#fingon imagine

[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]

Y/N was quarreling to Fingon about how her last chunk of double fudge brownie cake was gone after she saved it to eat at night as a late night snack. However, she noticed the entire time, Fingon was quiet, too quiet, as he avoided her eyes and sheepishly grinned the entire time.

“Finno, you didn't happen to eat the last of my cake, did you?”

Eyes darting around the place, looking everywhere but you, he gulped and offered a sheepish smile. “What? I haven’t the faintest idea of the accusations you make. I didn’t eat anything. I’m innocent,” he murmured, still not meeting your eyes while making the effort to move further away from you. “But if it pleases you, I can bake you another…”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A matter of the utmost urgency

Pairing: Fingon x Fëanor (Pride and Prejudice AU)

Others: Anairë and Fingolfin

Themes: Angst-ish

Warnings: Same as above

Word count: 1.3K words

Summary: Fëanor calls on Fingon to question him about rumours surrounding him and Fëanor’s nephew, Maedhros.

A/n: This Pride and Prejudice! Russingon fic was inspired by this post and this ask. I drew a lot of inspiration from chapter fifty six of the book in order to set the scene, but I hope you all enjoy reading it.

His Lordship entered the study with an air that was more than usually ungracious and greeted Fingon’s warm welcome with a curt tilt of the head. Lord Fëanor sat down without even being invited and declared, “The rest of your family, I suppose.”

The others, though amazed, were still flattered by having such an important guest and received him with the utmost politeness and civility.

“Yes, my lord,” Lady Anairë replied. “My daughter is lately married, and my second son is about the grounds, walking with a young lady who has accepted his proposal and will be a part of our family by Michaelmas.”

A brief silence followed. Lord Fëanor turned to Fingon and said, very stiffly, “You have a small garden here.”

“Indeed, sir, it is nothing compared to the gardens of Formenos, but we are pleased with it all the same.”

“Would you like some tea, my lord?” Lord Fingolfin offers, hesitates. He considers the time. “Or something a little stronger, perhaps?”

“Certainly not.” Lord Fëanor rises with a start. The rest stands up with him. “I wish to speak to Lord Fingon alone. It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

“I see.” Lord Fingolfin looks to his oldest, then the others, utterly bewildered. “Perhaps, my son, you could take his Lordship on a turn about the gardens and show him the different walks. It is still quite fine out.”

Fingon obeyed, and attended his guest outside. Lord Fëanor’s carriage stood by the door, elaborately carved and gilded, and crusted with jewels. Some had gone on to whisper that Lord Fëanor crafted it all himself. Fingon did not doubt them.

They continued in silence along a gravel path that led to a little maze. Fingon was determined to make no effort to start a conversation with a man who proved to be even more insolent and disagreeable than before.

As soon as they entered a path lined with plump yew shrubs, Lord Fëanor said, “You can be at no loss, Lord Fingon, as to why I am here.”

“Indeed, you are mistaken, my lord,” Fingon demurred mildly. “I cannot account for the reason for such an honor.”

“Lord Fingon,” Lord Fëanor countered in an angry tone. “I must warn you, I am not to be trifled with. However dishonest you choose to be, I shall not be so. A report of the most alarming nature reached my ears three days ago that not only has your brother secured for himself a most advantageous marriage, but you, Lord Fingon, intend to be united with my nephew, Lord Maedhros. Naturally, I did not wish to disturb him with news of such a scandalous falsehood, so I resolved to journey here and make my sentiments known to you.”

Fingon stared in amazement. “If you believe such a report to be a falsehood, then why did your lordship trouble yourself by traveling this far?”

“To hear it contradicted by your own lips.”

“Surely your lordship understands that by coming here to see me and my kin,” Fingon replied coolly, “you will only give great credence to such a report, if indeed it ever existed.”

“If?” Lord Fëanor replied, coloring with great disdain. “Do you claim to be ignorant of it then?”

“I have never even heard of such a thing,” Fingon returned truthfully.

“Then Lord Maedhros has made no offer of marriage to you?”

“Your lordship has declared it to be a scandalous falsehood.”

“It ought to be so; it must be so, but do not take me for a fool, Lord Fingon. I know those like you and your upstart pretensions. With any art, with any allurement, you may still attempt draw him in and make him forget his duty toward his family.”    

