#laureline my beloved

[fablewoven]

I wake up to do replies and maybe watch some trashy Netflix show I started the other day, but Valerian is on TV?! Nevermind...I'm watching Valerian...

[sterlingarcher23]

Stranger Things/ElMax and a Valerian & Laureline parallel

I noticed something when I just watched Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (which is why I give this post priority) and while it was at first just how Laureline (Cara Delevingne) looked at Valerian's lips (Dane DeHaan) totally says "Yeah, looking at someone's lips communicates a romantic interest" which means that El & Max looking at each other's lips screams 'romance incoming', the whole scene had some weirdly similar vibes.

From the "Wait a moment, our moment is interrupted", therefore no kiss, to the ridiculous charge of Valerian & Laureline and Max on the other side.

Before this all happens Laureline's brain was meant to be a dish for an alien emperor guy (typical Luc Besson humor)

Like I said: vibes...

It should be noted that Star Wars which has a huge influence in pop culture including Stranger Things, would have looked very different and probably less interesting if the makers and Uncle George weren't plundering franco-belgian comics and artists including "Valerian & Laureline" by Pierre Christin & Jean-Claude Mézières or the works of Jean "Moebius" Giraud and others.

Just a few examples:

A video showcasing certain images and although not comparing everything, once you see it, you know that you've seen it.

Something that at least should be acknowledge - Pierre Christin interviewed years ago by a German journal wasn't against inspiration, that's how art works and lives on, he was just sad that their works weren't even mentioned and that it is a thing with Americans that they take what's needed and don't even say "Thank you" which, according to Christin is the very least you should do.

The interview but it's just in German.

Btw Mézières & Christin worked with Besson on his Fifth Element that's why it looks also very similar to some Valerian illustrations bit those came before.

Anyway: Did the Duffers copy Valerian too to have El & Max like Valerian & Laureline? Not sure. It just has similar vibes and although not in the movie but it was meant to happen in a sequel and IS a big thing in the comics, both Valerian and Laureline are time agents,usually only visiting the past (Laureline is originally even a girl from the middle ages) and the constant hints to time travel/space travel (Back to the Future, A wrinkle in time) and dimensions outside the space time feels like this could be an influence and aspects inspiring Stranger Things and more specifically El & Max (because these two most definitely go on a time travel/jump).

The visuals how Laureline communicates with Valerian in "Metro Chatelet" over space and time (she's in the future, he's in the 80s) could be an inspo for Stranger Things, communication/time travel.

Speaking of similarities (Valerian shows that he's the guardian of the soul of a princess):

So, it could just be a coincidence (although nerds like the Duffers may know about some ofthe origins of Star Wars) but at least it would be cool... and honor what influenced a world wide cultural phenomenon like Star Wars that inspired Stranger Things too.

Just the artwork for this book reminds me of the reflection, mirror and upside down/inverse from the show, splitting it in space, time and dimension too - and yeah, in German Laureline was renamed to Veronique.

So, a Valerian & Laureline / El & Max couple parallel that's undeniable for the nerds that know more than just DC & Marcel and I'm happy.

"There's beggary in love that can be reckon'd"

It cannot be reckoned, it's infinite, bottomless, is infinitely deep. It's timeless. It's neverending.

"And there here upon a rainbow is the answer to a Neverending Story."

[welcometololaland]

super late seven sentence sunday, but in celebration of the rwrb advent fic i'm currently writing, have some Eurotrip (chapter 13! so you know we are slowly inching towards the end).

“I don’t want to be the one to say this, but there’s a lot of lipstick on the—”

“Mouth?”

“I was going somewhere else with that.”

Henry grins. “Truly? With a pure and innocent mind like yours?”

“I’ll show you pure and innocent,” Alex grumbles, although he reaches for Henry’s hand and plants a possessive kiss on his cheek, just to remind him whose body he should be thinking about. It’s not like he’s feeling jealous of a statue, or anything.

“It is a little sad that Oscar Wilde was never this beloved during his lifetime,” Henry points out, completely changing the mood. “I wonder what he would think of his legacy.”

Alex hums thoughtfully, then says the most un-thoughtful thing that comes to his brain. “Well, if he liked blowjobs, he’d probably be pretty happy that people seem to want to kiss his—”

“You’re horrible,” Henry interjects, although he’s laughing as he unfurls their intertwined hands and jostles Alex’s shoulder playfully. “Let’s go before you mortally offend everyone in our vicinity.”

thanks for the tags @nancys-braids @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlossreaders @everlastingday

@strandnreyes @orchidscript @heartstringsduet @henrygrass @nisbanisba and @ironheartwriter (I know almost all of you are exclusively lone star, so i'm sorry for my betrayal here).

tagging: @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @clottedcreamfudge @everwitch-magiks @stereopticons

@sherryvalli @emmalostinwonderland @suseagull5914 @beautifulhigh @lilythesilly

@ships-to-sail @inexplicablymine @absoluteaudacitywrites @indestructibleheart @cha-melodius

@affectionatelyrs @firenati0n @thesleepyskipper @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hippolotamus

@lightningboltreader @carlos-tk @porcelainmortal @myheartalivewrites @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@leaves-of-laurelin @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @agame-writes @sparklepocalypse

[firenati0n]

several sentence sunday / last line game / all the challenges <3 :)

hello friends :) apologies for being MIA, things got a little silly (derogatory, unpleasant, painful) in roop land but i wanted to share some words and say THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH for all the tags <3 even if i can't appropriately react at times, i love seeing and reading them. thank you thank you to @cha-melodius @bigassbowlingballhead @wordsofhoneydew @sparklepocalypse @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @eusuntgratie @cricketnationrise @orchidscript @kiwiana-writes @duchessdepolignaca03 @getmehighonmagic @suseagull04 @magicandarchery @oxfordslutphase @myheartalivewrites @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @leaves-of-laurelin @piratefalls @itsmaybitheway @ninzied @futureseaempress @priincebutt @onthewaytosomewhere @welcometololaland @songliili for the tags over the last few days. ily all my beloveds

here's a snip from my actor au i started yesterday lol coming soon :) it's long bc i wanted to make up for the lengthy silence xoxoxo

Alex grabs a piece of chicken with his chopsticks, lets it hover for a second. “So, those love scenes from Benediction—” “Next question.” Henry shovels fried rice into his mouth as if it’ll save him from responding. Doesn’t matter. Alex is patient. He lets Henry chew and swallow before diving right back in. “What was Oliver’s game like, huh? Because, woof. It was clearly working.” Henry’s ears rapidly turn red, first at the tips, then the whole way down. He looks down at his rice, seeking an answer. “It’s called acting, darling. You should try it sometime.” Alex laughs. “Yeah, but there must be a magic button to press.” A chopstick gets waved for emphasis. “No way just acting got all those breathy moans out of you.” Alex looks Henry square in the eye. He's fucking determined, wants an answer desperately. “Help a guy out here, Henry. I gotta perform for the cameras, too.” The pink flush starts to creep down Henry’s face. A wonderful actor, indeed. Henry swallows. “I can assure you, there’s nothing you need to worry about.” Interesting. Alex raises an eyebrow. “Why not?” He asks, curious.   Henry takes a breath. Puts his food down. Looks Alex in his eyes, ocean blue eyes meeting deep brown ones. “I’m sure you own a mirror, Alex. Plus, we passed a chemistry read. There are no questions about it. When push comes to shove, we'll be fine.” “But what if I wanted to push a little ahead of schedule? Just us, just in case.” Alex wrings his hands, his throat dangerously close to seizing up. “I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.”

xoxo roop

+ tags under the cut <3 and open tag as always :)

@anincompletelist @nocoastposts @dumbpeachjuice @tintagel-or-cockleshells @sherryvalli @littlemisskittentoes @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @heybuddy-drabbles @inexplicablymine @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @gayrootvegetable @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @cultofsappho @largepeachicedtea @anchoredarchangel @candyspandemonium @whimsymanaged @ships-to-sail @zwiazdziarka @captainjunglegym

[polutrope]

Very happy birthdays to you and Melesta! Wishing you both health and joy and freedom.

