#curufin imagine

[doodle-pops]

Curufin With A Smitten Reader Would Include…

A/N: Wanted to do a little surprise today and treat all the Curufin lovers to a nice piece about him. Also based on a conversation I had over here ➽ ASK. And, Valentine’s Day was just two days ago, so it made sense for him to have so much attention lol

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• Curufin was used to admiration—whether it was for his craft, his skill in battle, or simply being the son of Fëanor, there was never a shortage of people who either respected or feared him. But you? You were something else entirely. You didn’t just admire him—you practically worshipped the ground he walked on, and he was absolutely thriving off it.

• It started off amusing to him. He caught you watching him a little too intently while he worked on some intricate piece of metalwork, and when he looked up, instead of feigning indifference like a normal person, you just sighed dreamily and muttered, “Your hands are wasted on mere steel.” He had to pause his work entirely, torn between laughter and sheer delight at the audacity of it.

• “Oh? And what, pray tell, should they be doing instead?” He leaned forward slightly, intrigued, half expecting you to get embarrassed. You didn’t. You simply said, “Holding me.” The arrogance. The sheer confidence. He decided right then and there that he was keeping you.

• If he ever needed an ego boost (not that he would ever admit to such a thing), he would simply go to you. It was guaranteed that whatever he was doing, you would find it spectacular. Sharpening a blade? “You make it look so elegant.” Giving orders? “Your voice could command the stars.” Even just existing? “I swear the air is sweeter when you’re near.” It didn’t matter if he was being ruthless or sarcastic—your response was always adoration, and he drank it in like fine wine.

• He loved seeing how effortlessly you prioritised him in everything. If he was speaking, you were listening, hanging on every word like it was a revelation from Eru himself. If he had an idea, you supported it without question, often embellishing it with some flowery praise about his brilliance. And if anyone dared speak against him in your presence? Oh, you would defend him with the fervour of a zealot.

• “You’re ridiculous,” he told you once, watching as you argued on his behalf with a stubborn Noldo who dared question his methods. You turned to him, all righteous fury, and said, “No, they are ridiculous for doubting you.” He stared at you for a moment, then simply pulled you close and kissed you, because what else could he do?

• He found it endlessly entertaining how you always managed to spin his worst traits into something admirable. He was ruthless? No, he was determined. He was sharp-tongued? No, he was eloquent. He was arrogant? No, he simply knew his worth. You once told him, with complete sincerity, “You’re not arrogant—you’re just burdened with accuracy.” He defined had to sit down after that one.

• You became something of a menace to his brothers as well. Celegorm was used to people flattering Curufin, but he wasn’t used to it being this relentless. One time, after a particularly long string of your praises, Celegorm just groaned and said, “Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a lovesick bard.” Without missing a beat, you replied, “At least bards have taste.”

• You were, to put it simply, a devoted enabler. If Curufin had an idea, no matter how outrageous, you supported it wholeheartedly. If he wanted to make an impossibly intricate piece of jewellery, you encouraged him. If he suggested an elaborate strategy, you were already making plans. Even when he was scheming, you didn’t bat an eye.

• “Are you truly alright with this?” he asked once, watching you as he detailed some cunning plan. Most people would have hesitated, but you just smiled and said, “I trust you.” There was something almost terrifying about your blind faith in him, but he wasn’t about to complain.

• You had a habit of watching him like he was the most fascinating thing in Arda. Whether he was crafting, strategising, or just standing there, you always looked at him as if he personally hung the stars in the sky. It was a gaze he never quite got used to, but he never wanted it to stop.

• “What are you staring at?” he asked once, half-amused, half-smug, as he caught you watching him work. You just sighed and said, “Perfection.” He nearly ruined the piece he was working on.

• It didn’t matter how long you were together—your admiration for him never wavered. Even when he was at his worst, when others turned away in fear or doubt, you remained steadfast. If anything, you admired him even more when he was sharp and unyielding.

• “You should be careful,” someone warned you once. “Curufin is not an easy man.” You just smiled and said, “Then it’s a good thing I don’t want easy.” When Curufin heard about it later, he just shook his head and muttered, “You are utterly impossible.” But the way he kissed you after said otherwise.

