#FOTFICS trick-or-treat

[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!

[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]

Hi M! Same anon who requested Vampire!Namo here :) Could I substitute prompt 9 with prompt 10 please? Also realized I forgot to specify, but more treat please and less dark! Thank you so much!

Note: I was very torn between choosing prompt 3 (in a trick way) or 10 (in a treat way) - if you ever feel inclined to write prompt 3 for this AU in the future, I would love to read it since I think both fit Namo well.

I hope you like this!

"Loathing"

Pairing: Vampire! Námo x Reader (second person POV)

Location: Modern-day London, England 

Prompt 10: "You're not a monster."

Themes: Soft | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism | Mentions of blood drinking

Word count: 500+words

Summary: Námo struggles to make peace with the fact that he is a vampire. 

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge.

Divider from @firefly-graphics

Námo retreated to the safety of his study, his own private sanctum, and sighed, utterly wretched. 

The time had come to satisfy the thirst that had plagued him from the day he was made into something he never chose to be. He closed his eyes and made himself comfortable on the large sofa. He knew that when he opened them again, they would inevitably rest on the delicate crystal pitcher in the center of the coffee table before him. 

At least it is synthetic, and not true human blood. The knowledge gave him little comfort, but he had to drink, and drink it he must. It was better than the alternative, at least in his eyes. He sighed a second time and leaned forward. The scent that soon filled him with every breath after he removed the stopper would have sickened him before he was turned, but now it was intoxicating, as inviting as a meal fit for the gods, and finer than the rarest wine to be had. 

"Enter," he said upon hearing the knock on the door. "Is everything well, sweetheart?"

By now, his being able to smell you no longer unnerves you. "Is it time?"

"Aye." Námo filled a glass to the brim and raised it to his lips. "As always."

He drained the glass, and poured himself another glassful, and another, and another. The liquid that poured down his throat was indeed fine, and made every fiber of his being come alive. Námo loathed it and loathed himself for having to need it. 

"There is more where that came from," you told him before taking your customary place by his side. Námo nodded, then emptied the bottle of all its contents. "Not enough, my love?"

"More than enough," he replied, disgusted with himself. He set the glass beside the pitcher and slumped back in defeat. 

"I despise this," Námo confessed. "I hate being reduced to this state, and having to drink the blood of another just to keep myself alive. It makes me feel like I'm no better than the creatures so many live in fear of."

Even after all this time, he still thought him to be no better than the vampires who refused to change their ways. It was anguishing to hear him speak himself with such loathing. You reached out and took his hand, then gave it a gentle squeeze. Námo took this moment to move and rest on the sofa, with his head nestled on your lap. Weary, molten silver eyes regarded you with something akin to reverence when you proceeded to brush your hand over slippery locks of white-gold hair. 

"You're not a monster," you declared with certainty. "And I never want to hear you compare yourself to those wretched things." 

"I could hurt you," he protested. "One of these days, I will forget myself, and you will not be safe."

"But you will not." Námo opened his mouth to argue. You stop him from doing so and say, "I trust you, my love. I know you will never hurt me."

Námo reached out, his hand touching your hair, your cheek. A lace-like tattoo marking you as his companion and, therefore, under his protection, was visible just above your collar. It filled him with pride, to know that he had you in his life. "And I will do everything within my power to never hurt you." He smiled—a rare, warm smile that only you saw. "Stay with me like this, sweetheart. Your presence is soothing."

 Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil @edensrose

[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]

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 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!

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi M 🌻. You mentioned two prompts being used for Vamp!Finrod and Manwë, though I'm not sure if I can request for Finrod again, but if so, you can use his character or the other I'm presenting :)

For the event can I request a Vampire!Finrod or Feanor x reader, using the prompt “You were dying. I did what I had to do.” with the Trick theme.

No dark themes please. Thank you in advance 🌻

Here you go! 

"The change"

Pairing: Vampire! Finrod x Reader (second person POV)

Location: 19th Century London, England 

Prompt 9: "You were dying. I did what I had to do."

Themes: Angst-ish | Emotional | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism | Illness | Blood drinking (not graphic) | Reader undergoes the change and becomes a vampire

Word count: 1k words

Summary: Finrod, desperate to save you, turns into something more like him. 