Would love a little scene between Finduilas and Turgon, in Valinor, "after." If you feel so moved.

🧡

Turgon and Finduilas, reembodied. Rated G, 1100 words. By @polutrope and @melestasflight. On AO3.

“Sorontië, Numentië, Asartië,” Turgon mutters to himself, looking from street corner to street corner, placing names upon the grid of Tirion. Strange that he, who built a city in its image, now finds the grandeur and pulse of Tirion too much to bear. Perhaps it is only the freshness of his renewed body, but everything is so dazzling here, too clean, and the reflected light off all the marble and painted glass hurts his eyes. 

As his gaze travels between stalls, carriages, and ornate facades, they land upon one nearby who had until now escaped his notice for how still they stood amidst the city’s perpetual movement. 

“Findaráto?” he says, half to himself, because he knows that hair, that peculiar shade of gold as if a bloom of Laurelin has just burst open. But no, he has seen Finrod since he returned — this figure is slight, delicate, as Finrod was in his youth. Not as he is now, in his second life, a warrior reborn as their people’s crown prince.   

The body turns and the face that greets him is both alike to Finrod’s and distinctly not. A deep frown adorns her fair features. “How many more in this city will take me for my uncle?”

“I am sorry, lady,” Turgon says, nodding in greeting — and it is only when he lifts his chin and looks at her that her words fully settle in his mind. “Your… uncle?”

Her frown deepens and she looks as if she is ready to throw yet another accusation at him, but she is interrupted by a jewelry seller thrusting an elaborate hair ornament practically into her face.

“Would the lady Finduilas like to try this piece instead?” The seller is almost shouting in her excitement. “It is our latest, created by Lúletinwë.” When Finduilas does not react, the seller adds, sympathetically: “Tirion’s most famous designer of this century.” 

Finduilas — Turgon knows the name. Could it be? Finduilas of Nargothrond, Orodreth’s daughter, Finrod’s most beloved niece? Finduilas now glares at the jewelry seller, the exasperation written upon her face.

Turgon cannot blame her. He looks from her face to the ornament: it is like a malformed octopus made of gems, lined with the most ostentatiously enormous, poorly cut, and ill-matched ruby and emerald crystals Turgon has ever seen. 

“Return that hideous clump of rock to the bowels of the earth where it belongs!” Turgon blurts, physically recoiling. He shudders. “Better yet, cast it into the Void.”  

The jewelry seller’s eyes widen in shock, her jaw dropping. Turgon winces; his mouth has run away with him, again. He considers apologizing, taking back the offense, when a thunder of laughter sounds at his side. Finduilas is roaring, doubled over, and then she grabs Turgon’s forearm to steady herself.

“Oh, that’s the best insult I have yet heard in this new life,” Finduilas says when she regains control of herself. “You, lord, curse as well as the very uncle you just mistook me for, when he loses his famed calm.” Then she turns to the seller, whose face has now hardened like baked clay: “We shall not be requiring your assistance further, lady. I thank you.”

Finduilas leads him away, sliding her hand into the bend of his elbow. Turgon glances over his shoulder for one last look at the jewel-seller: she still glares after them, and this prompts a laugh to leap from his throat. 

“It is good to meet you, Finduilas,” he says. “I did not know you were…” It has not become easy, yet, knowing how to speak of having been dead.

“Yes, I am. Returned to life.” Finduilas smiles gently as she turns to him, her earlier frown replaced by mirth. “The pleasure is all mine and please excuse my impatience; I am yet new to this business of living again. May I know your name, also, oh saviour from the terrors of Tirion’s fashion?”

“Oh, yes, I am sorry, I–” Turgon feels the heat in his cheeks, knows that he is making a fool of himself. He feels a child, sometimes, who has to learn the simplest things all over, such as how to place words together… what to call himself. What does he call himself, to this child of Beleriand, reborn in Aman, who never knew him as anything but — what did she know him as? How did Finrod speak to her of him? What did she think of him, the distant King of the Noldor who stayed ensconced in his mountain valley while Nargothrond fell to ruin? 

He settles for the name he carried for nigh five centuries. “I am Turgon." Finduilas’ brows arch: in surprise, joy, or fear, Turgon cannot tell, and he hastens to add: “But you may call me uncle, if you wish.”

Finduilas does not seem to share his doubts, the ruin of her fair city so far away that she barely remembers it. “The famed Turgon!” she cries heartily. “My uncle has barely spoken of anything else since your return. At last I meet you!” Then, Finduilas tosses herself into his embrace, arms tightening around his ribs. The top of her hair tickles Turgon’s cheek; she is of Idril’s height, almost to the inch. Turgon holds her against himself. It is the most at home he has felt since returning – strange as that may seem, embracing a kinswoman he never knew in his previous life. But there is something about Finduilas being both new and familiar that sets him at ease.

They pull apart, still smiling, and Turgon says: “If you are still looking for some adornment, I have just remembered a florist where my daughter – long ago – often went to pick out an assortment of exotic flowers brought up from the south. She would arrange them in a wreath herself.” Finduilas’ face brightens at what she hears and Turgon summons the courage to offer his help. “If you would like, I will take you there, for it is not easy to find.” 

Passingly, he wonders if the shop is still there at all, but does not speak this thought aloud. 

“Lead the way!” Finduilas agrees with a grin more golden than her fair tresses.

Turgon takes her hand, recalling the weight of his young daughter’s hand as he once led her through this crowded marketplace. He guides Finduilas from the bright bustle, towards the secluded, peaceful neighbourhood on the southern slope of Túna where he remembers a quaint little flower shop, down a narrow lane. As they walk in comfortable silence, warmth, as sweet as honeyed tea, fills his chest. 

He has made his first friend in this new Tirion.

Birthday Prompts

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @wordsofhoneydew and @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags! I was actually going to share something from a different fic tonight, but then a friend got a shitty transphobic comment, and... well. Much like my dearly beloved Alex Claremont-Diaz, I fucking love doing things out of spite, so here's a little more of the trans!Alex FTH fic instead. I'm a very firm believer in 'don't like don't read', but I'm also a very firm believer in doing that without making your dislike the author's problem. This fandom is literally drowning in fic right now; y'all have seen the wordcounts I read and even I can't keep up. Hit that back button and find something you do want to read instead. And for the record, bigotry can and should be made actively unwelcome.

