#tyelpe: of course

[sesamenom]

some funny snippets of a tentative timeline for the reverse gondolin au

[superloves4]

Curufin and Tyelko reflect on how to deal with explaining the kinslayings to their daughters.

Introducing my oc's:

Post-reembodiment Curufinrod baby: Italmë* Ríëlairë (I'm naming the way I did when I was ten, by putting things together and hoping the dictionary is correct! It should mean Sparkling Blessing, and Summer Crown)

Everyday someone thanks Eru for the fact that she wasn’t born in the first age, girlie is feral! If Tyelpe is the best parts of Curufin and Finrod then she is the worst of them, but for everyone’s well being she was also born when Curufin and Finrod are at their best and most stable so instead of murder and destruction she is merely mischievous.

Curufin is rather upset that neither of his kids got his eyes.

(*: Father name slightly pending, my original idea was Italinquë, the Ita being non-negociable as it's meant to be a connection to Itarille/Idril, but linquë could be hyacinth, grass or wet, and while I think I could argue for grass I don't think I can for wet, other options being: Itarinya, Itelena/Italena, and Ithilmë)

And Post-reembodiment Aretyel baby: Mírestel Áraiel (should be Precious Hope, and Daughter of Dawn)

Aredhel and Tyelko fully decided not to get married (yes I am disregarding LaCE) and everyone got very confused when they anounced they were expecting (and Turgon very violent)

The birth gets Aredhel emotional because her whole family is with her this time.

Áraiel has a mean look, and considering Maeglin and Tyelko, a lot of people on first meeting think she’s a cruel person but she’s really nice and helps keep Riëlairë in check, again she is getting her parents at their best and stable, but she’s also getting Maeglin at his best and stable and so she really likes her older brother.

(This prompts her to become a smith which leads Tyelko to joke that Curvo is stealing his kids, plural)

Also, everyone decides on very special and meaningful names meanwhile Curvo just pulls a Nerdanel and goes "Look at my baby, it's the most beautiful baby, everyone should just look at the baby I made!"

Better background and no writing under the cut:

[tathrin]

As you may or may not already know, I've been slowly chipping away at a Celebrimbor joins the Fellowship AU for a while now, and I finally have the general plot hashed-out and the first chapters written, which means it's technically at a point where I can start posting it...but. it is a very slow sort of story to write. (There are a lot of Plot Things to juggle.) So updates will not come fast! However, I also feel like I've been sitting on it forever already...

So I ask: should I start posting this thing, with the understanding that it will be an incredibly show updater? Or should I wait?

*I'll be out of town until late Sunday night, so if I don't respond to things for a while I promise it's not because you've offended me, I'm just not likely to be able to get online for a few days! But please do feel free to blather at me if you have anything to say.

Thank you for the help!

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

As High King Fingolfin came down from his orgasm, he noticed his lover was frowning.

“I’m sorry, was I too rough?”

“Don’t start that again, you were tender and careful as always.”

“Did you not come? I’m a bit worn out, but I can use my hand.”

“You saw me come quite dramatically over your abs. I’m perfectly comfortable and you were in no way neglectful of my needs.”

“Than what’s wrong?”

“I just said I’m comfortable, there’s no need to worry over me.”

"And yet I do. Obviously something is troubling you, and I would hear it even if I cannot solve it.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “You called me Curufinwe.”

“Ah. I’m sorry, I know you don’t prefer that name.”

“If you’re going to pretend that you’re screwing someone else, at least call him Feanaro so I know who I’m substituting for. I’d rather stand in for someone who is truly impossible to reach rather than someone who merely requires an inconvenient amount of effort. If you want to fuck my father, you need only send a letter to Himlad.”

“I have absolutely no interest in Curufin!”

“So call me by my grandfather’s name or my own, but not his. I’m only asking for clarity, not attraction on my own behalf.”

“Celebrimbor, you have the last already. I am picturing only you when we pleasure each other, in every detail of your own beauty. I will of course use the name you wish, but there is no reason to be bitter about a slip of the tongue.”

“And yet you don’t deny attraction to Feanaro. Even if I am not a replacement, you still desire him.”

“If Feanaro were here and willing, I would still choose you.”

“But it would be a choice, weighing two options that you want but you can only have one.”

“Feanor was bright like a fire, hot and changing but impossible to spend long near. You glitter like a jewel, always having a new angle, reflecting your own beauty and that of all around you, brilliant and clear. You’re right that fire can fascinate, but I cannot hold it and do not wish to.”

