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light-of-the-two-trees · 6 days

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A draft scene from a long, daunting AU that I hope to one day fully write, in which Miriel survives to give birth to all five of Finwe's children (meaning they are full siblings), and Feanor is also the third of five children rather than the eldest, younger than Fingolfin.

(The happier timeline of two even for this AU, in which I don't make things play out just as they do in canon regardless of the changes as I want to in the sadder timeline. The birth order for the Finweans here is Findis (not so named), Fingolfin, Feanor, Lalwen and Finarfin, if anyone's curious). Scene features Feanor and Fingolfin reconciling after Fingolfin sails to Beleriand.

It was a shock seeing him standing there, despite expecting it fully. His brother was still dressed in all his royal finery like a stray piece of Aman that had neglected to blend into the grim darkness of Endórë. He looked every inch the High King of the Ñoldor — which Fëanáro distantly realised he was now — right from his swept-back hair to his impossibly clean boots. No blood stained his clothes, and the salt and sea-spray seemed to have marred them not — in fact, it seemed he'd even fixed his hair. Upon his gleaming dark hair sat Atar's crown, the silver circlet sparkling there as if it belonged nowhere else, and right then Fëanáro wanted nothing more than to rip it off, any damage to Ñolofinwë's perfectly styled hair be damned, and toss it into the ocean because it was just another reminder that their father was gone, and never going to return.

In stark contrast of course, Fëanáro was soot-stained, shivering, bleary-eyed from having stared at too many maps and records with nothing but lamplight, and not at all fit to be meeting any person, let alone a King — just like everyone else except for His Most Royal and Exalted Highness, so it did not bother him very much.

He stared at Ñolofinwë, waiting for him to announce his business.

'Should I sit?'

Fëanáro pointed to a chair, and Ñolofinwë sat. Then, without asking, he reached out for a metal cup and jug by the chair, filled the cup with water from the jug, and took a long swig from it.

After that, he sat there and did nothing but stare the cup or into the middle distance for some time.

'Why are you here?' Fëanáro asked at last, when the silence and expectant staring grew unbearable. Ñolofinwë looked up from his long-since-emptied cup, and sighed.

'I was here to ask if you're alright.'

Was he alright? Fëanáro did not know, nor did he understand why Ñolofinwë might have been asking. But he wasn't not alright, as far as he knew, so he said, 'Yes, I'm alright.'

Ñolofinwë nodded, and turned back to the cup.

Fëanáro decided to pretend that his brother was no longer there, and went back to the map that Círdan's people had given him.

Some more time passed.

Then, at last, Ñolofinwë broke the silence. 'Why were you going to burn the ships?'

It wasn't at all a considered movement when Fëanáro turned around. snatched the cup from Ñolofinwë's unresisting hands, and threw it to the ground furiously. He even took a moment to stare at the cup and then his hand in bewilderment before crying, 'Why did you conspire to have me killed, then, brother? Answer this first!'

Ñolofinwë had gone very still again. After a moment, he breathed, stood up slowly, and picked the cup up from where it lay before placing it down gently upon Fëanáro's desk. His face looked hard and cold. 'Who told you that?' he asked evenly.

'It takes no Loremaster to figure out your designs,' Fëanáro snapped back. 'You wanted to have me sent to Lórien. Your intentions could not be any clearer.'

Ñolofinwë let out one of his long, beleaguered sighs. 'I will admit, Fëanáro, that I was asking Atar to convince you to visit Lórien. But my aim was never to kill you — I can't see how you would even imagine that from such an innocuous suggestion.'

'You do not send people to Lórien simply for a holiday.'

'But what of comfort, and counsel? Those are the reasons for which most people visit Lórien!' Ñolofinwë's voice rose a little, and he pushed it back down into his courtly, even tones. 'You were...I am not sure how to put it, Fëanáro, but you scared us during those last days. We did not wish for you to be suffering.'

Fëanáro shook his head. 'I was quite well all throughout,' he insisted, though his mind flashed back traitorously to the awful headaches, the exhaustion, the constant worry at the back of his mind as to whether the Silmarilli were safe and well. 'If you wished for me to depart for Mandos, you need not have arranged a route via Lórien. A knife to the heart would have—'

'Stop!' Ñolofinwë cut in sharply. 'Do not speak of killing, Fëanáro — I do not care to hear it, and especially not so callously. And tell me, please tell me, why do you think sending — not even sending, but suggesting you to go to Lórien, would be anything other than a suggestion for seeking advice and rest? Why would it ever be done to kill you? I don't understand!'

