#amras writes

[amrass]

Not me playing RDR2 riding around looking for decent spots for the smut in my fanfic … And not me eradicating O'Driscoll hideouts to see if I can find a cute cabin with a nice bed … And definitely not me giving Arthur candy while I take notes on the scenery …

He's just resting there, chewing on his candy and getting all thick, squinting.

"Got a real bad feeling about this."

#why look for dinosaur bones when you can imagine boning #arthur is my smut bloodhound #anyway his ass is not on the menu this time so rest easy babygirl #(ominous voice) for now #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #amras writes #btw feel free to reblog! writing this just in case - this is not a private post

[meluiloth]

For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.

Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.

They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”

“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.

Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”

Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”

Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.

Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”

Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.

Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”

Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”

“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.

Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.

“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.

Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.

The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.

Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.

It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.

“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.

Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.

“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”

It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.

“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."

“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.

Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”

#art #my art #the silmarillion #silmarillion epistolary #finwe's sketchbook #house of finwe #finwe #miriel serinde #feanorians #feanor #nerdanel #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #curufin #amras #amrod #elrond #elros #kidnap fam #my writing #fandom event

[lordgrimwing]

How Elwing Lost A Silmaril

The first letter—sealed with an eight-pointed star pressed into red wax and delivered just before dawn—left Elwing trembling in her small office, stomach rolling and the taste of bile thick on her tongue. What was she to do? What could she do? Her parents’ murderers were coming here.

The letter didn’t say as much outright. The writer (Maedhros, she’d learned his name eventually, but he would always be the red-haired orcish monster that took her home away and haunted her worst nightmares) veiled every threat behind eloquent lines of meaningless placations and enteritis for the silmaril. He asked her, granddaughter of a thief, to return it to him, eldest son of its maker and rightful heir. But she could read what he did not say: that if she did not bend to his will he would do to Sirion as he did to Menegroth. He would come with his fell army and slaughter everyone in his way.

But how could she give up the jewel? It protected them, kept the forces of darkness at bay just enough for the refugees to eke out a living on the shores. And should Eärendil, her dear, brave husband, find a path to Aman, its light might be the only thing that could stay the Valar’s Doom long enough for them to listen to him. She could not give up their hope.

The second letter—sealed in red wax and delivered as the barley fields were harvested—brought more promises of horrors unnamed falling upon the settlement. She wept after throwing it in the fire. She could not do this on her own. The city council was terrified into inaction at the thought of what lay before then, and Eärendil was still out at sea. She missed him. She missed him so terribly when the councilors looked at her with fearful eyes and asked for her decision.

The fifth letter arrived in the hands of an underfed Mannish girl as the first winds of winter blew in from the sea. Elwing gave her food and a family offered a spot in their home, but the girl said her lord instructed her to go nowhere else until she had a reply for him. Elwing thought of banishing her from the city unanswered, of telling the guards with their rough-made weapons to see that the Fëanorian did not return. She regretted the thought nearly as soon as she had it. The girl was young and it was not her fault that her parents joined themselves to a mighty Elf lord. She could stay for a day.

Tell me whatsoever you desire, the greatest or smallest need of your heart. 

The letter said in handwriting that was fast becoming too familiar. 

I will give unto you that thing and greater still if you would part with my father’s Silmaril. I would bring you all the provisions of my camp, all the weapons of my army, every other precious thing of power left in this land if you would but willingly part with that one small thing that I must otherwise be driven to take by force in the spring. Tell me your desire, and I will give it unto you. Let this not end with blood.

She fumed in her office, angrily pacing the thin rug gifted to her by the weary-eyed wife of one of her father’s guards who fell in the tunnels of Menegroth. She does not need anything from the murdering bastard! Sirion has all it requires. They would be safe if only they were left alone. How can Maedhros think that he could ever give her anything to make up for what he’s done, to convince her to do what he wants? He’s a monster and a coward who wishes to soothe his conscience by acting as if the attack is all her fault, an inevitable consequence of her resistance. He wishes to absolve himself of yet more evil.

She will not let him. If it is the only thing she can do, she will defy him.

Elwing takes up precious ink and paper. She throws herself into her chair and leans over the beaten desk, pouring her anger and helplessness into the words she scratches across the page.

You’ve taken everything from my people. You wish to take everything from me again. You are monstrous, servant of Morgoth. May the Valar stand against you as I cannot. What would I have, you ask? I would have what you’ve taken from me restored: I would have Dior, my father, and Nimloth, my mother; I would have Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, alive again and in my arms. But I shall never have them for they died at your hands and at your command.  You cannot give me my parents. You search for my little brothers but still cannot give them to me.  So, what would I have? I would have your brothers. Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

She signed the bottom with a vicious strike that split the quill’s nip, blotting the page with ink as dark as orc blood. Her heartbeat in her chest, thumped against her ribs under her breast as though it would escape fate. Her letter would change nothing and she hesitated for a moment before dripping wax from a flickering candle for the seal, tempted to throw the paper to the fire. 

She’d written in a tantrum, a final kicking of her feet against what would come in an impotent rage. But what did it matter? Did she not deserve to beat her fists against the Doom once? Everyone looked to her for leadership and guidance as Dior’s heir but she felt like little more than a child. This would be so much easier to handle with Eärendil at her side but he still had not returned and at times she doubted he ever would (what Doom had befallen him on the waters? What lonely fate for him and the crew on the waves?). She would send this letter then say goodbye to all childishness and face what came bravely as her parents and grandparents did. 

Resolved, she dripped the wax and sealed the letter. She’d give it to the messenger tomorrow with what small food they could spare so the girl did not starve on the journey. And then…

And then all would be out of her hands and fate would fall as it would.

The sixth letter came in the hands of two red-haired Elves on tall horses. The men sat straight and tall in the saddle, their heads held high. Elwing would have called them haughty if they hadn’t dismounted and bowed deeply before her, falling to one knee as one might before royalty. A third Elf, dark-haired and somber-eyed, rode with them, though he kept himself aside and astride his steed.

“Queen Elwing,” one of the red-heads said, his face fire-scarred. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

She nodded and waved her hand impatiently, wondering what new trick Maedhros was playing or if this was how he announced an impending slaughter.

The speaker went on, looking up slightly though he stayed kneeling. “We are Ambarussa–” he gestured to the other– “youngest sons of Fëanor. We give ourselves up at your request in exchange for the silmaril.”

Elwing stood in frozen silence as he continued, icy sea breeze biting at her fingers and face. 

#the ambarussar are hers now i guess #will this change everything or nothing? #i have my ideas #maedhros is the worst of the sons of feanor actually because he will justify doing anything for a silmaril #crack fic #but i'm treating this crack seriously #elwing #amrod #amras #maedhros #ambarussa #elwing's ambarussa au #grimwing writes #the silmarillion #the silmarils #sirion #third kinslaying #(except it doesn't end up happening now)

[doodle-pops]

Dandelions

Amras x reader

Request: Right, so first is with Amras, can I get a fluff fic with him, like the one you posted a few weeks ago, the "puppy love" one, it was so cute and id love to read something similar with amras! - anon

Warnings: none, all fluff

Words: 1.4k

Synopsis: A soft moment shared between you and Amras amidst the hectic life.