“Fine, I accept that you are not wishing for another. I still don’t want to hear my father’s name in the midst of pleasure.”

“I see your point. I am not ashamed to associate with you, but still I wouldn’t like to explain our relationship to Finwe. ”

“My father wouldn’t disown me as long as I give him a reason he can approve of.”

“Oh? And what reason would he possibly accept for you fucking your great-uncle, and your esteemed grandfather’s greatest rival?”

“Blackmail,” Celebrimbor said with a sharp grin. “I seduced you so that I could steer the political fate of the Noldor. If our relationship got out, everyone would lose their trust in you, either for screwing an evil Feanorian kinslayer or you taking advantage of my youth and naivety. So you have to advance my plans or else I’ll ruin you before the whole court. And of course with so much time around you, I will learn of the secret plots you doubtless have against my family.”

The closest Celebrimbor had come to using their relationship for political favors was asking for a room on the same hall and a private smithy. Every other agenda was argued before the whole court, never spoken of in their rooms either before or after it was resolved.

“Would Curufin really ask you to sacrifice yourself so completely to his goals, using your most intimate moments and actions to cynically further an agenda?”

“It’s less than Grandfather required of him and my uncles - it would last a few decades or centuries, rather than until the end of Arda. But he wouldn’t actually approve the plan. It would make me look weak for one, to play the victim of your unwanted lecherous advances, the young innocent gave in before the crown and the personality rather than fight back. Since this is my first time before the court, I must show them I am to be respected and feared.”

“That is a lot to ask from someone in a new situation.”

“Perhaps, but my father has always expected me to be exceptional.”

ao3

[nelyos-right-hand]

Like, when do you think Sauron found out this elf that died in his dungeons was Finrod? None of Finrod's company ever gave up his identity, so he definitely had no idea at first. After Beren and Luthien succeded, his death would become common knowledge among the elves since there's no way Beren would keep his glorious sacrifice secret, but I'm not sure if these news ever reached Angband, I mean, it's not like Morgoth could sent his orcs to disguise themselves as elves and spy on them, so they probably didn't know a lot of what was talked about in elves cities, especially since it kind of wasn't important for the war anyway.

So imagen how hilarious it would be if Sauron never hears of this through the entire first age and then one day in Eregion Tyelpe is being all sad, so Annatar acts all sympathic and concerned which he only does because he needs Celebrimbor to trust him, of course he doesn't care how he feels and he especially isn't concerned and Celebrimbor is just like "uncle Finrod died today" and Annatar's like "yeah, that makes sense, by the way how did he die I think I never heard the specifics" and Celebrimbor just says "he got killed by Sauron after sacrificing himself for Beren, how did you never hear about this" and Annatar's just like "he WHAT!?"

[malkaleh]

His little nightingale - still young by Saurons count - he may have grown but he is perhaps somehow more beautiful now - with an ageless and yet ancient air that is not elven. Stars still shine softly in a mass of black hair.

He had kept it long. Sauron vows he will have the eyes of any who had looked upon it - though of course, of course he would keep Celebrian. If it had been any other he would have ground their fea into dust (he should have done so with that accursed Celeborn, had he but known).

But she is all her mothers daughter - all steel and fierce fierce light to her husbands gentle kindness - Sauron thinks he might almost be able to bear watching them together. Almost.

(He will kill the elf who dares to touch Tyelpe though. Or at least he will make him beg for death - for keeping his smith away, for all the wounds that Sauron was forced to mark him with he will make him beg for death)

His little nightingale has three children - and it is his daughter who echoes him, echoes Melian. It makes him think of the plans he had had - what children his three would have made with him - how he would have made it so. They would have carried so beautifully. The sons, ah they are far more their grandmother - dark bright vengeance that he might aim where he willed.

He will have his three.

@nocompromise-noregrets @self-destructinganimal

[sewing-elven-maid]

10 minute Molmol interaction doodle, hope to draw the girlies properly soon!

It is very clearly visible who is the fabric artist (and fashionable one) here... today I learned that it takes two Mols to mother a Tyelpë <333

Oh dear artist, this portrait showing my old friend Molisse shall be among my most treasured possessions! I shall show this to the Lrd of Imladris himself and of course to Lord Celebrimbor, hoping he will appreciate.

