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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

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Animal Companion

Every so often, it so happens that I'll write a Gen Fic. Here is one...

Not (as would be expected Huan, but another good boy)...Enjoy! (feat. Navëquen, my beloved)

Characters:Námo & Irmo & Gorgumoth

Words: 1 800

Warnings: /

“Here boy,” Námo called softly and smiled upon hearing the discreet footfalls, announcing the arrival of his most loyal companion.

“How are the souls?” he asked, patting Gorgumoth’s massive head tenderly while he gobbled up the treats his master was holding out to him in an invitingly extended palm. “Have you kept them in line?”

In a completely unexpected show of innocence and delight, the thus questioned being flopped onto its back and presented its soft, furry belly to the long, spindly fingers of the Lord of Mandos to welcome the congratulatory rubs and scratches that were undoubtedly deserved.

Both the Lord of the Halls of Waiting and his pet were a mystery to many—few were those who could glimpse even a fraction of their thoughts and motivations, and even fewer knew the true story behind the frightening creature at Námo’s ghostly heels.

The first thing that might have surprised those who knew little about the Fëanturi was that Gorgumoth was very much real. He was neither shadow nor dream—he was as substantial as Navëquen and just as vicious if need be.

The second was how much honest love and devotion there was between master and beast, and how much they relied on each other in their daily lives.

“How do you feel about visiting my brother?” Námo suddenly asked in a serious tone, trusting that the huge, dark canine would communicate his opinions unequivocally. “It has been a while.”

They were both easily absorbed by their work, and thus it made sense for them to also share some much-deserved time-off in another, less dismal environment with cheerier company than the ever-moaning dead.

Gorgumoth wagged his heavy tail twice, his ears perking up, and it seemed to Námo that his watchful gaze instantly grew brighter with enthusiasm.

This was to be expected, after all, it had been Irmo who had first brought the pup into the Halls of Mandos, swearing that Gorgumoth was a perfectly well-behaved being that would never gnaw on Vairë’s thread or tear Námo’s slippers to shreds.

Irmo, as was his wont when he saw fit, had blatantly lied.

“You need a friend—for companionship and succour—and I, as your loving sibling, have brought you this fluffy fellow for that exact purpose,” the Lord of Dreams had chirped, and—suspecting his sister’s, as well as his sister-in-law’s involvement—Námo had been patently unable to refuse.

Of course, Irmo had remembered how tender and loving his older brother had been to him during his own youth, and so it made sense for him to suspect that Námo was secretly yearning for someone to care for, who had not yet been traumatised by the ordeal of their demise.

At that time, Gorgumoth had been but a tiny ball of fur with huge, luminous eyes, and—even though he would never have admitted it—Námo had been devoted to him from that very first meeting on.

“His name is Gorgumoth,” Irmo had explained, “and he’s a chipper pup. He won’t mind the gloomy atmosphere and your sour mood—he just wants to be fed and loved. I know you can do that, but I feel as if you’re slowly forgetting about these strengths of yours—and I cannot let that happen.”

Thus, it had all begun, and from that moment onward, Námo was rarely seen without the ever-growing beast, following him around with the loyal admiration only dogs were ever capable of.

Bestial Maiar were always a risk, that was a universally known and brazenly disregarded truth amongst the Valar, and—after some reflection—the Lord of the Dead had judged himself just as capable and deserving of adopting and managing one of these potential catastrophes as any of his colleagues.

There was no actual time in Mandos, but Gorgumoth had grown bigger and stronger continually. To his master’s astonishment, nobody seemed to object to the muddy paw prints and the dusting of hair that consistently ruined the ephemeral, ethereal aesthetic of ever-shifting minimalism Námo usually favoured.

From that lack of protestation, Námo had soon deduced that more than just his brother had deemed him overly morose and lonely. At first, it had certainly stung his pride to realise that his friends and family had concocted the absurdly clumsy creature to palliate his isolation, but—in time—the undeniable solace the pup gave him far outweighed his petty misgivings.

“You are such a good friend,” he now said and bent down to breathe an insinuated kiss onto the dog’s brow. “Irmo really is much wiser than I give him credit for.”

Gorgumoth looked up at his Lord with twinkling eyes that seemed to say, “Of course, haven’t you raised us both?”