Prompt: “Dandelions? I thought they were a weed?”

The gentle winds were blowing through the room, ruffling the curtains, and sending pieces of your loose hair strands flying across your face. With your mouth wide open, lightly snoring and your hair covering your face, your husband who was up at the time, was admiring your sleeping form and thought you to be the most beautiful person in the world. Leaning in closer, doing his best not to wake you, he moved a few hair strands so he could kiss your forehead.

As his lips came in contact with your forehead, you grumbled slightly and shifted to roll over onto the next side, now facing away from him. Smiling to himself, he shook his head while rolling on the bed and made his way over to the door to go to the kitchen. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before he entered the kitchen, Amras yawned before he turned to the cabinet to gather the necessary ingredients to make you both breakfast.

Standing bareback in the kitchen, whisking away at the batter for the pancakes, he placed the bowl down to remove the eggs and sausages from the pan, he removed the pan to clean before using it for the pancakes. It didn’t take him long before the pancakes were finished, all he needed to do was wait for the muffins to leave the oven and breakfast was ready to be served. In the meantime, a smile graced his face as he remembered something to help brighten your day.

It wasn’t long before he finished his assignment and returned to the kitchen, holding a bouquet of flowers. Walking to the wares stand he picked two plates to place your food in while grabbing the jug filled with apple juice, to rest on the tray. After he had set the dishes on the tray, the muffins were ready to be removed from the oven.

Taking the tray and making his way back to your shared room, he noticed that your position changed, and you were now sprawled out in the middle of the bed, facing down. Placing the tray on the nightstand, he gauged your state before walking over to the windows and pulling the curtains apart, allowing for more light to evade the room. A loud groan was heard as the curtains parted, and turning his head to follow the sound, he saw you wriggling your body under the sheets and sticking your head under the pillow.

You weren’t much of a morning person. He knew this and still to your displeasure, he took the greatest pleasure in all the different ways he could wake you up, most of the time light was involved. If he wasn’t your husband, you would have taken him down for disrupting your sleep. Your sleep was important to you and you treasured it with all your heart, so currently you felt as though you were going to combust at the fact that it was interrupted.

During your grumbling and fussing, Amras stood there with his hands clutching his stomach doubling over while the other was covering his mouth stifling his laughter. Your reaction was golden. No matter how early or how late you went to sleep, no amount of sleep was enough. However, it was already one in the afternoon, and the morning was already over. It was way past time to eat, so you needed to get up.

Still laughing at your sleeping state, this time out loud, he climbed into the bed next to you and peeled back the sheets to reveal your head, “Love, it’s time to wake up. I made breakfast, well, lunch?”

Your hand shot out from under the sheets to cover his mouth, Unsuccessfully, you took a while before approaching his mouth, instead, his body received multiple slaps in the process as your hand travelled up to meet his mouth. He sat there taking in all the hits until your hand finally reached his mouth. He realized that talking wasn’t doing anything, so he moved his hands to travel under the sheets to tickle at your sides. You retaliated by hitting him some more while inching away from his fingers. His tickling was relentless, and he refused to let you return to sleep.

Determined to wake you out of your slumber, he crawled off the bed, moving over to the foot of the bed making you feel as though he had given up and decided to leave you alone. In reality, he was holding the sheets, ready to rip them off your body to get you up. Doing a countdown before taking it off, he laughed as he reached one and ripped the coverings off you, forcing you to shoot out of bed, fists balled up and ready to fight.

“Finally, sleeping beauty has arisen from slumber,” he spoke with a bright smile appearing on his face, happy with the outcome of his actions.

“Amras, come on,” you were kicking your feet, throwing a tantrum.

“I made breakfast, lunch, whatever you want to call it. Come on, you can’t let it get cold, plus I got you flowers,” he urged you to sit up properly so you two could eat.

“I want to sleep,” you were whining at him, still kicking your feet about the bed.

Sighing at your little tantrum, he quickly came up with a deal, “How about this,” he climbed on the bed to sit next to you, “we eat the food I made and then we, I mean you go back to sleep, though it’s already afternoon and I don’t understand why you still need sleep.”

Eyeing him suspiciously, you frowned. “You promise?”

“Promise.” He flashed a smile. “Now come, let us eat!”

“What did you make for us to eat?” you yawned as you forced your body to roll to the cool side of the bed.

“Pancakes, eggs, sausages, muffins, the usual, and I got you some flowers. Dandelions, because they remind me of you.” Getting up to retrieve the tray, he came back to sit at the head of the bed where you moved to lay next to him, snuggling him in the process. “Hey, you have to sit up, you can’t eat like that.”

“Dandelions? Aren’t those weeds? I remind you weeds?” you teased as you pressed your body deeper into his sides, ignoring his protests. “Oh Pityo, how romantic. At least you picked me first, get it?”

Torn between wanting to laugh and being exasperated by your antics, he shook his head with a playful roll of his eyes as he reached for the glass of apple juice and brought it to your lips. He fed you while you cuddled him and made small talk as the meal depleted. From conversing about what activities to partake in during your time off, to how much sleep was enough for you, you two spoke about everything before sleepiness returned to you.

“You should feed me like this more often,” you mumbled sleepily after he finished feeding you. “Make sure your little weed grows to be the toughest one of them all.”

“You aren’t planning on letting that go, are you?” he replied as he slid the tray onto the table before adjusting his body comfortably beside yours. His fingers grazed your back, dancing along the curve and tracing random patterns that lulled you to sleep faster.

“How,” –you yawned– “could I? I’m your favourite little flower you would always pick first.”

Feeling his heart melting as you spoke tenderly, he took in your sleepy figure; lashes fluttering as you fought against the sleep, head going slump, lips parted as soft snores escaped and body relaxed. It was a sight that could not get any better. He was indeed pleased to have picked you first since you were his first love. Nuzzling his nose against yours and following up with a kiss, he softly whispered, “You’re the only flower I’d ever pick.”

