#have a soft spot for Maedhros

[molteasee]

Silmarillion Noldor Kings summed up pretty accurately 😂

Fëanor

Maehdros

Fingon (imo the last of the great kings)

Fingolfin

Maglor

Finwë

Turgon

Gil-Galad

Elrond

[peasant-player]

I love everything about this post!!

I had a own Head Canon of finwe having the wildest apologize or reasons to need to wisk away a grandchild. He is that kind of grandpa that comes babysitting unprompted.

Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin loved all their nephews and nieces I take no argument. They showed it in different ways, but there were never any malicious thoughts towards them.

Any competition they had was between each other (though Finarfin was very much youngest sibling literally cba to deal with his older brothers.)

Fëanor: Always has too much food, used to his kids bringing over their respective favourite cousin for a meal because they were out playing too late and he’s not exactly going to send a child home hungry. As they got older it was because they’d been out and this was the closest place to disappear away to and crash. He’s used to seeing various kids sprawled across the carpet in the living room, waking up with headaches and groans. He’ll never admit it, but he finds it hilarious and enjoys seeing the children happy. If his brothers ask? ‘What do you mean they were out, I’ve had your children here with me all night.’

Fingolfin: One day I’ll stop linking this post but I really like how it turned out so you get to see it again! Fingolfin happily lets them traverse his house, go through his belongings. He’s very much a partner in crime, helping them sneak around, acting as lookout. Pretending not to see a majority of sweet pasties disappear overnight. He lives closest to the busy parts of the city, so it’s not unusual for the kids to get ready at his house if they’re going out anywhere or even preparing for Court. Most of the kids have their own shared room, and they’re full to the brim of everyone’s clothes, jewellery, shoes. Essentially a whole wardrobe. It gets messy, but he loves seeing his house full of life. Even if he could do without the mess Tyeko and Iressë bring in… and the various musicals at 3am. ‘You know we never tire of having you here… but perhaps you could tone down the partying? Just a little?’ He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finarfin: My guy ofc has his house by the sea which like Fingolfin’s, has many many rooms full to the brim with clothes and jewellery. It’s essentially a home away from home for his niece and nephews, they don’t have to pack because everything’s already there. As youngest uncle and closest in age, he’ll just so happen to tell the kids where to have fun. He had the least pressure on him growing up and knows the best places in Tirion and Alqualondë. Going to Finarfin’s is like going on holiday, he’ll back them up and make sure they can do what they want without worrying about their reputations as princes and princesses. ‘The kids are far too stressed and don’t get to come here often, brothers. Let them have their fun. I’ll take care of them.’

Bonus!

Finwë: The mastermind. The accomplice. The alibi. He has a wild side to him born in Cuivienen and honed over the Great Journey. Court life is too stuffy even for him sometimes, let alone his grandchildren. He’s the one telling them all the wild things he got up to in his youth with a wink at the end subtly telling them how to do things their parents definitely would not approve of. High King Finwë would never! High King Finwë definitely would, and he’s making sure his grandkids get the experience too. He’s the one who gets the parents to leave for weeks at a time and his grandchildren have the time of their lives. ‘My sons, you worry too much! Don’t you trust your father?’

[doodle-pops]

Think You Can Warm Me Up

[Elves and Cockwarming x reader]

Request: What elves do you think would like cock-warming? - anon

A/N: This was a lot of elves to think for since I've added more over the months gone by. Enjoy!!!

Warning: smut, cockwarming

More: Brat Taming

Loves it – sometimes when they’re too busy to have sex with you but you want to feel them, they’ll suggest you sit on their lap, only to feel them raising your body slightly to slide themselves into you. When you lift your hips to move, their hands will be planted firmly on your waist with a stern look on their faces warning you to stay still. They’ll keep their hands on your waist, using it to pull you closer to rest against their chest and hold you down. Some use it for punishment when your bratty side comes out. They’ll rile you up by making out with you, having you grind on them feeling as though you two are about to have sex, but then when you’re about to ride them, they’ll lean in to whisper, “Not so fast love, no moving, sit right there and stay still or I’ll leave you empty. You thought I’d just give in and give you what you wanted, my poor confused little one” Other times, they’d use it to literally warm themselves up. When you two are relaxing as such, they’d throw the suggestion out to you and once you agree, the two of you will just be lounging about with their cock buried in you, staying warm. There are times you’ve fallen asleep with them buried in you. “You feel so warm and tight love, stop shifting so much, just stay still. This feels good, now we can cuddle.”

MAEDHROS, Maglor, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, FINGON, Finarfin, FINROD, AEGNOR, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, BELEG, Rog, Elrond

Hates it – the first time you suggest the act, they were down to try it, but once you sank your warm hole onto their cock, it was over for them. Their hands would immediately shoot out to grab your waist, urging you to move but you’ll simply push it away and lean into their chest informing them that you’re not supposed to move. “It’s called cockwarming for a reason. Now stay still. Don’t get mad, remember you agreed to this, so sit and enjoy it.” This was absolute torture for them, they couldn’t take it anymore. Knowing that if they moved their hips right then, you’d probably hop off and that wasn’t part of their plan. Waiting till you were settled in and comfortable, with ease, their hands would sneak around your waist holding you firmly to their chest and without any warning, begin thrusting into you. You’d admit that this was not how you planned the session to go but with the way the tip of their cock was brushing against your soft spot, your moans gave it away. Now whenever you suggest it to them, they’d smile at you saying that they’ll behave, only to abuse your heat as soon as you sink down on their cock. The longest they’ve ever lasted was five seconds. “If you really thought I’d sit through all that torture, you’re absolutely wrong. Now be a good girl/boy and enjoy my cock.”

FEANOR, CELEGORM, Curufin, Turgon, ARGON, ANGROD, EGALMOTH, ECTHELION, MAEGLIN, ELLADAN

Mixed feelings – one minute it’s torture for them the other it’s blissful. It just all depends on their mood not so much yours. If they’re tired and just want to be warmed or you want to feel them, they’d let you go ahead without interrupting you. They’d simply wrap their arms around you and pull you in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and drifting off to sleep. Other times it’s when they’re busy doing paperwork and could do with a little relief. Letting you sit on their lap with the table hiding their cock buried deep in your heat, they’d let you lean into them so they could continue their work. “This feels good, didn’t think I’d be needing this, but after I’m finished here, I’d bend you over this table for a good fuck, hmm.” When you’re teasing them all day and acting up and then decide it’s time to kick it up a notch by making them feel you were about to ride them after your tedious torture only to sit still on their cock, now you’re just asking for it. They’d be grinding their teeth the entire time when you tell them not to move while pretending to do something important, informing them that when you’re finished then you two can go at it, they’re not going to listen, not when you were suffocating their cock. They wouldn’t care at that point, so say goodbye to whatever it was that you were doing. “Don’t you think this is a little too much love, don’t you think this has gone on for too long because I think so as well. How about we change that by having me fuck you, now.”

Maedhros, MAGLOR, CARANTHIR, Amrod, Fingolfin, FINGON, TURGON, FINARFIN, Finrod, AEGNOR, Glorfindel, GALDOR, Egalmoth, ROG, ERESTOR

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @lilmelily

[thesummerestsolstice]

In my post about the strange residents of Rivendell, I mentioned a Feanorian die-hard and an old bodyguard of Thingol. I recently hit a thousand reblogs– which is amazing! So in honor of that, I'm writing their stories out. This is part one, I'll get the rest out over the next couple days.

