#how does feanor feel about this????

[armulyn]

Galaxy brained idea that maybe three people will get:

Feanor and Fingolfin with the Noldorin inheritance being identical to that of the Annieran rulers in the Wingfeather Saga, specifically the Throne Warden/High King set-up.

(For non-Wingfeather Saga fans: In Anniera, the crown prince/princess is the SECOND child of the high king/queen, and the eldest child becomes the Throne Warden, whose job is to protect his/her sibling from all harm/guide them in their rule. The Throne Warden is very much honored for their role, but it's made clear from birth that they will never rule.)

(For non-Silmarillion fans: Feanor is the eldest from Finwe's first wife, Miriel, and Fingolfin is his eldest son from his second wife. This is a race of immortals, so remarrying has been unheard-of before this. Feanor hates Fingolfin's guts, and after Finwe dies there's a bit of puzzlement of who actually is the king here?)

[rputthebottledown]

Curufin, Celegorm & Caranthir at the second kinslaying or something like that.

[doodle-pops]

A Promising Future

Feanor x human!reader

Request: Hello!!! Hope everything is okie dokie on your end!! So this is like an alternative timeline sorta thing. Could I maybe request a fic where a severely wounded Fëanor does survive the battle, but he's badly hurt, barely holding on, and a mortal!reader helps him recover? We know Fëanor would be too proud to accept any help from anyone let alone a mortal, but over time he comes to rely on the reader, and secretly enjoys being doted on? And mayyyybe little bit of romance between them...?😁 Hihii! Thank ya and take care!!!💖💖– @koyunsoncizeri

A/N: This was an interesting piece to spend a long time concocting. Most pleased with this yearning troupe—gives me life. Thank you for requesting and giving me soft Feanor.

Warnings: canon-divergent (Feanor survives), pinning (deep-seated yearning), comfort, soft content, confession, soft Feanor

Words: 2.8k

Synopsis: And it terrified him—a mortal who was able to break down his walls and leave him yearning like a fish in search of water. Who were you to make him this weak?

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The dim glow of the fire flickered against the modest wooden walls of your home, casting long shadows that danced and shifted as the flames licked at the logs. Outside, the wind howled faintly, a distant voice in the vastness of the night, but inside, warmth and quiet enveloped the space—save for the occasional grumbling of your stubborn guest.

“Oi, cease your movements, your wounds are still fresh.”

Nothing.

“Will you put that down? That is not a toy.”

Nothing.

“Oi, elf boy! Quit moving or you will feel this hot wooden spoon.”

Well, that did something.

Standing there in a widened stance, hand on your hips, sleeves rolled up to your elbows and a look of ‘so help me God, I will throttle you,’ on your face as you stared at the raven-haired elf trapezing your dollhouse-sized home—compared to his towering seven foot and more frame. Still covered in bandaged and faint scars from his tumble with those fiery creatures in the North, Feanor paused midway examining a jar filled with some liquids that smelt like alcohol and what appeared to be venomous creatures, to throw a look of ‘come hither.’

“You mortals,” he murmured, tilting the jar and watching the brown substance shift loosely within. “So quick to violence.”

“If only you knew,” you sighed, returning your attention to the bubbling cauldron over the fire. “I spent all morning hunting down your favourite mushrooms because you are a picky bastard, and yet here you are, prancing about my house like an overgrown child instead of resting.” You were tempted to launch your wooden spoon, freshly drawn from the cauldron, and wack his head with it, but that would only create another session of his temper tantrum.

As you stirred the soup, inhaling the fragrant steam curling from the surface. Behind you, you could still feel him, standing there, likely observing you with that unreadable expression of his. He had done so for days now—watching you as you moved, as if you were a puzzle he could not quite solve.

You heard him hum—a sound of neither agreement nor dismissal—but he finally set the jar back onto the shelf. A small victory, you supposed. “What is this concoction?”

Heaving, you focused on the heat and stirred the soup, adding in the fine herbs. “It is a cure for venomous injuries.”

“And how does it work?” he inquired, holding the jar up to the light. The size difference between his hand and the jar made it appear like a small bottle.

“If one were to be bitten by a venomous creature, consume a mouthful to purge the body of the toxins. Would you like to test it yourself?” you replied, unamused at his fascination. To this day, you still do not understand the fascination that his kind had towards humans. You were smaller, some matching the height of elven women, slower, aged and less refined—hardly any reason to be enchanted. Rather, disenchanted was a better response, yet you were stuck with one who broke the typical themes of interest.

“Once again, you mortals have sedated my curiosity—for a moment,” he muttered before seeing the jar once more and turning on his heel to scour the tiny house.

You rolled your eyes at his comment. There it was again—the ever-condescending ‘you mortals…’ followed by some half-hearted remark that barely qualified as praise. As if you should be grateful that a being as great as he had taken an interest in your primitive existence. First Thingol’s kin, and now him—a different race of elves who had a fondness for the arts, or perhaps just him.

Turning your head to catch him staring at the metalwork of your water system—which he had been learning for the last two weeks—his mouth was moving at an unrecognisable speed. Muttering calculations and theoretics of the mechanics he was taught by Aulë and Mahtan, comparing them to your craft.

“How long are you going to stare?” you called out, not breaking his focus or attention, but enough to earn you a grunt. “You are genuinely obsessed; most would not be.”

“I am not most.” Came his subtle response while he stroked his chin as though he had a beard.

Giving a small ‘humph’ and setting your spoon down, you stepped away from the fireside and began gathering the bits of mess lying around the house. “You are indeed not most,” you commented with a smirk. “You are simply an elf who had seen death which resulted in you being draped in excessive bandages. Most would not charge at three or more fiery beasts and expect to win—clearly, you are more.”

Thankfully, your head was down as you gathered the doily and withered flowers off the table, missing the ‘how dare you’ expression. Anyone else would have melted on the spot, even squeak out an apology, but you, unbothered. In the two weeks he had been within your company, you had done more damage than the Balrogs had managed—quell his pride. You could sense the heat of his glare, smouldering it was in fact, less than in the beginning, it only served as humour to your bored, tranquil days. Something that felt more like calm amusement than the wrath of a fiery storm. Tolerable.

“I will have you know that I—”

“—faced the mightiest of foes, the Great Enemy of the North, and survived to fight another day,” you interrupted, finally looking up to give him a tender smile with a small, reassuring shake of your head. “It is not something to be taken lightly.”

His arms folded across his chest—then immediately unfolded as he winced at the motion, pain flickering briefly across his expression. He tried to suppress it, his pride refusing to acknowledge his own weakness, but you had seen it.

Sighing, you step toward him. “Sit down before you rip your stitches,” you said, the amusement in your tone fading into something softer.

He did not move, prompting you to exhale slowly, tilting your head. “Fëanor.”

His jaw tightened as if warring with himself before he begrudgingly moved to take a seat on the wooden bench near the hearth. There, he sat stiffly, as if the mere act of compliance wounded him more than the battle itself.

You crouched in front of him, fingers reaching for the bandages around his ribs. He flinched—just slightly—but did not stop you as you carefully unwound the wrappings to inspect the wounds beneath. The deep gashes had closed, the flesh mending slowly, but bruises still painted his skin in shades of deep violet and blue.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its glow casting shifting patterns of gold and amber across the wooden walls. Shadows flickered along the grain of the floorboards, elongating the space between you and him, yet the air between you felt unbearably close. He sat stiffly on the bench, his mountainous frame oddly subdued, his shoulders still drawn taut as you crouched before him, carefully unwinding the bandages that bound his wounds.

His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, the flesh no longer torn as it had been when you first found him—broken, battered, but not defeated. Never defeated. The bruises remained, deep smudges of violet and blue painting the edges of his ribs, but the worst of the gashes had closed, and healed over time and care.

“You heal well,” you murmured barely above a breath as your fingers ghosted over the smooth, newly-mended skin.

