curiosity and earnest affection gave the Ruler of Reveries wings as he rushed over to the dark shadow’s side, basking in the air of cool efficiency emanating from his older sibling.

Where Nienna was warm and soothing, Námo was the blessed, fresh breeze on a sweltering day, and Irmo loved them both more than words could describe.

“What can I do for you, oh Lord of the Dead?” he asked teasingly—he was too attuned to the desires and impulses of those around him not to notice the discreet thrum of unspoken wishes in his brother’s soul.

“Punishment,” Námo replied calmly.

Sucking his teeth, the Lord of Dreams and Desires shook his head. “That is not my purview, as you well know, and I am sure that my wife would not approve.”

The heavy cowl dissimulating a pale face of heart-wrenching, soul-destroying beauty shifted as Námo cocked his head in disbelief.

“I am the judge of all things—I am the law and the right—and you think that I’d come to you behind Estë’s back?”

It was now the older one’s turn to cluck reprovingly.

“Your wife has given me quite an interesting lecture on the bodies of incarnates—she agrees that, once an impasse such as the one I am facing is reached, one must consider more drastic therapeutic measures.”

“Very well then,” Irmo gave in. “Am I right in surmising that it is one of those pesky Ñoldorin kings of yore who is to suffer terrible nightmares?”

Pride and affection shone in tangible waves from the deep, dark recesses of Námo’s obscuring cloak as he nodded slowly. “Curufinwë Fëanáro himself,” he admitted. “And—ah! Come and see for yourself.”

Irmo followed that exhortation obediently even though he was already perfectly aware of the confused and torturous labyrinth of half-formed wishes and reluctant desires smouldering in the Elf’s soul as embers in a neglected forge.

“Methinks, he doesn’t need any of us to make himself laughably miserable,” he remarked upon sliding up beside his impassive, motionless brother when they finally reached the cell of one of the most notorious of the Children.

“He needs guidance,” Námo started decisively.

“He’s always refused it,” Irmo reminded him gently.

“Yes.” A hint of supercilious humour tinged the Judge’s voice now. “That is why we won’t give him any choice this time.”

Fëanor stared despondently at the wavering nothingness surrounding him when he was quite overcome by a sudden wave of fatigue—he instinctively knew that there was nothing natural about it, but he could not shake off the blinding mist obdurately flooding his leaden mind.

Everything around him seemed to blur into a maelstrom of melting time and swirling events, and he could do nought but bear it, in hopes that sooner or later the sickening vertigo would subside.

When he finally managed to blink and clear his sight, he was standing in a bedroom he had not seen in an eternity. In front of him, stood a young maiden with whom he had once exchanged a few flirty, inconsequential quips in the halls of his father.

“’Náro,” she sighed, undoing the laces of her tunic and laying bare beautifully youthful, pert breasts that were screaming for his attention and tenderness.

“No,” Fëanor muttered. “This is not what happened—we have never…”

He could feel strange, inquisitive eyes burning into the back of his neck, and he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably to brace against the pervasive influx of corrupting madness some evil power was pouring into his befuddled mind.

He had always known, he reminded himself adamantly. Even in the most foolish years of his unsullied youth, he had been painfully aware of his duties, and she had been but the daughter of a minor courtier. He would never have risked her reputation and his hand for a fleeting tryst.

Before his very eyes, however, she now undressed further and extended her pale, soft arms to him, and he found himself unable to withstand the alluring call of her self-forgotten willingness. Too long had he abided in solitude and darkness, condemned to mull over his crimes in utter isolation, and so he could not forego the chance to feel another body’s heat chase the ubiquitous chill that had crept into his immaterial bones.

At the very moment that his body was about to collide with her firm, nubile flesh, though, the whole scene shifted once more.

“Brother,” Ñolo, his half-brother, turned around and gave him one of those tender, slightly awkward smiles that did nothing to distract from the impressive shapeliness of his bare chest. “Have you come to reprimand me for being late? Which one do you like better?”

Fëanor shrank back as the old-familiar burn of illicit, morally abhorrent desire made his thighs clench and his mouth go dry.

Indis’s first-born had ever been as compellingly gorgeous as infuriatingly oblivious of that fact, and he had hated him with a fervent passion for fear of what other feelings and yearnings might be hidden just underneath the thin veneer of his hurt pride.

While Fëanor was battling his baser instincts, Fingolfin was holding up two shirts—one of a subdued eggshell colour and the other one a mesmerizingly deep blue—as if he was truly expecting his seemingly not-all-too-surprising visitor to help him choose between them.

“What do I care?” Fëanor barked so he would not pounce upon that naked flesh and sink his teeth into the bulging muscles to make the other squirm and squeal with pain and rapture alike.

The disappointed, injured look spreading across Fingolfin’s soft, sweet face made Fëanor’s heart clench, but his involuntary reaction of relenting tenderness only gave rise to another slew of all the more vicious snarls and aggressive gestures.

This was just a dream, he tried to tell himself—none of this was real, but when his half-brother’s mouth, soft and desperate, was pressed against his own taut lips, he could not suppress the very real shivering sigh that escaped him.

Endless training sessions in the study as well as in the courtyard had left the younger one’s sensuous fingers strong and unexpectedly calloused, a hidden feature of which Fëanor had not been aware until slightly rough palms slid under his tunic to trace the outline of his well-honed, frantically clenching muscles in a caress so corruptingly naïve and eager that he had to force himself to stay still lest he do something unforgivable like succumbing to the torturous onslaught of shameless seduction.

“This didn’t happen,” he whispered. “I would never have dishonoured our father and his house so.”

“But you wanted to,” an insidious voice, incorporeal and wavering, susurrated, telling Fëanor that he was definitely not alone. He bristled—he had never allowed anyone to know about the strange tension between his half-brother and him, and he was loath to let down his walls even in death and desolation.

“That is of no consequence—what is this? A compilation of all the opportunities I’ve missed? It was a conscious decision, and it does me credit,” Fëanor spat resolutely even as the hands of one who had no reason or right to be here moved in tantalising circles across his trembling skin. “Leave me be! I shan’t submit to your ludicrous corruption!”

Irmo cocked his head at his brother. “He certainly is a fiery one,” he commented, a hint of amused fondness in his voice. “He knows that you are toying with him.”

Nodding, Námo pointed at the edges of the vacillating soul—they could see the ignominious former King of the Ñoldor such as he truly was through the sheer veil of a body his memory had merely conjured up, and it now became evident that Fëanor’s essence had grown more solid already. “Naturally, he persistently misunderstands my purpose, cursed be his defiance, but it’s working.”

“Love does that,” Irmo agreed pleasantly. “That is your design, isn’t it? After neither friends nor family could move him sufficiently, you thought to skirt the brittle, dangerous boundaries of modesty by digging into his more depraved memories? Devious, but effective!”