“No,” Námo laughed. “No, my friend, you’ve been much more obedient and eager to learn than that flighty fool has ever been.”

Indeed, Gorgumoth had—from the very start—been dutiful to a fault. Even in his earliest youth, when his paws had been too big and round to manoeuvre successfully across the polished floors of flickering grey, he had endeavoured to please and delight Námo at every opportunity he got.

He was a diligent guard dog and a skilled shepherd, making sure that all the souls in their keeping were accounted for and that none wandered off by mistake or by rebellious intent.

His undeniable, relentless competence had soon gained the respect if not the affection of the other Maiar under Námo’s care, and Gorgumoth knew exactly who to seek out for an extra treat or a good cuddle.

Even those who were not inordinately fond of his shaggy fur and wordless communication eventually came to tolerate him as a colleague of sorts—as a matter of fact, the fur-covered guardian of the Halls quite enjoyed Navëquen’s taciturn company, for example, whenever his shift had been extraordinarily wearying.

He was happy in the Halls of Waiting, he was comfortable in Vairë’s workshop, and he loved visiting Námo’s siblings, because Irmo was much more playful than his own master and occasionally threw him a stick or a ball, and Nienna gave the indisputably best cuddles.

In a word, Gorgumoth deemed himself the happiest creature in all of Eru’s creation, which did not prevent him from nudging his master’s long, shapely legs encouragingly now—he had been promised an outing, and he was eager to set out.

Obedient to a fault, Gorgumoth sat down prettily and made the evanescent ground beneath him tremble by drumming his tail against it rhythmically.

“Yes, I miss him too,” Námo admitted and shrugged. “Let’s go visit Irmo then—I am very much looking forward to his newest stroke of genius when it comes to gently manipulating everyone into doing things only he’ll find amusing.”

Gorgumoth would never have disobeyed or deserted his master, so there was no need for leashes or collars as they walked silently towards the gardens of Estë.

“Námo,” she cried as soon as she saw her brother-in-law appear like a threatening but profoundly welcome raincloud on a bright day. “And if that is not my good boy!”

Instantly, a juicy treat materialised in her hand, and she threw it high into the air to see Gorgumoth leap after it.

Her laughter felt like a soothing caress against Námo’s raw, overtaxed nerves, and—without noticing or consciously deciding to do so—he smiled as well.

“Oh, you two are good for one another,” Estë declared, evidently congratulating herself on the stroke of genius she seemed to consider herself to have been a part of. “My husband should be around here somewhere—he will be so happy to see both of you.”

Nodding patiently, the Lord of Despair and Desolation could not help but be cheered by her boundless joy; Estë was a healer to the very depths of her core, and nothing gladdened her heart more than seeing alleviating and mending measures in action, especially if those blessings were then shared and passed on.

It took a moment before he realised that Gorgumoth had not returned, and he was about to whistle when he descried his very own sister, walking beside the huge dog and talking to it softly.

Námo was not sure which of the two seemed more consoled by the other’s presence, but he decided not to interrupt their intimate conclave.

There were things he did neither know nor understand about either of these wonderful, mysterious, merciful beings, and he accepted this as a rare shortcoming of his own with all the noble humility of one who was usually right.

“Brother!” Irmo’s form coalesced out of a quickly approaching cloud of iridescent pollen dust and paper-thin mothwings. “How have you been? What an immense pleasure to see my two favourite sharp-fanged jailors here. I trust you are not in need of healing yourself?”

“In a way,” Námo replied and melted into his youngest sibling’s expected and hoped-for embrace with stoic passivity. “It was time.”

“Are you checking on me, or did you merely miss the endless treats and sweetmeats my wife and sister will conjure up for their guests of honour?” Irmo teased without letting go of the tall, lithe frame he was holding as tightly as he could.

“Nienna visits me often,” Námo grumbled. “I am thankful for her company, and I would never stoop so low as to demand or expect any kind of present.”

“Evidently, your dog does not share your high-minded sense of haughty independence,” Irmo laughed and pointed at Gorgumoth who was in the process of being thoroughly spoiled by the afore-mentioned Valiër. “You should take his example—I seem to recall that only this morning, my wife has brought fresh fruits, given by Yavanna’s grace, which she has not dried into a poultice or turned into a tea. Could nothing seduce you off your path of righteousness? Not even a pie made by my dear spouse and infused with my best wishes?”

