#FOTFICS october

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Treat 🍪

My friend!

Finwë looked over at the wondrous creature beside him with deep affection. Elwë had ever been wild in the most serene sense of the word—he sang to the rain and danced on sunbeams. Despite the ages they’d spent apart, they could still sit in silence thus, comforted by the other’s mere presence. Unspoken words of solace and support hung like dust motes between them, and they both smiled as the shared sadness strummed the chords of their ancient friendship with tender fingers. For one precious moment, they were young again, and the world was full of hope and potential.

Let me tell you how much I love you through a drabble about my old boys!

As you can see, I coloured a word for you. Take it as the tender confession of reverence and respect it is <3

Thank you so much!

I love you tons and tons!

[fellowshipofthefics]

Happy October, Fellowship! 🎃

As there are a ton of amazing prompt lists out there already for October - kinktober, tolkientober, etc - we have decided to not add to that list of many temptations. However, we do have a fun little game for you this month!

It's simple: have your followers go to your inbox with a "Trick" or "Treat" - if you are asked for a Trick, share something angsty or emotional! If you are asked for a Treat, then it's sweet and fluffy all the way!

This can be a drabble, a sneak peek at your current wip, or plans for a future idea if you feel like sharing! YOU get to decide the rules!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hey hey~ coming in with a little trick request for your Halloween event!😈

I'd like to see some vampire!Manwë x Námo with prompt number 4 or 9 (your choice🧡). Dark content is welcome, also leaving that up to you.

Thank you! Looking forward to this!💜

Ooh! I have decided to go with number four for this. I also hope that you don’t mind that I took some liberty with the themes and the timeline.

"The choice"

Pairing: Vampire! Manwë x Námo (Calamórë)

Location and time: Halls of Mandos/19th Century England

Prompt : 4 - "Why won’t you let me turn you?”

Themes: Angst | Emotional | Loss

Warnings: Vampirism | Illness (Typhoid) | Death | Blood tears | Explicit language

Wordcount: 900+ words

Summary: Námo falls grievously ill. Manwë wishes to save him.

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge. Two more slots are available for requests, but prompts 4 and 6 (for Vampire! Finrod) are out. The rules and prompts for requests can be read here.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Námo was so still, it was frightening.

He was gaunt, his warm, ivory skin now as white as chalk. He did not open his eyes. Not when his sister fussed with his pillows to make him more comfortable; not when his brother covered his face and wept; not when the physicians spoke to the family in hushed whispers. He was too weak to do anything but rest.

“It is too late,” one said.

“There is little that could be done now,” another said.

“Only a miracle could save him from the clutches of this wretched disease," a third said. “And these mere mortal hands have not been blessed by the divine. You must prepare yourselves. I am sorry.”

One by one, they left. One of the physicians helped Irmo out into a dimly lit corridor, and down the stairs to the parlor. Nienna dithered by the door. Tears continued to streak down her cheeks, but she did not sob. She had to be strong, for all their sakes. 

“You will be wanting to say your farewells, Mister Súlimo,” she said.

Manwë was startled. He had been standing by the hearth, staring into flames that fought to keep the autumn chill from drifting into the room.

“Yes.” He smoothed his jacket and straightened himself, his tone perfectly calm, perfectly neutral. His face was a mask of serenity. “My thanks.”

Nienna acknowledged him with a silent, courteous bow before leaving the room in a swirl of dark silks that rustled with each step she took.

A servant closed the door behind her. The moment the corridor outside grew silent, Manwë's mask of serene composure dropped beneath the crushing weight of unspeakable agony. He did not know how he placed one foot ahead of the other or how he even reached the wide bed. When he arrived at Námo’s side and took an all-too-cool hand into his own, he sank to his knees and sobbed, unable to rein in his pain.

One last time. Manwë prayed, though to which God, he did not know. If only I could speak with him one last time.

Námo finally stirred and opened his eyes. It is as if he received one final surge of vigor. “You...came. Even... even after we argued..."

It was soft, barely over a whisper. Námo shivered, and grew silent. Manwë lifted his eyes. They were wild with grief and filled with deep red tears. More tears left scarlet trails that stained his pale skin. 

“Not even those who hunt my kind could keep me away from you," he declared, and brushed his hand over spun silver hair. It was still soft, slipping around his fingers like silk. Manwë watched with a mournful expression. Soon, he would not be able to touch that hair. 

Námo fought to stay awake. He yearned to reach out and stroke Manwë’s cheek, to offer him some comfort. Alas, he could not. He could not even raise his arm a grain’s breadth above the bed. He only whispered, “Your tears. They… they must not…see.” 