There was no judgment or reprimand in those words; Irmo was veritably impressed by how ruthless and determined his brother was in the pursuit of the questionable goal of getting Fëanor ready to be returned to those who awaited him most patiently.

“Shall we get on with it? Maybe we should let him…consume the act this time? He seems to grow rather…impatient,” the Lord of Dreams then remarked lightly, nodding at the flickering cluster of bright, pulsating light radiating from the core of Fëanor’s quickly firming silhouette.

“Her then,” Námo relented immediately and smiled when the scene shifted yet again.

“Nerdë!” Half-scream, half-sob, the name of his lost wife sprang from Fëanor’s tingling lips.

“Hush, I’ve only just gotten Káno to stop yowling,” she chided him softly as she sat up in a bed he remembered all too well.

Her smell—clay dust and wildflowers—filled the room, and this time, he did not hesitate to hasten over to let himself be embraced by those impossibly strong and yet incomparably soft arms.

A remnant of doubt lingered in his mind, but he could not say whether this torturously tender scene was a fabrication or a bona fide memory; there had been so many evenings just like this, sitting in bed and talking, while their sons slept down the hallway.

Nevertheless, Nerdanel, the Wise, seemed to have different plans for she pulled him closer to her alluringly freckled chest and sighed when his lips closed around her right nipple through the thin chemise she was wearing. He had married her out of love and folly, and he was sure that none of the chronicles of his terrible crimes would even bother to mention how unconditionally and desperately he had wanted her.

Of course, the staggering number of sons as well as their relative youth on their wedding day were clear signs, but he still hoped that these scheming ink-smeared liars would have the decency to pay homage to Nerdanel’s beauty and his devotion to her appropriately.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispered again, and now, he thought that he recognised her conspiratorial, youthful tone.

As her thighs fell open around him and her broad, nimble fingers tangled in his unbound hair, a surge of compounded darkness made his head spin and his blood boil. Here she was, his one true love, opening up beneath the unyielding pressure of his heated flesh like a blossom in spring, and he might have wept for joy and relief.

Mouthing the name of a child not yet conceived, he closed his eyes as she shifted ever so slightly to steer him resolutely towards the voracious heat of her desire—everything about her touch, her almost mocking smile, and her tiny gasp as he slid into her was so painfully familiar that—for a single, precious moment—Fëanor entirely forgot that none of it was genuine.

How could he have thought of the Valar and their senseless games when Nerdanel’s flesh was writhing—warm and tight—around his cock? Could anyone have faulted him for losing sight of the unfathomably convoluted games of destiny and retribution when he was losing his mind, his heart, his whole self in the velvet abyss of her burning gaze as she met his every thrust halfway?

Her body was strong and glorious, and he worshipped at the altar of her lust as the inexorably increasing pace made his hips stutter against her—Nerdanel laughed breathlessly and surged up to capture his lips in a searing kiss, greedily drinking every tiny moan as she had once lapped dew off green leaves at sunrise.

Nothing mattered besides her—the softness of her breasts against his heaving chest, the clenching ripples of her cunt as her own climax threatened to overwhelm her, and her throaty moans that spurred him ever on—and Fëanor, ever a slave to the fatal flaw of impatience, grabbed her waist possessively to lift her just a fraction before bearing down in frantic movements of unbridled rapture.

Teeth clenching mercilessly around her slender wrist to keep from waking her precious babies, Nerdanel arched into his punishing thrusts one last time; seeing her come undone once again was an image so exquisite that it burned itself through Fëanor’s eyes straight into what was left of his soul.

Throwing his head back in a soundless scream of deliverance, he exploded within her.

Just as he was about to bend down to kiss Nerdanel’s sweat-sheened brow, though, he was whisked back to his cell, alone and shivering. “Come back, you coward!” he bellowed, blind anger and devastating loss ravaging his tortured soul. “Take me back.”

“It actually worked,” Irmo muttered as if he was surprised himself by how successful his brother’s hare-brained plan had turned out to be. “I shall come back soon then?”

“Thank you,” Námo said, bowed, and retreated.

Had he not known better, Irmo would have sworn that the Lord Judge, ever serious, was skipping merrily down the wavering halls of Mandos.

-> Masterlist (by @tolkienpinupcalendar)

Lots of love from me, please take care of yourselves!

[heavenlayt]

Irmo is so cute!

Tolkien characters when they’re s/o falls asleep in their lap? Amazing work as always❤️

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ tolkien characters ⠀〳 reader⠀ ❜࿔

· ⊰ synopsis. thranduil, legolas, mairon, melkor, manwë, irmo, námo and fëanor's reaction when their s/o falls asleep in their lap

· ⊰ note. absolutely! thank you <3

( masterlist ) ( taglist form )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ THRANDUIL 

ʚ He had promised to be with you in a moment, he just wished to finish a few more things and then would pay all of his attention to you. Thranduil allowed you to cuddle up in his lap while he worked 

ʚ Wouldn’t realise you fell asleep until after he finished and called out your name - but received no response 

ʚ Feels a little bad when he sees that you ended up falling asleep. Did he really take that long?

ʚ He slowly picks you up, putting you under the covers and pulling you to his chest 

ʚ Plays with your hair a little before he too falls asleep 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLEGOLAS 

ʚ You were both stargazing. Legolas was rambling on about some quest and as intrigued as you were - you couldn’t help but fall asleep to the sound of his voice 

ʚ He would notice fairly quickly. At first trying to keep you awake as he wished to spend more time with you - but when he saw how precious you looked with your sleeping expression, he decided against it 

ʚ Doesn’t get up, instead admiring how you snuggled up into him, the moon shining down on your face, you looked so peaceful 

ʚ Probably leans down and peppers little kisses to your face, before bringing you closer and also falling asleep beneath the stars 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMAIRON 

ʚ He let you sit in his lap whilst he worked on his eyeliner as you had wished to learn a thing or too. You tried to pay attention, to listen to his little instructions - but he was just so warm. You ended up drifting off 

ʚ Mairon was a little irritated over the fact that you fell asleep whilst he was trying to teach you something 

ʚ Probably even had half a mind to wake you up. He moves to shake you awake but immediately freezes up with the way you snuggle up into his chest and breathe his name out in comfort 

ʚ He’s still, trying to wonder why that alone gave him so much butterflies. But he pushed the thought aside, wrapped his arms around you and admired your sleeping form 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMELKOR 

ʚ He was on his throne with you in his lap. Not particularly doing anything as he was a little busy talking to one of his subjects. Melkor is much bigger than you in size so you always felt quite comfortable within his lap - so much so that you fell asleep 

ʚ Only takes notice when the person leaves and he turns to speak to you but receives no answer. A part of him almost thinks that you’re ignoring him 

ʚ Practically shakes you awake - only to hear your whine before you huff, snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep 

ʚ That’s when he realised that he more or less woke you up. He remains still, unsure whether he should take you back to the room or wake you up again 

ʚ He’s so unsure that he just ends up staying there, arms around you. Did you feel so safe with him that you would fall asleep on him? He quite liked that thought 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMANWË

ʚ You were cuddling up to him after a long day, and he returned them all gladly. He often sang to you when you’ve had a rough day and that’s exactly what he did now - how couldn’t you fall asleep?

