#amras headcanon

[doodle-pops]

House of Feanor | Dating A Powerful Mage Reader

Request: First off I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart, your writing has brought me much joy. May I please ask for some headcanons for the house of Fëanor dating a gn reader who is a powerful mage?❤️ – @verydazedreamland

A/N: Always a pleasure, luv! Thank you for requesting 🤗

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➽ Feanor

• Fëanor had, of course, been deeply fascinated by your magic the moment he saw it. Not just fascinated—obsessed. He was relentless in his questioning, dissecting your abilities with the same manic energy he applied to his crafts. When you demonstrated a spell that conjured fire in your palm, he scoffed. “Impressive, but do you shape it? Do you command its form, its intent, its very purpose?” He immediately tried to argue that his own control of fire through forge and creation was more refined. You ended up in a heated (literal) duel where both of you nearly set half of Formenos ablaze before someone intervened.

• He was the worst about stealing your books and magical tools for his own research. “I borrowed it,” he insisted, holding a tome clearly marked with your warding spells. “You had it sealed with magic. So that means you wanted me to open it.” His grin was infuriatingly smug. The book had exploded with a harmless but embarrassing puff of glitter when he cracked it open, a security measure you had placed specifically to deter thieves.

• He refused to acknowledge that your power sometimes outstripped his in areas unrelated to craftsmanship. When you levitated an entire banquet table just to clear space after a feast, he acted unimpressed. “A minor parlour trick. If I had wished to move the table, I would have built something far more elegant than lifting it with brute force.” He was absolutely seething with jealousy but would never admit it.

• He had a tendency to dramatically proclaim your superiority when it suited him. If someone else dared to belittle magic in comparison to smith-craft, he would immediately shut them down. “You dare to question the power of my beloved?” he’d sneer, eyes aflame. “They can summon a storm with a whisper. I have seen them bend the very elements to their will! Tell me, what have you made that can compare.” The poor elf he was berating had only suggested that magic wasn’t as tangible as physical creation.

• He loved when you weaved spells into his creations. The first time you enhanced one of his swords with an enchantment that made it cut through nearly anything, he held it reverently, eyes alight with pure awe. “This is perfection.” Then he turned to you with an uncharacteristically soft expression. “We should create everything together.”

• He hated when your magic got the better of him. The time you charmed his cape to stick to his shoulders no matter what, after he kept discarding it dramatically during arguments, was an infamous incident in the household. “You think this is funny?” he demanded, tugging fruitlessly at the fabric. “You shall rue this day.” You did not, in fact, rue it. You laughed until your sides hurt.

• He had an unfortunate tendency to get too involved in your spellwork. If he saw you preparing a complicated ritual, he would immediately offer (force) his assistance, despite not actually understanding half of what you were doing. “Magic is but another form of craft,” he reasoned, grabbing an ingredient he did not need to be touching. The resulting explosion singed his eyebrows. He sulked for three days.

➽ Maedhros

• Maedhros was more measured in his fascination with your power, though it was clear he found it deeply impressive. He had a quiet, steady admiration for the way you wielded magic, often watching you in silence as you worked. Sometimes you’d catch his thoughtful gaze, and he’d simply say, “It’s…beautiful. The way you command it.” There was a kind of reverence in his voice, as if he saw your magic as an art form rather than just a tool.

• He was, however, keenly aware of the dangers of magic. “Don’t push yourself,” he would warn whenever you performed powerful spells, his voice low with concern. If you overexerted yourself, he would immediately step in, catching you before you could fall. “You do too much. You don’t always have to prove your strength.”

• When he sparred with you, he made sure you fought fairly—no overwhelming magical barrages, no instant teleports. He insisted on strategy and balance. “You can’t rely only on magic,” he told you as he disarmed you during a training session. “A blade is just as effective when wielded correctly.” He handed you back your sword with a smirk. “Try again.”

• He hated feeling helpless when you were injured or drained from magic. The first time he saw you collapse after a particularly intense spell, he panicked. “No, no, stay with me,” he said, his voice tight with barely restrained fear. He held you tightly until you stirred, his grip not loosening for long after.

• He got far too used to your magical conveniences. If you teleported something to him once, he expected it forever. The day you refused to summon his forgotten sword before a battle, he gave you the most betrayed look imaginable. “You did it yesterday.” You stared at him. “And now I’m teaching you responsibility.” He groaned in exasperation.

• He hated your invisibility spells. You once used one to sneak up on him, whispering his name just to startle him. His sword was out before you could blink. “Don’t do that,” he snapped, shoving his blade back into its sheath. “Do you want to get stabbed?”

➽ Maglor

• Fiund your magic utterly enchanting. He had an almost poetic appreciation for it, often weaving its imagery into his songs. The first time he saw you manipulate water into dancing shapes, he composed an entire ballad about it on the spot. “It moves like music,” he said, watching the shifting patterns with awe.

• He was the most dramatic when things went wrong. If you accidentally hexed an object and it backfired on him, he acted like he had been mortally wounded. “This is betrayal,” he declared when his harp started playing dissonant notes at random due to a misfired spell. “You have cursed my art!” He refused to admit he actually found it funny.

• He loved being part of your magical experiments, though he was more cautious than Fëanor. “Are you certain this won’t explode?” he asked warily as you handed him a glowing crystal. When it did explode, he sighed heavily, rubbing soot from his face. “I knew it.”

• He always wanted to see the artistic side of your magic. “Make the lights dance,” he’d say, gesturing toward the sky. He loved when you conjured illusions—patterns of stars, shifting mirages of golden fire. It was pure wonder to him.

• He had a habit of using your magic against you in the pettiest ways. If you irritated him, he would immediately find a way to use a spell you taught him in revenge. “Oh, you’re tired?” he said sweetly, levitating his harp just out of your reach when you tried to take it from him. “If only someone had the energy to retrieve it.”

• He despised teleportation spells when used on him. The first time you teleported him mid-sentence just to cut off his lecture about proper song structure, he was furious. “I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A POINT,” he roared as he reappeared across the room. You had never laughed harder.

• He was, however, always grateful when your magic protected them. “You are a wonder,” he murmured after a battle where your wards had shielded them from an ambush. “I would compose a hundred songs in your name.”

➽ Celegorm

• Celegorm was delighted to be dating a powerful mage. He saw it as the perfect complement to his own skillset—he was a master hunter and warrior, you were a master of the arcane. “You do the magic, I do the stabbing,” he declared proudly. “It’s balance.” You reminded him that your magic could also do the stabbing. He didn’t seem to see the issue.

• He constantly tried to convince you to use magic to cheat at hunting. “Teleport the prey into my hands,” he said, grinning. You refused. “Alright, fine, just use magic to slow it down?” You refused again. “What about a tiny spell? A suggestion in its mind that it wants to be caught?” He was relentless, but you never gave in.

• Huan adored your magic. He was particularly fond of the spells you used to conjure floating lights, chasing them like an overgrown puppy. Celegorm pouted every time Huan responded to you faster than to him. “I raised him,” he grumbled as Huan happily sat at your feet. “And now you’re the favourite.”

• He was far too reckless when asking you to enhance his weapons. “Make my arrows explode,” he said excitedly, handing you his quiver. You stared at him. “Do you want to set yourself on fire?” He seemed completely unfazed by the idea. “I’ll dodge it.” You absolutely did not give him exploding arrows.