• Your devotion was so unwavering that even Fëanor, for all his pride, had to take note. He once watched as you waxed poetry about Curufin’s skill and said dryly, “Are you certain you are not one of mine?” Curufin, to his credit, simply smirked and pulled you closer. “Too late, father,” he said. “They’re mine.”

• Even in battle, you were a force of nature, not because you were the strongest, but because you fought like someone with something to prove. If Curufin was on the battlefield, you were by his side, defending him with a passion that even his own kin couldn’t match. It was both impressive and slightly alarming.

• “You fight like a mad thing,” he told you once, after you had quite literally thrown yourself into danger for him. You just grinned and said, “Well, if I die, I’ll haunt you, so you’re stuck with me either way.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.

• You had a habit of collecting things he made, as if they were holy relics. If he so much as discarded a half-finished design, you were there, scooping it up like it was a lost Silmaril. “You do realise that’s flawed, don’t you?” he said once, watching you examine a ring he had deemed unworthy. You just smiled and said, “Everything you touch is gold to me.” He scoffed, but he didn’t take it away from you.

• Your presence became something he relied on more than he cared to admit. For all his confidence, for all his cunning, there was something grounding about having you there, endlessly loyal, endlessly devoted. Others might have called you a fool for it, but he knew better. He knew that kind of loyalty was rare, and he would never take it for granted.

• “You’re dangerous,” he murmured one night, watching as you curled up beside him, looking at him as if he was your entire world. You smiled and said, “Only for you.” And for once, he had no clever reply—only the quiet, undeniable realisation that he had never been more adored in his life.

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[lovefairymina]

*little [y/n] tugging Curufin pants and looking up to him with big smile.*

[y/n] : "Daddy! Daddy! I think I know what I wish for my birthday!"

*[y/n] jump in exitement.*

[y/n] : "I want little sister or brother! I want to be a big sister! Like uncle nelyo!"

You could see his gaze softening as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of surprise and affection. He crouched down, ruffling your hair with a small smirk. “A sibling, hmm? Well, you’ll have to be a very good big sister, while I speak with ammë.”

[wanderer-clarisse]

been thinking about Beren and Lúthien ballet adaptation again...

[corsairspade]

Celegorm but everything about him is 10x funnier because he's a chronic ainur fucker and just doesn't tell anyone about it. He looks inwards and decides marriage is between elves so deciding to roll around with maiar of the hunt is absolutely valid and not marriage. Who's ever heard of an elf marrying a Maia?

Elven polyamory may be illegal but it doesn't count if he's just ferrying kisses between Oromë and Vána- they're not elves. No, it's not hypocritical, what are you talking about. Just don't tell his father. What? No, not because of the whole polyamory thing, Feanor's just got a thing about Valar. Yes Celegorm is sure that's the only reason he doesn't want to tell his dad.

[somepinkthing]

AU where, in pain, maedhros initially rejects maglor when he first sees him post-rescue. Very publically too. In their grief and guilt, the other brothers then turn on maglor and cast him out, injuring him in the process. At first, when they can't find him again, they don't worry. He was ever the more level headed of them all, they figured. He knows he can't make it out there. He'll come crawling back and we'll accept him, we aren't the brother-abandoners after all. But as time drags on, it becomes more dire. Search party after search party is sent out but nothing turns up a trace. Eventually, they start edging closer to morgoth's lands. In a fit of irony, the remaining brothers soon decide they can't risk any more parties that far into enemy territory when three of them in a row are found ripped to pieces.

In the meantime, maedhros has also improved, mentally and physically, and has begun to ask about maglor. It seems... odd that he hasn't seen him. Maglor has never held a grudge against family this long, much less against his favorite brother. Maedhros himself hasn't let go of all his resentment entirely, but he regrets how it all went down all the same. Now recovered, he knows what maglor did was the best course of action and likely saved his remaining family from annihilation (no we can't all be named the valiant, findekano). He wants to reconcile. At the very least, he wants to see him.

None of the other brothers have the heart to tell him. Nor do they think it'd be a particularly good idea while he's still healing. They tell him maglor is busy, he's emotional, he's drowning in guilt, he's been hurt, he's still feeling hurt—anything to keep the truth under wraps.