Alex grins, running his fingers through Henry’s hair as Henry looks up at him, lips parted and gaze hungry. “It was the one downside to top surgery—I hated my tits, but my nipples were so fucking sensitive. Now they’re like… I mean, I can still feel them, but I don’t think I could come just from having them played with anymore.” “Hmm.” There’s something in Henry’s expression that feels a little like a challenge, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he presses his thumbs into the divots at Alex’s hips, drags his lips down Alex’s torso with single-minded determination. His tongue dips briefly into Alex’s navel before dragging down his happy trail, stopping just above the scar above his pubic bone as Alex groans, hands tightening in Henry’s hair. “Christ, look at you—can I suck your cock?”

Tagging @affectionatelyrs @agame-writes @anincompletelist @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @jellibuns @junebugclaremontdiaz @leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @piratefalls @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @three-drink-amy @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

[that-angry-noldo]

@russingon-week || day 1: light

The light of Arien did not reach the peaks of Thangorodrim most days, and Maedhros did not know she was there in her vessel until he was rescued and saw her for himself; really he saw not the Sun or the Moon during the long years of his captivity. But even after, her light was strange and distant on his skin—not so brilliant as Laurelin's; not so radiant as the light of the Trees captured within the Gems of Enemy's crown. It scorched when Maedhros lifted his hand to meet it; Laurelin's essence always bent to him, almost cool despite its life-giving heat.

Fingon closed his eyes, lifting his face to Arien's warmth. For a few seconds Maedhros watched him. Fingon's face was painted by a smile, almost careless under the touch of the Sun—a fake thing, Maedhros knew, for these days Fingon smiled more for the past habit's sake than honesty—but it was dear to him nonetheless.

They stood silently side by side, watching down at the city spreading below the fortress; the day was quiet, and the spring filled the air with faint smell of flowers and earth. Maedhros felt oddly stiff between it all; oddly awkward at Fingon's side.

No word passed between them, though Maedhros thought of many things he wished to say. He was not as wordy now as he was in days of their youth in Aman; all words remained unsaid, rendering themselves meaningless before even forming on his lips. It would have made Maedhros frustrated, once; but now nothing betrayed his irritation but a heavy sigh.

Fingon opened one eye, golden and gleaming as it glanced at Maedhros, and his smile did not falter. Maedhros walked closer to him; stopped at an arm's distance, suitable for a lord before his prince.

Fingon noticed that; scoffed in feigned offence, turning his face away. "We are cousins above all; I believe the distance you can cross is closer than where you stand."

Cousins, Maedhros thought, mouth quirking in a crooked smile. "I would not dare, lord. I am indebted to you above all; nothing but your humble vassal, I fear."

Fingon looked without approval; but that was fake too, for his eyes gleamed with gold and the edges of them were bright with mirth.

"Most beloved of all vassals, then," he murmured, tilting his face, as if measuring Maedhros' worth. "Come; my father and his lords await us. I would not make them wait."

Maedhros smiled at him and followed; and if his soul soared at the familiarity of the voice and the mercy extended to him, he did not dwell on it long.

[rmd-writes]

thanks for the tags @kiwiana-writes (even if they told heinous lies about me) @heartstringsduet @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad! With Call Me now fully written and posting, I’ve gone back to writing my June fic:

.

The next time June sees Alex emerge from his room, dressed to go running, she tells him to wait and she’ll come with him. It becomes a regular thing, Alex even starts asking her if she wants to go. They don’t talk, just run, but he slows down and allows her to keep up with him.

The first time though, Alex ties on his ratty old sneakers and runs, fast and hard; so fast that June can’t keep up. When she catches up to him at the end, lying on the grass sucking in oxygen, she lies down beside him, staring up at the clouds floating across the blue sky.

“Bear,” June says eventually, breaking their silence.

Alex looks at her then back up at the sky. “Fuck off, that’s a duck.”

June follows his gaze. “No, not that one, over there.” She points. “That one is a bear. Yours looks like a dinosaur.” She pokes him in the ticklish spot on the left side of his ribs.

“Don’t,” he whines, squirming and rolling over to poke her back.

She grabs a fistful of the manicured grass, tearing it and throwing it into Alex’s face before standing up as quickly as she can and taking off towards the Residence at a run.

Alex catches her as they run inside, giggling as they catch sight of Zahra glaring at them while she’s on the phone when they run down a hallway, shoving each other as they walk towards their bedrooms.

.

Tagging in the RWRB fam so as not to bug everyone else with my beloved June @welcometololaland @indestructibleheart @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @maxbegone

@sherryvalli @hearitinthesilencesilence @happiness-of-the-pursuit @liminalmemories21 @lightningboltreader

@celeritas2997 @porcelainmortal @leaves-of-laurelin @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise

And an open tag for anyone else who wants to play 💖

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

WIP Wednesday

More from Honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago) the (hopefully?) beloved daddy issues wip:

Henry had been prepared to wallow in the depth of his failures for the remainder of the evening, and probably long after that. Pez had pulled out every trick in his arsenal to pull Henry out of his spiraling, short of leaving his cousin’s wedding and flying across the world to get back to LA.  Still, Henry couldn’t easily forget the fiery rage blazing in Alex’s eyes, how he’d felt positively molten under his heated gaze, the flames intent to destroy him—despite the fact that Henry held responsibility for igniting them in the first place. All because he’d been a presumptuous prick. God, Philip would be proud.

Thanks to @firenati0n @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 @littlemisskittentoes @heybuddy-drabbles for the tags :)

Tagging (w/ no pressure) @read-and-write- @rockyroadkylers @inexplicablymine @affectionatelyrs @matherines @welcometololaland @tintagel-or-cockleshells @daisymae-12 @rmd-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @leaves-of-laurelin @zwiazdziarka @xthelastknownsurvivorx @cultofsappho @bidoofenergy @myheartalivewrites @14carrotghoul @saintlynomenclature @anincompletelist and anyone else who wants to share :) tag me :) - also sorry if you already posted and I missed it!!

[thelordofgifs]

Writing Year Wrapped

Thank you for the tag @eilinelsghost - what a lovely idea!

3 Favourite Fics You've Written This Year

the fairest stars (T, 78k, in progress). So much of myself has gone into this fic since I started writing it all the way back in February. I love all the characters (Maedhros and Maglor my beloveds!!), I love how much it's taught me about plot and structure and evil cliffhangers, and I love sharing it with all my wonderful kind enthusiastic readers!

Ilimbë (T, 15k, complete). This was a new venture for me, both genre and ship-wise, but it was just so much FUN. I like writing things that make me feel clever, and this is probably my most unabashedly pretentious fic. But also baby Fëanor is everything to me now.

in the breaking (G, 2k, complete). I used to call this my best m&m fic, although tfs is probably my best m&m fic. But in the breaking is still one of my favourite explorations of their tragic tender codependent dynamic.