Fingon flushed in anger, and said, “If I have indeed attempted to draw him in, I would be the last person to admit to such an act.” 

“Foolish, selfish boy!” Lord Fëanor stammered in disbelief. “Let me make myself plain. This engagement that you desire for yourself can never take place. My nephew has already been promised to another. Now what do you have to say?”

“Only this,” Fingon said. “If your nephew is indeed promised to another, your lordship need not worry about him making such an offer to me.”  

Lord Fëanor went silent for a moment, somewhat appeased.

“This engagement is of a most peculiar kind,” he began anew, "and has been planned since Maedhros’ infancy. It was the sincerest wish of the lady’s family, as well as his. And now, just as all of our wishes are to be accomplished to their fullest, just as we await news of a true and lasting attachment, are they to be prevented by a young lord of inferior birth? Have you no regard for the wishes of his kin? Have you no sense of propriety? Have you not heard, from my own lips, the tacit nature of his engagement?”

“Indeed, my lord, but what is all of that to me?” replied Fingon. “You and the lady’s father may have wished for such a marriage, but the completion of such a dream was wholly dependent on the actions of others. If Lord Maedhros is neither by honor nor by oath bound to the lady, what stops him from making another choice? And if I am indeed his choice, why should I stop myself from accepting him?”

“Why?” Lord Fëanor cried with energy. “Because of honor and decorum forbid it, that is why. His family and those connected to him will not welcome you, nor shall we even mention your name. Such an alliance will be a disgrace to us all."

“These are grave hardships indeed.” Fingon found himself growing angrier by the moment. Yet, with the utmost composure, he added, “But they would be short-lived, I am sure. Any spouse of Lord Maedhros will have so much happiness, on the whole, to fill them that they will find no cause to repine.”

“Headstrong, unfeeling boy!" Lord Fëanor raged, "Tell me once again, are you engaged to my nephew?”

As much as Fingon was not obliged to reply, he said thus: “I am not.”

Lord Fëanor, relieved, went on to ask, “And will you swear to never enter into such an engagement should my nephew make you an offer of marriage?”

"I shall not and will never agree to such a request," Fingon replied with resolve.

Lord Fëanor purpled. "I have heard enough, Lord Fingon. Now, hear me in silence. Do you think I am ignorant of your lack of fortune?" He accused. "Or that I am ignorant of the scandalous particulars of your sister's infamous elopement and the hasty marriage that was only achieved at the expense of your uncle? Is such a girl to call herself my nephew's sister? And her husband, a lowly soldier no less. Is he to call himself my nephew's brother? Heaven and earth, are the shades of Tirion to be thus polluted?"

"You have, my lord, insulted me and mine in every possible way," Fingon retorted angrily. "And now must have nothing further to say. I insist upon returning to the house."

Lord Fëanor was still furious. "And this is your resolution, then? Very well. I know what must be done. Do not think me so easily defeated, Lord Fingon."

He continued to speak thusly, and Fingon made no further attempt to answer. When they reached the carriage, Lord Fëanor stopped by the door and said, "I had hoped to find you amenable to reason, Lord Fingon, and I am most disappointed to see that you are not. I shall not take my leave of you, nor shall I leave you and your kin my compliments. You are unworthy of such attention."

Fingon did not reply. He quietly walked into the house and went straight to his own chambers, ignorant of the curious looks of his family.

[a-contemplation-upon-flowers]

The nation’s best boy!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 I’ll fall in love with him all over again ��️☺️

Fingon SFW Alphabet

A/N: i've been fretting over this for some time, so glad it's finally done. i love him sm and yet it's weirdly hard to put that love into words sometimes :/

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

His love languages are physical touch and quality time. Absolutely no problem with PDA, though he tones it down in more formal settings. Not afraid to show affection in front of his friends/family and at least always has an arm around you.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

This man has no trouble starting conversations and he’s probably one of those people who know at least one person wherever they go. He‘s an incredibly supportive best friend and always has your back. Likes to give unsolicited advice but not with bad intentions.

The kind of extrovert who has unintentionally adopted dozens of introverts. He just makes it easy to get comfortable, even if you’re not a big talker.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

You know he loves cuddles and will never turn them down. It‘s one of his favourite ways to unwind after a stressful day – just trap you in his arms and turn his head off.