Masterlist

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

#amras x reader #amras imagine #amras fluff #amras scenario #amras #Minyarussa #Telufinwë #Telufinwe #ambarussa #feanorians #house of feanor #sons of feanor #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion fic #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

The Twin Boys; One in Black, One in White

#meek’s art #meek’s headcanons #micah bell #amos bell #Bells family #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #Rdr2 #My hc for Amos mostly come from Amras’s headcanons #Wip lore so bare with me #Amos wasn’t inherently a better person than Micah #amos was just more capable of change #And lucked out on not being the person to carry the family’s legacy #Amos got a working girl pregnant and sort of had to hide it from their dad #This could be a fan fic idea i swear #Amos was around the working girl to make sure she didn’t peep about the secret #She saw something in him. I guess Amos too saw something in her beside his soon-to-be child #She ended up getting him out of his abusive home life. He got her out of a life of working on the street corner #They are a bit like romantic run away lovers except they ran away before they truly fell in love #I really would love to write about Amos more #I wanna give his wife a name and apperance too #Amos is still working through being an not-good person even while dating his wife #Amos and Micah are of the same blood. One could fight his demons. The other succumbed.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Letters & Cards

Prompt: Letters & Cards

Characters: Maedhros & brothers

Warnings: /

Maedhros, The Tall, The Kinslayer, The Dreaded, looked up sharply as the young servant slipped into the room hesitantly.

“These have come,” they said waveringly. “Seasonal greetings…”

Unable to conceal the rare burst of unabashed joy painting his stern face a delicate pink, the Lord of Himring grabbed the missives and pressed them to his chest fitfully.

“To our brother, are your toes frozen yet?” The twins.

“Nelyo, I shall arrive soon—I hope you’ll have mulled wine at the ready.” Káno.

“I am alive. Are you?” Moryo.

“Warm greetings to a cold man!” Turko and Curvo.

Grinning, Maedhros sighed.

Here is the song that inspired this drabble. Disconnected by Jazz Morley!

Lots of love!

-> Masterlist(by @cilil)

#og post #December Drabbles #Fluff #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Maedhros #Maglor #Caranthir #Amrod #Amras #Celegorm #Curufin #Cards & Letters #family feels

[imakemywings]

Happy Thanksgiving sometimes Maglor puts his hair up a certain way and people remember he actually looks quite a bit like a less hot Feanor.

AO3

- - -

            It wasn’t often they were all together anymore, and when they were—as then—it was usually owing to the summons of Nelyo. Forget whatever the so-called high king of the Noldor was demanding—they came because Nelyo called, and for no other reason. Maglor took his time in front of the vanity before traipsing downstairs for breakfast. Celegorm was at the table with coffee and a missive from Himlad, while Maedhros was in the kitchen adjacent and Caranthir picked over an anemic pear a few seats away from Celegorm.

            “Good morning, everyone,” Maglor announced his arrival, unable to enter a room otherwise. Caranthir looked up and, stricken, simply said “NO.” Subsequently Celegorm also glanced up and choked on a sip of coffee.

            “Morgoth’s fucking balls Kano, you have to warn us before you come in looking like that,” he said. Maglor frowned petulently and Maedhros emerged at the usual sound of commotion from a gathering of his brothers. For a moment he only stared and blinked, and then he said:

            “I thought Atarinkë said he would be late.”

            “Ha-ha,” Maglor said, attempting to be dry, but sounding a great deal more like he was on the verge of storming out. “You should all run a family comedy troupe.” He took a seat at the table and helped himself to the coffee.

            “You really should warn us, Kano,” Caranthir said with a troubled frown as the sound of footsteps sounded through the kitchen.

            “Hey, Nelyo, can we—fuck,” said Amrod, coming to a dead halt in the kitchen doorway. “I thought necromancy was frowned upon around here.”

            Amras just laughed, doubling over until he wheezed.

            “Hey, Atya—sorry, Kano—didn’t hear you get in last night,” he choked. Maglor sat primly at the table looking more and more like that might be a kinslaying gleam entering his eye.

            “You’re all so very funny,” he said, and perhaps the razor’s edge in his voice was incidental, or perhaps it was a reminder.

            “Don’t worry, Kano,” said Maedhros, waving a hand as he turned back towards the kitchen. “I’m sure Ammë would find it charming.” For that, Maglor was going to write another song about Maedhros and teach it to his troops. There were plenty of things that rhymed with “ass.”

            As the twins helped themselves to food and drink and Maglor wrapped his hands around a mug of coffee, the sound of familiar familial bickering sounded outside the door.

            “—told you if we had taken the longer route we wouldn’t have had to ford the river—”

            “It was still not as long as taking your route—”

            The door flung open to admit Curufin, his wife, and a deathly-bored looking Celebrimbor, who brightened at once at the sight of his uncles.

            “It’s about time you made it,” Celegorm opined. “Here I began to think you’d decided to take a scenic diversion through Nan Dungortheb on the way.”

            “Don’t be stu—” Curufin looked up from stomping the ice off his boots, caught sight of Maglor, and actually took a step backwards with a sharp intake of breath, white visible all around his dark irises. He exchanged a hasty glance with his wife.

            “Oh!” said Celebrimbor in surprise. “Makalaurë, you look so much like grandfather! I remember he used to wear his hair that way!”

            Maglor exhaled long and slow and reached up, yanking his hair down from the topknot he had carefully arranged it in that morning.

            “You know, I had almost forgotten,” he said. Another thing he had almost forgotten: what a waste of time it was to try anything artistic in this wretched family.

#maglor #maedhros #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #celebrimbor #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #rocky writes #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #there actually is a strong family resemblance there but their demeanors are so different people overlook it #though tbqh maglor does not get his tendency to dramatics and histrionics from nerdanel #the one where maglor traumatizes all six of his brothers by coming to breakfast looking like dad #he thought it was a very nice and not at all feanor-ish look on him #tfw you try a new look and suddenly your whole family has become a panel of fashion critics

[victorie552]

I don't know when exactly Nerdanel left Feanor, so I am choosing to believe that they 'divorced' when Feanor was banished from Tirion and Nerdanel refused to go with him and their sons to Formenos. But I also headcannon that things between them were bad long before that. As in, Amras and Amrod suffered from "Our Parents Should Divorce Already" situation.

#silm #silmarillion #feanor #nerdanel #things that I should write in separate post but tags are easier: #headcannon: Feanor went to court to argue with Fingolfin and Nerdanel went back to her work because she started to get fed up with Finweans #and her work made her feel better - gave their marriage few years more #morgoth was back by the way #anyway the situation was so bad that maedhros left his own house and went to help with the twins #and to help theirs parents marriage/Feanor in court but that was unsuccessful #and nobody asked him but maglor went to help maedhros because in his mind dealing with their parents is a two people job #maglor and his wife split up over this lol this man has different priorities (common finwean problem) #anyway amras and amrod were mostly raised by m&m #call it a pre-run for kidnap fam #denial was so hard tho that nobody really noticed it until Nerdanel asked teenage/barely adults a&a to stay with her and not go to Formenos #and they were like '...why. why would we do that' #they went more for their brothers than for Feanor #and when they think of their parents they think feanor and Nerdanel fine #but give them opinions and mannerisms that are clearly maedhros and maglor's #they kind of blended in their minds #none of it is official because again. denial of familial problems runs deep in feanorian unit #amrod #amras #anyway have a nice day

[cilil]

gift to: feanor

from: his boys

♡ To: Fëanor ♡ From: Fëanor's sons

𝓐 𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽

"Are you sure Atar will like it?" 