Fingon, in a fit of indignation at his cousin's continued refusal to come see his ailing brother, comes personally to the feanorian camp to fetch him. When he finds out the truth, he first feels it's just. Then he just feels guilt ridden and cold. All of them agree it'd be for the best if maitimo were kept in the dark about it for now.

"Maybe he's just being stubborn," all of them tell themselves at some point, "he's always had a knack for the dramatic. He could still be coming back."

But when even maedhros makes it back to the feanorian camp before maglor does, they have to concede the point. They've lost their brother.

Maedhros is naturally distraught when the truth comes to light. Unable to personally go looking, he begins investigating what happened. It turns up nothing regarding maglor's whereabouts, but he finds out a very interesting rumor. A rumor that celegorm's hunters punished a traitor a few months back by hanging them in a tree.

They find no body in the end, just a cut rope. Relief and dread fill the brothers at the discovery. Maglor is alive! But it's likely someone else cut him down. Who? Why? After all, they now know there are fates worse than death.

Meanwhile, deep in the forests of nan elmoth, eöl curls around his mute lover. A pretty noldor he found left in the trees like some decoration by orcs, throat completely mangled from the ordeal. He's altogether rather mad and useless at any household chores, but he's pretty enough and his skill with a set of twin daggers grows every day. And, well, he certainly doesn't ask for much. Nor does he complain at all—even on days where eöl's mood is foul. And he plays the harp whenever asked, very well too. And it pleases eöl to have such a talented musician in his court. So the noldor stays. His fits of madness become easy enough to manage once eöl finds out solitude shuts him up like nothing else will. It's like he's never been alone before or something.

And that's the way it stays, even after eöl marries aredhel. Their trysts end but the little harpist has picked up enough skill by that point to be useful. Eöl notices at some point that his servant wears a mask and has a habit of avoiding his new wife, but he never lashes out at her in his jealousy so. It's well enough. He's fantastic with the boy too.

Eöl never regrets taking the noldor in.

That is, until it runs away with his wife and son. Right into the hands of the feanorians.

[sakasakiii]

the idea of the peredhel twins having heightened senses due to their maia blood is one of the concepts ive seen floating around that i really like, so here's my take on it combined with the feanorians (+ fingon) lingering about as houseless spirits that i explored some time ago in an old inktober post 😌

houseless spirits see all, but they can't interact with the world around them so i suppose that makes for quite a static existence...but compared to an oathbound eternity in Mandos (sans Fingon??), i like to imagine they'll stay a little longer to watch over those left behind, just to make sure they're doing alright 👍🏻

some more lighthearted bonuses cuz why not:

[sesamenom]

the classic the classic (pink)

neon pastel

sleepwear party

formal dinner

behold a collection of C&C nargothrond-era outfit doodles, inspired by PD outfits from @braywashed / @kitwilsonsass

[stacytea]

(sometime during Fingon's reign)

Maedhros: Finno, darling, are you alright?

Maedhros: I've just seen you using regular ink to sign decrees, instead of your fauvourite, fancy, pink, glitter one

Maedhros: I got worried.

[wilwarin-wilwa]

i'd forgotten how humiliating this scene is for curufin. the second-hand embarrassment is so bad it's almost painful to read. if i were him i would've literally died of mortification on the spot

[doodle-pops]

When You Take Care Of Them

Headcanon: Curufin, Caranthir, Fingon, Galdor, Rog

Request: How about hcs for reader spoiling our elves? 🥰 (with caranthir, fingon, galdor, rog and curufin) like they‘ve been going through a stressful time and reader decides to set aside a day to just focus on them and help them get some relaxation (be it a spa day, picnic in a secluded spot or just a cozy day inside playing games/reading) do they happily go along with whatever you‘ve planned? Keep insisting it‘s not necessary until reader has to be like „just shut up and let me take care of you“? – @spirit-of-felagund

A/N: I don’t why, but telling the characters to “shut up,” or “be quiet” has brought me joy while writing about them being pampered and babied.