Normally prefers to be the big spoon, but when he’s feeling down, he will sometimes ask you to switch places.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Definitely wants to settle down eventually but isn’t in a rush to do so. As long as you regularly spend time together, he can wait until you’re ready. 10/10 cook, probably better at it than you.

You might have to occasionally kick his ass when it comes to tidying things up, but he won‘t make a fuss about it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Would try to be as empathetic as possible about it. He would prefer it if the two of you could still stay on good terms afterwards, completely cutting off ties would be his absolute last resort.

Even if you somehow came to resent him (good luck with that), he’s almost chronically unable of bearing long-term grudges.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Oh, he would love to get married one day, but just like with settling down, he isn’t necessarily in a rush. Since he’s very expressive with his feelings, he’d love a big, fancy celebration. He wants everyone to see how much the two of you love each other and how lucky he is to have you.

Will definitely cry at some point during the ceremony.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He can be incredibly gentle and tender when he wants to and has no problems with being open about his feelings for you. You’ll never be left wondering how he feels about you. Whether you need a kiss, a hug or simply some warm words – he’s got you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He lives for hugs. Might be a bit clingy at times but you can never stay annoyed for too long at his enthusiasm. His hugs are always strong and comforting, his aim to make you feel safe and protected with him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

There’s a high chance he’ll be the first one to say it. He’s not one to overthink his feelings and one day he‘ll just have this sudden epiphany about how much you truly mean to him and how he can’t imagine his life without you anymore. From there on, it’s only a matter of waiting for the right moment with just the two of you to spill the beans.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

It would take a lot to make him seriously jealous and so far, you haven’t seen that side of him. Most of his jealousy is playful and exaggerated and clearly meant as a joke – deep down, he has unconditional trust in you.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He gives a lot of playful kisses, probably preceded by a corny joke or compliment. Overall, pretty sweet kisser. Other than your lips, he likes to randomly pull you in to give you a quick kiss to the temples or forehead.

Adores when the two of you are cuddling and you pepper little kisses all along his throat and jaw.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Due to his open and cheerful nature, children flock to him, and he will gladly entertain them for hours, singing silly children’s songs with them or telling them stories he came up with on the spot.

10/10 big brother, older cousin or father.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Annoyingly cheerful in the morning, even during busy/stressful times. You’ve whacked him across the head with a pillow in annoyance on more than one occasion.

How can he be this chipper when he got less sleep than you? Only Eru knows.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He always tries to go to sleep at the same time as you (unless he’s horrendously busy) so the two of you can cosy up under the blankets and chat a little/get caught up before nodding off.

The first time you ever saw him without his golden braids was when you slept over at his house for the first time. He had made a little show out of loosening his hair, as if you were suddenly seeing a vulnerable new side of him and it’s still something the two of you occasionally joke about.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He’s an open book and has no trouble revealing things about himself, no matter how personal/intimate. Seriously. If you ask, you better be prepared for a detailed answer. Don’t say he didn’t warn you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s not necessarily easily angered, but he can be very rash and prone to act first and think later. Sometimes you need to be his voice of reason and reign him in a little.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s got everything you’ve ever told him memorised. Whenever you mention something new, he immediately files it away in a secure location within his mind. While his memory is naturally sharp due to being an Elf, he still likes to brag about how well he knows you, sometimes.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The day you confessed your feelings to each other is one of his most cherished memories. Looking back on it now with the knowledge of what that nerve-wracking yet wonderful moment led to, is enough to make him sentimental.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He secretly really likes playing knight in shining armour, but he knows that it’s often not warranted. You’re your own person and he will usually trust your judgement when it comes to how comfortable/safe you feel in others’ presences.

Not just willing to protect you from others but also from yourself. He’s the master of peptalks and will not stand for you talking negatively about yourself. Not on his watch, forget it.

You don’t ever need to protect him physically, he’s more than capable of that himself. He will, however, not hesitate to lean on you for emotional support. You don’t need to be good at it, for him it’s mostly the thought that counts – feeling like he can be vulnerable with you is enough.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts as much effort as possible into everything that concerns you. You’re the most important person in his life and he wants you to feel it every day.

He expects the same effort in return, please don’t disappoint him.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He can be overly talkative and not realise when he‘s taken over the entire conversation.

Might get a bit annoyed at you if you take too much time to think things over – sometimes forgets that not everyone’s as spontaneous as he is.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He takes great pride in the way he braids his hair and is very meticulous about it. You’re the only other person he trusts to do it right and teaching you how to do his preferred styles has been an unexpectedly strong bonding experience.