"Curvo, put more sprinkles on it."

"No, don't! You're ruining the entire composition!" 

"Maybe more candles?" 

"There are too many, actually."

"You're no fun –" 

"Enough!" It was unusual for Maitimo to raise his voice and slam his hands on the table, so his brothers went quiet immediately and stared up at him. Curufinwë was still holding the sprinkles and Carnistir clutched the piping bag defensively. 

"The cake is done," Maitimo declared firmly. "And I am certain Atar will like it." 

"After all..."

"... we put in a lot of time and effort!" the Ambarussar chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. 

"That we did. Now behave, he's coming!" 

Indeed, Fëanáro entered the kitchen shortly after everyone assumed their designated places, standing shoulder to shoulder behind the table with the cake proudly sitting on top of it. He looked at his sons, from one to the next, appearing slightly startled. 

"I was wondering who is causing all the noise," Fëanáro began. His gaze fell onto the cake. "But it seems you were... baking?" 

"We made you a cake, Atar!" Makalaurë announced. 

"Do you like it?" Tyelkormo added quickly. 

Fëanáro stepped closer to the table to examine the cake, smiling as he did so. "For me? Why, what a thoughtful gift!" 

"We had a hard time finding something we could all agree on," Maitimo explained. "Curvo wanted to forge something, Turko wanted to hunt –" 

"– Moryo told us we're stupid –" 

"– and Kano wanted to sing a stupid song, but nobody liked the idea –" 

Maitimo glared at the twins. "I said enough!" 

"Well then. It seems at the end you were able to find something to make for me," Fëanáro chuckled lightly, amused by the bickering he was witnessing. "Now, as lovely as it looks, I would very much like to taste your cake. Turko, how about you stop playing with your knife and cut it into pieces so we may sit down and eat together? And don't forget one for your mother too." 

#maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #amrod #amras #feanor #fëanor #sons of feanor #elves #drabble #humor #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #winter prompts #silmarillion gift giving

[amrass]

I like how many Micah Bell fans (including myself) seem to lean towards the idea that modern AU!Micah is into music like noise, metal, dark folk, etc.

But listen … What if he had a secret … In his bedroom (or the bed section of his prison cell or his RV, also called "Micah's love shack on wheels"), beside the bed with leopard printed faux silk sheets, in a nightstand crowded with empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays, in the bottom drawer with a badly installed lock … There was a rabbit pelt wrapped around a single worn vinyl album, signed by the artist, "Coat of Many Colors" by Dolly Parton.

#red dead redemption 2 #micah bell #amras writes #yes there is multiple gorillaz references here

[aotearoa20]

Foresight Fated.

//1//2//3//4//5//6//7//

Fëanáro gazed out at the inky black canvas of the Sea. A deep pool of darkness save where the Silmarils on his brow threw light on the seafoam-tipped waves. The steady drawing and sighing brought some order to his crowded mind even as the obnoxious chatter of the party filtered up to him. He’d dragged his entire family down here for Artanis’ nameday, at his brother’s request no less. It was absolute chaos down there but tonight he had no interest enjoying it.

A dread he could not shake since they twins were born trembled at the edge of his fingers. He almost wished they would show so he need not sit sick with anticipation anymore. This was the last time, he could not do this again. He shook his head and peered back at the waves as if they could grant him some reprieve. Though he was loath to admit it he did not wish to cause a scene while he was in Arafinwë’s house. His remedies had not worked and even so he’d felt indebted to him.

Ever since he’d told him of his dreams, he had been noticing his half brother more. It is a difficult thing to do if one is not trying. Even now, as he hovered in the stairway behind, Fëanáro did his best to curb his already frayed temper. His face is lit strangely as he turned.

“You needn’t fuss like some mother hen,” he murmured, lips twisting into a puppet grin, “Have I not been on my best behaviour?”

“Nerdanel told me so before I left,” he replied, “I was looking for Ñolofinwe.”

It might have hurt if that is what he had meant by it. But always it is half-words with this one, meaning and purpose washed away with soft tone. Fëanáro sighed, it’s exhausting sometimes and he was so very tired.

“Peace,” he tutted, “He’s very fond of you and so has been keeping distance from me.”

Arafinwë had come to his side, resting his arms on the window sill. The sea breeze tugs at his golden hair and even Feanaro can’t deny how it suits him. He looked him over, wondering as he often did when he was near, if they shared any blood at all. Then something in the distance caught his eye.

Where the beach ended at the treeline began, flashes of red. He leaned across and see what could be a pair of dark figures disappear under the leaves. That fear that simmered in the back of his mind surged forward with no warning. Not tonight, surely?

“Nerdanel was with you, you say?” he said, voice steady even as his heart skipped a beat.

“Yes?”

“Who’s watching the children?“

“Maitimo was putting them to bed – “

“Maitimo is hiding under the stairs with Findekáno!” Fëanáro hissed as he stormed passed him.

The twins were put to bed in the same nursery as Artanis, only half a year older. Every step towards it felt like a running a mile. He could hear Ara’s footsteps behind him, though he had not the presence of mind to send him off. Perhaps, if he was here, they would not come. He was always alone when they come. Perhaps, he thinks desperately, he will ward them off.

He burst into the room, drawing a startled squeal for his niece. For a moment he can breath again. The little girl looked up at him with big blue eyes. Her little arm reached out of the crib in the direction of where the other two ought to have been.

His head turned almost against his own will. It is as though the ground disappeared from beneath him but still he stood, unable look away. Two empty beds and a cool, salt stained breeze pulling at the curtains by the open window. Not in all the nightmares he’d been enduring had he thought…

Ara joined them. A selfish, viscous part of him wanted to slap him for the relief on his face at the sight of his own daughter. But almost immeadialty he grew grave.

“I will gather some people to search,” he said infuriatingly calm, “they can’t be far.”

“No,” he gasped, “no, I must be alone.”

He raced through the house, paying no heed to any around him. Down the footpath at the back of the gardens and plunged into the forest. The light of the stones kept him from stumbling but he fears it shows him up like a beacon.

“Ambarussa,” he called out over and over until his voice was raw. But he could not stop. They were his children. They took his children. Soon the words lose any sort of coherency. Fëanáro ran haphazard through the trees until he couldn’t get a word passed his own ragged breaths.

He snapped around at the sound of footsteps. Arafinwë emerges from the undergrowth and he very nearly snarled. What was he doing here, why was he always here?!?

“I said to Get Away!” He cried out, though the words flailed with no bite or direction.

“You need help.”

“You can’t help me!” He backed away from him only to ram into the rough bark of a tree. The forest seemed to close in around him and he find it so hard to even breathe. Suddenly he felt warm arms wrap around him.

“I have to- I must go…” he snapped and tried to push them away to no avail, “I must find them”

“You will not find them like this!” Arafinwë shouted over his racing thoughts.