Another heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air.

Then Fëanáro cleared his throat and whispered, 'Ammë went to Lórien.'

Ñolofinwë's face went ashen, and he fell back into his chair. 'Oh. Oh, Fëanáro...'

'It was the only way you would know to kill.'

As suddenly as he'd sat down, Ñolofinwë stood up again and pulled Fëanáro into a tight embrace.

Fëanáro let him pull him close, unresisting — it felt like being young again, when being held by a parent or sibling was enough to drive away any fear, no matter how awful. 'I had never meant it that way, Fëanáro,' murmured Ñolofinwë. 'Lórien does not...I didn't know you thought...I wouldn't...'

'Truly?' asked Fëanáro, moving away. His mind went back to the overheard conversation, the rumours about something dark in Lórien. Where had he heard it? From his sons? Who'd heard it from...whom? Had he asked them, or simply believed it, since it had made good sense at the time?

Moringotto... of course. Curse Moringotto a thousand times over!

'Yes, truly,' said Ñolofinwë, earnestly. 'And I am sure the business with the swords was much the same, wasn't it? I'd heard whispers of your 'madness', though I do not remember where they came from...'

'I was wearing two swords that day, you know. I'd brought one for you,' Fëanáro admitted quietly. 'A gift of reconciliation.' That sword was still unbloodied, unlike his own, lying under this very desk, in fact. 'You must have heard the same sorts of things — that I hated you enough, was mad enough, as they put it, to wish you dead.' He'd never wished it, he knew, never had. Even with the flaming torch in his hands, ready to toss, he'd only hoped his brother would turn back and go home, as Arafinwë had.

He did not want to think about what might have happened had he set the ships aflame.

'Moringotto,' said Ñolofinwë, having drawn the same conclusions. 'I'm going to kill him.'

'I am,' Fëanáro retorted. It felt so wonderfully banal, nothing but a pointless, teasing argument with his elder brother only for the sake of it, that his lips stretched into a smile, after what must have been months.

'We could do it together,' Ñolofinwë suggested. The ice had already melted from his eyes and face. 'With both of us, I doubt he'd stand a chance.'

Fëanáro snorted. 'You're right, but you don't even — wait, no, you do.' He crouched down upon the floor, and felt around in the dark recesses under the travelling desk before pulling out an intricate scabbard, from which a silvery-dark hilt gleamed. He stood up, and handed the sheathed blade hilt-first to Ñolofinwë.

'Is it the one you were going to...'

'The very same,' replied Fëanáro. 'I'll make better ones once we have the proper facilities, of course. Some of the people around — I'll tell you all about them soon enough, and their highly fascinating language — mentioned all sorts of interesting metals that might be made into useful alloys. But until then, you'll at least have an actual weapon apart from your formidable anger to go against Moringotto with.'

Ñolofinwë smiled, and pulled the sword from its sheath, admiring the gleam of the pale blue-white lamplight upon its sharp blade. 'Thank you.'

'Don't...don't thank me like that.' Fëanáro took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts. 'Should we try to put this behind us, if we can? Please?'

His brother nodded at once, and Fëanáro felt a crushing weight lift from his shoulders. His back straightened, and for the first time in so long that he could not quite pinpoint when and where it had begun, the gaping wound between Fëanáro and his brother felt like it was coming a little closer to healing over.

#i'm starting to try and tackle the task of *writing* this AU that's been rattling around in my head since like august last year #so prepare to hear about it lol #the silmarillion #silm #legendarium tag #feanor #fingolfin #children of miriel au #<- tentative au tag #and it was not void #my fic

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thespianinthebackcorner · 3 months

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okay so Hazbin season 1 just ended (spoiler alert) and by GOD that was an ending. I love it. I was panicking so bad after Alastor just disappeared halfway through the battle and then afterwards the only ones who seemed to notice were the Vees (of course they did. I see you Vox) but he came back later anyway. More spoilers and theories under the cut

BUT! He came back eventually, he's not dead. That scene in the studio was... A lot. I love it, it perfectly sets up next season- Alastor is clearly going to be the star of the show. Husker was right, he is bound to someone, and he's clearly not happy about it. actually he's just going through it as a whole, clearly there's more on his mind than the battle. He's on his last nerve, and one thing I noticed was that throughout episodes 7 and 8- and, now that I think about it, the whole season- there's a couple hints towards Alastor repressing his true feelings, and that the consequences are starting to come back to bite him. It's even outright implied through his conversation with Charlie- he himself says that just because he's smiling it doesn't mean anything about what he's actually feeling underneath. Much like Alastor I also enjoy seeing characters cry and lose their hold, and I think next season will be that moment for him.