• He loved practical magic the most—the kind that made his life easier. When you first demonstrated a spell that could clean gear instantly, he immediately demanded you apply it to all his equipment. “This is the greatest use of magic I’ve ever seen,” he declared as his previously bloodstained armour gleamed good as new.

• He was the worst when you tried to meditate or concentrate on spellcasting. “What’s this one do?” he asked, poking at your ritual set-up. “Tyelko, don’t touch that—” The ensuing magical backlash sent him flying across the room. He groaned from where he landed. “Okay, so that’s what it does.”

• He hated when you teleported away mid-argument. The first time you vanished before he could get the last word, he just stood there, absolutely livid. “YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE!” His voice echoed through the halls as he stormed around looking for you. You heard him ranting even after you’d reappeared hours later.

• He had the absolute gall to demand magic be used for his own convenience but complained when you used it on him. The first time you levitated him out of bed when he refused to get up, he flailed wildly. “THIS IS A VIOLATION OF MY RIGHTS,” he shouted as he hovered helplessly in mid-air. You let him drop unceremoniously onto the floor.

• He had no patience for subtle spellwork—he wanted big magic. “Make the sky change colours,” he urged. “Make fire rain from above—wait, no, don’t actually do that, that was a joke.” He did not like when you demonstrated the actual scale of destruction you were capable of. “Alright,” he muttered after witnessing a storm you summoned, “remind me never to piss you off.”

• He was oddly tender when he saw you exhausted from spellcasting. He never said much in those moments, but he’d gather you in his arms without question, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You push yourself too hard,” he murmured. “Even magic has limits.”

➽ Caranthir

• Acted unimpressed by your magic at first. He hated admitting he found things fascinating, so he pretended it was nothing special. “Hmph,” he grunted the first time you summoned an entire storm with a flick of your hand. “I suppose that’s useful.” You could see the barely restrained awe in his eyes, though.

• Was the worst at dealing with magic he couldn’t control. The time you enchanted his armour to be lighter and more flexible, he refused to wear it at first, claiming it felt wrong. “It’s unnatural,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t like when things don’t behave as they should.” He did end up wearing it, but only after grumbling for a week.

• Took issue with your lack of structure in magic. “How do you know what will happen?” he demanded as you prepared a spell without extensive planning. “It’s instinct,” you said. He hated that answer. “Instinct is how people get killed.”

• He was secretly fascinated by the precision of your magic. He’d never admit it outright, but he observed your spell with the same scrutiny he applied to trade and strategy. He especially admired enchantments that required delicate calculations. “It’s like forging,” he mused once, watching you weave a complex spell. “If you get even one thing wrong, the whole structure collapses.”

• He hated when you used illusions against him. You once created a fake letter to trick him into thinking Curufin owed him money. His reaction was immediate and furious. “THAT BASTARD—” He had already stormed off before you could tell him it was a joke. You had to physically stop a fight.

• He found magical transportation deeply unsettling. The first time you teleported him without warning, he staggered and nearly fell. “DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN.” He needed a full minute to stop looking like he was going to punch something.

• He was surprisingly gentle when tending to you after spell exhaustion. He wasn’t good with words, but his actions spoke for him—holding you close, wrapping his cloak around you, silently pressing a flask of water into your hands. “You should rest,” was all he said, but his grip on your wrist lingered.

• He loved when you made magic useful to him. When you placed protective charms over his belongings to prevent tampering, he looked genuinely pleased. “Good,” he muttered, nodding approvingly. “This will stop certain people from touching my things.” He shot a glare at Curufin.

➽ Curufin

• Was thrilled to be dating a mage. He saw it as an opportunity for limitless collaboration. The first thing he did was start drafting projects that combined his craft with your magic. “We’re going to make something unique,” he promised, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Something legendary.”

• He was absolutely insufferable when you first tried to enchant one of his blades. “Ah, no, you’re doing it wrong,” he declared, immediately trying to ‘fix’ your spellwork. “Curufin, I have been practising magic for decades,” you reminded him. “And I have been forging for centuries,” he shot back.

• He had no patience for spells that weren’t immediately useful. When you demonstrated a beautiful but functionally useless illusion, he just stared. “That’s it?” he asked. “It does nothing?” You sighed. “It’s art, Curufin.” He frowned. “Art should do something.”

• He had a deep interest in magical artefacts, constantly pressing you for knowledge. “How was this enchanted?” he asked, holding up an ancient amulet. “What’s the method? The materials?” He was relentless in his questioning, absorbing everything like a sponge.

• He hated being bested. The time you outwitted one of his traps using magic, he refused to let it go. “I am the master of strategy,” he huffed. “You cheated.” “I used magic.” “Same thing.”

• Incredibly smug when your magic enhanced one of his creations. The first time you strengthened his armour with an unbreakable spell, he smirked. “So you admit it,” he said. “My work is worthy of magic.” You rolled your eyes.

• He was oddly soft in moments when magic drained you. He never said much, just guided you to sit, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Reckless,” he murmured. “But brilliant.”

➽ Amrod

• Loved using your magic for fun—and sometimes, for chaos. He quickly realised that certain spells could be used for pranks, and he was far too eager to participate in your mischief. When you enchanted his brother’s boots to stick to the floor, Amrod collapsed in laughter while Amras cursed you both. “Oh, this is brilliant,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “We are keeping this spell.”

• He had an unhealthy enthusiasm for magical transportation. The first time you teleported him mid-stride, he whooped in excitement instead of being disoriented. “Again!” he demanded. “No one will ever catch me if I can blink out of the way!” He started pestering you to teach him how to teleport, despite having no magical aptitude whatsoever.

• He was infamously reckless, and your magic became his favourite safety net. He leapt off a cliff once, fully trusting that you’d catch him with levitation magic. You did, but not before letting him plummet just long enough to hear him scream. When he landed safely, he glared at you. “That was unnecessary,” he huffed. You raised a brow. “Was jumping off a cliff necessary?” He grumbled something about ‘dramatic flair.’

• He was the first to challenge you to a magical duel—not because he thought he could win, but because he wanted to see how far he could push you. He came at you with twin blades, grinning wildly as you dodged and countered with spells. When you finally pinned him to the ground with vines sprouting from the earth, he just laughed breathlessly. “That was amazing,” he admitted. “Alright, your magic wins.” Then he grinned up at you. “But I almost got you.”

• He had no patience for long magical incantations or rituals. If he needed something done, he wanted it immediately. “Can you just zap the firewood into a pile?” he asked one evening, rubbing his hands for warmth. You made the logs explode instead. He stared at the smouldering debris and then at you. “Right,” he said slowly. “That’s on me. I should’ve been more specific.”

• He was a terrible student when you tried to teach him minor magic. He had the attention span of a squirrel and constantly got distracted. “Are you even listening?” you asked as he poked at the runes you’d drawn. “Yes, yes,” he waved you off. “Something about channelling energy, focusing my—ow!” He yelped as he electrocuted himself. You smirked. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

• He loved it when you used magic to enhance his hunting. When you silenced his footsteps with a spell, he grinned like a child with a new toy. “I’m unstoppable,” he declared before vanishing into the forest. He promptly fell into a hidden pit because you forgot to mention the spell only silenced noise—it didn’t help him see better.