Manwë no longer cared, but he acquiesced anyway. He took out a square piece of red silk from his pocket and dabbed his eyes, his cheeks. Crimson soon soaked into crimson, but at least no one could see even if they tried.

“Why won’t you let me turn you?” The words came out in a smothered sob. “I can save you, little raven. Why will you not let me?”

Ever since Námo fell ill and they learned the cause of it all, Manwë beseeched him to let him intervene. Let me help you, he pleaded. Let me make you into a being like me. Then no illness will claim you, and we can remain together, for good and always.

Námo had a ready reply, and every time Manwë asked, it was always the same. He wished to remain mortal. He did not yield to any other course of action besides heeding the counsel of the family physicians. Then they argued. Caught in sorrow's grip, Manwë uttered things he could never take back before he departed the manor. Only Nienna's made him put aside his confusion and despair and anger, and return. Manwë listened again, certain the answer would be the same as always.

“This… this is my choice,” Námo insisted between labored breaths. “I wish…to leave… this world… the way… I have lived it. As… as a mortal.”

Manwë wanted to argue. To rage. This should not be so, he wanted to say. It was not right. It was not fair.

Twelve months, he thinks. Many a century spent searching for my soul’s other half, and when I do find him, all that is given me is twelve fucking months.  

“Do not…be angry,” Námo pleaded. “Please.”

Manwë stops, hesitates. Heated words soon die in his throat. 

“I am sorry, little raven.” Manwë grasps his hand and brings it to his lips. It is icy now. He smothers another sob. "And forgive me, for what I said before. I offer no excuse for being so cruel."

“There is... nothing... to forgive. Perhaps,” Each breath is a battle now. And yet, Námo persists. “If… fate is… kind, we… we will meet again.”

“I will wait for you,” Manwë vows. “I love you.”

Námo closes his eyes. A strange, numbing sensation crept up his throat. He whispers three words. Three final words, and then he goes still, for good and always. Manwë leans down, and kisses him for the last time. He buries his tears and rises. The fire burns brighter now, warming the room. Manwë does not feel it. The world will never be warm for him again.

tags: @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese

[ao3feed-silmarillion]

by I_did_not_mean_to

Here's this month's little Trick or treat game

Feel free to send in an ask on Tumblr :)

Words: 100, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 15 of FOTFICS Challenges

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo, Finwë (Tolkien)

Relationships: Elu Thingol | Elwë Singollo & Finwë

Additional Tags: Fotfics, FOTFICS trick or treat, Drabble, Let's see what happens

[middleearthpixie]

Yes! I think you should definitely do “warm beverages” ☺️

Okay - here it is and I know it is REALLY late, but time just really has lost all meaning for me lately. And I know it's supposed to be a drabble, but for me, this IS a drabble (everything I write turns into a monster, after all) so here goes...

Hot Apple Cider

Prompt: Warm Beverages (Day 3)

Summary: You and Thorin spend a cold afternoon at a corn maze with your children…

Characters: Thorin x reader, Rina Durin, Frerin Durin, Dwalin

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,863

Khuzdul Translations: 

’Adad - father 

’Amad - mother 

Raklûn - precious, darling one 

Maralmizi/maralmizu - I love you 

Mesmel - jewel of all jewels 

Amrâlimê - my love

***

It was a gray, blustery day with a definite chill in the air. Not exactly the picture perfect weather for pumpkin picking or to wander about in an immense corn maze, but at the same time, no one seemed to mind the dreariness around them. Shrieks of laughter echoed all around you to let you know just how little the weather mattered. Despite the fact that you were freezing and your hands were almost numb, you still smiled. This was just as you remembered it from your own childhood—pumpkin patch, corn maze, hayrides, the earthy tang of apples as they were pressed for their juice, hints of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg in the air. You hadn’t been to the farm since you were a girl and as you slipped your hand into Thorin’s, your memories came rushing back as the heat from his hand sank into yours to thaw it a tad. 

“I should go after them,” he said, frowning in the direction of the corn maze. “They’re in there alone and anything can happen.”

“They aren’t alone.” You squeezed his hand gently. “They are with Dwalin and he is never far behind either of them. Relax, your Majesty, and enjoy a rare free afternoon.”

He smiled down at you. “I’m not so good at relaxing. I have so much work waiting for me back at Erebor.”

“I know, but even a king is allowed a few hours to simply spend doing nothing but listening to his children have fun.”