Mellowing at Irmo’s charming coaxing more than the actual allure of the pastries, Námo gave an exaggerated sigh. “In the name of collegiality and loyalty—for he is ever faithful to me—I shall not cut short Gorgumoth’s well-deserved enjoyment. You may lead me to those liberally commended baked goods, and I shall follow meekly.”

Irmo shook his head indulgently, threw his arm around his brother’s shoulder, and pulled him towards the small table in the shade of an old Weeping Willow resolutely—he had known and loved Námo for too long to believe even for a single second that the stuffy, old curmudgeon objected to any part of this situation in the least.

Seeing his master move away, Gorgumoth gave a short huff of alarm and then bounded after the swirling clouds of darkness and dreams with joyful anticipation, leaving the Ladies chuckle indulgently at his shenanigans.

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November (by @cilil)

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #November #Nanowrimo2023 #Námo #Gorgumoth #Irmo #Navë #Animal Companion #gen fic #Best Boy

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cilil · 2 months ago

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✧˖° Day 5: Námo & Navëquen (OC) (plus little onesided crush on Navë's part) | Relationship with the Children ✧˖° Synopsis: After another devastating battle in Middle-earth, Námo comes to the battlefield to summon the spirits of the slain before Melkor can. ✧˖° Warnings: Corpses, death, unpleasant scenery (but not graphic) ✧˖° Oneshot

"You must not speak of this to anyone."

Navëquen had accepted his lord's order without question. It wasn't the first time his silence on delicate matters was required, and it would most certainly not be the last; he needed neither prophecy nor foresight to be sure of it.

What was odd this time was that Námo not only led him out of Mandos, but also pulled him along in spirit as he teleported far away, to a place Navëquen had never seen.

It was nowhere in Valinor, that was for certain. Neither grass nor trees were in sight, the very earth was burned and blackened and thousands of corpses lay still around them, bloody and maimed, many contorted in agony and despair, now silenced forever. Only the distant howling of wind remained.

"Where are we, my lord?" Navëquen whispered.

"A battle took place here not too long ago," Námo said quietly. "Yet I sense that many fëar still linger, fëar that I have not received and who may not have heard my call."

"So you wish to... retrieve them yourself? Do you not think it might be dangerous for you to come all the way out here?" The thought of his lord being threatened by those who had caused such carnage made Navëquen bristle, getting ready to reach for his sword. No matter what foes might await them, he would —

"I am a Vala, of the Aratar no less. No one and nothing in this world can slay me, and I go where I will." Námo raised one hand to bid him stand still. "Use your blade to defend yourself, though there will be no need."

He reached for the ornate clasp holding his long, heavy cloak in place.

"I know I must not be seen by the Dark One. And I know some fëar will forever elude me either out of their own free will or because he got to them first. But I will not surrender thousands of them, not so easily."

"You will summon them? Here and now?"

"That I shall."

His tone made it clear that his decision was final. Bowing his head dutifully, even as worry continued to make his skin prickle uncomfortably, Navëquen proceeded to move behind him and reverently pulled the cloak from his lord's shoulders. While he folded it, Námo reached for the sash holding his outer robe in place, then waited for his attendant to remove it as well.

Despite his best efforts to ignore his feelings, Navëquen felt his cheeks growing warm and suspected that his usually pale, almost colourless skin had assumed a dim shade of pink. It wasn't unusual for him to assist his lord in this manner, but rare to see him in such a state of undress.

Only the inner robes remained now, thin and slightly translucent, allowing glimpses of lily-white skin underneath ink-black fabric. Námo placed his palms together and closed his eyes to focus, mumbling a few words of power under his breath.

"It is as I thought," he said, "they are scattered, lost and afraid. I must gather them here before we can guide them home."

"Yes, my lord." Navëquen knew what to do. He would be holding on to what his lord had discarded, watch over him as he performed a spell of summoning for the slain and tend to his every need as it arose.

Hopefully the One won't choose a time like this to bestow a prophecy on top of it, he thought sardonically, remembering the times he had watched Námo collapse under the weight of a sudden vision and taken care of him.