There was a sharp exhale through his nose, shifting slightly beneath your touch. “Of course I do,” he scoffed, but his usual sharpness was absent. The words lacked their customary bite, ringing hollow in the thickened air between you.

You glanced up at him then, your face close to his, close enough to see the exhaustion lining his sharp features, the way his lips parted slightly in an unspoken thought. The firelight caught the dark waves of his hair, casting a soft sheen over what should have been wild and untamed, yet now seemed almost...hesitant. He was always a force of motion, a wildfire that consumed all in his path, yet now, he was still—unnervingly still.

His mismatched eyes, filled with the sparks of something unknown, burned into you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He was watching you again—not as the strange mortal who had taken him in, nor as the healer who had bound his wounds. There was something else in his gaze now, something unreadable, something unwanted if the flicker of tension in his jaw was any indication.

“You should be grateful that you are here, alive,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly, the corner of your lips barely curving into a smirk. “You should count your blessings.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Fëanor did not answer immediately, and for a moment, you wondered if you had finally pressed too far. He was not one to dwell on the past—his entire life had been defined by the forward momentum of his will, the sheer force of his existence too great to linger on what was. And yet, something unreadable shifted in his expression, something that did not belong to the proud warrior who had fought fire with fire, nor the brilliant craftsman whose hands had shaped wonders beyond mortal comprehension.

It was a hesitation. A pause in the storm.

He swallowed, the movement barely perceptible, but you caught it, nonetheless.

Grateful?

He should have been dead. Would have been dead, had it not been for you, a mere mortal who had found him among the scorched remains of battle, who had dragged his barely-breathing body from the clutches of death itself. He should have resented you for it.

He had been a king. A leader. A father. A husband. He had known what it meant to be bound to another, to share space, to accept care. But that life was gone, shattered long before his body ever fell to the flames. His marriage had ended long before death had first reached for him. And yet here you were—offering him care he had long since forsaken, offering him patience, offering him something he had not asked for but had begun, over these weeks, to expect.

But he didn’t. And that was the problem.

No one had dared tend to him since Nerdanel had left. No one had been allowed. And yet, you—a mere mortal, a lesser being by every elven measure—had not only mended his wounds but had dared to scold him, to tease him, to touch him with the ease of one who did not see the legend, only a man.

That should have infuriated him. And yet, his gaze continued to linger.

On the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your throat as you tilted your head, the stray strand of hair that had fallen loose from behind your ear. The hands that had time and again seen to his wounds with the care he had not deserved. The very same hands that had struck him with a wooden spoon the first time he had tried to move before his body was ready.

He had scoffed at it then. But now, in this closeness, in this unbearable stillness, he was left to reckon with a far more troubling truth.

What was this? This need?

He had come to like it.

The doting. The attention. The quiet, steady presence of you in this little home.

He had craved it.

A sickness took root in his chest, something far more suffocating than his wounds, far more dangerous than the lingering weakness in his limbs.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles taut beneath his skin. It does not matter, he told himself. He was leaving soon. He had to leave. He had no place here.

And yet.

And yet.

His next words left his mouth before he could stop them, low and quiet, as if they had been stolen from the depths of his mind before he had a chance to cast them aside.

“Then I only have one blessing to be grateful for.”

Your breath hitched slightly, hands stilling against his skin. There was a brief moment as you searched his gaze, unsure if he truly meant what you thought he did. Enough for him to know that you understood. His expression remained unreadable, but the way he held your gaze—steady, unwavering—sent warmth curling in your chest. The space between you was unbearable now, the air thick with something unspoken, something vast and terrifying in its weight.

Your fingers, still resting lightly against his bandages, trembled for the briefest moment before you swallowed, pulling your hands away.

“The soup will be ready soon,” you murmured, standing and turning away.

Fëanor exhaled, slow and measured, as if that breath was all that was keeping him from being swept into something he could not control.

He did not stop you as you moved away. And yet, as he watched you—this stubborn mortal who had refused to let him die—he could not shake the thought that had begun to take root. That leaving this place, leaving you, would be a battle of its own. And damn anyone who prevented him—he could not leave without you. And it terrified him—a mortal who was able to break down his walls and leave him yearning like a fish in search of water. Who were you to make him this weak?

And before he knew it, the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. He did not look at you immediately. He stared at the floor, at the dying embers in the hearth, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I am leaving soon,” he said at last, quietly.

You stilled, spoon in midair and bowl in hand, swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I know.”

A pause. Then, you felt his hand reach out to gingerly curl around your wrist, prompting the spoon to be released, as if you were his most precious glasswork—enough to keep you there.

“I do not wish to go.”

Your breath stuttered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you turned to face him. He finally lifted his gaze, and in that moment, Fëanor, the great and mighty warrior, the King of the Noldor, was just a man. A man who had lost everything and had, in the most unexpected of places, found something worth holding onto again.

And for the first time, he admitted it.

“I do not wish to leave you.”

A quiet stillness settled between you. The weight of his words hung in the air, unspoken yet undeniable.

You studied his face—the proud tilt of his chin, the flicker of uncertainty in his mismatched eyes, the way his fingers still curled lightly around your wrist as if hesitant to fully commit to what he had just confessed. It was not an easy thing for him, you knew. He had spent so long burning, consumed by his own fire, forging himself into something untouchable. And yet, here he was—revealing something raw, something fragile, something he had likely never intended to say.

You exhaled softly.

“Then don’t.”

He blinked. Just once. As if startled by the simplicity of your response. No grand proclamations, no desperate pleas—just a truth laid bare, plain and unembellished.

His grip on you tightened just slightly, as if testing whether he could believe in it.

You tilted your head, your voice quieter this time. “Stay, if that is what you want.”

There was no demand in your tone, no expectation. The decision had always been his to make—would always be his to make. And for a man who had spent a lifetime consumed by choices that had shaped empires and shattered worlds, perhaps this—this—was the one choice that truly mattered.

His lips parted slightly, something unreadable passing over his expression.

Then finally, his fingers slipped from your wrist, only to settle against your hand instead, turning it palm-up in his grasp. His thumb brushed absently over the skin there, his gaze still searching yours as though waiting for some unseen force to pull him away.

It never came.

“…Then I will stay.”

Not forever. Perhaps not even for long. But for now.

And somehow, for a man who had always burned too brightly, too briefly, that was enough.

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[thesummerestsolstice]

How the elves react to Elrond getting sick:

Maedhros & Maglor: Absolutely freak out. Assume Elrond is dying and that the Doom of Feanor's house has finally caught up to them. Maedhros insists he says in bed and makes him soup. Maglor starts planning a lament for his funeral. (He has a cold)

Gil-Galad: Tries to convince Elrond to rest. Always fails. Has resorted to getting Elrond a bed desk so he can do his work while he rests. Frequently checks up on him to make sure he's alright or to bring him little gifts to make him feel better.

Erestor: Also half-elven, so gets it. Inevitably gets sick whenever Elrond does because he refuses to stay away. They always end up sick together, but they are together, and that means something.

Celebrimbor: Has read multiple books on human anatomy for the sake of his cousins (Erestor, son of Caranthir included). Theoretically understands how to care for someone who is ill. *Checks notes* according to this, if I give you chicken soup every day for a week it will cure your *checks notes again* pneumonia. He's trying his best.

Galadriel: Does not understand human or half-elven biology very well. Has taken Elrond on a ten mile hike in the snow when he was getting over a cough. Elrond's Feanorian followers have never forgiven her for it.

Celebrian: I would say she uses Elrond being sick as an excuse for them to stay in bed and cuddle, but let's be honest, she doesn't need an excuse for that. Knows he can take care of himself, and is a lot more Normal about it than everyone else on this list. Elrond loves her very much.

Glorfindel: Fully willing to pick up Elrond (or Erestor) and take them back to bed so they rest. Takes his duty to protect his lord very seriously. A very comfortable pillow for sick half-elves.