➽ Amras

• He was a bit more wary of magic than his twin. He respected it but didn’t fully trust it—especially after witnessing some of your more volatile spells. “You do realise half of these things could kill us, right?” he asked dryly after you accidentally blew a hole in a tree during an experiment. “If you ever turn on us, I’m running first.”

• He was extremely particular about magical interference in his domain—hunting. “No magic,” he warned before a hunt. “We do this properly.” That rule lasted until you found a particularly massive beast and he muttered, “Okay, maybe one spell.”

• He was a nightmare to keep track of when he decided to avoid your magic. The first time you tried to locate him with a scrying spell, he dodged it by moving constantly, making your vision blur with shifting images. When you finally found him, he smirked. “Magic’s powerful,” he admitted, “but I’m faster.” You had to grudgingly agree.

• He refused to let you teleport him. “No, I’ve heard the stories,” he said, backing away when you reached for him. “I’ll walk, thank you.” The one time you teleported him anyway, he appeared upside down in a tree. He hung there, blinking. “I hate you.”

• He was actually quite good with magical traps. The first time you showed him how to weave a snare with enchanted threads, he caught Amrod in it immediately. His twin dangled from a tree, yelling. Amras smirked at you. “Best lesson ever.”

• He had a deep appreciation for your ability to manipulate light and shadows. When you used magic to blend into the darkness during a hunt, he was genuinely impressed. “Alright,” he admitted. “That’s actually useful.”

• He was constantly suspicious of enchanted objects after you pranked him too many times. He refused to sit in a chair if he even suspected you had tampered with it. “I know you did something,” he said, glaring at the completely normal chair. He eventually sat—only to find himself stuck in place. You laughed while he cursed.

➽ Celebrimbor

• Celebrimbor was utterly fascinated by your magic. Unlike Fëanor, who saw it as a challenge, he saw it as an art that could enhance craftsmanship beyond imagination. He was constantly asking to study your spells, sketching runes in his notebooks. “What if,” he mused one night, “we infused enchantments directly into the metal during forging?” The resulting experiment ended in an explosion. He was delighted.

• He was extremely meticulous with magical theory. If you cast a spell in front of him, be prepared for an onslaught of questions. “What’s the range?” he asked after you demonstrated a shield spell. “How long does it last? Can it be layered? Does it dissipate naturally or require a dismissal incantation?” You groaned. “Can’t you just enjoy the magic?” He grinned. “This is how I enjoy it.”

• He was the only one who actually studied your spellbooks instead of just skimming for the flashy parts. The first time he cast a minor enchantment correctly, he looked so pleased with himself. “Did you see that?” he asked, eyes bright with excitement. “I did it!”

• He was always working on enchanted objects, many of which he designed specifically for you. When he presented you with a ring that amplified your power, he watched you put it on with something close to nervous anticipation. “Try it,” he urged. You cast a spell and felt it surge through you, stronger than ever. His smile was pure joy.

• He had a terrible habit of muttering spell theories at inappropriate times. You once caught him whispering about rune structures during a feast. “Tyelpë,” you hissed, nudging him. “We are eating.” He blinked at you. “Oh. Right. Food.” He barely paid attention as he continued scribbling in his notebook.

• He was absurdly competitive when crafting magical items. If you enchanted something, he immediately tried to improve upon it. “Your fire gem is strong,” he admitted, inspecting it, “but what if we stabilised the energy with an embedded lattice structure” The next day, he presented you with his version—twice as refined. You gaped at him. “Did you sleep?” He waved you off. “Details.”

• He adored seeing you work, often sitting silently just to watch your magic unfold. When he saw you manipulate raw energy into a tangible form, he whispered, “It’s beautiful.” It was rare to see him so openly in awe, but when it came to you, he always was.

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[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

The Sons of Fëanor behind closed doors

Author’s note: A collection of random intimate moments between you and your favorite Fëanorian. Part 1/? There will definitely be more parts to this!

-

Caranthir

Carnistir always runs warm

It doesn’t matter how cold it is outside, his temperature never seems to drop. Must be his blood cuz its boiling  

In the evening, you’ll find him looking through the bookshelves in your chambers, thinking about which one he’s going to read to you

This is a routine you have established quite early on, him being a bookworm and you loving the sound of his voice and storytelling abilities 

He always comes back to join you right when your feet start getting cold. The second he sits down beside you, you bury them underneath his legs, certified personal heater 

He shudders at the coldness and shoots you an annoyed look, scolding you about how you should put on socks. 

"You’re going to catch a cold." 

"Not when I have you right here!" You grin and are met with him rolling his eyes 

When he opens the book, you throw your arms around his neck and look over his shoulder, waiting for him to start reading, but he just seems to be flipping through the pages aimlessly, too distracted by your sudden proximity

His face grows redder with every second

You snuggle into his hot cheek, and he feels you smile against his skin.

How is he supposed to focus?? Manz is flustered

"You do remember where we left off, right?" You ask teasingly, he just clears his throat and mutters something about chapter three. When he finally finds the chapter he lets out a breath he seemed to be holding forever 

Is it hot in here? Nope, just Cara’s body temperature which is off the charts by now 

There’s something about his reading voice, the way it sounds soft like a velvet blanket, yet so sharp

And though you’d love to listen to the story, the exhaustion takes over you, leaving you half asleep on his shoulder near the chapter’s end

He puts down the book and rests his head against yours for a moment, secretly smiling to himself in pure bliss before gently picking you up and carrying you to bed

Eru, the things you do to him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way 

Maedhros

This gentle giant loves it when you play with his hands

He noticed a long time ago how fidgety you would get whenever something was making you nervous

Your anxiety shows itself in you cracking your knuckles, playing with the rings on your fingers, pulling at the fabric of your clothing 

Sometimes, however, you wouldn’t have anything to help reduce your anxiety 

He made it a habit to look for that twitch in your fingers, and whenever that happens, he just takes your hands into his

And since his hands are significantly larger than yours, it would only take one of them to encapsulate both of yours, and squeeze them reassuringly (we’re obviously talking pre-oath here oop) while the other tends to whatever it is he was doing before

Although open displays of affection are frowned upon, he considers your comfort more important than the judgement he would receive 

Let’s be real, nobody would dare to ever voice their disapproval. It’s Maedhros they’re talking to, zero fucks given here

This morning, you have been sitting next to Mai in a meeting for the longest time when one of the attendees decides to criticize some of the contributions you have made earlier. You freeze. Heart starts beating impossibly fast at the tone of his voice, pointed and condescending. Eru. Do you answer? Are you supposed to answer?! He’s looking right at you. Eruerueru-

The second Mai’s hand finds yours under the table, the tension leaves your body. 

You take it with an urgency he recognizes all too well. One of your hands holds on to his wrist while the fingers on your other one intertwine themselves with his, your thumb drawing hectic circles into his cool skin. Your grip on his wrist tightens at times and you take deep breaths, trying to remain in control 

You let go of his wrist and trace the veins on the back of his hand, trying to memorize the way his skin feels on yours, before you turn his hand around in your lap and do the same thing with the lines on his palm

His hand is relaxed in your grip, gradually transferring some of that energy to you

He’s just so tall and self assured — the complete opposite of your current state — you could find solace in his presence alone if it weren’t for your itching fingers 

Your movements become slower the longer you stay in contact with him

It’s like his fëa gathers in his hand, knowing you need it to touch you directly to come to your senses

And so the rush wears off, eventually the attendee stops talking and you are able to form a response that is just coherent enough to be said out loud in this setting

And as a result of your bond and the indemmar emerging from it, Maitimo proceeds to expand your argument in his own words, closing the case gracefully as ever without letting anything show 

You don’t know what you’d do without him, especially in situations like these 

Maglor

Contrary to popular belief, Makalaurë is a clumsy individual 

You have to give that to him, his mind seems to be running nonstop, I imagine him to always be on the edge of sensory overload — just look at the world around you, how could you not want to capture every single aspect of it in poetry and song? 

