#haleth || crack

[dragxnsfire]

|| I just described haleth as 5' even of this and I think everyone should know. it's her Defining Trait tm

[the-elusive-soleil]

I have mixed/varying feelings on the Halenthir scenario of "he thought they were getting married (bc LaCE) but she thought it was a one-night stand" But in such a scenario this is I think the best possible way for it to go:

A few days later, while she's working on preparations to leave Thargelion and lead everybody west, Haleth hears a couple of elves talking about "Lord Caranthir's wife", how valiant she is and how clever and how well-suited to him. It does not occur to her that they're talking about her. She assumes that Caranthir is married and didn't tell her; she's going to eviscerate him for leading her on and making her think he was available and dishonoring his wife like that. (And is definitely not jealous at all, no sir.)

Meanwhile, Caranthir hears a few Haladin gossiping about their chieftain's new lover, calling him beautiful and clearly a huge sap for her. He assumes that they're talking about someone else, some adan, because clearly that's not him. He's hurt and angry, not sure whether this is a case of Haleth having this lover before she wed him and not telling him, or of her just taking up with someone else already.

While he's trying to figure out whether to confront her about this or to just let it lie because she's leaving soon anyway, Haleth comes marching up to him in a fury about the wife he didn't tell her about, and they end up having a towering argument in which all the misunderstandings are, eventually, revealed and cleared up.

(The scene is public enough that both elves and Men write semi-humorous ballads about it. The names changed to maintain plausible deniability for the writers, but at least one version preserves a particular speech pattern of Caranthir's, which is how Maglor and then the rest of the Feanorions find out that their middle brother semi-accidentally married an adaneth.)

[cilil]

Caranthir: I, um... it may be that I... enjoy getting pegged. Haleth: (already putting her strap on) Thank the Valar, I thought you were never going to admit it

[mascula-sappho]

Morifinwë Carnistir this is your fault sir

[aniseandspearmint]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto/Maedhros | Maitimo, Celebrían/Elrond Peredhel, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros | Maitimo, Thorin Oakenshield/Being Tricked Into Being Friends With Elrond's Chaos Disaster Family, Fingon | Findekáno & Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Galadriel | Artanis/Maglor | Makalaurë, Argon | Arakáno/Galadriel | Artanis/Maglor | Makalaurë Characters: in rough order of appearance we have, Thorin Oakenshield, Elrond Peredhel, Kíli (Tolkien), Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Argon | Arakáno, Aredhel | Irissë, Maglor | Makalaurë, Turgon | Turukáno, Arwen Undómiel, Maedhros | Maitimo, Aragorn | Estel, Fingon | Findekáno, Celebrían (Tolkien), Balin (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien), Finrod Felagund | Findaráto, Galadriel | Artanis, Curufin | Curufinwë, Bilbo Baggins, Narvi (Tolkien), Maeglin | Lómion, Caranthir | Morifinwë, Haleth of the Haladin Additional Tags: Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, both tags began in the silmarillion but have rippled down to affect the hobbit too, mildly eldritch line of finwë, me realizing just now after being obsessed with tolkien since i was six that elves are telepaths, definitely not LaCE compliant, Crack Treated Seriously, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, technically they did die but then they got kicked out of mandos for being annoying, Trans Fingon, Trans Finrod, baby aragorn!, the elves just want to eat smaug, they are the natural predator of the dragons now, Eldritch Peredhel (Tolkien), i misread celeborn as celegorm once and an entire cracky idea came from it, fingon shows affection like a housecat Series: Part 1 of the let love win 'verse Summary:

Thorin thought his quest to reclaim his home was going rather well. Until Gandalf insisted they stop in Rivendell. While Elrond's extended family was there.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

"Is this 'Haleth' in the room with us?"

Halenthir but none of the Finweans believe Haleth is real because they all assume Caranthir made up a spouse so he could leverage his marriage status for tax concessions. Caranthir is extremely mad about this. Haleth thinks it’s hilarious.

[writerrose1998]

Caranthir: I don’t think we can mansplain, manipulate, or malewife our way out of it this time. Haleth, cracking her knuckles: Manslaughter it is.