Lindir: Absolutely freaks out. You thought his anxiety about the dwarves was bad?? Elrond always has to calm him down and assure Lindir that is, in fact, not about to die. He does sometimes ask Lindir to play for him when he's ill though.

[nerdanelschildren]

"And if I must break them, I must break my heart, and I must be slain"

Feanor's reaction when asked to break the Silmarils to restore the Two Trees

So, there's been a lot of discussion about this line. Mostly what I see is people assuming that Feanor is being melodramatic here and upping the stakes a lot. Like he's going "ohhh you want the Silmarils? You want me to give you my life's work? I guess you want to KILL ME, is that it?? huh?? huh????"

But I think we should consider two other things here.

Elves can actually die of a broken heart

Feanor's mother did exactly that.

Like, Miriel has been dead since Feanor was a baby, and her absence shaped Feanor's childhood. He may not completely understand her reasons for wanting to stay in Mandos, but what he does know for sure is that she was overwhelmed by the world, and because of that, she is no longer here.

And he knows how he feels about his Silmarils. He knows that the idea of them being taken from him is already upsetting, and now the Valar are asking even more than that. They are asking him to destroy his own work. Just think about that concept for a second.

So yeah, I just think there's a possibility that he was being serious there.

[fleurbleedinghearts]

How did people come to the assumption that anyone who likes Feanor and isn't pro-Indis has mommy issues?

Personally, it's because I love my mother and she means the world to me that I'm more sympathetic to Feanor than I am to Indis.

The whole situation with Miriel is literal nightmare fuel.

It's like, what if was my mother was in a coma and my father was told that she wouldn't be allowed to wake up when she healed if he got remarried, but he get's remarried anyways because he has no faith in my mother, and his new wife is fully aware that my mother won't be allowed to live again even once she's healed, but doesn't care because she's secretly been in love with my father and was lucky enough to get the opportunity to be with him at the expense of my mother.

I would HATE this new woman. She knows she can give my mother a chance by not marrying my dad, but she doesn't care. Now does this make her the villain, no, that would be my father. But my dislike of her would still be justified because she doesn't care about how I feel, and nobody owes someone who don't care about their pain anything.

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Blorbo" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Special Little Guy (gender neutral)

Lmao. That's like, my special little guy. He takes up my brain space. I'm rotating him.

you know how lilo from lilo and stitch has that doll she made, complete with backstory? basically like that

one's blorbo is a character one cares a lot about. it kind of has like... condescending or woobifying connotations? like expressing that Maedhros is your blorbo is sort of uh... one imagines like, a chibi Maedhros. cute, not scary. but it doesn't necessarily imply the speaker has distorted perception of the character in general, just a sort of fondness

The character a person wants to use as a doll/stuffed animal

A character who the author loves too much (and knows it)

"OMG Blorbo was in the new trailer for 5 seconds!" is a common statement

which often provokes... strange thoughts at 11pm.

Beloved character who you think about entirely too much and also enjoy putting in Situations

It implies some degress of being pathetic as well.

No relation to Blorbo Baggins.

The character you put under a microscope, put through the cheese grater, put into the salad spinner, and squeeze like a plushie.

A beloved character whom you want to both stick in a microwave and protect with all you have

character one fangirls* over (*gender neutral)

Just a little guy, whom I am deeply enamored of and just want to squish on the head and see what happens.

Favourive character, often pathetic, someone to pity as much as love

obsessed. baby. Will run my mouth off about them

the word "favorite" wasn't enough to encapsulate "the exact kind of character made specifically for me in the lab" either. my friendgroup started calling those types of characters "callouts" because they were calling you out by existing Exactly To Your Tastes

(not necessarily in a way that condones their actions, but deeply beloved nonetheless)

The "cinnamon roll" kind. Idk I love Namo but I'd never call him a blorbo, it just wouldn't feel right.

??

dear?

My personal favourite character, whom I want to adopt even if he's a dark lord

A particularly beloved (or beloathed-in-a-positive-way) character.

Generally seem to be problematic favs.

I think it was originally meant to be somewhat mocking, but it was wholeheartedly adopted and is now used unironically.

A favored character that usually is subjected to great amounts of trauma and or fluff.

A favourite character, usually male

The obsession character

Feanor/character you are unreasonably attached to esp. if they are a Bad Person TM

The character who is most special and beloved to you (and often that means you're gonna put them through The Horrors)

a character that makes you chew on the bars of your enclosure

Special little character from my shows(tm)

usually having an aura of kicked wet puppy (brimby)

You'd build a shrine to them

Idk, ask the children 😹. Er. Hot character you like? I'm sure people have very complex definitions explaining why they like the hot character but I don't take fandom that seriously.

Your guy (gender neutral), not a comfort character, but perhaps a character you would like to see experience the worst situations possible (affectionate)

occasionally blorbo from my floor (my cat)

Just a widdle pathetic guy 🥺😈

A favourite character, thuogh usually one you squash like a stress ball or squeaky toy rather than put gently on a shelf

Ungoliant

Guy (gender neutral) who I hold in my hand like a neat rock and look at

character whom i will put in a glass and shake

character you are putting in the metaphorical salad spinner

A favourite character, often a war criminal treated like they did nothing wrong, they are a little kitty

(character you're particularly attached to and usually put in physically and/or mentally torturous situations for fun)

A character you’ve imprinted on and like seeing in misery. They’re your wet cat you enjoy pouring water on but also toweling off

Your favorite character, to whom no harm may come (except in the service of angst)

my guy. my friend my buddy. the person

Literally your favourite ever character, but not like you want to f*ck them, more like "how much can i let them suffer?"

Your favouritest character from media that you like to put in all kinds of situations, but is not morally problematic.

favourite character you want to bully

a fictional character that you like to an obsessive amount, typically more than other favourite characters; your specialist little guy; someone you are unwell about; you don’t always have to like your blorbo per day but they must take up constant thought space

[numenoria]

The Rings of Power Season 1 Ep 1-4 thoughts/observations/commentary ✨

EP1:

RIP Finrod 😥

Galadriel is a badass consumed by vengeance. I'm sure this WILL NOT come back to bite her.

Galadriel girl you're on your own!!

Young Elrond's hair is quite interesting...

Your honor, I'm convinced this Gil-Galad person wants to fuck Elrond

Evidence:

Arondir the beautiful elf that you are!

Bronwyn is gorgeous and level-headed.

Lil boy put that evil trinket back where it came from oh so help me!!!

These proto-hobbits are adorable and scruffy. I like Nori, she's spunky. I wasn't feeling the Hartfoots hair choices at first but it grew on me.

Galadriel being literally shipped off. Yeah this is def a coverup for something

The blond masc elf REALLY wants Galadriel to stay on the boat

Galadriel: 🤸🏻‍♀️🌊

Who the fuck just fell from the sky?? Naked??

EP2:

Nori is definitely a "run towards the danger" kind of gal

Is that GANDALF?? It's Gandalf right?

Feanor mention!! Simarils?? 👀

"True creation requires sacrifice" Yeah that's not the last time we're going to hear that phrase.

I've been saying Celebrimbor's name wrong this entire time. 😶

YAY Dwarves!!

Elrond is besties with a Dwarf! Durin IV?

Durin why are you showing out!? Elrond just wants to say hi :(

Oh...

20 years!!? Elrond you missed his wedding and the birth of his babies?? I'd show out too!! Trash friend behavior!

Disa! The dwarf queen that you are! She's so inviting and warm. OMG her hair is gorgeous! Durin IV I will fight you for her hand in marriage!

I haaateeee Durin's Hair/Beard combo. They lowkey did him dirty imo.

Why are these people on this raft?? Galadriel do not trust that man!

I'm not sold on the Halbrand thirst yet..

ORCS UNDER THE HOUSE??

I bet yall believe Bronwyn now!

Bro killed the Fireflies oop :(

EP3:

The Elves are slaves?? prisoners?? I don't like this

Who is Adar??

Galadriel and Halbrand are on a bigger boat.