So, naturally, he’s not always fully present, at least not when he’s scribbling things on paper

You can tell whether to talk to him or leave him to his affairs by the way he’s sitting, the speed and loudness of the quill on his paper.

The more he hunches his back, the more he squints his eyes, chews on his lower lip, the messier his handwriting appears, the jerkier he moves the quill — that’s when you know not to disturb him

Although sometimes, you yourself are quite preoccupied and forget about it

"LAURË!" you call out as you burst into his room, feet stomping on the wooden planks so enthusiastically their creaking could be mistaken for a cat screaming after having been stepped on its tail 

Poor Laurë is so startled, he jumps out of his skin, dies and is reborn all at once

The quill in his hand slides across the paper with the sudden movement of his arm and, yikes, the ink pot is sent flying along with pieces of parchment

He yells, eyes wide, hands in the air, frozen in place, a literal deer in the headlights

You stop dead in your tracks and cover your mouth in shock, immediately regretting your loud entry

"ERU, Y/N, DON’T DO THIS TO ME" "I’M SO SORRY!!" "WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?!" "I DON’T KNOW!!"

The last piece of paper lands on the ground, the air settles down and only then do you see the damage — splotches of ink are littered all over his desk and notes, his hands and sleeves. He sits there, with his upper body turned towards you, staring at his work on the floor, slowly breaking out of his state of shock and moving to pick it up with shaky hands

You hate to admit it to yourself, but he’s so unintentionally funny with his big eyes and startled movements. You can see how he’s trying to coordinate his thoughts again as his hands reach for each piece of paper below, sometimes grabbing the air instead of the actual object 

Somebody help this man

And Eru forbid, when he sees the spilled ink on his notes, he goes through all the stages of grief right in front of your eyes and you feel even worse for the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of you

He’s like a sloth, slowly collecting his belongings with calculating eyes

You hastily step to his side and help him arrange everything on the desk, then proceed to get a washcloth to wipe away the spilled ink

When you’re finished, you are met with judgemental eyes 

"I’m sorry, I’m really sorry," you manage to get out before the laughter bursts out of you. Laurë huffs and before you know it, his blue fingertips smear the leftover ink across your face

"Hey!" you yelp when he picks you up and carries you outside

If it weren’t for the loud breath he lets out through his nose, you would have thought he was really mad at you, but he just puts you back down, trying his hardest to hide his smile upon seeing the blue lines on your face 

"I’ll just come back later," you purse your lips and look up at him. He shakes his head at the mischievous twinkle in your eyes before leaning down to kiss the top of your head and then slamming the door in your face lol 

Celegorm

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that Tyelko loves nature

You, on the other hand, have certain things you’d prefer to stay away from, such as spiders 

And as much as you love him, his "conquer your fear" mindset is anything but dear to you. You’re a firm believer of respecting people’s fears and not forcing them to change that, whereas he thinks practically and doesn’t always consider your thoughts, such as right now

He came running into your room when he had heard you scream in fear, ready to attack whatever was threatening you, or so he thought 

So there you are, standing on a chair, pointing at the spider in his hand

"Tyelkormo, I swear on my life, if you come any closer-" 

"Y/N, you can’t be serious, it’s tiny." "I don’t care!" You yell, slowly stepping down from the chair and backing up

He smirks "You can’t be that scared, love" 

And all the alarms in your head go off when he steps closer to you, spider enclosed in his hand that is extended towards you

When your back hits the wall, you know you’re done for

"Tyelko-" "Just look at it!" He laughs at your reaction, knowing he won’t actually do anything. Deep down, you know it too, but he just loves to poke fun at you and you fall for it every single time

You think he'd leave it at that, but he actually dares to open his hand and of course, the spider jumps out in a frenzy, beginning to rope itself down from the palm of his hand

And you SCREAM, poor Tyelko actually has to cover his ears that's what he gets

The spider hurries away into some corner and you make a leap for the bed, grab a pillow and throw it at Tyelko, yelling at him to take it outside

When he finally does, your rage is still very much present and you take another pillow from behind you and hit him repeatedly

"Don't-" hit. "you-" hit. "ever-" hit. "do-" hit. "that-" hit. "again-" hit. "do-" hit. "you-" hit. "understand-" hit. "you're so annoying!!!"

He's obviously unfazed, if anything his smirk has grown even bigger

His arms snake around your waist and pull you close, cradling your head in his hand

"Did you seriously think I was going to let that spider harm you? You're so easy to tease, love"

Curufin

"Close your eyes," he instructs softly before carefully placing the item in your hands. He spent hours working on this, both scared and excited for your reaction

When he tells you to open your eyes again, they fall on a set of beautiful earrings. But that's not what makes you tear up!

Months ago, you had mentioned how much you missed the color of forget-me-nots in the winter time. It was a silly little thought you had voiced on a leisurely stroll with him on a rather cold morning, not expecting him to actually take it to heart like this

But here you are, in your hand these rose gold earrings, shaped like forget-me-nots, with little shimmering gems in the center — the same color as your favorite spring flower.

"Curufin!" you gasp, looking up at him

He just smiles and for the first time ever, he looks flustered, bashful, even

He's always so calm, stoic and levelheaded. To see him deliver a gesture like this is unusual to say the least

"Here, let me help you put them on," he gently takes the earrings out of your hands with his calloused fingers

You notice a band-aid on his left index finger, did he hurt himself when crafting these?

Once the earrings are on, you step in front of the mirror and Eru, the smile that blooms on your face almost makes his heart stop

Curvo was never one to display a lot of emotion, he just never deemed it necessary

But seeing you touched like this made him question what was so bad about letting his guard down sometimes

Especially when you would look at him, and his heart would erupt into a million tiny butterflies upon the effects of his gesture

Amrod

You're sat on the wooden fence framing the fields close to your estate, watching the cows

The sun is just about to set and you catch yourself staring at him

"Is there something on my face?" he suddenly asks and raises his eyebrows, you're caught in the act

Quick, think of something to save yourself from the embarrassment!!! Or else he'll never stop teasing you about this!!!

So you flick his forehead and watch him open his mouth in protest

"Hey!" "What are you gonna do, Pityo?"

You stick your tongue out and jump down into the high grass, watching him do the same, ready to follow you for some revenge

The air is quiet, and the first fireflies are already buzzing around the fields when he starts chasing you through the flowers

Your giggles and screams make the cows raise their heads one by one, disturbed by these two strange creatures running around them

Usually, Amrod knows not to run too close to the cows as it would agitate them, but he's just too caught up in the way your laughter tickles his pointed ears and the way your h/c hair flows in the wind — he doesn't notice one of them standing closer to him than he has anticipated

So yeah, poor unfortunate Pityo bumps into that cow. And he stumbles. And falls. And when he realizes what he's fallen into, he yells. And when you realize what he's fallen into, he's done for

"NO WAY!!!!" "STOP"

He gets up and looks down at his linen shirt which is now an earthy, lovely shade of brown

When you come closer, you see the blush on his cheeks, his ears growing redder and redder

"Not a word to my brothers!" he warns, pointing his finger at you

"What do I get in return?" you ask and clasp your hands in front of your body, a shit-eating grin on your face pun intended

He looks around helplessly, trying to come up with something to keep you from running off to tell everyone about this mishap

He just huffs in defeat, shoulders slacking "I'll do whatever you want, just don't tell them."