((*crying a million tears of joy* THIS IS BEAUTIFUL!!! The two Mols together! I love them both to bits - I might write a fic about them, if you are ok with it *v*

And you are right! It clearly shows who is the fabric artist and also who is the smithy! I am fairly certain that the two Mols exchanged clothes and jewels on a regular basis <3

And tbh Tyelpe deserves 2 mums <3))

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 4: Beard*

Warnings: sort of a small panic attack in PoV. Implications of… well, we are seeing Celebrimbor post-reembodiment. So you can estimate. But only implications.

"I wish I could see them again," said Celebrimbor. "The Dwarves, I mean." It was still somewhat strange to speak with words.

Mahtan smiled. "I wish I could see one of them too."

Right. Great-grandfather hadn't ever met any of the Khazad, obviously. Because he had enough common sense to not leave. Obviously. Celebrimbor looked at him. "I'm sorry."

Mahtan laughed and continued leading him down the stony corridors of Lord Aulë's mansion.

Assuming that he could continue the conversation, Celebrimbor said "I've always wondered, and Narvi too—how it is with beards? Are they something Lord Aulë invented, or...?" He trailed off. It seemed a stupid question.

And yet, his great-grandfather was not offended. He stroked his own—meticulously braided— beard, and spoke. "I've always assumed it was his thing, as I had not grown mine before I became his apprentice. But now of course they say the Men have those too— they do, right? It's not another thing Pengolodh made up?"

"Oh yes, they do have beards. Some quite impressive."

They went down another set of stairs, the corridor was windowless and illuminated with lamps. It felt like home, but safer.

"Mhm. See, Tyelpe, we're somewhat secluded here. Nor Tuor, nor of course Earendil had one, so... Anyway, I'm sure you'll grow it eventually."

"I don't— I mean, the fact that I could work with— Despite everything— It's just so much more than I could ever deserve."

Mahtan laughed again—a deep, rolling laughter that felt in place in those stone halls. "You will need to get accustomed to working with people who aren't— nasty."

The forge noises became louder, discouraging further dialogue. Not long after, they reached an arched gate, leading to a huge workshop, where Maiar and Elves worked, and of course, in the center, the Smith himself.

All the hammers stopped and the room went silent. Celebrimbor bowed deeply, barely daring to look at the Vala.

Lord Aulë smiled. "Come, you two. Mahtan, my friend, we've moved your things already. Tyelperinquar, I'm so glad to see you. I— I still don't understand your kind well, but Mahtan said you won't be offended— it is the best workplace after all." As the two Elves came closer, he spoke more quietly. "As an apology."

In the centre of the forge, next to Lord Aulë's huge, carved stone workbench with mithril top, stood two others, smaller, but even more ornate. One, to which Mahtan walked and began checking the tools, was made of bright white stone carved in intricate geometric patterns, parts of which seemed moveable. The other one — apparently meant for Celebrimbor — was a gold square design of perfect four-fold symmetry, with the tools sorted by size and type. While not dusted—nothing in Aman was—it was long unused, judging from types of the tools. There was a peculiar beauty to it, like—

His head went light and he grasped the edge of the golden table— than let it go immediately— if that was to be his apology, he'd have to bear it— he was better now, after years in Mandos—and yet, the very memory—

Mahtan held him like he used to do when Tyelpe was a small boy visiting his forge with the same fascination as his father and grandfather before.

"Shhh. It's all right. It is all right—" he repeated louder. "He will get over it, just give us a moment." He turned his face back to Celebrimbor, whispering: "It's all right. You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"But…. My apology—"

Great-grandfather held him tighter. "Not your apology, Tyelpe. Lord Aulë meant it as his apology to you. He felt like he owed it, especially as there's nobody else to apologize to you now, I think. But let's not get there. It is— we both thought that it would be a kind of justice to give it to you. I'm sorry. You don't have to."

The tightnes in Celebrimbor's chest slowly dissipated. "No, I— I appreciate it, and it would make him so angry and that's good, just— could I maybe reorder it a little. Not much, just…."

He spoke softly, unsure if it was worse to ask Lord Aulë if he could change the designs of his Maia (well, back then), or to talk in private when he was nearby. but apparently it was not soft enough, as the Vala replied him.

"Of course. You can change anything you like. It's yours."

A few days of work later, when Aulë again returned to his forge, he looked at Celebrimbor's workbench—now not as perfectly symmetrical, and carved in rows of Dwarven runes.

He smiled. "It looks alive. I missed it."

[sweetteaanddragons]

Stepford Smiles and Time Travel Wiles

Another fic I never got around to crossposting!

Featuring time travelling. Unfortunately, for most of the characters, they don't know that.