The Feanorian Die-hard: Hrivossa

Maedhros' right hand at Himring, a dedicated captain with an axe and a burning hatred of Morgoth

Laiquendi former thrall, captured during the First Battle of Beleriand; when the Laiquendi king Denethor was killed

Was refused entry to Doriath after escaping from Angband– at this point, most escaped prisoners were thought to be sleeper agents sent to get information for Morgoth

Wandered for the next few years, mostly alone, occasionally finding Elvish towns that feared her because of the marks of Morgoth's torture and thought her one of his puppets

Ended up stumbling across one of Maedhros's orc hunting parties in the Early First Age, and jumped at the chance to actually fight Morgoth

Maedhros was also one of the only lords willing to help former thralls at that point; he gaze Hrivossa a new home and purpose, fighting alongside him against their shared tormentor

It's not hard to understand why she became so loyal to the Feanorian cause

This is also when she took the Quenya name Hrivossa, "winter wall," because she was as frigid and unbreakable as Himring's walls

(her original Nandor name is mostly for her close friends)

Between Denethor's death and hiding in Doriath with Melian instead of doing anything about Morgoth, Hrivossa absolutely hates Thingol

She's generally a cold person around strangers, but she warms up around her friends, and her wits and tongue are as sharp as her sword

Part of the general morbid humor culture that built up in First Age Himring

She does not have a soft spot for the Sindar claiming that the Silmaril belongs to them now

She does have a noticeable soft spot for small half-elves who keep pestering her for stories about what life was like in Beleriand before the sun and moon

She fought with Maedhros until the bloody, bitter end, being forcefully brought into the custody of Valinor's forces late in the War of Wrath

She was the leader of the Feanorian faction who chose not to submit to the Valar's judgement, or to willingly go to Aman to do penance

They generally made themselves trouble while in custody

To avoid any more ugly conflict, Elrond eventually took responsibility for this faction, becoming their lord (though Elrond did NOT become Lord of the House of Feanor) and promising to keep them from committing any more violent acts

Hrivossa and the others, all of whom had lived in Amon Ereb and helped raised Elrond, found this agreeable

All of these elves are still very much see Elrond as their Lords' child, who must be protected at all costs, so there's that

And that is the story of how Elrond became responsible for the remaining Feanorians, but only the really fucked up ones

Seriously, they don't do any other murders, but they do cause all sorts of other trouble

Also, how Elrond inherited one (1) extremely determined bodyguard

[the-elusive-soleil]

let future historians wonder

For @maedhrosmaglorweek Day 4: Heroism/Villainy Prompt: With Elrond and Elros

Maglor is, at least by reputation, the greatest poet and bard of the Noldor, and the son of one of his people’s greatest linguists. His wordsmithing should be second to none. And yet he finds that he has no words for the softness, the peace, on Maedhros’ face when he is with the peredhil twins.

His elder brother forged himself into a blade after his captivity, and Maglor did not see anything resembling vulnerability from him since, good or bad. It had stung, at first, to be kept at a distance from the one he had once accounted himself closest to, but after a while he had convinced himself that there was no distance, after all. That this was simply who Maedhros was now, and there was no well of stronger emotion being hidden from Maglor or from the world at large.

But now he watches as Maedhros runs a brush through Elrond’s hair, then carefully instructs Elros in how to weave the braids that he can no longer manage himself, and thinks that perhaps this was only sleeping, not dead or gone. He would be angry at himself for not trying harder, not managing to thaw Maedhros out himself, but he rather suspects that this, like so many turns of their fortunes of late, is something that could only have happened in the strange bend that the world seems to make for these two children and their happiness.

Elrond spots him hovering in the doorway, and smiles and beckons. “Atya! Come sit with us!”

Maglor does, taking up a spot beside and just behind Elros to braid his hair. He keeps it shorter than Elrond’s lately, so Maglor suspects he’ll soon run out and end up playing with Maedhros’ hair instead.

He won’t put this into the songs and tales that he makes of this age, he thinks to himself--the soft hair between his fingers, Maedhros’ shoulder warm where it brushes his and the rasp of his voice with Elrond’s melodic answer. Let future historians wonder about the time that the twins spent with the feared Fëanorian kinslayers. They don’t have a right to these moments, to the love woven through them, to Maedhros’ shell cracking open.

These moments can be just for them.

[whovianofmidgard]

Summary: Finrod and Maedhros talk about their experiences with Sauron. Not of the torture and pain he inflicted on them, but instead of how much of a preening, narcissistic peackock he was, always going on about how beautiful he was. Celebrimbor and Maeglin join in on the gossip.

Inspired by this post by @inthehouseoffinwe

Snippet:

The Gardens are a place of healing and tranquillity, a transition for the newly re-embodied between Death and Life. There is quiet, but not the lack of all sound that forces a fëa to fill it with thoughts of contemplation like in the Halls. It is the quiet of nature, where the breeze gently rustles the canopy of leaves, where the slow flowing stream trickles along the bend, where the bees buzz about the pastel petalled flowers. A quiet filled with life, a quiet that is peaceful.     

"So..." Finrod, a visitor to the Gardens, one re-embodied long ago and in no urgent need of healing, breaks the silence.   

"So..." Maedhros, newly released from the Halls and still reacquainting himself with his new hröa, rumbles back in answer.   

A short pause, where they allow a red robin to say his piece as he flitters by, and the two elves size each other up. Finrod is bright eyed, his golden hair shimmering in the scattered beams of sunlight filtering through the leaves. He is a riot of colours, of expensive fabrics and jewels, smiling comfortably and perfectly settled in his skin, a paragon of joviality, just as Maedhros remembers him from his youth. There is the silver outline of a large lupine bite mark across his exposed throat.   

Maedhros' eyes are no longer dark and haunted, though neither light with innocence like in his youth. His hair is neither sparkling copper wire, nor a fountain of red blood, but the in-between that turns out to be the fluffy orange coat of a fox. He is getting used to his soul being clothed in flesh again, the breeze lightly caressing his unmarred skin, the smooth stump of his still missing right hand absently running through the soft grass he sits on.   

"Sauron, right?" Maedhros dips his toes into the murky waters of what some would consider a fraught topic of conversation.   

Finrod raises a curious brow but grins nonetheless. "Sauron, indeed."   

Maedhros sagely nods, and in a grave tone he declares, "What a pompous ass."   

"Eru Ever-loving! I know right?!" Finrod throws his head back as he cries out. "He was such an insufferable peacock!"   

"Always strutting about the dingy dungeon corridors like he was on the latest Vanyar fashion exhibit," Maedhros complains.   

"Yes!" Finrod exclaims. "Like every time he came down to our prison cell, he was wearing something different. Flowing robes, black silk dresses, giant fur coats, a full set of armour..."   

"Jewel encrusted layered skirts, gold embroidered mantle with a ten feet train behind him, lace tunic that left so little to the imagination he might as well have walked around completely bare chested..." Maedhros lists off.   

Finrod leans in, an almost manic glint in his eye, and regardless of their perfectly secluded spot in the Gardens, he drops his voice to a whisper like all the old Tirion gossips do at dinner parties.   

"Once he passed the cell I shared with Beren twice in less than an hour, and he was wearing two entirely different outfits both times."   

"Nooo," the eldest son of Fëanor gasps in mock disbelief, barely containing the delighted toothy grin that wants to break out across his face.   

"Yes, he did!" Finrod cries. Then continues, "I will never forget the loud echoing sound of his clip-clopping steps as he marched down the stairs in his..."   

"...stupid twelve-inch high heeled steel boots," they both say at the same time before dissolving into tittering laughter like a pair of old mortal ladies. 

Read the rest on Ao3

[ruiniel]

Kiss prompt 30 with Maedhros and female or gender neutral reader, he's such a tragic character and I love it

Aw, my favorite kinslayer... here's a short with a human!attendant reader, implied established relationship, Himring era, Maedhros being a tad insecure

Here for you

The drafty corridors of Himring fortress resound with your steps as you wander, summoning your gall and clutching the sense of boneless ease still present from that first sight of the company beyond the battlements. You saw him riding fast from afar, plied against his mount as skewed winds whipped his hair around his face; a flame, in the grey light of day.