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

It happened on All Hallows Eve, when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest and magic was at its most powerful. 

Your body was cold. Not from an October chill, mind, where the cold is sharp and sweet and reminds one of a season about to pass by. This was an unwelcome cold, one that was determined to draw out every last ounce of life force you had. 

And you fought. Oh, how you fought. Still, the icy grip on you tightened, pulling you closer and closer to the other side.

"Drink," a voice called out from the darkness. "Drink, my darling. Drink and live."

A powerful hand slipped beneath your head, lifting it off the pillow with the greatest of care. Too weak to do anything but obey, you opened your mouth when pressed to do so. Something strange and thick and yes, sweet, trickled down your throat, driving away the chill that threatened to claim you and setting every nerve within alight. Your body jolted as if struck by lightning. More of that sweet-tasting liquid flowed into your throat, bringing with it wave after wave of rapturous sensations and making you feel more alive than you had ever been before. 

"Yes." That same voice cut through the darkness yet again, this time thick with yearning. "Drink."

The hand that cradled your head glided lower, resting against your back, cradling you in a loose but tender embrace. 

You drank your fill, savoring every welcomed surprise that came with each gulp. After the rapture, memories came. Visions of a time long gone, of faces that were no longer among the living, and of realms that had faded away from all living memory flashed before your eyes. You latched onto them all, desperate and eager. You drank long and drank deep. The one holding you shivered. 

"Enough for now," he declared, and drew back the source of your rejuvenation before laying you back in bed. "You have done so well. But now, you must brace yourself for the change."

Before you could say a word, before you could even open your eyes, an abrupt, strangling pain had you in its grip. The sheets twisted while you writhed and convulsed in agony. Your savior remained with you through the entirety of your ordeal, wiping your brow, holding your hand, and whispering words of encouragement. You barely heard them, so lost were you in the fiery waves that tore through your body again and again, making it feel like you were dying. Perhaps that was what it was. On and on it went, until, finally, the pain slowly stopped and you could finally breathe freely. 

After a deep, satisfying breath, you opened your eyes. Everything in your bedchamber was clearer, and the colors were extraordinarily vibrant. The air held within it every scent imaginable: the ash gathering in the hearth, the faint perfume of roses on the mantle, the lavender lingering on the sheets, and the crisp, clean scent of him. 

Even the blue of his eyes sparkled in a way it had never done before. You took another deep breath and asked, "What happened to me, Ingoldo?"

Finrod's smile warmed his eyes while he held out his hand. You accepted it and let him lead you to a filigree mirror, one that rose from the floor and almost touched the ceiling. One good look was all that was needed, and you gasped, stunned by your transformation. 

No more chalky, death-like pallor. No more gaunt, sunken cheeks and clouded eyes, or limp, listless hair. Every inch of your person glowed with vitality. Then you parted your lips and saw them. Luminous white fangs gleamed in the lamplight before ascending, making it look like nothing was unusual with your teeth. You turned to face him, now knowing what had been done to you. 

"You made me into something like you?"

"You were dying, my darling. I did what I had to do to save you." Finrod paused, then hesitated. "Are you angry with me?"

You turned to look at yourself in the mirror once again. A thousand questions came to you in a rush, but there was one that pricked at your thoughts more than any other. 

"I am grateful for this gift you have given me. Truly," you replied, your heart heavy with great dread. You did not want to sound ungrateful for him saving your life for you were indeed grateful, but vampires were proud creatures and they never took too kindly to acts of ingratitude. "But does this mean I must feed like you?"

"Yes," he confessed. "You must. It is the only way. But," Finrod continued, "that does not mean it has to be the blood of those who walk this earth with no inkling about who we are. The blood of mortals is not the only thing that can nourish us."

"There are other ways? I do not have to sustain myself with human blood?"

"Oh, aye. There is another way. It may not be as... satisfying as a mortal's life essence, but it keeps us alive and well."

There was no surprise when you heard his answer, vague as it was. You knew what he meant. He was gone often enough to the forests outside around his country home when the urge to eat came over him. After a while, you closed your eyes, your jaw throbbing with a dull ache. Then you hissed. Smiled.

"I sound like Mrs. Harker's cat," you opined, then giggled. "No. Mrs. Harker's cat is louder."

