#because Fingon his son so urged him"

[tense-gemstone]

at the risk of being "unrest of the noldor dashboard simulator:"

i wanna talk about how "nolofinwe was trying to usurp feanaro's place" is textually something that melkor just fucking made up. like

Then Melkor set new lies abroad in Eldamar, and whispers came to Feanor that Fingolfin and his sons were plotting to usurp the leadership of Finwe and of the elder line of Feanor, and to supplant them by the leave of the Valar; for the Valar were ill-pleased that the Silmarils lay in Tirion and were not committed to their keeping.

text of the silmarillion there is NO BASIS for this claim. there's "two sons at least thou hast," right, the whole text of which is:

King and father, wilt thou not restrain the pride of our brother, Curufinwe, who is called the Spirit of Fire, all too truly? By what right does he speak for all our people, as if he were King? Thou it was who long ago spoke before the Quendi, bidding them accept the summons of the Valar to Aman. Thou it was that led the Noldor upon the long road through the perils of Middle-earth to the light of Eldamar. If thou dost not now repent of it, two sons at least thou hast to honour thy words.

which, let us remember, is a reaction to things feanaro is ALSO not actually doing. he's heard rumors that feanaro is going to try to get finwe to disavow the children of indis entirely or some shit. "It will not be long before he drives you forth from Tuna!" (forgive me im not getting the accents im working from my print copy)

so nolofinwe is asking finwe (if im understanding correctly, this is in private BEFORE the meeting to which finwe "summoned all his lords") why feanaro is being permitted to act with the king's authority and contradict the decision that made finwe into a king. which would be a real problem if it were happening!

in response to this we get The Incident in which feanaro accuses nolofinwe of usurpation and holds a sword to his throat in public, while nolofinwe straight up just tries to leave.

and THEN of course the valar, not knowing how much melkor has been manipulating the rumor mill, equate "first person to pick a fight over this in public" to "person who started the whole thing" and bring feanaro to trial, etc etc etc. even the results of that trial are like "yeah the whole thing is melkor's fault but that doesn't give you the right to threaten your brother with a sword, go to your room."

[melestasflight]

Fëanor and his following were in the van, but the greater host came behind under Fingolfin; and he marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him, and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanor. 

"Of the Flight of the Noldor", The Silmarillion

[doodle-pops]

Puppy Love

A/N: A little bit of fluff for the holidays :)

Words: 600

“Hey, where are you looking? Keep your eyes on me,” he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours, his voice commanding and gentle all at once.

You couldn’t deny that you had a tendency to avoid making eye contact with him. It was an intense experience that never failed to make you feel flustered. He had noticed this quirk of yours and took every opportunity to lock his gaze with yours, just to watch you stumble over your words and witness the bashful expression that would invariably spread across your cheeks. He found it endearing, and it became something of a playful game between you two.

His fingers reached out to pinch your cheeks between his larger hands, playfully squishing them together. He made it his mission to help you learn to maintain eye contact, but the task proved to be a challenge. So, he resorted to another tactic.

Peering at you from beneath his long lashes, his eyes took on a darker shade, focusing intensely on you. You felt the sensation of his gaze like a physical weight, and you bit your lip to resist the urge to look away. His hand on your chin held your head firmly in place, but despite his efforts, you blinked rapidly, trying to alleviate the intensity building inside you.

He couldn’t help but grin victoriously as he observed your struggle. “Eye on me, stars,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of affection and mischief.

You gulped, aware that you were teetering on the edge of surrender. You longed to wipe that triumphant smirk off his face. For five more seconds, you held your gaze, determined not to give in. But eventually, you shifted your vision elsewhere, and he chuckled, releasing his hold on your chin.

Throwing his head back, he howled with laughter into the night sky, leaving you scowling in his direction, albeit under your breath. “I win. That last piece of cake is mine. I told you, you couldn’t beat me,” he declared, reaching for the final slice of marble cake and sliding the plate toward him.

“Whatever. It’s not my fault you have such beautiful eyes,” you grumbled, pausing midway through your disappointment to glance at him.

“Oh, come on. Didn’t you want to win the cake? I’m offering to share. Just one bite…” His smile widened as he enjoyed your sullen demeanour. He knew you wouldn’t stay like this for long; you just needed a little incentive.

His eyes flicked over to your sullen expression and pouting lips, and he couldn’t help but smile. Turning in his seat, he cut a small portion of his cake and wiggled the fork towards you. “Say ah…” He held a fork with a piece of cake poised before your lips.

Still sulking, you turned your head in the opposite direction, unwilling to share in his victory cake.

Setting the plate aside, he rested his hands on either side of your chair and leaned in to kiss your cheek. The moment his lips met your skin, you turned your head in disgust, prompting him to move to your lips. You squealed in protest, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. Your hands came up to cover your mouth, but he was undeterred. His hands moved to tickle your sides, causing your hands to drop and allowing his mouth to claim yours for a swift kiss.

“Are you done sulking, love, or are you going to pout some more because my eyes are beautiful?” he teased.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I have,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eye, “but now I’m ready to beat you for good.” With that, you launched out of your seat, chasing him through the backyard of his parents’ house. The sound of your laughter filled the air, a joyful chorus that reached the ears of his parents, who sat nearby, smiling at the happiness their son had found.

Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Amras, Amrod, Fingon, Argon, Finarfin, Finrod, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Galdor, Egalmoth, Beleg, Elladan

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[welcomingdisaster]

A Refutation of Claims Made by Professor Basil Dyer in the Minas Tirith Review

for @silmarillionepistolary | M | ao3

It has come to my attention that The Minas Tirith Review has recently published an essay by one Professor Basil Dyer detailing and reinterpreting letters exchanged between Fingon, son of Fingolfin, and Maedhros, son of Fëanor, in light of recent translations and publications of long-censored exchanges. In his composition, Dyer claims the letters show evidence of long-established homoaffective relationship between the two, beginning shortly after Fingon’s arrival and in Beleriand, and continuing until his death.

This turn in the discourse is troubling, both because of the undue and perverse attention which it may attract to this noble publication and for the aspersions which it may cast upon the already well-sullied reputation of the historiographer. Perhaps if there was any academic merit behind them such faults may be forgiven, but they consist of nothing besides applying an all-too-modern understandings of customs (and the ever-loosening morality of the age of Man!) onto the long-gone age of the Eldar. 

That said, I shall begin by laying out the terms of the engagement. Let us assume, for the sake of simplicity and brevity both, that there is no doubt on the matter of authenticity of the letters exchanged between our two principal figures during the Long Peace. Even the most recently recovered—and most hotly contested—of these letters, dated F.A. 345, referred to in the previous publication by the first lines (“Concerning the matter of honey…”) and sometimes abbreviated as the “honey missive” (alternately, in particularly tasteless publications, the “honey-thigh letter”) in such discourses, shall be accepted into our metaphorical evidence box (though indeed any reader familiar with my previous publications might be predisposed to hold its veracity in some doubt). I shall also reference the K. M. Singer translation of all available letters as the most widely-accepted and aspire to make no reference to the probable inaccuracies in Singer’s understanding of Quenya terms of endearment and vocabulary regarding parts of the body. 

It may be wise to note before we begin that ladies of a delicate composition and children may find frank discussions of homosexual activity unnerving and inflaming. I would urge readers to exercise caution. 

And so, our terms of engagement well-laid, I shall begin by establishing the reasons any romantic or sexual entanglement between Fingon of the House of Fingolfin and Maedhros of the House of Feanor is entirely impossible, then move on to a sensible and scholarly interpretation of the letters. 

First, I draw the attention of noble reader first to the matter of cousin-marriage among the Eldar. While laws prohibiting cousin-marriage may appear novel and controversial to the modern Gondorian—indeed even a generation ago such unions were common among Men—the Eldar have once again proved perceptive beyond the ancient days during which they lived, and our betters in matters of morality and purity. 

I will not bore the reader with a recounting of the Fall of Gondolin, but work only to draw the reader’s attention to the doomed romantic entanglement at its center. Maeglin, the nephew of the King, coming out of savage darkness, saw Idril, the king’s daughter, and loved her. Given the depth of infatuation he purportedly developed it seems likely to the modern sociologist that for some time she encouraged this attention. Of course, as a highborn Noldo raised among a peoples of impeccable moral discretion, she had known for the beginning that such an affair could not bear any fruit. Such knowledge could not be expected from Maeglin, and many attribute his eventual decline and betrayal of the city to a broken and aching heart. 

That such an understanding was so plain to her and yet not to him may seem strange. Were they not both elves, living in the first of age of Arda, and nearly of the same blood? The answer to such a query might come from the relative moral tightness of Noldor society. Recall that Maeglin was no native Gondolian, but a son of the house of Eöl, and so of mixed Sindar and Avar heritage. All recording of first-cousin marriages among Elven Kin, as few as they are, come from lowborn elves among these two tribes. Recall that neither grey-elven nor dark-elven tribes, as their names suggest, had ever journeyed to the sacred light of the Blessed Isles, nor received council from the Valar. Their traditions and customs, then, may seen as more akin to those of Men than elves, lacking the moral rigor of their light-elf counterparts. 

Though I do not claim to liken homosexual acts to the sacred institution of marriage, one must admit that the act of bodily union is shared among the two, and so may be held in common as forbidden under the laws of the Noldor. 

With those facts in mind we must return to the matter of Fingon of Hithlum and Maedhros of Himring, famously first-cousins through the lines of their fathers. There is no question that that both were elves full-grown upon their departure to Middle-Earth, that according to all sources Fingon was a particularly devout follower of Aran Einior, the lord of air and great judge. Though the latter acts of Maedhros indicate a rather tenuous connection to the sacred laws of his people, Fingon’s devotion did not waver in his lifetime. Raised in such a morally upright culture, neither of them likely would have been able to conceive of engaging in any unholy union. Indeed, such a thought must have been so far from their minds as to allow a certain looseness of the tongue and purity of platonic intimacy, as evidenced by some of the exchanges I address. 

Next we must discuss homosexuality among the Eldar. For years the historical establishment has maintained that no homosexual activity had ever existed among elven-folk; indeed, it is an affliction that appears to trouble only the modern Man. That school of thought has been challenged recently, with very little justice. Basil Dyer and Feya Patrice, two of the most infamous names subscribing to this school of thought, point to articles of elven art which they claim contain themes of same-sex entanglements. Most notable among these are Fragment #221 by Daeron the Bard, which appears addressed to a male lover, surviving recreations of Lalwendë and a Friend in Bed by an unknown artist, and a series of oil lamps recovered from Eregion which seem to depict various sexual acts between elves. This evidence is scant, and spurious at best. More detailed refutations of the first two—clearly expressions of deep platonic affection or affectation of a different character—may be found in my earlier bodies of work, while the last is plain done in the spirit of parody. 

Indeed writings by earlier historians indicate that no desire could occur between elves without procreative desire, plainly rendering same-sex unions impossible. Relationships which modern historians sometimes interpret as homosexual are indeed better described with the elven understanding of melotorni and meletheldi, translated as chosen love-brothers and love-sisters respectively. That some form of platonic physical intimacy might have existed within these bonds is inarguable, but plainly it did not rise to the unholy stirrings of the flesh. 

All of the surviving letters available to us are those addressed from Maedhros to Fingon. Though these do not use the term meletorni directly, it is plain to see that many terms of brotherly affection to enter their forms of address. The opening of letter #5, addressed F. A. 302, has been much maligned, for to a modern reader it appears rather excessive in its affection. “Most beloved of cousins,” Maedhros writes, “how I miss thy kisses, and the weight of thy body atop mine, and the sweet softness of thy ear-tips beneath my mouth” —and on, in such a fashion, for a time. A modern reader may see conventions of a love-letter within these words. A historian intimately familiar with the details of the correspondence of the eldest son of Feanor would argue otherwise. Indeed, Maedhros appears often expressive of his affection. 