“I know you’re right, and we needed a bit of time away from everything and it’s only a few hours, but I’m having trouble just the same.”

“Really?” you asked this with a grin. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m sorry, mesmel, there is just so much going on now.”

“I know, but the world will not fall apart all at once. Balin is there if anything urgent comes up.” You slipped your hand from his and eased your arms about his waist. “We miss you, you know.”

“I know. And Mahal willing, the elders will stop being so fussy over everything and agree to the terms of the agreement between us and the elves.”

“They will. They merely need a bit more convincing.”

“Which I can hardly do here.”

“Thorin.” You didn’t even bother to keep the scolding out of your voice. “It is but a few hours away from the negotiations. Balin is more than capable of speaking on your behalf and your children are only young for a short while. Enjoy it.”

His blue eyes closed, his lashes thick black crescents against his cheeks as he drew in a slow, deep breath and then exhaled just as slowly. “You’re right and I am sorry again.”

“You’re forgiven,” you tucked your head against his chest, smiling as he wrapped his arms about you and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. You knew how hard he’d been working, in meeting after meeting from sunup until late at night, all trying to hammer out a trade agreement between the dwarves and the elves of Mirkwood. It had taken every ounce of persuasion you possessed to get him to agree to this outing. Now if only you could find a way to make him relax and actually enjoy his down time. One thing at a time.

Shrieks of laughter rolled your way and a few minutes later, two dark-haired children came racing out of the corn maze, almost falling into one another from laughing so hard. You had no idea what they laughed about, but the sound of them doing it was so silvery and melodic, it was contagious and you smiled as well. 

 Thorin pulled away from you, crouching to scoop up Frerin, your eight-year old son. “Easy, Frer,” he said, swinging him up into his arms. “Where did you lose Dwalin?”

“In there,” Frerin pointed back to the corn maze. “He’s too slow and too bossy and no fun, ’Adad.”

“You lost him on purpose, Rina?” you asked.

Your ten-year old daughter looked up and nodded. “Kind of, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he kept telling us to go left! Or not that way!” Frerin looped his arms about Thorin’s neck, but held himself away to look his father eye to eye. “He’s no fun, so we gave him the slip.”

Thorin arched a brow. “Gave him the slip?” 

Rina nodded, trying to look somber, but you didn't miss the way her pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief. It was the same look you’d seen so many times in her father’s eyes as well. “At a tee, he said, Turn right, and we went left and he couldn’t keep up. He’s such an old sourpuss.”

You had to hold back your smile, and it wasn’t easy. Both Rina and Frerin seemed so very proud of their sneakiness and they weren’t entirely wrong. At times, Dwalin was very much an old sourpuss. You looked over at Thorin, and only one who knew him as well as you did could see the amusement sparking in his eyes, the slight twitch at the right corner of his beard that gave away his struggle to not smile as well. 

“That wasn’t nice, Rina. We should probably go find him.” You looked back at the massive corn maze. The farm boasted they had the largest corn maze in all of Middle Earth and you didn't relish the thought of trying to find one dwarf in that mess of giant stalks. 

Thorin shook his head. “Nah. He’s a big boy. He’ll find his way out. Besides, they’re right, it is not fun being ordered this way and that. Not,” he added as Frerin’s smile widened, “that I condone just ditching him that way, mind you. Because that was wrong. So, you two will go and find him and apologize.”

Frerin’s gaze fell and his smile faded. “Sorry, ’Adad,” he said sheepishly. “We just wanted to have fun, like everyone else.”

Like everyone else. You heard the laughter and shrieks of the other children in the corn maze and sighed softy. “You and your sister aren’t like everyone else, though, raklûn,” you told him softly, reaching down to rumple his windblown tangle of black curls. “And that’s why Dwalin goes with you places.”

Rina sighed. “But, ’Amad, he never lets us have any fun, though. And that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?” She gestured to the maze, then to the rest of the farm around them. Then, she sighed softly. “Oh, all right. Come on, Frer, let’s go find him.”

She held out her hand to her younger brother, and you waited to see if he’d take it or not. Then, he slipped his hand into his sister’s and said, “Can we lose him again?”

“No.” Rina shook her head. “Not this time.” She shot you and Thorin both a pointed look. “It wasn’t nice.”

“Enough,” Thorin told her sternly. “Go and retrieve him before he has a chance grow even crankier.”

“Very well.” Rina let out a sigh that suggested she was the most put-upon girl in all of Middle Earth. “Come on, Frer. Let’s go find the old sourpuss.”