Finrod's laughter was as bright and glorious as his singing. "But you sound exceedingly sweeter than that wretched little fiend. Are you well, my darling? Are you happy with this?"

You looked at yourself one last time. Confining yourself to an existence in the shadows was not how you envisioned your life turning out to be. There was great danger; there were those who loathed beings like Finrod. Then there was the matter of spending an eternity watching everyone and everything around you change while you did not. You looked at Finrod, who, even now, gazed at you with hope and fear at war with each other in his eyes. 

But I am alive, and no longer a prisoner to that accursed illness. And perhaps an eternity may not be so wretched as long as he is by my side. 

"Will you ever leave me?"

"Remember my oath?" Finrod reminded you. "I will never leave you. For as long as you desire to have me by your side, I will never leave. In another week, I will take you to the forests by my country home and teach you how to hunt. Tonight, however, I will present you to the others during the masquerade ball. Would you like that?"

Being formally presented to other vampires was a high honor, and a sign of a maker's devotion. Finrod meant to honor his vow. You could not help but show your pleasure. "I would like that very much."

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Allow me to feed your indulgences :) This one is for Vamp! Feanor with prompt:

“I'm sure you've known hundreds like me–” “I've never known anyone quite like you.”

A trick theme and not too dark please. Can't wait to read what you came up with 😁🌻

More vampire elves! *cracks knuckles*

“Sacrifice”

Pairing: Vampire! Fëanor x Reader (second person POV)

Location and time: London / 19th century England

Prompt 5: "I'm sure you've known hundreds like me-" "I've never known anyone quite like you."

Themes: Angst-ish | Emotional | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism | Mentions of blood drinking and the process of changing | Reader wants to become a vampire

Wordcount: 900 + words

Summary: Fëanor is asked to turn you into something that is more than just a familiar. He tries to explain why he is reluctant do it.

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge. Also, your Finrod request will be up next Saturday.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“I will not do this, my love. You do not understand the cost of what you ask of me.” Fëanor retreated to his private rooms and shut the doors behind him.

You pushed them open and followed him in, determined to make your argument heard. “I understand perfectly, Curufinwë. I am asking you to change me and make me like you, am I not?”

“You ask me, yes. And you say you understand. But do you, though? Do you truly understand, because I do not believe such is the case.” Fëanor strode toward a window facing the busy streets of London and drew back a curtain that kept out the bright light of morning. Even now, at twilight, with a chilling autumn fog creeping in, people were going about their business, calling in on others, and stopping by brightly lit shops. Several boys were playing dice by the side. Others still stood by carriages, unlit torches in hand, offering their services to those in need of someone to run beside their horses and light the way once the fog grew too thick. Fëanor pointed just beyond all of them, to a near-empty park. A tall, well-dressed gentleman was leading a young woman to an empty bench, where he sat her down after looking around to make sure no mortal eye could see them. 

“Watch,” he urged. “Watch and listen and learn.”

You watched, your senses now keener after the ritual binding you to Fëanor as his familiar. The gentleman removed his top hat and sat beside his companion. Even from this distance, the shimmer of his eyes could be easily seen by your own: golden and yellow, much like a cat’s. They were also brimming with thirst. The lady turned to speak to him; her words cut short when he dipped his head into her throat without warning, like a predator pouncing on his prey. Fëanor dropped the curtain and shut out the world once more.

“Do you see it now?” he demanded, his eyes bright with fury. “Do you now understand? This is my life. This is the life you seek: keeping to the shadows and forever hiding from the light of the sun. Living apart from mortal society, living in silence to escape discovery. Consuming the very life force of others in order to prolong your own. I have spoken about it often enough, and still, you desire it?”

Your reply was swift and certain. “Yes, Curufinwë.”

Fëanor was baffled. He expected a wholly different answer. “Why?”

“I have already told you. I love you. I want to walk the path you tread. I want to share the burdens you carry on your shoulders. Is that not enough?”

“My love. Please. Do not ask this of me. Please.”

“Do you truly love me?”

“How can you say such a thing? You know I love you! That is why I refuse to condemn you to a life like mine!”

“I am not asking you to condemn me, for I do not see it that way.” You straightened your back and walked toward him, your footsteps muffled by a thick, richly embroidered carpet. Fëanor took a step back, but made no attempt to order you to leave the room. You stopped and said, “Sharing an eternity with you would be a joy, never a punishment. If only you could see it that way.”