Of his surviving letters only remains which is addressed to Maglor the Bard, the eldest of his brothers and his second in command, mailed in F. A. 456, pleads with him to “take heart, and hold close my kisses.” Similarly, journals kept by contemporaries note nothing unusual in exchanges of kisses between friends, brothers, cousins, and so forth. A later elven play following the events of the Fall of Nargothrond features a kiss between Finrod and Orodreth in parting; similarly, artistic depictions of Finwë’s death often show his son kissing his face and his lips. What may seem unthinkable to the modern Gondorian was indeed quite commonplace among the Noldor. 

Which brings us to another turn of phrase in letter #5, which has gained some level of infamy among those determined to read perversion into the intimacy of their friendship. Lines 304-314 read as follows: “I have received thy handkerchief, with the sweet scent of thy sweat and thy perfume, and the imprints of thy lip-paint kisses. Know that I have sewn it now against the heart of my sleep-robes, so each night I might feel thee upon my breast, and that a hundred times now I have kissed the same cloth as thou hast.” 

I would not blame the modern man whose mind conjures a young woman pressing lipstick-kissed onto a postcard for her beloved, but in cultural context the meaning of these words changes. While it may appear rather odd in our time, lip-paint was common for men and women both among the Noldor. Being, for all their nobility, at times a vain people, the Noldor historically likened physical beauty to battle-prowess. The sending of lipstick-prints can be read as a show of force and physical ability between two young men, somewhat akin to bragging. The answering kisses, then, signal not a desire for intimacy but answering show of strength and of power. 

I may go on for some time to discuss each mention on kisses in the surviving letters, I would assume any discerning reader would be able to understand them by now as brotherly affection. And so, without further delay, I will move on to address the honey missive.

First, let us examine lines 2-13 of the honey missive, the most hotly debated in meaning: 

“Concerning the matter of honey; while I should be glad to sample any taste of the spring of Hithlum thou shouldst be willing to share with me, we have no great need of in trade. The wiry clover and harebell of Himring make for surprisingly subtle yet fragrant honey, thick and amber-gold. But indeed so taken with thee I am that even thoughts of trade I return to thee, and of honey; how I sit and think of thee bare before me—of how I might take such sweetness and spread it upon thy handsome thighs, to work clean with my mouth. I would be much obliged if thou wert to write to me of how thou wouldst stir beneath me, and call my name—indeed nothing now could make me happier.” 

In interpreting this passage, we must remember the positions of the Noldor as craftsmen and admirers of art. Despite being remembered now primarily as a warlord, Maedhros was born the son of a gem-smith and a sculptor, and was raised in a society which placed much appreciation on both masculine and feminine beauty. That in his time Fingon was considered beautiful is undoubtedly true. The rest, while resembling a sexual act to some readers, is plainly ridiculous, meant in all likelihood as a joking exaggeration. It is common among young men even in our time to joke crudely with each other; if we had Fingon’s letter of response I am certain we would see a laughing refusal. 

Having examined the scope of the evidence before us, I believe any reasonable reader would be forced to yield to the rightness of my position, and to admit there is nothing at all to the claims of those like Dyer, who seek to introduce perversion into the annals of history. We must then examine the motivations behind these claims, and wonder if Dyer and his ilk might not mean to work backwards, seeking justify their modern-day inclinations by creating precedent where is none. It is said, after all, that Basil Dyer has not cohabitated with his wife since the first two weeks of their thirty-year marriage. 

[chaos-of-the-abyss]

as someone who has read your fics a lot (big fan hiiiii) and your tags (they're like easter eggs), i am now so curious about your controversial opinions and takes that piss you off because, i mean, i don't want to make a big deal out of it, but you seem to change your opinion on certain characters now hehehe

hi anon! thank you for reading my fics and the nonstop rambling in my tags, haha. i hope you have fun with them! i'm going to assume this is about the silm fandom because i've been rolling out the tolkien posts lately. i couldn't possibly go into all my controversial opinions or all the takes that i hate in one post, but since you're asking i'll give three of each. i'm gonna stick with things i haven't talked much about on this blog, because there are lots of opinions and takes (i.e. blaming thingol/b&l/dior/elwing for the kinslayings, claiming elrond and elros think of maedhros and maglor as their Real Parents, etc.) that i've already made my thoughts on abundantly clear, lol

controversial opinion #1: i don't think tolkien intended this to be the case, but the noldor have uncomfortably colonial overtones in their expressed intentions for middle-earth: 'long he spoke, and ever he urged the noldor to follow him and by their own prowess to win freedom and great realms in the lands of the east' / 'the words of feanor concerning middle-earth had kindled in her heart, for she yearned to see the wide unguarded lands and to rule there a realm at her own will. of like mind with galadriel was fingon fingolfin's son, being moved also by feanor's words, [...] and with fingon stood as they ever did angrod and aegnor, sons of finarfin.' these are finwe's family, his son and his grandchildren. there is no way they aren't aware that elves already inhabit beleriand, yet they express zero consideration for what said elves' opinions might be on their sudden arrival and claiming of the land. it is... a Bad Look

controversial opinion #2: according to the narrative, the sons of feanor lost their right to the silmarils. regardless of who agrees or disagrees, that's what the text posits. the silmarils burned morgoth. they didn't burn beren, didn't burn luthien, didn't burn dior, didn't burn elwing, didn't burn earendil, and didn't burn eonwe. they burned maedhros and maglor

controversial opinion #3: eol is not unreasonable for his low opinion of the noldor. eol is unreasonable for almost everything else about him -- he attempted filicide, is at best a creepy stalker and at worst a rapist (aredhel was not "wholly unwilling"... wdym tolkien explain tolkien what do you mean she was not wholly unwilling), and he accidentally murders his own wife while trying to murder his son. like wow, pick a way to be a terrible person. these quotes though -- "all this land is the land of the teleri, and i will not deal nor have my son deal with the slayers of our kin, the invaders and usurpers of our homes" / "no right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there." -- he's not wrong about the highlighted portions and he has every right to dislike the noldor for the points he brings up. (though he is wrong for believing the noldor are at fault for morgoth, since morgoth would have come knocking with or without them.)

okay now on to the takes that piss me off!

stupid take #1: that thingol and doriath were bigoted assholes that turn away refugees for not letting aredhel pass through. this was not a very nice thing for them to do, obviously, but equating it with a case of refusing refugees is ridiculous. to begin with, the iathrim and the noldor (save maybe for the nargothrondim, whose king -- finrod -- has a respectful relationship with thingol) do not have the best relations with each other, which is hardly just doriath's fault. then aredhel, one of the noldo whom the iathrim have tensions with, wants to travel through their kingdom to visit her cousin, another one of the noldo whom the iathrim have tensions with. (the worst tensions with, in fact, as thingol is markedly, and rightfully, more disdainful towards the sons of feanor in particular.) why is it so unreasonable that this would not go over well? the iathrim didn't force her to go the way she did either; in fact they explicitly warn her that that road is "the speediest way," but that it is "perilous". she had other options and she decided to go with the one that was reportedly dangerous. and on top of it all, aredhel is not in the same dire situation as actual refugees. turgon would have given her ample supplies for the journey since he was already so remiss to her leaving in the first place, plus he gives her "three lords of his household" as guards/companions. how come this instance, which is not a case that concerns refugees, is treated by some people as sure evidence of thingol's isolationism and "racism" towards the noldor, while an explicit instance where he does accept actual -- noldorin!! -- refugees is swept under the rug? oh wait i know. because this fandom loves making doriath into this discriminatory, uniquely nationalist kingdom that it canonically is not. if you want isolationism, gondolin is right there

stupid take #2: that luthien's victories over sauron and morgoth are proof that she's a mary sue. tolkien calling her "luthien the mere maiden" is annoying, but more accurate than the complaints about her being op. she doesn't even fight either of them. with sauron he jumps at her and radiates so much Hatred that she faints, but she manages to cover his eyes with her cloak and make him sleepy for a moment. huan takes the opportunity to jump in and they start fighting. with morgoth, her disguise doesn't work on him. instead she uses his arrogance and lust to her advantage, bides her time, then seizes the opportunity to put him to sleep with her cloak. and when he stirs, she and beren run for their lives in terror! when people say luthien winning against sauron and morgoth is plot armor, what they really mean is that their faves don't have the guts she has to go up against extreme odds and the brains to effectively use what she has going for her to her greatest benefit ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

stupid take #3: that luthien cast an enchantment on celegorm to make him lust after her. or even anything adjacent like luthien's maia blood enchanted celegorm though she wasn't doing it intentionally. not even going to bother debunking this kind of thing because it's a genuinely braindead take that reeks of misogyny, victim-blaming, and desperate whitewashing. fuck all the way off

i get the feeling you're talking about the sons of feanor on that part about changing my opinion on certain characters? which you'd be right about, the fandom has majorly turned me off from them. they used to be nearly the center of my interest in the silmarillion and its events, and now, while i still like them as they are in the story, i barely look at fandom content of them because the apologism is extreme and ridiculous. also funnily enough, my ranking of the individuals within the blanket of "the feanorians" has shuffled a lot too. maedhros and maglor used to be my favorite, now i've had enough maedhros and maglor to last me... maybe not a lifetime, but a good long while. (i dipped out of the tolkien fandom about two/three years ago, which was the time i got tired of m&m content. to this day i'm still tired of them.) and celegorm, the piece of shit that he is, used to be among my least favorite and now somehow shot his way up to my favorite <3 he's ambitious. he's charismatic. he's impulsive and arrogant. he's a wreck. he's funny. he's the absolute worst. love him

[fuckingfinwions]

hallo your au has inspired me to write a short fic of my own c: it's sort of fluff of geode au fingon/sold as pet maedhros. can i have your permission to post this on ao3 at some point?

-

"You want to what?" Fingolfin stared at his eldest as if he grew a second head, momentarily untangling his fingers from Maedhros' curls.

"I– I said I want to marry Maedhros," Fingon repeated.

"That's... Fingon are you– Why??"

A good question. Fingon didn't really know why. He barely understood his growing feelings for Maedhros let alone considered marrying him. He always thought he'd marry someone from a more respectable family not the biggest whore in all of Arda, but the sight of his father's hands all over the elf who showed him so much trust and love in the past few weeks urged a sense of chivalry in Fingon that he thought he was no longer capable of.

"Why does anyone marry anyone? For love, of course."

"Not true, you could always marry someone for politics or even tax benefits. Marrying this harlot will only break your heart."

"Not as much you're breaking mine right now. Maitimo loves me father, if he didn't I think I'd have lived my days not thinking much of him either. But I find that I have become infatuated with him as of late and would like get to know him more outside the bonds of servitude."

Fingolfin studied him as Fingon steeled his gaze, Maedhros the only thing between them shaking like a leaf. He made little effort to stop the king's molestation but it was clear from Maitimo's big wet eyes he still wanted Fingon's approval first. It took all of Fingon not to run to him and embrace him and tell him everything would be okay.

"So be it."

Fingon sighed out air he didn't realize he was holding.

Fingolfin for his part was not entirely convinced of his son's declaration. Sure he has noticed Maedhros had been acting a little strange as of late and he did see the appeal in it but Fingon's attention never stayed in one place too long and he'd probably grow bored of Maedhros' shtick eventually. Fingolfin had other pretty Feanorians to fuck in the meantime.

Besides this might be an opportunity for his reckless son to learn a thing or two about responsibility.

"Try not to damage him Findekano." His father stood and brushed away the crease in his robes just as easily as he shoved Maitimo away. "If he is to be your betrothed I expect him to act like one. You'll feed him, wash him, and teach him all the ways of court. And since you're engaged people need to see that you're actually taking the whole thing seriously, so no fucking anyone else for at least a year. Am I clear?"

"Of course! I'll be the most well-behaved husband in all of Arda!" Fingon promised as Fingolfin left the two newly betrothed alone.

This is amazing! And yes, you can definitely post it on ao3, you wrote it! I'd appreciate it if you link either this blog or my ao3 (also called fuckingfinwions) as inspiring it, and also then I can stop by to leave a comment.