That was strange. He hadn’t known he could do that. Suddenly he was so very aware of Arafinwe’s deep soft heartbeat. He focused on nothing else until he could match in in time. The sea hummed faintly in the back of his mind and he shuddered. There was movement in the boughs above them.

“Damn you,” came a voice from the dark, “And you’re damned jewels.”

“Ambarussa,” Feanaro untangled himself and stepped forward only to be cut off by an arrow landing less than half an inch from his foot.

“No further.”

“Or what? You would maim me.”

In the shadows he saw him pass the child to his brother. Then he slipped onto the ground without a sound. The boy shyed away from the light as though it burnt but even so he would not flee.

“I shall send you to your mother in the halls so that we may all be spared the grief.” he said in a hollow voice.

“Pityo,” the other whispered but was answered with a hiss. Fëanáro’s heart lurched as he heard one of the little ones mumbling in his arms.

“Come now, let us not - ”

“Now you have something to say, Finarfin?” Amras said with more than enough venom to silence him. It was a strange comfort though, to know he saw them too. No small part of him had wondered if he was simply going mad.

“Return the children to us, Pityafinwë,” he tried to put some sterness into his tone but knew he fell short. If he could only stop shaking. Drawing near again the night is cut by the ringing of a sword. Fëanáro would laugh, it is difficult to tell in the half-light but the sword may well be one of his own.

“No further.” The boy shook his head. Tears spill across his cheeks but his expression doesn’t change, “I won’t let you near him again.”

“Pityo,” comes the voice from the shadows again.

“You will not remain here,” Fëanáro spoke softly. This is his son. “None of you have. You will strand them in the wilds, they will die.”

A pained look flickered acros Amras’ face.

“A better fate,” he said finally, and then more softly, “I, at least, would deserve it.”

“And your brother?”

He strode forward at that. Fëanáro is surprised to see Arafinwë start at his side as the blade hovered by his own neck. Pityafinwë’s face is still turned away but his eyes burn with a terrible fury.

“Don’t you dare! You killed him.”

Fëanáro looked down the blade. The boy’s hand was shaking. A strange peace settled against his chest that, suddenly, made him feel quite out of place in this dark forest. He can hear the boys argue but it is as though they are somewhere else entirely, like a memory or a dream.

“Pityo, he didn’t know,” he heard Telufinwë say. He has joined them on the ground. There are terrible burn scars that spread up one of his arms, along his neck and the side of his face. One of his eyes is a dead milky white, “You said he didn’t know”

“It doesn’t matter, It wouldn’t have mattered if he did! He - “

“No.” He said was found that it was enough to cut him off, so he continued, “I would never do anything to hurt any of you.”

He knew it. He knew it like he knew Teleprion’s light would wan soon and Laurëlin would peer just enough over the ridges of the Pelori, and bathe the sea in gold. He knew it like he knew Nõlo was less than a day from saying something stupid. Like he knew Arafinwë would hover and he snap and Nerdanel would sigh and usher him away. He knew it like he knew Maitimo was under the stairs with Findekáno right now and would sulk the entire way home. Some things just were.

“I would never hurt any of you,” he said again and sagged in relief. Whatever happened, whatever was coming he understood now, it wouldn’t be this. It simply couldn’t be, “I love you more than anything.”

“Anything?”

He heard the edge in the single word. Telvo turned to him and he did not flinch. A feral, hungry shadow seemed cast on his face, that though it pained him Fëanáro was coming to recognise. And he realised, after a moment that he was not looking at him at all. His hand moved to the gems entangled in his hair. Telvo’s gaze moved back down to him, his offer clear.

There is a moment of fear and pride and something unnamed but ugly that wrapped around his fëa and made his hands clench around his greatest creations. There would be no others like it, it whispered, if you lose it now, you will lose it forever

But it is gone as soon as it comes. He made them for his children after all. The circlet on his head was always heavy but it felt as if it bore twice it weight as he lifted it off his head.

“Arafinwë.” He asked, never taking his eyes off the boys. Arafinwë’s presence is like a steady anchor, so dependable that it is difficult to notice most of the time. Fëanaro leaned into it now as the Silmarils glow in his hand.

Arafinwë stepped forward to take the children.

“Wait.” Pityafinwë looked between the twins and the Silmaril taut as a bow string until at last he screamed. He threw his sword to the ground and strode away but could not break past the circle of light. His brother offered him not comfort or admonition. He just waited.

“I won’t hurt them, Pityo.” Fëanáro said gently, “I won’t hurt him, I swear.”

The boy shuddered. Out of the corner eye he saw Telvo return the children to Arafinwë. He took a step forward. The boy’s copper curls shiver, he knew he was crying and had long gotten used to not understanding why. When he placed his free hand on his shoulder, he froze.

“Take them, it’s alright. They are yours.”

Pityafinwë turned sharply. His hand closed around gems. He winced but no sound escaped his lips. Suddenly and with agonising clarity Fëanáro’s mind flew back to his first child. His scarred hand. His heart leapt in his mouth

“Let it go!”

“I will not,” Pityafinwë stared down at his hand. Oh Valar, his could smell it. His expression shuddered for a moment, “I… I cannot.”

“You can,” Fëanáro insisted, grabbing ahold of his wrist, “you can put it down, they are yours, didn’t I say so.”

“You meant that.” His voice was thin and watery

“Pityo, my little one, didn’t I say so, whatever I can give you is yours,” he tried to pry his fingers away, “please ”

Pityo fell forward into his father’s arms and Fëanáro did not hesitate to pull him close.

“I want to go home.”

The coronet was dropped somewhere between them. He did not care, just nodded into his hair.

“Whatever you want.”

He did not move from where they sat, save to pull the other hanging a little away down also into his embrace. He wept and let them weep onto his shoulders. Soft apologies and comforts he whispered between the two of them, until Laurëlin light began to swell over the mountains.

And then they were gone.

Arafinwë came beside him and after a long moment he rose and took one of the children from his arms. Telvo, stirred a little, warm in a way that could have only been possible with enchantment and the last of he fear melts away. They walked in a silence Fëanáro would usually despise out of the trees and along the beach.

His brother stopped after a while and looked out at the waves. Fëanáro hung back beside him, but his impatience returned with the son. He is about to urge them on when Arafinwë speaks.

“In my dreams, my sons burn.” He said, eye fixed on the ever-dark horizon, “I don’t know how it happens, I just know I’m not there.”

Fëanáro takes a deep breath but whatever twisted thing that had made his home in his chest for Varda knows how long seems to have dislodged itself entirely. “It will not happen.”

“How can you be so sure - “

“Because you would not leave them alone, not knowing what you know now.”

“You can rest,” he tutted, “He’s very fond of you and so has been keeping distance from me.”

“Nerdanel was with you, you say?” he said, voice steady even as his heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you. Well, better than I used to.” Fëanáro sighed and turned on his heel to start back toward the house, “Besides, should some time come where you cannot be there, I will watch over them.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, now stop fussing.”