As for clothes, he certainly makes an effort to always look his best, but he prefers when the main thing that stands out about his appearance is his hair.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

While he can appear kind of clingy at times, he isn’t irrational about it or has abandonment issues. It’s mostly just him pretending to be overdramatic in hopes of getting a laugh out of you. He has more than enough confidence in himself, no need to worry about him.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

As mentioned above, he excels at cooking. Even if you’re not good at it, he will still gladly do it together with you and is always happy to teach you some things.

One of your first dates was probably him inviting you over to cook your favourite meal together and have an intimate dinner.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He doesn’t like mean-spirited jokes at the expense of others, all of his bickering and bantering is done good-naturedly.

In the same vein, he has zero tolerance for bullies of any kind and will shut that shit down as soon as he gets wind of it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

He’s a very light sleeper, much to his dismay, and quite prone to restless sleep as soon as he gets a little stressed. He never means to hog the blanket, but he’s very active in his sleep which kind of makes it wander around the bed, so you might end up unlucky at times.

[psstwantsomecheese]

Theory that Fingon was supposed to survive the Nirnaeth Arnoediad

So we know that during confrontations Morgoth's army has this tendency to capture at least 1 prisoner usually the one deemed most valuable and leave the rest to die. We've seen it with Maedhros during the fake parley, Gwindor during his storm on the gates in Angband, Hurin, Turin with his outlaws etc. etc. Hell it would've happened to Finrod too if he didn't go and sacrifice himself first.

When they take prisoners usually it's for some fell purpose like inflicting some sick method of torture or manipulating them into betraying their allies. Capturing the High King and walking propaganda for hope would be like winning the lottery for Melkor who's very into demoralizing his enemies.

And with Fingon's last battle reporting him to be standing alone among his dead guard Gothmog was probably supposed to take him alive too. Maybe he would have if some balrog didn't ambush him. So Anggang had to go with plan B and desecrate his corpse instead, not as good as torturing him until he's a shell of his former self but still a huge blow to Noldor morale. I can't tell if it would have been better or worse if Fingon survived or not.

[ilaneya]

hey friends, happy pride month and beginning of the summer ✨🤲

update! to celebrate pride and my upcoming birthday i’ll have a 30% discount for my commissions till the end of june, you can find all information here!

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

But speaking of Tolkien's discarded ideas, the one where Celegorm and Curufin are friends with Finarfin's (then Finrod's) sons and smuggle them on the swan ships is wild.

Fëanor and his folk seized all the ships and sailed east across the sea, and they took none of the other companies save Orodreth, Angrod, and Egnor (Aegnor), whom Celegorm and Curufin loved.

First of all, I love how it sounds - whom Celegorm and Curufin loved - very touching and humanizing.

Imagine being Fingon, though, the same Fingon who's close in friendship with Angrod and Aegnor and Maedhros (or used to be at least). Imagine waking up and realizing that your closest friends have abandoned you without a word. Imagine realizing or finding out that Maedhros's asshole brothers loved their friends enough to take them with them, but neither Maedhros nor Angrod and Aegnor bothered with you.

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

It’s just that Fingon’s like that stereotypical son who calls his mum and walks old ladies across the street, mows the lawn for his neighbours, brings home nice, pretty girls who want to be kindergarten teachers or something and is really passionate about some niche compassionate topic like children in poverty’s access to multiple sclerosis treatment and who everyone says is ���such a nice boy’ but then he goes and dates the eldest kid of Mr. Stay Away From My Boys, Son, a flaming ginger who most people haven’t heard speak. And this is hilarious.

[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:

[peasant-player]

Gil-galad the last Elven High King

And a close up

"Gil-galad was an Elven king

Of him the harper sadly sing

The last whose realm was fair and free

Between the Mountains and the Sea."

- from" The Fall of Gil-galad

Here is the line art of my next Elven Lord in Armor.

Here is the link to Elrond of that serie!

I wanted to give Gil- galad the look of a tragic hero. He is the last of a long ruling line and he is a pillar for the Elven in the second age.

And I wanted to make him look as nice as possible. Like a good boy.

I also made him look very youthful for a better effect I imagine that he is painted like that:

" a youthful hero who defeated sauron."

I know sauron wasn't really defeated and gil-galad didn't do it alone.