Elendil you ruggedly handsome man. The genes are strong in that bloodline.

Numenor is breathtaking.

These people do not like elves

Galadriel does not know how to talk to people

Queen Tar-Miriel *I AM LOOKING RESPECFULLY*

I thought Pharazon was being played by Jack Black. Like a cleaned up Jack Black. I'm Sorry to both actors.

The Numenorians are very stylish.

Isildur??

Oh no he's dissociating at sea (trauma perhaps?)

I prefer look of these orcs over PJ's orcs.

Some losers are interrogating Halbrand.

Oh shit these guys are about to get curbed stomped to hell!

Halbrand's locked up

OH NO HE'S HOT!!

Evidence:

Why did he look at her like that??? . They def have some simmering sexual tension

"I am not the hero you seek." FORESHADOWING!! Galadriel do not trust this man!

An unsuccessful Elf rebellion. Arondir was giving action hero vibes

Wtf is that?? A warg? An orc dog??

Blurry Adar

EP4:

Miriel holding a baby. She loves her people

It was all a dream

Pharazon is plotting something!! He's very much a Brutus type.

Arondir meets Adar

I am slightly turned on and disgusted

Theo is attached to the evil trinket almost bound to it...

Arondir saves the Theo (I think that's his son?? But they don't know it yet)

Disa is a bad liar 😂

Mithril???

Galadriel locked up.

Halbrand teaching Galadriel about playing mind games. Yeah girl don't trust him!

Galadriel is free

Miriel and Galadriel bond. Do people ship them? Should I ship them? 🤔

The King's health is failing. Poor Miriel.

A Palantir? That's not good. Six more? Like dragon balls?

The crystal nerd in me thinks the Palantir is composed of lapis lazuli (the stone of visions/psychic powers)

Galadriel's getting the boot from Numenor

Arondir to Theo's rescue!

The orcs are ashy and they hate the sun

Disa you better sang to those rocks!!

This scene was very touching.

I love Dwarves!

Durin/Disa/Elrond warms my heart

The Dwarf King knows something is up

Theo do not trust that creepy old man.

Sir unhand that boy! 🔪

The darkness has consumed this old man

Galadriel is shipped off again!

The petals of the White Tree fall.

Galadriel is back w/Queen Miriel's support

Me thinks the people will not take this well

Overall the show is visually pleasing (aside from some styling choices). The cast is strong and very talented. The music is excellent. There's a lot of characters being introduced but that's typical of anything Tolkien related. Thanks for getting this far! I'll continue episodes 5-8 in a separate post ✨🩷

-Davi ☽︎♡︎☾︎

Edit: Not sure what happened, but NONE of the pics/memes I put in the post saved on tumblr mobile! I edited it on desktop so they should show up now. ^^

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober Day 16: Wound Cleaning

Celebrimbor injures himself in the forge, and Elrond decides to help him out. Elrond and Celebrimbor figure out that elves copy mannerisms from their relatives, though it can be painful to see.

-

Elrond clicks his tongue as he assesses the burn, holding Celebrimbor's arm gently, careful to not cause any more harm. "It's deep," Elrond says into the quiet air of the forge, sparing a quick glance to Celebrimbor before refocusing on the burn. "I will dress it with a salve, which should help with the pain. It won't take more than a week or two to finish healing."

Celebrimbor hums, and Elrond releases his arm with a clearing of his throat. No longer able to focus on the wound, he looks towards the Lord of Eregion, feeling slightly anxious. Celebrimbor had several healers on staff, ones that likely had far more training and experience than Elrond, and yet when he had gotten burned, he did not go to them. Celebrimbor does not look like his is in too much pain, which is good. His face is not set in a grimace, no furrow between his brows, and there are no tears in his eyes- in fact, Celebrimbor is giving Elrond a smile. "Thank you," Celebrimbor says softly, making to stand up. Elrond backs up to give him space, and stands as well, fidgeting with the sleeves for a moment.

"I will return shortly with the salve and bandages," Elrond says suddenly, because he desperately needs out of this forge, away from Celebrimbor's softening gaze and kind smile. He is down the stairs and out the doors before his lord can get in a word, not quite running but certainly rushing, back to his room. He can hear his heart, lodged in his throat as he collects the dried plants and herbs he has with him. He knows why he is anxious around Celebrimbor more often than the other elf lords he knows. Not only does he worry about making a fool out of himself politically, but Celebrimbor is part of his family, the only living connection he has to Maedhros and Maglor, and he desperately wants Celebrimbor to approve of him.

In Celebrimbor's smiles, his moments of calm and rationality that pull Elrond from spiraling thoughts, the way he looks at Elrond- soft, gentle, protective- Elrond sees his fathers. He was still a child when he saw them last, but he carries the memories of them close in his heart and recalls all the details of them as often as he can, lest he forget anything. To lose his memories of them, his knowledge of how they loved him, every little way, would be like losing his heart itself.

The salve is easy to make, muscle memory taking over as Elrond wanders in his thoughts. Celebrimbor seemed to have mostly painful memories of his family, and Elrond does not wish to cause him pain so he has yet to broach the subject, but there is an itch under his skin that desires to know each and every one of Celebrimbor's memories of them. There is so much he does not about them, and he longs for a chance to reunite with them, hope still present in his heart that he may one day meet Maglor again, for there are rumors that he wanders Middle Earth still.

The pestle in his hands is trembling, so he sets it down and sets a lid over the ceramic container he had made the salve in. Short, choppy breaths fall from his lips as he graps the salve and collects some bandages that he had brought with him. Elrond is used to getting minor injuries, he is more fragile than the average elf, with his being peredhel, and so always ensures that he has the necessary medical supplies to dress small wounds.

The walk back to the forge seems to stretch on, as though the Valar want to give him more time to grow anxious about attending to Celebrimbor. What if he injures him? Elrond could never forgive himself if he were to harm Celebrimbor. He has failed the descendants of Feanor far too many times already to fail Celebrimbor too. He had not been able to help Maedhros and Maglor when the oath had gotten worse, or at least not help enough so that they would not feel the need to leave him and Elros behind.

The doors of the forge appear in front of him, suddenly, and Elrond hesitates- just for a moment, the length of the sharp inhale he takes- and steps inside. It is quiet, and Elrond cringes at the way his steps echo in the large room as he approaches Celebrimbor. The smith has not moved from his spot, greeting Elrond with a small smile, one that is startlingly similar to Maglor- one that spoke of tiredness but genuine joy to see the person it is given too.

"You looked like Maglor, for a moment there." Elrond says before he can stop himself, the words spill out of him outside of his control. He stiffens, opening his mouth to apologize but Celebrimbor speaks first. Elrond scans his face, looking for any signs of pain or upset, but finds fondness instead.

"Did I really?" Celebrimbor asks, lips curled up as he looks towards Elrond with sparkling eyes. "It would not be the first time we were compared, but it has been a long time since anyone has said it, let alone kindly." There is a true joy on Celebrimbor's face, so Elrond cannot do anything but nod, breath catching in his chest.

"You did," Elrond confirms, looking away before he speaks more and makes a fool of himself. He sets down the salve and bandages, reaching out for Celebrimbor's arm but pausing before he makes contact. "May I?" He asks quietly, swallowing down the lump in his throat when Celebrimbor looks at him and all he can see are his foster fathers, suffering through Elrond's beginner healing skills and they got any sort of minor injury.

"Go ahead," Celebrimbor hums, and Elrond can feel his gaze as he carefully applies the salve and wraps the injury. It is simple, and he can almost forget that he is treating Lord Celebrimbor of Eregion, the last living blood descendant of Feanor. "Thank you." Celebrimbor tells him with a smile as Elrond finishes and steps back, looking over the now bandaged injury.

"It is no trouble. I must admit, it is flattering that you asked me to help you." Elrond laughs a bit, trying to force himself to relax and calm down. Celebrimbor has been nothing but kind to him during his stay in Eregion, that will not change now. Celebrimbor laughs as well, but it is tinged with sadness, much to Elrond's immediate concern.