It was not as though Navëquen minded such a task, he was always glad to be in his lord's proximity; however, it would be rather unsafe to find himself in enemy territory with an unconscious Vala and only his own strength to defend against the forces of darkness, if they were spotted.

Námo began to sing. It was pure song rather than any sort of spoken language, understood by each and every living thing, a wistful melody against the howling wind. Slowly, he began moving his arms, drawing wide circles, stretching and twisting his fána. His feet appeared to barely touch the ground whenever he took a step, his sandals spotless and his skin unmarred by charred wood and shards of broken weapons strewn all over the ground.

Wide sleeves fell back when Námo rose to his full height and appeared to reach for the sky, allowing both himself and those who heard him in the Unseen Realm to pause and behold the regal poise of his chosen form. It was in perfect sync with his mighty ëala, moving, bending and swaying in ways that should be impossible when he began to dance alongside his song, now swift and full of energy.

Oh, how beautiful he was. And how lucky Navëquen was to be the one to witness such a sight, a rare display of power from the eldest Fëantur.

Weightless, Námo twisted, turned and twirled around. His voice filled the air, lonely where normally a choir of Maiar would sing alongside him, now reduced to the gentle hum of Navëquen's quiet notes. Yet even so, the song felt all-encompassing, as if the very spirit of Arda was responding to one of its masters.

Within the Seen, there was only the wind, but within the Unseen, a different kind of storm was brewing. Houseless fëar, first appearing shyly like flickering candles, then flocking to Námo like a herd of spirits, some reaching for him, others crying out. Navëquen had to focus on his fána standing firmly on the ground to avoid being swept away, a task made infinitely more difficult by the sheer force with which he was drawn to the Vala, just as the fëar were.

With one final note, Námo once again reached for the sky, then brought his hands together and let himself fall to his knees, completing the spell. He remained motionless for a while, letting a flood of spiritual power wash over him until every single fëa he could sense had appeared.

"Be not afraid," he said quietly. "I have come to take you home."

Navëquen stepped closer, robes and cloak in hand. "My lord, your–"

"Later."

And with that, Námo's fána vanished into thin air, leaving his remaining clothes to be picked up by Navëquen.

Within the Unseen Realm, his ëala was greater and brighter than before, now fully present, and the fëar eagerly swarmed him, some even attaching themselves to him or hiding within the hair and sleeves of his spiritual form, appearing to them as a great and magnificent lord.

Thus Navëquen trailed behind as Námo guided his new charges across the sea to rest from the turmoils of life. Indeed, it would be best if no one knew that the Judge of the Valar had come to the battlefields of Middle-earth in person to take back the fëar that the Dark One had undoubtedly planned to harvest for his own nefarious purposes, stealing them away from right under his nose.

Navëquen shook his head. Námo had always endeavoured to teach him patience, neutrality, impartiality and restraint, yet surely not even the One could blame him for possessing a heart and emotions that were sometimes stronger than the divine law that guided his hand.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @singleteapot

@stormchaser819 @urwendii @wandererindreams @ainurweek

#ainurweek #ainur week #namo #námo #mandos #navequen #navëquen #oc #silmarillion oc #maia oc #tolkien oc #ainur #silmarillion #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #cílil writes #my writing

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cilil · 11 months ago

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I have thought long and hard about the gift-giving...

I have 2....

A gift TO Navë FROM Námo. It can be sweet, it can be suggestive, it can be hilariously ambiguous lol

A gift TO Ilmarë FROM Nári. That one should definitely be outrageous and flirty.

And I send you hugs and buckets full of love from myself.

I am so looking forward to what you'll come up with for all of these...Tag me, please <3

♡ To: Navë ♡ From: Námo

𝓐 𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽

The holidays were approaching.

And the only reasons why Navëquen was aware of it were his impeccably maintained calendar and the fact that he had been practically evicted from his office with orders to take some time off. He would have been fine with yet another normal day, but alas, Námo had insisted.

With a small frown and a couple of files hidden underneath his robes, Navëquen returned to his chambers. If he worked through these before any holiday celebrations took place that he might have to attend, there was a chance that any delays caused by Námo's Maiar sitting idle for a while wouldn't be too noticeable; though the prospect of drawing or journaling was getting more and more tempting as well.