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most

Inflection (G, 10k, complete). This one was SO hard to write - getting the first draft out was very much blood, sweat and tears. The nuances of the kidnap fam dynamic are very hard to get right, balancing the canonical love with Elrond and Elros' genuine trauma. I'm still not entirely sure I got it quite to my satisfaction, but I'm pleased with the final result all the same.

the fairest stars. Yes I'm listing it twice. I'm very fond of tfs, but plotting it out can be SO hard sometimes (which is one of the reasons why part 31 is taking a while to write). I just counted and there are TEN separate plot threads to keep track of at the moment, which is... a Lot.

the salt of the sea (E, 2k, complete). Shoutout to my first proper smut! Definitely a new venture for me (I hadn't written this pairing before, either). People were very kind about it, though.

3 Favourite Lines You've Written

Maedhros has never loved anyone without making of them a god – it is all tangled together in his mind, worship with affection, ardour with idolatry. (tfs, part 29)

To love Maedhros, he has long known, is to grieve him. (tfs, part 22)

Fëanor had never been kissed before. It took him a moment to respond, but then he found he was kissing Nerdanel back and it was the easiest, most familiar thing in the world; her messy curls were brushing his face and one of her strong sure hands had travelled down to rest against the small of his back and there was nothing that had ever been more real than the warmth of her pressed against him; she was certainty itself, as solid as marble, no crafted thing to be shaped and changed, but a maker and a preserver and a promise of forever; and her mouth against his was hot and sweet and golden as the taste of a Laurelin-ripened peach. (Ilimbë)

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you)

Lúthien! I didn't have many thoughts about her before starting tfs, but she's one of my favourite characters in it now, and so essential to the themes of the story.

Fëanor was a struggle to wrap my head around initially: in my opinion one of the biggest flaws of all those that follow, for example, is the way Fëanor only appears at the edges of the narrative, when I could really have stood to flesh his relationship with Fingolfin out a lot more. Writing Ilimbë really helped me gain a much better understanding of what makes him tick, which was very satisfying, and I do think his characterisation is one of the biggest strengths of that fic.

gonna cheat slightly for the third one and say all my little baby OCs from the glassmaker! OC-centric fic isn't something I'd tried before, but I'm very fond of them now.

3 Unexpected Inspirations

Maedhros' hair in in the breaking is this whole important thematic thing, but the truth is. I also have very long and silky hair and it is a PAIN to deal with. You cannot picture the number of times I have sat on my bed at 1am furiously yanking a hairbrush through it and gone "DID it take long hours to brush out to smoothness again? you fucking bet." Sadly I do not have a codependently devoted sibling to tenderly brush my hair for me, so I have to do it myself.

tfs was initally inspired by some tumblr discourse about Beren and Lúthien's motivations in stealing the Silmaril! which I think is kind of neat. It strikes me as very indicative of the collaborative nature of fandom: a couple of people have a debate, and then someone else goes away and writes fic about it, and then people draw art of the fic... and on the cycle goes.

an ancient song is a very small little ficlet, but it was also inspired by some tags on a tumblr post! Always fun when that happens.

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year

Ooh, now I feel like I'm committing to having these finished in the next year...

The Unburied: the longfic I am very slowly working on, and managed to put 20k words towards in November. It follows Fingon as he crosses the Helcaraxë and Maglor as he rules in Mithrim, ending with the first rising of the Sun. I am excited about this fic, but it's an ambitious project and very challenging! Also my brain can't really handle working on two different longfics at once, so it's on the backburner until tfs is finished, and who knows when that will be tbh.

boats against the current: another rather old WIP that is complicated and difficult to plot out. This one is the "Maedhros doesn't swear the Oath" AU. Still very attached to the idea! Maybe I'll get somewhere with it soon.

sore must be the storm: my shortest WIP! Surely I can sit down and finish it in the next few weeks (I have been saying, for months). Just some (messy and complicated) russingon after Fingolfin's death.

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs

No-pressure tags for

@searchingforserendipity25

@that-angry-noldo

@welcomingdisaster!

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 5 – Curufin – Celebrimbor

For @feanorianweek A spiritual successor to my M&M week fic My Golden Light You can also read on AO3

Telperion’s silver shone bright through the windows of Fëanor’s house at the time of his fifth son’s birth. The babe was cleaned and examined before being placed in Nerdanel’s tired arms, and what little tuft of hair he already possessed declared him an heir of his father. Fëanor hovered near his wife and child, the nerves and worry of the birth finally draining out of him. As he leaned close to look upon his wonderful new son, a lock of hair came loose of his hasty braid and became indistinguishable from the baby’s.

A silver beam fell on their hair, the blue undertones of Finwë and the starry memory of Míriel came out to dance across inky black tresses.

Nerdanel and Fëanor watched the sameness of father and son’s hair, then as they locked eyes with each other, both parents declared the child’s name.

“Curufinwë.” “Atarinkë.”

-

The golden light of Laurelin beat down on the slopes of Tirion at the time of Curufin’s very first child’s birth. Curufin stood diligently by his beloved wife’s side, enduring her grip crushing the bones in his hand to dust. More than anything he wished to restlessly pace in worry, but Fëanor had already been kicked out of the delivery room for doing so.

Then finally a cry pierced the air, and Curufin heard his son’s wails for the first time. His wife allowed him to hold the babe first, and as soon as he was in his arms Curufin knew he would love this small creature forever.

The baby had a surprisingly lot of hair, falling just at the tip of his little ears, and as dark as his own. Curufin’s own hair was nothing to write home about under the golden rays of the Tree’s, it rejected that light like the Void. His son’s hair would favour Telperion, that he already knew.

“Curufinwë,” he named the baby. “As a family tradition.”

“Tyelperinquar,” his wife declared, and only gave an enigmatic smile when asked for a reason.

Later, when the Mingling passed and Telperion flowered its silver light over Aman did the question become answered. Celegorm had stolen away his little nephew from under the new parents' noses, and he crowed a sound of delight as soon and the light hit baby Celebrimbor’s hair.

Curufin rushed over at the sound, then faltered in his step. For what he saw was his newborn son’s dark locks had transformed into a full head of gleaming silver, and a piece of that silver hair tangled in one of his tiny chubby fists.

[lamemaster]

10 Ways You Kiss Your Resident Elf (Maglor x Reader)

Love comes in many forms and your love comes in kisses. Load full of them and unstoppable kisses. And Makalaure loves them. He writes them in every single one of his songs. He weaves them into his songs that he keeps hidden away, songs only for him. 

Kissing in front of your dessert- Makalaure sighs as he examines his plate of cheesecake and yours. And you, his dearest spouse, beam at your plate. “Dessert before dinner because OUR HOUSE, OUR RULES,” your declaration remains unchallenged. Makalaure being the dutiful husband he is fulfills the role and chomps down his piece of cake. In a matter of minutes, the cake is gone and with a frown, you turn to him. “Not sweet enough,” you mutter with a pout. Makalaure is about to object to your intention of another slice when his vision floods with you. A small peck on his lips and your face lights up. “Sweetest,” you say as you make a run without finishing the dinner for the third time in the week. 