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Curufin

The forge had been his prison for days. Tools strewn across every surface, half-forged blades cooling in haphazard piles, and Curufin, shoulders tense and brow furrowed, barely looked up when you entered. His hands were stained with soot, knuckles white from gripping a hammer too tightly, and his hair which usually meticulously combed, was pushed back in wild disarray. The scent of molten metal clung to him like a second skin.

“You need to stop,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the doorframe.

Curufin didn’t even glance at you. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am.” The clang of steel against the anvil punctuated his words, but you weren’t having it. Days had passed since he’d stepped out of the forge, and you could see it—how exhaustion sat heavily on him, how his movements, once fluid, were edged with frustration.

You strode forward, snatching the hammer from his hand mid-swing prompting him ro finally looked up with narrowed eyes.

“I said I’m fine,” he punctuated with a huff.

��And I said you’re not.”

The heat between you could have melted the iron on his workbench. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered to your hand on the hammer, then back to your face, but when you didn’t move, he let out a sharp breath.

“You’re difficult.”

“And you’re stubborn.”

Curufin wiped his hands on a cloth, tossing it aside with more force than necessary. “What exactly do you have planned?”

“A day off.”

He arched a brow.

“You’re going to stop working,” you said, tilting your head towards the doorway, “and let me take care of you for once.”

Curufin let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t need—”

“You do.”

His smirk faded as you stepped closer, eyes locked onto his. “You’re exhausted, Curufin. I see it. Just let me do this.”

He hesitated, but something in your voice, in the gentle insistence behind your words, made him relent. “Fine.”

Tugging at his wrist and pulling him out the forge, past the main hall, until the tranquillity of the library enveloped both of you. Large windows stretched to the ceiling, letting in streams of light that warmed the space. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and cedarwood, a stark contrast to the forge’s acrid tang.

There Curufin crossed his arms, on the verge of rolling his eyes. “This is your grand plan? Reading?”

“Yes.” You shoved a book into his chest, almost sending him backwards.

He stared at it, then back at you. “You dragged me away from forging for this?”

“I could tie you to a chair if that’d help you relax more.”

For a moment, his lips twitched, and for the first time in days, a faint glimmer of amusement softened his sharp features. “Tempting.”

“Then sit down and I’ll read.”

Reluctantly, he slumped into the armchair near the fire and waited for you to sit beside him, flipping the book open. Your melodic voice stretched between you as you read, the only sound the crackle of flames interrupting. However, very slowly did his posture melted, the tension bleeding from his frame with every turn of the page until he felt his eyes growing heavier.

When your eyes flickered up, you noticed him curled beside the chair leg with his head slumped and mouth opened as soft snores escaped. Shaking your head at his stubbornness, you shut the book and placed it on your lap, peacefully watching your husband catch some sleep.

Caranthir

Caranthir had been brooding by the lakeside when you found him with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the water as if it had somehow personally offended him. His hair, tangled from the wind, brushed against his shoulders, and his cloak barely clung to one side. He barely acknowledged your approach, only the faintest flicker of his gaze greeting you.

“You’ve been out here all day,” you said, settling beside him on the grass.

He grunted.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are.”

He fell silent while his eyes remained fixated on the water. Gently you leaned over and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Come with me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Moryo.” Your voice sharpened, and his eyes finally met yours, dark and unreadable. “You’re not fine. You need to stop shutting yourself away.”

A frown marred his face but didn’t argue, which for Caranthir was as close to surrender as you were going to get. So, quietly you led him away from the lake, through the woods until the scent of earth and pine surrounded you. The trees thinned as you reached a small clearing where a blanket had been laid out, baskets resting at the edge.

When he saw the sight, he raised a brow. “You planned a picnic?”

“You need fresh air and food that isn’t hastily thrown together at midnight.”

Once again he grunted, but this time it was less irritable. With a heavy sigh, he dropped onto the blanket, stretching his legs in front of him while you unpacked the basket, laying out bread, fruit, and cold cuts of meat. In silence, his eyes lingering on your hands as you handed him a plate.

“You’re not eating?” he asked, chewing thoughtfully.

You shook your head. “I wanted to make sure you actually ate first.”