ʚ He almost felt his heart explode when he felt you limp into him and nuzzle into his chest. He glances down to confirm his theory and yes - you were asleep 

ʚ Smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your head, calling you his perfect little dove before wrapping his wings around you to provide even more comfort 

ʚ Stays there with you, not necessarily falling asleep and rather continuing his little lullaby. Most likely puts off a duty or two, telling Eonwe to handle them. How could he give up this little bundle of joy in his arms?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ IRMO 

ʚ He was braiding your hair whilst you told him about your day. Needless to say you were rather exhausted and just wanted to cuddle up to your dreamy ( literally ) boyfriend 

ʚ Seeing as how distressed you were, Irmo allowed his powers to come into play whilst he spoke to you. Sowing a little sedative in his words to try and bring your form into slumber - and it worked 

ʚ He doesn’t usually use this on you much, but today you were practically fighting to stay awake despite your evident exhaustion, he couldn’t allow you to neglect yourself 

ʚ Brings you into his arms, peppers a few kisses along your neck before curling up in the little spot in his garden to take a nice long nap with you 

ʚ Spooning! Irmo absolutely loves it. You fit so perfectly with him 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ NÁMO 

ʚ He took you along to a little meeting with his maiar, not exactly expecting it to drag on for so long. You always felt most comfortable in his lap - and ended up falling asleep before the end of it 

ʚ Námo only really noticed when one of his maia points out and takes a few moments to stare down at your sleeping form. Half not knowing what to do, half silently admiring 

ʚ He ends the meeting after a few more moments, leaving his subjects a little surprised - but pleasantly so when they saw him standing to his feet and scooping you up in his arms 

ʚ Tries his hardest not to wake you - and when you stir he lowers his typically intimidating and deep voice to hush you back to sleep 

ʚ He takes you back to his resting chamber and finds his bed, not once removing you from his lap

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤFËANOR 

ʚ Let you sit in his lap whilst he sketched out some designs for forging new weapons. He was explaining to you the process and rambling on about the craft that he adored so much - you almost felt bad for falling asleep, but how could you not when listening to his voice and heartbeat?

ʚ Saw that you had fallen asleep and stopped everything he was doing in an instant - should he feel offended that you fell asleep?

ʚ He wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not with how adorable you looked snuggling up to his chest 

ʚ Fëanor curses a little under his breath - he’s going soft. But the smile on his lips would tell anyone that he did not mind, especially if it was for you

ʚ Places everything down and wraps his arms around you, watching the fire in his forge whilst he rests his chin on your head and murmurs how much he loves you 

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[furious-haste-of-malice]

Screw Yule

⃤ Prompt: Dark Gifts | Melkor x Maglor ⃤ Synopsis: After ages of wandering alone, Maglor is caught by the Enemy. ⃤ Warnings: Non-con, rough sex, Melkor's creepy obsession with Fëanor and his family ⃤ Oneshot (~1.3k) ⃤ AO3

AN: First one for Screw Yule, and I'm starting off with dead dove. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!

Melkor will be referred to as Morgoth because this is Maglor's POV.

Never had Maglor thought he would see him again, at least not until the very end. 

For ages now had he wandered the shores of Middle-earth, singing of a world that was no more and of guilt that would never fade, not a single familiar soul in sight – they had long since left as well, he had heard it whispered in the waters. 

Only he remained. And that dreadful truth had struck him with renewed vigour when the shadows had come upon him, reminiscent of those who had attacked Tilion many years ago: He was alone. There was no one he could call for help. 

Maedhros' name died on his lips. Maglor's hand clutched a small harp, not a silver bow. His voice, mighty as it was, availed him not against this foe, greatest enemy of his kin. 

He was thrown down into the sand, and something dark and heavy settled atop him, shadows coalescing into a humanoid shape now that he had been caught. This helplessness, this primal terror despite all bravery – this had to be what the Elves of Cuiviénen had felt. 

Two eyes found his, shards of ice amidst creeping darkness, like eerie lights misleading travellers at night. A face became visible, one he believed to recognize from ages past, though it looked different from the mask of benevolence the Enemy had worn in Valinor. To Maglor it appeared handsome and repulsive at the same time, like the visage of one who had once possessed great beauty which had now become faded and foul. 

"Hail Kanafinwë," the Vala greeted him in a mocking tone. 

"Morgoth," Maglor spat, attempting – in vain – to push him off. "One would think you have better things to do than to pursue a lonely minstrel." 

"Perhaps your voice is simply too sweet." Clawed hands grasped his jaw. "Though I shall not lie to you... your blood sings even more sweetly to me." 

"Kill me then." Maglor thought of Maedhros again. Was this how it had felt, this sickening mixture of fear and certainty that this being, fallen yet still far mightier than even their father, was going to hurt him, to subject him to whatever cruel design his twisted mind had conjured. 

"Kill you?" Morgoth appeared to contemplate the suggestion, then smiled. "Do you not think it would be a little rash to spill the last of Fëanáro's blood that remains in this world so soon after we meet again? Do you not think you should properly greet the mightiest of the Valar, perhaps sing a bit for me?" 

"You have no need for minstrels." 

"Maybe. But if you please me I shall bestow a gift upon you."

Laughing to himself, Morgoth tore Maglor's clothes from his body with a single swipe of his hand. 

"You are not your father, but you do resemble him," he noted, running his fingers up and down his flanks as if he was examining some sort of strange specimen. "I shall content myself with you for now." 

Maglor shivered. After witnessing the horrors of war and what had happened to Maedhros, he was not so naive as to be ignorant to Morgoth's twisted desires; yet he also knew the outcome was inevitable. He wasn't strong enough to fight a Vala and knew all would be in vain in the end, like Námo had warned them many years ago. 

"Poor thing. It must have been ages since someone last touched you," Morgoth purred. 

"Likewise," Maglor spat and was swiftly punished for his insolence with a slap across his face. Even as his head hit the sand below and darkness blanketed his vision for several seconds, he knew that this was far from the Vala's full strength – almost playful even.

Shadows engulfed his body, holding his arms in place, and his legs were pushed up against his chest. When his sight returned to him, Maglor was greeted with the frightening sight of a long, forked tongue licking his flaccid cock before making its way further down.

