#ulmo imagines

[imagine-all-the-elves]

Imagine being secretly married to Ulmo.

Author: @thatkgrl

Artist: Kseniya Dol

[doodle-pops]

The Ainur | With A Short Reader

Request: Can I make a request for headcanons for how the Ainur would be with a short human reader? Around 5 foot tall? Like an elf of about 6 feet would only reach up to some of their chest or lower still, considering they’re like 7-9 foot tall. Would they be cute, teasing, protective, frustrated by the height difference? P.s. I love the way you characterise all the Ainur, it really feels like their personality, you do a fantastic job. - anon

A/N: Happy to fulfil this request and learn that you enjoy my characterisations of them anon. I tend to envision the Ainur as nothing less than nine feet since they are deities and display their power through their heights. So you’re going to appear super short next to them. Nonetheless, Enjoy!

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Manwë

The bird was too stunned to speak. Are you a child or dwarf, certainly that could not be your final height at the end of your growth? Unfortunately, it is your complete height which makes you appear as a little bird before the great King. Now his nickname ‘little bird’ makes more sense.

He cannot fathom how you can be the same size as a bean and packed with all that sass whenever he mentions how tiny you are. You require a ladder if you ever reach his head for a ‘level-headed’ talk.

Has no issue picking you up with one hand and carrying you around like his personal comfort toy when he’s having a bad day. Anyone commenting or teasing gets a look that speaks about them receiving a bolt of lightning.

Let us not forget his avian side which is going to fawn over how adorable you are. You’re tiny and squishy, perfect for belonging in his nest where he can shower you in affection all day long.

The size difference is outstanding. Just picture a baby lying in their parents' bed, looking like a little nugget among the pillows…that’s what you appear like anytime you snuggle in his bed. On numerous occasions, he didn’t see you and almost squished you under the sheets.

With your size, it means wearing his robes and marching around his room or Ilmarin pretending to be him while he silently watches from afar. You are drowning in his robes, don’t even wear his shirt, it’s a gown on you.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Irmo

Your size doesn’t change the way he’s going to shower you with ultimate love and affection. Apart from the minor teasing he’ll conduct for the fun of the situation, Irmo loves you the same way if you are tall.

A gentleman who enjoys using the opportunities when granted to lift you over puddles or streams so he can fawn over how you fit in his arms. He (and the others) can lift you with his pinkie and has done it before.

You are authorised to always sleep on his chest—you look like a kitten sleeping on his chest in his eyes—mainly because you like to roll and so does he and nothing good has arisen from you both rolling together.

Gets lost in crowds and he panics. He’ll be walking around asking if anyone has seen his little lover and he will give descriptions. “They’re about 5 feet, this short and very tiny. They look like an elfling…”

Saw children’s clothing on a walk with you in a boutique, did not know they were for children and excitedly stated, “Oh look! I believe these would look lovely on you! They even have your colours.”

Do not be upset with him, he didn’t know that it was children’s clothing. Irmo only wished to share the moment of shopping with you. But worry not, he gathers the best seamstresses and tailors to fashion you the finest wear that looks nothing like children’s clothes.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Námo

Has a smile on his face anytime you take the lead and walk in front of him, hence his reason for always telling you to lead the way. He’s a simple Vala, he wants to watch as you waddle like a duck with your short legs as you take him to Eru knows where.

Pretends to complain when you ‘borrow’ his robes because you missed him, but gushes mentally at the sight of how you’re drowning in his forever monochromatic black robes.

His viridian eyes were soft at the sight of you walking around, dragging his robes all over. The idea of complaining about getting them dirty has disappeared, and all he is thinking about is how you look like a penguin.

Your feet running across his halls are the equivalent of tiny pitter-patter and it’s how he can easily distinguish your presence; just listen for the tiny footsteps. But it never works out well when you’re among elves and lost in a crowd.

The first time you met his brother, Irmo mistook you for a child Námo adopted and congratulated his brother on softening up to the idea of children. To make matters worse, you played along—much to Námo’s annoyance—and clung to his arm, calling him ‘atar/daddy’.

Irmo was elated, you were dying of laughter and Námo was contemplating his life. He couldn’t believe this was the humour he signed up for the moment he fell in love with someone shorter than most individuals.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Ulmo

Mistook you for the child wandering the shores the first time he saw you in the distance and scolded you for playing in the deep waters without parental supervision. That was until he learned you weren’t a child and your permanent height for a lifetime.

‘Pebble’ was the most suitable nickname he gifted you since pebbles were small and cute…like you. Plus, he brings you pebbles, seashells and pearls from the ocean floor as a token of affection.

Because you’re smaller, your strokes as you swim alongside him are slower, so he’ll call the seals, dolphins or whales to swim alongside you for assistance. You’re even allowed to ride them anytime you two are swimming out in the depths.

Since Ulmo’s true form is staggering, he opts to appear around the same height as you are anytime he has to walk the earth. His favourite place to have walks would be the beach obviously.

Hand holding while watching the sunset and he’s quietly staring at your short fingers holding his larger hand. He loves holding your hand to fawn over the size. He would even slip on a cute ring with a pearl one day.

Because Ulmo is known for having no resting place as he wanders the waters of the world, he enjoys visiting your home. It’s even better if you live near a lake for him to have easier access to seeing you frequently. Cue Ulmo marvels at how small your household items are as he picks them up.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Oromë

Congratulations, you are the perfect size to sit on all of his creatures (and him) to ride through the forest with him. He cannot get over your tiny figure because he knows that you’re about the same size as an elfling and all his creatures are larger than you.

Roughhousing is a thing that occurs between you both and he gets caught up in the experience to forget how easily he can send you on a trip to Estë for healing…because it has happened multiple times.

Picks you up like a sack of potatoes and slings you over his shoulder when he has to carry you somewhere and you’re being troublesome, or he wants to randomly surprise you. You’re as light as a feather as he runs with you through the forest.

Swinging from his muscular arms anytime he flexes his muscles for you? Yes, yes you do, and he loves it. Fuels his ego to know that he’s strong and his lover can climb him like a tree. Clinging to his muscular physique and probably biting him? Yes, you do that he calls you a tiny beast who needs to be tamed.

Not the type to underestimate the size of a creature you can ride because of your size but is also cautious at the same time. Wanted to gift you a Shetland pony because you were small enough to ride one, but back out last minute knowing that he would receive an earful. Gave you a giant-sized tiger or dog as a companion.

You wear his pelts and pretend to act like him, attempting to wield his bow—sweetheart, you couldn’t even draw the strings—as though you were hunting.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tulkas

No different from Oromë and will playfight with you using the strength in his pinkie finger and you’d still have to bandage some body parts because accidents happen all the time. No worries though, he praises your injuries and makes you feel as though you fought a great battle with him.

He has no doubts, dismisses your strengths and associates them with your size having seen many great warriors display outstanding strengths and feats despite their size. Instead, he encourages you to take pride in your size and all the greatness you can accomplish.