His gaze softened, though his expression remained neutral. “You’re too persistent.”

“You’re too difficult.” Your remark earned you a low chuckle rumbled from his chest as he reached for another piece of bread. The sunlight filtering through the trees warmed his skin, and for the first time in days, his features relaxed.

When you leaned back against the grass, Caranthir glanced at you sideways. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He hummed quietly, eyes drifting to the treetops above. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. Every so often did his hand brushed against yours absentmindedly as he reached for another piece of fruit, and he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, after the last of the food had been eaten. “For not letting me wallow.”

“I’d do it again,” you replied with a small smile.

His lips twitched, and he let out a breath he’d been holding far too long. As the wind rustled the leaves overhead, he let himself lean back beside you, the tension slowly ebbing away.

Fingon

The living room was warm with the soft glow of the fireplace, the light dancing lazily along the stone walls. Fingon sat slouched in the armchair near the hearth, his hair undone, cascading over his shoulders like a black waterfall. He was still clad in his usual attire—worn leather bracers on his forearms, the edges of his tunic slightly frayed from overuse. His sword belt lay discarded at the door, a rare sight.

You had to practically wrestle it off him, insisting there was no need for weapons today. He’d tried to argue, but one sharp glare had silenced him. Fingon might have been a prince, but in your home, he wasn’t above being told off. His eyes followed you now, tracking every movement as you placed a steaming mug of mulled wine on the low table in front of him. “Drink it,” you said, voice brooking no room for protest.

He arched a brow but obeyed, fingers wrapping around the mug. The warmth seemed to sink into him slowly, and he exhaled.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth quirked at that, the ghost of a grin flickering across his lips.

You perched yourself on the arm of his chair, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. His shoulders tensed slightly under your touch. Fingon had carried too much weight on them lately, and the knots beneath your fingertips told the story well enough.

“Lean forward.”

He hesitated. “I can handle a few aches, it’s not—”

“I wasn’t asking, Fingon.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, with a soft sigh, he leaned forward, letting you press your hands into the hard lines of his back.

“You know,” he murmured after a while, eyes half-lidded as you worked over the muscles near his neck, “for someone so small, you have no sense of fear. Ordering me about like one of your servants.”

“I’d treat your servants better than you treat yourself.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re tense. So, be quiet and let me help.”

His head lolled slightly forward, hair slipping over his shoulders, and you worked quietly. His breathing slowed, and his shoulders gradually eased under your touch. The fire crackled softly beside you both, filling the room with the scent of burning cedarwood.

After a while, Fingon’s voice broke the quiet. “I can’t remember the last time I sat still like this.”

“That’s the problem.”

He glanced up at you, eyes catching the firelight, gold flickering in the dark. For a moment, there was something softer there—vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. You resisted the urge to kiss him, instead kneading your thumbs deeper between his shoulder blades.

“You take care of everyone else, but who takes care of you?”

His gaze held yours for a breath longer before he dropped his eyes to the flames.

“I have you, don’t I?”

You paused, fingers stilling against his back. He didn’t look at you, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Galdor

The storm outside had rolled in thick and heavy, drenching the streets of Gondolin with rain that pattered relentlessly against the windows. There in the armchair by the hearth, Galdor sat, his brows furrowed in that quiet, ever-present tension he never seemed to shed. His broad shoulders carried the weight of command long after he left the barracks, and it wasn’t difficult to see how it gnawed at him, day by day.

You watched him for a while, standing quietly in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed your presence yet, too caught up in whatever report he’d been scribbling at the small writing desk beside him. The flickering firelight danced across his strong profile, softening the stern set of his jaw.

“Galdor,” you said, stepping forward, “that’s enough for today.”

He didn’t even glance up. “I’m nearly done—just a little longer.”

Crossing the room, you planted yourself in front of him, blocking his view of the desk entirely. His eyes finally lifted, meeting yours with mild confusion. “You’re done,” you said firmly as you crossed your arms. “Come on.”

His lips quirked faintly at your tone. “You know, I outrank you.”

“And I outrank those reports,” you countered, grabbing his wrist and tugging him to his feet. He didn’t resist, though his gaze flickered towards the half-finished parchment.