“And stop calling him the old sourpuss!” Thorin called after them.

You smiled as they vanished into the corn maze once more, then looked up at Thorin. “Now’s our chance to lose them all.”

He grinned. “I like how you think.” 

With that, he caught you by the hand and tugged you toward the corn maze as well. You could hear your children ahead of you, so you made certain that when they went left, you went right. And vice versa. And as you wound further into the maze, the sounds of the farm, and of the other maze-goers, faded into the distance. The air smelled sweetly of fresh soil, apples, and cinnamon and it was cold enough that you didn't mind it when Thorin tugged you up against him. 

He smiled down at you. “Finally, a moment alone.”

“Careful, dwarf,” you replied, the glint in his pale blue eyes making butterflies come alive in your belly, “you don’t want to jinx us.”

He bent to you, his lips soft and warm as they met yours, and you melted against him. How was it possible that after nearly a dozen years of marriage, and two children, this man still had the ability to make you feel like a young girl in the grips of her very first crush? Even on a cold, windswept, overcast day, in a corn maze, you felt as if you had just fallen in love with him and you wanted his kiss to last forever. 

He kissed you slowly, deep and lingering, and when he drew back, he pressed his forehead to yours and murmured, “Maralmizi.”

“Maralmizu,” you whispered back, tracing your forefinger along the silvery patch of his beard. It was somehow soft and scratchy at the same time and you’d noticed there were more silver threads shot through with each passing day. Not that it mattered. He was still the same handsome dwarf he’d been when you’d met so many years ago. And you loved him as much now as you did then, perhaps even more. 

“You’re shivering, mesmel,” he murmured.

“It’s cold in here and the wind is cutting thorough me.”

“Would you like something hot to drink?”

“Dwarf, I would kill for that.”

“Then we should probably go find our children,” he whispered, kissing you again.

“Probably.”

“Or we could just let Dwalin keep them.”

“We’d miss them.”

“Not for a while, though.”

“Dwarf.”

“Very well. We will take the children home with us.” He grinned, kissing you a third time. “Can we leave Dwalin here? He is an old sourpuss, you know.”

“I know, but we should probably take him back, too.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“There they are!” Rina’s voice rang out like a bell, lilting and silvery. “Ugh, they’re kissing again!”

“Ew!” 

Thorin straightened up. “Who would like something warm to drink?”

Both Rina and Frerin nodded. “Hot chocolate!”

Dwalin rounded the corner, red-faced from windburn, what was left of his hair blown in all directions. “Aye, a drink sounds perfect. Preferably something with bourbon or rum in it.”

“How about you, amrâlimê,” Thorin turned to you, “would you like a warm drink?”

“Absolutely.” You clasped your hands together to blow on them and stamped your feet, which were cold despite your heavy boots. “I’m almost frozen through out here.”

“Very well. To the food tent and whatever warm drinks they’re selling here.” Thorin draped his arm about your shoulders and caught Rina’s hand while Frerin grabbed your free hand and you all made your way to the food tent to thaw out a bit. 

Hot chocolate. Hot apple cider. Hot cider spiked with bourbon. Everyone had exactly what they wished to drink and you sighed as you slipped your warm spiked cider, and without thinking, leaned your head against Thorin’s shoulder and smiled as his hand came to rest on your thigh. In that moment, you forgot all about being cold.  

***

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Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @quiall321 @dianakc

[fellowshipofthefics]

Happy October, Fellowship! 🎃

As there are a ton of amazing prompt lists out there already for October - kinktober, tolkientober, etc - we have decided to not add to that list of many temptations. However, we do have a challenge for you this month if you want to apply it to those lists!

It's simple: have your followers go to your inbox with a "Trick" or "Treat" - if you are asked for a Trick, you write something angsty/emotional! If you are asked for a Treat, then it's fluff all the way!

Establish the rules however you like (i.e. prompts, characters, etc), but try and challenge yourself with these different writing vibes!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

For the trick and treat I Choose

Trick!🎃

And for the prompt:

The dork lords receive the devastating news that their sweet baby dragon Glaurung has been murdered🥺😢😭

Hope this'll help cleanse your palate💕

🎃TRICK🎃

Oh, this was a mean one, my friend...nevertheless...

Here are 250 words of sadness and anger.

Had there ever been such a deafening, breathless silence in the dread stronghold, Mairon wondered, struggling to keep his head high as he approached his Master’s looming presence carefully.