Sometime later, you’re slipping through the heavy door without even knocking, unannounced, unheeded; for that one moment, you forget yourself and freeze to the spot.

He is seated on his bed. Warm, scented steam weaves inside the room from the bath chamber. 

Your eyes meet. His wavy auburn locks are heavy and dark, plastered to his face, falling in tendrils down his loose, blood-red tunic. 

There is raw confusion on his face, but the ruler of Himring, renowned diplomat and prince of his people, is not easily pressed at a disadvantage. You know it by the way his tired gaze changes as he stares back at you. 

“You’ve returned… earlier.” You spell the obvious, feeling shameless in your boldness, and unnerved at being the first to speak. Your legs are slow to shuffle towards him, and your relief turns near-delirious the closer you are.

He leans on his good arm, his features unreadable in the dim light of the candles. He always chooses low lighting for his chambers, and though he rarely shows it these days, you wonder at the prevalent changes brought on by his torment long ago. Your eyes unwittingly follow the shine of his mithril hand, the smooth, gleaming metal fingers splayed so lifelike over his thigh. A work of art and utility. A gift he rarely uses, deeming it an unnecessary addition and cumbersome in battle. But this time, he’d chosen to wear it.

“We were fortunate,” Maedhros answers, keenly following your approach, watching as you kneel before him on the floor. “I tried not to ruin your handiwork too much,” he says, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees as he watches you.

A smile strives to your face, remembering all the times he came to you slashed, cut, poisoned even, and you’d sicken with worry and never had your hands worked so eagerly, nor so carefully. Now, you barely keep from rising and tackling him into his fur-covered bed, steeling yourself into some manner of patience as you rise. Your throat is tight, your voice small. “You should have called for me.” It was your duty, after all, to help him, though he minds himself easily nowadays. Perhaps you simply fear he will not need you anymore; at least, you catch the unworthy lash of such thoughts and send them from your mind.

He sighs. “I was about to.” He straightens. “But not for this,” he gestures to the clothing effects scattered around him, then meets your stare, frowning. His throat bobs as he swallows; you’d give anything, anything, to know what he sees.

He falls silent as you near close enough to stand between his long legs; your hands alight on his shoulders as his head tilts back, grey eyes riveted on you.

Your fingers are slow to tangle in his hair, delighted at the softness brushing your skin. Real; he feels so real, not a figment of your fancy. “You must be spent,” you say, knuckles lightly grazing his cheek, tracing the wild scar curving low along his face, ending at his upper lip. You burn to know more but as his eyes close and the lines of tension smoothen on his face, it becomes clear this is not the time for it; later.

“We did not stop to rest,” he concurs, now gazing at you through slits of dark storm as your fingers thread through his hair. “... only where needed.” He raises his hand, and you feel the hesitant pressure on your side, his warm fingers digging into the material of your robe. “...to tend to the horses…” he mouths absently.

His breath hitches as you bend to place a soft, lingering kiss on his brow. You try your hardest to stay a primal shiver, warring between concern for his well-being and ravenous selfishness. He smells of the lavender-scented oil he uses to soothe his nerves and aid his rest. “Shall I help with your garments, my lord?” you croak, asking the same question you’d posed the very first time you met Maedhros Fëanorion, as his healer and attendant. 

“Yes,” he says, undaunted. “Please.”

Kneeling again, you reach for the fastenings of his collar, undoing them one by one, studying him as you go, tracing the memories linked with yours. The scar cutting his right brow; the one across his lips, sketched down to his chin; they never healed, and you dare not dwell on the stories behind them. His lower lip is plumper than the upper one, and he has a habit of gnawing on it, as he is doing now.

“Why are you grinning?” he asks, legs slowly closing around you so you’re trapped, your hip bones against the hard flesh of his inner thighs; a long, calloused hand finds your cheek as you undo the last clasp on his tunic. 

“You’re beautiful.” You touch more skin, smiling at the freckles pressed like wreaths in the dearest of places. Your lips part as his left pectoral tenses beneath your hand, and he is already working on the sash at your middle; the movement hastier than you’re used to from him.

“You need not say such things to me,” he murmurs, leaning forward so his face is pressed into you when the sash comes undone. 

You shudder at the touch of metal fingers tracing your bare back, the cold melding with the warmth of his mouth and you want him for more—but he mistakes your reaction for something else. You know it the moment he breaks away and looks at you with resignation and regret; when his hand falls to his side and he averts his eyes. 

You lean forward, nose brushing against his, then press your lips to his cheek. “Remove it,” you whisper, clutching at him in earnest and staring into the shining, jet-black centers of his eyes. “Please.” 

His forearm flexes when your fingers alight on the clasps keeping the prosthetic attached to his wrist, and he gifts you a weary smile as he meets your eyes again. “... All right.”

prompt list

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober day 5: Heatstroke

Elrond gets heatstroke, Gil-galad is worried (even if he's bad at showing it, or maybe Elrond's just bad at picking up on it).

-

Elrond leant against the wall for just a moment, tipping his head back and savouring the coolness of the stone. Unfortunately, this reprieve is short lasting, as a stressed looking elf taps his shoulder and informs him that the High King has requested his presence.

Elrond bit his tongue and thanked them, continuing on his way to Gil-galad's chambers. It is not a long walk, but with the oppressive heat that has settled over Lindon the past few days, it feels as though it takes hours. Most of the elves seem to be minimally affected, so Elrond attributes his current state to his peredhel origin.

He nearly stumbles as the guards open the doors for him, managing to right himself at the last moment as he enters the room, doors shutting behind him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and approached the High King at his desk, breathing slowly and deeply as a wave of nausea strikes him.

"High King, you requested my presence?" Elrond says as he steps to the side of Gil-galad. His voice comes out unsteady, and he swallows back the embarrassment and clears his throat. Gil-galad looks over at him, narrowing his eyes as his gaze sweeps down Elrond's form.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and he swayed on his feet, blinking rapidly to clear the dark spots from his vision. He barely had the sense to excuse himself before he turned around, grabbed the waste paper basket next to the desk, and emptied his stomach.

He hears Gil-galad stand, and feels more than sees his approach. He cannot help the flinch he makes when a hand settles on the back of his hand. The nausea has passed now, so he slowly rights himself and looks up, through his eye lashes, as Gil-galad. He's certain his face is flushed, if not from the heat than from the embarrassment.

"I- I apologize, High King." Elrond mumbles out, voice hoarse and trembling. With a frown, Gil-galad reaches out and places a hand on his forehead. Elrond leans into the touch, which is cold and soothing, and makes him think of Maedhros. The room spins around him, so he shuts his eyes, whimpering softly as the vertigo continues.

"Hush now, Elrond." Gil-galad says sternly, but with a soft voice. The hand leaves his head and Elrond opens his eyes again, chasing after it. Hands on his wrists gently lead him to the bed, and into it. Elrond protests, but the half-formed argument and mumbled words have no effect as Gil-galad lays him down, and firmly tells him, "Stay put." Before leaving the room with a stormy look on his face.

Immediately, Elrond is conflicted, because Gil-galad told him to stay put, but he also has tasks to complete, tasks assigned to him by the High King that cannot wait for Elrond to finish resting before being done. He sits up, from laying down, and closes his eyes until the vertigo ceases. It is a painfully slow maneuver, but eventually Elrond is back on his feet.

He hardly manages a step before his vision darkens completely and there is a soft thud as he hits the ground.