You don't know why, but seeing him at your mercy like this makes you feel bolder than usual

"Kiss me." It's a short and sweet proposal.

You can see in his face that he's expected anything but this, because manz GASPS and is frozen in place

He's been crushing on you for quite some time, and the two of you certainly shared a cheeky bond, constantly teasing each other in a loving way, but kissing you???

He's at a loss for words and just stares at you in disbelief, mouth opening and closing in an attempt to reply but failing miserably

You've never seen him so flustered when he usually has a snarky comeback for every situation. He's so cute.

You carefully take a few steps closer to him until you're a few centimetres apart and look up at him with a timid smile, waiting for his reaction. And he gazes into your eyes with a newfound vulnerability that makes your heart beat a lot faster than it already does

And when he finally makes up his mind and decides to go for it, the sun has set

His lips hover over yours before softly laying themselves upon yours like a secret in the dark, only to be whispered aloud in your presence

Amras

"Telvo, I'm really tired, how much longer do we have to walk?" you ask, the ache in your feet is almost unbearable at this point

He came into your room this morning, asking you to accompany him on his quest to find mushrooms to try an old recipe for a stew he had found in the library

You don't know how many times he's already come knocking at your door demanding your help for the most trivial things, but you comply every time, you just can't help it. Some of your best adventures are made with him

So there you are, wandering along the path leading back to your home, your apron full of mushrooms of all kind, Telvo walking in front of you with that bounce in his step indicating his good mood

"We're almost there, look!" He points towards the house on the edge of the valley you're passing through, although it's a bit too far for your liking

You groan, stumbling over a root sticking out from beneath you and having the mushrooms tumble all over the ground

"Oh no..." you sigh, looking up at your companion who's surprised at your exhaustion

"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I made you walk too much!" He stammers, crouching to pick up the mushrooms and put them back into your apron, which you had folded into a makeshift bag

Once they're all in there, he turns his back to you and gestures for you to hop on, which you do gladly

"Y/N, Y/N, you're spending too much time indoors. Look at how exhausted you are!" he snickers and resumes his trip towards your house. You just snuggle into his shoulder and blow into his ear

"Not everyone can run around in the forest all day, you know?" to which he just shakes his head and laughs

Once you're inside, you begin to prepare the stew, bickering and joking around all the while

"Eru, hopefully this will taste good. Where did you even find that recipe?"

He tells you about a collection of old, dusty books hidden away in his father's library. Some traveller had devised this recipe a long time ago. It's said to warm you from within with its unique taste. You could listen to his rambling for hours. He's always had a talent for discovering the most random things and taking them straight to you, his partner in crime and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Once the stew is done, you dig in, and who would have thought? A blissful warmth spreads throughout your bodies, caressing your bellies and putting satisfied smiles onto your faces

"Told you it was gonna taste good," he mumbles and winks, beckoning you to come and sit next to him so you could enjoy the incoming food coma together

He really is full of peculiar ideas, your beloved redhead

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Thingol, Luthien, and Dior’s claim to the silmaril bugs the living daylights outta me and I’m gonna break down why. This goes a bit beyond ownership laws.

Starting with basics. What are the silmarils? Gems created by Fëanor that hold the light of the Two Trees. Who in Beleriand saw the light of the trees and no doubt misses it like a limb? Are here in part to avenge their destruction? The Noldor.

The Sindar never went to Valinor. They might find the gems beautiful but that’s it. There’s no cultural or emotional connection to them beyond ‘pretty stone, look how awesome our princess was.’ There’s no appreciation for what they hold. No understanding that this stone is one of the *last* things that holds the ancient light of the Trees.

The Noldor meanwhile not only saw the Light, they had entire festivals surrounding it. Grew their entire culture, their lives, under and around it. Now the trees are destroyed, their king killed defending these jewels. And this last beacon of hope, a piece of the home they can never return to, a piece of light that will never come back, is being kept by people who can’t even begin to understand the significance of what they keep.

Now imagine being the sons of the one who made this jewel from a culture of people who value craft above all else.

Not only is it light, it’s the result of years of toil and experimentation of your father, the one who managed to do what no one had ever even thought of. Fëanor’s sons would have been the first to see these jewels, probably saw him make prototypes, work equations whilst they worked on their own crafts. Provided what relief they could to his ever working mind and inadvertently gave him ideas that helped solve problems he encountered along the way. Suddenly it’s not only a key part of their culture, it’s something core to their family.

Then Fëanor is killed and in many ways it’s the most important thing they have left of their father. Now it’s a source of memory too, for someone doomed to the Halls for eternity. Who they’ll likely never see again unless they’re killed.

Now from what I’ve heard, Tolkien says the Fëanorions lost their right to the Silmarils when they killed for them. Which makes no sense considering the Silmarils were *created* by Fëanor. Yes the light was created by the Valar, but what, you’re gonna say ‘I created electricity so that lightbulb you made is actually mine.’ That’s not how it works. Fëanor made the casing for the stones and figured out how to hold the light, without aid from the Valar. It doesn’t matter what actions they take, the right to the Silmarils remain theirs and theirs alone. The jewels hold no power of their own, they’re literally objects. Healing objects at most. Morals do not dictate their ownership, hallowed or not.

Tolkien going on to say the right of Doriath’s Silmaril actually goes to Beren and Luthien for taking it from Morgoth gives me frankly coloniser vibes.

‘Oh this thing I stole was originally stolen from you? Too bad. I took it so it’s mine now. Don’t care how important it is to you, your entire culture, and your people.’

Get where I’m coming from?

All in all the whole situation gives me Bad Vibes and I really don’t like the attitude the Sindar have to the Silmaril. In terms of Elwing, I can partly forgive her purely based on trauma response. Fine. Doesn’t make it right, but I understand. But that never would’ve been a problem if her father, grandmother, or great grandfather had the sense to acknowledge the silmaril was never theirs to keep. Don’t like the Fëanorions, (too bad) at least give it back to the Noldor.