You got a workout buddy, or rather he got a new dumbbell to lift or someone to sit on his back for push-ups. Your weight is inconsequential, but it doesn’t stop you from enjoying the fun in the moment.

Also picks you up like a sack of potatoes and carries you around the place, introducing you to all his close friends and elves. Anytime you need to speak ‘eye-level’ with him, instead of going to lengths to climb tables or a tree, he’ll kneel to your level.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Melkor

Getting called dwarf, child, or both the first time you meet will result in him changing the names and calling you a critter if you attempt to attack him for calling you short. Probably ‘ankle biter’ might be your new name because he denoted that small things have the most rage.

You’re a ferocious ankle-biter in his eyes whose nerves he enjoys getting on because your responses are hilarious. It’s all in jest…or maybe not.

Nothing of his will ever fit you, that also means trying to wear his crown with the Silmarils. It’s currently sitting on your neck as we speak. All you can do is make versions of his outfits tailored to your size.

You’re smaller, so his hands can cover your entire face. Know what that means? Squish your cheeks as you speak to admire how soft and dough-like they are. “Hm, ankle biter, you have remarkably soft cheeks,” he says while squishing your face.

There’s nothing you can climb on to meet his height because he makes sure that there isn’t anything around. He wants you to break your neck looking up at him (bite his ankles and he’ll reach your height).

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Eönwë

“You’re like a hummingbird minus the speed,” he chuckled upon the first sight of your tiny figure. You were lucky he didn’t consider you a lost child who wandered before him in search of help because he was ready to call you ‘child’.

I have to say, Eӧnwё is the best person to try the same ‘daddy’ prank on when you’re walking through the streets of Valimar but clinging to him and acting like a child for the elves to fawn over how adorable the interaction is. There is always an elf who inquires for you to look them in the eye and say, “This is my atya!”

His avian side adores your tininess; and makes you all the more delicate and squishable. You are never again going to leave the nest…just joking, but his protective side goes up a notch because you are TINY.

I mean, he loses you in a crowd easily and you can’t even jump high enough to show your location. You can climb a table or chair but still have to get past the sea of heads before Eӧnwё spots you.

Gets you the smaller version of everything so you don’t have to struggle with holding the larger objects. He once watched as you climbed a chair as if it were a mountain or fought with a glass of wine because the glass was too big to hold.

At least going on flights doesn’t change whether you’re extra small or bigger. Visits in the morning and takes you to watch the sunrise over the mountain from a bird’s eye view.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Tilion

Doesn’t matter if you’re tiny or tall, you still look the same from his view in the sky as he guides the moon. But he does melt at the sight of you looking up at the moon.

You are forever his ‘little deer’ even though you’re probably feisty and love to bite or nibble on his arms all the time. Similar to Oromë, carries you around like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder, but more for the fun of watching your short legs dangle.

Doesn’t alter the size of any furniture so he can observe your legs dangling over the edges and sway, or the size difference between you and the table designed for a nine-foot entity.

Roughhousing is a constant must-have between you both because he adores pinning your smaller body under his and making you fight back. Tilion just wants to watch you struggle and wiggle like a worm. Bite him.

Puts you to sleep on top of him because it is the safest option unless you want to be crushed under a giant nine-foot Maia, and you look like a tiny kitten curled up on his chest. The only thing he hasn’t done is pick you up by your scruff.

He’s such a tease when it comes to you both riding through the forest. Tilion will purposefully place you behind him so you can’t see a thing and then tease you about being too small. But it’s all in jest because he’ll have you ride an elk or reindeer or even a pony that was handpicked to match your size.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Mairon

He also assumed you’re an ankle biter as well because he called you short and you were ready to attack. Please, do not release him from your tyranny because he will make fun of your height and pat your head or rest his arm atop your head when he’s resting. Again, bite him.

Complains about your short legs and how slow you are when you’re walking side-by-side but comes to you later to ask for assistance because some tool of his fell into a small hole and you’re tiny enough to get it.

Tells you that he’ll feed you to his wolves if you don’t stop clinging to him when in truth, he loves it. You’re small enough to not be a distraction as he moves about his forge or the fortress, but it’s just Mairon being a tsundere.

Doesn’t see you lying in his bed because his bed is huge and you’re extra small, so he almost lies atop your body. It’s turned into a staring match like how children stare you down without blinking.

Has a tendency to carry you around, for funsies, by holding onto your belt or grabbing the back of your clothes so you dangle as he powers through the corridors until he arrives at his Lord holding you like a briefcase.

Deep down, as much as he teases your size, he enjoys the differences. Watching you fight to lift an object made for his size or dress in his clothes—if you’re brave enough to try this—is entertaining.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster

[youareunbearable]

I always see these posts about Maedhros and Elwing, like yes both leap to their deaths clutching a Silmaril and I adore the foil allegories, but what of Maglor??

My tiktok feed has been playing that one fan Odysseus song, the "get in the water, or ill raise the tides so high all of Ithaca will die" song, and I cant help but just picture Maglor, at the ends of his rope, covered in Ambarussa's blood, the youngest son of Feanor again after spending an untold amount of time being the second oldest, just going still and deadly at Elwing

Hes no Luthien, no half Maia that can pluck at the threads of reality like one can a harp, but he is the best Singer of the Noldor, and depending on who you ask, of all of the First Born. One of the only Sons of Feanor with an affinity for water while the rest burn, but that doesn't mean he can't become a rolling boil.

Once the final breath of Ambarussa escapes their lungs, oh the Scream Maglor will have let go. Just as a drowning person will grasp at anything to keep them afloat, even to the point where they may drown their rescuer just to keep their head above the waves, Maglor’s scream PULLS

All the water surrounding this costal city would Lurch, would rush and flood and crash upon the city walls. The streets, already run red with blood, would become knee deep blood pools. These red rivers would part before him and his echoing dirge, his siren wailing, the bloody waves would lap at his feet with every step he would take up Elwing's tower.

He would corner her, eyes blazing with the same light that she clutches desperately to her chest, to her heart, and Maglor wouldn't care about the Jewel, he's already lost so much to it that if he held it himself he would just toss it into the waves anyways, let it sink to the black depths where it belongs.

No, Maglor would pin her on the balcony, block her exits so all she can see is the blood stained water seeping around his feet, inching towards her, and the furious roar and crash of the raging ocean behind. He would hum, a disarming little song, and the waves seem to surge upwards, reaching towards the tower balcony on beat. The spray of the waves would splatter across her back, would mist Maglor’s face, the salt of the ocean mixing with the salt of his tear stained face. He would look at her, dripping in water and blood, both of his brothers and his enemies, and he would sing one little line, a command more like.

"Get in the water"

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Athelas Drabble Challange: Fate

Pairing: Ulmo x Lissëndë (OC / Teleri Elf)

Themes: Soft | Medieval! Ainur

Warnings: None 

Wordcount: 300 words

Summary: Ulmo goes for a walk on the beach and fate intervenes

Rules and tag form here.  