Kay I need to reorganise this post. Bullet point time, ATAR style

Season 1:

hints all over the shop that Alastor is repressing his feelings and it's going to come back

Confirmation with the scene at the end of Episode 8 that Alastor is indeed bound to someone and those binds are incredibly tight, he can't get out easily

According to him, said deal restricts his actions to an extent, enough that he's starting to feel suffocated

I know Dad Beat Dad was a joke for him, but from the way he protected the hotel I think he's also starting to realise how much he actually does care about Charlie in his own way.

Compared to the beginning of the series, Alastor is getting pushed closer to the edge more often. He's getting more annoyed and losing his composure, the amount of swearing he was doing in that last fight with Adam Asshole Supreme shows that just fine- not to mention his reaction to Husker's confrontation and his clear annoyance and even jealousy of Lucifer throughout Dad Beat Dad.

Enough hints that he's being controlled by Lilith for the fandom to notice at large

Lilith being hinted to return to Hell in Season Two

Not stated in the actual show but Alastor speaks with a Transatlantic accent, which is a fake accent created by tv and radio presenters of his time. What we hear isn't his actual voice, unless being in Hell also changes your voice, which considering Vaggie didn't change after coming down and Pentious didn't change after going up doesn't seem to be the case

Predictions for Season Two:

Alastor's clearly had enough of his restraints, I think he's going to find a way out of it

Lilith is not going to be happy with him for that, I get the feeling he's also already done something she's not going to like

Lilith Is Going To Bitch Slap Alastor (this is inevitable and I am looking forward to it)

Considering sound is Alastor's greatest asset and what he does, i think at some point it's going to be taken away from him- either through inability to speak or inability to hear, or both

This would also mean he'd need to resort to visuals for communication, which will likely be a struggle- I don't think Alastor is the type to learn sign language, he's a radio presenter, so he's going to have to learn it somehow. I'm not actually sure if anyone else at the hotel does but Husker might (he seems like he would, just for kicks). Or they might come up with some other way to communicate

If I'm right then he'll also have to properly learn to lean on the others instead of stepping away like he usually does

At some point that smile and that accent are going to drop. And it will be a MOMENT.

Season Two will be based on a villain, yes, but this show is all about redemption and while Alastor clearly doesn't want to try that in the traditional sense, I think the next season is definitely going to be redemption for him in a different sense- less redemption, more healing.

The other patrons of the hotel are definitely attached to him now, Lilith better watch her back.

Side note, Pentious better come back and get his girl he's not leaving like that

Maybe I should turn this into a fanfic

Maybe it's copium but to me next season will be ALL about Alastor and how he fits in with the show itself. And I am so ready for it. That boy is going to cry whether he likes it or not.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #Hazbin season 2

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doodle-pops · 11 months

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Maedhros Having A Twin Sister

A/N: I remembered the anon who sent the request for Caranthir's twin sister had given me the option of him, Maedhros and Fingon, and I've been obsessed with the idea of Mae having a twin sister. I might follow up with Fingon soon.

𑁍 So let’s say that you were the older born 20 minutes before him, you and Maedhros are going to be considered the apple of everyone and the family’s eye. The first child, the first girl, the first of everything within the House of Feanor, you are going to be cherished.

𑁍 Both you and Maedhros would receive equal parts of love, affection and attention. There isn’t any need for either of you to fight over who gets to spend more time with amillё and atar. Both Nerdanel and Feanor would be over the moon that their first babies were twins and equally beautiful.

𑁍 As Maedhros twin, growing up as the first two of the third generation of the House of Finwe, you are both alone for the greater half of your childhood before the rest of your siblings and cousins arrive. This means that you and Mae have many years to bond wonderfully.

𑁍 From playmates as children, you two would grow into adolescence and then adulthood having taken care of each other and constantly hovering. His attachment to you was always ‘she’s my sister, we’re supposed to be together always.’

𑁍 Maedhros was always attached to you, following you around wherever you went. If you wanted to play dress-up and dollhouse, he was down for that. If you wanted to host a tea party, he was also down for that. It didn’t matter (since it was just you two) where he was, so long as you were there.