[eri-pl]

Death and taxes

So I was thinking about Erestor son of Caranthir and Haleth (as you do), and I realized it can work (as long as you assume they were an item. But it san work mortality-wise)

I'm sorry for all the ocasions I said it can't canonically work at all. I oversimplified.

One way (more canon):

Yes, non-Earendilian half-elves got the Gift of Men, but do they have limited lifespans? I don't think we have a proof for that. All canon ones die tragically (from Feanorians). Maybe they do not die from old age, but when they die (killed or something), they do go brrr out of Ea? It is technically possible.

(Yes, Elros worked in a different way, but he is a different thing. He is not this weird unresolved Man/Elf mix. He is Earendilian, he got to chose. )

So if they look like elves (and canonically elves and humans look very much the same), Erestor can be one. He works more or less like an elf until someone kills him. (Or he dies on this thing that makes the Elves fade, which he will because he cannot sail.)

(also Gil-"and where he dwelleth none can say"-Galad… Hmm…)

The other way (crack):

Caranthir has a kid with Haleth. The kid grows quickly, but doesn't grow old as fast as Men do, so when Caranthir dies, his son is an adult, but not old.

Caranthir dies and lands in Mandos and his two brothers do too, and Dior disses Celegorm and then goes brr, and Caranthir is like "what do you mean half-elves do that??? But. My son."

And Namo is like "yes, they do it, untill the exception happens".

And Caranthir starts asking, and arguing, and why would some get an exception, but some not. And it's not poor Erestor's fault that his father is a kinslayer and it is unfair in general… and Caranthir is the best lawyer to ever lawyer + has all the motivation of a desparate father and all the insufferableness of a five-year-old arguing that he deserves more screen time.

And finally Namo is like "oh Eru please throw him into the Everlasting Darkness do something, I can't handle it any longer", and long story shory, Erestor gets to be an elf, but nobody is allowed to talk about that.

Caranthir is as good as being insufferable as Luthien is at singing.

[spinningalbinoturtle]

I listened to the silmarillion while I was recovering from surgery so here are my thoughts.

Fingon and Maedhros are indeed gay

Who is Gil Galad’s mother? Is it Maedhros?

Haleth is a bad bitch and a lesbian and I want a whole book about her

Elrond is kinda the product of a lot of cousin fucking

And then he marries a cousin!

Turin Turanbar is a dick not sure what all the fuss is about

Feanor is also a dick-although I knew this already

Eol is a predator and I am not a fan. Poor Aredhel also poor Idril and Miriel

Likewise to Ar Pharazon

Sauron kinda cracks me up. Like I just picture him being constantly annoyed by Melkor’s disorganization and then continually failing himself is so fucking funny

Sauron getting his ass handed to him by Luthien was so good

“That wolf could be me”. Surprise dummy its not

Luthien is also a baddie. Queen I love her

I ship Galadriel and Melian. You can’t tell me Galadriel was staying in Doriath for Celeborn, not when there was a Maia queen right there

Luthien single handedly putting Melkor to sleep with her singing while Beren just sat there😂Iconic

Elrond and Elros may have some Stockholm syndrome

I want to hear more about the dwarves

Turin and Beleg are also gay

Did not anticipate the incest storylines. What is this Game of Thrones?

Long story short it was a bit darker than I anticipated but just as slow as I had heard but I’m glad I read it.

[eri-pl]

Wait, I got something. Inspired by certain discussions on our idiots.

[post Athrabeth, logistics-wise it has to be pre-battle I think] Celegorm: *theology* Caranthir: Wait. Wait. So, Men pray to Eru? Like, directly? they can do that? Celegorm: ...yes? Caranthir: And He listens to them? Celegorm:...allegedly. Caranthir: ...Haleth never told me this! Celegorm: I guess it wasn't important? Caranthir: Tyelco. They pray to Eru. The One we swore our Oath to. Right? Celegorm: That's what I just said. *gets back to polishing his bow or knives or whatever he does for fun* Caranthir: ... Celegorm: ...? Caranthir: ...I need to go talk to my grandkids.