“It’ll wait.”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue, guiding him away from the desk and towards the large, plush settee you’d piled with blankets and cushions earlier. The hearth crackled invitingly nearby, warmth radiating through the room. A tray sat ready on the low table—steaming mugs of spiced wine and small plates of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit.

He raised a brow. “What’s all this?”

“A distraction,” you said, gently pushing him to sit. He sank into the cushions with a quiet exhale, the tension in his shoulders loosening, though his eyes still lingered on the tray.

“You didn’t need to—”

“Galdor,” you cut in sharply, your patience thinning, “just shut up and relax.”

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before a rare laugh escaped him—low and rumbling, a sound you didn’t hear often enough. “Understood.”

Sinking down beside him, you passed him a mug of wine, and for a time, silence settled between you, broken only by the crackling fire and the rhythmic tapping of rain against the glass. His large hand brushed against yours when he reached for a piece of bread, but he didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the words barely audible over the fire. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked back to the flames, his shoulders finally easing into the comfort you’d laid out for him.

Rog

The forge was quiet, an unusual state for it. Tools lay untouched, the great anvil cold and unlit. Rog stood near the window, arms folded across his chest, gazing out over the city below. His frame filled the space effortlessly, broad shoulders tense even as he tried to appear at ease.

“Turn around,” you called from behind him.

He grunted but didn’t move. “I don’t see why you’re fussing over this.”

“Because if I don’t, you’ll work yourself to the bone. Now, sit down and stop being stubborn.”

There was a long pause before he finally turned, arching a thick brow at the set-up behind you. A wide basin of hot water sat beside a cushioned bench, steam curling lazily into the air. Oils and herbs rested on a tray nearby, their rich scents filling the space.

“You’re planning to drown me?”

“If you keep resisting, maybe.”

Rog sighed but stepped over, towering over you as usual. He lowered himself onto the bench, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. You knelt by the basin, pulling off his boots without ceremony. His feet slipped into the hot water, and he grunted softly, head tipping back against the wall.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered.

“So I’ve been told.”

You took his arm next, rolling up his sleeve. Scars crisscrossed his skin, stories you’d heard in fragments over the years. His hands—rough, calloused things—were surprisingly gentle as you rubbed warm oil into his forearms, kneading the tension from the muscles there. The sensation was enough to make his eyes shut and his breathing slowed.

“You should’ve been a healer,” he murmured after a while.

“Too much responsibility. I’d rather handle one stubborn blacksmith at a time.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his shoulders eased under your touch. You worked in silence, pressing your fingers into the tense lines of his forearm, feeling the knots slowly release.

After a while, Rog shifted, cracking one eye open. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because someone needs to,” you replied simply, meeting his gaze.

He studied you for a moment, then closed his eyes again, leaning into your touch. “You’re too good to me,” he exhaled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

His lips quirked. “I just don’t want you to think I expect this. I can handle myself.”

You tightened your grip slightly, enough to make him wince. “No one said you couldn’t. But you don’t have to, not today.”

For a long while, there was nothing but the soft crackle of the nearby fire and the faint lap of water against the basin’s edge.

Rog’s voice broke the quiet eventually. “Thank you.”

You glanced up at him. His eyes were soft now, warm in a way they rarely were. “Don’t make it a habit,” you teased.

He chuckled, low and rumbling. “Too late for that.”

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[lovefairymina]

(batsyforyou's celebrimbor as baby headcannons is giving me baby fever rn so here I am haha)

When I'm finally finished with cleaning the mess tyelpe made earlier and after taking a much needed bath, i walk over to curufin, seeing him rocking tyelpe gently back and forth before placing him in crib, I mouth a silent "is he asleep?", when he nods, I sigh in relief. I shake my head, still being able to hear tyelpe's giggles in my mind as he made his dinner fly all around the kitchen and as he smacked my face with it; I snort silently, little piece of shit, here he was, finally asleep, sleeping like an innocent angel after exhausting both me and curufin. Putting an arm around Curufin's waist, I lean into his side, resting my head on his shoulder as we gaze down at the crib together where tyelpe rests. I can't help but smile at the sight, it really was exhausting, taking care of this little one, but Eru, seeing him now, sleeping so peacefully, it was the most adorable thing ever! I sigh again, I can't belive he was our precious baby... I place a gentle a kiss on curufin's shoulder, gazing up at him softly "curvo, my love, i want one more..."