Navëquen's musings were interrupted when he spotted a gift on his bed, wrapped in emerald green paper and adorned with a silver bow. For a moment he wondered how someone had managed to forget their things in his usually empty room, until it occurred to him that it might be a holiday gift for him – a suspicion that was soon confirmed by further investigations.

His name had been written on the gift with silver ink, and he would recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Sitting down on his bed, Navëquen dropped everything he had been holding and took the gift in his hands instead. It was from Námo. His lord, his idol, his esteemed mentor and secretly beloved Vala had thought of him.

It was with utmost care that he unwrapped the gift, gently pulling the bow apart and folding the paper. They would be carefully stashed away later.

Námo had given him a book, an empty sketchbook to be exact. Navëquen examined the pages, letting his fingers glide across the paper's texture. He could already imagine how his pencil would sound on it, like a quiet melody that was part of his music.

What a lovely gift. And with that, the rest of his evening was decided as well.

He was going to draw Námo.

♡ To: Ilmarë ♡ From: Nári Warnings: References to sex, Nári can't behave herself

𝓐𝓷 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽

"Hey there, little starlight."

The greeting was accompanied by a sharp whistle, and Ilmarë turned around to find herself face to face with a certain Balrog grinning down at her.

"What do you want?" she asked cautiously.

"I got a gift for you. Why, is that a crime nowadays?" Nári winked at her, and Ilmarë got the distinct feeling that she wouldn't care even if it was.

"That is very nice of you," she began, "but I feel like I should let you know that I have nothing to give you in return because... well, I wasn't exactly expecting to be exchanging gifts with a servant of darkness."

"That's alright. You can make it up to me in other ways."

Ilmarë chose to ignore the lascivious smirk and tail wag that followed her statement and accepted a small oval object wrapped half-burned paper. It turned out to be some kind of stone, though when she touched it, it felt as if something was vibrating inside.

"What is this?" she asked.

Nári leaned down to get to her eye level. "Do you really have no idea what to do with vibrating things, little starlight?"

"I... am not sure what you are alluding to?"

The Balrog shook her horned head, causing sparks to be sent flying in all directions. "Oh dear. No one told me you're as oblivious as Gotty's silly little bird boy. Really, I need to let Melkor know his family sucks."

"Please don't insult the king and queen in my presence," Ilmarë said icily.

"Fine, fine. I mean, we could do something more fun instead, for example I could show you what to do with your gift."

Experienced or not, the way Nári smirked at her was enough for Ilmarë to tell where this was going.

"If this is a... sex thing, I am grateful that you are so concerned about my... wellbeing, but I don't think we are at a point where I want to engage in anything with you," she said firmly.

"Very well, little starlight. I know Maiar like you are often shy, and for the time being you can just think of me instead." Nári turned to leave, looking over her shoulder one more time as she summoned her fire in preparation for the way home. "And yes, it is a "sex thing"."

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot @wandererindreams

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cilil · 11 months ago

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For any prompts (November or December or even maybe Dead Dove, but nice!)

Navë and Námo being CUTE

⸙ Prompt: Wandering Spirits | Námo & Navëquen ⸙ Synopsis: Navëquen has been thinking about those who don't heed Námo's call. ⸙ Warnings: / ⸙ Quadruple drabble

» AN: Your wish is my command~

"Is it true what the Children say about this season, my lord?"

Námo tore his gaze away from the horizon and looked at his attendant instead. Beneath his impassive exterior, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had sensed the question coming and already knew its true purpose, even if Navëquen chose not to reveal it.

"You mean ghosts and spirits haunting the lands of Middle-earth around this time of the year?" Námo asked, though he already knew the answer.

As expected, Navëquen nodded dutifully. "The fëar keep telling me about it, my lord. Some of them even ask me to let them return for such purposes, and I saw that some were not deceiving me."

"Well, it is certainly true that some fëar refuse to heed my call and end up lingering for various purposes... sometimes not even by choice," Námo said.

Navëquen contemplated his words for a while.

"I remember you teaching me that upholding the free will of all beings is our most sacred task, and the law is but a consequence," he mused, "Thus we must respect the choice that some will not come to Mandos."