"When I was young," Celebrimbor begins, shifting his gaze towards the window and fidgeting with his sleeves, "My father was not often around. He was busy, you see, with a great variety of things that are not limited to the oath. I got very close with my uncles, because at least one of them was always around, and I have a fond memory of my uncle Maglor helping me after I had scraped myself. I had thought that perhaps you might heal as he did, and you did not disappoint." Celebrimbor gave a wet laugh, wiping at his eyes and giving Elrond another smile.

Elrond can feel the wetness on his face as he starts to cry too, blinking rapidly as he stands in front of Celebrimbor. "Thank you," He replies in a hoarse voice, choked by tears. He gives Celebrimbor a smile back, because to know that at the very least, one of his father's is so deeply intertwined in his craft, his healing, is a very soothing knowledge indeed.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

I’ve been thinking about Miriel and her impact on the House of Feanor on the whole, as you do, and I was thinking what if she haunted the narrative even more? I think it’s pretty well established that she was depressed in some shape or form, that there were mental health problems contributing heavily but there were definitely physical aspects as well, ‘But in the bearing of her son Miriel was consumed in spirit and body; and after his birth she yearned for release from the labour of living.’ And I know that Feanor being Feanor was ascribed as a huge cause of this, that he was just so much stronger than the average elf that his birth was particularly taxing but I’m going to go ahead and assume that even if Feanor had been a perfectly normal baby Miriel would have been impacted. It just feels almost like this infant is being blamed for his mother’s death which, while definitely plausible as something that happened in universe, doesn’t really feel fair to him.

I’m theorising Miriel had underlying conditions from long before she became pregnant that made her prone to things like fainting, exhaustion, chronic pain and that in all honesty her having a child was never going to be a good idea. But they wanted a family together and where could be a safer place to raise one? Everything was perfect and safe, why shouldn’t they be able to overcome this little obstacle to doing what everyone else seemed to be doing without issue? Towards the end she was entirely bedridden, not even strong enough to sit at her loom.

Finwë was relieved beyond measure when Feanor seemed to grow almost exceedingly strong and healthy, as if he’d gotten all the strength Miriel had been missing, and he thought that was the matter laid to rest, Feanor was fine and any children of his would be as well. Except they weren’t. Nerdanel’s pregnancies were always a time of great panic, not for her health really because it wasn’t Feanor’s genes they were worried about it was Miriel’s. And Nerdanel was nothing like Miriel but her children…..

Ñolofinwe watches Feanor pacing the palace in a frenzy while a crowd of healers stream in and out of a room down the hall, some five times the standard amount, and he wants to try and reassure him but knows he, with his perfectly healthy baby boy, delivered with no fuss by one midwife just like his two perfectly healthy sons beforehand, to go home to, is the last person in Arda his brother could stand to converse with right now.

The sons and daughters of Fingolfin and Finarfin grew swiftly, strong and athletic with hearty appetites and bright dispositions. Feanor could not bring himself to hate children so he settled for hating his brothers instead. He does not envy them their children, he loves his more than he could ever have loved anything and that’s the problem right there, he loves his sons and he’s absolutely terrified that he’s going to lose them if he lays them down too long. They’re so small and as soon as they leave his or Nerdanel’s arms they seem to tremble with cold so he sleeps with them against his chest for more of the first years of their lives than was usual. After those many sleepless nights he always finds it hard to sleep without being able to feel the rise and fall of their breathing.

Their cousins often do not understand what the difference between them and the Feanorians is, most of them have vague memories of getting scolded within an inch of their lives for fighting one back when they got into childish arguments. Mostly they just resented it or assumed it was favouritism if it were by Finwe or fear of Feanor’s wrath if by their own parents. Angrod did not think too long on how easily Caranthir crumpled to the ground at an unexpected shove, after all he was the older wasn’t he? Surely the rules about being gentle shouldn’t apply? He was equally puzzled when Fingolfin came running and scooped Caranthir into his arms, pale and panicked as Maedhros assured him he’d make certain Feanor wouldn’t hear about the matter if he was alright.

They train and become agile and skilled with blades and bows if not physically broad and strong in the way of their cousins but no matter how their health improves there are always concerns and during their approaching adulthood it becomes clear their worries are not only in body. There are migraines that leave them in dark rooms unable to bear even the sound of footsteps outside, days where Curufin and Maedhros struggle to allow any food past there lips, days where Caranthir sobs for hours with some inexplicable ache, weeks where Maglor cannot find rest no matter how much exhaustion he feels, little cuts and gashes on Celegorm’s arms that seem too frequent to be fully accidental.

If you were to look at this from a modern perspective it would probably be some genetic tendency to bipolar disorder and major depression but they wouldn’t have that kind of language because in my headcanons about Valinor they have very little experience with mental illness and no idea how to respond to it. I’m citing the whole Miriel incident to back me up there.

And just to make this even more angsty have a Tyelko quote from the fic of this I may or may not write ‘Amme always said we were her miracles, that our survival and strength was a blessing from the Valar. I was lucky to make it to my first winter. I wonder now if things wouldn’t have been better for everyone else if I hadn’t.’

[eri-pl]

Yet another B&L AU rework:

C&C are not Stupid Evil, but the rest of the story still can happen

(They aren't exactly good, but they're the normal Feanorian level of "Silmaril-focused" and not cartoonishly villainous.)

OK, so what's Celegorm's and Curufin's main goal, or at least technically should be? In the canon it's political influence, but technically it should be reclaiming the Silmaril. And "letting Beren get it, then getting it from Beren" does seem like a better plan for it than "killing Beren before he can get the Silmaril". And yes, they do have some data suggesting that Beren can do it, to be precise: Finrod's foresight. It's at least possible that C&C knew that Finrod had some spoilers about this plan working.

Also, in case this wasn't known: there is absolutely nothing in any version of the Oath of Feanor saying that they have to kill or harm people who *are planning to* get a Silmaril. Only those who keep it or hoard or or in hand take it. Before the Silmarili is present in the scene, they're free to do whatever, including actually helping.

So:

Beren comes to Nargothrond. C&C are not complete jerks, so Finrod trusts them more, so all 4 of them meet to talk about what to do,

No, Thingol cannot be persuaded, Finrod knows him.

Basically C&C tell Beren that they wish him luck but also if he succeeds, they'd have to kill him (unless he gives them the Silmaril) and explains why. Beren says "So be it. I shall not fight you." [spoiler: yes, he won't] Lot of cool dramatic dialogue about fate and oaths etc, but they respect each other.

Also, Celegorm suggests doing it as a stealth mission instead of a frontal attack. It is a good idea, so Finrod takes only his 10 most trusted friends. He leaves C&C as unofficial administrators of the city, because Orodreth is very nice but has no sense of warfare and tactics and stuff like that.

Some time after Finrod and Beren left, C&C meet Lúthien as per the canon. They are more honest however. They do ask her what's her opinion about the Silmaril quest, and in between the lines (the Noldor know well the idea of "not taking badly about your family no matter what" so of course they don't expect an explicit answer) they all agree that Thingol was wrong to demand it. So C&C file Lúthien under "reasonable people". They take her to the city to decide how to proceed about her bad feeling / foresight about Beren.

Celegorm does fall in love with her, she does notice, it's awkward, but he's respectful about it. (Also, he assumes that they'd have to kill Beren anyway so the "how to force Thingol to agree to my marriage with his daughter, because she will *obviously* fall in love with me when Beren is dead" delusional plan is still a thing.)

They do eventually lock Lúthien up to keep her safe, and Huan too, because the prophecy is there and Sauron has wolves. Generally, Celegorm is being overprotective up to the point of disrespectfulness to both Lúthien and Huan. She says he's behaving like her father, he throws a bit of tantrum "I am not claiming other's sacred heritage!", but still, it's a very different situation than in the canon.

You know what? Celebrimbor also wants to go, also hats locked up for his safety.