Fingon is so sweet, and yay for sticking up for Maedhros! Not actually consulting Maedhros as an equal partner, but maybe they'll get there in time. And Fingon obviously cares about what makes Maedhros happy, not just jealousy of other people using Maedhros.

Fingolfin doesn't believe that the wedding will actually take place, but I have faith in them! In other timelines Fingon is known for his faithfulness, and he's not going to drop Maedhros once he's made up his mind to keep him. And Maedhros is extremely devoted to Fingon, he's definitely going to be trying to make this engagement work. Maedhros isn't stupid either; he doesn't know how a prince is supposed to behave but he can learn, and if that's what his master fiance wants from him, he'll dedicate just as much energy as he does to any of Fingon's other orders.

(Also, was Fingolfin literally about to get a blowjob from Maedhros when Fingon "proposed"? Am I reading the "crease in his robes" and "untangling his fingers from Maedhros' curls" right? Because that sure is some timing on Fingon's part!)

[eleni-earye]

Elerrómë

"East Star," a slightly prophetic name that relates to the coming of the dawn and her journey east to middle earth.

Elerrome is an only child belonging to Earwen's brother, and she spent a lot of time with Earwen and Arafinwe's family while growing up, becoming closer with them in a lot of ways than with her own parents and family. Through them, she grew up with all of Finwe's grandkids to a degree. She is the youngest of the whole group (except perhaps Argon, if he exists lol).

She is more frail than elves are meant to be, particularly elves that live in the blessed lands; but despite many visits to the healing gardens, something remains not quite right in her body and spirit. They drain faster and regenerate slower than most, causing her a range of difficulties.

Basic Info:

She/her, dark blue-grey eyes and wavy silver-white hair that reflects a pink light. Kind and friendly, deeply emotional.

Relationships:

She was like a younger sibling to all of Arafinwe's kids, but she and Findarato are particularly close; he was an older kid when she was a toddler, and she's idolized and adored him her whole life.

Out of the rest of the Finweans, she's closest with Maitimo, Findekano, and Aredhel; as far as ages go, when she was a little kid, Maitimo was a young adult and Finno an adolescent, and Aredhel is a few years older than her. She particularly looked up to these three when she was growing up.

In her 'canon,' she and Maitimo were in the early stages of courting when Feanaro's banishment happened, and then the exile from Valinor; the two of them became estranged for a time after the kinslaying and ship burning, but eventually they reconcile in middle earth and become partners, possibly marrying during the 'peace' of the siege of angband; after a time, the two of them also become lovers with Fingon, though they don't all get to be together often. She mostly lives in Himring with Maedhros, but regularly visits Hithlum and Nargothrond.

Storyline:

Elerrome decides to follow Findarato on the journey to middle earth; she wants to see new shores and to not be left behind by those she's closest to, though she doesn't particularly desire to leave, so it's a difficult decision. She is, of course, devastated when they come upon the aftermath of the kinslaying. For a moment she considers staying behind after that, but she's afraid to ever face her family again after some of the people she loves most took part in the slaughter, and Findarato and the rest of his kin decide to continue on, so she stays with him.

When Feanaro and his sons decide to take the ships and sail across first, Maitimo comes to find her, and urges her to join him on the first crossing. He's concerned it may take some time to cross there and back, and worried about conflict coming up in the meantime or upon their return; he wants to keep an eye on her personally and know she's safe as soon as possible, particularly with the cold of the northern shores taking a heavy toll on her health. He *promises* her that they'll come back right away for Findarato and Findekano.

They don't, of course. He has to hold her back from throwing herself onto the burning ships, and from throwing herself into the sea afterwards. She doesn't speak much to him after that; doesn't speak much at all as they establish their camp by the shores of the lake and begin their new life in middle earth.

And then the camp is attacked, and Feanaro and his sons go off to fight, and Maitimo and his father don't come back. Makalaure and some of the other followers make sure to keep her safe and alive, for the sake of Maitimo if nothing else.

When she hears rumor that Nolofinwe's host has crossed into middle earth, she runs out immediately to find them. She's afraid her loved ones will hate her for being left behind, but she has to find them nonetheless. She finds Findekano at the front first, falling to her knees in tears and apologizing over and over, telling him she only left because Maitimo promised they would come back for him. He asks where Maitimo is; she's the one to tell him he went to treat with the enemy and never returned.

Then she finds Findarato of course, and gives him much the same welcome; he is mostly just happy she's alive. She stays with the two of them after that when the Feanorian host moves across the lake.

When Finno brings Maitimo back from Angband, she sits by his bed constantly, despite how angry she still is at him, and her feelings towards him change as she sees his actions over the next few years.

They reconcile completely at the Mereth Aderthad, and he invites her to come stay with him in Himring. From then on, she spends most of her time there, though she makes regular long visits to Nargothrond, and Hithlum.

At some point in the ensuing years, they deepen their relationship with Fingon beyond friendship. ('So much of what they've done and been through already goes against the supposed nature of their people, and didn't they leave Valinor so they could be free to live as they wished?' they all agree, after some long and stressful discussions when feelings are finally admitted to)

The death of Finrod leaves her devastated for a long time, and she never forgives Celegorm and Curufin for their betrayal of him; she's never quite the same after that.

During the siege of Angband she had learned how to fight, and takes part in the battles that follow; she is mortally wounded in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad while defending Maedhros from a surprise attack, and dies not long after their retreat into the wilds, though this fate can be adjusted in AUs and roleplays as necessary.

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Wait that’s it!!!

The Silmarillion says:

‘...but the greater host came behind under Fingolfin; and he marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him, and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanor. Nor did he forget his words before the throne of Manwë.’

But The Shaping of Middle-earth phrases it this way:

‘The greater part marched behind Fingolfin, who with his sons yielded to the general voice against their wisdom, because they would not desert their people.’

This is just another reason why Fëanor and Fingolfin are such excellent foils of each other. Fingolfin went to Middle-earth because he would not desert his people. Fëanor went to Middle-earth by deserting his people.

[melestasflight]

We focus a lot on the strong bond between Fëanor and his seven sons, their oath, their loyalty, their sacrifice.

But can we pause for just a second and also take a look at Fingolfin and Fingon?

Fingolfin who "marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him." Who stands by his eldest son even after he has spilled blood at Alqualondë. Fingolfin who assigns Dor-lómin to Fingon's lordship, the closest lands to the fortress of the King.

And Fingon, who in turn stays beside his father through the fire of dragons and Morgoth's volcanoes even after Turgon and Aredhel are long gone to Gondolin. Who gives up those same lands of Dor-lómin to the Hadorians and moves to live with his father. Fingon who upon Fingolfin's death "in sorrow took the lordship of the house of Fingolfin and the kingdom of the Noldor."

The co-dependency is so real, and I live for it.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Colour my soul

Soooooo...I've said I'd do it and - after weeks of crying and stressing - here we are. My first explicit MLM smut...

(With soundtrack and all...)

Special thanks to @drxconics for the inspiring pictures and the encouragement, @melkors-big-tits for being a true friend, @the-red-butterfly for having my back even though you're not a shippy person.

Also, @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book and @bellejolras for pushing me over the edge & @kelly6ridge who's ever been a supporter of sexual freedom.

Thanks for @linasofia and @laurfilijames for being smut inspirations and true friends 💖

This is a big one for me, friends, this is 33 years of hereditary homophobia trod into the mud. It's just mediocre smut, but it's also the proof that I chose love over my parents' teachings.

So...Russingon. Forgotten coffee. A lot of sex.

Words: 5k

Characters : Maedhros x Fingon

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, oral sex, unprotected anal sex...also, it's still a slightly incestuous pairing (for those who don't know)

Fingon decided to let his lover sleep a little longer; Maedhros looked like he was in need of rest. The fact that he had been staring at him – a vision of marble and liquid flame – for endless minutes before getting up was but an afterthought; Maedhros’ well-being always trumped his own base pleasure, or at least that was what he liked to tell himself.

Padding into the small, rather untidy kitchen as noiselessly as possible, Fingon made himself a cup of coffee – all but hugging the machine to muffle its coughing and wheezing – that he drank slowly, leaning heavily on the rickety table they had salvaged from the side of the road.

Despite the things they had seen and done, Fingon was happy this morning, because it was easy to be content upon waking up in the arms of a creature so lovely, he sometimes truly believed that Nerdanel had hewn her oldest son out of stone or that Fëanor had wrought him out of white gold.

People called him “brave” – he was indeed righteous and fearless in the face of adversity – but oftentimes he felt as if they did not understand that the ultimate act of faith and valour was to see and believe that there was true beauty thriving like wildflowers amongst all the ugliness of the world.

Then again, he had to admit, none of them got to see Maedhros asleep, so he forgave them for forgetting how many precious treasures were hidden in plain sight. Tapping his fingers against the cup cradled in his palms, he conjured up the vision he had just left behind – snuggled up between the sheets – and the warm ceramic transformed into heated skin in his mind.

With a low, yearning sigh, he turned his attention back to the early morning light filtering through the lace curtains some relative or other had gifted them and smiled to himself.

“You’ve abandoned me!”

Suppressing the urge to whip around like an eager schoolboy, Fingon twisted on the badly balanced chair and let his smile grow broader and brighter yet; Maedhros had visibly tumbled out of bed: his hair was a tangle of all the colours of a blazing fire and the pillow he had hugged to himself had left discreet lines on his high cheeks. He looked as adorable as a man of his height ever could.

Lifting his cup wordlessly, Fingon found his mouth uncomfortably dry all of a sudden as he drank in the apparition of beauty and light standing – dishevelled and disoriented – in the doorframe instead of the bitter brew sloshing around the half-empty mug.

The sunshine – hitherto dancing on the tiles – seemed drawn inexorably to his frame, flitting over the planes and curves of Maedhros’ body and setting the crisscross net of scars alight; Fingon knew that he felt self-conscious about them at times, but he wished for his eyes to grow big and round enough for his beloved to see himself reflected in them. As absurd as that sounded, he wanted to share this view – Maedhros glowing as if every blessing bestowed upon him was etched into his skin – with the man himself; he longed to offer him this intimate piece of heaven, which meant so very much to his own soul, like the invaluable gift it was.

“Don’t,” Maedhros mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the intense, silent, ponderous gaze of a fully-dressed Fingon; he had woken up alone and – slipping into his boxers on the way out of the bedroom – had stumbled into the kitchen haphazardly, evidently interrupting a moment of blessed peace and introspection.

“Don’t what?” Fingon cocked one eyebrow, setting his cup down blindly, coffee spilling onto the table unheeded as he pushed himself up in a single, fluid motion.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Maedhros supplied in a small voice, “as if you were cataloguing the details of the marring I’ve endured.”

Looking down, he could see for himself how the bleak, cruel light made every scar stand out – screaming its message of hate – from his pale skin; compared to the dark velvet covering the flexible muscles of Fingon’s body, he felt his own bony, awkwardly stretched-out frame to be woefully inadequate.

His lips puckered and quirked in dissatisfaction and open dismay.

“I am looking at you like you’re the single most glorious person in the world,” Fingon purred, his finger hovering over a scar crossing Maedhros’ pectoral but not touching it yet, “I have been looking at you inside my mind before, but I much prefer this.”

He breathed in the sweet scent of sleep, sweat, and warm skin eagerly but, when Maedhros stepped into the caress that had been but insinuated in the space between them, the deep inhalation he was in the middle of stuttered and trembled within his chest.

“You exaggerate,” Maedhros chuckled wryly, but there was no dissimulation or dishonesty in the clear ocean-eyes of his lover; tilting his face slowly, he brushed his lips against Fingon’s almost as if seeking his approval beyond the fleeting magic of words.

While his mind was still catching up – spluttering into motion in fits and bursts – his body’s reactions were quick and effortless, his blood rushing downhill with as much graceful ease as the rivers running their age-old course; he was being seduced and he decided that he didn’t mind as soon as Fingon’s stomach was pressed insistently against his groin in small, grinding motions.