-

Elrond wakes slowly, grimacing at the throbbing pain in his head. He squints at the light, recognising his position in the halls of healing. Gil-galad is seated to his left, reading, and looks over as Elrond sits up. "High King," Elrond greets, surprised, because surely Gil-galad has more important things than to sit at the bedside of his faulty herald. He opens his mouth to say more, but silences himself when Gil-galad raises a finger and closes his book.

"How do you feel?" He asks, giving Elrond his full attention, which is as nerve wracking as it is flattering. He wonders, briefly, if he is about to be fired, and that is why Gil-galad has waited for him to wake.

"I am well, High King. But I-"

"You collapsed in my chambers due to the heat, or so I've been told by the healers. Until the heat wave has ended, you are not to do any strenuous activity."

"High King-" Elrond swallows, looking away for a moment to collect his thoughts. "What are my tasks, than?" He asks, instead of pleading with Gil-galad to forgive him for the disruption of the day. He will earn back the trust of being Gil-galad's herald in time, he is certain, but he must cooperate for now.

"You will work in the library, Camnir will assist you in getting settled. I must return to my duties, but I do hope you feel better soon, Elrond."

Elrond sits back in the bed, allowing for the healers to come over and check him over. He noticed them, during his discussion with Gil-galad, and now that it is over he must suffer through being looked over. He is unsure if he has met Camnir before, the name doesn't sound familiar, but he is excited nonetheless.

[lovefairymina]

(Might be a small look into a future fic)

It was dark again. Maedhros failed to see through the darkness, but he did not need his sight to know he was back in his cell again, feeling the sharp stones cutting against his skin, and the cold that threatened to chill him to the bone. There was no warmth or cover for the wounds scattered on his skin. 

The loud noise jumped his ears, making his heart race and scared at the thought of his tormentors returning to finish what they had started. 

He noticed something moving in the shadows, and he could not tell if they were real or specters to make him paranoid. 

The sound of a baby’s cry echoed in the dungeons, and suddenly he found himself awake. 

Maedhros felt his heart pound against his chest as he lay on the soft cushions and stared at an empty spot in his tent. The candle he asked to be lit was still burning on the nightstand, giving light and banishing the dark. He would have once thought that fearing the dark was a silly fear but now having a candle was the only thing that allowed him some sense of comfort and security. 

Maedhros’s ears perked when he heard the familiar cry of the infant from his dream, and his mind returned to you and your daughter. 

It had not been long since you two escaped Angband. Despite the complications of your daughter’s sudden birth in those caverns, your confession of being a human and from another world, and the explosions you caused in order to help him escape with you, you still retained your iron will. It was perhaps for you two that he dared to accept his cousin’s help and return to his kin, so you two would have protection from Morgoth. 

Your daughter’s cries continued echoing outside his tent. He was filled with a deep sense of worry. He contemplated for a moment, but after deciding there was no harm in leaving the tent, Maedhros got up, dressed himself in light clothing, and left his tent to check on you. 

Maedhros avoided most of the guards and his brothers, knowing they would pester him to return to his tent and rest. Since your tent was not far from his, he found his way to you easily. He quietly pushed the veils aside and watched as you held your daughter, trying to soothe her but to no avail.

“Oh! Maedhros, hey!” You turned toward him when you noticed him at the entrance. “Sorry, did we wake you up?” 

Maedhros shook his head. “No, I was already awake,” he glanced toward the crying baby in your arms. “Is everything alright with Estelle?” he questioned. 

“Everything is fine. I don’t know why she keeps crying though. She doesn’t need to be cleaned and neither is she hungry. I… don’t know why, but I can’t calm her down,” you said with a helpless look. 

“Can I try?” Maedhros asked as he stepped in. 

“Sure,” you replied and handed your baby to him. 

Maedhros gently picked up Estelle, his large, scarred hands surprisingly tender as he cradled her against his chest. The little babe whined, her tiny fists clenching in protest, but soon calmed down as Maedhros softly hushed her, his voice a soothing murmur. He rocked her gently, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing providing a steady comfort. Estelle’s whimpers subsided, and she nestled closer, her small head resting against the warmth of his chest as she began to relax.

You stared at them, surprised but not shocked. Your daughter had been miraculously calm in his arms when you were hiding in that cave, exhausted after giving birth.

“Well, you are either a natural child magnet, or there is a kind of attachment between you that makes your presence a must for her,” you stated. 

A small smile tugged the corners of Maedhros’s lips. His heart filled with relief and a small amount of joy as he held your daughter.

“I guess it comes naturally once you grow up with six younger brothers,” he replied. 

You chuckled. “Having met your brothers, it wouldn't be a surprise if you had the patience of a saint,” 

You then looked at him. He still had bags under his eyes. He had been allowed to rest after you arrived at the camp, but it did not seem he was catching up with the rest he lost during his time in Angband. You were fully aware he had been seeing nightmares as you were too. 

“Did you see a nightmare again?” you asked. 

“Hmm?” Maedhros looked at you with a curious frown. 

“Was it the nightmares again that you are awake in the middle of the night?” you asked. 

He did not answer at first, but you did not need to hear the answer. It was obvious in his face. 

“If you like… you can stay here for the night,” you said. 

“I… I couldn’t possibly… “ he uttered. 

“It’s no problem for me. And besides, you are way more relaxed with Estelle around,” you motioned at the babe in his arms. “And there is a high chance she would start crying if you leave,” you said, making him release a chuckle. 

“If you don’t mind…” he said, as he sat down on the cushioned couch. 

“Not at all. If our presence can help you feel safe and rest easy, then that’s the least we can do. We did survive a literal hell,” you said as you sat down beside him and you offered a part of the blanket.

 “So… I think you can forget about everything else for the night, and just focus on the moment,” you said as you leaned your head against his shoulder as you both stared at your daughter in his arms.

Maedhros looked at you with gratitude in his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, adjusting the babe in his arms. As he settled back on the couch, he felt a rare sense of peace wash over him. “For tonight, I will,” he promised, his voice filled with quiet resolve. He glanced down at your tiny creation, then back at you, his expression softening.

[outofangband]

Realized I hadn’t provided you all with Angband era Maedhros ficlets for awhile

content warnings: dehumanization, stripping (non sexual), Morgoth is his own content warning, I had a piece awhile back about the aspects of presentation and display in both Maedhros and Húrin’s torture and this is a nod to that I guess

He wrenched his arm out of the grip of the orc attempting to pin them behind his back, ignoring the fresh burst of pain and the retaliatory smack.

Two Orcs had pulled him along, one gripping his ear so he was bent forward at an uncomfortable angle, the edges of the iron collar around his neck digging into his skin.  It could have been worse was his bitter reflection. It was not as though  refusal to cooperate could ever be left unpunished here Painful, yes, being tugged him along like a wayward child. But it was the laughter and humiliation that still caused his skin to burn. And as cruel as the journey was, whether dragged along by orcs or balrogs or other dark spirits it was the location that was so dreaded. The doors to that throne room were forever seared into his mind.

Maitimo wants to look up, to face the monster above him but every instinct is screaming at him to keep his eyes closed. He flinches minutely when the chain connected to his collar is dropped to the floor. The echos in the vast hall seem to resonate within him so he sways in place.

“Such a scene thou hast not dared to cause for some time, Nelyafinwë.” The Vala had actually rose from his throne, its voice soft and dangerous, “Far too merciful it seems I have been.” The eyes of the elf are fixed at a spot in front of him where his captor’s hand had previously rested upon the rest of his seat.

He waited in silence for several moments, acutely aware that he was being scrutinized.

The Dark Lord was inches from him now. His words were cold on the elf’s skin. “Strip. Wilt thou be so bold standing bare before me, decorated with mine own symbols?”

He has no memory of obeying. It is only when he feels the burning of shame over still healing wounds that he looks down to find himself indeed bare.