The door had scarcely closed when Feanaro rounded on Maitimo, eyes blazing. “You see?” he demanded.

Maitimo, for his part, was too busy blinking at the door his mother had just departed through to answer for a moment. “I see,” he agreed when he had gathered his wits. “Or I glimpse, at least. Atar, what happened?”

His father had abandoned his chair at the dining table to pace furiously in front of the windows. “She returned two days ago,” he said, gesturing toward the hall. “She has been like this ever since. About everything.”

”Everything?”

“If I declare Nolofinwe treacherous, she decries him and his mother. If I say the Valar are untrustworthy, she rants on the foolishness of giving ear to Melkor. If I speak of making swords - “ There Feanaro paused. “There we disagree,” he conceded. “She has been scolding me for not practicing with mine enough. She demanded one of her own and has been devoted to it since; she wonders that I do not do the same.”

When he had first learned she had left his father, Maitimo had felt as if the world was opening beneath his feet.

Somehow, this was not the relief he would have expected.

“Perhaps she changed her mind,” he said tentatively.

“I admired a song of Lauriel’s, and she praised it to high heaven,” his father said harshly.

Ah. His mother would never be rude enough to publicly express an outright distaste for any work made by a protege of Makalaure’s, but Maitimo was not the public, and he could be trusted to know what to keep from his brothers.

His mother could, of course, change her mind on multiple things at once.

But.

The energy that had propelled his father left him in a rush, and he crumpled against the wall, running a hand over his face. “I know she still wrote to you,” he said wearily. It was the first time he had acknowledged this. “Did anything she write . . . ?”

“We didn’t write of politics,” Maitimo said carefully. “Her art, mainly. Tyelpe’s latest projects. That sort of thing.”

His brothers’ projects as well, though that was a more careful line to dance; some of them would not be happy to know news of them had been passed on.

He had written of his father’s work, what little of it wasn’t political. She had never commented on it.

“But she was well?” his father demanded. “The separation didn’t - didn’t burden her fea?”

“It pained her, of course,” Maitimo said, even more carefully than before. “But I had no thought it would drive her to Lorien. It is not as if the bond was broken.”

“No,” his father agreed, abandoning the wall to slump into the closest chair - the one across from Maitimo, instead of his usual place at the head of the table. “No.” He frowned at where one of Grandmother’s tapestries hung on the wall, staring at it as if it held all the secrets of Amil’s heart woven within. “It is not like her,” he said plaintively.

It wasn’t, Maitimo agreed fervently, even if it was only in the privacy of his mind. When his father had half invited, half demanded his presence at supper tonight and said it was about Amil, he had expected anything but this.

“She may have just wished to reconcile,” he suggested soothingly.

Too soothingly; his father looked up sharply, biting words all but visibly forming on his lips before he swallowed them back and waved dismissively. “I should not have involved you in this,” he said instead. “It is not your burden to carry.”

His mother had expressed similar sentiments to him before in one of her letters. Maitimo heartily wished she had not; it had preceded a significant restriction in the information she passed on, and he could not fix what he did not know about.

“If something is wrong with Amil, it is all of our concern,” he said, retreating from ‘soothing’ to ‘rationality.’ “Or if something is right, it is all of our joy. I’m very glad you invited me to supper tonight; even with this . . . puzzle . . . it was good to see her again.”

This reassured his father as his other statement had not. “She wanted to see you,” his father said. “Desperately.”

This was not a surprising revelation. His mother had flung herself at him as soon as he entered the doorway and had not let go of his arm throughout supper. He thought she would be here still if Lauriel had not stopped by with word that Makalaure had safely returned from Alqualonde and was back at his own house in the city. Amil had not been content to wait for his and Aranel’s inevitable morning visit and had immediately gone to welcome them back.

His other brothers, he suspected, would receive a similar treatment when they returned from the various tasks their father had sent them on. He would have to see if he could send word to them first; he trusted Makalaure’s reception of this turn of events, but some of the others might need a few gentle nudges not to let their feelings about Amil’s departure get in the way of her return.

“If she is feeling so agreeable, have you tried asking her about this change of heart?” he tried.

His father shrugged defeatedly. “She said she had thought about what the next few years of her life would look like, and that she had decided that she couldn’t afford to waste time on the ice.”

Maitimo knew poets sometimes compared difficult relationships to ice. He had never considered his parent’s relationship in those terms, even over the last few years; he had tended to lean more towards ‘volcanic.’