They walk back up to the house in a silence that for once Fëanáro finds he doesnt mind.

#foresight au #ambarussa #pitayfinwe #telufinwe #amrod and amras #silmarillion #tolkien #feanaro #feanor #arafinwe #finarfin #my writing #silm au #the last one!

[melestasflight]

Hi Melesta! Your holiday list is a lovely and generous idea✨️

In case you're up to it, I am very curious about you might do with the prompt 'love would lead me' + Lalwen & Argon! 😉💕

Holiday Silm Prompt fill for @searchingforserendipity25. Thanks for the prompt friend!

Lalwen doesn’t have the heart to quell Arakáno’s love for wild creatures. Things turn hectic when an eagle egg goes missing. (1,6k words of pure fluff 😄)

Posting the collection of stories on AO3 here.

love would lead me

Lalwen did not expect the matter with the eagle egg to become such a serious affair, certainly not something that prompted the involvement of the Valar. Although in truth, she should have known all along. 

Arakáno already had a long reputation for providing shelter and friendship to any creature that seemed (to him) even slightly in need of comfort. At first, it had been the innocent thing of an elfling barely out of his cradle, when he would pick up fallen nestlings beneath the trees in Indis’ gardens and run carrying them in his small hands. Lalwen would receive the birdling gently from between his clumsy fingers, they would identify its species together before she would climb deep into the tree crowns to return it to its nest.

She could never resist the endless stream of questions that no one else had the patience to answer, never tired of Arakáno’s insatiable curiosity for the world surrounding him. Lalwendë, do fish have eyelids? Are bees just little tigers? Lalwen, do oliphaunts eat with their nose? Is wombat poo really square? Can eagles speak Quenya? Why does Manwë have wings sometimes? 

Each question — a small window into the colorful landscape of a child’s wonder. More than anything, it was the twinkle in the sky blue of Arakáno’s eyes, a hue mirroring perfectly her own, that called to Lalwen’s heart. For though Arakáno was Nolofinwë and Anairë’s son, in everything else he was Lalwen’s own, a piece of herself that she readily gave away. With each answered question, each smile, and each shared secret, he grew to become Lalwen's best friend housed in the small body of her nephew.

So Lalwen had long accepted her own incapacity to deny Arakáno anything, and over the years, she allowed her home to turn into a small sanctuary for all sorts of beasts, big and small, lost by chance or on purpose. An impressive variety of bird species chirped above the edges of the windows, geckos as colorful as rainbows crawled up the walls, ocelots slept stretched in patches of tree light, raccoons raised their young in the cellars, and a colony of bats hung in the attic. 

Sometimes, Lalwen almost felt like an intruder in her own house, a creature all too civilized for the micro-ecosystem that was developing inside. She let it all happen for Arakáno’s joy, for the bliss in his voice as he named every one of his friends: Linquendil the hummingbird, Kemmótar the mole, Vindusquë the wolf. 

But when Nolofinwë finally stood at her doorstep, his usual calm smile jagged by something between shame and worry, she knew it had all gone too far. ‘You allow him too much, sister.’

‘Oh for the love of Eru, Nolo, Arakáno is still a child. Let him have fun while he can.’ Lalwen wasn’t ready to surrender.

‘He sequestered an eagle egg, Lalwen! Manwë himself has sent word to father requesting that the egg be returned.’ 

‘Don’t you think they are being a little too dramatic over this?’ Lalwen said with a chuckle as she imagined the King of the Noldor and the King of Arda corresponding over bird eggs. Nolofinwë followed suit, their chuckles turning into giggles as their minds met. ‘Ai very well, I will speak with him.’

When Lalwen knocked on the door of Arakáno’s attic room, a frustrated little warning came from within. ‘I haven’t changed my mind, Dad!’

‘Your father is downstairs, Arakáno. It’s me, let me in,’ she demanded as softly as she could.

Arakáno opened the door almost immediately, just barely to let Lalwen squeeze inside. ‘Come in quickly before Dad can hear him.’

‘Hear whom?’ Lalwen got her answer as soon as she asked. The shells of an egg were lying on the floor and a small, fragile pile of pink skin and soft down was resting folded in Arakáno’s shirt. He handed the nestling into Lalwen’s open palms. It was softer than anything she had ever touched. ‘When did it hatch?’

‘Not three days ago.’

‘Arno! You could have told me—’

‘I know, I know,’ Arakáno’s remorseful tone was a heart-wrenching thing. Then his words came out of his mouth in a rush. ‘I didn’t mean for it to hatch here. I was just curious and intended to return the egg after I sketched it in my notebook. But then it began cracking in my lap, everything was so fast I didn’t know what to do, and when I heard his cry I couldn’t let him go. He can barely see, I wasn't going to leave him alone.’

The eaglet was snuggling against Lalwen’s palm, eager for the warmth she provided. ‘I can see why you want to keep him. He is a darling,’ she said and heard Arakáno’s exhale of relief. ‘But you must return him to his nest at once.’

‘Can’t he stay just a little longer?’ 

‘If I say yes, love for you would lead me. There is nothing that I wish more than your joy, my dear. Yet I will have to say no for love of our small friend. Don’t make such a face, Arakáno, you know you cannot teach him all that a little eagle must know. How many eggs were in the nest?’

'Four,’ Arakáno confessed.

‘They will all hatch if they haven't already. Don’t you think he will begin feeling lonely without his siblings soon enough? Just like you miss your brothers and sister when they are away?’ 

‘But if he leaves I will feel lonely too!’ Her nephew was now on the verge of tears. ‘I know I am too young to be in Finno’s company all the time, even if he had the time to take me with him. Turno spends every waking moment with Findo, and they are honestly quite boring, reading their books and debating things I barely understand all day long, and Írissë is always away with her friends from Oromë’s hunt.’ 

There was the truth, at last. 

Arakáno was the youngest among the wild bunch of Finwë’s grandchildren, and unlike his elder siblings, he did not have the luxury of growing up surrounded by his many cousins. As Fëanáro and Nolofinwë’s arguments acquired a sharper edge, Lalwen watched how a chasm was opening between their children too, ever-expanding, pushing them apart like a glacier between mountains. Her chest turned too small to contain her heart.

‘I know what it’s like to be much younger than your siblings, Arakáno, but trust me, soon enough the age difference will be all but invisible. Before you know it, you will grow tall and strong and spread your wings wide to go on many adventures, and I will be with you every step of the way.’ Lalwen offered the nestling back to Arakáno, and added gently, ‘We should let our friend do the same, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘You are right, Aunt, I will let him go back to his kind.’ A smile, even if a little wistful, was finally returning to her nephew’s face again.

Just as they readied to leave the house, nestling the eaglet into a pile of blankets, two redheaded elflings burst through the front door, quick as lightning. 