𑁍 It was quite some funny years after your younger brothers were born, they were always fighting for your attention and Maedhros hated it, especially when Maglor and Caranthir used to cry and beg for you. It caused him to act stingy and keep you to himself.

𑁍 He can always count on you to be honest, brutal as well, and truthful with him. The both of you would adapt the roles of acting as parents to the rest of your siblings and cousins. This was a great relief for him because he would joke about what if it was just him alone as the eldest.

𑁍 Despite you being the eldest, for him as the eldest brother, he took the role of being head. You witnessed this during his years in Beleriand, he refused to give you that position, not wanting to give that volume of stress to you.

𑁍 You are close with him, Maglor, Caranthir and Ambarussar since the quiet personalities you all share are compatible. He was attached to you from a young all the way into adulthood. It’s something he uncontrollably does—just whips his head around to search for you and then stands nearby.

𑁍 He isn’t one to hover, but as the years pass and he realised that you were the only other girl in the family, he becomes protective. Giving your suitors the fatherly glare from over your shoulder or talking behind your back, and then acting dumb as if he had nothing to do with your suitor never returning.

𑁍 Arguments between you both are…complex. You’re opposites in terms of personality, but share lots of similarities with Nerdanel and her temperament, so disputes are never long but grudges were. Partially reasoned and sorted out, this was during Valinor.

𑁍 For his years in Beleriand, he was grateful for your company during his lonely and emotionally detached days in Himring. When Fingon or Maglor wasn’t there to sing away his nightmares, you would swoop in the care of him.

𑁍 Tending to his injuries, dressing and feeding him on his bad days, going to his meetings and assisting him with his documents/reports. He was grateful but also ashamed for dragging you into this. Despite acting as the eldest over everyone, he would always feel like your baby brother before you.

𑁍 This is the time when he would lean into your embrace and allow you to brush his hair and sing or baby him. He hates it since he doesn’t like the incapacitated feeling, but it makes him remember his youthful days with you; carefree and running around chasing each other.

𑁍 In return, he would spoil you with the finest riches the land had to offer because he enjoys gift-giving. Maedhros would take up training you in self-defence while being protective and not fancying the idea of you roaming about Beleriand.

𑁍 As the big sister, you were responsible for helping him with suitors. Dressing him up and making him appear desirable to the public. You would give him lots of advice on how to charm people and you were the final say on if you approved of his choice.

𑁍 His favourite days are spent going on walks or rides through the forest and getting everything off his chest. Witnessing him cry and breaking down was a familiar sight that broke your heart. You felt horrible that you could save your twin.

𑁍 Furthermore, you used to feel his pain, when be was going through the rough, but never told him to avoid him wallowing in guilt and shame. You took your job of being his big sister seriously, always easing his stress load and watching over him.

𑁍 You are his confidant and best friend, and he trusts you just as much as he trusts Maglor. You know all his secrets and his bond with you is unlike any other.

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @spidergirla5 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @hoshinokurasa

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carmisse · 2 months

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Eryn Galen Family Tree

Some headcanons on which I based this.

Before leaving Nelyafinwë and Findekano get married secretly due to the death of his grandfather.

Unfortunately, they are forced to separate for a long time before Fingon goes to look for his husband, rescuing him from the clutches of Morgoth and his servant. After a long healing process, the two finally unite their faiths and conceive a son. Ereinion Gil-Galad, whom they must let go to Círdan for his proper protection.

•••

Gil-Galad grows up without knowing much of his origin, however he manages to consolidate as a friend of the Sindar, under the tutelage of Círdan.

Thus, during a visit to Doriarth, Eldarion meets Prince Oropher, the young son of Elmo, and nephew of King Thingol. Who also turns out to be a candidate to be his spouse; to the displeasure of both, since at the beginning they do not tolerate each other at all. However, and after a time in which they put their laziness behind them after their lives were put in danger due to an incident outside Melian's belt, they decide to continue with the courtship between them, concluding that they will go at their own pace with it.

As it turns out, they get married.

Living in a fairly stable and happy marriage, they decide to wait a while before even considering having children. Although they enjoy taking care of their nephew, Celeborn, son of Oropher's brother, Galadhon.

The two enjoy their time together very much, Oropher still works in his uncle's court and Ereinion continues to apprentice with Círdan.

During the eighth year of their marriage, they finally have an only son, Thranduil.

Gondolin falls, and with it Ereinion is summoned to the island of Balar where he is told of his origin, who his parents are and the death of his uncle Turgon, for which he was now to be named High King.