“I wrote to Mahtan,” his father added abruptly. “She must have said something to him and Liriel before her departure; if it gave them reason for concern, surely . . . “

“Of course,” Maitimo agreed and made a mental note to write himself. His grandfather had retreated from Atar as tensions rose, but he wrote to his grandchildren as often as ever.

Or perhaps he should write to his grandmother instead; that way if Mahtan chose not to reply to his father’s letter there would be less of an obvious contrast.

There was reason for concern, as much as he hated to admit it, whether or not his grandparents had caught it. Amil had been almost as manic as Atar in one of his moods tonight, her usual quiet passion transformed into something too loud, too bright, too fierce.

Like magnesium burning so, so bright for just a moment, and then -

No. She was in Tirion again; that was good. She was back, and she was talking to Atar again, and Maitimo could set to work smoothing the way for everything to fall back into familiar shapes.

“I’ll talk to Makalaure in the morning,” he told his father. “He might have picked up on something. We’ll work this out; you’ll see.”

Things were one step closer to being as they should be; he wouldn’t let them fall apart again now.

Notes:

Meanwhile, Nerdanel’s perspective: Do I agree with Feanaro? No. But did arguing with him work last time? Also no. So if I am going to save my idiot family, I am going to have to go with them, and I am not risking getting left behind when they take off, so . . . time to let my husband pretend he married Farande. Feanaro, not so quietly sulking: I don’t want to be married to Farande. Nerdanel, oblivious: This is going great!

[istaricelebelasse]

Baby Tyelpe loves his pockets. They were ideal for holding pretty stones, flowers, interesting leaves, and all manner of useful objects.

He loves them so much he asks his uncle to add more pockets to his clothes.

Tyelpe is never content with how many pockets there are. He wants All The Pockets.

(One begetting day he receives a cloak which is covered in pockets. Front and back.)

(It’s one of the few of his most treasured belongings to make it to Ereigon)

His pockets change when he gets older. They are still always full, only they contain half finished ideas, scraps of paper and stubs of pencils, tools and gears and unpolished gems. If it is needed then Tyelpe probably has it on him.

The main change in Beleriand is that Celebrimbor also carries a knife and whetstone hidden in his pockets.

(And a broach, silver and star shaped, a signature on the back nearly worn away by how many times his thumb has traced it. The last piece of his father, one he cannot bring himself to be rid of.)

He never grows out of his habit. Not even as Lord of his own realm. Narvi teases him for it, but she too finds it helpful when he produces the exact size chisel she needs with only minimal rummaging.

Annatar never understands the hoarding of useful things in pockets. How could he when it seemed as though he could manipulate the very Song itself to bring him what he wished?

(He could not, of course, in fact Annatar has just as many pockets as Celebrimbor, they are just hidden pockets of Song instead of cloth.)

The rings are carried, tucked in their own special pocket, in front of his heart. Celebrimbor knows they are safe there.

It is a wrench to let them go when he senses the betrayal, yet he knows he must. The first place Annatar will search is in Celebrimbor’s pockets.

And he does.

[dlatl98]

Immediately after the sinking of Beleriand, gold coins and jewels would often wash up on the shore.

Annatar hated talking stupid. Who likes that? But sadly, Annatar had to say something stupid before he could say it, even though he knew it would be completely stupid. So he was doubly pitiful and hated it. But he had to do it.

"Tyelpe. There's something I'm worried about with the submarine we were building before…" "Oh, does it work?" "No. There are too many fools applying for test runs."

"It's not fools, it's bravery." "…��Your humanity is always admirable. But they're fools. And even fools act on their own foolish grounds. The grounds are foolish and the principles they apply are foolish, so they become fools." “This is a long editorial. If you don’t want to talk, just stop.” "……."

Celebrimbor chuckled as Annatar glared at him. Annatar may have been the one who really didn't want to talk, but he probably did because he had to talk. Even though he feel sorry for himself for saying these things. If he measure the index of the displeased face, it is a 3 for the displeased face.

"A lot of those fools are treasure hunters. They are excited that you, of all people, are building a submarine and recruiting pilots, and that is proof that one of their fantasies is true."

“What about that fantasy?” "Your uncle, the treasure of Caranthir."

"Aha."

Celebrimbor snickered. “If it were my uncles’ treasure, it would be my lovely self.”

"………"

"Smile a little."

"That was the third most pathetic joke I've ever had."

“I can’t believe I only came in third place! I’ll do my best.”