Seeking respite beyond the halls and corridors of his manse, Ulmo walked along the beach, his bare feet warm against the coarse sand. He loved the beach. He loved the sharp sting of salt in the air, the cry of seagulls hovering over the waves, and the sight of beautiful white ships on the horizon.

That was when he saw her. She had been walking along the shore, collecting seashells and placing them in a wooden pail. Ulmo glanced at her—her creamy amber skin, the flowers in her raven black hair, the soft linen wisps that fluttered with the breeze and clung to her while she walked. And he was not the only one to see her. Others were walking along the shore, including knights glancing wistfully at the comely maiden more than once. She struggled with the pail she was carrying. Seeing his chance, Ulmo rushed to her before anyone else could. He felt a strange tug, an urging, something telling him to take this opportunity and go to her before it was too late. 

Ulmo grabbed the pail as it slipped out of her fingers. He took it into his hand and said, "Let me help you with this, my lady."

The lady studied him with curious sea-blue eyes. "My pardons, my lord. I have collected more shells than I can manage." 

Ulmo peered into the pail. There were shells of all kinds and in a rainbow of colors. 

" I am Lissëndë," she introduced herself. "My lord." 

"I am Ulmo, my lady," he replied, lifting his eyes. When they rested on hers, Ulmo saw him and her—two bodies and two souls joined as one. 

It was a vision, a touch of destiny. Ulmo decided not to fight it. He willingly bowed his head to fate.

tags: @cilil​ @fictionfordays​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @edensrose​ 

[holytrickster]

taking a break from struggling over one drawing to work on another lmao

ulmo wip

I like to think he pops up out of bodies of water occasionally to get some sunlight but is usually just hanging out in the really deep places (also I like to think bioluminescent sea creatures are a collab between yavanna ulmo and varda bc yknow, shiny)

[thesummerestsolstice]

I like the idea that the Valar can grant boons to men or elves they favor. Sometimes visible– glowing markings, feathers, claws– and sometimes not. Attitudes of these blessings ranged from fear to reverence to jealousy, often reflecting opinions of the Valar more generally.

Galadriel's special treelight hair came from Finarfin. Finarfin got it as a result of Manwe's favor. Given how rare it was for Manwe to bestow such gifts, this caused quite a stir. Later, Morgoth would spread rumors that Manwe was trying to set Finarfin up as the new Noldor crown prince, bypassing Finwe's older children.

Namo gave Fingolfin a blessing, and no one was particularly sure why, Fingolfin included. The truth was that Namo had already foreseen Fingolfin's death, and wanted to give him the strength to let him wound Morgoth before falling to him. Namo has always felt a sense of responsibility for those who choose to come to his halls, even if he's powerless to change their fates.

Celegorm was blessed by Orome, given the kind of teeth and claws that a few of his best disciples had been granted over the years. Orome couldn't take those gifts back, so Celegorm kept them for all his life. You wouldn't know that looking at paintings of him, though, because none of them show him with the marks of Orome's hunt. Whether this was a choice made by him or by later revisionists trying to minimize his connection with the Valar is unknown.

Varda gave blessings to both Earendil and Gil-Galad in the final years of the First Age. Both of them are said to have shone like stars afterwards, and there were some darker rumors that like the hallowed Silmarils, they would burn any unholy flesh that touched them. Some speculated that the blessings were Varda's way of apologizing for leaving the elves to face Morgoth alone for so long.

Ulmo is probably the Vala who's given out the most blessings– Cirdan, Turgon, Finrod, and Tuor all recieved boons from him, among others. But everyone who's gotten blessings from Ulmo is weirdly secretive about it. There's lots of gossip floating around– Ulmo is the reason Cirdan has a beard, Ulmo is the reason Turgon is taller than Maedhros, Ulmo is the reason that everyone likes Finrod so much, actually everyone blessed by Ulmo gets gills and he has secret underwater meetings with them– you get the idea. Well, probably no reason to consider that last one. I can't imagine any of the Valar using their power for something that foolish.

There is fierce scholarly debate on whether Thingol received a blessing from Melian, and whether her descendants could, theoretically, do the same. Elrond would like everyone to please stop asking him about it. Elrond would also like everyone to please stop talking about Gil-Galad's hair turning silver after the two of them took a very normal hunting trip together.

(Multiple Valar have tried to take credit for just how amazingly luscious and wonderful Finwe's hair is. But no, that wasn't a blessing. He's just like that.)

[sun-snatcher]

Elrond has a conch shell.

Not one of the prettier ones you would imagine, with the spikes and spots— No, this is a weathered and lumpy one; Sandy coloured and boring, for lack of a better word, only offset by the fact there’s a weird star-shaped hole you can peek through.

He brings it everywhere he travels.

Theory goes that it’s a magical trumpet gifted to him. Or, that he keeps secret messages in it for safekeeping. And his favourite: that he’s bound to the shell by oath, and if he steps a mere pace away from it, Ulmo would transform him into foam like a cursed sea-nymph. (You can imagine that one was debunked quite easily.)

No matter; the most important thing the Elves have come to learn about its peculiar existence is that above all: You do not touch it. (One of the younger elven recruits of a party learns this the hard way mid-travel, when he’d— bless him— grabbed the shell and suggested the idea to cast it aside, in exchange for more space to fit a spare skin of water.

It’s the first they’d ever seen Elrond snap like a whip.

Nobody dares question it since.)

That is, until young Estel had found it.

They can hardly blame the little child. Idle hands and curious trinkets never mix well, after all, much less with that of a 6-year-old who’s come to learn his bright-eyes and daisy-face lent him the ability to get away with almost anything.

“Look, Atya!” He’s skipped his way up to one of the open galleries of Imladris, hefting the coveted conch over his head as he peers at the night sky. “I can see the Evening Star through this hole!”

The Elves pale. They wait for the tongue-lashing, but the storm never comes.

“Not like that, Estel,” corrects Elrond patiently, bending to lower the child’s arms. “Put it to your ear, and close your eyes. Yes, now tell me, what do you hear?”

“…The sea!” he exclaims, after a focused minute. Then Estel lights up, and so Elrond lights up, and suddenly there’s a laughter in the air akin to a musical ring of bells, so high and sunny it dispels the witnessing Elves’ tension from the air.

“But how? We’re too far from the shores, and I can’t hear as well as you. Do you hear it too? Listen, Atya, listen!”

“Yes, yes,” Elrond laughs, and holds his hand over his son’s to bring the shell to his ears. And yes, indeed, if he closes his eyes, he could almost see it: The great rushing shores of Sirion, the pitter patter of Elros’ feet splashing at the rolling tides, the salt-winds carrying Maglor’s distant singing and Maedhros’ disgruntlement over grains of sand in his hair.

Elros had had a Conch of his own. His was bright and ivory-coloured, long since laid to rest alongside him in Númenor. When they were younger, they used to believe they could communicate with each other through the shells no matter their space apart— some imaginary fancy planted by Maedhros (“You two are twins. That’s a magic no force nor distance in the world can unmake.”) which was inevitably nurtured by their child-like wonder.