Something stuck in the eye- “Wait…by Illuvatar Kano!” You stand and swat away his hands as he almost pokes your eye with his stupid finger. “You can’t do that. You need to clean the debris not pluck my eyeball out.” The said elf looks comically offended, “Alright then do it yourself,” he proclaims but does not step away. “Okay little drama queen just blow some air in my eye you oaf,” you hold open your eyelids as you observe Makalaure inch closer to do as you instructed. With his lips pouted to blow the air when you kiss him. “Sike,” an innocent kiss that is not innocent as you wink at him.

Jump scare kiss- “Boo,” you scream as you jump outside the closet and Kano falls down on his ass. His face is frozen into an unchanging expression of horror. Laughing manically you descend to help your husband stand up. While doing so you bend down and offer your hand to the elf who still lacks any kind of reaction. “Melda?” You question. “Ai, snap out of it.” You wave your hand in front of his unfocused eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry.” You whisper as you bend down and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Then suddenly your feet slip and you find yourself falling towards the ground. From the corner of your eye, you see your dearest husband smirk, and oh boy it's on.

Butterfly kiss- you are sitting in Makalaure’s lap. The warmth of Laurelin’s rays fills your room. You breathe your husband’s lingering lavender scent. His fingers, lined with callouses from his beloved harp, rub unmatched patterns on your back. You turn your face to him so that your eyes line with his cheek. Smiling you lean in and blink your eyes. Your eyebrows flutter on his cheek and your husband pauses. He gives you a questioning look. Shaking your head you continue to bask in each other’s company. 

Flying kiss- The room has burst into chaos. The Ambarussar are running wild chased by Carnistir and Tyelko. Nerdanel stands in the corner with a horrified look on her face. Your mother-in-law looks equal parts terrified and exhausted. Your father-in-law is nowhere to be seen. You marvel at Kano’s ability to be unaffected by everything as he continues sipping his tea. “The twins can come with us,” your voice breaks the chaos. Ambarussar instantly turn to their mother with the most innocent look in their eyes. Nerdanel seems nowhere close to refusing. And Kano looks at you with a deep look of faux hurt as he wipes the tea he spluttered moments ago. “It works right husband?” You question and you blow him a flying kiss.

Curtsey kiss- The court gawks. You bend on your knee, and even with your atrociously fluffy gown you kneel and offer your hand. Makalaure does not seem fazed. Instead, he looks proud. Without a moment of hesitation, he puts his hand in your hand which you kiss with the grace of a knight. Uncaring the pair of you lead the city of Tirion into a culture shock as they watch their prince being led by his wife. You dance unbothered by horrified elves. 

French kiss- You moan and so does he when you tug his hair. Your kiss deepens with your tongues fighting a lovely battle. Kano’s hands explore your body as you both maneuver your way to your bed without breaking the kiss. “Bloody Fuck!” You curse and your kiss is interrupted as your back arches not in pleasure but in pain. “Did you leave your harp on the bed again?”

Morning kiss- Fading light of Telperion still fills the sky. You wake up to a still dreaming Makalaure. Entrapped by your husband’s peaceful expression you find yourself trapped in a dilemma. To initiate a tickle fight or to not. He was taller and somewhat powerful but you could win. However, your twitching fingers could not do it. You find yourself weak at the moment. So, abandoning your former plan for another day you settle for cuddling your husband as you kiss him to land of wakefulness.

Angry kiss- “Don’t go,” you whisper. “I will follow my father.” Your husband’s voice is full of steel and taut with tension. He is leaving Tirion. Going to the desolate land of Formenos. “Your mother stays back. Stay for her sake.” You beg. If not for you, you wish he stays for his mother. Gripping your shoulders Kano looks into your eyes with a wild look. “I will follow my father and if you don’t want to, you don’t need to.” His grip hurts but not more than his words. That day your kiss leaves you broken. Your lips swollen and bleeding are only reminders of your husband.

Goodbye kiss- You can’t. You can’t speak or stop him. He has bound himself to an oath. It is only fair he stands by his family. Avenging his grandfather is his duty. You know this yet, you cannot stop the agony you feel. He is there in your room packing his things and leaving yours. Your closet looks half empty and it rips your heart. You know you should not cry but tears don’t stop as you help him gather his belongings. You will not follow him. You will stay back for Nerdanel. For his mother on his request. “No…no, please. Kano” You caress his face, trying to memorize every detail of him. You’re weak as you kiss him goodbye. You kiss him longer putting all your love, pain, longing, and prayers into that one kiss.

[caliawen]

Overwhelming Love

Pairing = Fëanor x reader

Genre = General audiences

General ratings = fluff & angst

Content warnings = none

Reader’s gender = afab!reader, but no explicit gender (only pronoun used to describe reader is ‘you/your’)

Word count = 2,9k

Notes = second fic!! 🥳🥳🥳 I hope you enjoy it! Here are some words you should know before you read = málonya means ‘my friend’, lomba means blind, melinya means ‘my dear’, lissëhón means sweetheart, vanimelda is the highest word of praise for beauty (beautiful and beloved, elven-fair), ammë means mother and finally, yonya means ‘my son’

Fëanor had always felt insecure with the love people gave him. Since his mother died and his father remarried to have other children, he felt as if he wasn’t enough. Why would his father want other children if that wasn’t the case? And so, he outdid himself in everything he did to have his father’s attention. That was how he found his passion for writing and smithing.

One day, in the palace’s library, he felt for the first time that type of love he read so much about. You were browsing the shelves, Laurelin’s rays were caressing your skin gently, making you seem ethereal. For the first time in all of his life, Fëanor was speechless. Your beauty seemed to exceed that of Varda Elentári. Seeming to feel his eyes on you, you turned and looked in his gaze directly, before he abruptly tore his eyes away and faked reading. His cheeks were hot. You caught him looking at you like a creep! Of course you didn’t know that he was admiring your beauty, you didn’t know him!

Fëanor was torn out of his thoughts as he heard books being delicately put down on the table in front of him and a chair scraping against the floor. He snapped his head up and his eyes grew comically large as he saw you smiling at him. You spent a good hour reading with him, before leaving with a small ‘goodbye’. He couldn’t believe it. You had sat with him! Even if you hadn’t talked, you had supported his presence enough to stay seated with him for an hour.

The next few days passed in the same manner. Fëanor seated himself at his usual table and you arrived later, picking a few books before seating yourself in front of him. You gave him a shy smile and then you read in silence until you left after murmuring goodbye. Fëanor became used to this routine, so he was shocked when one day, in the middle of reading, you cleared your throat. He looked up at you and saw you shyly looking into his eyes.

“My name is (Y/N)”

He looked at you dumbly, before he realized he was supposed to introduce himself.

“I’m Fëanáro.” He said, awkwardly. He mentally beat himself, for that was his first impression of him to you. Awkward and not knowing how to converse. Normally, he didn’t have any difficulty talking, but you seemed to make his brain melt so that the only thought left was you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fëanáro.”