The word carved over his abdomen was plain to see and Maitimo could not say whether it was this the onlookers jeered at or this or the adornments. 

“Look where stubbornness lead thy father to,” the Vala is crooning several minutes later. He is much too close. Long spindly fingers examine his ear. A shudder runs through him and the laughter that ensues causes him to double over. Clawed nails in his hair forces him to his knees. A groan of anger escapes his chapped lips. 

...

The Dark Lord held a long chain in one of his vile hands, pulling slightly on it when the elf wearing the collar it was attached to showed signs of becoming too restless. Maitimo would be sat here for some time now, forced to endure mocking touches and the leers of the generals who visited the throne room. It was only a matter of waiting for the stubborn little elf to lash out at a hand or voice, ensuring his own punishment alongside the humiliation inherent in being constrained as a disobeying hound.

The elf glowers at him, body tensed, warring with itself

“Be a good little treasure now,” Melkor croons, “I wish for the heir of Fëanáro to look as pretty at my feet as his jewels do upon my brow.”

[theelvenhaven]

Hot and Cold

Maedhros x Reader

2.6k Words

Request: Maedhros request if you like it: reader helping Mae cope with the trauma of leaving Angband. Ie: him learning how to accept and enjoy physical and sexual attention again, in a safe environment and at whatever pace he needs to heal. There are good days where it feels like he is starting to feel comfortable in his own skin, and then there are days where he can barely meet her eyes. But she takes her time, and he takes it one day at a time.

A/N: Hey anon I hope this is what you were looking for!

* * *

Your mind wandered as you read the pages in the book, one talking of romance and love. Filled with the fictional hero and their partner reuniting after long captivity with the villain. Part of you wanted to scoff as you read it, knowing what the partner had been put through by the villain in the previous book you read. Seeing how their reunion was warm and love filled and touchy, especially from the victim. 

You couldn’t help but think of your reunion with Maitimo, and how different it had been. How it had been cold and distant, though he spoke of relief to see you and to be with you again, his actions at the time spoke more of how timid and fearful he was of being touched. No matter how gentle your touch had been, Maitimo had been apprehensive with every single touch. 

It had taken a long time to even do simple things like doing his hair, helping him up and about, holding his hand. It had been a struggle even in those moments to get him to do it for any length of time. You almost felt insulted reading this part of the book, as what the Healers described as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was nothing to play around with. Though you didn’t know if you could fault the author for being lucky to be ignorant… Unintentional or no. 

Though your mind wandered back to last night and how far Maitimo had come since that fateful day that Findekano had brought him back to Mithrim. You could still feel the warmth of his lips melding with yours, the way his hand wandered over your body and pulled you close… You shivered as you remembered the slow and tender moment of him filling you.

It was a far cry of what had been, but that didn’t mean it was like that all the time. It was one of the few tender moments you two shared with one another, with Maitimo feeling comfortable in his own skin for a change. Something that you had been carefully cultivating, with the help and instruction of both Maitimo and healers in an effort to help him heal without the help of Lorien at your aid being all the way in Beleriand now. 

You sighed as your eyes blurred trying to continue to read the words on the page, but unable too. You were too disgruntled with portrayal of the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and how they seemed to speak of it yet none of the symptoms were congruent with what you and Maitimo- especially him- had experienced. 

Gently you shut the book closed and set it down on the coffee table that was in front of you, hoping to be able to at least read it later and enjoy it after you got some sleep. It was hours past when Maitimo went to bed, so you figured now was time to join him for bed. 

Quietly you stood from your spot, exiting the study that was just down the hall from your shared chambers. To the point you could see the door, one that was shut and probably locked. You had gotten in the habit of carrying the bedroom key on you in the event that it was locked. Regularly it was as an added measure of security for Maitimo. 

You entered your shared chambers with Maitimo, with a sliver of faint lamp light shining in to find him sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He had gone to bed hours before you, or at least that was supposed to have been the case. But it was clear that it had been disturbed or he never made it to sleep. 

“Maitimo?” You asked in a soft voice, as you shut the door with a soft click, though he gave you no answer except a simple sigh leaving his lips at the sound of your voice. You patiently waited for him to acknowledge you before finally he sat up straight and looked in your direction, the look of distress was clear on his face. 

“Am I still dreaming?” He asked in a soft whisper, with distress and confusion in the tone of his voice. You began to shake your head no as you moved to approach him slowly, 

“No, Maitimo you are awake and I am very real.” You answered him honestly, knowing that he’d ask if you were real. His dreams were so vivid and imaginative there were times he couldn’t tell if it was a cruel vision from Sauron of you being present and him being home, or if he were really there. 

The Maia seemed to know his every weakness and preyed on them easily, especially when it came to you. Something Maitimo had disclosed to you, and it had explained why he had been so hesitant to get physical with you. For fear that you’d dissipate and he’d wake up from such a sweet and tender dream to just be in shackles in Sauron’s torture chamber all over again. 

Yet it was much to his relief every time you touched that you were more real than any vision he could’ve ever conjured. 

Maitimo’s heart began to speed up as you came nearer to him, pounding so loud in his ears he hardly heard your footsteps. Wondering if truly you were real despite your confirmation, it could be a trick of any kind for all he knew, especially being in this soft bed that smelled like you. Yet as he felt your hands gently touch his face, he shuddered before relaxing his tense body. 

You were indeed real and here with him. 

“You are cold, melda.” He whispered softly as your cool fingers traced over his scarred cheek and down to his jaw as you cupped his face. Maitimo leaning his head into your hand, and you hummed and shook your head. 

“No Mai, you are hot, from your nightmares I am sure.” You said gingerly, while your other hand came to rest on his shoulder as you stood between his legs. Maitimo let out a soft sound of understanding before he sighed, leaning forward and his forehead came to rest against your chest and stomach. 

Seeking out your touch for once, looking for you nonjudgmental comfort that he could gain from you. He admired your patience with him and how hot and cold he could be with affection. How some days he felt so confident, like now, to lean on you figuratively and literally, but other days… Paranoia got the better of him and everyone was his enemy. Though he pushed through such things and always kept why to himself, even though he knew you suspected why. 

Gently your hand came to cradle the back of his head gingerly, your fingers softly playing with his hair that now came to his shoulders as it had grown back in from where it had to be cut short from all the mats and tangles that had accumulated in his beautiful russet hair. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as you held him. 

“I am keeping you from sleep aren’t I?” Maitimo murmured into your robes, and you smiled some, shaking your head. 

“No. I do not mind even if you were, I am still wide awake from my book.” You confessed to him openly, and he hummed, laying against you for a moment longer. He wasn’t very heavy, the weight was coming back on him and he was filling out again. But he was still lighter than what you were used too. 

There was a long moment of silence between the two of you with Maitimo wracking his brain trying to think of something to talk about. Something that didn’t have to talk about his nightmares, even though that went against what the Healers wanted out of him. They wanted him to speak with you or to them about the happenings in his mind, yet you never pressed really. But he could tell you were growing tired of being left in the dark or disobeying the Healers when it came to these things. 

“Here why don’t you lay down, and I’ll get ready for bed and we can lay together.” You said, regretting the words as soon as they left your mouth, as you doubted he’d want to cuddle. Probably having had his fill on affection, for a moment he didn’t move. Maitimo didn’t want to part from you, but did so regardless, before he sat back in the bed. 

To keep his mind from wandering, Maitimo’s eyes followed you as you reluctantly left his side of the bed. Taking his place again but sitting up, Maitimo watched as you went to the armoire, how you stripped down and out of your robes. You were used to him watching you so intensely after such vivid nightmares, it was like his mind still didn’t trust whether or not you were real. 