Years after Númenor had sunken, Celebrían caught Elrond once or twice, speaking to the old conch, and bringing it up to his ear in hopes of a reply.

“What do you hear, Atya?”

“My brother,” he says. “Amidst the heart of the sea.”

[ladysternchen]

The Aging Of Elves

In his later years, Tolkien spent much time and energy trying to explain the concept of aging regarding the Elves (read here: he needed to explain Círdan's beard and how he looked old). He came up with a whole lot of theories, one that said Elves age 1 year per x human years, one that talked about life-circles, others again that tried to determine when Elves reproduced- and ended up contradicting himself with every single one (though admittedly, the life-circle-one is the one that fits best).

Now, it is always difficult to contradict the author of a book, but given that Tolkien created not only a book but a whole legendarium, a history of an ancient world that is now lost, I think each of may try to explain what Tolkien in the end could not, and be it only because he ran out of time.

I, personally, go with the 'the life of the Eldar is bound to the lifespan of Arda', at the end of which they at last grow weary of life even in Valinor. But that is still eons away, and even then, would they show their age physically? I think not (partly because the age of their body isn't really relevant. An elf can die, probably even multiple times, and spend a varying amount of time in Mandos, and then be allowed to rebuild their body. Would that make them then somehow younger than someone who has never died? Hardly, would it?).

No, if you ask me, Elves do not change their physical appearance past their 100th year (which is the age by which all of them are full-grown). As for the infamous beards? Well, Círdan just liked it that way, maybe Ossë or Ulmo appeared in the form of a bearded being and he wanted to honour them (like Mahtan wanted to honour Aulë with his beard?). Or maybe it was just warmer with that beard. Like, chap spent almost all his life be the sea.

Why did the Hobbits think him old, then? Well, there's an easy explanation, one that has already been given by so many people over the years- Círdan's hair and beard were silver, which is a perfectly natural hair-colour for an elf and just something that runs in Círdan's family, but a sign of old age for Mortals. Bilbo and Frodo and Sam would probably have thought Olwë and Eärwen aged as well, given that their hair was completely white, even though they had spent their entire life (or in Olwë's case all his adult life) in Valinor, where things don't fade nor age.

That said, there can be no doubt that Elves did age nonetheless, only not physically (with one exception, but I will come to that later)- they are born, learn to walk, talk, sing and dance by the time they turn one (convenient, I call it), but then their (physical) development falls behind that of human children- or really, cannot be compared to the aging of Men anymore (which I think is the real reason Tolkien never found a formula that fitted). Because Mortals age by years. Elves, at least in my imagination, age by experiences made, or probably even by their choice. And many things that are affairs of adult life for Mortals (like marriage, the bearing of children, taking up rule etc) MAY fall into the period that would still be considered childhood- or else they may not, and wait with building their family until much later.

Also, do Elves ever really grow up? They are at once the wiser of the Children of Ilúvatar, and become skilled past anything that Mortals could ever hope for, and the more child-like ones, rejoicing in dancing and singing and losing themselves in the joy of arts and crafting, joking and feasting.

They are at once like happy children and bearing all the griefs of the world at once- Elves are no Humans, and cannot be compared.

But speaking of griefs- that is the thing that does make them grow older. Not physically, perhaps (with exceptions), but mentally. And maybe that also added to Círdan appearing old to the Hobbits- because they could see in his eyes all he had loved and lost. It was just his aura, if you like.

And then there are those instances where pain, torture and grief can physically change an elf- Gwindor is the most prominent example of that. Still, that fate may be reversible (at least if we take the other given example, 'Thingol's winter', at face value and believe that a real physical change came over him rather than 'just' depression*)

Plus, there is a fun-fact to just f**k with your minds today and the ultimate proof for myself that Elves can never be compared to Men- Fëanor and Maedhros were closer in age than Maedhros was with the twins (depending on which dates you believe, by quite a significant amount), and that was -if one believes the Laws and Customs Among the Eldar- by no means a rare thing.

So, to sum this headcanon or meta or whatever up, Elves age by what they live through. They may fall in love, marry and become parents when hardly past their own childhood, or they may do so after already living for a thousand years. Lúthien, despite being thousands of years old already, still very much acted a teenager when she met Beren (yes, no, sorry, Lúthien my dear, you did. You behaved like a child and were treated like a child, and to be honest, girl, for all your power, you never really grew up), while Gwindor, despite likely being a relatively young elf still, appeared as an old man when he returned from Angband. Círdan looked to Frodo old, while Celeborn and Galadriel, who were also both born during the Years of the Trees, showed no sign of age whatsoever. Elvish aging has no rule to it, and they don't age physically per default. And there is certainly no old elf in the FA.

*you'll never hear me say JUST depression ever again. I don't mean that mental illness is by any means less terrible than any physical illness or hurt, I meant the 'just' as in 'not visible'. And yes, it is important for me to stress that point!

[two-white-butterflies]

CHANGED | part two

Description: You have found that there are different types of love. Self-serving ones who grovel when abandoned in pity for themselves. However, there is another greater form of love, one that creates life. What happens when your husband uses you in the creation of the rings?

Pairing: Annatar/Reader reincarnation trope that i am a sucker for

PART ONE || (graphic depictions of violence warning!)

Halbrand reminds you of a thing that you once knew... "You remind me of something," you suddenly blurt out.

He raises an eyebrow, non-verbally asking you to continue.

It happened thousands of years ago when all you knew were the green fields of Valinor — carefully tucked under the guiding hands of your ruined mother, Iellas.

Mother would accompany you in gathering the flowers near the valley, and songs of life would play in the background...You could only see the water from where you stood.

"Back then, I had never seen a ship before. My mother was a follower of Lord Ulmo, and every day, he would request my presence. He'd tell me to sing so the fishes of Yavanna would appear to him. I'd strike up a conversation and ask him questions about ships. I always wanted to see one." You smile at the faint memory.

Halbrand seems to be flooded with memories of his own.

"This is hardly a ship." Halbrand chuckles.

"It floats," you looked around with a smile.

.

.

.

After hours of silence, your eyes suddenly light up at the sight of land — the statue of Ulmo!

Something truly divine is at play here, from being forced to return to the Grey Havens to being caught in a shipwreck and landing in Numenor with a man named Halbrand.

This must be the work of Lord Ulmo.

"Ulmo," Halbrand muses, able to recognize the statue in front of you.

"They are a proud nation of seafarers; I assume that you are not fond of the lord of the seas?" You look at him with a knowing smirk.

"It is him who is not fond of me," he scowls.

"You cannot always blame the Valar for your suffering, Halbrand." Your voice turns soft again, optimistic, and filled with faith. Faith is the thing of the righteous, the pure, the clean. Faith is not for people like him. The men standing guard wave down their raft.

Halbrand does not doubt the power of your presence — he is sure they can see that you are an elf. One of the most powerful elves.

You cross your arms, staring at him from head to heel.