He did not say a word, but moved to sit in a great chair beside the hearth instead. For a long time, nothing could be heard but the pop and sputter of wood burning. Fëanor gazed into the flames, toying with a signet ring the entire time. You knew about that ring. It was crafted, by his own hands no less, the day you pledged to serve him, and no other. A matching band sat snugly around your thumb. All he had to do was smash his and revoke his vow, and the oaths binding you to him would shatter. The pain of such a sundering was unlike any other pain in this world or the next, or so the others said. In your heart of hearts, you knew you would never be able to bear the agony of such a separation.

“I am sure you have known hundreds like me,” you began, hoping it would convince him to say something, for he did not speak for a long while. “Mortal supplicants. Other vampires seeking your favor. Familiars hovering around you like moths drawn to a brilliant flame, and–”

“I have never known anyone quite like you,” Fëanor confessed to no one in particular, then turned to face you. “Many people I have known in my long life, both small and great, but never have I met anyone quite like you, attentive and devoted because that is how you are, not because you hope to gain something from me.” He hesitated while he still grappled with the gravity of your request and the change you insisted on enduring. It astounded him a great deal, and yet, it touched him deeply as well to think you were willing to forsake mortality and live out eternity in the shadows with him. “Are you truly willing to do this? Sacrifice your mortality and the world you know for my sake?”  

“Yes, my love,” you swore. “I am willing to sacrifice all, if it means never having to lose you.”

Fëanor rose and returned to you, his eyes welling with crimson tears. “Tis I who is fearful of losing you,” he professed, taking your hand into his. He gave it a gentle squeeze, his mind now made up. “And I know no being would be as honored as I am to have you by my side. Very well. We will travel to my home in Kent. On the next full moon, you and I will be bound as more than just master and familiar. So much more.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For the Vampire au

Can you do (trick) for vampFinrod x reader

With prompt "Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Not dark please and thank you

"Revelation"

Pairing: Vampire! Finrod x Reader (Guest of Finrod / Second person POV)

Location and time: 19th century England

Prompt : 6 - " Why are you impressed? You should be terrified."

Themes: Angst-ish | Happy ending

Warnings: Vampirism

Wordcount: 1000+ words

Summary:

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! Manwë and Vampire! Finrod) are out. The rules and prompts for requests can be read here.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Finrod's study was a dimly lit sea of wonders, full of ancient treasures. There was an impressive tapestry covering the expanse of one wall. A dark but mighty beast lay on the ground. Above it, a magnificent white horse reared, its rider bringing down their sword to deliver the killing blow. You could not help but walk up to it and admire the scene portrayed in centuries-old wool.

The tapestry was always there whenever you called on your mentor of an evening, but you never thought to observe its beauty so closely till now.

“Ahh! I see you have found the Demon of the Island."

You shivered. “Was that its name?”

“That and worse.” Finrod appeared by your shoulder without even making a sound. It was as if he moved without even stirring the air around him. You startled. “My ancestor slayed it many a century ago and was richly rewarded for it.”

You turned to face him and gave him a measured look. “What happened?”

“A werewolf happened. That was what the beast was. A werewolf.” Finrod walked over to a chest of drawers by the window and picked up a crystal decanter full of clear, amber liquid. He offered you a glass. You refused. “He terrorized the good people of Tol-in-Gaurhoth for months before my ancestor brought it to heel.”

“Your ancestor slayed him?” You looked at the tapestry again. The warrior was exceedingly fair to look upon, and his hair fell free about his shoulders like molten gold. His eyes were a vivid cornflower blue. They also looked familiar. Too familiar. You study it even more, taking in the warrior’s countenance, the shape of his eyes, his lips. Finrod’s own was a replica of them all.

It is as if I am staring at the same person. 

“Indeed.” Finrod moved to sit by a large fireplace, and invited you to join him. “Lord Edennil was the only warrior who challenged the creature and lived to talk of it.”

“Edennil?” Fear slowly bloomed and surged just beneath your skin, prompting you to stop mid-stride. “Is that not one of your names, sir?”

It was Finrod’s turn to startle, but he quickly regained his composure. “I do not know what you mean, y/n.”