C&C leave to save Finrod and Beren, leaving Orodreth to manage the city and watch Lúthien. So of course, Lúthien and Huan soon escape. And Tyelpe with them.

C&C get captured by Sauron and thrown in the dungeon with the rest. When only the main 4 are left, Celegorm gets to kill the wolf with his bare hands and teeth (as he should because this is very Celegorm-coded), probably to protect Curufin. He dies.

Lúthien arrives as per the canon, Sauron gets defeated and escapes. Tyelpe laughs at this, and/or makes some comments about the dungeons, generally a large dose of foreshadowing & dramatic irony happens. Because I love it and couldn't miss the opportunity.

Lúthien saves Beren, Finrod (who is wounded), and Curufin.

As Finrod needs to heal and Curufin in grieving and thb quite scared (and had the wonderful excuse of "my son needs to be taken to safety" even though said son just sort of rescued him, week, he was part of the team..) , they decide that they three will get Sauron's ex-prisoners safely to Nargothrond and B&L will proceed with the quest. Maybe. Eventually. Or just hang out in the forest.

Curufin gives Beren his magic-ish knife, because it can cut the Silmaril out. Also (though he doesn't mention that) because Curufin has a kind of foresight or mental link with the knife and will know how the quest proceeds.

Also he again demands that they give him the Silmaril if they manage to steal it, especially now when Celegorm had died for this. It's the "We will fight to death but not yet, also I respect you a lot" thing, I think it's a bit of a trope in some genres?

B&L as in the canon take a break and later continue.

Curufin leaves Nargothrond in secret, to intercept them, but Finrod notices (he was expecting this) and follows him. Tyelpe realizes that they left your late to follow them.

Finrod catches up to Curufin at the gates of Angband. It's very angsty and sad for the both of them because they know they will fight. They say farewell to one another and maybe cry.

B&L do the deed, on their way out before even Carcaroth they meet Curufin demanding the gem and Finrod trying to calm him down. Finrod and Curufin fight. Finrod is not trying to hurt his cousin, just to keep him from reaching Beren. He fights only defensively. Eventually Curufin kills him. He's sad.

In the meantime, B&L deal with Carcaroth as in the canon and escape with the help of an Eagle. Curufin probably shots them in the back (misses) and then escapes because Carcaroth is focused on them, and eventually returns to Maedhros.

B&L proceed as in the canon, only instead of "Celegorm tried to do this and that" getting the reason why their descendents hate the feanorians, it's "Curufin killed Finrod"

The Sons of Feanor are even more furious than in the canon because Celegorm died for the Silmaril and now Thingol is keeping it. Still, their letter to Thingol is more coordinated (there's no secret nasty letter from Curufin) and somewhat more diplomatic than "we'll kill all your people".

Oh, and since Tyelpë had no reason to disown his father earlier, he does so only now, in a letter, because of killing Finrod. Or maybe he doesn't but he stays in Nargothrond anyway, feeling guilty and torn. Anyway he doesn't get back to his father.

Regardless, both sides feel betrayed and so, after Thingol's death, the Kinslaying proceeds as normal except without Celegorm. E&Ev1 still get lost in a forest, maybe in an act of revenge by someone who was really grieved by Celegorm's death.

PS: feel free to use this if you want. I'd love to see this version of events in proper prose, but I don't think like writing it myself in any foreseeable future.

[batsyforyou]

Random Pet Peeves: Feanorians Edition

Tags: Pet peeves (things that annoy people)

Pairings: None

Author's Note: I have Eonwe coming up as well as the pokémon one. Just thought to post this while I was at it.

Taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese

Curufin 

Fidgeting. He hates it, between the noise it can bring and the constant movement it drives him insane and causes him to lose focus. Like when you're on your last nerve and someone keeps making McDonald straw music insane. Like just stop already! 

Maedhros

Jokes about his height and comments about his missing hand. The 'How's the weather up there?’ jokes and the constant questions about his hand from those less informed drives him crazy. I mean honestly, how many times can you hear the same thing before it gets old? Now imagine being an elf with centuries of experience with these things. 

Celegorm 

Open mouth chewing. Most of the time Celegorm doesn’t care about anything anyone does but when it comes to eating and everyone is at the dinner table it's gross and noisy and he is sometimes convinced that their saliva food spatter somehow got in his food. Which he will promptly make a scene for and refuse to eat. 

Even worse is when he is feeling overwhelmed and stressed and chewing noises begin to drive him nuts like, oh my word, I’ve been there.  

Caranthir 

Mud and dirt tracked all over the floor. Especially if Celegorm is the one who couldn’t be bothered to take his shoes off before coming inside. 

Maglor 

When someone touches his stuff. Most of the time he can handle it with grace and be completely chill with finding his harp being moved into a different room. Because while it is annoying it isn’t world ending. So he’ll just roll his eyes, sigh and politely remind the culprit *coughs* Celegorm *Cough cough* to not move his things around. 

But if you really want to get his goat do what parents (and some absent minded friends) do best. 

When he goes to show you a journal with his music notes and ideas, flip into the area he didn’t show you. Like when you show someone a photo and they start SCROLLING THROUGH EVERYTHING. 

That will get him raging mad lol. 

Amrod and Amras

They both hate it when they get called by the other's name. And I don’t mean like when a stranger, like a servant, just makes a mistake (they are very understanding about this) I mean when they’ve known this person for literal years and they still can’t tell them apart. 

They also can’t stand it when family members confuse their hobbies with the other twins. While it isn’t big it doesn’t really feel good and can really upset them on days they aren’t doing well mentally. 

Celebrimbor 

When someone refers to his family as the monsters under the bed and uses them as scary ghost stories. Yeah, his family did kinda do it to themselves but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying. Especially when they get the details wrong like, “No, Maedhros didn’t have dark hair. His hair was red and curly.” Like if you're gonna try and scare people using real life people at least get the basics right. 

It also sucks because people will also turn him into a story character as well. Coming up with different assumptions and making weird rumors about him eating worms or something. It can be really bothersome and isolating. 

Besides all that he still loves his family and remembers them more as people with troubled pasts rather than monsters that hide under beds.

His Uncles and Atar are way too big to hide under beds anyway. 

Feanor

When someone questions his work and decisions. Not just once out of curiosity but over and over again. It grates on his sanity. 

Nerdanel

When someone talks about her children and husband leaving and doing all those horrible things. Like honestly can’t they have some class and not shove it in her face? Or even when someone asks her how she didn’t see Feanor’s behavior change or why she didn’t try to stop him sooner or the classic, “What did you ever see in that elf?” 

She loves her family very much and hates when people act all snotty about things.

masterlist

[animatorweirdo]

The House Of Feanor Meeting the Embodiment Of the Void

The house of Feanor meets the embodiment of the void, who is not what they expected to be.

Requested by Anon

Hi there, hope you're doing well :)

May I send a request for the Feanorians, who meet the embodiment of the Void (reader) when they're in the Void after death, and after witnessing how regretful they were of their actions, reader pleads with Eru/Mandos to give them another chance and they do, but that would mean that the Feanorians have to leave her behind, so they ask to bring her along and she does get to go to Valinor with them?

It's up to you if you want to do a romantic pairing or go for a platonic route.

Thanks!

Warnings: mentions of Feanor and his actions, the oath, kin slaying, mentions of death, being disembodied spirits, Ungoliant, madness, eating itself, self-reflection, some soft moments, and Melkor being kind of an ass.

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

- Darkness is what elves expected to meet once they damned themselves on the path of doom and their souls are banished to the void, beyond the doors of the night, where they might never return. 

- It was mostly true. There was no light like the stars, the sun, or the light of valars in the void, but most importantly, there was nothing. 

- One of the tales of the void shared that there were creatures of horrors who desired and envied the light of Eru, but surprisingly, there was none, and even when a soul sensed another presence, it would vanish or leave them alone. 

- However, one thing they did not expect was to dream within the void and meet a powerful presence. 