[I have no idea why, but sometimes Caranthir feels like the sole possessor of the one Feanorian braincell sometimes. Probably because of the economy. No, Curufin wouldn't work in this role. IDK why. Also, Caranthir has his non-canon human grandkids, so.]

Crack Theory: Finrod doesn't exist

Pretty self-explanatory. Finrod never existed. Either he was a variety of different people, something I've seen suggested about Gil-Galad, or he was a mass hallucination.

(I'm fond of the second one tbh.)

Either way, curse you, Pengoloð!

[theoppositeofprofound]

Assigning First Age humans favorite foods for reasons

Bëor/Balan: Holds a traveller’s fondness and fear towards the humble mushroom; he counts himself lucky that Nargothrond is so vigorous in fungiculture.

Haleth: Though she’s eaten orc (before the elves got all hysterical about it) she doesn’t like it. As an older woman she gets a taste for dried hawthorn and very piquant rowan wine.

Marach: Grains are a new indulgence, he was never much of a farmer while on the march. In Estolad he finds a love of barley cakes.

Adanel: Raises ducks for gizzards

Imlach: Turnips in mountain goat butter. Like elves, he’s not “lactose tolerant” but cold climate girls make do.

Andreth: Innovated heavily in the field of Jellies, combining old advice from her teachers and elf lore to finalize the perfect crabapple jam.

Bregor: Lake trout with bitter orange.

Beril: Trained truffle hounds and valued her prizes highly.

Emeldir: Roast pig, fattened and butchered in autumn. As the main coordinator, she takes pride in the finished product and lets herself have a bit of crackling when it’s done.

Barahir: Is impressively lactose tolerant and enjoys an early, soft cheese, baked till its gooey.

Beren: In the dark woods, birds without a brood that year would spit crop milk into his mouth. It isn’t the taste he misses but the sense someone was one his side. Also hot drinks—after years being hunted it’s nice to have the security to build a fire.

Húrin: Lamb with a a certain blend of spices, the recipe reportedly over the mountains by his ancestors. No one uses cumin like Hador’s people.

Huor: The elves of Gondolin kept snail—he’s never been able to recapture the crisp, woody taste of their eggs.

Morwen: Dove, roasted, maybe a little more raw than is advisable but she trusts her butchery.

Rian: Nectar from the woodbine that blooms late in spring

Ulfang: Fresh wild-strawberries; his sons would bring him handfuls of them when they were small.

Bór: He likes a fermented milk, somewhere between kumis and filmjölk, but he’ll also drink milk raw just to flex on Maedhros’ kin.

Aerin: Even before she was tasked with feeding great numbers in the shadow of famine, she had a fondness for the humble onion.

Tuor: Bumblebee honey, dug out of the ground right at the coming of winter, when the bees are dying and don’t need it anymore.

Túrin: A pine nut/bear fat/mandrake pemmican Beleg taught him. None of his friends handle the alkaloid content as well as he does. He likes raw potatoes too.

Nienor: Used to catch the snakes that came to prey on her mother’s birds and make them into soup. As Níniel she eats crabapples before they can be jellied.

Dior: Little minnows found in the cold streams of Doriath and around the island of his birth. Also, eel.

Brandir: Roast chestnuts—he uses his cane to crack them open to the delight of children.

Eärendil: Enjoys shark as a child, before Morgoth’s seeping rot builds up dangerously in local bioaccumulators. Likes fennel in Sirion and the sea buckthorn that grows near his lady’s tower across the waves.

Elros: Seafood is a steady source of protein for an establishing society. Once they have the stores to use their sheep for meat as well as wool though? He’s your king for mutton in almond milk.