‘The egg has hatched!’ Exclaimed Pityo, catching sight of the bird at once.

‘It has?’ Came from Nolofinwë, alarmed.

‘How can it be so ugly and adorable at the same time?’ Asked Telvo, ignoring his uncle’s question. ‘How old is it? Is it truly one of Manwë’s eagles?’

The inquiries came in a storm as the twins huddled around Arakáno to take a better look at the small bird in his arms.

‘What are you doing here, Ambarussa?’ Lalwen asked, realizing that Fëanáro’s youngest sons had never before come to her home.

‘We wanted to see the egg before it was returned, and begged Papa to bring us,’ Pityo answered.

‘Your father brought you here? Where is he?’

‘Right here,’ came from Fëanáro who appeared in the doorway. He crossed the room and his face turned somber as soon as he spotted Nolofinwë. ‘Good day sister, half-brother. I have brought the twins but I must warn you—’

‘Fëanáro, you—’ started Nolofinwë before Fëanáro was done speaking.

‘If you mention anything about your feud,’ Lalwen interrupted them both, raising a warning finger, ‘I swear to Eru, you will both be dealing with me. The children barely know each other because of your ridiculous quarrels!’ Her voice came in a whisper, sharp as a blade, making sure only her brothers could hear her.

Fëanáro looked taken aback, not expecting that kind of tone from his much younger sister. But he recovered quickly. ‘In fact, I was going to ask if they can stay here for the day. Nerdanel and I have our hands full and could use the break. I see they have already found good company.’

Even Fëanáro could feel overwhelmed. Lalwen had not thought it possible, but she was relieved to know it was so. ‘Of course they can stay, they are as dear to me as any of your children. But what were you going to warn me about?’

‘Oh, only that my youngest sons are wilder than Oromë’s creatures in the forests. We believed we had passed the test with Tyelko, how wrong we were!’

As Fëanáro spoke, Lalwen glanced past his shoulder to catch the blissful smile that stretched Arakáno’s lips as he was answering the twins’ questions.

‘I’m confident I will manage,’ she responded to Fëanáro and beckoned her brothers to join the children where the eaglet was being passed from one set of hands to another.

‘Have you named him already?’ Telvo asked. 

‘Yes! His name is Sorontar,’ Arakáno announced proudly.

‘It is a good name! Pleased to meet you, little king.’ Pityo reached out a finger to scratch the soft head of the nestling and everyone broke into laughter as Sorontar squawked in response.

Lalwen felt something warm unravel in her chest.

If you enjoyed this story, feel free to drop me a note/kudo on AO3. It makes my day!

#lalwen #irime lalwen #argon #arakano #fingolfin #feanor #amrod #amras #thorondor #prompt fills #ficlets #Holiday Silm Prompt Fest #my writing #silmarillion #tolkien

[doodle-pops]

Hello everyone and welcome to this first time ever event!

As stated in the title, this event primarily focuses on the underrated and underappreciated characters in the Silmarillion reader insert community who I write for. The focus will be on the elves.

The event will run through the month of August. Over the course of the month, a mixture of headcanons (group and individual) and fics will be released for the following characters, in no particular order:

Curufin | Amrod | Amras | Turgon | Argon | Finarfin | Angrod | Aegnor | Galdor | Rog | Egalmoth | Thingol | Beleg | Gwindor | Gil Galad

Themes can range from angst to fluff to romantic and AUs, for the sake of providing a wider range of content. Furthermore, this event will feature SFW content with a sprinkle of suggestive themes, but no explicit content. Tags and warnings will be added accordingly.

This event is also opened to other reader insert writers who would like to contribute and boost the content. If you do participate, use the tag #underratedcharacterevent and tag @doodle-pops. I will reblog your work here and add them to the Masterlist constructed for this event along with your blog's name as credit.

#underratedcharacterevent #silmarillion #curufin #amrod #amras #turgon #argon #angrod #aegnor #galdor #rog #thingol #beleg #gwindor #finarfin #egalmoth #writing event #reader insert writing event

[camille-lachenille]

A sad ficlet I wrote instead of sleeping:

#tolkien #the silmarillion #fëanor #nerdanel #amrod #amras #tolkien fic #my writing #this counts as a late #feanorianweek #entry for the last two days i guess

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 6 – Ambarussa – Childhood, Twin

for @feanorianweek You can also read on AO3

Begetting an elven child while is an act of love and the desire to cherish new life, it is also a harmony of two fëar meeting, an equal give and take.

Fëanáro and Nerdanel’s fëar found that harmony less and less as their relationship became more turbulent, and they barely saw eye to eye. That discord between two who should’ve been as one gave unexpected results, for what elven marriage would conceive a child when the parents were struggling to remember why they loved each other in the first place.

Throughout the pregnancy Nerdanel insisted that there was only one fëa growing in her womb. And she was very much correct. What none could anticipate was that single fëa being shared between two little bodies.

Healers and philosophers would much later hypothesise on how such an anomaly would come to be. That elves are only capable of creating a single fëa at a time, but parents being of two minds or at odds could perhaps affect the hröa. Such musings were futile in the end, since never before and never after were twins born to full blooded elves ever again.

-

Ambarussa had two bodies and they were fine with that. That way they were never alone!

Their father insisted that the two bodies needed their own names. And while both Ambarussa and their mother found that unnecessary, they had to concede that giving different designations to their vessels was easier to comprehend for others.

It took a while for their brothers and parents to catch up, but eventually they understood that separating the twins was not a good idea. Ambarussa needed to be together in order to be complete.

The body called Amrod had trouble hearing sounds. Yet Ambarussa could perfectly hear, since the Amras body had perfect ears. Amras didn’t have a voice of his own, but Amrod could perfectly talk for the both of them.

They often followed their brother, Celegorm, into the woods. He showed them colourful birds and squirrels in trees.

“Can you find the woodpecker, little brothers? Listen, and you’ll hear him,” he once asked. Then he watched as Amras’ ears twitched and swivelled in the direction of the rapid knocking sound, yet it was Amrod who looked up in the branches.

“We found him,” Amrod said, and Amras was the one who pointed directly at the woodpecker, his own eyes firmly fixed on Celegorm the whole time.

Celegorm showed them a cluster of mushrooms another time, and explained how they all belonged to the same single mess of root-like system, that each fruiting body above ground all fed from the same mycelium. Ambarussa’s bodies inspected the mushrooms closely, then each other with the same intensity. Finally they turned to their older brother as one and looked at him with large fathomless eyes.

“They’re just like us,” Ambarussa said. Celegorm looked back at them and shivered.

-

When Ambarussa got lost in their thoughts, people would call them rude for speaking to each other in ósanwë in front of others. That was all wrong. Ambarussa didn’t need to use ósanwë. Their thoughts were their thoughts, it was as simple as that.