"N-no... don't-!" He had to force himself not to beg, remembering how brave Maedhros had been. No, he couldn't bring shame unto his brother's memory, even if –

Like a snake, the inhuman tongue violating his dignity slithered inside of him, and Maglor trembled in disgust, both at the act and the way his treacherous body took pleasure in it. Unfortunately, there was a certain truth to Morgoth's words: He indeed hadn't enjoyed the warmth and touch of a lover in many years. But he couldn't accept such contact from the being that had driven his entire family to madness and despair, was responsible for the deaths of so many of his people, had done terrible things to whoever he could get his hands on. 

He also knew that the Vala wanted to hurt him; he hadn't even attempted to lie about it or deceive him. 

And Morgoth was more than ready to do just that. 

His tongue vanishing was the only warning Maglor received before something large and hard was unceremoniously forced inside him, splitting him open as if a massive spear penetrated his flesh. He heard a piercing scream, barely realising that it was his own voice, and weakly struggled against the hold of a creature much stronger and mightier than he. 

"What a beautiful voice you have... for an Incarnate at least," Morgoth purred, and every syllable seemed to drip with mockery and pleasure alike. "Do continue with your lovely performance, mighty singer... I shall listen and enjoy myself." 

His hips snapped forward, thrusting as deeply as he could, and he set a brutal, merciless rhythm that was devoid of either love or true passion, driven only by greed, malice and a desire to despoil and destroy. 

Maglor could do nothing except accept his fate and let himself be violated by his kin's greatest enemy. Had he been an Elf like any other his fëa would have long since fled to Mandos, but the oath still lingered within his mind, keeping him bound to the world. And even as his stomach roiled with nausea and he gasped for breath, through some foul spell or trickery his body still felt pleasure, creeping and unwelcome, but undeniably there. 

He sobbed, cursed, cried and screamed until his voice failed him, anything to keep himself from begging for mercy or saying anything that would later be twisted and used against him. Pain surged up his spine with every movement, and his passage had been stretched beyond its limit, muscles going limp as exhaustion settled within his bones. 

The sensation of hot, sticky fluid flooding him like the waves Maglor had watched crashing on the shore for ages felt relieving, even though disgust gripped his very being, making him want to throw himself into the sea like he had done to the Silmaril. His own arousal was left unattended, and he didn't know whether it was punishment or perverse kindness – his pride and honour had thoroughly been destroyed, though he would cling to this one small thing like a drowning sailor holding on to a plank of his sunken ship. 

Satisfied, Morgoth let go of him. For a moment, Maglor hoped – in vain though it was – that he would be left like this or that his body would perish after all, but one as doomed as he was had no such luck. His very fëa shuddered within its corporeal confines when the Vala's song rang out, and soon he felt his flesh repairing itself, like a needle stitching fabric back together. 

"There," Morgoth said finally, pleased with himself. "Let it not be said that I don't have mercy."

But Maglor knew it was a lie. There was no remorse nor pity that could compel the Enemy to perform such an action – only the need to own him, to keep using him and toying with him, to satisfy his depraved desires for the Elf who had escaped him. 

And neither his brothers nor his father could help him anymore. 

Thanks for reading!

[cilil]

Scribbles & Drabbles overview

An overview of my works for @fall-for-tolkien's Scribbles & Drabbles event!

𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝟐𝟓𝒕𝒉 ~ now live!

𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒈(𝒆𝒓) 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

✧˖ "Wings Of War, Beating No More" for @ruiniel

Two Maiar meet after the war, one chasing a long lost lover, the other seeking something else. [Eönwë x Mairon]

✧˖ "Of Secret Shadow" for @ruiniel

A Maia awakens with no memories of who she used to be. Melkor offers her a second chance. [Thuringwethil character exploration]

✧˖ "The King's and Queen's Comfort" for @the-red-butterfly

After discovering the Dwarves and arguing with Aulë, Yavanna seeks comfort from her fellow Valar. Manwë and Varda take care of her until her sorrows and worries are soothed. [Threesome, smut]

✧˖ "Floating World" for @melkors-big-tits

After tedious war meetings at the Emperor's palace, Mairon decides to enjoy himself in the capital's most renowned brothel, the Taniquetil. As he searches for a courtesan to catch his interest, he finds something rather unexpected - something the Emperor himself has attempted to keep hidden... [Angbang, Edo Japan AU]

𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕(𝒆𝒓) 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔

✧˖ "Shrine to Melkor" for @cclumsyart

There are shrines to all Ainur in Valinor, even the fallen and disgraced among them. In which Nienna visits Melkor's shrine and reminisces.

✧˖ "Shrine to Námo" for @cclumsyart

There are shrines to all Ainur in Valinor, even the fallen and disgraced among them. In which a mysterious visitor seeks out Námo's shrine to pray for a loved one.

𝑴𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓

✧˖ "Electricity between both of us" (Glorestor ficlets) for @sortumavaara

✧˖ "Of hunters, horses and other hijinks" (ficlets centered around Aredhel, Celegorm, Oromë, dogs and horses) for @ela-draws and @goschatewabn

✧˖ "Of Fire and Feathers" (Gothmog x Eönwë | Firebird ficlets) for @i-did-not-mean-to

✧˖ "5 times Melkor came for coffee & 1 time Mairon got himself a snack" (Angbang Coffeeshop AU) for @melkors-big-tits

✧˖ "Miscellaneous Melkor Mayhem" (naughty Melkor ficlets) for @melkors-big-tits

✧˖ "Handmaiden's Tale" (Melkor x Tulkas, dead dove - please heed the warnings) for @melkors-big-tits

✧˖ "Brotherly Love" (Melkor x Manwë, dead dove - please heed the warnings) for @melkors-big-tits

𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒔

✧˖ "Silver & Gold" for @welcomingdisaster

Míriel and Indis, silver and gold. A moment of tenderness and passion. [Smut]

✧˖ "Moonrise" for @niennawept

Watching the moon in the sky, Aredhel remembers. [Aredhel x Tilion]

✧˖ "Heart" for @mulasawala

[Modern verse, Bagginshield, Thorin has a band] Thorin comes back from his tour and reunites with his boyfriend.

✧˖ "Sweet Oil" for @z-h-i-e

Maitimo and Tyelkormo cook together. Nothing could possibly go wrong, especially nothing related to suspicious bottles and ingredients not meant for cooking.

✧˖ "A private conversation" for @sortumavaara

[AU in which Nerdanel and Anairë are co-rulers of Tirion after the departure of their husbands] Nerdanel and Anairë discuss the future of the Noldor in Valinor and the challenges they face.

✧˖ "The Meadow" for @ruiniel

[AU in which Míriel and Indis are engaged, no Finwë in sight] Míriel and Indis, strolling through Valinor together.

✧˖ "Ascension" for @the-red-butterfly

The king is dead, and Thranduil has to ascend.

✧˖ "Checking In" for @fishing4stars

Galadriel and Celeborn enjoy a game of chess.