“One more what? Kiss to my shoulder? You know you are free to give me all the kisses in the world, darling,” he muttered and leaned closer to bridge the gap and kiss your forehead, however, his lips never reached. Instead, he noticed your frown and shaking head as your eyes darted to a sleeping Tyelpë. Then the clogs turned and he smirked. “Oh! You want another troublemaker...very well then.”

[polutrope]

I think about this passage and footnote from the Shibboleth of Fëanor a lot.

[Fëanor] himself perished too early in the war against Morgoth, largely because of his recklessnes, to do more than note the differences between the dialects of North Sindarin (which was the only one he had time to learn) and the Western[22]. 22 His sons were too preoccupied in war and feuds to pay attention to such matters, save Maglor who was a poet, and Curufin, his fourth and favourite son to whom he gave his own name; but Curufin was most interested in the alien language of the Dwarves, being the only one of the Noldor to win their friendship. It was from him that the loremasters obtained such knowledge as they could of the Khuzdul.

[animatorweirdo]

Imagine trying to enjoy alone time in a tavern, but then ending up as the local therapist for an elf and his relatives.

Imagine trying to simply enjoy some alone time in a tavern, drinking some beverage, and minding your own business till you meet this one elf and  became regular chat buddies. Now, the relatives of this elf keep coming to the tavern to talk about their problems with you. 

Warnings: reader’s sanity gets tested. 

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

Day 1

Maedhros: *Walks into the tavern, takes a seat, orders a drink, and slams his head against the table*

You: Now that sounds like someone is done with everyday life.

Maedhros: You have no idea. 

You: Which one for you, work or unbearable relatives?

Maedhros: Hmm?

You: Work or unbearable relatives? Sometimes it's the work that tires you out, but sometimes it’s the relatives– who do things that make you tick beyond measure. 

Maedhros: Hmm… both. Why would you like to know?

You: Just filling out boredom. Wanna have a drink? I can pay for you because you look like you need it. 

Maedhros: Well – that is nice of you. I am Maedhros. 

You: (Name)

After a week of meeting with Maedhros to shit talk about family, drink, and send each other off– not to be seen for another week. 

Maedhros: And yet again, I have to clean up after my brothers. 

You: Man, that sucks. 

Maedhros: Indeed. I have to go. It was nice talking to you. 

You: Bye. 

Maedhros: Farewell. 

Maedhros: *Walks out of the tavern after paying the bartender*

You: *Sits in silence, drinking*

Maglor: *Walks in and notices you*

Maglor: Excuse me? Are you (Name)?

You: Uuh – yeah? 

Maglor: I heard about you from my brother, Maedhros. He apparently likes to come here to talk and drink with you. 

You: And you are?

Maglor: I am Maglor.

You: Ah, the one that sings in the morning and never shuts up. 

Maglor: What?

You: Nothing! What do you want? 

Maglor: I will be honest. I need to relieve something out of my chest. And since Maedhros likes talking with you. I have been ha — *talks about his problems with his family*

You: *Staring at him, confused.*

You: Wha –?

Week 2

You: *Trying to enjoy peace after having talk sessions with both Maedhros and Maglor for a week. 

Caranthir: You!

You: Wah! What!

Caranthir: Are you (Name)?

You: uhm – yes? I’m sorry. Did I do something to piss you off?

Caranthir: No. Why would you think that?

You: You look angry. 

Caranthir: Well, I’m not. I am Caranthir. I heard about you from two of my brothers, Maedhros and Maglor. 

You: Oh, the grumpy one and the one that hoards all the gold?

Caranthir: What?

You: Nothing! What can I do for you?

Caranthir: I heard talking with you helps relieve stress and resolve problems. So, let me start –

You: And what if I don’t-

Caranthir: I will only talk about this once, so listen carefully. I am so done with my –*talks about his problems with his brothers and relatives and problems managing the money*

You: What?