[sakasakiii]

when i first designed erestor 3 years back i wasnt totally aware of his potential half-elf status, and since then ive come across some more fanon interpretations of him being haleth and caranthir's kid which i really liked!!!! so ive decided to rework him a little by combining my original lore for him into this concept 👉👈 i ended up getting carried away on whole different tangent with his backstory which ive summarised down below HAHA

tldr to expand on some key points under the cut:

born in F.A. 371 to haleth and caranthir; his parents' romance is short but passionate, and while many of the haladin are initially unsure about the nature of this union, they dont oppose it. for 4 years they live an unconventional but happy life together

haleth leaves thargelion in F.A. 375 and raises erestor with her people once they resettle. he's too young to remember much about caranthir. throughout his childhood she never tells him who his father is, but he also never really feels the need to ask.

he's captured in F.A. 460 (40 years after his mother's death) and escapes in F.A. 510. two years later, he finally finds refuge in Amon Ereb-- six years after the deaths of caranthir, celegorm and curufin in the 2nd kinslaying.

is tasked by maedhros to assist maglor with elrond and elros' education after they're taken in following the 3rd kinslaying in F.A. 538. he becomes a weird mix of a nanny/older brother/teacher figure to them, and a strange but sweet bond forms between them.

entrusted to protect elrond and elros following the break out of the war of wrath. he leads them to the Host of the Valar, where the twins are given the choice of the half-elven; to his surprise, he's afforded this choice as well, and decides to remain elven out of compassion for elrond after elros chooses mortality.

remains by elrond's side to watch over him for most of the 2nd age. during this time he resides in lindon as a healer, translator and archivist; later joins elrond in imladris, and partakes in the war of the last alliance as a combat medic.

in the 3rd age, is beset with sea-longing after what he regards to be a long and tiresome existence; he's also filled with guilt for being unable to help elrond heal celebrian’s psychological wounds, and contemplates following her back to Valinor. ultimately decides to stay back a bit longer, however, and lingers until after sauron’s defeat when the rest of the elves finally depart for the West. 

that's just a very condensed version but one day i hope to explore in some 4th age stuff where he finds out who his dad is...?! or will he?!?! who knows lol

[whovianofmidgard]

I think the Noldor, but especially the Fëanorians would enjoy flyting.

If you don't know what flyting is, it's basically a form of improvised poetry competition between two and perhaps more people and the goal is to dish out the most offencive insults at your opponent as you can possibly imagine.

With how confrontational the Fëanorians are and also linguistically inclined it seems like a pastime they would engage in and use as a form of venting/hashing out conflicts to avoid resorting to physical fights.

I'd imagine Maglor and Fëanor would be unbeatable champions of flyting, both of them easily coming up with rhyming insults, and Curufin would be close behind, the three of them would have the largest vocabulary stored in their heads.

Maedhros is also good with words, but I think he would take his time to think through his verses, the poetry aspect of it not coming as naturally to him. He'd also probably only participate in friendly competition, he'd rarely have any real beef with anyone. Oh but when he does get angry it's a sight to behold.

Maglor wouldn't have much beef with anyone either, though he might fabricate some for the drama. He still participates in as many flyting matches as he can for the fun of it.

Fëanor and Curufin on the other hand are genuinely out there to call everyone a fucking idiot, full offence. If you get on their bad side or they just simply hate you, then get ready for the most cruel yet still somehow artistic verbal lashing you ever heard.

Caranthir would halfway through a flyting get too angry to express himself, and being tongue tied just makes him even more angry, falling into a negative feedback loop.

Celegorm has zero artistic bone in his body. Poetry whom? He just starts listing off the most crude insults and curses he knows. No rhymes, no rhythm, no musicallity to his cadence, just word vomit.

Ambarussa are clumsy in their rhymes, but they're entertaining to watch as they toss lines back and forth to each other, challenging the other to come up with a rhyme for their words. Also, the one who isn't performing the verse beatboxes in the background.

Nerdanel says one scathing haiku then leaves.

[silmarillaure]

Maedhros, Celegorm, & Curufin are beautiful in a flashy way where their beauty is the first thing you notice about them and you’re never able to forget how beautiful they are

Maglor, Caranthir, Amrod, & Amras are beautiful in a subtle way where their beauty isn’t the first thing you notice about them but when you do notice their beauty you’ll never be able to un-notice it

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

Nelyo’s speeches are very straightforward, “be good soldiers, fight hard, stay strong” etc..

Celegorm’s speeches are invigorating. He likes to scream.

Curufin’s speeches tend to focus on how terrible the enemy is. They involve a lot of imagery. The fear factor does not always work (see Nargothrond).

Caranthir’s speeches are slightly haunting. They don’t always make sense.

Maglor’s speeches never make sense, but are very effective.

Ambarussar should not be allowed to give speeches. (As it is, Amrod usually tells his soldiers to ‘have fun’ and Amras’ include war screams).

[thesummerestsolstice]

Hair Headcanons for the Feanorians:

Maedhros: Got Nerdanel's red hair, but filtered through Finwean Hair Magic™️, so instead of looking like normal red hair it looks like flickering flames, with deeper red tones and golden orange highlights, especially under Laurelin. After Angband, the gray streaks in his hair add the illusion of smoke. On the battlefield of Beleriand, he wears his fiery hair long and loose, almost an invitation to try and grab it. Taking that invitation is usually the last mistake his enemies ever make.

Maglor: Has dark, wavy hair with iridescent blue tones inherited from Feanor. Sometimes he puts some blue sparkle in it to really enhance the effect. It's always perfectly wavy and bouncy, and often tied into complicated up-dos for his appearances in Valinorean theaters and concert halls. His hair remains suspiciously luscious and styled even after thousands of years of being a beach hermit. His clothes are tattered, his skin is dirty, his eyes are bloodshot, but somehow, even the driftwood in his hair looks fresh and artistic.

Celegorm: He inherited his albinism from Miriel, and like her, has very light blonde/white hair. But because of the Finwean Hair Magic™️ his light hair actually has opalescent tones– light blues, greens, pinks, and oranges can all be seen in it from different angles. This is part of why he's called "the fair," his hair is light, but it's also as fair and beautiful as a polished opal.

Caranthir: Dark, relatively straight hair, with iridescent purple tones inherited from Feanor. A tangle has never been spotted in it, and he often keeps it up to avoid even the slightest chance of it getting dirty. He particularly appreciates the purple undertones in Beleriand, where purple dye is associated with luxury– it makes him look even richer than he already is. (tax fraud pays very, very well)

Curufin: Has hair very much like Feanor's, but his undertones are mostly on the green/teal side. Like Feanor, his hair doesn't really burn, even when it ends up in the forge fires, and as a result, he actually invents a kind of prototype curling iron and uses it to style his hair, since the heat doesn't damage it. He eventually abandons the curling iron, only for a young Celebrimbor to find it a few centuries later.

Amras: He's the darker haired one of the twins, and his hair is more reddish-brown than properly red. It's very shiny, and curly, and has very deep, rich colors. After Losgar, the ends of it always look dark and scorched.

Amrod: He's the lighter haired one of the twins, with hair that's more orange. It's bushy, shiny, and only Finwean Hair Magic™️ keeps it from being an absolute nightmare to brush. After he almost burns at Losgar, it becomes significantly darker, and loses some of its shine. Amrod always wore his hair long in Valinor, but typically wears it pretty short in Beleriand.

The headcanons for Maglor, Caranthir, and Curufin here are largely based on Sesamenom's wonderful art.

See headcanons for Finwe and his kids here.

[amrass]

RDR2 headcanon: Micah Bell kills his brother Amos in 1907

I think the family who Micah and his gang invade the home of and murder is Amos and his family. 

The crime is mentioned twice: in a 1907 newspaper, and by Cleet before John or Sadie kills him. The family includes a husband, a wife and daughters, like Amos' does, revealed through Micah's speeches, a knife game, and the letter from Amos in Shady Belle. (Shady Bells, both of them lol, being shrouded in mystery. I'll try to unveil them a little).

In the letter, Amos rejects Micah and tells him to stay far away or he'll kill him. "I have daughters, as you know". Micah must know his brother's address as this letter is a reply, but how does Micah know about his nieces? Did he visit? Did he stake out Amos' ranch, before he was spotted? (That must've been an intense moment). The letter can be found randomly as if thrown away, so it must've upset him, who is usually secretive. He is also swears he remember threats.