“What is it?” The wild, frantic, dangerously volatile expression in Melkor’s eyes almost made his faithful lieutenant crumble, but the prideful Maia stood firm despite the suppressed tremor that threatened to snap his straight spine.

“Glaurung—“ 

How was one supposed to announce something as unspeakable as the demise of a firstborn to the very entity who had been the mighty dragon’s genitor and carer?

Didn’t the eerie quiet, weighing like an oppressive, poisonous cloud on their home, express the terrible lack better than any number of agitated words ever could?

Slowly, Melkor’s lids closed, drawing a delicate curtain over his luminous eyes to obscure the withering flash of heartbroken understanding and the depthless, demented rage that mercilessly banished all vestiges of love and tenderness from his mind and essence.

“Who? How?”

“Húrin’s son,” Mairon spat, bitter hatred coating his leaden tongue, making him gag. “He’ll die, of course.”

“Of course,” Melkor smiled sharply, but there was no joy or even satisfaction in the cruel curve of his frosty lips.

“Mankind shall pay,” Mairon promised. “Even if it takes another age, I’ll avenge your act of creation—our project of love—by robbing them of their children, their most valued creations, and their very hope.”

“Find someone who was there,” Melkor hissed. “I want to know exactly how our son died."

Thank you for this palate-cleanser (also cleaned my eyes...grrr)

-> Masterlist for October!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Trick-or-Treat

Angbang & a dead Glaurung for @melkors-big-tits

Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm for anon (Part I)

Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm, and Turgon for Moonlord (Part II)

Hedgehog Curumo for @cilil

Wolf!Maedhros x Fingon for anon (NSFW)

FëaÑolo Vampire AU for MoonLord (slightly NSFW)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hi, it's Moonlord, and can it be more than one request? For the trick-or-treating? For example, Finrod became a werewolf, in a Finrod/Celegorm (with or without Curufin) or Finrod/Turgon

Hello dearest!

You didn't say whether you wanted a trick or a treat, so I stayed with the vibe of the previous story!

🎃Trick🎃

Have another ficlet about Finrod, Curufin, Celegorm, AND Turgon.

This is Part II of this idea. (Part I)

Have 600 words of Wolfinrod.

Celegorm frowned as he entered the clearing—as an accomplished hunter, he relied on his instincts unhesitatingly, and the musky scent making his nostrils flare now set his teeth on edge.

Something was here, and it was hungry.

Pushing his younger brother—Curufin, for all the things he might have been to him throughout the ages, would never not be a youngling in need of protection—behind his broad, muscular back, he squared his shoulders and advanced cautiously.

“Cousin,” Turgon looked up sharply, his full, sensual lips contorted into a mocking sneer. “I did not expect thee to come.”

The derision dripping like blood from those white teeth was so maddening that Celegorm almost failed to notice the bright golden eyes—tinged with ocean green and sky blue—that settled on his approaching form voraciously.

“What—” he cried out in alarm as sleek limbs untangled and silver fur rustled in the eerie quietude of the remote meadow—even blinking rapidly did nothing to dispel the nightmare he seemed to have fallen into unwittingly.

In Turgon’s lap lay a wolf. Nay, Celegorm knew dogs and wolves well enough to know that there was nothing natural or legitimate about that overgrown, sharp-fanged monstrosity now rolling to its massive paws and stalking towards them leisurely.

“Don’t toy with them,” Turgon warned softly, but there was no real reprimand in that exhortation.

“What sorcery is this?” Celegorm groaned. His body melted into a defensive stance as he heard Curufin gasp breathlessly behind him, and he patted his hip in search of the purely decorative knife he wore on his belt.

“It is he, this is our cousin Finrod,” Curufin hissed. “The Valar have returned him to us…changed.”

The canine creature, intelligent eyes flickering with something akin to dark humour, paused and settled on his strong haunches as if waiting for the appropriate reaction.

“It cannot be,” Celegorm panted, but his hand extended against his will to touch the soft fur of the mysterious he-wolf.

Yes, Celegorm trusted his instincts, and he had never crossed an animal he had not been able to connect with.

Freed of the necessity of polite words and proper turns of phrase, he could let his raw thoughts and unfiltered emotions flow through the unique, inexplicable bond that could only ever be established between unguarded, feral souls.

On that primal level of hunger and survival, he finally managed to convey his shame and debilitating regret. They were pack animals and letting one of their own face danger and death on his own meant unbearable infamy for those who had stayed behind to usurp a position they had not deserved.

Finally, the creature that was Finrod and yet resembled their ridiculously cheerful, strongminded cousin only vaguely inclined its heavy, lethal head in mute acceptance of their contrition.