You went back to your book, smiling gently and blushing. He was perplexed. After his mediocre introduction, you still didn’t mind his presence? You must be the incarnation of patience..

“What are you reading, if you don’t mind me asking?” He said, after searching for a long time for something intelligent to start a conversation with.

You looked up from your book, surprised, but also seemingly happy.

“Well, you see…”

That was the day Fëanor made his first friend. You were kind and patient, even with him. You listened as he rambled on and on about one of his discoveries or a topic he was passionate about. It seemed with each day, your beauty became more and more all-consuming. From the tip of your ears to your boots, Fëanor thought you were pretty. Your fëa was the cherry on top of the cake. You were so gentle and funny and respectful, he couldn’t imagine what ’perfect’ was if it wasn’t you.

One day, Fëanor saw you talking to another ellon at the ball his father threw for his coming of age. He didn’t understand why he felt so jealous. You had the right to pursue anyone you liked! So why did he covet your love like he did with his father’s? He ended up feeling angsty for a good amount of time, his jealousy making him snappy and insecure. What if this ellon didn’t like him and wanted you to stop being his friend? The rational part of his mind told him that you were probably only talking to him, flirting at most. You wouldn’t abandon your friendship for someone you weren’t in a relationship with.

He went outside, brooding in silence. A few minutes passed before he heard someone come his way. He looked out the corner of his eye, choking on air as he saw you. You looked concerned and he disliked himself for it, but he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the fact that you left that ellon to go check up on him.

“Are you alright málonya?” You asked him, your brow furrowed in confusion and worry.

“I… am not..” he confessed hushedly.

“What is wrong then, Fëanáro?” You seemed to be truly concerned now, for he never admitted to being anything other than ‘perfectly fine’.

“I wish for something I probably cannot have..”

You looked deep into his eyes, seemingly searching his fëa. He turned his gaze away, afraid of your reaction if you were to find out.

“Fëanáro… tell me. Please..”

He felt the words of admission come out of his heart and up his throat, in his mouth, he only had to open it and he would be free-

“Why don’t you go back to that ellon you were talking with? You seemed happy with him.” He snapped instead, shame curling inside of him at his cowardice.

“Are you…jealous?” You quietly asked.

Fëanor flinched, not expecting you to see through his words, but then again, that was underestimating you, for you were the smartest elf Fëanor had ever come across. His silence seemed to be enough of an answer for you, because you took his chin in your hand and turned his head so that he was facing you.

“Oh, you lomba man..” you sighed, something like fondness taking over your features.

“I have loved you for a very long time, Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwëyón. You have a brilliant mind, you make me feel all fuzzy inside and meeting you at our spot is like coming home. I cannot tell you how many times I daydreamed about kissing your lips and holding your hand. You make me irrationally happy, Melinya. If you would have me, I would be yours..” you confessed, looking at his mouth towards the end of your last sentence.

He put his hands on your hips and tugged you towards him, kissing you passionately. To know that you felt the same way as he was a relief to Fëanor.

“I wish to court you properly, lissëhón. Can I?” He asked, breathless from your kiss.

Your enthusiastic nod and kiss is enough of an answer for him.

~~~

Your wedding was the biggest and most beautiful of the century. Everyone was in high spirits. It was fun to dance with you, but what was most wonderful was seeing your constant smile as you talked to guests.

Fëanor tore his gaze away from you as he saw your parents approaching. You were the exact copy of your mother, except for your smile. Your father had ginger hair and he had given you his smile. They were wonderful people and he was more than happy to have them as his in-laws.

He was teased by your father for his constant looking, but Fëanor couldn’t stop. You seemed to be radiating happiness as you walked towards him and your parents. It was incredible how Fëanor found himself falling deeper in love with you every day that passed.

~~~

The birth of your first son was a joyous occasion. Maitimo, you called him. Well-shaped one. You were absolutely right, for your child was beautiful. He had inherited his grandfather’s ginger hair and freckles, the eyes of his father and he had your ears, nose and lips. He was the joy of both your hearts.

The birth of your second son was an even more joyous occasion, for Maitimo was the one who had asked for a sibling. He bounced up and down, excited at the prospect of having a brother to play with. Makalaurë, you named him. Forging gold. Once again, you were dead on with the name, for little Makalaurë seemed to make songs more powerful than the Valar, spinning them from gold and leaving all hearts who had heard his singing aching for more. He had inherited his father’s hair and face and your eyes, nose and smile. He was magnificent.

The birth of your third son was followed by exclamations of joy and happiness. Makalaurë and Maitimo were ecstatic at the thought of another brother. Tyelkormo, you named him. Hasty-riser. He was a bundle of energy and woke you up at ungodly hours so that he could play. He was also quick to anger, filled with insecurities and quick to defend his loving family. He had Míriel’s hair, his father’s eyes and your ears, smile and nose. He was breathtaking.

The birth of your fourth son was a cacophony of delight. Everyone had waited long for this little one and he was finally here. Carnistir, you named him. Red face. It had surprised you all that your fourth son had a permanent blush on his face. It was however clear to all that it was adorable. Kisses were pressed on his cheeks constantly and hands caressed his hair. He had inherited the hair of his father and of his eyes while he had your smile and personality. He was calmer and more solitary, preferring to spend time with you than with other kids his age. He was your bliss.

The birth of your fifth son was filled with amusement. This little one looked so much like his father, it was comic. Atarinkë, you named him. Little father. It was more than fitting, for your fifth son attached himself to Fëanor and never let go. Everything his father did, Atarinkë had to do. He looked to Fëanor with awe in his little eyes and wanted to be held by him all the time. He loved his brothers and his parents more than anything in the world. You had no doubt you were heroes in his eyes. He was your euphoria.

The birth of the twins rocked the house. No one had really expected two babies when you had announced you were pregnant. Ambarussa you named them. Top-russet. It was fitting, for they both had the ginger hair of your beloved father. Your reasoning for giving them the same name was because they were born together and were fated to have one name. You still decided to give them separate names anyway. Minyarussa, you named the first one. The first. It was in relation to their birth order, for Minyarussa was the first one to see the light of Telperion. Umbarto, you named the second one. The fated. You had seen something, yet refused to tell Fëanor, which worried him, but at the same time, he didn’t want to push you. They were your rapture.

~~~

The rational part of his mind wailed in despair at what he had done. The Fear, however, was too strong. He had lost his father, he couldn’t lose his sons too, was what It whispered to him. And so, he bound himself and them to an oath. He was leaving Valinor to avenge his father and protect his sons from the Valar, they who hadn’t taken the menace that was Melkor seriously, they who had failed to protect them, they, who in a sense, were a part of the reason his father died. He would protect his sons, at all costs.

You weren’t in agreement with The Fear. You told him that this was madness, that he couldn’t do this, to abandon the oath and go back to how things were before. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to not do this, that you were right and that he would lose you if he didn’t heed your pleas. The Fear, however, was too strong. It killed the rational part of his mind with It’s fists and screamed at him to get away from this place. You didn’t come with him to Arda.