For colors I'm conflicted I would love a golden-autumn theme for him but he is not described like that. More for maedhros then

Soo I'm trying to go for a white-gold look with maybe burnt orange here and there.

Sneaking in the autumn.

As for Hair color. I really love brunett Gil-galad. It fits my image of him the most.

And his weapon Aeglos

I don't think I did this spear justice but I try to go for a brilliant white silver blade to white gold at the end.

I love the description from the game: "Shadow of war"

Gil-galad wields a well made Spear

The orcs will fear my point of Ice

When he sees me in Fear of Death

He will know my Name

Aeglos

Well hope you guys like my Gil-galad ❤️

[wanderer-clarisse]

cousin bonding time (I like to imagine that Maedhros is the one who tied baby Finrod's hair!)

sorry for being suddenly inactive here lately, Things Happened and I haven't really had the time to sit down and draw until this week ;-; hope this little sketch can make up for it!

[doodle-pops]

Drunken Autumn Nights

Fingon x reader

A/N: Some fluff for a change instead of my usual October content. I was in the mood for lots of cozy autumn fluff this time of year. So, to start Flufftober, have some Fingon. Enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, intoxication (drunk reader), humour

Words: 2.1k

Synopsis: The best way to spend autumn nights when your beloved was free of duties, was to give him an impromptu (drunken) task.

The evening had settled with a soft breeze that rustled the vibrant leaves, painting the world in shades of burnt orange, deep red, and gold. Fingon and you had chosen the quiet seclusion of a small forest clearing, far from the demands of his duties as Crown Prince. The air was crisp, biting just enough to be refreshing, but not so cold that it chased you indoors. A perfect autumn evening, really—where the natural beauty of Arda was at its finest, and the skies had only just begun to darken with the twilight.

You had both brought a few bottles of wine along, eager to unwind after a particularly long stretch of obligations that Fingon had been forced to endure. He had been working tirelessly, and the chance to escape into nature was a rare one. So here you were, seated on a blanket in the soft grass, bottles uncorked and laughter already in the air. Fingon poured another glass, watching the liquid swirl before he handed it to you with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling beneath his dark, braided hair.

At first, the conversation had been light—about the trees and how their leaves looked like flames against the sky. About Fingon’s recent duties and how he felt relief now that he could spend time away from court. But as the night grew older and the wine flowed more freely, something began to shift.

You were laughing at something Fingon had said—something about how Maglor once tried to compose an entire song about leaves, and it somehow ended up being a dirge for lost love. “He’s so dramatic,” Fingon chuckled, his smile widening as he glanced at you. “I swear, if he could write a tragic ballad about his morning tea, he would.”

But you weren’t really listening anymore. Not properly, anyway. The warmth of the wine had begun to work its magic, wrapping you in a pleasant haze where everything felt a little softer, a little funnier. You leaned back, gazing up at the sky that was now peppered with stars, and took another long sip from your glass. Fingon’s voice was still in the background, but your thoughts were wandering, losing focus, drifting like the leaves that tumbled gently from the trees.

“Fingon,” you said after a moment, your voice just a little too loud and slurred at the edges. “Did you know…did you know that leaves…they fall because they’re trying to run away from trees?”

He blinked and glanced over at you with a bemused smile. “Run away? Is that so?”

You nodded, as if you had just revealed some great secret of the universe. “Yes. Yes, they’re done with the whole tree business. They’re like, ‘Nope. I’m out of here.’ And then—” You made a dramatic hand gesture that sent some of the wine from your glass sloshing onto the grass. “—they just drop, you know? Just…they’re free.”

Laughing, Fingon set his glass aside as he leaned back on his hands, watching you with clear amusement. “I had no idea you were such an expert on leaves.”

“Well, now you do,” you said, leaning forward as if to share something even more important. “And, and the pumpkins…do you know why we carve them?”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, trying to hold back another laugh.

“It’s to scare away the spirits of all the pies we didn’t make last year,” you said with utmost seriousness. “They’re vengeful. That’s why they’re orange. It’s the colour of rage.”

At this point, Fingon was openly laughing with his head thrown back, the sound rich and warm in the crisp night air. You, however, were utterly lost in your own world of autumnal conspiracy. “And the hay bales! Oh, don’t even get me started on those. They’re…they’re a trap for the woodland creatures. But they’re too clever. They know. That’s why you never see any animals near hay bales. Only humans fall for that trick.”