Shortly after the third murder of relatives. Gil-Galad founds the city of Lindon which he rules with the help of Oropher. At the same time they see Thranduil grow up more. Being that when the latter reaches adolescence, his ada founds Eryn Galen, Oropher is appointed king by the wood elves and much to his regret he must leave to lead what remains of his family's village, Thranduil stays with Ereinion for seasons, especially because he wishes to continue seeing his cousin, Celeborn, although he also visits his ada.

The last alliance arrives, Gil-Galad has decided to create an army to attack Sauron in an attempt to quell the evil he spreads throughout Middle-earth.

Oropher is captured by the dark lord, his husband and son believe him dead, Thranduil is crowned king in the midst of battle and his Atar guides him as best he can given the current circumstances.

(I know Thingol banned Quenya, but Erenion, Oropher and Thranduil probably spoke it at home).

It is not until the climax of the war that Glorfindel gives his help to Oropher who manages to flee from Sauron because the latter finally came out to give battle to Gil-Galad.

(Fuck the canon, Oropher and Ereinion are alive when it ends.)

•••

Thranduil and Glorfindel met during the last alliance, because of young Elrond.

Thranduil felt a great admiration for the lord of the house of the golden flower, while Glorfindel decided to give himself a chance to fall in love again if he and the prince of Eryn Galen could get out of the war.

Being so, both spoke towards the fourth year of the conflict, confessing their desire towards the culmination of what they are living. Since by tradition the elves do not marry during the war and much less have children. During that time, only once in the fifth year of the last alliance, the two share a single kiss that turns out to be nothing more than a brush of lips. The war ends, thanks to the Valar they can now breathe without fear that this is their last day in the same land.

Glorfindel decides to court Thranduil this under the blessing of Gil-Galad and Oropher.

(Celeborn and Elrond organize the betrothal dinner)

They however, decide to marry with the trees as witnesses before having a larger celebration as expected by the elves. Ten years pass before Prince Legolas is born.

Version 0.2

Aragorn and Legolas already have a relationship when they join the Fellowship of the Ring. Gandalf knows it and Frodo is very suspicious since despite their many attempts, they do not disguise it as well as they think.

Frodo is aware of the looks they give each other when they think no one sees them.

Boromir has seen them flirting, they use the sindarin but it is clear what is flirting.

Gimli also found them sharing his watch. Aragorn had his head resting on Legolas' lap while Legolas hummed to him and stroked his dark locks, both looking up at the stars.

It is Pippin who in his boredom asks to please tell them how they met, how long they have been together and also asks if those rings they wear themselves mean they are married.

It is Legolas who just resigns himself and tells the story, Sam finds it quite romantic and Gimli just says that Legolas charmed him with his singing, which makes everyone laugh.

Extra headcanons :

- Fingon is trans.

- Sindar have both gender.

- Glorfindel was very afraid of falling in love after losing Ecthelion, however Thranduil came as a bucket of cold water. He makes amends with his relationship with Ecthelion and decides to follow his feelings.

- Glorfindel is sworn to Elrond being this descendant of Turgon to whom he was sworn before. For which he lives in Imladris, Thranduil understands it because his parents also lived separated in spite of being married because they had their own duties. However, Elrond sends Glorfindel away until Legolas is the equivalent of sixteen human years old. It is then that he is finally allowed to return.

- Legolas has honey-colored hair, a combination of his parents'. His eyes are also warm like Glorfindel's even if the color of them is similar to Thranduil's.

- If Aragorn and Legolas had a daughter she would be named Miriel.

#maedhros #fingon #erenion gil galad #oropher #glorfindel #thranduil #legolas greenleaf #aragorn elessar #russingon #Gil Galad x Oropher #Glorfinduil #aralas #Eldarion Telcontar #silm headcanons #silmarillion #lord of the rings

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imakemywings · 11 months

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Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Maedhros, Lalwen, Fingon, Nerdanel

Summary: Maedhros considers the role of sex and romance in his life and receives support from unexpected quarters.

AN: Something for @aspecardaweek! More notes on AO3.

WC: 5,281

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

_______________________________________________________

Maedhros did not yet have Grandfather’s skill for keeping his face neutral. He did have his own parents’ penchant for strong emotions and so the sense of annoyance which permeated his clipped pace down the palace hall was plainly apparent. Even the swish of his robes seemed to speak to an immediate, if mild, irritation.