✧˖ "Play, Pleasure & Passion" for Lferion

Nerdanel and Fëanor get ready for a night of passion.

✧˖ "Jelly and Gemstone" for @i-did-not-mean-to

A certain suspicious gem has turned up once again, and Ossë chases down a mischievous little water spirit to get it back.

✧˖ "The Start of the Journey" for @elennalore

Fëanor and Nerdanel, after their first journey together.

✧˖ "Alliance" for @goschatewabn

A chance meeting between Fëanor and Indis leads to something Finwë didn't expect.

✧˖ "Northern Lights" for Anne_Wolfe

How Arien lost a loved one and how northern lights came to be. [Arien x Mairon]

✧˖ "Only one bed (and a Balrog on it)" for @i-did-not-mean-to

A Balrog and a vampire are looking for a place to nap. Unfortunately, there is only one bed. [Nári (OC) & Thuringwethil]

✧˖ "Ever upon the shores" for @searchingforserendipity25

Wandering upon the shores, Maglor wonders if the powers that used to be his allies have utterly forsaken him. [Maglor & Ulmo, Ossë, Uinen]

✧˖ "You have mail (delivered by the Lord of Dreams himself)" for @i-did-not-mean-to

Irmo has a gift for Melkor. Melkor is not happy.

✧˖ "A New Age" for @ruiniel

[Dark cyber!Valar AU in which Melkor won the Dagor Dagorath and the Valar were captured, trapped in their fánar and twisted into new forms] They all were changed by Melkor's dark arts, and everything seems lost. Nienna, however, still has her brothers.

✧˖ "The Sorrows of Young Maedhros" for @goschatewabn

[Set during Maitimo's awkward teenage years] In which little brothers are exhausting, Fëanor and Nerdanel are trying their best and Maitimo just wants to keep a secret in peace.

✧˖ "Ineffable, Inconceivable Future" for @i-did-not-mean-to

Námo has a gift for Manwë - though is it quite what it appears to be?

✧˖ "They Loved Him For His Beauty" for @the-red-butterfly

Eärendil loses his ship during a storm, yet somehow wakes up very much alive. Who saved him? And how will he get to Valinor now?

✧˖ "Delightful Secret" for @sortumavaara

Celebrían has been turned into a man and intends to make use of it. Elrond finally admits to a certain secret fantasy he's always harboured. [Smut]

[lanthanum12]

Niennandil-verse Advent Calendar Day 2

Read on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51966511/chapters/131468101

Read on Quotev https://www.quotev.com/story/16208351/Niennandil-verse-Advent-Calendar/2

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

        “Where I come from, over the sea, we have a feast every year in the winter. We call it Yule,” Caranthir explained to Haleth, who was currently sitting across from him, "It’s a time…for families to get together. Everyone has their own traditions,” his mind wandered to his siblings strewn across Beleriand, caught up in the endless fight against Morgoth, his amillë over the sea, and his atar lost to him. Perhaps even in the void.

        “Oh…I see, sounds like a waste of time,” Haleth shrugged, not wishing to dwell on her now dead brother and father any longer. She had a lot to prepare before her and the rest of the Haladin left for Brethil in the spring. There was no place for grief.

        “Is taking part in a small pleasure with one you care about truly a waste of time?” Caranthir asked, “I made something for you. We may be struggling but we have each other and why not take solace in that?”

        “I suppose you are right, Haldad was always urging me to take care of himself. I think he would be pestering me about this all day,” Haleth’s laugh was bitter but there was warmth in her face.

        “The day before Yule, my father would make us tamales colorados and later he taught us to make them ourselves. So now I prepare some every year for myself and my people, and, well, I also made some for you. I wanted you to be able to try them,” Caranthir said, lifting out two delicious bundles wrapped tightly in palm leaves.

        Haleth nodded and took one. She gently unwrapped it and then bit into it, sampling the savoury filling. As she chewed a smile crept upon her lips, "You have once again proven me wrong. Such festivities are not a waste of time if they provide food like this. Tell me, how do you make tamales colorados?"

        "I hoped you would ask," Caranthir said and handed her a slip of paper with his graceful script and crude drawings which he had snickered at while making.

        Haleth took it and laughed once again as she looked at his sketch of her and him with circles for heads and lines for arms. Two of the lines intersected, connecting the two figures together, "And I was told that the Eldar were gifted at everything!"

        "Not everything, you are far more gifted in many ways then I will ever be! You are an esteemed and brave warrior who I would share in eternity with if I could. You are a good person, free from guilt and cruelty," Caranthir's glasses misted over as tears welled in his eyes. Memories of the kinslaying and the blood he has spilled became fresh once more. If Haleth knew of his sins her love for him would fade. And she would learn in Brethil. All he could hope is that she would still remember him fondly.

        "Thank you. I would spend eternity with you as well. You make me laugh and I certainly need that. I have my own guilt to bear though. I wish I had fought just a bit harder, maybe my brother and father would be here. Also despite you trying to hide it, you have your own wounds, I can see and well, I love you regardless. Whenever it's Yule I'll think of you, for you taught me about it," Haleth reached out and took Caranthir's hand.

        "I will think of you as well even once you pass beyond this world, for I love you too," Caranthir clenched Haleth's hand tightly. Tonight wasn't like the Yuletides of old but it was dear to him nonetheless.

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

Thank you for reading!! I like Haleth x Caranthir quite a bit! This is one of the first slightly romantic things I've published. (I think it's pretty light though)

Caranthir loves tamales colorados. Fëanor would have learned how to make them from Míriel but she had to hang out with Vairë and Námo for a while so he taught himself to make them from her old cookbook. When all of the family is reembodied then they can all enjoy them together!

[ao3feed-silvergifting]

《Days and Nights in Valinor》

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cLQnDl5

by qsand

This is a Chinese-to-English translation of a fanfiction based on "The Silmarillion." The Chinese original is finished on my homepage and domestic platforms (Lofter and Weibo). I will gradually machine-translate the Chinese original into English and publish it on AO3. The progress in English will be slower than the Chinese original. Character Pairings: Fingolfin x Fëanor; Annatar x Celebrimbor; Maedhros x Fingon；Oromë x Celegorm（Character pairings are sorted by percentage in the text）Note: In a character pairing, the order of the names has significance - the first character is top and the second character is bottom. In 《The Ash of Fire》，the main pairing is Fingolfin x Fëanor;In 《The Glimmer》，the main pairings are Maeglin x Turgon and Sauron x Celebrimbor;《The Gate of Dawn》includes all the aforementioned character pairings, with a greater emphasis on Fingolfin x Fëanor and Maeglin x Turgon. This article contains a lot of private settings, including the setting of male elves giving birth to children. If you don't like my portrayal of a character or episode in the text, please quit rather than leave some rude comments. Please make sure you can accept these.