He looks nothing like the well-groomed elves of Lindon. His hair was brown and dry. His clothes are torn, wet, and smelling like the sea. There were scars all over his forearm, presumably stretching across his chest and littering his body with cuts and bruises. He did not have a slender body; he had a strong shoulder and the body of a bull.

A shiver runs down your spine, flashes of a man with auburn hair and sea-green eyes...you try to forget your dreams. They are merely visions that you can see due to your overactive imagination.

This is the real world that you are living in, Artanis, you sharply remind yourself. "Thank you for saving me, Halbrand." You thanked — and as if automatically, you press a kiss to his cheek.

Halbrand stares blankly at the ceiling. It has been a week, and not once has the encounter evaded his mind. His existence has been nothing but a black dread for millennia, but the feeling of your lips on his cheek... brought him back to memories he's fought to stay hidden.

He closes his eyes.

He cannot remember your face.

He has forced himself to forget about your features, your voice, your scent — because it was the very thing that Morgoth used to ruin him. The Dark Lord would make up visions, scenarios in which you are the subject of torture, and it ruined him a thousand times more. The sound of your voice against grating steel, the sound of your voice writhing in pain as your skin is stripped from your body.

It haunted him. It continues to haunt him. 

.

.

.

"Mairon, our child will surely adore this bed." You place a hand on the wooden crib, it is littered with paintings of flowers, and a bed made of duck feathers makes it comfortable. 

He hears the joy radiating off your voice. You were in the fifth month of your pregnancy, and the child inside of your belly grew by the minute, according to the healers — the child was big and healthy. Growing with all the light that radiated off you and your husband.

"Tell me already. Is it a son or a daughter?" You pleaded, leaning deeper into his embrace.

An amused chuckle escapes his mouth, pressing baby kisses on the crook of your neck. "It does not matter," he whispers.

"Yes, but I have to think of names." You pouted.

He presses a kiss to your lips.

"Artanis or Inglor, whatever shall it be?" He continues to tease.

"Annoying," your eyes narrowed. He laughs again.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, lingering in your presence. He feels utterly blessed to be alive — to have you waiting for him and the promise of a child that shall be a testament to the love you share. Every day is filled with joy and safety, and he knows that tomorrow shall be the same, for today is the same as yesterday.

He takes a deep breath again.

But he feels like something is missing, that life shouldn't be filled with this tranquil feeling of rest — it should have a purpose, should it not? Knowledge, innovation, making things easier.

He breaks free from the embrace.

He looks at you and — he realizes that your face is paler, no longer shining with the light of the two trees.

"Lover," his voice comes out as a whisper. He places both hands on your shoulders; there is no light hidden behind your eyes. "You are Sauron," his ruined name escapes your mouth.

His gaze trails down to your lower body.

Blood pools on the floor, between your thighs.

"...you chose the darkness over your family. You fell into temptation because you are not strong enough to stand against Illuvatar's test." The voice that comes out of your mouth does not sound like your own — your voice sounds like nothing but a cheap impersonation.

"Lover, please." He begged.

"You wish to return to the Grey Havens to seek salvation, but you are not welcome there, you are not welcome anywhere but the dark void that your master is cast-off to." You continued speaking, eyes boring deep into his. "You are ruined, and you will find no salvation."

"Lover," a whisper escapes his mouth before a cacophony of screams leaves him deaf and breathless.

.

.

.

"Halbrand," you place a hand on his sleeping figure, seeing that tears were falling down his irises, staining his cheeks.

He snaps awake — about to hit you, but you stop him with a hand. "Halbrand, are you well?" You asked with a concerned frown.

He looks around in a confused manner, surprised that he was able to sleep, but sleep never does come for a maia like him. It was nothing but a vision, his subconscious fighting against him, eating him alive with guilt. "What are you doing here?" His voice is rough.

"I wanted to speak, the pendant that you were wearing — I remember it to be the emblem of kings," You informed with a gentle gaze.

"It passed down from my father," he looks to the side. He wonders all the ways he can use you to his benefit. "It is a heirloom." Your lips pursed into a thin line. "I am not related to any king," He raises an eyebrow. He wants that idea inside of your head.

"Well, you have the pendant." You made an observation. Your breath is lodged inside of your throat once you realize his...indescribable stare on your face like he wanted to eat you alive or ravage you.

"Even if you are not king, I require a figurehead, a leader that shall guide men." You continued, certain that he'd accept your generous offer. It is not every day that a man becomes King.

"You would make me a King?" He stares again, licking his bottom lips.

"I do not desire to stay here for long. The darkness marches forward, threatening to engulf the realm with rot. Every moon counts, every day that we spend coddled near the fire, their numbers grow. I am asking you to be their leader, my friend. The man that they can look towards as they raise their banners." You carefully honeyed your words.

"My friend?" He opts to focus on the word that you used to describe him. He looks behooved.

"You are my friend now, for you shall help me." You insisted.

He flicks the blanket off his body, rising in his feet, pretending to march in the other direction. "I've found good work here. I'm not returning to that shite sea." Halbrand turns to look away.

His heart stills for a second; there is a small chance that you will deny his offer and find another human to pester. But, he knows that rejection is the best way to strengthen your faith in him — to make his alibi seem believable once cracks of his facade break.

He cannot seem too optimistic. He needs this to be your idea.

"Think about it, Halbrand." You placed a basket on his bed.

Casting him another glance before exiting his chamber.

"Halbrand," your voice floods his senses.

He pretends not to see you, opting to focus on forging a necklace. He had forged this necklace before when he was still in the Grey Havens. Your favorite flowers are roses...he resists the urge to chuckle. He still cannot understand why your favorite flowers are roses.

He finds roses to be boring, but that certainty is also what draws him to you. He used to be certain of your love. He used to be certain that every day would be the same — and that you would choose him regardless of his sins. He thinks about your spirit trapped in another elf's body — or perhaps a human, a hobbit, or a dwarf.

He thinks about you wrapped in the arms of the sun, and suddenly, Sauron turns back into Mairon, and he cannot bear the thought of you in the arms of someone who is not him.

"Halbrand, are you still there?" You wave your hand in front of his face. "What?" His voice comes out harsher than he intended.

You flinch.

"I'm sorry for interrupting you; I was saying that roses are my favorite kind of flowers." You smiled, showing him your dimples.

His grip on the axe loosens. His breath stills, and in this light, your face and smile look much like his wife. He has to manually fight against the urge to reach for your face and litter your lips with kisses.

She is not my wife, he reminds himself. You are merely an elf that he must use to further his position in Middle Earth. "— I'll buy whatever you're crafting, but you must promise to escort me to Middle Earth." You continued once more with your campaign.

A satisfied smile ghosts his face, but it returns to normal before you can notice. "Unless there is someone in Middle Earth that would be greatly offended seeing you in my company," you winked.

A sigh escapes his mouth.

He reminds himself to add more dimension to this Halbrand character. "I have a wife," he looks away, returning to his craft. "All the more reason to return home," you persuaded.

He does not know where home is.