You didn’t shy away as you continued to strip down to your smalls, as there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in Maitimo’s eyes. It had taken some time to adjust to his staring in moments like these but you managed too, and only continued on with your task. Maitimo thought you were utterly graceful as you slipped back into the night time trousers and shirt, doing so with ease. He didn’t envy you, despite all his clumsiness to do it all one handed. 

His pale blue eyes were still fixated on you as you approached the bed and he gingerly pulled down the duvet for you allowing you to climb into bed next to him. The silence between you two was comfortable, you had grown used to either having to fill it or being stuck with it, never making it awkward. 

The pair of you sat there together before you felt Maitimo reach over to pull you towards him, you felt your heart leap into your throat in excitement. It, again, wasn’t often he seeked out physical affection- usually letting you initiate everything. So you were quick to scoot across the bed to be right next to him. 

Both of you sliding down the headboard to lay down, and for Maitimo to pull you in towards his chest. But you hesitated, 

“Mai, do you want me to hold you?” You asked him as you sat up at an angle looking down at his face, and slowly he shook his head no at your words. 

“No, I can’t- It’s-” He faltered trying to find the right words to tell you that he didn’t feel safe. It felt terrible voicing those feelings but you only nodded your head, 

“It’s okay you don’t have to explain, I’ll lay with you.” You reassured him, knowing it wasn’t often that Maitimo got tripped up over his words. But you knew there was a method to the things he did and you suspected why, Sauron had a hand in it. If not him then Morgoth, so you didn’t argue. 

Simply laying your head on his chest and cuddling up close to him, and Maitimo didn’t shy or scoot away from you. You heard the contented that left his lips, familiar with all his non-verbal cues and reactions by now. 

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You offered up, and you felt him tense beneath you at the idea of having to tell you the horrible dreams that he had and suffered from. He didn’t like the idea of exposing to you to the terror that he went through, so slowly he shook his head no. 

“No. I don’t.” He answered you simply, and you nodded against his chest listening to his heart beating steadily. 

“They are things that I don’t want you to think about.” He whispered out softly and you nodded your head slowly against him, understanding that he was just trying to protect you. But you wished that he’d let you in, so he wasn’t shouldering so much on his own, but that Feanorian trait of stubbornness really shone through here with this. 

Again there was a silence between the two of you. You thought for a long moment about what to say, something that wouldn’t make him grow too defensive and distressed. You didn’t like to put anymore on his plate than he already had. 

“I just want to help.” You answered him gently and without an accusatory tone, and you felt him shift, before his arm around you gave you a snug squeeze. 

“I know Y/N. And you are helping, it is just… I do not want to put this on you.” Maitimo said and there was a firmness to his voice, showing that he was adamant that he didn’t want anyone else- well you- interfering with this issue. You sighed out at his words, relaxing against him knowing there was no point in arguing. Once Maitimo had set himself on a path there was no stopping him, 

“This… Doing this is easier because of you.” Maitimo said giving you another squeeze to your shoulders, and this time there was a tentative kiss pressed to the crown of your head. 

“I’ve asked enough of you and what you dedicate your time to helping me with. You don’t have to help me with everything.” Maitimo said gently to you, he wasn’t angry or upset… If anything you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt as though he was burdening you with this task of healing from Angband. Not that you’d ever look at it like that… But it seemed that might be what he was insinuating. 

“And you can keep asking for more of me Maitimo, I will help you with anything you asked me too.” You said to him softly, your hand coming to rub against his chest affectionately knowing better than to wind your arm around his waist. Knowing it made him feel trapped. 

“I know…” He whispered quietly and for a moment there was an awkward silence that fell between you. 

“But let us not dwell on such things, you are helping me now being like this with me… Thank you Y/N.” Maitimo said and you smiled softly at his words, 

“I love you, Maitimo.” You answered in return as you felt his hand begin to rub your back softly and affectionately. 

“And I.. love you Y/N.” You weren’t offended at the hesitance, you knew it took him more courage to find the will to say it than it did if he said nothing. You felt loved, and you hoped he did too, and quietly you closed your eyes savoring this moment that felt far too fleeting. But you’d soak up every second of it until you fell asleep. 

Maitimo closed his eyes, sleep still far away from him. Something he was keeping at bay, until  you fell asleep at least, so quietly he listened to the way your breathing slowed and deepened. How you stilled fully and relaxed with all your weight against him, the pressure of your body against him was welcome. 

Finally with your little shifts and sighs, Maitimo knew you were asleep and let out a breath of relief. Relieved this was real, that you were here and he was with you. Relieved that there was no more pressing about the nightmares, he loved you and could see the toll he was taking on you. 

Not dwelling on it further, finally Maitimo closed his eyes and let sleep slowly whisk him away. Content that you two were together and that he felt comfortable enough in his own skin to be with you like this. 

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

[zealouswerewolfcollector]

Hi, friend!! Is there a headcannon (maybe about Mae?) that makes you go absolutely balls to the wall feral?

Hi! Such an unexpected ask, thank you.

I'm a huge, HUGE fan of terrifying Maedhros. Especially closer to the end - third kinslaying and later. It's not even about the scars or something, just his presence - doom personified.

I'm a long-haired Maedhros truther, not only before but also after Thangorodrim. Especially after Thangorodrim. The more impractical and complicated the hairdo, the better.

Never speaks about it but he's kind of in love with Himring because he considers it the work of his hands, something he's good at besides killing orcs and elves. He put all his defiance, pain and grief in its stones.

Huge, scary armor and a big-ass sword. I'm a simple gal.

Also, I have the biggest soft spot for ace/aroace Maedhros.

And also, he was happy! For a while. Even after Angband. Despite the shadow of pain in his heart. He smiled, he laughed, he indulged in things - soft fabrics, sweets, the companionship of his loved ones. It's very important to me.

I'm sure there are a lot of things I missed, but these were what came to mind first when I read the ask.

[sallysavestheday]

Multiple Words Monday

Thanks to @thelordofgifs and @welcomingdisaster for recent tags to share a WIP excerpt. Everyone's plugging away at their Russingons, with the event week coming up! Here's a little contribution from me:

It was not that he regretted Maedhros’ sweet, fresh skin, or the loveliness of his recovered eyes. A healthy, happy Maedhros was more than he could ever have hoped for, in those dark days in Beleriand. And certainly two hands found ways to make his body sing that only one had never been able to match. But the old, fractured edges had been fierce and bright. There had been meaning in Maedhros scraping against his tenderest spots, in the long, sharp teeth he’d earned in Angband sinking in and biting down. Maedhros was all sweet caresses, now. Soft lips and gentle hands, soothing where he had always gripped, and pressed, and plunged. Mostly it was delightful, wallowing in their great bed without shame or fear. Laughing and wrestling and loving with the windows open and the breeze washing in. But sometimes Fingon wanted more.

@littlewhitemouseagain @a-tehta @melestasflight @polutrope @nothinghereisworking @tathrin would you like to share some words?

[doodle-pops]

Haunted Mischief

Elrond x reader

Warnings: 1.8k

Words: none, all fluff and humour

Synopsis: Elrond takes a moment to share how much of a festive prankster he was in his childhood days.

“Most of my childhood days around this time surrounded helping my mother in the kitchen. I had a particular knack for wanting to eat any remnants of cake batter left in the bowl,” you chuckled as the memory resurfaced. You ran off with the bowl to hide under the dining table where the tablecloth was long enough to shield you from the rest of your siblings who came searching for you. “I had to fight off my brothers and sisters so I could have the entire bowl all to myself. They would normally get back at me though.”

A soft, yet hearty laughter echoed beside you from Elrond as you both took a stroll in the woods nearby, a well-deserved break from all his duties. “Sounds like you had quite a hectic childhood.”