When Ambarussa was first told of their Grandmother Míriel, they felt dread for the first time. What would happen to Ambarussa if one of their bodies died? Would their fëa split in half? Would it stay with the living vessel, or flee to Mandos? If Ambarussa were to go to Mandos would they be allowed to leave with their bodies or be forced to reembody into a single one?

Perhaps it was merciful that they found their deaths together, dispossessed, cursed, in the midst of acting out the sins of their Oath. What truly became of their soul, bound for Mandos or the Void, none save Námo and the One shall know until the breaking of the world.

#feanorianweek #feanorian week #ambarussa #amrod #amras #celegorm #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm fic #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing

[lordgrimwing]

Teasing #02

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: loyalty -- kind of, I tried]

The first snow fell in the late afternoon, blanketing everything in a thin layer of white that reflected the last rays of light. A glass prism hanging just inside one of the windows of the snow-dusted house gleamed in the light, spreading a burst of colors around the living room. 

Curufin sat on the heavy rug in the middle of the dancing light. “Oh!” He said in a delighted whisper. “Look at all the rainbows, Brimby.”

A black-haired baby rested in his arms. Swaddled in the same cloth his grandparents wrapped his uncles in, Celebrimbor was snug and warm and halfway asleep already. His little eyes opened slowly at the words, and he blinked blearily up at the red, green, and blue sparkles on the ceiling. 

The lights were interesting enough to pull the baby back from the edge of sleep. Blinking twice more, he opened his little pink mouth. His father grinned, constantly thrilled by any of his gurgles or burbles. This time, he blew a little spit bubble. It sat on his lips for several seconds before popping.

Curufin leaned down and nuzzled their noses together softly. Celebrimbor giggled. 

“I take it all back,” Celegorm said in a lazy tone, lounging by the popping fire in the hearth and scratching looping designs into a long bone (from a small deer or maybe a large goat) with the tip of his belt knife. “He couldn’t possibly be anyone else’s kid.” 

At the start of the year, the entire family had wordlessly agreed that the fifth son was more than a little crazy when he rode home with Mirioneth from town and announced proudly that she’d be the mother of his kid before long. The repeated reminder that she worked as a prostitute and might be having anyone’s baby fell on deaf ears. Curufin never wavered. 

In an uncharacteristic show of restraint, Celegorm kept his doubts to himself, or at least to between himself and the animals he spent most of his time with—he thought he ought to keep himself as a neutral shoulder for his favorite brother to cry on when the baby was born and revealed to not be his. He hadn’t thought for a moment that Curufin would be vindicated in the end. Yet, after the baby (a little boy with wispy black hair who screamed louder than his mother when he came out) was washed and fed and sleeping soundly, Fëanor took one look at him and said there was no denying that he was part of the family.

Curufin was so delighted with his son’s noises that he didn’t notice the sly jibe in his brother’s words. 

“Yes you are,” He said in a high-pitched voice usually reserved for particularly cute, hapless lambs or kids. “You’re my little boy. Aren’t you? My little Brimby.” The words dissolved into bubbly noises.

Celegorm rolled his eyes and bit down on a smile. He didn’t understand his brother’s obsession but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind warned him to not joke about it too much because once the baby was a little less delicate, he might love being an uncle just as much as his brother loved being a father. He recalled the way Maedhros and Maglor held and played with tiny Amras and Amrod when they were born (he’d been thirteen and more interested in the new responsibilities he was given than in looking after the babies). Vaguely, from the deepest recesses of his mind, he remembered Pa sitting him in his lap and helping him carefully hold new-born Curufin—he was so nervous and excited to have a little brother (Carathir didn’t count because they were only a handful of months apart).

“Curufin.”

Celegorm’s eyes jumped over to the sole armchair placed near the fire. Celebrimbor’s mother sat knitting a painfully slow scarf. Her expression was pinched and unhappy. 

“He’ll stay up crying if you rile like that,” She said.

“What do you know?” Celegorm shot back before anyone else could respond. He straightened up so that he could glare at her easter. The knife bounced in his hand as he pointed it at her. “You don’t care about him. You’re just here to feed him.”

“Don’t tell us what to do,” Caranthir snapped at her from the other side of the room where he was helping the twins warp table looms in the fading light. 

“Caranthir!”

The brothers flinched. Celegorm hastily put his knife away.

Nerdanel loomed out of the darkness in the hall to her and Fëanor’s room, hair half-undone from her braids for the evening. Her ire and flyaway hair seemed to fill half the room. 

“Sorry, Ma.” Caranthir ducked his head, already chastised for his rudeness. That didn’t stop his mother from laying on more, though she restrained her volume thanks to the nearby baby. The others kept their eyes averted, hoping to avoid drawing her attention to their own behavior. Curufin even hushed burbling Celebrimbor, rocking him gently until he quieted and yawned.

When she finished, Caranthir’s face was red with embarrassment. He turned to Mirioneth and, sounding sincere, apologized for what he said. She awkwardly forgave him, no doubt uncomfortable with how they were all looking at her.

Satisfied, Nerdanel turned to Amrod and Amras. “The light’s too poor to work on that anyway. Put those away and clear the table before going to sleep.” To Curufin and Mirioneth she said, “It’s high past time for Celebrimbor to be sleeping if you want any kind of a restful night. Take him to bed.” Her direction for everyone to be in bed before the end of the hour went unsaid but fully understood.

Caranthir helped the ten-year-olds tidy up their threads and move the looks. While their mother was assuredly still listening, Celegorm politely asked Mirioneth if she needed anything before she and Curufin retired; she was a guest after all. Caranthir shot him an annoyed look. She declined, shoved her knitting into a bag, and hurried to the unwed parents’ room, made private by evicting the twins and moving them to the open spot with Celegorm and Caranthir. 

(The rearranging of sleeping rooms was a sore spot for several months but they’d all gotten used to it. Caranthir insisted the twins were better roommates than everyone else in the house.)

Amrod and Amras excused themselves to run out to the barn with a lantern to say goodnight to the sheep. In short order, Caranthir and Celegorm found themselves alone in the quiet living room.

“So,” Caranthir said, face finally returning to a normal color. “Do you think she’ll try to run tonight?”

Celegorm considered the dark windows. “First snow, new moon, no clear road to follow. She’d be foolish to try.”

“So I should hide her shoes, just in case.”

The blond grinned like one of his dogs. “We’ll get Amrod to say he did it if anyone wonders.”

“Right.”

With that, Celegorm went back to work on his bone.

#aw look celegorm and caranthir i finally trying to get along. guess they just need a common purpose #disclaimer: certain of the c's are mean to someone because she's an outsider not because she's a woman #my first time writing during these events so this'll probably get totally retconned but there you go #the family really is insular #i don't blame celebrimbor's mom for wanting to dip #but baby brimby will never be anything but cute #celegorm #curufin #caranthir #nerdanel #celebrimbor #amrod #amras #the silmarillion #old gods au #grimwing writes #c+c week 2024