With all your enthusiasm for conspiracies, Fingon had shifted closer to you, his gaze soft but still amused as he took in your increasingly incoherent ramblings. “You’re quite the scholar tonight, aren’t you?” he teased affectionately.

“Of course,” you said, finishing off your glass of wine with a flourish. “I know all the secrets of autumn.”

The wine had hit you hard by this point, your thoughts growing more tangled with every passing moment. You tried to stand up, but your legs wobbled beneath you, and before you knew it, he was at your side, his hands gently guiding you back down to the blanket. “Easy now,” he murmured, his laughter still lingering on his lips. “I don’t think you’re in any state to be walking around.”

You pouted and rested your head against his shoulder as your body felt heavy and warm. “But I wanted to dance with the ghosts,” you muttered, your words slurring together.

Fingon raised an eyebrow. “Dance with the ghosts?”

“They’re here. Watching us. Waiting…” You waved your hand dramatically at the trees, your voice taking on a ghostly tone. “Ooooooooh, they want to join our fun.”

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders to steady you, he chuckled at your statement. “I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight.”

You frowned. “But what about the spirits? You can’t just ignore them, Finno. That’s how they get you.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for them,” he promised as humour danced in his eyes. “No spirits are getting to you while I’m around.”

As if weighing the sincerity of his words, you squinted up at him. After a moment, you seemed satisfied and leaned further into him with a contented sigh. “Good. Because I’d hate to be taken by a ghost during the best part of autumn.”

Fingon smiled down at you, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. “Of course. I wouldn’t let that happen.” Watching as you settled back onto the grass, your thoughts drifting along with the gentle flow of the brook. The night was growing cooler now, but the warmth of the flask still lingered in your veins, keeping you comfortable as you continued to mumble incoherently about leaves, stars, and whatever else your mind latched onto.

Fingon shifted slightly, pulling his cloak around himself as he kept an eye on you, making sure you didn’t attempt any more dangerous feats. He had grown accustomed to your antics over the years, and while he knew he’d likely have to deal with the aftermath of your intoxicated state in the morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the absurdity of it all.

“You know what else is spooky?” you muttered with your eyes half closed as you lay on the grass, your voice a little more sluggish now as the effects of the alcohol weighed down your limbs.

“What else is spooky?” Fingon asked, clearly humouring you as he shifted to sit more comfortably against the tree, his gaze still trained on you with a mix of amusement and fondness.

“The moon,” you mumbled, as if you had just revealed some great cosmic secret. “It’s always watching. But not like…the stars. The stars are nice. The moon is…suspicious.”

“Suspicious, you say? And why is that?” he chocked as he attempted to bit back a laugh bubbling in his throat.

You struggled to sit up again, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated as you pointed a wobbly finger at the sky. “It just hangs there, all big and bright, but it never says anything. Always just…lurking.”

“Lurking,” he repeated, nodding solemnly, though his lips were twitching with barely concealed laughter. “I see.”

You waved your arms dramatically, nearly losing your balance as you did so. “Exactly! One day…one day it’s going to do something. I’m telling you. We need to keep an eye on it.”

Before you could topple over completely, he reached out to steady gently. “I’ll be sure to keep watch,” he said, his voice gentle and amused.

Satisfied that he had taken your warning seriously, you gave a drunken grin. “Good. Someone has to. You never know when the moon might make its move.”

With a soft sigh, you finally allowed yourself to flop back onto the grass, your body sinking into the cool earth as the last remnants of daylight faded away, leaving the sky a deep, velvety blue. Fingon watched you for a moment, the smile still playing on his lips as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the growing chill.

Despite your increasingly ridiculous ramblings, there was something endearing about seeing you so carefree, so lost in your own drunken thoughts. He rarely saw you this unguarded, and though you’d surely regret the amount of alcohol you’d consumed come morning, for now, he was content to enjoy the peaceful, if slightly absurd, moment.

You turned your head to look at him again, blinking slowly as if it took a great effort to focus. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?” you slurred, a lazy grin spreading across your face. “Always looking out for me…and listening to my nonsense.”

Fingon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say it’s nonsense. It’s certainly…creative.”

“I’m a genius,” you declared, raising a finger as if to emphasise your point. “A visionary. No one understands the moon like I do.”