"Indeed."

"However, it cannot be right that some fëar are held back against their will."

Námo nodded quietly.

"Do you want me to go then and bring them home?"

"First I would rather ask if this is what you want."

Navëquen seemed stunned by his response, then lowered his head. "It bothers me, my lord."

"Is it truly the art of necromancy and how it violates the laws of death that bother you or is there any particular wrong you seek to right?"

His silence spoke volumes, and Námo sighed, though a gentle smile appeared on his lips. "Do not misunderstand me. It was my dear sister's goal to teach the two of us compassion after all."

"Does that mean you will allow me to go?" Navëquen asked, his mind ever sharp and focused on the task he wished to be given.

"Not quite." Námo chuckled when he saw the confusion on his face. While his attendant was struggling to voice his true feelings, he himself had made a decision as well. "I shall go with you, and together we shall seek those who need our help – and that which you wish to bring home. Come."

A pale hand was offered to him ever so faithfully, and he took it.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

read more? main masterlist get tagged for my writing? tag list form

#namo #námo #mandos #navequen #navëquen #ainur #drabble #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing

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cilil · 1 year ago

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Shrugging off his robes made of heavy, stiff fabric, as unmoving as his judgement, Námo sighs in relief. Misery and hopeless pleas cling to his billowing hair, so he brushes it out meticulously. Dark and soft as sin, the velvet and silk of his secret garments—revealed by this intimate unravelling—enfold his pristine skin, pitilessly accentuating the elegant lines and discreet curves of a body made for pleasure but perpetually hidden beneath the cloak of duty. His fragile beauty, devoid of pretence now, is as compelling as it is awe-inspiring. Catching your burning gaze in the mirror, he smiles.

@Navë

I love you, dude <3

Navëquen stands frozen in place, rereading the beautifully written lines on the piece of paper he's holding several times before he can even think about composing himself.

When he put in an anonymous request for a little written piece featuring his highly esteemed and fervently desired lord at Valinor's writing society, he didn't think he would receive something so... exciting. Perfectly capturing his feelings and observations as if the writer in question knew his thoughts. It is magical, the way he can see the scene in his mind, see every detail - just like he has seen Námo in various states of undress before when he bathes in lotus pools of Mandos.

Turning abruptly, Navëquen clutches the paper and holds it to his chest as he hurries back to his room. No one must ever find out about this. He decides to add this piece to his journal where it will be safe and he can come back to it whenever he wishes.

#navequen #navëquen #navequen x namo #thank you for sending this #he's very happy #other people's wonderful writing #cílil writes #my writing #i agree with him btw #it's a very hot snippet

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year ago

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Ask game 👀 17 and 21

Heyyyyy...

17) Something you love that you don’t often share because you’re worried what others will think

Well, right now, today, I feel like everything I love attracts some people who hate it with a passion lol

I love canon x OC, I love canon x reader, I love canon x canon; I do and it hurts my little heart when one faction tries to undermine or badmouth the other just to make themselves feel better.

I love m/f, f/f, and m/m. I read and write all of those and I truly hope that by focusing on one thing in one story and another thing in another story, I am not guilty of erasing anyone or anything.

Everyone is entitled to reading/writing what they like most but just because one likes something most and is looking for others who like that most (so one can plug one's own fic, maybe?) doesn't mean that this one thing is automatically better than the others and the others must consequently be torn down and discredited thoroughly.

I love other people's OCs (@cilil's Navë owns half my heart at this point) and I love other people's super gay pairings.

I love touching family scenes (depending on the family) and outrageous smut. I do not presume to call one more noble, more intellectual, or worthier than the other...

What I don't love is choosing sides because I am not in Kindergarten and life is not a zero sum game.

21) A favourite fandom event

Hands-down, no questions asked, Scribbles and Drabbles (@fall-for-tolkien) -> Sign-ups for authors are still open, just saying...

It's low pressure but high creativity with prompts from every corner of the Tolkien fandom. 100 words minimum for partially ludicrously questionable (I mean mine, I only mean mine) art.

The mods are super, super lovely too.

As a very anxious person who is--as is well known--a bit allergic to people who tend to get very judgemental, defensive, and unbearably self-important at times, I just love how chill S&D is.