“Yes, you do.” You continued with growing alarm after stealing another glance at the tapestry. The hair, the sword, and the demeanor all screamed of him. “Edennil. It was what that stranger called you when they stopped by your door two nights ago. I know of that word. My governess taught me. It means friend of men.”

Finrod took a step toward you, his eyes widening in shock. “That visit was in the dead of night! How did you even know of it?”

“I was in the library searching for a book.” You took a step back and looked for the doors. They were near, but if Finrod was not what he appeared to be, a mild-mannered wealthy nobleman from a foreign land, would you have time to make it to the doors and the outside world? “And that warrior looks like you in every way. Is it you, sir? Are you the warrior in that tapestry?"

Finrod blanched.

“What are you, sir?” You demanded and took a another step toward the doors. “The truth, now. All of it. That is all I ask.”

The nobleman made no move to come near you. He stood where he was, his eyes full of gloom, and said, “Yes. Yes. I am the warrior in the tapestry. Is that what you wanted to hear? I slayed the werewolf. All of that was my doing.”

“And your late-night visitor?”

“A fellow warrior met by chance on the road. He stood beside me, shoulder to shoulder, as we fought the beast and its minions. Beren was badly wounded, and I…I saved his life. He has been a faithful friend since then.”

“That is all well and good, but it still does not answer my question.”

“Which is?”

“What are you?”

Finrod sighed in defeat. “I suppose my secret would come into the light sooner or later. Very well. You desire to know the real me. Well, this is the real me, y/n.”

He hissed like a large, wild cat and bared his teeth. Pearly white fangs glistened in the light of the fire. You took a step toward him, curious despite your fear.

A vampire. My host is a vampire. After so many years of us writing letters and him teaching me music, I remained in the dark until now.

“Most impressive,” you declared after your curiosity had been satisfied.

"Why are you impressed?” Finrod sputtered in disbelief. “You should be terrified."

“Should I be terrified?”

“No. I would never harm you, y/n.” He went back to his place by the fire. “But I cannot let you go, either. Not when you know what I am.”

Can I blame him for wanting to shield himself from the judgment and fear of others? And perhaps living with him may not be so terrible, after all. I could learn so much from him.

“Then... Then perhaps I can make myself useful to you,” you offered. “You rarely go out during the day because—"

"Sunlight weakens my constitution," he supplied.

"I see." It certainly provided more clarity and explained some of his strange behavior, like the thick curtains that were always drawn together during lessons in his music room. "I could run errands for you. See to any visitors that come calling during that time. Mind the house and the servants for you while you rest.”

Finrod regarded you with suspicion. “Is this a trick?”

“No, sir,” you told him. “I give you my word that it is not.”

He turned away and took his time to consider your proposal. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he said, “There will be a ceremony binding you and me as master and familiar. No harm will come to you, but this ritual is necessary. Do you understand?”

You nodded and wondered what this ceremony would entail and what you would have to dress. “I accept.”

“Good. Now come, join me by the fire.” Finrod smiled mildly. “I have much to tell you about me and my strange life."

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello M, hoping I made it in time! Sending you a request for Vampire!Maglor x reader with prompt 8 please? Thank you so much, hope you’re doing well and have a great day!

Awww! I am doing very well, actually! As for your request:

"Rescue"

Pairing: Vampire! Maglor x Reader (second person POV)

Location and time: London /Late 20th century England

Prompt 8: "I've got you, darling. And if anyone tries to hurt you, I will rip them to shreds."

Themes: Angst | Happy ending

Wordcount: 800+words

Warnings: Vampirism |  Some explicit language | Walking home alone at night | Being followed | Catcalling (nothing explicit or graphic)

Summary: After having to return home late at night, you find that you’re not walking on your own.

Minors DNI | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: this is for the @fellowshipofthefics October challenge.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

You looked at the time. It was eleven p.m., and the streets were empty save for the rare pedestrian. Picking your way past darkened streets and a labyrinth of alleys, you pull your jacket even closer. Whether it was to ward off the cold or to make yourself more inconspicuous, you could not say.  

Well y/n, this is what you get for losing track of time at the office.