Then its ears perked up and it gave a short, commanding yap that brought Turgon to his feet and made Celegorm’s skin tingle with the old-familiar thrill of the hunt.

“Stay here,” the silver-haired savage hissed at his forge-bound brother as the scent of a disoriented deer that had been separated from its herd flooded his awareness. “There will be blood.”

“I am no longer afraid of blood,” Curufin laughed, fey and ferocious, and pulled a thin, deadly blade from the sleeve of his formal tunic. “Let’s go!”

As one, the fallen descendants of righteous Finwë fell into a run, their steps all but inaudible, in pursuit of yet another innocent, clueless victim to satiate their thirst for slaughter that even the grace of the Valar had not erased from their guilty souls.

Ah, this was fun! Thank you so much for your amazing prompts!

-> Masterlist October

[i-did-not-mean-to]

TRICK-OR-TREAT? Request? For example, Trick with Finrod in relation to Celegorm and Curufin in Valinor in the future, afterlife

Hello Anon,

yours is 1/2 requests I got for Finrod, Curufin, and Celegorm, so I'll do two parts for the same story!

🎃Trick🎃

Here are 310 words for Part I (Part II)

“Ingo!” Curufin lifted his hand as if to touch a shoulder he no longer had the right to even graze. “Wilt thou not come and break bread with us?”

Cold, expressionless eyes turned upon him slowly, and Curufin wanted to shrink away, but his brother’s solid frame, pressed close against his stiff back, kept him from retreating.

Once upon a time, having a meal together had been as common and easy as whistling a tune, but both convivial banquets and merry songs had been befouled irreversibly by dark deeds and deplorable decisions.

“You and I shall never abide under the same roof again,” Finrod replied in a toneless, dead voice. “It cannot be.”

“Please, friend, cousin, sovereign ruler of heart and hearth,” Curufin pleaded fervently. “Grant us some token of goodwill, I beg of thee!”

Eternal prince, never to become king, Curufin now accepted that he was destined and doomed to be the slinking shadow of another’s glory evermore.

“Let me—” His voice cracked and faltered like steel that had been tempered incorrectly by a careless apprentice. “Anything…”

“Yes,” Finrod finally declared with a minute inclination of his gloriously golden head—the days of cropped hair and haggard misery had passed, and he looked so much like the King they had once revered and desired again that it made their hearts shiver painfully. “Tonight, in the clearing over yonder, I shall listen to what you have to say!”

A ripple of pain and regret flashed over his face—restored and rejuvenated—and both Fëanorians waited anxiously for the joyous, optimistic grin that usually followed Finrod’s darker thoughts—it never came.

With a grave nod, Finrod withdrew, walking away with the same stubborn dignity that had led him to his demise.

This time, though, both Curufin and Celegorm wished that they could follow him, but they were no longer welcome.

Thank you so much for this request, and keep your eyes peeled for the second part <3

-> Masterlist for October!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Can I get a treat with hedgehog Curumo (and Aiwendil too, if you like)?🧡

👻Treat👻

We're really in it now, aren't we? @cilil has requested a treat!!!!

It's my honour and pleasure, of course, to supply this!

Here are 920 words of sweetness (and a bit of sad, for spice)

Warnings: there are insects in this story. Also Curumo is a hedgehog...ask Cílil lol

<3

Curumo was literally and figuratively speechless once more—the indignity of being confined to the puny body of a hedgehog was too much to bear for someone as proud as he was, but to be pushed away gently but resolutely from the big, orange treat Aiwendil was attacking enthusiastically with a small, sharp knife was a new, utterly devastating low, nevertheless.

“You’ll be sick, you dummy,” Aiwendil cooed softly and lifted his most beloved into his cupped hand to bring him to the level of his disgustingly indulgent, warm eyes. “And I don’t want you to be unhappy tonight.”

Sniffling expressively to make sure his vexation was noticed, Curumo rolled up with a huff while pointedly facing away from that loving gaze. It was unbearable—this whole ordeal was so humiliating!

“Don’t be like that, love,” Aiwendil pleaded. “I promise that I have not forgotten you.”

Despite being piqued himself, Curumo was nevertheless careful not to hurt Aiwendil’s tender palm with his spiky dismay.

Come to think of it, his present form might have been well-chosen after all, he had to admit—he had ever been a thorny fellow who had inadvertently harmed those who had had his back out of sheer misery and misplaced pride.