~~~

In his final moments, Fëanor thought back to what you had said and the rational part of his mind rose from the dead to tell him you were right.

~~~

Fëanor didn’t know how many years he spent in the Halls of Mandos. Time passed strangely there. Or more accurately, time had no meaning in these halls. When he was released after he had repented for his crimes, he learned that his sons were also free. He learned that Maedhros had married Fingon and that the former had adopted twins with Maglor. He had a second grandson, another one than little Celebrimbor, named Elrond.

You came to see him shortly after he was released. You both looked at each other, strangers again. He desperately wanted to go back in time and undo his mistakes. Oh, how he longed to wake up with you in his arms, to create you new jewelry and to brag with you about your sons’ accomplishments to other parents. He knew he had lost this privilege and that it was his fault. He knew he had lost you.

However, a glimmer of hope appeared in his chest as you slowly came forward, inches away from him. He raptly listened to what you had to say.

“I do not wish for us to separate our fëas, Fëanáro. What you did was cruel and pure madness, and I do not think I can ever forget what you put our sons through. However, our sons vouched for you. They explained to me that at the time of the oath, you weren’t yourself and that you weren’t okay mentally. I want you to heal, my love. Then we can see where we stand, as you are yourself again.”

“I promise I will heal, vanimelda. I promise.”

~~~

Fëanor kept his promise. He went to Lórien to work on his mind and fëa. It was an arduous journey and he sometimes wanted to give up. The rational part of his mind screamed each time he thought about that to not waste his only chance to win you back. His sons sometimes came to visit him. He apologized to all of them and to Celebrimbor. He was miraculously forgiven.

Fëanor had the pleasure to meet Elrond and his wife, Celebrían, along with their sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It was awkward at first, but slowly, they all warmed up to him. This gave him hope that one day, you could welcome him back into your arms.

~~~

The first time he met his mother in millenia, he cried. He fell into her arms and she hugged him to her chest, crying too. Torrents of tears fell down his cheeks, joy and hurt mixed together. He felt like Nienna had struck him down with grief as he could feel her lips kissing the crown of his head. Míriel rocked him back and forth, humming a tune he remembered was from his childhood.

When he had calmed down, he met his mother properly. They talked for days on end, taking back the time that was cruelly wrenched from them.

“Do you think she’ll ever take me back? Do you think she could love me again, ammë?”

His mother looked at him with love overflowing her eyes.

“Of course, yonya. Please let me meet her when you have won her back!”

~~~

His mother’s words carefully tucked to his chest, he made his way to you. His heart beat-no pounded in his chest and his stomach had a weird fluttery feeling inside of it. The greatest elf who ever lived, Curufinwë Fëanáro Finwëion, was nervous. He knew his sons would welcome him, but you, he had no idea. He hoped, oh how he hoped.

When he stood before you, Fëanor found himself speechless for the second time in his life. You were a beauty to behold, your magnificence unable to be described with words ; you were a feeling, someone to look at. One could not describe your beauty, they had to see it and to experience it.

“Hello, Fëanáro.”

Oh, how he loved how his name rolled off your tongue!

“Hello, (Y/N).”