"The gods have taken her." He says, pounding harder on the metal. Your face drops to the floor. You take a step backward. "Oh," your tone sounds apologetic. "I am sorry, Halbrand." You apologized.

A strange feeling enters his heart at the sound of your apology.

You lift your body until you are sitting on the wooden table, feeling the vibrations of the pounding of metals on your thighs. "When I was younger, I used to make up these scenarios inside of my head," you tried to distract him away from the previous subject.

He looks at you, his eyes a little more forgiving, and a smirk is plastered on his face.

"Well, I still make scenarios in my head, but I assure you that they are not as creative as they once were...Remember that story with my aunt and her husband?" You say, avoiding Sauron's name. "Yes," he nods his head, pretending to have no interest in your story.

He grabs one of the fine tools, beginning to create the intricate details of rose petals. "Mother was her closest friend, and she'd tell me stories. She'd say that my aunt is the fairest of Illuvatar's creations because her fea was strong — she was guided by Yavanna. She fell in love with a maia — one of the few of our kind to do so." You smiled, remembering the story of old.

"Mhm," Halbrand continues.

"All was well until Morgoth came and sang discord into Valinor. He took my aunt's husband, tortured him, and taught him the darkest of crafts. Grief made her feel weaker until she could not find happiness even in the Grey Havens." You stared off to the far distance.

As if the scene happened right in front of you.

Halbrand stopped forging in those very seconds, his glare on you was so intense — his eyes were watery with tears, but you were far too carried off in your story to realize.

"Her fea was not enough for her child's spirit to continue...and my cousin faded. My aunt faded, and she begged in the Halls of Mandos to be freed of this world, but she was brought back to us because our souls are chained to this land. Our family came to Lady Yavanna, and she agreed to grant my aunt a new life, so she shall have no memory of her husband — or her child..." Tears fall from your eyes, staining your cheeks.

You turned to look at him, and he looked away, pretending to have been forging the entire time. "You must understand how much this journey means to me, Halbrand. The darkness has already taken too many of my loved ones. It must end," You persuaded.

In your eyes, he knows nothing of the pain that you feel. Your mother, your friends, your aunt...have all been taken by the darkness.

"We are too weak to stop what has been standing for so long," he clears his throat, his emotions seeping deep inside the necklace that he is forging. He caused his own child's demise. 

"It can be vanquished, I promise." You nodded.

"Lady Artanis?" a herald peeks through the closed doors of the forge.

"I shall speak to you again, Halbrand." You placed a hand on his shoulder, walking away once more.

"What is it, herald?" he hears your voice fade away.

Halbrand places the necklace on your palms. "What is this?" Your eyes narrowed, lips forming into a smile. "I liked your story yesterday. You can have the necklace, I've never been fond of sparkly things." Halbrand tries his best to sound like a lowborn human male.

"Thank you!" You beam with happiness, quickly attempting to place the necklace on your neck — but you struggle because of your hair.

"Let me help you," he blurts out.

You hand the necklace to him, turning around and waiting until the cold metal is securely on your neck.

He lays it on there, flicking your hair away, hooking the gold metal loops together. His calloused fingers dance against your nape, and he shivers. "It is beautiful; you should not have." You whispered, staring intently at the beautiful details of your new necklace.

It is beautiful, lover, you should not have, he remembers the words that exited your mouth a dozen lifetimes ago.

"You are truly blessed with the skill of forging. This type of detail, I have only ever seen Lord Celebrimbor do it." You complimented him. "My father was a smith before he died of sickness." He lied. His father is Eru Illuvatar — and he is now a disowned son.

"— your speech yesterday was convincing. I have decided to take up your offer." He agrees to your proposal.

"Really!" You beam with joy again, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

"The best news that I have heard the entire week!" You cheer, and the humans around you begin to look at you with raised eyebrows. "Easy, lass." He pats your back.

"I promise that the seas will be forgiving. No more of that raft." You smiled, dragging him away from the city center, entwining your fingers together as you began to lead him to the castle.

----

Halbrand finds himself marching inside the Numenorian library. He needs to read all books written about being born again...although he doubts that any of these humans could have written anything about such a divine topic.

His hands land on a book, its cover feels different, almost familiar. He takes the book off the shelf, landing it on the table in front of him. 'Reincarnation by ___, wife of Arnaur.' He reads the author's name has been scratched off the leather, and to his surprise, there is no table of contents — he must skim through all these pages.

A reincarnated soul does not lose their true identity. It is their soul that is changed, not their heart, Lady Yavanna says. The body that holds their spirit shall suffer dreams of the past and their loved ones...the Valar says they will dream of them, too, until their identity is made known. My daughter has been suffering from these dreams. I find myself dreaming of you, my friend. 

Halbrand's eyebrows merged, all the other pages past these were tattered, covered by letters that he recognized as dark speech. He clenches his fist — this book is the only one in the entire world written about reincarnation, and it seems to him that Morgoth got his paws on the author before she was able to finish.

He stares at the cover again. "Wife of Arnaur," he mutters under his breath. The name sounds familiar (and he has been saying familiar a thousand times now.) Arnaur, noble fire. He has said that name before... Who are you, Arnaur?

---- 

"Are you ready to leave, Hal?" You asked, and he nodded.

He carries your shared bag on his back, not much to carry when you came here, almost wearing nothing. You offered a handshake before boarding the ship, "To vanquish the darkness?" You smiled.

"To vanquish the darkness," he flashes an indescribable smile.

As you turn your back to him, his eyes turn dark.

Middle Earth shall kneel to the might of its dark king, from the ocean to the land, from the moon and to the stars. All shall fear his name. 

@louiselouve @justmasblack @anakinishotdoe

[dynamicdiplomacy]

Celebrían left for Aman well before Aragorn was ever born and long before Arwen ever made the Choice of Mortality.

Imagine Elrond, stepping off the ship from Middle Earth, delighted to see his wife again. They embrace, enough tears falling to drown their sorrow beneath their joy.

Once they have returned to the home she has built for her family, she asks him please, please tell me about my children, tell me of all the wondrous things they have done.

So he tells her about Elladan and Elrohir, their part in the War, their dedication to the Rangers, the kind elves they have grown to become.

When their conversation turns to Arwen, he speaks of little Estel, the boy they had taken into their home, the love that had grown between them, the world they had created for each other. Then he pauses and reaches into the wooden trunk he has brought from Rivendell.

There is a portrait, the paint still bright and vivid, of a dark-haired man with a kind gaze and a crown of silver. Beside him, Arwen stands with an ornate circlet resting on her brow. Both of their faces are aglow with happiness, lips curled with mirth.

Between them is a young boy with silver eyes that look so much like Elrond's and she knows the words that he is about to say.

But knowing does not make them ache any less.

She is not coming, Celebrían. She is not coming and I am sorry.

It seemed their family was always doomed to have one soul sundered from the others.

Eärendil from Elwing, Elros from Elrond, Celebrían from her children, Arwen from her family.

Crumpled into her husband's arms, she has only one question:

Is she happy?