Fingon raised an eyebrow, smiling. “A visionary, are you? Perhaps you should write a treatise on the subject.”

You gasped, as if the idea had never occurred to you before. “Yes! I’ll write a book. ‘The Suspicious Moon and Other Spooky Things.’ It’ll be a bestseller.”

“I have no doubt it will be,” Fingon said with a grin, unable to suppress the warmth that bubbled up in his chest at the sight of you, so thoroughly convinced of your own brilliance in this inebriated state.

The night deepened around you both, the woods growing quieter as the last of the birds settled for sleep, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound that accompanied the gentle trickle of the brook. Fingon leaned his head back against the tree, his gaze fixed on the sky where the stars now sparkled in full force, the moon casting a silvery glow over the landscape.

Beside him, you had fallen into a more subdued state, your drunken ramblings slowing as your body grew heavier with exhaustion. Fingon could tell you were nearing the point of falling asleep where you lay, and as much as he enjoyed the peacefulness of the evening, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to let you sleep out here in the open.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice low but gentle, “it might be time to head back. The moon may be suspicious, but it’s getting cold.”

You groaned in response, rolling over onto your stomach with a grumble. “Don’t wanna move.”

Fingon sighed softly, though his tone remained patient. “If you stay out here, you’ll be regretting it in the morning even more than you already will.”

With a great deal of effort, you pushed yourself halfway up, your head spinning as you tried to find your balance. Fingon was quick to help, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you as you swayed on your feet. As much as he knew you’d be feeling the effects of your little adventure in the morning, for now, there was a quiet contentment that settled over him, a rare sense of peace that came from knowing you were both safe, happy, and—for the moment at least—free from the worries of the world.

“Let’s get you home,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the trees. The night air was cool, but not unpleasant, and as the two of you walked together beneath the watchful gaze of the “suspicious” moon, Fingon couldn’t help but smile.

Despite the silliness of the evening, despite your nonsensical ramblings about leaf spirits and conspiratorial celestial bodies, there was something undeniably perfect about the moment. It was a brief respite from the weight of responsibility, a chance to simply enjoy each other’s company without the pressures of duty or the looming shadow of the future.

And for Fingon, that was more than enough.

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[lovefairymina]

Fingon, would you teach me how to shoot a bow? What? No I‘m not asking for an excuse for close physical contact (though I wouldn‘t say no to a more hands-on demonstration), you‘re the one with the crush, shut up!

Chuckling with a mischievous glint in his eye—clearly enjoying the playful banter. “Alright, I’ll teach you,” he said, handing you a bow. “But if you’re looking for excuses to get close, I might just take you up on that offer.”

[thelordofgifs]

hmm Fingon as the embodiment of hope in the Silmarillion and Maedhros as the embodiment of despair. something about how the only time Maedhros did dare to hope – when putting the Union together – it resulted in Fingon’s death and large-scale catastrophe, the death of hope in Beleriand. something about how Fingon goes to his (fiery!) death still filled with optimism – utúlie'n aurë! – and Maedhros goes to his (very fiery!) death with only desolation. something about how Maedhros begs for death on Thangorodrim, but is rescued by the combined efforts of Fingon and an Eagle – the literal embodiment of eucatastrophe, hope unfounded, the thing with feathers – and, in the end, chooses death anyway. something about how, if the silm were not a tragedy, hope would have outlived despair, but instead it is beaten into the dust of the Anfauglith and the banners trod into the mire of its blood. idk is this anything.

[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.

[essenceofarda]

Teenage Fingon and Maedhros!

I came up with a whole story (practically an entire fic idea lol 😅) for this illustration. It takes place during an extended family vacation in some snowy mountaintops in Aman, (can you imagine not Only the shenanigans the extended finwean family would get up to but also the drama involved with having everyone basically camping under one log cabin roof LMAO), and Fingon, who absolutely idolizes his older cousin Mae, finally musters up the courage to, while on a skiing adventure just the two of them, to come out as trans and Maedhros is just like: *vibrates with excitement* "this is the best news ever i'm gonna teach you everything I know about being a dude" and henceforth the two were inseparable buddies 🥹

I imagine Mae as the first person that Fingon feels comfortable coming out to in this fic idea... and Mae's immediate and enthusiastic encouragement and acceptance is at least partly why Fingon remains his loyal friend for the remainder of their days :')