He should never have doubted him or his purpose, he realised a second later, as his tongue was inundated with the bitter taste of unsweetened coffee and the tangles in his unruly hair were ensnaring the nimble fingers raking through it with passionate abandon. Groaning, he closed his hand around Fingon’s ass, pulling him closer eagerly to chase that unexpected tartness accompanying the languid, loving strokes tracing his bottom lip.

Thoughts dissolved like snow in the sunshine and another helpless sound fell from Maedhros’ lips when Fingon arched back his upper body – effectively jamming the lower half into his own with even more vehemence – to give him a challenging grin.

Pet names were hacked to pieces and swallowed mercilessly between their mouths now ebbing and flowing in perfect, desperate synchronicity as they tumbled backwards into their bedroom – coffee and breakfast a distant memory already – and onto the yet unmade bed.

“Beautiful Nelyo,” Fingon laughed breathlessly, “gorgeous Russo, love of mine, you are made of starlight and earth-fire.”

Maedhros looked up sharply, his hair fanning out like an inferno of pulchritude on the white pillows, and tried to shuffle under the blanket in an attempt to spare Fingon the sight of the unseemly marks of terror and torture burned into his once so fair and flawless complexion, but his lover pinned his wrists down ruthlessly.

“Stay right where you are,” he commanded and the authority in his voice – born from the certainty of being right and the conviction that he could lead them through fraught peril to safety – made Maedhros shiver involuntarily, “I would look upon you as it pleases me.”

“Does it please you?” A quiet question, laden with insecurities and fears unspoken, that was answered by an indulgent smile and a featherlight brush of fingertips along the sinewy forearm ending in a distasteful, shocking void.

“Hush,” Fingon cackled, trailing an indolent index along the slightly swollen lips of his partner tenderly, and – captured by the amused patience in those storm-grey eyes – he bent down once more to press a firm but coy kiss onto that rosy mouth.

Starting at the fair brow, adorned by elegantly arched eyebrows, slashed by scars, Fingon let his lips drift piously over the soft, warm skin, peppering kisses along the thrumming temples and the clenched jaw while humming a silly love song he had heard the previous day and that wouldn’t leave his mind; he was in a playful mood, but he also was keenly aware that he was flirting with danger as the tip of his tongue danced over the curve of Maedhros’ ear, making him shiver and moan under his breath.

After the incident, it had taken months for them to find their way back to each other and intimacy was still a fragile soap bubble balanced precariously on their shivering fingertips; if he moved too brashly, he’d startle Maedhros but, if he made him wait and beg for too long, he risked letting his lover fall into a brooding spell. Lust and denial had become a perilous, titillating, intoxicating game between them and Fingon could feel the tendrils of power and heat unfurl in his veins even now, as he ran his finger over a gnarled, puckered scar in the rough, approximate shape of a star covering a palm-sized patch on Maedhros’ ribcage.

There was also always a minute chance that Maedhros’ patience would snap like a twig, Fingon well knew, and a part of him wanted that powerful body to rise like a wave of flesh to bury him; bravery was melting into recklessness slowly as his lips – still relaxed and tender – made their way down the arched and beautifully exposed throat, his tongue flitting momentarily over the spot where his beloved’s pulse thundered and roared.

“What would your brother say?” Fingon teased as the siren melody of Maedhros’ whispered pleas for release rose and fell with every breath in an erratic cacophony that sounded like the most exquisite symphony ever written or performed to his only muse.

“Don’t bring him up,” Maedhros grunted, “and touch me!”

“Oh, but I am,” Fingon replied in a mellow, teasing tone, “am I not, darling?”

Hovering over Maedhros’ prone body for a moment, he bent down with a suppressed chuckle to lavish kisses and caresses onto the strong calves, the scarred and still healing knees, and the muscular thighs that were trembling under the strain keeping still imposed upon him.

Sleeping Maedhros was only surpassed in his radiant beauty by wanting Maedhros, Fingon decided, at least on this particular day; so, when he looked up and saw the crazed intensity of wanton cupidity in those usually so calm and distant eyes, his whole body clenched in tremulous anticipation.

It took all the self-control he possessed not to let his gaze wander to the impressive bulge just mere centimetres away from his face – flushed with the thrumming heat pulsing through his blood in rolling waves – because he knew that it would make his resolve and patience crumble to dust too fast for his liking.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he praised, his fingers dancing along the seam of the worn boxershorts hugging Maedhros’ body indecently, and waited for the dam to break.

“You are driving me insane!” The grunt was interlaced with a whine – high-pitched and astonishingly needy – which made Fingon smirk against the sensitive skin of Maedhros’ inner thigh; he might well have been the only one to ever see this side of his lover anymore – soul-wrenchingly vulnerable in his hope and unveiled desire – and he cherished every second of it.

“Say the word, pretty boy,” Fingon murmured, kissing his way back up the valleys and peaks of that landscape that was his only true home until he lay, cradled in strong arms once more, with his face buried in fragrant hair, “ask me!”

It was a question of trust and consent more than of dominance, and they both knew it; there were dark days still when Maedhros couldn’t bear being so much as looked at and Fingon had learned to sail the starless oceans of his distress by following the sighs of the winds.

“Touch me as you did before…all of this,” Maedhros waved his handless wrist carelessly across his body as if Fingon could be fooled – even for a single second – by this pretence of nonchalance.

“I shall not,” Fingon replied gently, “I understand what you’ve lost, I do, but you must accept that I have not been bereaved of anything. I like them, actually.”

He had said so many times, Maedhros remembered, but – as he captured that roving hand and placed it firmly on a fine line running from his navel down – he asked for the first time as to why Fingon would relish in the marring of what was – inherently and eternally – his.

“They are a testament to your being alive,” he answered, unshed tears weighing down his soulful voice, “they prove that you can heal.”

“I love you!” Powerful words spoken quietly, like a spell of old, like a prayer in the night, like rain tapping against a window, wrapped like ribbons of silk and pure light around Fingon’s body and soul; for this love – undaunted, unbent, unbreakable – he’d walk barefoot into hell and back if that was what it took.

His fingertips now ghosted across the soft fabric with the same light touch he used on his harp, only that sullen instrument had never produced a sound half as sweet as the low keening escaping Maedhros’ lips as his skin seemed to catch fire, threatening to set his undergarments aflame.

“This will no longer be needed,” Fingon grinned, hooking his fingers cautiously into the waistband and pulling it down, and the voracious edge of that smile grew sharper yet when Maedhros’ cock was unleashed like an overextended spring as soon as the restraining cloth was removed.

Flexing his fingers in eagerness, Fingon took a deep, steadying breath that reminded him of the heedless leaps into cold waters of his childhood; he knew every inch of this skin – its welts and blemishes as much as its vast expanses of perfection – and yet, he discovered a new beauty mark or freckle every time he was allowed to pour over it as scholars might hunch over old tomes.

The quiet pleading dripping down like honey and blessed rain onto his burning ears finally persuaded him and he closed his hand loosely around the gently swaying embodiment of secrets and sins galore – hot and smooth like sun-warmed iron – and brought his face closer to scrutinise every vein and shade of red blurring into a kaleidoscope of temptation.

“The flaming sword of the Noldor,” he chuckled, smiling brighter when his breath fanning across the weeping head made Maedhros groan loudly; maybe, he hadn’t appreciated his callous joke, but it was much more probable – seen how he squirmed and twisted in his desperate bid to get as much friction as he could – that the playful mood of his friend and lover truly started to wear his defences down.

It felt deliciously indecent to lie there – almost fully clothed – between the eagerly spread legs of that tall, taciturn creature, admiring how desperately hard he was and relishing in the way his fingers dug into the sheets while he valiantly tried to stifle or swallow the alternating pleas and curses; Fingon – who was thought to be so prim and proper by many a good soul – revelled in it with wicked glee for a moment before tightening his grip by minute increments.

“You have two hands,” Maedhros roared demandingly.

A warning squeeze made him relapse into silence and Fingon decided that he’d let him stew another few heartbeats before complying with this rather rude exhortation; he easily withstood demands, but nobody begged quite as charmingly as Maedhros though and – as his voice melted from velvet imploration into raucous gasps – he gave in and dragged his nails along the underside of the tight balls teasingly.

The shuddering sound – halfway between an inarticulate cry and a sob – exploding in the tense silence, that had only been punctuated by Maedhros’ occasional sharp intakes of breath and his own deep, controlled inhalations, shattered every remnant of resolve within him and Fingon started pumping his dominant hand in earnest.

He looked up to meet Maedhros’ eyes but immediately found himself captured by the firmament of beauty filling his field of vision; even in the pale, guileless morning light, Maedhros was his night sky, which made no sense because he was so very fair, but the myriad of golden freckles – crossed and linked by pale scars – always reminded him of what heaven looked like in his imagination.

Sighs and moans were now rising like waves on a stormy day – cresting and falling in turn – and Fingon felt himself being washed along in the undertow of a passion so bright and pure – cleansing fire and welcome madness – that it was impossible to weather its unleashing unscathed.

It took another few movements, in time with the desperate sounds swirling in a maddening crescendo around him, before Fingon felt Maedhros tighten like a bowstring under his gentle fingers; with a mighty bellow, the tension that had been stoked and fed like a raging fire exploded in a burst of light, sound, and texture, covering his every sense until the world itself fell away around them.

Sorely abusing his own shirt to clean them up as well as he could without having to let go of his lover, Fingon all but purred with contentment as he let his eyes feast on the relaxed, peaceful mien of the other man for a long moment.

“Finno, my love,” Maedhros then whispered, his voice raw and cracking around the consonants, “what about your pleasure?”

Oh, that was an alluring thing to say, especially because the heavy heat simmering in the pit of his stomach and radiating electric shocks through his whole body was starting to drive him insane with helpless desire.

“What about it then?” he laughed, but it sounded like a sob, which made Maedhros hitherto half-closed lids fly open, renewed fire and just a hint of mischief gleaming in those bottomless eyes that put the very sun and stars to shame.

Fingon knew that wicked gleam only too well – a blend of his father’s fire and his mother’s drive melded into a determined perseverance that was entirely his own – and a violent shiver ran down his spine; he willingly let himself be turned around until his back was arching off the cool bedsheets in eager anticipation because he knew that Maedhros would not brook any protestations.

He was disrobed much quicker and with a lot less ceremony – it never ceased to amaze him how dexterous Maedhros had become so soon after losing a hand – and the cool air streaming through the cracked window dancing over his heated skin made him clench his jaw so abruptly that his teeth clacked together audibly.

This was the blessing and the curse singing in Maedhros’ blood, Fingon thought hazily, one could seemingly vanquish him – and how marvellously he had come undone in and all over his hands only moments ago – but he’d always come back stronger, hungrier, and greedier than before.

“Baby,” he purred, burying his fingers in the utterly knotted mess of that flaming hair tenderly, “what are you up to?”

The answering smile – a sharp flash of glistening white cutting through the pink silk of that beautifully flushed face – made Fingon’s gut jump and his thighs tense; it hovered just on the lower edge of his field of vision like a promise of forbidden pleasures sweeter and more intoxicating than the morally impeccable ones could ever be.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Maedhros whispered, the vibrato of his voice seeming to make the very room around them blur, “let me return the favour.”

Fingon watched – entirely mesmerised and spell-bound – how the tip of Maedhros’ tongue swept along his upper lip slowly before – extending further – nudging the head of his cock playfully. Swirling his tongue around it, he was applying a varying degree of playful pressure, but his generosity was such that he’d never cruelly neglect the sensitive spot – precious and intimate secret – on the underside of his lover’s cock.

A garbled word – cobbled together from the many names his lover called his own – burst from his tight chest at that first gentle contact and that was all it took for Maedhros to plunge forward, his left hand splayed possessively on Fingon’s thigh like a burn – white-hot and shimmering – and his hair tumbling down into his lap like a cascade of liquid flame.