- So, when the house of Feanor had damned themselves into the void due to the oath, they did not expect to meet you, the embodiment god of the void itself. 

- It was unheard of that the void had its own god, but yet not many things were known about the void. However, you were not what they expected to be. 

- You were the twin of Eru, his opposite to his light. However, unlike Melkor to Manwe, you bore no hatred for your twin or his creations. On the contrary, you loved him and felt fascinated by the beings created by his songs. 

- He inspired you to create your own children that resembled you. Unfortunately, your creations became the very thing that kept you from ever taking a closer look at Arda and its wonders. 

- You shared with them how one of Eru’s first creations, Melkor, often came to seek imperishable flame within your domain. You tried to be welcoming, but his ambitions, hatred, and jealousy infected your children, causing them to hate Eru’s light and feel the desire to devour it, forcing you to trap them within your domain and keep them from ever escaping. 

- One of your children did escape, the great spider, the inhabitant of Arda called Ungoliant. It pained you to watch her hunger to make her suffer. You had tried many times to call her back to the void where you could null her hunger, but unfortunately, her hunger caused her to become beyond mad and eat herself. 

- The house of Feanor was baffled by you but felt gratefulness when they learned that you were the reason your children did not try to devour their souls and very existence. 

- You were curious about them and asked why they had been banished to your domain. Elves were supposed to be creatures of light. 

- As Feanor was first to be banished into the void, he was the first to explain what had come to happen in Arda, and you listened. 

- You felt astonishment and grief for the loss he had suffered and that it had driven him to commit such actions. However, your curious nature and questions made him think of his actions and family who were still alive on Arda. 

- If he and his family had committed to such an oath that the valars saw to fulfill their self-inflicted sentence should they fail to retrieve the silmarils, then there was nothing you could do but let them stay and fulfill their sentence. But knowing your children, it was still a very harsh sentence, as they did not know the void was filled with beings who were hateful and wanted to devour the light of life itself. 

- To give him the chance to wait and fulfill his sentence, you kept his soul close to you, keeping him safe from your children. 

- It would have been overwhelming for him for you to speak in your form, so you mostly spoke to him in dreams. He was willing to share what he had seen in Arda, filling you with delight while you two waited if his sons were to join him. 

- It was perhaps some centuries upon Arda and not too long in the void as there was no sense of time in the void, but three of his sons entered the void. They had committed another kin slaying and died, thus were banished into your domain. 

- You allowed Feanor to reunite with them before revealing yourself, allowing them to speak to each other in their shared dream. Many emotions were shed, mostly anger and sorrow as they had fought and killed for nothing. 

-  Two of the twins were next to join you, the youngest of the house. 

- The last to join was the eldest son. The second eldest was not to be seen, but since his soul was not in a void — it could only mean he was still alive. 

- Feanor’s sons were unnerved by your presence but became comfortable when you proved you meant no harm to them. 

- They were willing to share their stories with you and what they had seen in Arda, making you delighted. It allowed them to self-reflect and acknowledge the wrongs they had committed. 

- After many years in Arda, you decided that the house of Feanor had fulfilled their sentence and were ready to return to their hall of the dead. 

- You opened the path for them to go through the void. They asked if there was ever a chance of speaking to you again. You smiled, explaining you had to watch over your children. Perhaps once they had been cured of their hatred and creed you would be able to visit Arda once it was remade.

- With a farewell, they departed. 

- You were sad to see them go, but it was necessary as you were expecting the arrival of another. Morgoth, as the elves called him, had been chained and banished to your domain for his misdeeds. You welcomed him again and hoped he would self-reflect like Feanor and his sons, but unfortunately, he held stubbornness beyond his own good, and therefore, you could not allow him to leave till the fulfillment of Eru’s last song.

[doodle-pops]

Married Life With Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin Would Include…

Request: Hi, can I request some group fluffy headcanons for Feanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin with asexual!reader? Like about their domestic life. I like to imagine they would give reader some extra care and make them feel valid and loved, and when someone tries to stick their nose into their relationship, they just be like: "Yeah, me and my partner don't have bodily union, but we're bonded by stars, so get lost". Thanks in advance (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

A/N: Always a pleasure to answer your requests. Enjoy!

Synopsis: What your married life with them as an asexual person would entail.

Masterlist | Navigation

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fëanor

➽ Fëanor, being Fëanor, does not give a damn about what others think of your relationship. In fact, he thrives on the scandal it causes amongst the more traditional elves.

➽ If anyone so much as dares to comment on the lack of physical intimacy between you two, he scoffs, waves a dismissive hand, and says something like, “What, you thought I, Curufinwë Fëanáro, needed to do what every other lovesick fool does? I am bonded beyond flesh. And if you don’t understand that, I won’t waste my breath explaining it to you.”

➽ He is extremely protective of your comfort. If someone is prying or making you feel invalid, he will eviscerate them with words alone. “Your ignorance wounds me,” he’d say in a tone so dry that it leaves the offender squirming. “And here I thought the Eldar were supposed to be enlightened.”

➽ You are the only one allowed to touch his hair without protest. The sight of you braiding it is enough to make his sons do double takes because their father, the very Fëanor, sits still and lets you work without a single complaint. If you ever want yours braided in return, he takes to the task with precision—his fingers work like a master jeweller, and he will not accept anything less than perfection.

➽ If you’re feeling insecure about your identity, he brings you into his forge and makes you something to remind you of your worth. A Silmaril of your own, set with a stone that captures the first light of Telperion and Laurelin. “No one questions the worth of the Silmarils,” he murmurs as he fastens it around your neck. “And you are far rarer, far more precious. So do not let lesser minds make you doubt.”

➽ When the two of you sit together, he always ends up with an arm slung around your shoulders or your fingers intertwined with his. It’s never possessive—just a quiet reminder that you belong to each other. He likes to rest his forehead against yours sometimes, eyes closed, breathing in your presence. “This,” he says softly, “is enough.”

➽ Maedhros and Maglor have learned not to comment on your relationship because every time they do, Fëanor launches into a dramatic speech about how the two of you share a connection beyond mere physicality, an eternal bond forged in the core of Arda itself, something that transcends mere bodily desires. Eventually, his sons stop bringing it up because he won’t shut up.

➽ If he catches anyone looking down on you for your sexuality, he leans in and murmurs in a deceptively friendly tone, “If you insult my beloved, you insult me. And you would not dare to insult me, would you?” Cue the offending party quickly finding somewhere else to be.

➽ He has a terrible habit of stealing your clothes when they’re left unattended. You’ll come into your shared space to find him wearing your outer robe like a lordly cloak, completely unbothered by the fact that it’s clearly not his. “It smells like you,” he says with a shrug. “And I happen to like that.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Fingolfin

➽ Unwavering in his devotion, and when he loves, he loves with his whole being. He understands you, accepts you, and never lets you feel less than cherished. Whenever someone questions your relationship, he just raises an eyebrow and says in his calm, unshakable voice, “What I have with my beloved is eternal. It does not need to be explained.”

➽ He is an incredibly attentive partner. He notices when you’re overwhelmed, when you need space, when you need reassurance. If you ever doubt your worth, he takes your hands in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “You are enough,” he tells you. “Always.”

➽ If someone tries to insist that your love is somehow ‘incomplete’ without physical intimacy, Fingolfin gives them a look so cold that they immediately regret opening their mouth. “And who,” he asks, voice laced with steel, “gave you the authority to define love?”

➽ He enjoys quiet domestic moments. Sitting beside you as he polishes his armour, reading together beneath the trees, walking hand in hand through the city—these are the things he treasures. Sometimes, he just gazes at you with a small, private smile, as if he still cannot quite believe you chose him.

➽ His siblings have very different reactions to your relationship. Fëanor, predictably, scoffs at the idea of his half-brother finding happiness but secretly respects how fiercely Fingolfin defends your bond. Finarfin, ever the peacekeeper, is simply delighted to see you both happy. “True love is rare,” he tells you one day with a warm smile. “Never let anyone tell you it must look a certain way.”