Celebrimbor said seriously, exaggerating, and looked into the distance. Looking at those vague eyes, Annatar had no choice but to speak.

"Beleriand is on the other side."

"……Not everyone can be like you, knowing your direction no matter where you look and where you go. Anyway, that rumor has been around for a long time. It's been a long time since Beleriand sank. It would be more solid to dive into the sea to find the Silmarils."

"Not really."

Annatar was indifferent because he had no interest or affection for the Silmarils. He thought that if something was magically amazing enough to be exciting, it had to have some practical function other than its beauty. And he was also negative about Caranthir's treasure. Caranthir's wealth was great on the surface, but……he knew from running an army and a country that both were very money-consuming businesses and low-efficiency businesses that required constant investment and rotation of resources to ensure productivity. And if you remember the squalor of the Feanorions in their later years, it's probably nothing. Or maybe it's real estate that can never be converted into cash. There really is value in real estate under the water. Celebrimbor shrugged.

"I don't have anything like that." "Yes." "Everyone misunderstands Uncle Moryo's, but he didn't like to waste his wealth by burying it underground or in a safe. He didn't have any hidden treasures. He thought that the greatest value of assets was whether he could mobilize them when needed. Of course, he didn't have any hidden treasures in safes or secret places because he was worried about looting, but he considered such treasures to be dead money and tried to minimize them. He was a person who thought that if they didn't circulate, it wouldn't be an economy. And Uncle Moryo's……"

Celebrimbor smiled. "He died before his brothers. So strictly speaking, Uncle Moryo's treasures don't exist. They were inherited by his other uncles. In principle, they all belong to Uncle Kano. I was disinherited and brothers closer than nephew." "……."

Annatar was not ignorant of the fact that if Curufin had died later than Caranthir's in that fight, some would say that Celebrimbor should have inherited. And then the next words made him forget that thought. "And I spent all that money. To build Eregion and invest in Lorinand." "……So, like the vagrants say, your uncle's treasure really existed?" "What do you mean? There was no vault or buried in the ground?" "So you're saying there was a treasure?"

"Yes, but would my uncle's huge fortune just melt into thin air and disappear? The largest part of my uncle's fortune was the lost territory, but my uncle had invested a lot here and there for safety before that. About 100 years after my uncle Kano disappeared… a dwarf came. He said that he was from the family of Uncle Moryo's steward, and that if my uncle did not show his intention to inherit and come to receive it, it would be considered a refusal of the inheritance, so the right of inheritance would go to me, who was next in line. When I tried to refuse, he told me to accept it because it was my uncle's wish, and that if I did not use it for a good purpose, the money would just rot away, and that I should think about my memories of my uncle. He said that he would never like that. It was hard to refuse…"

[theconstellationprincess]

This is all based off of @chthonion ‘s work The Harrowing which has infected my brain to the point where I *need* to write about it. (Cw for agere stuffs)

////

- Annatar was very very old, which was a fact he knew well, but this body is very very young. New. And he wasn’t experienced at controlling it yet, as he was so often reminded whenever someone else clearly got information from his facial expressions.

- He was slowly growing used to the- emotions. Slowly. It’s easier now, than it ever has been, to express his delight and joy with Tyelpe, to recognize that dread that piles up- sensory overwhelm, Frodo had called it- and fix it before it grew into something even worse. He still despised crying, but it felt more manageable now whenever it happened.

- and then something new happened. He had noticed, of course, that sometimes adults acted as children, foolishly naive or pettily upset, and had never put much thought into it, other than finding it useful on occasion for manipulation.

- the people of this house seemed to have a knack for it, more than the many others he has known over the course of his life. It’s not something talked about, approaches are simply adjusted whenever one of them has a frown that falls from disgruntled into something softer, a more childish pout than anything. It is something he grows used too, learns to understand and accommodate.

- (he wonders, briefly, how different he would be if he had come back without Feanor and his descendants. Worse, probably, for the ones he has grown closer too have been knowledge and kind in advice. He wonders more, if it is good or bad he has picked up this childish habit from them?)

- The first time it happens to Annatar, he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’d had another nightmare, though the content had already faded from his head, and felt…. Different. Than he had the previous times. He couldn’t remember how to make tea. He stood in the kitchen, shaking slightly because he felt awful and he wanted tea but he couldn’t-

- It is Fingon who finds him, which Annatar is not pleased about, but there are worse options. They stare at eachother for a long moment. Annatar’s voice comes out weaker than he means it, softer, higher pitched (like the register he thought he had lost-) when he offers tea.