Warm lips, swollen from reckless kisses and wet with saliva, closed around him assertively and Fingon arched into the welcoming heat with barely contained impatience.

They had been lovers for such a long time that they knew each other inside and out and yet, after the jagged, bleeding rupture in their shared history, there was a new edge to all their lovemaking. The suction created by the drastic hollowing of Maedhros’ high cheeks was at first more tentative and cautious than it used to be, but it soon turned forceful and voracious beyond Fingon’s wildest dreams.

Gone were the days of their tender youth when they’d punctuate these actions with awkward chuckles; after everything they’d endured – and remaining still under the spell of that dreadful threat of losing all they’d regained yet – neither one of them had the time nor the patience to waste a single moment on niceties.

Fingon’s fingers dug ruthlessly into the by now unbearably tangled hair of his lover, tugging him off gently before he could lose himself in the all-consuming morass of eager heat and nimble touches.

“Do you…” The question hung unspoken in the air – heavy and spinning on itself maddeningly – as Maedhros' hand ghosted over Fingon’s chest now, giving each nipple a tiny, encouraging twist that made the other buck up against the revived hardness pressed against a pale, taut stomach.

“Oh yes, in a bit,” Fingon nodded, feeling blindly along the edge of the bedside table for the phial of oil, and groaned when Maedhros sunk down on his forearms before him, presenting his bare ass like a religious sacrifice.

Words could not describe how agonisingly beautiful he was like that, Fingon thought, and – unable to restrain himself – he tilted his burning face towards the beckoning paradise thus exhibited shamelessly. Bringing up both his hands – one already clutching the vital lubricant – he pushed against the inside of Maedhros’ cheeks to spread him further.

“Tit for tat, friend,” he purred darkly and let his tongue dart across the puckered hole; the answering groan was bestial in its ferocity and volume, heralding a mighty shiver that rippled seamlessly through both their bodies.

Small sounds vaguely reminiscent of the yapping and whining of a chained dog punctuated the undulating motions of those sharp, slender hips pressing back against the tongue alternatively exploring probingly and caressing tenderly.

“More,” Maedhros begged, his own mouth clenched around his forearm in a fruitless attempt to stifle the undignified melody of pure, needy, barefaced desire pouring from his lips like an unstoppable deluge.

“More what? More how?” Fingon asked in a silken voice, dragging his fingernails down Maedhros’ spine encouragingly and grinning – unseen – when gooseflesh broke out like a wildfire to engulf that beautiful skin, making the pale scars ripple and blur.

“You know very well!” Maedhros whimpered, “Fuck me!”

This gave him pause for a moment; it was rare for the man he loved so much to ask – so insistently and urgently – to be taken.

“Oh, so you have patience today?” Fingon sniggered as he retrieved the discarded vial of oil and started coating his fingers liberally; the desperate groan was not exactly acquiescence, but it was also so far from a refusal which made his grin intensify until it positively illuminated the corner their bed stood in.

Painting rudimentary – and rather crooked, if he was totally honest – approximations of flowers onto the shockingly exposed and very sensitive skin of his lover, Fingon took his sweet time before breaching the tight ring of muscle with one finger slowly. Maedhros exhaled as if something had been sitting on his chest this whole time, his head falling back in relief while his back tensed and his thighs shivered in anticipation.

“Oh, right there…”

“I know,” Fingon laughed throatily as he played the other man like a golden harp, his finger exerting insidious pressure as it brushed along the tight walls enclosing it.

“More!”

“Greedy, are we?” Despite his affectionate reprimand, he introduced another finger carefully. The contrast between his own skin – slick with oil – and the sweetest blush this statuesque body was able to produce made him twitch involuntarily, triggering another croaky exhortation for more from a now suspiciously still Maedhros.

Moving his fingers slowly as if he was truly handling a precious and fragile instrument made of gold dust and crystal, Fingon teased him thus patiently, peppering small kisses along the curve of the delicious behind and on the dimples at the bottom of his spine periodically.

They had time; there was no need to risk discomfort or even injury by rushing things; moreover, Fingon relished in the sights and sensations thus provided. He had almost lost his lover once and he was determined to cherish every instant by his side that was granted to him; no matter the torturous tension caging his body and mind now, he’d never allow himself to squander a single one of those experiences.

“Come on,” Maedhros pleaded and Fingon could tell that he was willing his body to relax faster now, pushing against the wall of physical boundaries and psychological trauma with all the might of his stubborn mind.

“Haste makes waste,” Fingon grinned, but complied readily enough; the touch of his own hands – applying oil generously once more – sliding along his almost painful erection made him hum deep in his throat and he realised how long he had been solely absorbed by driving Maedhros insane without paying his own growing frenzy any heed.

He felt heavy and hot as if his blood had been replaced by molten gold coursing sluggishly through his veins and making him glow from the inside out.

How could he have thought of himself when this paragon of beauty was lying – spread out and wriggling enticingly – on the raked-up bed like a sacred offering? Tiny moans drew him in like the single beam of a lighthouse brought the ships safely back to shore, and so he lined himself up and took a deep breath.

“Please,” Maedhros whined before he could ask if he was sure and ready.

A wave of uncontrollable, urgent need crashed down on him then, compressing his chest until he felt he could not inhale anymore and drawing his hips forward in one single jerky, yet forceful motion that pushed him beyond the seal he had so diligently massaged into yielding.

This time, he joined in the drawn-out wail of relief and passion as Maedhros rocked back against him, engulfing him in tight, slick heat; Fingon dug his fingers into the sharp ridge of those pronounced hipbones to avoid being washed away by the haze of blinding red light flashing behind his half-closed lids.

He moved slowly at first, pulling away and pushing back in little by little, but he had overstretched the tether on which dangled his own desires menacingly and – as Maedhros clenched around him – it simply snapped.

Bending at the hip, folding like the paper cut-outs they had made together as children, he let his mouth roam hungrily – all teeth and feverish movement – across every inch of skin he could reach, breathing in the heady smell of sweat and sleep that had turned into something sharp and invigorating somewhere along the way.

Caught between the soul-crushing need to move and the desperate wish to just stay here – immersed in this fountain of beauty and warmth – Fingon trembled in the throes of a tension that would tear him apart if he didn’t make up his mind very soon; thankfully for him, Maedhros decided in his stead, pushing back obstinately in a grinding motion until his back was most beguilingly arched, stray strands of hair clinging to the tarnished skin in shapes that almost made sense.

They found their rhythm effortlessly after that, years of intimacy – psychological as much as physical – had allowed them to feel the other’s reactions echoing through their own bones, and hence they followed each other blindly up a slope that ended in a jagged cliff, ready to jump without thinking twice.

“So beautiful,” Fingon wheezed, rethreading one hand into the thicket of the luscious hair of his lover and pulling his head back with a sharp tug, “and all mine.”

“Always,” Maedhros promised; it was that solemn oath that had carried them through many a dark, hopeless night and to hear it renewed while he was buried to the hilt within his body made Fingon keen and falter, shifting inside of the tight heat to hit the very spot that would invariably drive Maedhros insane with lust if stimulated consistently.

As expected, a sharp cry of frustrated tension burst forth, followed by pleas and exhortations that would not have been comprehensible to anyone who did not know how to read Maedhros’ body when his words stopped making sense.

Cooing soothingly, Fingon smoothed a hand down that exquisitely arched spine as one pacified a frightened beast; he felt as if he was about to burst into pure light and star-fragments, yet he tried to breathe against the pressure mounting from his groin mercilessly, threatening to turn his brain to mush.

“Cum for me, Finno,” Maedhros groaned, “inside of me. Now!”

Was it the raw, helpless quality of his voice or the texture of his sweat-slick skin? Maybe it was the way he tossed his head back as he jerked his hips erratically in the pursuit of that friction he craved so? Either way, his words opened the floodgates and – hammering into him without consideration for their safety or dignity, clinging to his hair and ribs like a drowning man, wailing like someone abandoned by all the gods – Fingon lost himself in the moment.

That climax he had suppressed so adamantly raced up his spine like lightening, exploding simultaneously in his head and the pit of his stomach; blinded, wrecked, turned inside-out, he threw both his arms around Maedhros’ midriff to keep himself from being washed away by the sheer violence of his release.

“Well done,” Maedhros praised as he twisted and turned until he could cradle Fingon in his arms; they were sticky and wet, but neither one was eager to get up to wash or to have that long-forgotten breakfast.

“I love you,” Fingon murmured sleepily, trailing a still trembling finger along a puckered, purplish scar running down from Maedhros’ collarbone in an irregular line, “I love you so much.”

“Hmmm,” Maedhros hummed, pressing a feeble, exhausted kiss on a spot somewhere between Fingon’s temple and his hair, “and I love you.”

“Will we make it out of bed today?” Fingon asked, rubbing a hand over his face absent-mindedly.

“Not likely!”

“Fine by me!” With a shrug, he cuddled closer to the solid warmth of his beloved and let his mind drift away, enjoying the kaleidoscope of light and colour of the aftershocks dancing behind his half-closed lids; there were certainly worse things in the world than to spend the day with a naked Maedhros in their bed.

So, here we are...my first explicit MLM story. Almost a year on Tumblr now...hmmm...

@medusas-hairband, I thought you might want to see this...I did it...I...took the leap of faith.

Thank you for your support and your love...Please be kind, I did not mean any harm by this...and give my friends a follow and a shoutout, they truly deserve it!

I'd never be here if not for my friends, the amazing artists who inspire me, the great authors (Mods, I am looking at you!) who I admire, and my darling anons who keep me writing!

bows

This was IDNMT's great première. I hope you liked it...Lots of love from me <3

[acceptsonlynttnightwing]

Actually, it's even sadder - I don't think it was Fingolfin who was covered in blood. It was Fingon. He's the only Nolofinwian specifically mentioned + he was at the van of the army, and as leader Fingolfin is more likely to have been a little behind, and probably not didn't reach in time.

And from the start, Fingolfin didn't want to go!

Fingolfin and Turgon his son therefore spoke against Fëanor

but the greater host came behind under Fingolfin; and he marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him, and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanor. Nor did he forget his words before the throne of Manwë. 

Slower and less eagerly came the host of Fingolfin after them. Of those Fingon was the foremost;

Then Fingolfin seeing that Fëanor had left him to perish in Araman or return in shame to Valinor was filled with bitterness; but he desired now as never before to come by some way to Middle-earth, and meet Fëanor again. 

He was there for his son and for his nephews and his people who were taken in by Feanor's words.

Also, I'd like to highlight two things in italics

Nor did he [Fingolfin] forget his words before the throne of Manwë.

Finarfin was set to rule the remnant of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm. But his sons were not with him, for they would not forsake the sons of Fingolfin; and all Fingolfin’s folk went forward still, feeling the constraint of their kinship and the will of Fëanor, and fearing to face the doom of the Valar, since not all of them had been guiltless of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Moreover Fingon and Turgon were bold and fiery of heart, and loath to abandon any task to which they had put their hands until the bitter end, if bitter it must be.

Fingolfin had sworn to follow Feanor in no uncertain terms! He'd forgiven him and had promised to follow him, and, more importantly, Feanor accepted!

Nevertheless he met Fingolfin before the throne of Manwë, and was reconciled, in word; and Fingolfin set at naught the unsheathing of the sword. For Fingolfin held forth his hand, saying: ‘As I promised, I do now. I release thee, and remember no grievance.’

Then Fëanor took his hand in silence; but Fingolfin said: ‘Half-brother in blood, full brother in heart will I be. Thou shalt lead and I will follow. May no new grief divide us.’

‘I hear thee,’ said Fëanor. ‘So be it.’ But they did not know the meaning that their words would bear.

Feanor broke his word as king. It was a shitty thing to do to a brother and ally, but more importantly, as king and liege-lord (of sorts). Fingolfin had every right to be furious, and everyone knew it.