➽ Whenever you sit in court beside him, he unconsciously seeks you out, his hand resting lightly on yours, a subtle anchor in the storm of politics. Even in the most heated debates, his touch remains grounding and comforting.

➽ When he prepares for battle, he always ensures you have something of his—perhaps a finely wrought bracelet, a token of his love. “I will return to you,” he vows, fingers brushing against yours. “And should I fall, know that I have loved you beyond all reckoning.”

➽ He is a surprisingly good cook, but only for you. If one of his soldiers asks for a meal, they get standard fare. If you ask? He’s suddenly making a feast fit for a king. “Favouritism?” he echoes, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

˖ ࣪ . ࿐♡˚. Finarfin

➽ He is utterly devoted to making sure you always feel loved and validated. He is patient, understanding, and the first to shut down any nonsense about what a relationship should look like. “Love is not measured by the expectations of others,” he says simply. “It is measured by what we build together.”

➽ He is incredibly gentle with you. If you ever feel overwhelmed, he simply pulls you into his arms and lets you lean against him, no words needed. His presence alone is a comfort, warm and steadfast.

➽ He enjoys creating things for you—whether it’s intricate jewellery, embroidered garments, or even composing a song that captures the depths of your bond. “It is not the work of a great minstrel,” he says with a soft smile, “but it is yours, and that is enough.”

➽ Whenever someone pries into your relationship, he doesn’t get angry. He just tilts his head, gives them a polite but firm look, and says, “I fail to see how this is your concern.” Somehow, that is more effective than any argument.

➽ If you ever feel insecure about your identity, he reassures you with quiet conviction. “You are as the Valar made you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “And who am I to question their wisdom?”

➽ He enjoys domestic routines with you—sharing meals, walking through the gardens, reading together in companionable silence. These small moments mean everything to him.

➽ His children adore you. Even if they don’t always understand your perspective at first, they respect you deeply. Galadriel and Finrod in particular are protective of you, and anyone who dares to mock your relationship will find themselves on the receiving end of Galadriel’s sharp tongue.

➽ When he speaks about you, there is always warmth in his voice, a quiet reverence. “My love,” he says one evening as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “the world may not always understand us, but I need only your understanding. That is all that matters.

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[thesummerestsolstice]

Hair Headcanons for the rest of the Finweans:

Celebrimbor: Dark, raven-wing colored iridescent hair. Exactly like Feanor. Just like the rest of Celebrimbor. I'm sure he doesn't have any feelings about that.

Idril: Blonde hair with darker streaks near the roots. 10/10 for shimmer, looks like actual gold. Even Glorfindel is vaguely jealous. She particularly enjoys how sapphires look in it and often wears it in locs, like her father.

Maeglin: Dark hair, like Aredhel's; often seems to have streaks of a dark purple color. He usually wears his hair loose, which would be a safety hazard in the forge if not for the Finwean Hair Magic™️. He does very little in the way of hair care, but his hair still always looks perfect because of course it does.

Earendil: Originally had blonde hair similar to Idril's, but that's changed since he became a living star. Now, his hair looks almost like golden fire, flickering strangely even without wind, tapering off to white near the end, though his glowing hair has nothing on the radiance in his eyes, which is said to burn the unworthy– just like the Silmaril he wears as a crown.

Celebrian: Her hair is actually very similar to her mother's– the "silver" in her name refers to how it looks under the moon, but under the sun, it has a distinctly more golden hue. Is often seen with fireflies floating around her hair like a crown. (This may or may not be Elrond's doing)

Gil-Galad: No one can agree on what Gil's hair looks like. Some say it's as silver as mithril, flowing long and straight down his back. Others insist his hair was just like Fingon's– though maybe a bit darker. Other say he had Finrod's golden curls, or even Maedhros's red tresses. What they can all agree on is that Gil clearly had Finwean Hair Magic™️, and was therefore clearly a Finwean... even if they weren't sure exactly where he came from.

Elrond: Exists at the fascinating intersection of Finwean Hair Magic™️ and Melian's Maiarin magic. Normally, his hair actually looks a lot like Finwe's; dark with many colors of sparkly iridescence. But sometimes, on nights when the moon is full, or when thunder rumbles in the valley, it seems to have a mind of its own; more living shadow than hair. Many people have asked about this. Elrond has not provided anything resembling a proper explanation.

[dramatic-dolphin]

Can you explain the noldor-apologism in your Bio? I mean, I get why you would like Fingolfin, Gil-galad, Finrod Felagund or Eärendil. But I wanna hear what you have to say about noted warcriminals Feanor, Maedhros and Maglor. Also what can you say aboutCelegorm and Curufin?

perhaps this exchange I had with my sister will explain my stance:

(translation: i don't know who that is but i agree)

......I might be giving her the wrong idea about the events of The Silmarillion.

as a whole my opinion about Fëanor and his sons is that they are my funky little war criminal guys and I love them. <3 more seriously, The Tragedy. compels me.

Fëanor, as a child, growing up with everyone thinking/knowing that there is something fundamentally wrong with him. Everything he ever does is informed by this. (Why am I not loved enough? Why am I unlovable? And he misses the forest for the trees.) He makes horrible decisions and then he dies, and becomes the ghost haunting the narrative. THIS is so compelling. After Alqualondë and the ships, everything horrible is done in his name but crucially he is not there for it. He's held up as the worst, because obviously he has to be the worst if his children are like that, but there is always the question at the back of your mind: would he have done that? Would he have wanted this to happen? (Probably.) (But, maybe....) Also he's a linguist so I can't not love him.

MAEDHROS. I love him. Tragic hero broken beyond hope. How far one person can fall. From being the voice of reason (he alone stood aside) to being the worst of them all. He is THE tragedy. He pieces himself together after being rescued from captivity, just to break differently in the end! Maedhros is a story about hope that's destroyed again and again and again. He clings onto life for all those centuries, for what? At the end, he holds the Silmaril in his hand, and it was all for nothing. And then he kills himself. His life fucking sucks. I love him.

The fact that Maglor's biggest redeeming moment is that he takes in the two children they captured after they destroyed their city will never not be hilarious. To me. But also, he raised Elros and Elrond. Possibly my favorite event to toss around in my head, their fucked up little family is everything to me. Him, I love so much because he's the greatest contradiction. Maedhros grits his teeth and commits war crimes as familial duty. Maglor writes the Noldolantë. Maglor raises the children whose family he as good as massacred, and does it WELL. He loves them. Maglor is gentle, he repents, he regrets everything with his whole heart. And then he commits another war crime. That's delicious. (Also I had a lot of fun coming up with an OC for his unnamed wife, I think she's hilarious. I love women who suck.)

Celegorm and Curufin are possibly the most irredeemable tbh. Their stint as the minor villains in Lúthien's story is entertaining though for sure. I don't have as many thoughts on them as I do on Maedhros and Maglor, but I could probably do some apologism for them if I wanted to. Anyways Celegorm is again a beautiful illustration of how far one person can fall – he's like a whole different person by the time they meet Lúthien. A much worse one, and you can't help but think to yourself "How did this happen? how did he get here?" (The answer might just be Curufin...)

Speaking of Curufin! He's like his father, and isn't that a heavy cross to bear? Fëanor is haunting the narrative but he's haunting Curufin especially. (Celebrimbor manages to not have his father haunt him to this degree, which must take a heroic effort. Good for him!) Also the two of them were definitely enabling each other, someone should separate them for their own sake. Christopher Tolkien says "it's Curufin who put evil into Celegorm's heart" and I feel like there's definitely truth in that, but it certainly didn't do HIM any good either. Oh, and he didn't like Eöl which is obviously a plus in my book, because fuck that guy.

And I love how Caranthir, Amrod and Amras are left out of the question. rip these three, they need to commit more/worse war crimes to have a spot here. This reply is already long enough though.