[isilwhore]

@silmsmutweek Day Four

Painplay, dom/sub, toys and props, humor/crack (well I think it could be funny)

Haleth shows Caranthir who is in charge, under the cut:

The aftermath 🥰

[honeyimissjoo]

would you mind giving some pointers for people who want to learn how to make gifs (and are completely clueless)? ❤️

hello, thank you for the ask ❤️

tl;dr - used these two (guide for beginners & how to make hq gifs) great tutorials to learn but more under the cut.

i'm not quite sure why after seeing my gifs you thought "yeah, that's the one", but thank you and sorry if i misled you into somehow thinking i know what i'm doing. instead of me blindly leading you down the wrong path, here is a list of tutorials and sources that helped me:

Getting Started - 1) if you don't have ps, photopea is a great website equivalent. if you want a cracked version of ps for mac or pc, dm me and ill give a link. 2) I used screen recorder pro to capture video or if I'm super lazy, I just use the screen record function on my android phone. Either one doesn't give you the highest quality, which might bother you in the long run. There are other ways though. @kylos created this tutorial on how to download HQ videos and i think vapoursynth is quite popular amongst kpop gifmakers. 3) @usergif compiles a lot of tutorials.

Tutorials -

@saw-x - guide for beginners.

@f1-stuff - how to make hq gifs.

@quokki - full process

@jasonkelce - how to gif (very informative post and includes other tutorials)

@woozis - pretty comprehensive process + sharpening + contouring

@anya-chalotra - sizing and sharpening

@haleths - sharpening

@userdramas - sharpening

@jeonghan-yoons colouring

quokki's - colouring

@rotatemp3 - colouring

usergif's - what format to save

CC community has been super helpful and nice. I'm sure if you ask any gif-maker they can help you out with more tips and pointers. My only tip really is to have fun. hope that helps ❤️🍉

[arofili]

if you're still taking prompts:

Elrond/Erestor/Celebrimbor, 33 (“Forget me.”) - Autumn or winter, maybe a last farewell before the fall of Eregion? (could also be gen or queerplatonic if you'd prefer)

I hc Erestor as Caranthir/Haleth's son, include that as you'd like :) (I also usually hc Elrond as fairly Feanorian, but again, you don't need to include that if you'd rather not)

<3

~ maglor-my-beloved

Forget me, Celebrimbor’s letter had urged. Leave me behind, let me die...

As if they could do that. As if they could simply forget all their love for him, all the nights spent together, all the history they shared!

“You know we cannot win this fight,” Erestor said wearily.

Elrond set his teeth as he donned his helmet, the last of his armor before the march. “I know,” he said shortly. “But you know we cannot abandon him.”

“I know.” Erestor grasped his gauntleted arm. Even through the armor, Elrond could feel the strength of his grip, almost as firm as Celebrimbor’s own. “But—but we will lose him, Elrond. You must be prepared to retreat when it is time.”

Elrond wrenched his arm from Erestor’s grasp. “We don’t know that,” he growled. “We can save him, if we try—”

“This is war,” Erestor said. He was older than Elrond: he knew the odds. He remembered the long and bitter days of siege, of blood, of destruction.

Well, Elrond had lived through war, also. He was born into it, had come of age into it. And he was not powerless, not anymore.

“I will fight for him,” he insisted. “To the very—”

“Don’t,” Erestor begged, his voice cracking. “Elrond. I cannot lose you too.”

“You won’t lose either of us,” Elrond insisted. He had no time for this. “Now come, or don’t. Either way, there is a war to win, and I will not wait until it reaches us.”

He turned and began to stride away.

Erestor followed. He always did.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Heartbeat

@elentarial I know, I know...I said I'd write cute things, but this one came out a bit...sad (not too much, just a little).

I hope you'll like it nevertheless <3

Characters: Caranthir x Haleth

Words: 1 682

Warnings: a dash of sadness, Caranthir might also be going insane...who knows?

Even though she had left these lands so long ago, Caranthir still retained the echo of her heartbeat as if the very rhythm had been engraved into his heart.

Indeed, it truly felt as if a bone needle was scratching along the shallow grooves in his soul, leaving it raw and bleeding—it hurt, but he welcomed the ache with perverse eagerness.

He would walk the perimeter of his realm stubbornly, every step punctuated by a sharp, piercing pang of painful recollection.

If this was the only physical thing he could retain, he would more than bear it—he would embrace every thrum of that remote heart that had once been his to have and to hold.