There was no one now. At least there was no one you would stop to have a casual conversation with. A pervasive fog crept in, making the light from nearby streetlights look strange and almost magical. You could not stop to admire the scene, no matter how much you ached to do so. The fog grew thicker. It was now so cold that your very breath turned to mist before your eyes every time you exhaled. You shivered.

A bottle shattered nearby, forcing you to walk even faster as shadows formed and grew. Worry gnarled at you when those shadows grew and you slipped down another alley, this time a shortcut to your home.

“What’s your name?”

Fuck me. You ignored the question and pretended as if you could not hear. There were footsteps now, growing louder as more than one person followed you down the alley. It was so dark now; there wasn’t going to be any street lights to be found until you reached the other side, and the only light you had to guide was the dim light of a full noon.

“Come on, love, give us a name.”

Shitshitshit.

The alley seemed to stretch on forever. You threw a quick, nervous glance over your shoulder. There were at least three people—that much, you could say. You fumbled around in your bag for your phone, then cursed yourself when you realized the battery had died just as you were about to board the train. You could not call him, and he insisted on being called when you left your place of work. The footsteps grew louder and were followed by laughter. You kept your eye on the end of the alley, hoping and praying he could feel your dread through the bond you shared with him.

Breathe. One step forward. Then another. Breathe again.

The words repeated themselves over and over again, like a prayer. Someone drew near. In fact, it made the hair on the back of your neck stand up even as fear chilled your heart. You braced yourself, then shook when a sudden rush of cold wind brushed past your arm.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The question was full of confusion and thick with terror. You turned, your sight now blocked by a towering figure garbed in rich black velvet.

“The question should be, who the fuck are you?” Maglor drawled in that soft, angelic voice of his. “And more importantly, who the fuck do any of you think you are, following my lady like this?"

You looked around his arm. The man—at least it was a man—took a step back, startled. “We meant no harm,” he muttered quickly, and took another step back. “We just wanted to know her name and—”

Maglor growled—vicious and otherworldly. The walls around you vibrated from the power it held. “Finish that sentence,” he warned, “and it will be the last thing you ever say.”

He then bared his teeth. The others fell back, then turned on their heels and ran. Once the alley was empty of them, Maglor turned to face you.

“You are cold. Let’s get you home.”

“The others… they saw your…”

“My fangs?” Maglor chuckled. “No one will believe them. And they will not say a word, not unless they want to give themselves away.”

“But they could come back,” you protested. “They would be ready.”

“I will take care of it,” he vowed under his breath.

“Maglor.” You stopped and looked back the way you came. Then you looked at him. His fangs were gone, but his eyes still shone with a strange, reflective light. “You promised not to harm anyone.”

“I am not going to harm them, little one.” Maglor leaned in, his eyes now bright with mischief. “I will simply glamor them into behaving. Then anyone who walks this way will be safe.”

He laughed when you rolled your eyes and stomped the rest of the way. “I envy that, being able to flutter your pretty eyelashes and glamor someone. Alright. Glamor away.”

The walk home was pleasant after that, but the experience left you shaken. Maglor questioned you, bit his tongue when you told him about the phone, then made you swear to call him once you were ready to leave work, so he could accompany you and keep you safe.

“You do not have to do all of that,” you contested. It may endanger him. Someone may see him for what he truly was. A vampire. “Really. You don’t need to—”

"Let me do this for you. It would honor me if you did."

"Alright. And thank you for saving me from them. I don't know how to even thank you."

"I've got you, darling. Alright?” Maglor drew you into a loose embrace. “And if anyone tries to hurt you, I will rip them to shreds."

“Maglor!”

His laughter did a great deal to throw off the chills that had gripped your heart. You finally felt safe. 

[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)

[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

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Trick or Treat!

Opening up requests for Vampire! AU requests! For FOTFICS Halloween challenge. You can pick one prompt from these and include it in your request.

1. I will take three (or 4, if I can manage it) requests for Tolkien characters only.

2. The request can be a reader insert or ship

3. The character(ex. Celegorm/Tulkas/Thranduil) has to be the Vampire.

4. No Angband character.

5. Requests will be posted from next Saturday, every Saturday.

6. Request are for Trick (angst/emotional) or Treat (fluff)

7. Please mention if you want/or do not want, anything too dark.

Image from unsplash

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fotfics October 2024 Asks

➲ Finwë & Thingol Drabble for @featheredmoonwings