Is 1800s Micah capable of killing his own brother? Idk. But in the 1900s, I think he's unhinged enough to do it, especially if his O'Driscoll-like gang members join in. Amos is a failed Bell and a loose end, and he witnessed a weakness on Micah's part, in the letter.

For Micah hope is weakness, a belief that was softened and then solidified when he was in the Van der Linde Gang. I think he joined unconsciously wanting a family, consciously wanting money (the Blackwater score, Dutch's bounty, the gang funds…). Maybe Dutch let him join as as a pet project, testing his mentoring skills on a man rougher than a street kid (and if Micah can soften or settle down, so can Dutch?). Between chapter 1-4 of RDR Micah gets a sliver of hope and reaches out to Amos. But the reconciliation with the old family, the new family, and the money all go to hell. He likely ratted after Guarma, but I'm unsure if he were going to give the Pinkertons, Dutch. As a young man, Micah chose his father over Amos, like he chooses Dutch over Arthur or any other gang / family members. When Dutch rejects him, he screams in frustration. The money is seemingly not enough. I think he changes after this, going from bad to worse. And at his worst, he's probably capable of spilling his own blood. Maybe he feels like he's killing Amos on his father's behalf, like he killed "traitors" on Dutch's. (Daddy issues deluxe edition).

Micah and Amos can be read as a dark mirror to Arthur and John. Both Amos and John abandon their lawless lifestyle – and their brothers – to become lawful sheep ranchers. But where John lives on thanks to Arthur's involvement, it makes narratively sense to me that Micah's involvement does the opposite, ending his remaining family. In canon, John is also killed in the end, after a few years of lawful living. Amos might've been equally unable to escape. Especially with a brother like Micah.

Sorry if I got any details wrong. Special thanks to @zanazirafanfic and @the--end-is--nigh , who chatted about this with me months ago, offering their insights. I've been seeing a lot of cool Micah Bell and RDR theories lately, so I'd thought I'd share one of mine.

[aotearoa20]

In my brain the entire house of Fëanor in Valinor pre everything going wrong has a strong “I love that you love what you do’ dynamic with each other. 

Maedhros practises his speeches on obscure legislature while modelling for Nerdanel while she listens intently. She’s completely lost and completely invested, interrupting him only once to ask he keep his hand up a little higher.

Celegorm discussing with Fëanor late into the night about the grammatical structure of the language of rabbits and how it affects their hierarchical structures. Everything he’s saying sort of scratches the part of Fëanor’s brain still hung up on his linguistics hyperfixations way back when.

Caranthir knows nothing about musical theory but after hearing Maglor complaining about all the way through breakfast about this tune he just can’t get right, his math brain is like ‘the rhythm is off’ and Maglor has to switch on his music brain to translate but then is like “Valar above! I was using a mismatched time signature”

Curufin patiently sitting through Amras’ tea tasting test from random leaves he’s foraged while hunting. Amrod patiently waiting as Curufin halts his cartography expedition because “Ambraussa LOOK silver deposits!!”

Just like, the Noldorin meraki was strong in that family. They may not understand what it is so interesting about each others Things but they totally get being excited about a Thing so they happily listen to an info dump on rocks when they know their tirade on fabric pigments was up next,

[doodle-pops]

Their Favourite Place To Kiss You | House of Feanor

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fëanor

Nape of your neck, just where your hairline met your skin. His touch was always intense, but there, his lips were soft and unhurried. He loved how you would tilt your head slightly, allowing him more access—the simple act felt like a quiet surrender. He would press his lips against that tender spot, and the warmth of his breath would linger long after he pulled away. It was his private gesture, a way of stating a claim without words. Whether you were standing together in his forge, your hands stained with ink from writing down his notes or seated by the fire, Fëanor would lean in, his lips finding that familiar spot, letting you know that even in his most focused moments, you were never far from his thoughts.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Maedhros

On your wrist, right over the faint pulse that beat steadily beneath your skin. His kisses were gentle, his large, calloused hands cradling your smaller ones as he brought your wrist to his lips. There was something worshipful about the way he kissed you there, almost as if he were paying homage to you with every press of his lips. He loved how your pulse would quicken when he did it, how you would shiver at the delicate contact. It wasn’t a public display—Maedhros was too private for that—but when you were alone together, he would often reach for your wrist, brushing a kiss there in quiet moments. It was a kiss that spoke of trust, silent devotion, and the love you shared.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Maglor

The corner of your mouth, where a teasing smile would often begin. He adored the way you would turn your head just slightly, pretending to evade him, only to let him catch you in the end. His kisses were playful, his lips lingering there as if savouring the promise of a fuller kiss to come. It was a tender spot, full of unsaid things, where laughter could easily turn into something softer. He’d brush his lips there in passing, whether you were seated beside him while he strummed a melody or walking together in the peaceful garden. Every kiss felt like a small secret, something shared just between the two of you, unspoken but deeply understood.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Celegorm

Your temple. It was an act of quiet affection, one that contrasted with his usual exuberant energy. He was always so intense in every other way, but when he kissed you there, it was soft, a rare moment of calm in the storm of his life. He loved the way you’d close your eyes, letting the tension melt away as his lips pressed against your skin—a sign of trust and comfort. Whether you were resting your head against his shoulder after a long day or sitting together in the grass, he would lean over, his kiss firm and warm. It wasn’t a kiss that demanded attention, but one that grounded him.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Caranthir

Your jawline. He loved the way you would tense ever so slightly in surprise, as his lips brushed the curve just beneath your ear and then traced the line down to your chin. There was something almost possessive about it, the way his kisses there would linger, his mouth barely moving, just pressing firmly into your skin. It wasn’t a place others would think to kiss, but Caranthir wasn’t like others. He found solace in these quiet moments, his lips against your jaw, his hand resting against your waist as if he needed to keep you close. It was intimate, a way of anchoring himself, and a way of showing you how much he needed that quiet connection.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Curufin

The curve of your shoulder, where skin met the delicate slope of your collarbone. His lips would hover there, just brushing the surface before pressing down more firmly, almost as if he were tasting your very essence. He loved how you would instinctively relax into him, your body turning slightly to allow him more access. It was a vulnerable place to kiss, exposed and intimate, and Curufin relished that fact. Whether you were sitting together in his study or standing by his side as he worked on his latest project, he would lean in without warning, his mouth finding that familiar curve. It was a kiss that was both grounding and possessive, a silent reminder that you belonged to each other.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Amrod

Your forehead. It was a simple, gentle gesture, and one that he reserved for moments when he wanted to express affection without needing words. His lips would brush over your skin softly, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. Whether you were sitting beside him, lost in conversation, or leaning against him by the fire, Amrod would tilt your chin up with a quiet, unspoken request. He adored the way you would smile slightly in response, knowing that this small kiss carried the weight of all the tenderness he didn’t often express openly. It was his way of grounding you, making you feel safe, and showing you how much he cared without needing to say anything at all.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Amras

The top of your head. It was a casual yet affectionate act that came so naturally to him. You’d often be standing or sitting in front of him, unaware of how his gaze would soften as he reached out and pressed his lips against your hair. Whether you were wrapped up in a blanket, half-asleep in his arms, or simply leaning against him as the day drew to a close, he found comfort in this small, affectionate gesture. His kiss was always accompanied by the gentle press of his hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as he pulled you a little closer. It was an intimate touch, one that never failed to make you feel cherished and loved.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Celebrimbor

Your hands. Whether he was working in his forge or meticulously sketching a design, whenever you were near, he’d take your hand in his and press his lips to your knuckles, his eyes filled with a quiet devotion. There was something intimate about the way his lips lingered there, a silent acknowledgement of the trust and affection that flowed between you. He’d always smile afterwards, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if it was his secret way of expressing his feelings. Whether you were walking through the halls of Eregion or sitting with him in the glow of his forge, his kisses on your hands felt like small promises.