Throwing one suspicious look over what had once been his shoulder—his current, laughably round shape did not really allow for such anatomical distinctions anymore—he gave an inquisitive squeak, confident that Aiwendil would go on blabbering merrily even though Curumo was patently unable to answer.

“You’ll see,” Aiwendil chuckled. “Now, would you please let me finish carving the pumpkin without throwing another hissy fit? The sooner I’m done with this, the faster you’ll get your surprise.”

Curumo vaguely remembered that there had been a celebration on this night, but his memories of his previous life were slowly fading—drifting in and out of focus—and he was convinced that this festivity had never been of much importance anyway.

While humming an old song, learned at the feet of Yavanna, The Bountiful, Aiwendil carefully placed Curumo on a richly embroidered cushion and took up his blade again.

A pleasant, companionable silence fell around them as the beautiful, ever-youthful Maia reverentially modified the fruit of his Lady’s labour to take on a more celebratory appearance and his eternal friend dozed in the fragrant heat of their little hut.

Aiwendil went by another name now, and he had taken on the guise of a gnarled, old man, but—just beyond the thin veneer of a skin-deep glamour—he was still overwhelmingly beautiful.

Blinking sleepily, Curumo glimpsed the shimmering emanation of Aiwendil’s very essence—soft, gentle, and boundlessly generous—and his acute dejection subsided.

“There we go,” Aiwendil exclaimed, holding aloft his slightly wonky craft, and beamed at Curumo with the same carefree, earnest joy with which he had won that cold, careful heart many ages ago. “What do you think, darling?”

Drumming his tiny paws against the pillow and wrinkling his snout in a heartfelt but ultimately failed attempt to emulate a genuine smile, Curumo did his best to convey approval and delight.

Of course, he recognised Olórin—meddlesome fool and annoying know-it-all that he was—in the blank spaces Aiwendil had cut out from the firm, plump flesh of the pumpkin.

A strange sense of wicked contentment washed through Curumo’s armoured little body then—he was a hedgehog, and Olórin was a gourd, and as such, they were both beloved by Aiwendil.

How could he truly resent an incarnation that had been inspired by the faithful, unwavering devotion of one so pure and loyal?

Nevertheless, he soon grew impatient—he had seen quite enough of Olórin in his former life, and he had no desire to stare at the old jester for any extended period of time, not even when his likeness was wonkily imprinted on a bulbous squash.

Consequently, he slid off his cushy throne and pretended to go after the accursed holiday decoration with renewed vigour.

“Ah! Don’t be so impatient, friend,” Aiwendil laughed, but he picked up Curumo once more and swiftly carried him to the shed in the garden.

“Here,” he said. “Have at it.”

Sniffing and squeaking faintly in confusion, Curumo thoroughly took in the maze of dry straw and discarded vegetable refuse before turning to Aiwendil, seeking his aid.

“There are delicious worms, beetles, and caterpillars in there,” Aiwendil whispered and gave Curumo’s butt an encouraging pat. “Go ahead! I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Even kneeling on the damp, hard floor, Aiwendil towered over the small labyrinth he had clandestinely built, and Curumo narrowed his beady eyes at him in frustration.

Nevertheless, the thought of juicy treats made his mouth water, and so he carefully started his path, guided by the small sounds of cheering and pride coming from far above the ephemeral walls.

When he finally arrived at the centre, he found a beautiful goblet—akin to the tableware he had once possessed himself—which was filled to the brim with crawling, writhing deliciousness.

“Quite topical,” Aiwendil giggled and, pulling out his own flask from a hidden pocket in his coat, he touched it to Curumo’s chalice.

It was an absurd, profoundly sad, but also undeniably sincere toast to a love that had lasted through ages, spanned continents and worlds, and even defied death and disintegration.

“To us,” the wizened man said to his pet hedgehog. “To all that we are, to all that we seem, and to all that we shall be once more.”

Thank you so very much for another chance to write these 2!

You're the very best!!!!

-> Masterlist for October!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Daydream

Ladies and gentlemen,

It is my honour to present my ficlet for the @fellowshipofthefics Calendar with @frosticenow at the helm.

The artwork (slightly NSFW) has been done by @mathelaw (my beloved) and is included in the fic.

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Trans!Ori x OC

Warnings: NSFW, explicit, sexual fantasies, female masturbation

Small, enticing but entirely non-commital crop from the amazing artwork! ⇊

💓Snippet💓

Dortha – lovingly called Dotty by her friends – gazed down into the small garden, nestled against the slopes of the mountain dreamily.