He had no idea where to start. He had so much to say, yet so little words came to him. When you looked at him and gave him that little smile that made him fall in love, he knew everything would be alright.

~~~

Fëanor woke up, feeling for once at peace. He looked into his arms and found himself smiling, for you were there. The day before, after a long discussion filled with tears, you had accepted him back. That night, you had rekindled your fëas and it felt amazing to feel you again.

That day, Fëanor took you to meet his mother. It was a meeting that made his heart swell with the love he held for the two of you. He invited his sons along and his heart almost burst at the sight of his mother hugging her grandchildren. He looked at you and knew that the overwhelming love he held for you was right. He now knew peace, reunited with his family, even if he missed his father. Yes, this was indeed where he was supposed to be.

@theelvenhaven

[lovefairymina]

(Hi. I felt motivated because it is my birthday and I saw this scenario somewhere and thought it was perfect. I hope it's good enough)

“Nelyo—! Come on, we’re gonna be late!” you call out after waiting for him to get ready for some time. “Five more minutes! I will be soon down!” he answers from upstairs. You sigh and wait patiently for your beloved elf to get ready for your little date.

You smile at the thought of spending some time with him. He made your heart soar higher than Taniquentil and it was like standing beside the warmth of Laurelin. You could only wish to bring out such poetic words for him. You weren’t nearly as talented as his minstrel brother despite being an Ainu and very tuned with music. 

Things were going so nicely between you two despite his father’s obvious objection to your relationship. Feanor didn’t quite like you for being an Ainu and especially for who your father was. 

“Spawn of Melkor, can we have a little talk?” you hear the familiar voice of Nelyo’s father behind you. He was standing there, glaring daggers at you like usual. 

“Yeah, sure. What is it, sir?” you put up a respectful smile. 

He suddenly grabs you by the front of your shirt. “Listen here. I want Maitimo back before Telperion’s fall. Is that understood?” he demanded while looking down into your eyes with that usual look of scorn. 

“But, sir. The play starts in the evening. I’m only learning how to manipulate emotions and spirits, not time,” you answered. 

“Do I look like I care? I do not care if your mother is Nienna, and I do not care if you’re the perfect match for my son. I do not like you, and I’m certain you do not like me either,” he glared at you. 

“Actually, sir. I do like you–” You smiled at him. 

“Huh?” Feanor tilted his head at you in confusion. 

“I admire your determined nature, and I think Nelyo is very lucky to have a father like you,” you said before looking away sadly. “I can only imagine what it's like to have a father that actually cares about you,” you nearly muttered as you thought about your broken relationship with your father. 

Feanor stares at you after you said that.

He said nothing as he watched you extend farewell and retreat to reunite with his son. Fëanor still didn't like that you were the child of the Ainur; good, bad or indifferent. It didn't matter. At least you had manners and respect. Until then, a watchful eye would always be kept on you around his children.

[firenati0n]

wip wednesday <3 :)

hello :) happy wednesday, hope everyone is having a nice week so far! thank you to @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @zwiazdziarka @itsmaybitheway @bigassbowlingballhead @wordsofhoneydew @ships-to-sail @eusuntgratie @captainjunglegym @theprinceandagcd @getmehighonmagic @songliili @nocoastposts @magicandarchery @sherryvalli @littlemisskittentoes @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 for the tags :)

here's a snip from "the full spectrum of human emotion" aka the proposal au aka my child aka my beloved:

They go back and forth, questions flying to fill the flight time. Alex learns about Henry’s morning routine (rigid, a bed-maker through and through) and his favorite cologne (something expensive he’s currently wearing, clean linens and fresh grass meant to drive Alex completely fucking insane), and Henry learns about Alex’s guilty pleasures (eating cajeta straight from the container while watching trashy reality tv) and the last thing that made him cry (an Instagram reel of baby goats). Many opinions are exchanged, numerous jokes made—mostly at Henry’s expense, he makes it way, way too easy. It feels a little too natural and lighthearted and Alex is free falling as he learns more and more about Henry Fox-Mountchristen, little details that add color to his life, softening the harsh edges and melting the cold exterior. Alex feels pretty fucking good about it all, until he realizes they haven’t touched on a major topic, one that is relatively uncharted territory for the both of them.

xoxo roop

+ tags under the cut <3 and open tag as usual :)

@ninzied @dumbpeachjuice @leaves-of-laurelin @inexplicablymine @priincebutt @whimsymanaged @futureseaempress @happiness-of-the-pursuit @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @myheartalivewrites @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @anchoredarchangel @gay-flyboys @cultofsappho @welcometololaland @gayrootvegetable @rockyroadkylers @orchidscript @cha-melodius @candyspandemonium @onthewaytosomewhere @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @anincompletelist

[polutrope]

Hi! If you're still taking the Silm phrase prompts, Finrod + shadows of things that were yet to be? — @emyn-arnens

Thank you for the prompt! This is quite a bit different from my usual. I experimented with writing a draft by hand, and this is what came out.

~1400 words of child Finrod, recounting the experience of one of his first forebodings. On AO3.

I was born in Tirion, in my father’s wing of the Palace, but I was still a babe when Mother first brought me to Alqualondë.

When I told Father this story, he asked, “How do you remember that?” But I remember everything, like Grandfather Olwë who they say has the longest and clearest memory of all the Eldar, at least of those who made the Journey to Aman (he says his brother Elwë remembered more). As the Noldor, my father’s people, have the greatest skill in craft and lore, the Teleri, my mother’s people, have the greatest skill with memory. For the Teleri call themselves Lindar, Singers, not only because they have the most beautiful voices, but because they perceive the world and their lives within it as a Song. Each emotion a note, each experience a chord, each event a whole movement. Songs, at their root, are stories. And when you make stories of your life, you never forget. 

Sometimes, we even remember things that have not yet come to pass. This is called foreknowledge or foretelling. It is not unusual for the Eldar, Father says, but I am very young to have such powers (as he calls them). He didn’t say as much, but because I can hear minds even when they do not speak with voices, I know that he thinks this particular foretelling should not be possible in the Blessed Realm. Perhaps he is right that this memory is not a foretelling at all but thoughts and images my mind put together in a story to help me make sense of them. But Queen Míriel died in Aman, so perhaps what I saw on that first visit to Alqualondë could happen also.

Mother had me swaddled to her chest in a sling, and her voice purred in my ears as she held up one arm to point: “See, Ingo? There is the great mansion your grandfathers built together. Olwë envisioned its rounded shapes and its roof like cresting waves, and Finwë made it strong using the language of numbers and patterns.” The wind was whipping my soft hair around my face and she stroked it back. “But come, let me show you the most beloved creation of our people.” I felt the rhythm of her footfalls as she walked us down the pier. “For in the building of ships we received no aid from the Noldor. Ossë taught us this craft before we came to these shores.” She took her arms away from me for a moment, to help her up the ladder onto the royal swanship.

My head fell back and I saw the tall mast reaching up, up, up into the sky streaked with pink and gold. The sky is never as bright and blue here as it is in Tirion, for the Pelóri stand between Laurelin and the coast. Mother was still speaking to me in her lilting voice, bouncing and cupping my little body with both hands, but her words faded to a murmur of sound without meaning. 

“Stop them!” a voice cried, and my sight was obscured as with a grey gauze. “They are manning the ships! Stop!” Something whizzed past at the very edge of my field of vision, and I looked down to see what it was. Perhaps a seabird swooping low. I looked up at Mother, but she smiled at me and showed no sign of noticing. 

Again something flew past and I knew it for an arrow. I had only seen anyone use a bow once, when we visited Uncle Nolofinwë soon after I was born. Cousin Findekáno had been in the courtyard practising his shot with a bow made for play. But these arrows flying between the shadowy veil between the present—on my mother’s chest, a bright warm day—and the memory of what would be—dark, dark as the blackness of sleep, and full of shouts—were long and swift and some struck the ships so hard their points drove right through. Someone screamed. I did not see them fall, but I heard the splash that swallowed the scream in the sea. I had never heard anyone scream that way, as if all their voice was loosed at once. It pushed a scream from my lungs, too, and Mother’s lips stopped moving and she held me closer and hid my eyes against her chest. But that was worse, because it hid the bright day so that all I could see now was the dark memory full of shouts and clanging metal and whizzing arrows and bodies falling in the water. 

“Shh, shh,” she said, bouncing up and down to comfort me. I pounded my fists against her chest, pushing so I could see again with my eyes. Then I found her face, and she was smiling and started to sing. Mother’s songs are powerful. She pulled me back from the shadowy place. “Are you hungry?” she asked when my tears had stopped. No, I was not hungry, but I could not tell her because I could not yet shape words with my mouth. “Come, let us go back and find you some fishcakes. Would you like that, my golden star?”

Later, when I could speak with words, I did not tell anyone of that memory. By then I had many other memories layered on top of eachother, both of things that had been and things that would be. Most were joyous, and those ones I made into songs that made others smile and laugh and sometimes cry, but always with happiness. I did try, once, to put the memory from the swanship into a song, but it made my heart tighten and my stomach twist and I did not think it would be fair to share such unpleasant feelings with others. 

Then a few days ago, Turukáno (he is my favourite cousin) came to visit us in Alqualondë. Our mothers took us to the beach, and we built sandcastles and splashed in the waves. While we were playing, Turukáno suddenly went very still and his skin was full of tiny bumps as if he was cold, even though it was an especially warm day and there was no wind. I hugged him to warm him with my body but he did not move for some time. When he came back, and met my eyes, he didn’t say anything. We went in and wrapped up in our towels, and Mother gave us juice and melon and soon he was smiling and laughing again. 

But I was not able to put out of my mind the strange mood that had come over my friend, so when we were tucked in bed for sleep, I asked him what had happened. 

“It is nothing,” he said at first. But Turukáno and I shared everything, so I asked him again. Then he told me what had frozen him with fear: it was the same memory, or very similar, I’d had on the swanship with my mother. 

It was not the first time Turukáno and I shared a memory. We share dreams often, sometimes on purpose, so that we can be together even when he is Tirion and I am in Alqualondë. But we’d never shared this sort of memory. Poor Turukáno had never even had a memory of the future before!  

When Father came in to check that we were asleep and found me holding Turukáno and Turukáno crying, of course he was worried. But I wouldn’t tell him what happened, not then, because Turukáno was so scared already. 

“I promise to tell in the morning,” I told Father. 

So I did, I told him this morning, because I did not want him to worry. I think it would have been better if I had not, because he has been walking about the home all day fretting with the hem of his tunic. I heard him asking Mother if he should tell Anairë, because of Turukáno, and if she thought we should make a journey to Lórien to ask the Vala’s aid in “interpreting memories”. 

But Irmo knows the Theme of Arda, what if we discover that the memory Turukáno and I shared is true? I do not think I could live with that certainty. I know that Turukáno could not. Father will not force me to go, and I won’t. It is safer, I have decided, for some memories not to be put into speech or Song. 

Thanks to @cuarthol for the beta!