There's no universe in which it wasn't a massive betrayal and a cowardly, moronic thing to do.

The way the entire passage is written makes Feanor seem like the archetypal mad king, paranoid about betrayal and jumping at shadows.

Therefore it came into the hearts of Fëanor and his sons to seize all the ships and depart suddenly; for they had retained the mastery of the fleet since the battle of the Haven, and it was manned only by those who had fought there and were bound to Fëanor. And as though it came at his call, there sprang up a wind from the north-west, and Fëanor slipped away secretly with all whom he deemed true to him, and went aboard, and put out to sea, and left Fingolfin in Araman. And since the sea was there narrow, steering east and somewhat south he passed over without loss, and first of all the Noldor set foot once more upon the shores of Middle-earth; and the landing of Fëanor was at the mouth of the firth which was called Drengist and ran into Dor-lómin.

But when they were landed, Maedhros the eldest of his sons, and on a time the friend of Fingon ere Morgoth’s lies came between, spoke to Fëanor, saying: ‘Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?’

Then Fëanor laughed as one fey, and he cried: ‘None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!’

And the doom of Mandos was laid specifically on the House of Feanor and those that followed them - and fingolfin still stayed! I don't know about you, but the gods don't usually pardon those who spurred their mercy the first time around.

"feanorians shouldn't be blamed for helcaraxe it wasn't their responsibility" BITES YOU BITES YOU BITES YOU

FINGOLFIN ISN'T ARAFINWE

FINGOLFIN CAN'T SIMPLY RETURN HE'S BASICALLY COVERED IN BLOOD

MAY I REMIND YOU THEY HAD AS MUCH PART IN STEALING THE BOATS AS THE FIRST HOUSE, IT WAS A GROUP EFFORT

NOLOFINWE BECAME A KINSLAYER FOR FEANOR, HIS KIDS BECAME KINSLAYERS FOR FEANOR'S KIN, HIS PEOPLE BECAME KINSLAYERS FOR FEANOR'S PEOPLE

they cut EVERYTHING off for feanorians, they burned all the bridges and all the ties, and they can't return because it wouldn't be an act of repentance

And they can't trust the Valar!!! Mandos literally doomed them a week ago!!! What will Valar do with a host of a murderous kin? Will they judge "blood for blood", will they doom them to another exile?? Who knows!!!!!

Feanor left them at the mercy of the Valar he so greatly distrusts. He spit them in the face for all their efforts, he blatantly dismissed their sacrifice. Fingolfin's people want to see Middle-Earth, they are swayed by Feanor's speeches and by his promises, OF COURSE they march through Helcaraxe instead of returning to the beings in power whom they don't trust!!

(also, if you want to blame anyone for Helcaraxe who isn't feanor so much - finrod is LITERALLY right there. poor little meow meow with no blood on his hands who's father choose to return but who leads his people through the cold and deadly path nonetheless)

[symphonyofsilence]

In today's episode of randomly going on about a character for hours, let's talk about the father of daddy issues after Melkor, Fingolfin.

He's usually deemed as sensible and levelheaded and Ned Stark because he usually stands in contrast with Fëanor.

But this is the guy who made his people cross miles of uncrossable grinding ice to get back at his brother. & single-handedly challenged and fought Satan.

I mean, yeah you could say he's fairly sensible and levelheaded and in my humble opinion, the kingliest character. but he's also more like Fëanor than anyone likes to admit and he's full of pent-up rage obviously. I think he was much more stable than Fëanor because he still had his mother and was close to his siblings. (Lalwen and Finarfin at least.).

And I don't think he loved Fëanor. I don't think he liked him. I think he hated him with a passion. Even before the Helcaraxë incident.

He did go to Finwë behind Fëanor's back. I would say he was just concerned about what Fëanor was doing but didn't want to confront him out of fear that Fëanor would react the exact way he eventually did if it wasn't for this line :' If thou dost not now repent of it, two sons at least thou hast to honour thy words.' & then yes, he did say "Thou shalt lead and I will follow." But it took him seconds to go from that to "Fingolfin and Turgon his son therefore spoke against Fëanor, and fierce words awoke, so that once again wrath came near to the edge of swords." And eventually, yes, he did 'follow Fëanor' to Middle-earth. Except that he didn't do it with the intention of 'following Fëanor'. He : 1.didn't want to give the kingship to him. And 2.wanted to go after Fëanor's life after Helcaraxë. "he marched against his wisdom, because Fingon his son so urged him, and because he would not be sundered from his people that were eager to go, nor leave them to the rash counsels of Fëanor."

It is outright said that "they grew proud and jealous each of his rights and his possessions. Then Melkor set new lies abroad in Eldamar". It wasn't just Fëanor. But Fingolfin too.

He had probably grown up looking up to Fëanor, seeking his attention and validation & respect and high opinion & love. Only to get disdain in return. So as he grew up, & this continued, all those feelings in time, turned to hatred.

He also saw how Finwë loved Fëanor and his older brother was the apple of his father's eyes. And admired by everyone. He wasn't like Finarfin who didn't have a competitive nature and had inner peace and could ignore Fëanor & Finwë and escape their home's tense atmosphere by going to the Teleri. Fingolfin in his nature was more like Fëanor. And at that early age, he wanted to be like Fëanor. To also be loved by Finwë. He wanted Finwë's and Fëanor's love and respect. He tried his best to get it. To prove to those two that he could be like Fëanor.

He wasn't a prodigy like Fëanor. He wasn't a scientist, an inventor, artist, linguist and or a historian. But he was a great diplomat. A great ruler. A great political mind. People loved him. He wished his father and brother would see it. But they didn't. He found the confirmation and love he didn't get from Finwë and Fëanor among his people. So he loved them back. He tried to listen to them. To make them happy. To be a good king. For he wanted to become a king. It was something he was really good at. Much better than Finwë or Fëanor if he said so himself. The love and respect and loyalty of all those people was a testament to that. He was made to be a king.

The things Melkor told him, against his better judgment, fanned the flames.

When Finwë took Fëanor's side after he drew a sword on Fingolfin, it was the final, deciding action for Fingolfin. It was the "is that so?" moment for him.

He had always felt like Finwë was more Fëanor's dad than his or his siblings'. But at that point, it was no secret. There was no more need for facades.

He could dislike Finwë in peace. Both on behalf of himself, and his mother. Whose heart Finwë also broke.

You see, I think all Fëanor's sons, including the married ones, followed him into exile, both out of loyalty & love & bc leaving him alone in that situation would have looked bad, AND bc had they stayed, they would have to take the kingship and that would have been disrespectful to Fëanor & Finwë.

Fingolfin stayed, took the kingship, flourished, had the time of his life, people also loved him & it seemed like he refused to give it up.

Yes, he says he'll forgive Fëanor. But I don't think it's out of love. He has won. Fëanor is banished. He's disgraced. There's no point in not forgiving him. Fingolfin is the king now. Not forgiving Fëanor only creates more unnecessary animosity between Fëanor and Finwë and Fëanor's followers & Fingolfin. & Fingolfin is a sensible man. If drama can be avoided, it should be. & Fingolfin is a great diplomat. He knows how to save face. And deep inside, even though he hates Fëanor, he still wants him to like & respect him. Very, very deep inside, he still wants them to be friends. That unanswered need never goes away. It just adds to the pile of pent-up rage inside him.

I think he's quite forgiving. He shows it both here and later after Maedhros repents. Even though in both cases it's the sensible thing to do & he seems like the winner in both situations, if you consider the emotional damage, forgiving them takes effort.

& we've already talked about why Fingolfin followed Fëanor to ME.

Eventually, he got to ME victorious. He got to the gates of Angband. He finally got the kingship. But it came at the cost of his son's life, his grandchild being left motherless, lots of his people, who trusted & followed him, dying on the ice. Leaving him with lots of doubts about his decision. And Fëanor was dead. He wasn't there to see his victory. To admit defeat. He got the kingship from his beaten and defeated son. Fëanor's sons were never his rivals. Least of all now, in the pathetic state they were in. It wasn't the grand finale he expected. But he accepts it. It's his due. His right. His wergild.

(The theme of price & cost is an ongoing one in Tolkien's legenderium. One day I'll write an essay about it.)

He's good as a king. He's excellent. His people love him. He makes many alliances. His relationship with his older brother's family is mended. (He finds respect for his eldest nephew, Maedhros.) His lands prosper. He wins all his battles.

Until he doesn't. He loses his daughter. & then everything burns. The flames come suddenly and they take his nephews with them. He can't get to his remaining nephews. He doesn't know how they are. He just knows that the flames are burning everything. And they seem to burn forever.

And finally, he burns too. With an all-consuming flame born of all the rage that's been building up within him for ages.

And finally, when the fire bathes him & all is burnt and turned to ashes, the ashes can fly freely with the wind.

[ur-local-ghostie]

Maedhros and Fingon

TW: general angst and recovery after Angband(i really don’t think there’s anything else but please let me know if i should add anything)

Characters: (I use their Quenyan names so i made a short list of whose in here so it’s not yk too confusing)

Findekano— Fingon, also called Kano or Finno (only by Maedhros though), is generally a sweetheart  

Neylafinwe– Maedhros// Neylo, lefthanded because he doesn't have a right (hand), is kind of done with life, Finno’s half-cousin

Moriwfinwe– Caranthir the Dark (his dad thought he was being funny ok but my boy took it way too seriously), anger issues, middle child, the drama 

Finedekano rapped lightly on the wooden door before opening it after a slight struggle. His arms were full of books. 

“Neylo? Are you awake? I brought you some–” he stopped short, his sentence trailing off as he took in the sight in front of him, lips parting slightly in shock. 

For there stood Neylo, swaying on his bare feet. The sunlight coming through the window flung freckles of gold across the bridge of his nose, in sharp contrast to his pale–almost translucent– skin. His fists were clenched at his sides and he spat out a single bitter word. 

“U-bedo.” Shut up. 

But not at the newcomer. 

The object of Neylo’s ire happened to be Morifinwe. The fourth son of Feanor. Morifinwe scowled at his brother, crossing his arms, anger flushing his fair face. 

All this Kano saw in a moment’s glance. And then the books fell from his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud as he lept across the room. He reached Neylo just as the elf slumped, his green eyes glazing over. 

“Neylo? Neylo!” 

There was no answer. Kano carefully lifted Neylo’s bandaged arm and placed it over his own shoulder, supporting the elf’s limp body. 

Neylo’s head sagged against him, pieces of choppy red hair falling into his line of vision. 

 An aching throb filled Kano’s lungs. 

He turned on Neylo’s brother, taking a deep breath to keep from losing his temper at the younger elf, who had watched Neylo fall with vague interest and made no move to help. 

“Mori. What happened? Why was he out of bed? You know the healers said he has not fully healed yet.” 

Mori turned his cool gaze on the hand around Neylo’s waist and the other on his arm. He arched an eyebrow. “I did not know Neylo was your wife, Lord Kano.” 

Kano flushed and he exhaled sharply, momentarily at a loss for words. He had forgotten exactly how biting Mori’s words could be. “For your sake and that of your brother’s, it mayhaps is best for you to leave,” he murmured. 

Mori gave him a cold smile. “And leave you two alone?” 

Kano did his best to resist the urge to scream, instead shooting the insufferable elf a withering glance and with slow footsteps, half-carried Neylo back to the bed. He carefully lay the elf down, trying to ignore Mori’s soft snickering in the background. 

His brow furrowed as Neylo’s head rolled back onto the pillow, the golden light catching on the newly-healed scars that stretched across his face. 

Kano drew the blankets over his cousin, covering the stump of Neylo’s bandaged hand. Yet Kano did not move and remained standing over Neylo, indecision and pain warring inside him. Then, with a tentative hand, he brushed a strand of red hair out of his cousin’s face. 

“I did not think he would collapse like that,” Mori muttered beside Kano, making the elf jump a little. He held the books Kano had dropped.

Kano gave him a sideways glance. Mori’s dark head was bowed, but the hands clutching the books were strained, the nails biting into the covers. 