- fingons demeanour changes, just enough for Annatar to catch it. He is content to let Fingon make the tea because he still cannot remember the steps, his brain is both too full and completely empty. Fingon talks, as he works on brewing, and Annatar finds that it helps, maybe as much as the song did.

- they drink tea, Annatar spills some and freezes, because he has not done that before. His hands are still shaking, he belatedly noticed, hard enough that the tea splashed over the side, when he went to pick it up. He does not know what to do- he should clean up, but he feels stuck in his seat in the Family room, across from Fingon.

- Fingon cleans it, in the end, and Annatar feels incredibly guilty, but he can’t do anything to help. Fingon is very reassuring and kind, so much so that Annatar feels even worse for protesting when he should be thanking.

- Fingon sings to him again, when the teas are finished and Annatar is struggling to keep his eyes option as Fingon softly talks about Maedhros. Annatar has not known him to be quiet, it’s a bit disconcerting, but this whole night has been odd, his own behaviour included, so he does not question it.

- the song is different, he notices quickly. It is still a song of sleep and sweet dreams, but it is more like a song for a child than the other song. It is a sweet lullaby. He falls asleep easily.

- Fingon makes them talk about it, of course, even as Annatar tries to avoid him. He gets an explanation into his own behaviour, at least. And several helpful book recommendations. And a sterner recommendation to talk to Elrond, which he quickly denies. Fingon may be able to help with many things, but that particular relationship isn’t one of them.

Okay I need to sleep this is all love you bye! <3

[junk-whunk-punk]

How's the relationship between celebrimbor and mairon in your modern au? Does mairon love him?

Thangzz for making me think about serious things in such a non-serious AU I feel like I'm okayly adult😘

I'M GOING TO TALK ABOUT WHAT I THINK ABOUT THIS AT THE MOMENT. MAYBE I'LL THINK ABOUT IT IN MORE DETAIL LATER AND FIX IT SLIGHTLY HEHE

I'm actually a permanent silvergifter. And in punk AU, I initially wanted to preach silvergifting (ama supporter of healthy slvrgftng), but... damn. In the canonical universe this would be possible, aka Mairon found solace in the hands of the elf he loved, after all his suffering and aspirations to seize all power. It'd be epic.

But in punk AU, everything is different. My Mai is initially self-sufficient, he does not need a beloved to feel complete. That's why I believe he's aro, but I'm not sure about that. Time will show. Unlike Melkor, who had a difficult and traumatic childhood without any support and hope, Mairon does not want a relationship AT THE MOMENT, he receives enough support, love and warmth from close friendship with his bros (let's not mention their genital sessions🤭) I think he feels the same way about Celebrbrbr. Of course, he feels drawn and attracted to Tyelpe, perhaps even wants to initiate some "intrigue~" with him, but he does not even have a serious relationship with someone in his thoughts.

He loves everyone anon please🤌

[tar-maitime]

how could you think, darling, I'd scare so easily

Rating: T Characters: Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekano Additional: modern AU, engaged, shovel talks WC: 500

For @russingonweek Day 2 - Darkness Prompt - Despair and hope

The moment the knock came, Maedhros sprang up, crossing in a few quick strides to let Fingon into the apartment. He greeted her with a quick kiss and a sigh of relief, and quickly went to drop onto the sofa. Maedhros joined him in another moment, curling against his side and letting his head rest on her shoulder.

“So, how did it go?” she asked softly.

“Huh. Well. The twins gave me an incredibly thorough rundown of the easily-executed yet ruinous things they’re capable of doing to my home, Curufin outlined a borderline illegal torture device he could create before telling me if I hurt you he’d burn me from the Tyelpe babysitting list (which was cruel, but fair), Caranthir explained his plan to financially destroy me, and Celegorm just told me that my sister would be on his side and I should be afraid (which I was). Maglor was all right. He said he was confident that I was smart enough, even if I were so abysmally stupid as to break your heart, to commit hara-kiri before he or any of the others could actually get to me.”

Maedhros groaned, leaning her head against his. “I’m so sorry, Finno. I told them to keep it civil. Honestly, I don’t know why I still hold out hope for them being civilized future in-laws.”

Fingon just laughed. “Russe, it’s really all right. I promise. We’ve come a long way, haven’t we, from that first week where we thought Caranthir and Turgon would break each other’s bones over how they wanted the rental kitchen organized? There weren’t even any raised voices today.”