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[lotr-bitches]

unhinged Fëanorians AU headcanons

idk if this is even an AU or if they’re just like this

Nelyo: - Loyal - The diplomat - Actually goes fucking crazy after Thangorodrim - Gives off genuinely the most terrifying energy - Calculating af - Will manipulate the shit out of you - He doesn't look insane but then you get to know him and... - Lowkey a cult leader (??) - His followers are also ✨batshit✨ Kano: - Lowkey the most powerful - When he sings you think 'avenging angel' - Not as dramatic as you would think - Has a conscience - 'I will make them in my image' energy with Elros and Elrond - Surprisingly cunning - Has a smile that will make your skin crawl - Gentle hands, cruel words Tyelko: - Filled with rage pt 1 - Ruthless - Backstabbing is fun for him - He loves seeing that face of realization - His laugh shouldn't make you feel so unsettled - Cult leader pt 2 - By the end even Oromë is scared of what he's capable of - Impossible to wrangle (even by Nelyo) Moryo: - Spiritually identifies with Pityo - Smart af - People try to use ósanwë on him but his mind is like a fortress - Greed(TM) - Arguably the least scary - Rumors spread that he wasn't an elf and was actually a dragon - Fëanor anti pt 1 - Used a massive fuck off axe in battle - Fox-like Curvo: - Unsettling pt idek - Conniving bitch of a man - Vaguely antisocial - Talks way less than you would think - A good father for like 10 minutes - Obsessed with lightning storms - (Has been struck by lightning) - Moves like a panther - Raises one eyebrow - #1 dad supporter Pityo: - Lightly crisp - Didn't actually die at the burning of the ships - Can no longer speak because of the scar patterns - Feral af

- Hates that Nerdanel gave him and Telvo the same name

- Would (and has) punched several of his brothers and cousins

- Spiritually identifies with Moryo

- Everyone swears he’s invisible sometimes

- Slightly better hunter

- No mercy

- Filled with rage pt 2

Telvo:

- Also feral

- Dad always mixed him up with Pityo so they switch places sometimes

- Fëanor anti pt 2

- Slightly more diplomatic

- Develops sign language for Pityo

- Uses ósanwë to talk to Pityo

- (Also they use ósanwë to swap bodies)

- Vaguely terrifying

- Gives off creepy twin energy

- Telvo is the more unsettling of the two

Tyelpë:

- When you meet him you think he’s surprisingly normal

- Eyebrow raise pt 2

- Distinctly unimpressed constantly

- Lowkey thinks it might be fun to be evil for a minute

- Sometimes filed his fingernails into points for the vibes

- Filed his canines so they look like fangs

- Elros and Elrond are his favorite cousins

- Always stealing shit

- Sleight of hand ✨king✨

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Ok a lil hc for why Curufin is so close to Fëanor and why the twins went to Beleriand.

So idk how many of you have seen twin pregnancies, and no doubt many of you will know more than me. But the ones I have seen were *exhausting* for the mother. Constantly tired, unable to do a whole lot, usually in some kind of pain be it back, ribs from the kicking babies, legs, hips, you name it. Not to mention the nausea. Nerdanel would have been absolutely shattered for most of her pregnancy, but by this point Fëanor is confident enough (has been reassured by Nerdanel over the last five pregnancies) that he’s ok leaving her to her own devices.

What this means though is Nerdanel doesn’t have a lot of energy to spare looking after her other children. Caranthir is old enough to happily stick with his brothers or sit with his embroidery, but little Curvo is around 5/6 equivalent and is very attached to his parents. Nerdanel suddenly not being able to do much creates a distance, neither of their faults, in which Fëanor steps in. This time spent with his father shapes Curufin’s interests and personality to make him embody his mother name. Atarinkë indeed, in more than just looks.

Now this temporary distance that should’ve started to close by the time Ambarussa were two or three is furthered because now is when Fëanor and Nerdanel start getting into arguments. At this point they’re small spats at most, nothing too serious, but Curufin who’s very attached to his now primary caregiver and distanced from the other, immediately takes Fëanor’s side. Again at this point both parents are still trying to get him close to his mother again, but it’s not going well and with how heated both parents get, it’s difficult to keep disagreements behind closed doors.

Then Curvo becomes a teen and it’s his father above all else. The time for change is passing, Fëanor and Nerdanel have started to spend days apart, days in which Maedhros and Maglor often take care of the twins so their mother can have a break, and Curufin sees this as another sign his mother isn’t worthy of their family. By the time we get to the banishment to Formenos, Curvo refuses to speak to Nerdanel, and whilst his brothers still send letters and occasionally go out to meet her, he burns the letters as soon as they come.

On a side note, the twins end up very very close to their oldest brothers because of this. It’s why they decide to go to Beleriand: their brothers, their primary caregivers, are all going. So they are too. They don’t know their mother well enough to stay.

Disclaimer: I adore Nerdanel and think she’s absolutely brilliant. You have to have some guts to not only marry Fëanaro Curufinwë, but then stick to your guns and refuse to follow him. And successfully wrangle seven very skilled, very opinionated sons. She’s the best and was no doubt an amazing mother, but the way things turned out just didn’t work in anyone’s favour.

Also to still be known as ‘the wise’ after marrying Fëanor and everything he did? Insane.

Fëanor was also a great father ok. At least until Morgoth really got in his head towards the end of their time in Aman. There’s a reason all his kids followed him to Beleriand.

[carmisse]

Of Fëanorians and their colors.

When Maedhros ceded the crown to Fingolfin, the Noldor organized a celebration in the name of the new king, with this Maitamo established/ordered that they would not wear the red color of the house of Fëanor and instead they would wear other tones.

Maedhros wore both blue and silver belonging to the house of Fingolfin.

Maglor on the other hand wore a soft lavender accompanied by a luminous light blue.

Celegorm wore greens and browns from the hunt of Oromë, the only other lord he answered to after his father.

Caranthir surprisingly wore white with gold embroidery, using the colors of Miriel.

Amrod and Amras wore grays and olive, as they saw them in Nerdanel, deciding to adopt them as their colors.

However, in the middle of the king's speech, Curufin entered the hall wearing his father's red and black, with a golden crown decorated by the eight-pointed star in his hair, accompanied by a cloak of the same color as his tunic. The Fëanorian factions stood up to receive Curufin as well as Celegorm who supported his younger brother.

Meanwhile on the other side of the hall Daeron approached Mablung and asked if he knew what color the Fëanorians wore when they called their standard bearers to war to which the captain smilingly replied "red".

[maglorharp]

seven capital sins as fëanorians :

maedhros - wrath

maglor - pride

celegorm - lust

caranthir - greed

curufin - envy

amrod - gluttony

amras - sloth

idk for me this fits 😭