“What did you say to him, Mori?” 

Mori shrugged. “I told him that he lost a hand, not a leg. He should be walking again by now.” 

A shudder of anger passed through Kano and he barely stopped himself from shaking the young elf. His tone, however, was measured as he responded. “You do not know what evil Neylo has suffered. Mayhaps you should keep that in mind.” 

Mori stiffened. “I do not know?” he whispered to himself. Then louder, “Very well, lord. Here are your books. Since you seem to know so much more about my brother than I do, I will leave you to watch over him.” 

Dropping the books onto the floor, Mori stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Kano stifled a curse and moved to follow him before he did something rash. 

“--Finno?” the raspy question and old nickname halted Kano in midstep. He turned, dropping to his knees beside the bed. 

“Neylo! Are you alright?” 

Neylo pushed himself upright, his gaze wandering. “What– what was that?” 

Kano sat on the edge of the bed next to him. Grabbing an extra blanket, he draped it over Neylo’s shoulders like a cloak. 

 “Do not worry about it. ‘Twas nothing.” 

[ladygavroche]

First lines meme--thanks to @meadowlarkx for tagging me :)

List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

Happy that I now have at least ten stories to complete this meme, all in Silmarillion/Tolkien fandom:

1.Love letters, and how to write them - ongoing; two chapters out of six; Finrod-centric, with Russingon in the background:

The problem, Finrod would reflect afterward, was that he was too nice: his first urge was always to be helpful and he hated saying no, even when he really should have known better. Had he not been such a selfless person, he thought sadly, he would not have gotten in such a mess. 

2. Silver hair - one-shot, Celrond, written for the Tolkien Secret Santa:

The first time Elrond saw Celebrían, he mistook her flowing hair for some kind of jewelled veil made of silver threads. 

3. Elvish letters (on-going collection of one-shot, three chapters)

Letter from Caranthir, Lord of Thargelion, to his cousin Finrod, King of Nargothrond

Greetings cousin,

May this missive find you safely, despite the coming winter. It seems that this one should be fairly mild, as much as can be said of winters over here. Still, I do hope that cave of yours will not get too damp and dreary as the days shorten. The Naugrim somehow manage, because they have those great beards and many layers of clothes to keep themselves warm, but I have seen the kind of clothes you favor and they seem unlikely to keep out the chill.

4. Falling for you (one-shot, modern AU Maeglin/Turin ; I think this my favorite of all the fic I’ve written)

The first time he fell, Maeglin really had no one to blame but himself. 

5. Speak, Friend, And Enter (7 chapters, Celebrimbor/Narvi, written for the TRSB 2021)

Letter from Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, to Elrond, son of Eärendil, etc.

6. A proposal (one-shot, Finrod & Celebrimbor, written for gen week)

Gatherings of Finwë's ever increasing descendance were always a noisy affair, Findaráto thought.

7. Numenorean dances (one-shot, Elrond & Elros, written for gen week)

Music filled the Great Hall of the House of Tar-Minyatur, amplified by the airy dome that stood tall above the guests.

8. Maeglin’s mirror (one-shot, Maeglin & Rog, written for gen week)

Gondolin's Public Baths were open all day and night but, in the small hours of the morning, they were usually deserted. 

9. Wintering in Thargelion (one-shot, Caranthir & Celebrimbor, written for gen week; I also really liked this one, and I received really positive feedback on it)

Celebrimbor despised Beleriand's winters. 

10. Diary of an Elven Lord (Three chapters, finished, Caranthir-centric, with some Halenthir in the last chapter - this is my most popular fic, and I am really happy with it too)

Received letter from Maedhros, recounting recent visit to Himring by cousin Fingon. Cousin F. told him there is still no news of Turgon.

Truly baffled as to why M. would think that this is an information I should like to have.

So, first take away here is that I love the epistolary/diary genre ^^’

The second one is I like to start with statements that anticipate a bit on the story, to try and peaked the reader interest and draw them in, before backing up again to give the background ; I also like to start with either generic statements or broad descriptions of the surroundings, before moving to the characters and the details of the scene.  I have a rather visual imagination, so it is the equivalent for me of giving the reader a panoramic view before zooming in. I don’t really do beginning in media res (not that I do not like it, but it is not my style).

I’m not sure who would like to do this (are have done it already) but I’m tagging @arofili, @jaz-the-bard and @yellow-feathered-faerie

[allthatglittersisnotgoldrush]

Author Interview: Victoryindeath2 (by Mythopoeia

Thank you @abadpoetwithdreams! I hope you don't regret the last question you asked :D

1. You are responsible for creating the characters of Frog and Sticks! What canon Silm event are you most excited to see from their child perspectives?

Soooo many things—but I am interested to see how they will feel when Mae is back on his feet, a warrior more deadly with his left than he even was with his right, the sort of man who can in canon create the Union of Maedhros. The children have seen Maedhros at his lowest, seen him tormented and crushed into the earth in the cruelest of ways. They also saw how he could be his best even when there was no hope or light for him—he protected them and was kind to them and loved them. I am just interested to see how other men’s and women’s opinions might change as Maedhros moves into the next phase of his life, and how the children will, in some ways, always see Maedhros as their Russandol.

Sticks: yeah I knew he was cool before you all realized it

Frog: *drops a rock in Mae’s left hand and curls up in his lap* tell me and my pet rock a story Mae

Mae: I actually have leadership things to do....

Sticks: you owe us for all the stories you didn’t tell us back in the Bad Place

Mae: *tells them a story and Fingon finds the kids sleeping under Mae’s arms twenty minutes later*

(There is also a non-canon event sometime in the future that I want so VERY badly but guess I can’t say because of spoilers *sighs*)

2. We often joke about how this AU is basically our own crazy version of a Silm tv series. What are some of favourite moments in the series so far that stand out to you as particularly cinematic?

There are so many moments, some of the wondrous and stunning variety, and some of the quiet and beautiful....but here are a few that leapt right to my mind:

a. Maedhros and Fingon parting the last time before Feanor divided the families almost forever! Maedhros with his hair in the sunlight on his horse and the line, “see you on the other side, cano!”

b. Gosh DARN it Mae on the cliff, with Morgoth offering him the chance to leap to his death, and he doesn’t take it *cries*

c. FINGON’S CHILD OF THE WOLF MOMENT WHERE HE TAKES MAIRON OUT (ALSO RIGHT BEFORE WHEN MAE GRABS AT HIS ANKLE AND TRIES TO GET FINGON TO SAVE HIMSELF)

d. Maedhros riding into the thrall camp and basically falling into Gwindor and SLINGING AN ARM AROUND HIS NECK YES HUGS ALL AROUND YESSSS

e. Look Ceili fic I know we talk about it all the time but I am here to talk about it again, especially the moment where Mae pulls Caranthir out on the dance floor and then they all dance together and everyone ends up in a pile on the floor except for Mae who just stands over them all laughing I think doubled over and there is so much good energy in that scene I NEED IT ON SCREEN

f. Personally I like to think that Celegorm stalking his way into a club in New York City and beating the living daylights out of Eol was cinematic

g. Maedhros having successfully argued Huan’s way into the journey west, stumbling all tired like up to the stairs, and meeting Nerdanel there, and resting his head on his mom’s neck. The darling tol bby

h. MAE ATTACKING ULFANG FOR THE SAKE OF HIS BROS, GOING FROM DEPRESSED BROKEN BABY WHO HAS LOST ALL HOPE TO DEPRESSED BROKEN BABY WHO HAS LOST ALL HOPE BUT STILL WILL FIGHT FOR HIS BROS

i. Bby Mae lying on Feanor’s chest ;;;;;;;;;;; before Feanor became the worst

j. Can’t even remember what fic it was at this point but there is a dream? Mae has? Of like....the sea and red sun or something? It was a lot

k. There are many many more moments and I am mad that I can’t remember the one that stood out to me recently

l. ..........the whole fic Seven Card Stud

m. MOONLIGHT GUNSLINGER MAE AND HOW HE TOTALLY OUTCLASSED MAIRON

n. Every hug and brotp and found family moment ever. I have addictions and there is never enough of what I want on screen

o. THERE ARE MORE SPECIFIC ONES BUT I HAVE TO STOP AT SOME POINT DON’T I

3. Walk me through what an ideal day would look like for Caranthir?

The MOST ideal day would be Caranthir waking up in his little closet bedroom in Formenos and realizing he just had a horrible nightmare, and also realizing that he still has his mom and ALL of his brothers. And then at the breakfast table Feanor says something like “wow I’ve been stupid in a good many ways, and a rotten dad because of that, good thing I have recognized my flaws and shall now be a better person, also Mae you can stop going to live in the city if you want, just stay here with your brothers. Also you know, Caranthir, even though you’re still my least favorite child, I’m proud of you. And not just because these are the best pancakes I have ever tasted.”

Then Caranthir probably helps his mom in the garden, gets some quality one on one time with Mae when Mae helps him make a pie, Mae reminds him how special and good he thinks Caranthir is, and Celegorm and Curufin ask Caranthir to join them for fishing. Not that Caranthir necessarily wants to do that, but he does want to be asked. Then Amras and Amrod ask him to help them with sums, so that he feels like a helpful big brother, and without being asked, Maglor takes out his fiddle and plays the slow-moving, peaceful song that Caranthir loves and Maglor despises because it is not challenging enough

4. What is a character POV you have not written yet about but would like to?

I would like to write something from Maeglin’s POV—I feel a powerful urge to protect that lost boy. He’s had an odd and often terrifying life and he needs a break. Good grief imagine having a mom like his mom, imagine Morgoth commanding you to call him uncle. Ew. Anyway, he’s exactly the sort of character I usually adopt as my son. An angsty sad boy without much future, who needs LOVE

5. If you could recommend only one fic from each author (including yourself, of course) what would they be?

HOW TO PICK?!

TolkienGirl: wayyyyy too many to really choose from but I have to go back to the beginning and say “news, breaking” because of the way it introduces my Feanorian boys, and also because of Mae wearing a flowered apron one minute and then a half open leather vest the next, with his glorious hair tied back!

Mythopoeia: I feel like I have to say “those gathered beneath” because it was so DEFINITIVE of our favorite Irish family, and also Turgon is a great narrator (but since I always talk about this fic I shall also add another, lesser known perhaps: “save ourselves unaided” because it introduces Haleth and more people need to appreciate Haleth and Mythopoeia’s Haleth is SO GOOD)

Victoryindeath2: “a certain slant of light (where the meanings are)” because it was my first Caranthir fic, and so it holds a special place in my heart

Bonus Q: The Feanorians are now a KPop group. What are their hair colors and roles?

THE WAY I CHOKED ON MY LAUGHTER WHEN I FIRST READ THIS QUESTION

I ALSO GOT WAY TOO CAUGHT UP IN THIS SO IF YOU ARE AN AU READER WHO DOESN’T CARE ABOUT KPOP IN ANY WAY YOU CAN STOP HERE, I WON’T BE MAD. On the other hand I think I have really good answers so maybe you should continue lol

Maedhros: He has to be a coppery red-head, doesn’t he? Maybe something of the red color that you once told me you wanted Heeseung to try. He would make a great leader, but ALSO. Also I think that he has had enough stress in canon in and in our AU, so I really just want to give him the opportunity to be merely the eldest hyung, who everyone goes to for comfort, for hugs and advice, and who supports the leader quietly. He is a good vocalist and can maybe rap in a pinch? but we put so much emphasis on him as a dancer that he HAS to be the dance leader. Obviously. Is widely acknowledged as the visual of the group

Maglor: Longish black hair, maybe midnight blue or deep purple. Has tried several different hairstyles and regretted half of them. He claims a specific aesthetic in hair and dress is necessary for him to compose the group’s songs, and while he gets teased by everyone for this he also writes amazing music so? It works? Is definitely a vocalist. His vlives consist of him playing every instrument known to man, and half the time Mae is sitting in the background listening with an awed expression on his face—till he falls asleep. Maglor can’t decide if he is pleased by this or insulted

Celegorm: Usually rocks blond or silver hair, but one time some fool insulted Amrod’s pink hair and the next thing you know Celegorm had pink hair for three months. Probably disparaged Maglor’s mullet phase but tried it once himself as a penalty for a game in a Run Feanorian episode and kinda thought it wasn’t half bad.