She was relieved that Kíli was otherwise occupied as it would have mortified her to be caught staring at Ori – a friend of a friend, so to say – without having any valid excuse for her persistence ready, and she couldn’t come up with one for the life of her.

Kí was no big help anyway; he had known the handsome scribe for many years and – after reconquering the Lonely Mountain side-by-side – they were more than just childhood acquaintances; they were fast friends. Hence it was easy for him to flippantly speak as if there was nothing easier than just walking towards the said hero and striking up a conversation; for Kí, it was probably really as natural as breathing.

☞Read the rest on Ao3

As ever, lots of love from me! It was a delight to work with @mathelaw on this <3

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fotfics October 2024 Asks

➲ Finwë & Thingol Drabble for @featheredmoonwings

[i-did-not-mean-to]

FOTFICS Masterlist

(My Masterlist is too long...so I try to put as much as possible in some layered labyrinth of madness...)

2022

February Challenge : here

May Challenge: here

August Challenge : here

October Challenge : here

2023

January Trope Roulette : here

February Bingo: here

March Madness: here

April Alphabet: here

May Mashup: here

Forged in Fellowship 2023: here

June Pride Bingo: here

July Summer Stories: here

AU-gust: here

FOTFICtember: here

October Trick-or-treat: here

Thauc 2023: here

2024

January Trope Roulette: here

February Sweet & Spicy Bingo: here

March Luck of the Draw: here

April Tags and Tropes: here

Modern AU May: here

June Pride Bingo: here

July Summer Stories: here

AU-gust: here

FOTFICtember: here

October Trick or Treat: here

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Ori One-shots

Fall(ing) (a tiny one-shot love letter to autumn and Ori, finished) with artwork by@crowrelli

Tiny Ori-Collab 🔥with@shrimpsthings

Autumn walk 🔥(imagine based on@middleearthpixie's ask)

Ori smut 🔥(based on@shrimpsthings ask)

Ice-skating (small ficlet, finished)

Birthday sex🔥 (ask for anon, finished, NSFW)

A Reading for@laurfilijames (a 2k, Fíli-smut story)

Mismaeve's January Tolkien Prompt Challenge - Looking back (very short, kind of sad)

Imagine about the -Ri brothers for @lordoftherazzles

Shalini's prompt about falling into ME (short love letter to the fandom)

Life is a poem that doesn't rhyme (Part I) for maalezzo (artwork by @estethell)

Goodbye but not farewell (trainstation scene) for @maalezzo for the February Challenge

Apple Tree (Part III for @maalezzo) for the February Challenge

One night 🔥 (SMUT!) for Valentine's Day 2022

Werewolf AU

Between the lines for @mismaeve's February Challenge

Solace for @eunoia4mind

Birthday Smut🔥 with art by @pistachiozombie for my own BDAY

Kissing Booth with art by @myselfandfantasy

@blairsanne's Blorbo Blessing Imagine for anon about Ori & fierce GF

Ori finds a haunted teapot with doodle by @scyllas-revenge

Ori helps Fíli organise a date for @guardianofrivendell's Bday Challenge 2022

Stone and Book for @maalezzo (BAD!ORI!!!)

A domestic scene for @sorisooyaa

Daydream with art by @mathelaw for the FOTFICS calendar 2023

Silk and ink with art by @estethell

Repairman porn (🔥🔥🔥)

A good day's work for @lordoftherazzles (gen family fluff)

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

Events

FOTFICS 2022 February Challenge

FOTFICS 2022 August Challenge

FOTFICS 2022 October Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 January Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 February Challenge

THAUC 2022

FOTFICS 2023 April Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 May Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 August Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 September Challenge

[i-did-not-mean-to]

LOTR Masterlist

Boromir

Tongue-tied for @scyllas-revenge (Modern!AU Boromir)

Fuck Valentine's Day (Boromir x OC - Modern Au)

Éomer

Snowed in (Éomer x reader)

Monopoly and pets (for the FOTFICS server) (Éomer x OC, Farawyn)

Wayward for @officialtolkiensecretsanta #tss2021 for @sonsofeorl

Farawyn X

Other characters

Glorestor light smut for @sortumavaara (TW: SMUT)

Merry-go-round (Glorestor) with art by @sortumavaara

Gold-digger (Théoden x OC)

Events (featuring LOTR characters)

FOTFICS 2022 May Challenge

FOTFICS 2022 October Challenge

TSS 2022: Calendar & Fic (LOTR/Les Misérables)

FOTFICS 2023 January Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 February Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 April Challenge

FOTFICS 2023 September Challenge