The downside of having nearly perfect recall was indeed that—try as he might—he could never forget the alluring, crooked curve of Haleth’s smile and the smell of her hair whenever she had come home through the verdant fields of grain.

Everywhere he looked, he discerned the tiny changes her presence in his lands—no matter for how short a time—had caused, and it fairly broke his heart to know that she was now so far away from him, never to return.

In his innate arrogance, he had once firmly believed that the Aftercomers would simply pass through his life like the seasons—transitory and fragile—without leaving any long-lasting traces. How woefully wrong he had been!

She was in everything he did, vestiges of her taste lingered in every cup of wine, and remnants of the silk of her skin were woven into the threads of his sober bedsheets—and, of course, he could always feel her heartbeat within his hollow chest like a dirge still.

It was a strong, indomitable rhythm that kept his own from stuttering, and—despite the relentless agony—he was thankful for that.

“Moryo, how have you been?”

He could barely hear the words of his brothers—rougher and throatier now than in their youth—over the steady drum of his longing, and he was grateful that his closed expression and cold gaze were not considered to be uncharacteristic or even alarming.

She would have known, he thought, of course, she would have, and she would have mocked and teased him until the mask of aloof indifference cracked under the onslaught of her playful affection.

Did anybody else remember that? Did they even know? Had she shown that tender, vulnerable, bewitchingly girlish side of herself to others?

Probably not—she had ever been a fierce leader and a fearless warrior. Her people had needed her to be strong and decisive, but her childhood had been so recent—at least by Elven standards—that this ethereal chrysalis had still clung to her tough, weathered skin, and he had relished in those precious threads of innocence that gleamed like the lost light of the trees and tasted like redemption when he kissed her lips.

Again, he cursed the well of memories in which every interaction they had ever had was preserved in a crystalline shrine of frozen tears.

As he meticulously checked and mended his armour and weapons, his distracted gaze fell onto the long, pale fingers that had once traced every scar on her body, reading the story of her life from the living vellum that had been but a poor protection against the cruelty of the world.

Through her bright eyes—warm as autumn and yet often hard as the earth in winter—he had caught glimpses of her whole life. It had been so woefully short, and yet she had known things he had never even thought about.

In her arms, he had discovered rapture and delight beyond the satisfaction that followed a well-prepared banquet, or the enjoyment his brother’s songs could elicit.

She had been brave and wild—unlike the lethal ferocity negligently papered over by courteous manners of his kinswomen, Haleth’s savagery had been as bare and bleak as her camp, but it had also followed very strict moral rules that had often struck him as absurd.

Now, with the wisdom only distance and regret could bring, he could appreciate her reasoning better, even though he would still not have claimed that he was able to fully comprehend what profound knowledge had ultimately moved her.

They had shared so much—their time, their food, and their bodies—and yet her heart had ever remained enchanting and mysterious to him.

Sometimes, he believed that they had simply existed on different planes, patently and irrevocably unable to divine what the other saw when looking at a tree, a house, or a child.

“Stop. Being. Morose!” the ghostly heartbeat jolting through his chest seemed to spell out. She had ever seen hope and growth where he could only discern imminent doom and inescapable death, and he missed having her warm hand settle into the crook of his elbow to guide him along an invisible path of wonder and amazement.

Late at night, when sleep would not come to him—proving that even the Fëanturi had deserted them—Caranthir sometimes wondered if she ever thought of him.

Did she think back on the way her words made his sour grimace of displeasure and learned reluctance melt into tentative curiosity?

Had she ever plunged her hands between her strong thighs and caressed her ageing body while thinking of his ever-young fingers?

Since she had left to find peace and freedom somewhere else, he had exchanged the silk and velvet of hopeless courtship against bright, cold steel—there was a strange solace in that as well, for he was not sure that he’d ever be able to bear warmth again without having to stifle the angry sobs he had thought he had left in his past, along with storybooks and wooden toys.

One day, as he was riding to an outpost, the familiar thumping in his breast quickened until it reached a thundering crescendo.