“Indeed I did. Though, I was always the butt of all their pranks, especially during the harvest season. They would scare me with silly ghost stories, or dress as ghosts and made me run off to papa crying,” you grinned. There was a faint hint of annoyance laced in your voice as you recalled all the horrors your siblings gave to you, all because you were the youngest. “It caused me to both love and hate the harvest season.”

“Well, you have a justifiable reason, and I fully support it. I for one had my moments…” Elrond teased before silence fell over you both, leaving nothing but the sounds of the leaves crunching under your feet. You could tell he wanted to say more, yet he wasn’t sure if to continue and open up that memory box. By now you had grown accustomed to the silence that fell after statements, especially ones that involved childhood days. While he had promising moments with his captors, there were others better to be left unsaid.

Saying nothing, you two continued your walk, listening to the rustling of the leaves and observing the kaleidoscope of rustic colours swirling through the air. There were unkept piles of leaves at the base of a few oak trees, while the rest was scattered across the forest floor. The scent of rain was still fresh in your nose from the rainfall an hour ago, now mixing with fermented fruits and rotting leaves. While the scent should repulse you, instead, you welcomed it with heartiness and nostalgia.

“I know that my childhood wasn’t the best, however, I surely had wonderful moments with my brother, like you with your siblings.” He was the first to break the silence. You came to a halt and turned to face him, hands in your pockets and widened eyes, encouraging him to continue. “It is not often one speaks of such times.”

“It’s alright Elrond, you don’t have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” you murmured and reached your hand out to touch his arm gingerly.

He gave a slight shake of his head, a small smile—rare—slowly appeared on his lips while his eyes reflected the past. “Not at all, meleth. I have no intentions of reflecting on those, but rather the fond ones. Like yours…”

“Oh!” you quirked up in surprise. “You have enjoyable moments you wish to share with me from your childhood?”

“Many, in fact, but nothing scandalous—just…the mischief of two boys with far too much time on their hands,” he laughed softly, sounding like gentle silver bells chiming in the wind.

You shifted in your spot, back naturally straightening and eager to hear what he had to say. “You and Elros causing ruckus? That is what you are trying to tell me?”

“Indeed,” he smiled and motioned for you two to continue your walk. You both fell into a routine, your footsteps matching each other. “Elros and I, back when we were fostered by Maedhros and Maglor had our…mischief. In some ways, Maedhros and Maglor were like…fathers to us. But in other ways, they were far too serious for their own good. Especially Maedhros, he rarely smiled, you know. Always carrying that weight of his brothers’ deeds, the oath…everything. But Maglor—he was softer. He tried to make things easier for us, and in return, we chose to repay them in kind. Through pranks, of course.”

“Pranks?” you muttered warily, as if needing clarification for what you were hearing. “You two pranked Maedhros and Maglor?”

“More Maedhros than Maglor, he was always the…stiffer of the two,” he chuckled for his expression became conspiratorial as he leaned in closer, sharing his secret with the world. “It was all Elros’s idea from the start though, I was merely forced to tag along. He found an old cloak—dark, frayed at the edges—and convinced me to wear it while he arranged everything else. We waited until evening when the shadows were long and the light was dim, making the castle look even more eerie than usual.”

As he spoke, you felt the world around you shifting to ancient times as though you were transported to witness the event.

“Maglor was in his study, composing something on the harp,” Elrond continued. “And Maedhros…well, he was doing what he often did, pacing and talking to himself in the hall. Elros and I had set up a few…‘traps,’ you could say. Nothing dangerous, of course, just things that would make noise or cause a bit of a fright.”

“Like?” you asked, thoroughly amused by the thought of such a prank in the usually solemn household.

“Simple things,” he explained with a chuckle. “Elros hung a few items—bells, dried leaves—in places where they wouldn’t be expected. And I...well, I was the ‘ghost.’”

You nearly doubled over at the thought. “You, a ghost?”

“Yes,” Elrond said with mock solemnity, “and a very convincing one, or so we thought at the time.”

“And what happened?” you prompted, your smile widening.

Feeling himself building up laughter at the back of his throat, he tried to suppress it for the sake of telling the story. “It went about as well as you’d expect. Maglor barely reacted. He heard the bells and the rustling, but he just sighed and continued with his music, likely assuming it was the wind. Maedhros, however...stopped in the middle of the hall, his brow furrowed, listening intently. I think for a brief moment, he thought something serious was amiss. But then Elros—bless him—couldn’t keep from giggling. Maedhros turned sharply, and there I was, standing in the shadow of a column, draped in that ridiculous old cloak with my arms waving about, attempting to look scary and making terrible eerie noises.”

At that point, you couldn’t help but double over, slapping your thighs at the image of a tall, regal Maedhros staring down at a much tinier Elrond, dressed as a poor excuse of a ghost. His wide, childlike eyes looked up at Maedhros through the slits of the cloak while he continued to wave his short arms about.

“Maedhros just looked at me, deadpan, and said, ‘Elrond. Take off the cloak.’” Elrond chuckled, shaking his head. “I think he was more disappointed in how bad the prank was than anything.”

“And Elros?”

“He,” Elrond said with a fond smile, “tried to run. But of course, Maedhros caught him before he’d even made it to the end of the hall. He gave us both a rather stern lecture about not wasting time on ‘childish games.’ But Maglor…” He trailed off, his eyes softening. “Maglor was different. He found it all rather amusing. Later that evening, when Maedhros had gone to bed, he gave us both a pat on the head and said, ‘Perhaps you need to work on your pranks or try something different.’”

“So did you two ever try again,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from your eye.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he contemplated adding the other failed attempts they had. Exhaling with an airy laughter, he nodded. “Umm, yes we did, but this time, we had Maglor assisting and providing the ideas. He was rather…enthusiastic about watching his brother grumble and mutter about how everyone was turning on him, even his own brother.”

“And what did you two do this time?” you mused as you kicked up a pile of leaves at your feet.

“Well, after that failed attempt, we had placed a bunch of dried leaves under the sheet of Maedhros’s bed, so when he laid down…well, you can image the effects of lying on dried leaves hidden in your sheets. Got a scolding, not before Maglor came to our rescue and took the blame, stating that it was his idea,” he laughed. “Maedhros was fond of his brother teaming up with us.”

“But we later redid our ghost prank, and better—or so we still thought,” he grimaced. “We gathered old sheets and tied them to sticks, hanging them in the hallways to sway in the wind, and even attempted to make them float by pulling them with thin strings. But we hadn’t accounted for Maedhros’ sharp eyes—he spotted every string we tried to use. Making eerie noises turned out to sound more like a dying person wheezing. It startles us more than our target.”

“Naughty children you two were. Giving your guardians a spooky time,” you laughed and shook your head in disbelief. It was still humorous that the Elrond standing beside you was capable of being a prankster and naughty.

“Once again, he had found the entire ordeal absurd but come to think of it, he appreciated our efforts to lighten the mood even if he would never admit it,” he whispered reflectively with distant look on his face.

You reached over to hold his hand, entwining your fingers with his cold ones—a trait due to the lingering mortal blood in his veins—and squeezing them. “It’s good to know that they allowed you both to be children at heart despite the harshness of the world.”

“I was indeed pleased to have experienced some good during those years. Made me look at them a bit differently.” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “Thank you for listening. It felt nice to share fond memories with someone dear to me.”

“It was lovely, indeed,” you grinned, your smile reaching your eyes to leave a twinkle. Continuing your walk while the leaves drifted down around you in a gentle cascade, the world seemed to slow. The world seemed to slow, the only sounds the rustling of the trees and the soft murmur of the river below.

After a time, you perked up causing Elrond’s attention to drift from the water to you. “Why don’t team up to prank a few of your Lords? I know Erestor and Glorfindel would be spooked the most, and I could do with a genius like you assisting me.”