The heat of Valinor’s soft summer was creeping up over Tirion, which meant most of the palace was out-of-doors, except for Caranthir who was likely tucked away somewhere with a book or a preserved insect, and Maglor, who was either “composing” or languishing artfully on a pile of pillows (these were not always distinct and separate acts), and so perhaps Maedhros was less careful than he might’ve been with the usual palace audience around to provide a bevy of useless commentary. He slid open one of the side doors and slipped out onto the rail-less porch, throwing himself down on the edge with an air of petty temper.

The fresh air almost immediately took the edge off. In the lush palace gardens he could hear the call of birds and the rustle of the fresh green leaves, still tender with new growth. The lychee trees were starting to sway with the weight of fruit and the smell of the flowering plants perfumed the air. Maedhros leaned back against one of the posts supporting the eaves. Curufin and the twins were out with Atar for the day, which meant there was no childish yelling this side of the palace, though if Maedhros listened carefully, he could hear some of his youngest cousins elsewhere on the property.

“You look rather troubled, little one.” The low, smoky voice took him by surprise, partly because he was not often in conversation with his aunt, who bled out of the bushes with a idly curious look. “Who’s put this look on your face?”

“My brother,” Maedhros groused after a pause.

“That still leaves quite a few options,” said Princess Lalwen with a slanting smile, perching on the edge of the porch with one leg tucked beneath her. Her nut-brown skin was already taking on the darker hue of summertime and judging by her dress and the dearth of gems in her hair, he guessed she’d been on an early morning hiking or hunting trip.

“’tis nothing,” Maedhros demurred. No need to go airing family laundry, even if it was the relatively harmless kind. Besides, Aunt Lalwen always looked like she was searching for a secret—to what end, Maedhros couldn’t say.

“If it were nothing, you would not be troubled,” Lalwen said. Maedhros, ever the pragmatist, visibly weighed the pros and cons of sharing—and how much—with Lalwen. Truthfully, he didn’t know her well enough to make much of an estimate. She was often in Tirion, unlike Aunt Findis, but also often in the company of Uncle Fingolfin, which meant not in the company of Atar and Ammë (or their children).

“Kanafinwë is…immature, I think, at times,” said Maedhros at last. “It causes a great deal of trouble for him and for many around him.”

“Little brothers will be that way,” Lalwen said sagely, nodding. Maedhros must have looked skeptical, for then she said: “You doubt it? Arafinwë was a terrible tattle when he was little. Nothing could you tell him if you did not wish to get back to Ammë within the hour. Thank Ilúvatar he grew out of that!” A faint smile crossed her face. “And if you were inclined to ask, it is possible that Arakáno and Findis might have their own stories of me to share.” Maedhros assumed Atar went without saying.

“Kanafinwë is old enough to know better,” said Maedhros with a frown. The antics of a child were one thing—Maglor was a grown adult, if a young one. Lalwen canted her head to the side and her eyes flitted off into the vegetation. She had Fingolfin’s eyes, the same brown that turned gold with just a bit of light, framed in lashes brown where Fingolfin’s were black.

“A little brother is always a little brother with his older sibling,” she said. “At least a little bit.”

“He makes a mess of his own life and then comes to me wailing about his misfortune!” said Maedhros, remembering his annoyance anew. “He never listens to me! Why tell me these things if he refuses to take my advice?”

“What has he done now?” Lalwen asked, and still on the tide of his temper, Maedhros said:

“He does the most foolish things wherever a comely Elf is concerned and he seems to seek the chance to make a mess of things! He can never settle on one thing to want, and as soon as his desire is within his gasp, he loses all interest in it!” A more tempered Maedhros would not have shared, but he was doubly irked because Maglor had recently borrowed several of his favorite hair pins without asking, and had left one of them behind with his tryst, whom he insisted he could not speak to again to get it back. “Already he has a courting companion, yet he has been seeking the company of another!” Now he felt he had to explain the rest.

“For ages did I listen to his laments about trying to win the heart of Culuina, and at last they were courting, and finally they had stopped fighting, and now he tells me he has been seeking the attentions of someone from the actor’s guild! He tells me how this Elf has no interest in him and looks right through him as if he were not even there, and he tells it with a shine in his eyes more than when he ever talks about Culuina anymore! I told him to be happy with Culuina after he spent so long in pursuit of her, but did he listen? Of course not! And rather than end their courtship as might have been honorable, now he chases down some other, like a greedy hunter!”

After this little tirade, Maedhros fell silent, flinty gray eyes narrowed, remembering all over again why he was so cross.