Worry turned into wonder as this strange and yet so beloved pounding suddenly gained an echo; at first, it was faint and faltering, but—by the time Caranthir was back in his rooms—it had grown stronger and more regular already.

He knew not what had happened to Haleth, and he dared not hope that his wildest dreams and most secret aspirations could have come true.

The impuissant anger, intertwined with ferocious hopefulness, made his knees buckle, and he fell to the floor beside his bed, his fingers clawing at the accursed bedsheets frantically.

She would not have withheld such a thing from him, he told himself. She could not have carried off his last chance at redemption, this ultimate, absolute glimmer of hope, without letting him know that she was with child.

“I wanted to go. You would have kept me. You would have begged. You would have cried. You would have threatened. Understand. Forgive.”

Listening to the threefold, erratic cacophony of cymbals and drums in his chest, he let his head drop to the hard, unyielding mattress and wept.

Of course, she would have done as she thought best—she always had—and all the love she might have at one time held for him would not have moved her to reconsider her plans.

From that day on, Caranthir embraced the agony, sending waves of white-hot sparks through his body, with grim fatalism. If not even she, who had loved him, had been ready to grant him mercy and succour, then he was truly lost.

He gritted his teeth, visited his siblings and cousins, and kept his armour spotless, all while being torn apart from the inside out.

Returning to a state of timeless apathy, he might have looked like the perfect embodiment of his race and status to the uninformed outsider, but those who knew him well grew increasingly preoccupied with how withdrawn and sombre he had become.

Years and decades passed him by unheeded, harsh winters melted into fleeting summers, and he tried to drown out the nagging awareness of the respective waxing and waning of the heartbeats of people who had deserted him—the family that had been denied to him, the bliss he had not deserved—by furious industry.

At all times, he kept his hands busy and his doors open. The milling servants and soldiers with their inconsequential gossip and babbling produced a wonderfully lulling buzz that almost distracted him from the gaping, throbbing hole inside of him.

Little by little, even his own staff and kin came to find him shrewd and vaguely menacing; he would stalk the halls, unmindful of the noise and the cold, because he coveted the brouhaha of liveliness and joy. In a way, it made him feel less lonely and rejected, even though he knew that he was ever just an outsider, looking in on a celebration to which he had not been invited.

Beyond his private grief, he was furthermore bound and compelled by the oath he had sworn and the loyalty he owed his siblings.

Caranthir was just rereading a missive his oldest brother had sent when a vicious pang of compounded pain lanced through him—he shrieked and raised his trembling hand to his convulsing chest.

The heartbeat that had accompanied, comforted, and tortured him for so many years slowed, picked up again—racing like a horse in flight—and then stumbled over an unfathomable obstacle.

Not daring to draw breath, Caranthir waited, listening to the frantic echo of that other pulse—strong and frenzied—as he stared, unseeing, down at the neat letters that seemed to swim around the page all of a sudden.

He had never heard a silence like this—final, devastating, and condemning.

Haleth was no more, and he’d never lay eyes on her fair face or hear her raucous, loud guffaw again.

Haleth was gone, and their child—whom he had never met—would be an orphan before long.

“Send word to my brother,” he barked, not recognising the broken voice of a walking corpse pouring from his lips like blood. “Tell him that I am on my way; I have nothing to lose anymore.”

Thank you so much for reading <3

-> Masterlist for November (by @cilil)

[noamuth]

Repayment

@roquenxnar

Dalamus holds the newest cabochon between his fingers, feeling for any unevenness, and turns it in the light to look for scratches. It is immaculate, if he were to say so himself. And he would. Surely, this will suffice.

Although his business is with Haleth alone, Dalamus decides to play it safe and approach Belthan, himself, first. The old drow is clearly protective of her, as he should be.

"I have need to see Haleth, as I have repayment for the stones she offered me." As proof, he shows his hand. Within it is a teardrop shaped cabochon of red agate, barely larger than the end of his thumb. Browns and oranges and reds are separated into cells by a deep red lines, like plates of cracked earth, while two bands of white circle its ends.