Elrond smiles faintly and runs a gentle hand over her silver hair.

Oh my darling, they are in bliss. They remind me of you and I so long ago. In love so deep that not even Ulmo could pull them from its waters.

She sighs and presses a kiss to his neck, perhaps we could find that love between us again. It has been hidden for too long.

His soft laugh, tingled by bittersweet memories, makes her own heart soar.

Two pairs of lovers, separated by an ocean and time, each begin a new life together.

[vaile-elenya]

Look I may be completely wrong, I don't cliff jump into bodies of water on the regular so forgive me if I'm wrong, but how is Elrond not injured by the fall?? The pan down from the waterfall to the cliff made the cliff look incredibly high. Not to mention the possibility of rocks at the bottom of the waterfall. My first reaction to it was “YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!” (let’s pretend that we don't know he lives)

How afraid of Galadriel and Gil-galad was he to think that was his best option? Especially if he didn't know if he'd survive.

People do cliff jump for sport but the difference is how they land in the water. I don't know if Elrond is a seasoned cliff jumper because the surface tension could kill you. Yes, he is a half-elf but I don't gravity or the water cares that much.

Can someone smarter than me figure out how tall that cliff was and see if it was survivable? If it wasn't, then he really parallels Elwing, she didn't know that she'd survive. It was Ulmo that saved her. It was a suicide attempt to keep the silmaril away from Maedhors and Maglor.

If I am right about the cliff being high enough to kill him, then maybe Ulmo saves Elrond too. In my brief-as-hell research, Ulmo knew Eärendil’s father so maybe he's fond of the family. Ulmo is said to dwell in deep rivers, so it could be possible that he saved Elrond. What a parallel if I'm right

This is just a headcanon and massive speculation on my end, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Like this me screaming at the sky type of headcanon, I’m not expecting to by right 😂

Ohhh, I had the same thought when Elrond made that jump! To me, it looked deadly. But what struck me the most was how the other Elves seemed so... unbothered? It might not be the perfect word to use here, but neither Galadriel nor Gil-galad seemed very concerned that Elrond might have been killed by that jump. I can’t tell if it's because they have this unwavering hope and goodness in their nature, or if they just knew the jump wasn’t as fatal as it appeared, but something about Gil-galad stationing guards at every crossing and Galadriel almost immediately assuming Elrond had gone somewhere else, rather than imagining him at the bottom of the ocean, makes me think the jump might not have been that dangerous—at least not for someone with Elven heritage 🤔

(Also, it did make me a little sad we didn’t get a moment where Gil-galad or Galadriel expressed concern, like “I hope he’s alright,” or even better, “We’ll deal with the rings after we find Elrond. First, let’s make sure he’s safe.” 💔)

But! With that said, I totally see the parallel to Elwing here. Elrond might know this waterfall by heart, but in a situation like this, you just can’t help but wonder if things might not go as smoothly as planned. I think you can see that fear on his face—his eyes show so much pain:

This is the look of someone painfully hurt, painfully scared, and painfully disappointed—knowing it's either give up the jewels or, possibly, face death. You can almost feel the pain of this realization in his expression, especially in the first two shots 💔

The moment we see Elrond from behind, with Gil-estel on his cloak, it feels like we're meant to draw a mental comparison to Elwing and the Silmarils. I can only imagine what that must have felt like for him 😭 I’m seriously tempted to write a fic exploring everything going through his mind in that moment. If this was a book, I'd want an entire chapter from Elrond's POV, just to know what he was thinking 😭

And! I love the idea of Ulmo saving Elrond!!! I was going to say that when I read your tags on my last answer. There’s something so beautiful about Ulmo quietly watching over Eärendil's family centuries later 🥺 It honestly makes so much sense!!!

[aureentuluva70]

I've had this idea in my head for a while because it's funny and I think it works: Melkor and Nienna having a Phineas and Isabella dynamic. Specifically how Isabella obviously has a crush on Phineas and yet Phineas can't figure that out to save his life until somebody literally tells him to his face.

Nienna so obviously has some kind of attraction to Melkor, everybody and their grandma knows about it. Well, everybody except Melkor, who despite all his talk about being the greatest of all the ainur, is also the dumbest idiot on the planet and is totally oblivious to the fact that Nienna has a massive crush on him up until someone finally has had enough and tells him(or maybe he's in denial about it. It would fit with the cynicism of his character).

And I can imagine him having that one conversation from the ep Act your Age with some of the other Valar, probably after dagor dagaroth or something:

Manwe: You do know that Nienna had a giant crush on you for ages.

Melkor: Uh....no?

Ulmo: Oh, come on, it was so obvious! She visited you while you were imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos every day for three thousand years just to see how you were doing!

Manwe: When she looked at you, her pupils actually formed little hearts. Like, I don't know how that is physically possible. SHE CHANGED. HER EYEBALLS.

And then Melkor spends the next couple of years hours having a full blown crisis about this "shocking revelation".

[doodle-pops]

Can I please ask for the Ainur' reaction following their S/O to sleep? I just read the one about the House of Fingolfin and SQUEALS THATS SO CUTE *heart eyes*

a/n: I'm glad you enjoyed that one. Hope you like this one as well 😁

The Ainur ━ Finding their s/o sleeping in their bed

Manwë

Being the Elder King of all Arda meant spending hours even days away from you, so it wasn't a surprise when he enters his chambers to find you curled up against his pillow. His face would soften immediately and all the stress would drift away. Manwe would be quick to find himself pressed against your side and curling his arms around you.

Eönwë

When he returns from the War of Wrath and sees you clutching his feather tightly with a crunched face, he would feel saddened by the separation and guilty. Flying himself to your side, his wings immediately stretches you to cover you both before he pulled you in and kisses your head.

Tilion

Returning from his nightly shift of guiding moon across the night's sky, he stumbles into his cabin to witness you sprawled eagle style across his bed. The brilliant smile that spreads across his face as he crosses the room and sits at the edge increases his glow when you roll after sensing his presence.

Irmo

He knew you were an early riser, but was surprised when he found you still curled up in his bed, swaddled by all his feathery blankets. Light snores escaped your lips while your hands were silently roaming his side for his warmth. Irmo couldn't help but return to his side before you rolled off the bed in search of him.

Námo

After months of dealing with a fresh bath of fëar arriving at Mandos, he finally had time to take a short break and catch some rest. What he didn't expect was to fall asleep and meet you curled into his side with your arm and leg across him. Despite needing to return to his duties, Namo decided to spend a few extra hours cuddling with you.

Mairon

The last thing he expected to see in his bed, let alone napping, were you sprawled across his red velvet and gold beddings. Shaking his head at the sight of you, he found it unfair that you had taken up all the space and left no room for him which meant dealing with a grumpy you if he shifted you around. But, it didn't prevent him from rolling into bed while lifting your body to rest halfway atop him.