“How can he complain so when he’s done this all to himself? Culuina was happy with him at last, but now he’s ruined it! I don’t understand him at all.”

Lalwen shrugged.

“You know how Kanafinwë is with a pretty face. Arakáno says he’s been that way since he was young,” she said. “How old was he when he told his music teacher he would marry him?” Lalwen smiled indulgently, but Maedhros was not willing to fondly reminisce now (for the record, Maglor had been eight).

“There’s no sense in it!” Maedhros fumed insistently. “He had what he desired! And for what does he tell me these things if he never heeds my advice?”

“Perhaps he seeks only a listening ear,” Lalwen suggested.

“Nay, for he asks my opinion!” Maedhros objected. “But then he pays it no mind!”

“What advice gave you to him?” Lalwen asked.

“That he should be content with what he has!” Maedhros’ jaw clenched. “He sought so ardently after Culuina, how can he set her aside so easily? And for one who cares not for him in the slightest? So what if he has a pretty face? Culuina does as well!”

“You seem rather indignant on her behalf,” Lalwen said with seeming amusement.

“Hardly,” said Maedhros. “I have exchanged not entirely ten words with her. But Kanafinwë is a prince of the Noldor and should behave better.” Lalwen tipped her head from side to side.

“There’s not much sense in it, is there?” she said.

“None!” Maedhros said. “He loses his head entirely about romance; it’s as though he lapses into madness! How is it that so many Elves lack any kind of sense or restraint about these things?”

Lalwen was looking at him then in a way that made Maedhros remember he did not usually speak of family matters to others (even other family). There was something appraising in her look that made him decide he had said too much already and he regretted it at once. Maglor made enough of a fool of the house without him elaborating for others.

“Forgive me though, for taking so much of your time, Aunt,” he said, lowering his head and then rising to his feet, his voice at once level and impassive again. “I should not have troubled you with such trivial matters.”

“No trouble, Nelyafinwë,” she said. “I believed I came from a big family until I saw your parents’ penchant for children.” She chuckled a little. “I cannot imagine having had six brothers! Three was quite enough for me.”

“Most often they trouble me not.” Maedhros murmured out the lie. “I should have less of a temper with him.” Another lie—he believed he had every right to be just as irritated with Maglor as he was. But he should not have shared it outside the house; it did nothing to improve their image.

“What one struggles to understand may often prove an annoyance,” Lalwen posited after a moment. Maedhros gave her a critical look, then bowed his exit and went back inside. Conversations with Lalwen had a way of making him feel he had missed something, and it was not a feeling for which he cared in the slightest.

***

“Maitimo.”

Maedhros refocused his eyes on Ammë, dredging himself up out of his thoughts.

“I did not move,” he said.

“You are making a face,” said Ammë. “Why this air of sullenness?” Falling out of his pose, Maedhros rubbed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

“’tis nothing,” he said. “I’m only tired.”

“Well, if you keep making that face, the sculpture will wear it too,” said Ammë, tapping her pencil pointedly against her sketchpad. “Oh. Sometime has it been since I saw that look.”

“No ‘look’ do I wear,” Maedhros insisted, resentful of the whining note that crept into his voice. Only Ammë could bring it out.

“There is a look,” she said. “So what is it?”

“As I said before, nothing.” Ammë flipped closed her sketchpad.

“I think we shall be done with this for today,” she said. “If you still wish to help, perhaps you can help me cut wood for the kiln.” With a sigh, Maedhros rose in acquiescence and they went out into the yard, where Ammë handed him an axe.

He was still ruminating on his conversation with Lalwen, and the sense that she had seen something in it he had failed to notice, an idea which peeved him to no end. Furthermore, it was bringing to the forefront of his memory the handful of instances in which Maglor, no doubt in an effort at brotherly camaraderie, had attempted to return the favor that Maedhros granted him in listening to his woes by asking Maedhros about his love life, a line of questioning that invariably made Maedhros both queasy and ill-tempered. If he was feeling particularly adventurous, Maglor would probe into Maedhros’ various relationships, seeking some hitherto hidden romantic intention which Maedhros insisted did not exist. Most recently, he had seized on the notion of Maedhros’ friendship with Ingwion as something that might bear fruit, a suggestion which Maedhros had been too embarrassed to even mention to Ingwion, even to have a laugh at Maglor’s efforts.

Ammë set a log down and Maedhros raised the axe. In a sense, there was something calming about the repetition of it.

Whack, whack, whack.