Week 4

You: *Groaning while lying your head against the table*

Celegorm: You (Name)?!

You: What? Who — who are you two?!

Celegorm & Curufin: *sits on each side of you that you sat between them*

Celegorm: We belong to the same family as the rest of our dear brothers, who seem to like turning their backs on us in our time of need. 

You: That – doesn’t tell me anything. 

Curufin: His name is Celegorm and I am Curufin. 

You: Oh, The unhinged forest goblin and the cheap copy of dad?

Celegorm & Curufin: What?

You: Nothing! I assume you wanna talk and let something out of your chest too? 

Celegorm: Excellent! Then there is no need for an explanation. Let me tell you what kind of a rough week we had. 

Celegorm: I was planning good things for our people, but they kicked us out because apparently we were evil, and I tried to force myself upon Doriath’s princess. I was only trying to show I would be a better option than that mortal man. She even stole my dog! 

Celegorm: Can you believe that? And all people claim we’re the most problematic people in Beleriand. 

You: Didn’t you try to kill them, though?

Curufin: And my son doesn’t want to be my son anymore? Apparently, I disgusted him so much that he decided to disown himself. 

You: —what?

Week 6

You: *Groaning even harder after exhausting weeks of listening to the feanorians’ problems*

Fingon: Excuse me, are you by any chance (Name)?

You: Please, don’t tell me you’re one of Maedhros’s brothers!

Fingon: Oh no, I’m not.

You: – really?

Fingon: I’m his half-cousin!

You: dammit!

Week 8

Fingolfin: You must be (Name)

You: Huh?

Fingolfin: Okay, let me talk about my kids and those problematic nephews of mine. 

You: Sir? Do I know you?

Fingolfin: My kids don’t listen to me, and my half-brother’s kids just do anything they like, causing problems and being a bunch of ruffians. 

You: Sir? Sir? SIR?!

Week 14

Maedhros: Hey, (Name). Sorry, I have not been visiting for a while. I have been busy with work. 

Maedhros: (Name)?

You: *You sit up, shadows and bags in your eyes, exhausted and looking like you were going to break down at any moment*

Maedhros: (Name)! What happened? You look awful!

You: You – and the rest of your family need to find professional help.

[joetamy]

An idea I had a while back that I finally sketched out

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

The Sons of Fëanor behind closed doors

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

-

Caranthir

Carnistir always runs warm

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re going to catch a cold." 

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

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

His face grows redder with every second

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

How is he supposed to focus?? Manz is flustered

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maedhros

This gentle giant loves it when you play with his hands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maglor

Contrary to popular belief, Makalaurë is a clumsy individual 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody help this man

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Celegorm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curufin

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

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

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

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

"Curufin!" you gasp, looking up at him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amrod

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"NO WAY!!!!" "STOP"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amras

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really is full of peculiar ideas, your beloved redhead

[sesamenom]

browsing stormlight art on tumblr and ran into a post about how different dalinars life would have been with a somewhat healthier childhood and i think someone tagged it 'kaladin adopts young dalinar au' or something

anyways i propose a Make Everybody Worse au. teenage dalinar and gavilar get dropped directly into formenos and unofficially adopted by feanor a few years before the flight of the noldor. they both participate in the First Kinslaying/Oath/Losgar and then feanor dies. maedhros adopts them and then thangorodrim happens. maglor adopts them for a few years until mae gets rescued. they participate in the first few decades of the wars of beleriand, after which they get dropped back into the middle of alethkar.

on the noldorin side of things, m&m assume the random children they sort-of adopted (300some years before Secondborn were awakened) got killed somewhere in the battle. the kidnap fam situation now has the additional context of m&m having known even more pairs of children who died because of the Oath - one pair killed in the Second Kinslaying, one pair who presumably died in battle because they swore the Oath

on the alethi side of things, dalinar & gavilar are now Oathbound kinslayers who just lost five-to-ten parental figures and all their friends, and spent most of their lives being actively encouraged in war and military strategy. they also skipped the entirety of the navani-related conflict and are probably somewhat closer because of that. violence ensues.