“Now why would you believe I would do such a thing at a time like now?” you teased. “Pranking is no longer my motive.”

“I’ll bake you all the pumpkin and apple pies you want. I promise,” you begged, lifting your other hand with your pinkie finger. “Pinkie promise, Elrond. It’ll be harmless and not a soul would know it was you.”

He pondered. You could see his eyes drifting past you as he contemplated and weighed his options of enjoying your desserts in exchange for harmless, childish, pranks. Then, with a heavy sigh, he shook his head with a faint smile playing on his lips. “Very well, a few harmless pranks on Glorfindel. It is the season after all, and I have a fond idea in mind…”

Masterlist

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[irrealisms]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let's spread the self-love 💞

tagged by: @erstwhilesparrow

the autopsy garland -- dsmp hunger games au about rpf fandom and the horrors of celebrity. parts of it have aged poorly--it's about, in part, both the fandom and hatedom surrounding cc!dream and the dream smp as a whole, and also unrelatedly it's about sexual abuse, and, uh, it was published before the dream situation let alone any of the ones that came after it, i have no clue what it'd look like if i wrote it now but certainly it would look wildly different--but i'm still so fucking proud of it. the epistolary sections. the bits of canon dialogue. threading the line between "this guy did awful awful things" and "holy shit, the stuff happening to him is not okay to do to anyone"

between the moth and the moon -- lifesteal, a gentle moment between vitalasy & zam. i wrote this one bc i needed zam to tell vitalasy i mourned you. it's a missing scene and it's one i needed and it's gentle and soft and bittersweet and i go reread it whenever i'm sad about them (this is often)

i don't have the heart to match -- mdzs, my Trans Woman Jiang Cheng Manifesto. there is something so special in my heart for yunmeng shuangjie and jc's issues about wei wuxian and Duty and jealousy and. and. man

Your Body Is Not A Word -- tma fic about s4 jonathan sims exchanging sex for statements. it's about sexual trauma and it's about starving and it's about being both victim and monster and it's about not really being able to believe in the dialectic there and it's about making choices that hurt yourself because you don't having any good options left and not-doing-anything hurts too.

whatever a moon has always meant -- indis/míriel silmarillion fic which is nominally about LaCE and in practice about Catholic sexual ethics & the Catholic outlook more broadly. it's also about grief and doubt and a lot of other things but it's very very Catholic and struggling with that Catholicism. it gets kind of ... pretentious? overwrought in a very teenage fashion? at times, but the core of it is very important to me. considered doing one of my númenor or maedhros fics here instead, there's some good stuff there as well, but. idk. this one's got a soft spot in my heart and it's less Relentlessly Fucking Depressing lol

tagging: @consumptive-sphinx , @blocksgame , @honeyblockm , @peninkwrites , @crimeboys

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Hi!! I really enjoyed the hc you posted of Curvo and Cara noticing y/n picking up on their habits, and was curious if you could write something like that for Káno and Mai?

Thank you, darling! 💚

Ps, those hc were really cute 🥺

Noticing you've picked up their mannerisms - Maedhros and Maglor

Author's note: Here you go! Some soft moments for our favs. Glad you liked the other HCs🧡 I was listening to tavern music when I wrote this and got carried away, this song really captures this post's mood *swoon*

-

Maedhros 

He sometimes struggles with his concentration, especially when working at his desk 

Whenever that happens, Mai tends to doodle. He doesn’t really notice, it’s more of a subconscious thing 

You watched him zone out gradually countless times and it's the cutest thing ever

He’s always so put together and knows how to handle his concentration, but you knew he’s had more tea than usual that morning and tea always seemed to infiltrate his thoughts and make his eyes extra droopy

You were sitting on the couch behind the desk he was working at, practicing your beading skills, when you heard him draw a rather long breath

He’s doodling again, you thought, let me see what it is

Over time, you’ve picked up on some of the characters he would always draw when lost in thought. A small bird (you’ve come to the conclusion that it’s supposed to be a swallow) in particular would always make a comeback on his papers

Sometimes you pocket pieces of paper he was going to throw away, just for the sake of his little doodles. 

He’s so prim and proper, always on top of everything, so dutiful and disciplined, typical eldest son behavior

But his little doodles always show you that even the firstborn prince is just a person with cute quirks

One day, you find yourself sitting in the library, studying for a poetry recital that is coming up rather soon

You know there’s going to be a discussion afterwards, that is why you have taken it upon yourself to refresh your knowledge about this particular branch of elven poetry

What started out as an inspired, enthusiastic study session has now turned into your eyes burning from the dust flying around in the air every time you’d turn a page 

Why do these books have to be so old? You’re lucky if you don’t develop a dust allergy after this

The handwritten verses in your notebook are becoming sloppier and sloppier until you find yourself zoning out completely and thus forget about the quill in your hand

When you return to your chambers, Mai is there, curious to see which poems you’ve picked for the recital 

So you unknowingly hand him your notebook and his eyes dart back and forth between the page and you — like what’s up huh

"That looks familiar," he smirks, pointing at the little swallows adorning the bottom right corner of the notebook’s last page. You rub your eyes — did you really draw his infamous doodle?? Wild

Mai just traces the doodle with his finger, his warm eyes scanning the page while smile lines start to form on his friendly face

He always knew you had a soft spot for his doodles, and to see you actually adopting them into your own subconscious studying habits just warms his heart in a way he cannot describe

He feels so connected to you in that moment, so happy and safe, knowing that you cherish his little quirks which he always deemed as embarrassing proof of his concentration struggle

"Can I keep it?" he lets it slip, and feels a blush creep onto his cheeks at your smile. You nod enthusiastically and tear the page from your book, giving it to him

When you enter his study later that day, you find that he’s framed that page and placed it on his desk, next to his quill and parchment :)

Maglor

Laurë is an early bird

He’s always been one to greet the world, to watch it wake up. To see the sun rise and warm every creature, no matter how small and inconspicuous, to make them feel like every day is going to be a great one.

He finds himself sitting alone in the gardens, especially in the spring time, when everything is misty and dewy and the silence seems almost eery. 

You’ve gotten used to waking up without him, but you cannot hold it against him, really. Because he always kisses you on your forehead before he makes his way into the green grass and hanging trees, the roots and still tired flowers 

And every time you wake up, your forehead feels warm because of his lingering fëa on your skin, coaxing a smile onto your face, before he returns to your chambers shortly after, with a freshly picked flower to sweeten your morning

And so, one fateful morning, you wake up before he does. And you can tell that dawn draws near

Somehow, Mother Nature is calling out to you, and the gardens look so utterly beautiful in the distance, clouded by the misty air, you just have to go see for yourself

You slowly get up and dressed, take an extra scarf because we wouldn’t want you catching a cold!

And then you step to your beloved Laurë, bend down and brush your lips against his forehead

A ghost of a smile appears on his relaxed features I’m simping 

Your feet follow the trail he left from all his previous trips and you arrive just in time for the sun to peak past the horizon, lovingly greeting you, the newest creature in this setting

And so Makalaurë awakens, lonely for once, the memory of your kiss still on his forehead 

When you come in moments later, a lone rose in your hand, hair frizzier than usual because of this morning’s humidity, eyes sparkling with the optimism of having witnessed Arda’s serenity, he’s falling in love with you all over again

"Good morning, Laurë!" You beam and stretch your arm out to present your little token of love and he MELTS

He’s never expected you to ever indulge in this little morning ritual of his, knowing how grumpy you always get if you didn’t sleep enough

He just falls into your arms, inhales your scent which is now infused with flowery morning dew

Your scarf feels warm against his cheek from the residue sunlight and he squeezes you tight and just sighs

"Good morning, my sweet Y/N"

I’m gonna cry