Melkor

While the Dark Lord rested, he never expected to feel a small slap across his face followed by incoherent mumblings. Flying up and turning to his side, there he observed you wiggling about in his bed, sleep fighting. Sighing with a shake of his head, he knew better than to nap close to you as he was a victim of your unorthodox bodily movements.

Tulkas

After wrestling, sparring and competing in numerous sporting events alongside the mighty Vala, he expected you to feel weary, but not sleeping in his bed. Sympathising with your tired state and chuckling at how you were lying due to the aches in your bones, he found himself sitting beside you while stroking your head with a smile on his face.

Oromë

The hunter knew that due to your mortal status, staying up for lengthy periods was not compatible with your anatomy, so it was no surprise when you called it a night during the hunt. When he returned weeks later, he was greeted by you nestled under his quilts directly in the moonlight. Oromë couldn't help but stand in the doorway and stare at how majestic you appeared.

Ulmo

You knew how busy your Lord was since he was tasked with assisting the Edain and Eldar in Middle Earth. When you saw him flop on his bed and drown in sleep, you decided that it would be sweet to cuddle him and provide that extra comfort. You can imagine Ulmo's surprise when he turns in his slumber and felt your arms encircling his body.

Ossë

Making his usual trip to your beach house every week, he waded through your house silently while carrying some of your favourite seashells to surprise you. But to his surprise, he stumbled upon you clutching your pillow and mumbling his name in a saddened voice. Ossë couldn't help but flop to your side and cradle your smaller frame, basking you in affection.

[cilil]

Sometimes, for comedic purposes, I like to imagine how various situations the Valar council found itself in would have turned out if Melkor was part of it.

Take for example Númenor. While Manwë is panicking and getting ready to call dad, Melkor can be seen climbing onto the nearest rock for dramatic effect and cackling maniacally as he pulls an asteroid from outer space and drops it on Ar-Pharazôn's head. Unfortunately Varda and Ulmo realize what's happening too late because they were busy trying to calm Manwë down so he can focus.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Day 10 | Prompt: Sunless sea

Pairing: Salmar x Ulmo

Themes: Soft | NSFW elements

Warnings: Kissing

Word count: 500 + words

Summary: Salmar presents Ulmo with a special gift, one that was crafted by his own two hands

Also available on AO3

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Ulmo came to him here, on the quiet shore of a sunless sea. The whales appeared first, azure and golden, their eyes gleaming like stars. The chariot came after, rising out of the dark waters, and then Ulmo himself appeared, holding onto silver reins. He waded through the waves and walked to the shore, his eyes flashing like quiet lightning. His robes, the color of a starlit sea, all inky black and deep blue with streaks of silver, clung to his form. His hair was all a tumble, and a shade darker than his robes. Coral clung to his wrists. 

“Hail and well met, my lord.” Salmar dipped to his knees, then shivered when the Lord of Waters touched him on the shoulder, caressing it in a way that was familiar only to him.  

“Arise, Lirilo.” Ulmo extended his other hand, and he took it. “And tell me what you have beside you.”

“A gift, my lord.” Ulmo lifted a chest wrapped in soft doeskin lying in the sand. He loosened the thin strip of ribbon that bound it and lifted the lid to reveal the treasure within. “Tis a horn, my lord, and the only one of its kind. It holds all the songs of the sea, of the dark waters that flow within the earth, and of the creatures that call them home.”

Ulmo accepted the gift and studied it for himself. It held the understated brilliance of a pearl, and the craftsmanship was unlike anything the Lord of Waters had seen.

“This is a worthy gift,” Ulmo replied with gratitude. “And one that would be treasured, I assure you.”

Salma smiled, his gaze firmly on the fine sand. They may have been Ainur, he and Ulmo, and so much more than that to each other, but it did not alter the fact that Ulmo was one of the Aratar, and far greater than he. It was only proper that he conduct himself so. Ulmo sighed. He lifted his chin and cupped it in his hand.

“How many times must I ask you not to hide those beautiful eyes from my own?”

“One more time, my lord,” Salmar flushed, and glanced at him playfully. “As always.”

The shadow of a smile played across Ulmo’s lips. “As always,” he echoed, and kissed him on the mouth. It was light, tremulous, and tasted faintly of salt. Salmar sighed when Ulmo held him in a warm embrace. He let go of the chest and twined his arms around his companion’s neck, his passions inflamed. When Ulmo drew him even closer, it was plain his own passions were reaching their peak.

“That was far sweeter than any gift.” Ulmo stepped back and looked over his shoulder. The whales swam further away and pulled the chariot with them beneath the water, as if an unheard voice commanded them to. “Let us stay here a while, Lirilo. I am in no hurry to return."

Stay they did, until Ulmo took Salmar with him to his own halls deep below the sea.

 Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @cilil

[nighttimepatrons]

The Trial of Glorfindel

altered lyrics of The Trial of Lancelot by Heather Dale

King Turgon's lords, they lined the Counsel Hall Save for one who stood before them For once without a weapon, for once he stood in shame The trial's charge was treason and betrayal of an oath, And should his guilt be proven death would fall on traitors both; The lords would counsel Turgon's hard decision. And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I'm tried for love of Erestor, My crime was love.” The first to speak was Rog with sharpest tongue, “He is an elf like any other, The word of kings command him, his heart does not obey For all his strength and boldness this lord's fea is too weak. His crime has no excuses and no favours may he seek; The laws of kings don't bend and can't be broken.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I stand for love of Erestor, For pride in love.” “I know this lord right well,” spoke bold Ecthelion, “And he has ever stood beside me, With steel he's answered insults, defended chivalry And oft this elf contended for the honour of your spouse His actions were not proper but should not cost him his life; His service past should earn of you some mercy.”

And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I fought for love of Erestor, I'll fight for love.” Sir Maeglin spoke, “I love Tuor’s dear wife. For her I gladly suffer, she is my heart's delight Idril, the one who tempts me and she for whom I'm pure, My love for her confounds me and is all of which I'm sure; I understand my comrade's contradictions.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I cry my love for Erestor, I've cried for love.” Spoke Egalmoth, the purest of them all, “Have no fear of predilection, For though he is my father, he is my source of shame. He joined in sinful union with my unbeguiling mother, And for all his claim at virtue he has gone and bed another; The laws of Eru declare this act damnation.” And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I lie in love with Erestor, I've lied for love.” As Turgon wept, he called the wrath of Ulmo On the lovers who'd betrayed him On the lord he had called brother, thought worthy of his trust On the spouse who'd hid deception yet could say he loved him still; For lost innocence and beauty And in justice for their guilt; King Turgon knew the only price for treason. And Glorfindel, his head held high, Said, “I'll die in love with Erestor. I'd die for love.”

𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

This has been in my little document for months! I really wanted to make an animatic for this but let's be real that is never going to happen.

I've seen a few Glorestor fics where Glorfindel and Erestor meet in Gondolin, but I imagine for this they meet before the great city is founded. Though things end in Gondolin.

I adore Heather Dale and I cannot listen to her songs without thinking about my beloved elves. hehehe :)

Soon to be posted Fingon and Maedhros Thingol and Melien