Every length and kind (within the limits of expectations and DNWs of the artists) of writings are encouraged and enabled ruthlessly, and it's just all around very good fun.

Moreover, claims are much less stressful than those of many other events and a piece of art can be claimed up to three times.

Other favourites are THAUC (@fellowshipofthefics), The Pin-Up Calendar (@frosticenow & @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book), and of course TRSB (@tolkienrsb) which are a bit more stressful.

This, my dear friend, is of course a terribly unfair question as I am an event beast, participating in as many as I dare sign-up for.

Events are clearly another thing I dearly love, because there cannot be anything more inspiring or motivating for me than to be able to write for another person :D

Thank you endlessly for these asks...<3

#ask #IDNMT answers #elanna-elrondiel

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i-did-not-mean-to · 11 months ago

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Omg it's so beautiful...

Say...@cilil I wonder if we should get a drawing of Navë 🫣

Commission of @loopyloo2610 's OC Celandine ! I had so much fun drawing her <3 she's very cute

it's here if you want to commission me

#oc #other people's oc #tolkien #digital art #original character #commission #oc art #the hobbit #random reblogs <3

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cilil · 1 year ago

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Ive been reading through @edensrose's rp blogs and Ive noticed that your original character is written a lot. Im very curious. He looks very interesting. Would you mind telling me more about Navëquen? Please? 🤭

Oh, it'd be my pleasure! Thank you so much for your ask!💖

Navëquen means he who/person who judges in Quenya

Appearance-wise, his accustomed fána is humanoid and tall (8’3’’/~2.52m) with long black hair that he pretty much always braids, dark eyes with a slight emerald hue and a pale complexion

For animal fánar, he prefers corvids, mostly ravens, crows and magpies

Navëquen is a Maia of Námo and focuses mostly on the justice side of things. He serves as a prosecutor and later Námo's personal attendant as well, taking care of him whenever he's experiencing his future visions

Unlike his lord and his counterpart Vanimóre however, Navëquen doesn't possess any future sight. Other Maiar of Mandos sometimes say he's "blind to the future"

While Vanimóre's right eye sees the future, Navëquen's left eye sees the past, in particular past evil deeds

Aside from this, he also learned spirit magic and sword fighting from Námo, including his patient, defensive and precise style

Navëquen is very intelligent and observant and has an excellent memory, even by Ainur standards

He has a strong sense of justice and does his best to achieve it via the law, though at times he gets frustrated by its shortcomings. Additionally, he doesn't like making exceptions

Navëquen mostly appears to be calm and collected, even seeming cold and aloof to others; this is due to him trying to follow Námo's example and practice neutrality

Deep down, he does have strong opinions on many things, but won't voice them unless prompted. His statements may at times come off as odd or cold because of his tendency to approach matters from the pragmatic perspective of the law, sometimes also with a hint of cynicism

Navëquen isn't very good at recognizing and expressing emotions. His coping mechanism is his journal, in which he writes down his thoughts, feelings, observations, and he likes to draw as well

It takes him a while to warm up to people, but once he does, he can be quite sweet, caring and protective and grows very attached to them. His trust is not easily earned

Vanimóre is - or was, after his fall - his closest friend and Navëquen continues to have strong feelings for him. Yes, they're essentially soulmates <3

Because of this, he agreed to go to Middle-earth and attempt to save Vanimóre when Námo asked him to, but unfortunately ended up being captured and held in Angband for a while

Navëquen also has a bit of a crush on Námo, which is one of the reasons he's very loyal to him; the other main reason being that serving his lord gives him a sense of purpose and belonging

Now for a bit of fun trivia~

Navëquen is ambidextrous, which he uses to complete several tasks at once. When he has a lot of work to do, he may temporarily grow additional arms

He likes to braid ribbons, charms and other fun accessories into his hair

Those close to him call him Navë for short. Vanimóre also likes to call him Quenquen or Creeps

Over the ages, he has already filled several journals and sketch books

As some of you may have noticed, Navëquen has a bit of a type (pretty, dark-haired men). If you are one or can at least assume such a form, you have his attention

Here's his masterlist🖤

#navequen #navëquen #ocs #my ocs #ainu oc #maia oc #silmarillion oc #oc info #trivia

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