Words: 1571, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Fëanor | Curufinwë, Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fingon | Findekáno, Maedhros | Maitimo, Annatar (Tolkien), Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Oromë (Tolkien), Sons of Fëanor, Manwë Súlimo, Námo | Mandos, Finarfin | Arafinwë

Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Oromë

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/cLQnDl5

[cilil]

"What Could Have Been" by @a-world-of-whimsy-5. A heartbreaking Námo x Fëanor oneshot in which Fëanor tries to speak to his former lover

"Out of Love" by @i-did-not-mean-to. Just the sweetest Fëanturi drabble in which Námo meets his baby brother for the first time

Happy Friday, Fellowship! 💛

Fic recs are the best way to help promote someone else’s works! Find some of your favorite fics, they could be WIPs, completed, old, new, whatever you want to share, and rec at least (1) of them for us and your followers to see! Who knows, it might just be the fic someone out there is looking for!

Bonus: tag the author (if possible) and share with us why you are recommending this fic!

[ao3feed-tolkien]

《Days and Nights in Valinor》

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/af9gOXH

by qsand

This is a Chinese-to-English translation of a fanfiction based on "The Silmarillion." The Chinese original is finished on my homepage and domestic platforms (Lofter and Weibo). I will gradually machine-translate the Chinese original into English and publish it on AO3. The progress in English will be slower than the Chinese original. Character Pairings: Fingolfin x Fëanor; Annatar x Celebrimbor; Maedhros x Fingon；Oromë x Celegorm（Character pairings are sorted by percentage in the text）Note: In a character pairing, the order of the names has significance - the first character is top and the second character is bottom. In 《The Ash of Fire》，the main pairing is Fingolfin x Fëanor;In 《The Glimmer》，the main pairings are Maeglin x Turgon and Sauron x Celebrimbor;《The Gate of Dawn》includes all the aforementioned character pairings, with a greater emphasis on Fingolfin x Fëanor and Maeglin x Turgon. This article contains a lot of private settings, including the setting of male elves giving birth to children. If you don't like my portrayal of a character or episode in the text, please quit rather than leave some rude comments. Please make sure you can accept these.

Words: 1571, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M, Multi

Characters: Fëanor | Curufinwë, Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fingon | Findekáno, Maedhros | Maitimo, Annatar (Tolkien), Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Oromë (Tolkien), Sons of Fëanor, Manwë Súlimo, Námo | Mandos, Finarfin | Arafinwë

Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celegorm | Turcafinwë/Oromë

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/af9gOXH

[aruthla]

Day 12 : Dragon

For a long time, Fëanor believed that Námo was like a cat. 

After managing to get him out of his routine, Fëanor often found himself with Námo's head on his lap. He quickly discovered that only he was entitled to this treatment, Irmo having once tried to take Námo's place, before being brutally thrown into the water by the latter, who placed his head on Fëanor's lap as if nothing had happened.

Moreover, with Irmo, Námo was as affectionate as a cat. In other words, some days he could accept a hug from his brother and the next day he would completely ignore him.

But Fëanor was wrong.

Námo was a dragon who jealously guarded his treasure and Morgoth learned it at his own expense.

Link to AO3

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The cost of broken promises

A Fëanor one shot inspired by these reactions written by @doodle-pops

Pairing:  Fëanor x Fem. reader

Word count: 1.5K words

Themes: Angst

Warnings: Dark Fëanor | Mentions of torture |  Mentions of abandonment and exile 

Summary: Fëanor learns the identity of your father, and finds out that breaking promises come with a price. 

Rules and tag form can be found here.    

Fëanor felt many things in his life: happiness, especially when he was with his father. Sorrow for the mother he never got to see. Anger, for when his father remarried and sired more children. And, of course, pride. He felt pride when he crafted his first tool, the first weapon, for when he made the Silmarils, those three jewels that held the light of the Trees and were the greatest of his creations. Fëanor experienced it all, even wrath and love. Once, Fëanor felt love. It consumed his every thought. Fëanor would have done anything for that love until, one day, a secret came into the light and tore that love asunder.

That secret was the identity of your parents. No one knew who your mother and father were, and you refused to speak of them. You were parts elf and parts Ainu, and Fëanor considered himself the most fortunate of elves when he claimed your love. He was persistent, courting you, wooing you, making extravagant promises, and offering the world and his undying devotion if you accepted his hand and stood by his side. He would give you no cause to doubt his love, he said. You would have no reason to fear him, he said. He wanted you to trust him in all things, he said. 

You took him at his word and trusted him. You mustered your courage and revealed to him the identities of your mother and father. Fëanor was talking of marriage, and you did not wish to have secrets between you. You confessed that your mother was an elf who died giving you birth, and your father? Your father was the mightiest among the Valar, the one called the Marrer and the Great Deceiver, and many lived in fear of his name. You told Fëanor all, hiding nothing from him.

How he changed! In an instant, all the love he felt for you disappeared. His fine promises were all but forgotten. It did not matter that you were nothing like your father. He did not care that you went against Morgoth and broke away from his influence as soon as it was safe for you to do so. Fëanor was enraged. He turned a deaf ear to your pleas and hardened his heart to the tears coursing down your cheeks. You were the child of the Lord of Angband. In his eyes, you were an abomination.

"You are as great a deceiver as your father," he had declared. "Be gone from my sight and trouble me no more!" 

It was the kindest thing he said. Fëanor went on to say a great many things, all of them cruel and undeserved. And that was not enough for him. Fëanor, a mighty prince of the Noldor, decided to make an example of you. He made your connection to Melkor known to all, humiliating you before his people and casting you out with nothing but the robes on your back after making you watch the destruction of your home. You had nowhere to go. The other Valar appealed on your behalf, but Fëanor ignored them all. They could never force him to change his mind. It was against their nature to do so. And you were forced to wander, dependent on the kindness of those who crossed your path. 

Alas, you found no kindness. No one took you in. Door after door closed, and your life grew harder. Fëanor could not have been more pleased with himself. You would have led to his ruin, and he could not believe he allowed himself to love you. He was free.

Or so he thought. Many days after you were driven away, the strangest feeling came over him. It was there when he caught traces of your perfume clinging to his robes when he looked over to the chair you always favored. Wherever he went, wherever he looked, he would be reminded of you, and that feeling weighed down on him even more. It worried him, gnawed at him like a hungry dog gnawing at a bone, and nearly drove him mad. Fëanor did not know what it meant until one day, he walked past the burned husk that was once your home. He stopped by the charred ruins of a fence and looked. And remembered. 

His men held your arms while he threw the first torch. How he smiled when the fire quickly roared to life. The sounds of wood crackling and popping while it burned and the roof groaning as hungry flames licked against the rafters were like music to his ears. His smile grew wider when the roof finally collapsed, and he heard a strangled noise, almost like a sob. Fëanor turned to you, his eyes alive with triumph.