“You are setting the bar far too low,” Maedhros informed him. “And that’s not even touching my father and his coping mechanism of pretending you’re no relation whatsoever to his stepbrother.”

“It could have been worse,” Fingon insisted cheerfully. “And don’t try to pretend that you haven’t put up with rudeness from my family, too. But you know what? In a couple of months, we’ll be getting married and none of it will matter at all.”

“True enough.” Maedhros shifted and pressed a kiss to the braids along his scalp. “Perhaps it is selfish of me,” she murmured, “but I’m glad it’s you I have with me in this, Finno. I don’t think I could go through all of this insanity of getting married if I didn’t have your eternal optimism.”

“Well, that’s why it’s each other we’re marrying, isn’t it?” Fingon returned. “So that i keep you from despairing of the whole enterprise, and you keep me practical and grounded and minding all the problems. And because we love each other, of course.”

“Of course,” Maedhros agreed, smiling and letting herself relax just a bit. “Very much.”

[swordhound]

hi your design for curvo is SO TASTY i love it so much

thank you! i hope to draw him as crunchy as possible o7

i actually don't have a solid design for feanor yet, but i like to think that curvo's resemblance is just slightly off. like how automatons can look like people and mimic them but not really embody them naturally, if that makes sense. which makes him kind of creepy/uncanny in addition to everything else he's got going on. many such thoughts about him that i cannot articulate well so i hope they come out through the jpegs instead.

also this reminded me i meant to share process shots way back in may or something so i've added those + some notes below the cut for anybody interested :] he went through a lot of revisions because i spent too much time thinking about the Motifs as always

^ the two "final" versions i was considering before settling on the one in the original post. they were just supposed to have a few last edits and then get uploaded but i wanted his design to more clearly reflect his contrast with feanor/mae/tyelko/maybe even tyelpe too. which meant more holes and empty space rather than fire ("spirit") and silmaril-like imagery. this how his his circlet & mantle ended up:

i actually like the flame-like star in the feanorian heraldic device more than the moria star, so i hc that it's an earlier emblem that eventually got simplified in beleriand for utilitarian purposes. no basis for this at all, i just think it would be fun to have that progression. and that makes the first symbol closer to feanor, so of course curvo lugs it around right on his forehead like dead weight.

[malkaleh]

WIP meme

So @damnyoubishop and @emilykaldwen <333333 tagged me for WIP memes and uh, have some words of a Gold Cages prequel featuring an incredibly possessive jealous Sauron.

Tagging (if you want to): @shes-a-voodoo-child @verecunda @conundrumoftime @slightnettles

Annatar, it turns out hates every single moment of attention that Tyelpe bestows on those who are not him, but not at all for the reason that he had thought. Oh of course, he still plans and wants the rings but what he hates, what makes him wish to destroy every single on of the insignificant elves scuttling about is that Celebrimbor is not looking at him and him alone.

He is beautiful, his jewel. Beautiful and brilliant and so gentle it worries Annatar - soft sweet curls when he lets his hair loose and those eyes. Annatar begins to understand very well why Melian had stared in those woods, because he too could have stared such at Galadriel and Celebrimbor both.

Sauron wants. Oh he wants. He knows now, his plans have changed and have not - for he will have them and he will bring order.

Except others keep getting in the way - someone will come to his jewel seeking guidance and Celebrimbor will let them impose, let them touch him - will embrace them, will take time to talk to them and it makes Sauron wish to shed this Annatar form and bat all of them away from his jewels light.

Especially Narvi. Especially because Narvi makes him laugh, takes him away from Annatar into other things.

-

Melian’s scion is the third surprise. He had not really seen the High Kings herald, deeming him of little importance but then, then he had looked and, and…it was her beauty, her olive skin and starlight eyes, her summer night sky curls. Elrond, the herald might also echo his mortal and elvish forebears but it is Melian that Sauron sees above all - this one, with stars in his blood, for whom the Song sings. Stars settle in his curls and Arda yearns towards him.

Others do too - he can see the looks though Elrond does not - the way others stare at him, even presume to leer at him. At his little nightingale. One of the lesser smiths flirts with him and Annatar makes sure that smith suffers a broken arm.

He hates all those who touch Elrond, not least when he hears Elrond speak of the High King as a father figure, as one who cares for him. Let alone the damn dwarf and his suspicions.

-

Sauron goes into disguise so he might find a way to destroy his queen of lights unexpected husband who has found his way into his dungeons. Instead, instead he finds another precious one.