Celegorm is the “I don’t follow what the company says” member, “screw the rules if they aren’t good for my fam.” He is also a sick rapper and his diss tracks and mixtapes are things of beauty. He also clearly frequents the gym and will toss an annoyed member—most likely Maglor, but sometimes Curufin—over his shoulder any chance he can get. Has definitely done pushups with Amrod or Amras on his back. He and Mae swept the ISAC games

Caranthir: Typically goes with brown/black hair, which only throws the fandom into more of an uproar when the rare occasion arises in which he actually dyes it some other color. Probably went mint for a music video and Curufin started calling him mint choco boy, which offends him deeply as he is (sadly) on the side of “mint chocolate ice cream tastes like toothpaste.” He’s a vocalist with a rougher voice that is surprisingly pleasing to listen too.

Speaking of surprises, Caranthir never quite understands his own popularity. He didn’t like to do vlives by himself for ages, until Mae encouraged him to do cooking and baking vlives, and now he does one once a month on a schedule. Fans are putting together a book of his recipes

Curufin: He does intense and striking hairstyles and colors, and is probably the most likely to do black hair streaked through with red, teal, green, gold, white, etc. He claims to be the visual of the group and Mae is the one member who always agrees with him. I’d say he is also a dancer, one almost as good as Mae but with a different style, and he has a quick and sharp rap. He is heavily involved in the production of their songs over time.

Here is the thing though—I think, in this better non-canon non-Gold Rush AU universe, that Curufin could be the leader. See, Feanor is not gonna be the company CEO loll. Fingolfin is. And Fingolfin mentors better than Feanor EVER could. And Curufin is a sharp lad, very smart and crafty, and if he could just be convinced to care about all his brothers/group members like he does about himself and Celegorm in the AU, and if he just has proper guidance, allowing Mae to assist him in struggles, going to him for support, I think he would be an excellent leader

Ambarussa: Amras and Amrod have tried every color and color combination under the SUN, and they often coordinate with each other either to match or complement. Amras sometimes gets tired of this, preferring to stick to the general group color scheme, and when that happens Amrod just says fine be like that and goes off and does his own thing. Sooner or later though, Amras always gives in and joins him once again.

The twins obviously have all their hyungs wrapped around their little fingers, even Maglor who is driven insane by them crashing into his room shrieking and giggling when he is trying to write music or run a very serious vlive. As far as their musical talents go, I love when maknaes are ridiculously well-rounded, and these are Feanorian maknaes, so I’m gonna say they can both dance, sing, and rap. People have placed bets on whether they will grow as tall as Mae (spoilers, they won’t, no one ever will, he’s the tallest in Kpop world)

Huan: is the team mascot, and lives in their large dorm with them because Celegorm said so

Anddd that’s all folks

[fuckingfinwions]

#3 russingon au? 👀👀👀

(from this)

Prince Fingon is about to come of age.

Feanor is a blacksmith (not anyone related to the king) in the small town of Formenos.

A royal messenger comes to the town to look over all the unmarried boys of appropriate age range as a potential private companion for the prince.

Maedhros, Maglor, and Celegorm are all about the right age, though Celegorm is on the young end and deliberately sabotages his chances because a palace sounds stuffy.

The messenger looks everyone over and asks some questions. Maedhros and a couple of the others also get asked if they have all their teeth, if they ever had the pox and if it scarred. Then the messenger rides away and that’s it for a while.

They don’t forget about it, because Feanor rants at dinner about how the royals do nothing and steal the work of honest men in taxes and now want to steal their children, but it’s not on the top of anyone’s mind.

There’s a lot of boys in the village, and though Maedhros is aware that he’s the handsomest of them, there’s a lot of villages in the kingdom.

It’s a month later when the messenger comes back, this time knocking on Feanor’s front door.

Maedhros is to go to the capital city and meet Crown Prince Fingolfin. If Fingolfin approves of him when they meet in person, Maedhros will become Prince Fingon’s private companion. If Fingolfin doesn’t approve, Maedhros will be sent back.

Maedhros kind of wishes he didn’t have to go be a glorified personal prostitute, but it’s a great opportunity. He’ll be in the capital with it’s libraries and art and people from all over. He probably won’t be allowed to talk to anyone important, but still it’s amazing.

And there’s not a whole lot keeping hm back at home. He’s competent in the forge and can make horseshoes and such, but not especially talented, and Caranthir is old enough to be a proper apprentice. He’s not dating anyone, and though he’ll miss his family he doesn’t have any very close friends

Sidenote: In the upper class, there is a very strong emphasis on heterosexual-virginity before marriage, and monogamy during marriage until you have at least three undisputed children, to ensure inheritance. In the lower class and outside the capital, it’s more common for teenagers to have bit of fun, and if you need to marry in a hurry because someone got pregnant so it goes. (This is apparently a not-elves au).

The messenger says that he’ll bring by the carriage for the journey to the capital in the morning, Maedhros can have a day to pack and say his goodbyes.

Feanor is not happy with this, even though it’s “temporary” and Maedhros will go back home once the prince marries in 5-10 years. 

Maedhros knows that pointing out that Feanor legally has to let him go will not make things better. There’s a lot of arguing, and Maedhros is able to mostly focus on what his free time might be like rather than what his new job will be.

(And Maedhros knows that if he admits he doesn’t want to go in Feanor’s hearing, Feanor will do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t have to. It’s nice to know his father cares, but it means he doesn’t say any of his doubts or even fully articulate them to himself.)

So in the morning Maedhros has a couple of apple crates full of his things and gets in the carriage.

He has a lot of time to think about what this will be like. Maedhros has heard that King Finwe is tall with dark hair, maybe Prince Fingon will look like that? (And should Maedhros call Prince Fingon by his title or just his name? Would it be seen as unbearably rude to forgo the title, or horrendously stilted to use it during sex?)

Maedhros has wondered what sex with another man would be like, but a reputation for it in his town would mean he might never marry and be alone forever.

Other things Maedhros knows about the royal family: all of Feanor’s anti-government rants. Fingon is the oldest prince. The cobbler two villages over traveled to the capital to visit her aunt, and said the princes were tall and had clothes woven out of silver instead of cotton.

Maedhros knows that the prince will of course be ugly and lazy, never having to work a day in his life, but someone nearly as tall as him would be nice.

“How old is Prince Fingon?”

The messenger looks at Maedhros like he’s an idiot.

“It’s two months until his seventeenth birthday. That’s why you’re here, to be his companion and be a good place for him to direct his adult urges as he comes of age.”

“I knew that, I just wasn’t sure when exactly he was considered of age.”

“The royal family doesn’t live their years any faster or slower than you do, kid.”

“I’m just not used to it being sudden. In Formenos, you don’t marry until you can support a house together, unless she gets pregnant in which case you build a cabin in one of your fathers’ yards and live off them until you’re ready.”

“The Prince is too young to marry, hence finding him someone to have fun with.”

“Of course.” Maedhros keeps quiet for the rest of the carriage ride so he doesn’t look like a complete fool. (Whether or not he wants to do this, he’s too proud to not try his best.)

They reach the capital, and there’s enough notice for Maedhros to change into his best clothes. He wore them to the festival this spring, the bright red tunic has flowers embroidered along not just the neckline most of the chest and stars on the sleeves.

Maedhros is expecting to be outclassed by Crown Prince Fingolfin, of course, but he might as well but on his best clothes.

Fingolfin is wearing a simple chain necklace made of more gold than Maedhros has ever seen in one place, even as a smith’s son. The shirt behind it isn’t embroidered, someone actually wove the cloth out of different colors of thread so it fades from an indigo near Fingolfin’s face through to a blue and then near turquoise at the hem.

Fingolfin calls Maedhros’s attire ‘rustic’ and asks him a few questions, though most of them have already been covered by the messengers.

Fingolfin then says he’ll make his decision in the next few days, there’s a temporary room for Maedhros in the servants quarters. He’ll be brought his meals, and shouldn’t go wandering (Fingon isn’t supposed to see his private companion until his birthday, it would spoil the surprise of his present.) And does Maedhros have any requests of Prince Fingolfin?

Maedhros asks if there’s a book of court etiquette he could study, either in his rooms or escorted to the library? “I know that of course I won’t take part, but as a private companion I’m supposed to be whatever Prince Fingon wants. If he wants to talk about his day sometimes, I'm sure he’d rather do so without spending hours explaining the context.”

Fingolfin asks, “So you’re not trying to learn the rules so that Fingon doesn’t punish you for misbehavior?”

“If Prince Fingon wishes to punish me for any reason, I of course will obey. But I have no desire to behave in ways he would find unpleasant.”

Fingolfin nods and waves a hand for Maedhros to leave. Maedhros does, and a few hours later one of the servants brings by a book of etiquette. It’s aged with a cracked spine, as new books are even more valuable, but it was obviously replaced in the royal library for datedness or cosmetic reasons, not readability. This copy is one the palace steward uses for reference.

There’s nothing else for Maedhros to do, so he reads it cover to cover. (He can do arithmetic too, they’re useful skills in the forge.)

Fingolfin decides on Maedhros. He’s pretty and polite and articulate, and not one of the sons of a half-dozen merchant families that are trying to get an avenue to the royal palace. Friends with the future king is nothing to sneeze at, even if it’s a degrading sort of friendship.

So the night of Prince Fingon’s seventeenth birthday, Maedhros is waiting for him. He’s dressed in a dark brown tunic that Fingolfin selected to make Maedhros’s fair skin not look washed out, and red leggings to match his hair. His hair is in one long braid, so it can just as easily be out of the way or used as a leash. He’s not wearing any underclothes, and he opened up and oiled his asshole so that Fingon can take him immediately if Fingon wants. He’s nervous, and kneels by the door to wait.

He waits rather a long time actually, and eventually concludes that it won’t be too presumptuous to sit on a stool, as long as he gets up immediately when Prince Fingon enters.

In the mean time, Maedhros thinks. They say everything in the capital city is politics. Maedhros himself would never leave a new.., acquaintance to wait by accident, especially not as a first impression. Prince Fingon is obviously setting the tone for the next several years with Maedhros. Maedhros has to be where he's told and do what he’s told, and Fingon will acknowledge him only when the prince feels like it.

Maedhros figures he’ll know more when the prince show up, if he bothers to thank Maedhros for waiting or if he’ll go straight to removing clothes.

Fingon is not actually thinking about any of this. It’s his coming of age! There’s a feast and dancing and drinking and all his friends and the whole focus of the night is on him. He knows he’s getting a private companion, but Fingolfin hasn’t given any hints about what exactly they’ll look like and Fingon has a lot of other presents right in front of him.

Fingon doesn’t worry about the hypothetical private companion’s comfort, because this is the palace, it’s got to be better than wherever the guy came from. Whoever it is can relax on a feather bed for possibly the first time ever and eat fancy food rather than plain bread, Fingon arriving a few hours earlier or later will make no difference.

Fingon is Nice, and is used to people knowing that. If everyone knows you’re a nice person, they give you the benefit of the doubt that thoughtlessness was not malice, and inattentiveness was not disrespect.

People have been telling Maedhros that Fingon is nice, but he expects they’d tell him that anyway. Everyone wants Maedhros to please Fingon after all, so they’ll frame everything the best way possible. They also say Fingon is determined, which Maedhros interprets as “never listened to the word no in his life”.

It doesn’t matter, Maedhros reminds himself, because saying no would be illegal anyway. If Fingon is the type to just push past that if Maedhros is not in the mood, it’s better than being thrown in the dungeons.

Eventually Fingon comes back to his bedroom.