"Take this abomination out of my sight," he commanded. "Our realm must not be tainted by Melkor's filth."

His words shattered what was left of your spirit. Fëanor remembered it—your stricken look—and went cold all over. His triumph, once sweet as honey, now tasted like ash against his tongue. That strange feeling weighing him down was clear now. It was guilt he felt. Guilt and remorse and shame. How it shamed him to see how weak his love was! How fickle was his character, how hollow were his promises! Fëanor was ashamed. You trusted him with your deepest, darkest secret, thinking he would keep true to his word, and he let you down in the worst way imaginable. He recoiled when he remembered the harsh words and how he humiliated you, ruined your life, and all because of who sired you, something you had no control over. 

Determined to right the many wrongs he had done, he searched for you. Eru alone knew how he searched for you. No one knew where you were. Not a trace of you could be found. Fëanor wept constantly, regretting his actions deeply. The sight of you being driven out of the gates haunted him and plagued his every dream. 

After the chaos that followed the destruction of the Two Trees, he had known no peace. His father was slain. The silmarils were stolen. He turned on other elves and encouraged his followers to do the same. Most were cursed for their part in the kinslaying, and he had no hope of ever leaving the halls of Mandos. His crimes had been too great for pardon. Morgoth tormented him in their final battle, taunting him about you, telling him how you were captured and tortured. Morgoth cried, "How easy it was to break her," and he thanked Fëanor for sending his errant child back to him for admonishment. 

And that was not all. After falling to Morgoth and entering the halls of Mandos, Fëanor learned that another had loved you in silence. As soon as word of your exile reached his ears, he searched for you, hoping to find you and bring you back. When he saved you, you were but a shell of what you were, utterly broken by everything you had to endure.

"The Lord Commander's love does not change like the passing of the season. It is steadfast and true. And he is patient, tending to y/n's every need with his own hands and without complaint." After having been moved by Nienna's pleas on Fëanor's behalf, Námo revealed to him your fate. Fëanor could never leave the halls or interact with the other fëar. There would be harm in him receiving a glimps of what was yet to come. Námo moved his hand over a pool of water beside his throne. It held visions of the past, the present, and the future. The inky black murk was as still as a mirror, and the images that floated to the surface were clear.

Fëanor could only watch while the Lord Commander held you, comforted you, soothed your fears, and wiped the tears that always fell. He recognized the burnished copper skin, the blue-green feathers, and the blue eyes that burned brighter than any lamp. It was none other than the Elder King's herald himself. Eönwë had loved you, he was told. He did not care about the circumstances surrounding your birth or who your father was. And he kept silent out of respect for your feelings for Fëanor. He had been away, on a mission on behalf of the Elder King. Upon his return, he learned of what happened and set out in search of you. Through the still waters of that black pool, Fëanor saw it all unfold. Bright steel cutting through the darkness, the anguished screams of orcs falling to a blade forged by none other than Aulë himself.  He saw the iron bars, you on the other side, covered in fresh scars, barely hanging onto life. It cut him deep, to know he was the cause of your torment. 

"With their graces leave," Námo went on, "the Lord Commander brought y/n to the safety of Ilmarin and has been the light scattering the darkness plaguing her."

Fëanor would have wept, but he could not. His fëa trembled violently with grief and pain. You were being cared for by another, loved by another. If only he had shown you the kindness you rightfully deserved, you would have been safe and in his arms. "Does she love him?"

Námo was truthful. It was against his nature to be anything else. "Y/n may not love him now, but she will come to do so, and deeply.” He studied Fëanor with eyes that had peered into the great mysteries of the universe and witnessed a great many things. “She will give him a child. This child was meant to be yours, Fëanor, son of Finwë. This child would have called you father and been the light of your life. Alas, such a thing will never come to pass now."

[i-did-not-mean-to]

A for effort for dear Námo

This is for all the people who made me really like Námo, like @maglor-my-beloved, @z-h-i-e, and of course, my Valar-liking friend @the-red-butterfly.

Please enjoy 715 words of Námo having a less-than-ideal day with his wife.

(Also...Fëanor, because always Fëanor)

“I do not look that grim,” Fëanáro bellowed, looking – as far as Námo was concerned – much dourer than his beloved wife had ever depicted him in any of her tapestries.

“Is it too much to ask that she not slander me more than strictly necessary? Already, you lot seem to have decided to turn me into the villain of your little tale of woe; do you absolutely have to make me look like one in every hanging as well?” The wavering soul sniffed in vexation. “My children see this as well, and my poor mother has to weave these atrocities! Who designs those abhorrent pictures?”

Námo steadied himself, trying hard to remember the breathing exercises his beloved siblings had shown him to deal with the stress of his workplace; these new-fangled ideas brought to their realm by the returning exiles and odd guests alike did have their undeniable advantages, he had to admit.

“I shall have words with my wife,” he declared placatingly, but a tight knot of apprehension started swirling deep within his core. As was custom, he did not meddle in Vairë’s work and she kept mostly out of his.

It would take incredible tact and quite a bit of sweet-talking to get her to understand that one of his charges – and she’d know which one right away – had complained about her handiwork. There was a distinct risk that she’d take the broom she used to tidy up the bits of discarded and cut-off thread in her halls and sweep Finwë’s oldest and Míriel’s only son straight into the void.

Tired of Fëanáro’s antics, Námo removed himself with as much grace as he could muster and went straight to his beloved wife’s halls where she sat, frowning and weighing a few spools of thread pensively, in front of a half-finished tapestry of a particularly bloody battle.

“Husband,” she greeted without turning around. “What say you? This one or this one for the blood?” She held aloft two reels that looked to be the exact same shade of crimson to Námo.

“That one,” he replied and tapped the one closest to him. “I’ve come to transmit the grievance of one of my charges.”

As she whirled around, he steeled himself against the inquisitive touch of her mind, brushing against his own with tender confidence. “Oh?” Vairë cocked her head.

“Someone expressed moderate displeasure about the way they’re shown.” He cleared his throat sheepishly as her brows drew together in dismay. “That someone,” he went on bravely, “thinks that their beauty might not be rendered satisfactorily by your impeccable art.”

“Oh, she said that he’d complain,” Vairë grunted and threw the bobbins to the stone floor to clasp her hands around her knees in an expression of benevolent patience. “And you’ve come to impart that questionable insight right away?”

“Indeed,” Námo sighed; he saw his wife’s eyes darken and her glance flit over the rows of neatly arrayed spools that turned one wall of her halls into a mesmerising mosaic of colours. 

“Leave it to me, husband,” she then said in a tone so sweet and soothing that he was now convinced beyond a doubt that she was indeed plotting to teach the unruliest of the High Kings of the Noldor a lesson.

“I submit to your wisdom and skill,” he replied hastily lest he be entangled in marital doom amongst other shenanigans. “Far be it from me to lecture you on your own unique gift.”

With those conciliatory words, Námo returned to his own tasks, happy to have handled things so well.

The very next day, Fëanáro – flashing red and orange with anger – came to him and led him to the newest addition to the hanging decorating every wall, courtesy of his esteemed spouse.

“Oh,” Námo gasped and fell silent. Vairë had indeed made Míriel’s son blindingly handsome, but – on the other hand – he was now tiny, dwarfed and overshadowed by his children and siblings. “Well, you’ve never said anything about your height.”

Smug as a cat that had gotten to the cream, he drifted away and left his very animate ball and chain standing in front of the offending tapestry, fuming and raging. 

At the very least, Námo thought, Fëanáro was much restored and almost his old self again…for better or for worse.

That's it...that's the burst of energy for today lol

Lots of love!

[edensrose]

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ modern!tolkien characters ⠀〳 ⠀reader ❜᭡

─────── .°୭̥ ✿ˎˊ˗ “ asking them to shower with you - ❪ minors dni ៸៸ slight nsfw ៸៸ suggestive content ៸៸ modern au ៸៸ námo and manwë made me waaayy too weak for this ❫

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ THRANDUIL

ʚ was probably on his way to a meeting, standing at his mirror and fixing his watch and collar

ʚ glances over and sees you there in the towel

ʚ clears his throat, considers the possibilities

ʚ calls to galion to reschedule all his appointments before pulling you in

ʚ "might I remind you that whatever happens next is entirely of your own doing."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤLEGOLAS

ʚ in the middle of breakfast, munching down on his cereal

ʚ most likely chokes on it when he sees you there and goes a bright red

ʚ just stands there, blushing, staring

ʚ swiftly puts his bowl down and ushers you to the bathroom

ʚ "forget classes, might as well call in sick now."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MAIRON

ʚ doing his eyeliner when you call for him

ʚ looks at you through the mirror, narrows his eyes — he just did his makeup

ʚ places his stuff down, cups your throat and drives you back into the bathroom

ʚ "since I'm going to ruin this freshly done makeup, my rules."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MELKOR

ʚ most likely had just gotten out of the shower as well, was doing his hair

ʚ knows damn well he had a meeting but then he saw you there in your towel

ʚ doesn't even think twice before grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you back into the bathroom

ʚ "the meeting? you have bigger things that worry about."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMANWË

ʚ getting ready for work, was most likely about to leave when you called for him

ʚ spins around to give you a kiss and then sees your state

ʚ clears his throat at your request, hands find your waist

ʚ all it takes is one kiss

ʚ "you know exactly what you are doing to me, alright darling, I'll play your game."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ IRMO

ʚ was most likely still in bed and trying to get up for work

ʚ whined a little when you called for him but then he turns to see you and hears your offer

ʚ you've never seen him spring out bed so quickly

ʚ "well, that's one way to get me out of bed. we may end up back there, however."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNÁMO

ʚ fastening his belt and finishing up the final touches

ʚ spots you from the corner of the mirror and already knows what you'll offer

ʚ sighs, undoes his belt and coils it around his hand

ʚ presses his lips to yours and backs you up into the bathroom

ʚ "I'll give you an hour. under my terms."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEÖNWË

ʚ was cooking breakfast for the two of you

ʚ turns to you and nearly drops the frying pan with the eggs, clears his throat

ʚ sighs contently, puts the stove off and tugs you to him by the wrists

ʚ "I suppose I'll be having breakfast anyway, hmm?"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ FËANOR

ʚ was sketching out some designs at his desk

ʚ saw you and simply stared, shamelessly doing a once-over of you

ʚ places the pencil down, stands up, takes your waist and tugs you to him

ʚ "since you adore disrupting my focus, make it up to me."

taglist — @kiatheinsomniac @augustwithquills @m-shade @nerdydcfan @flowerchildishere @camilomyshiningsun @bugnug @algae-rave @snakesofindia-sursesaji @theroguemaia @heraluthor @the-girl-king @qwerty-19923 @livialounalamontagne @afternoonhours

( masterlist ) ( taglist form )

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Here it is. The list of Kinktober posts scheduled for sharing, along with the dates.

Warning: Each post contains content of a sexual nature. Minors DNI /🔞

Reader insert requests:

Squirting: “Above all else” | Fëanor x Fem. Reader – 10th October

Size kink: “Made for me | Námo x Fem. Reader – 12th October

Breeding kink: “Strange needs” | Re-embodied! Finrod x Fem. Reader – 14th October

Bondage (hands and arms): “The vow” | Caranthir x Fem. Reader – 18th October

Threesome: “Another bedmate” | Melkor x Mairon x Fem. Reader – 20th October

Spanking: “A new source of pleasure” | Fingolfin x Fem. Reader – 22nd October

Age difference: “The Black Swan” | Arthur Dayne x Fem. Reader – 24th October

Temperature play (Wax): “New delights” | Aemond Targaryen x Fem. Reader – 30th October

Whimsy’s Kinktober specials

Mistress kink: “Mistress” | Varda x Eönwë – 16th October 2023

Temperature play (Ice/Cold): “A welcomed chill” | Arien x Tilion – 19th October

Physical description and NSFW Alphabet for: Arthur Dayne -25th October

First time: “Crimson and gold” | Tulkas x Maedhros – 26th October

Physical description and NSFW Alphabet for: Thû -28th October

NSFW alphabet for Thuringwethil - 31st October

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Fëanor x Námo masterlist

What could have been 

[i-did-not-mean-to]

TRSB 2024 - Fics

✵𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝔽𝕚𝕔𝕤✵

➢ The Hunt for @ismeneee - T - 5k - Celegorm & Curufin

➢ Is it a question of "how" or of "whether"? for @babybat98 - E - 7,5k - Glorfindel x Galion

➢ Si tú no vuelves se secarán todos los mares for @the-red-butterfly- T - 5k - Thranduil & Thorin

❃ 𝕋𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕤 ❃

⁍ I'll always remember for @scyllas-revenge - G - 720 - Boromir & Faramir

⁍ Crablor in a basket for @sortumavaara - G - 100 - Elladan & Elrohir & Maglor

⁍ Where to get a present in Mandos? for @jaz-the-bard - G - 535 - Caranthir & Námo (Elrond, Elros, Maglor, Maedhros)

⁍ Welcome to my world for @scyllas-revenge - T - 2,1k - The Noldor

⁍ Homework first for @maglor-my-beloved - G - 110 - Orc child & Erestor & Elrond & Glorfindel

⁍ Say my name! for @navyinks - G - 110 - Fëanor & Fingolfin

So, these are the fics written by me for this event! Lots of love!

arts are here-> TRSB 2024 Arts