Maedhros hated not to understand things—it was something Grandfather had once said he shared with Atar. And what he didn’t understand now was how he could be the only one with any sense about relationships—how could everyone else be so careless and obsessed? He had even seen Curufin making eyes at other Elflings his age. When Maedhros had been Curufin’s age, the thought of romance hadn’t even entered his head! It had been as alien to him as the notion of childbirth or property taxes. Back then, he had assumed it was something that would simply come with age. Eventually, he told himself he was a late bloomer, and perhaps just needed more time to come into it than others (another idea which unsettled him—he also misliked the thought of being late to anything).

Whack, whack, whack.

Then, when he determined he must be fully matured, he theorized he simply had not met the right person yet. This made perfect sense. Maedhros was discriminating in taste about nearly everything—why should he be less particular about his romantic partners? He needed to give himself time to meet someone who could pass his standards, and then would experience one of those head-over-heels crushes which people waxed poetic about. After all, Grandfather said that Atar had had next to no interest in courtship of any kind until he met Ammë, and then everything had happened rather quickly.

Whack, whack, whack..

He supposed this theory still wasn’t disproven, but there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that he might be waiting for something which would never come. Technically, there was unlikely to be harm in this, but Maedhros did not like things unsettled. He wanted answers, cut and dry. He wanted to know where he stood. But how did one prove an absence of a thing? And what did such an absence mean?

Whack, whack, whack.

“Does this seem enough to you?” Just as Maedhros was pausing with the axe, Ammë spoke. He observed the pile of wood so far and flexed his hand against the shaft of the axe.

“Perhaps a few more,” he suggested. Ammë looked at him rather than the wood and nodded.

“Yes, I agree,” she said, and set down another log. When Maedhros had split the last of them, he felt that some of the tension in his shoulders had dissipated. He rolled them to loosen the muscles. In an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, Ammë placed a hand against the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press a fleeting kiss to his copper crown.

“This will do finely, Maitimo.” She slapped his shoulder as she drew back. “Now go on, I do not believe you shall be any more help to me today, and as I recall, you have your own work which needs doing.”

Maedhros groaned. He really had been overthinking all this if he’d forgotten, even for a moment, about that blasted essay.

***

“Yes, this is much better,” said Professor Lastarion while Maedhros intermittently held his breath as part of an effort not to fidget while sitting in front of the professor’s desk. “You have still some gaps in logic here, but this is much better.” His eyes flicked up to Maedhros’ face. “They are small, but closing them will make for the neatest possible paper. This is quite good on its own, but I will insist you see to these before the compendium’s publication.”

Having his work published would more than make up for all the effort that had gone into it, including the many late nights he had spent working by candlelight. It was something he had yearned for since his first works had gone into the student publication during his years as a pupil of the university. He had been pleased with those then, but now, to be published as an adult scholar—!

“Leading a reader through your argument is like…”

Leading a horse, Maedhros finished silently to himself.

“…leading a horse,” Lastarion finished aloud. “The slightest hole might result in a snapped ankle.” This was where the metaphor tended to fall apart for Maedhros. “You want to take your readers in an unbroken chain from point A to B to C to D…” He waved his hand in a flowing gesture. Maedhros nodded tensely, waiting for any more concrete feedback.

“It’s quite well-reasoned as a whole,” Lastarion went on. “In fact,” he said, meeting Maedhros’ eyes directly, “I believe it will be the centerpiece of the volume.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Maedhros breathlessly, feeling his heart stop for a moment.

“It has the possibility to be truly remarkable, which is why I have nitpicked so many things on it,” he said. “With a few fine-tuning touches, it will be the jewel in the crown, so to speak.” He passed the paper over to Maedhros. “Have a look at my notes. Connect these last few gaps and you will have a final product to be quite proud of, Nelyafinwë.”

“Thank you,” he said again, taking the paper, his heart jumping as if he had run up a flight of stairs. “I will see to it immediately.”

It wasn’t until he was out of the professor’s office that he let the grin spread across his face. Published! There would be something to talk about at the next party!

***

The summer sun was just edging towards too warm against Fingon’s exposed arms and legs as he lay back in the golden grass, tossing his ball up and down. He kept his eyes closed so as not to be dazzled by the brightness of the sky, but he was so familiar with the weight and fall of the ball he did not need to see it to catch it each time it came back down towards him. The thrust and fall of it was relaxing; the repetitive flexing and bunching of his well-trained muscles lulled him into calm. There was a faint breeze rustling the grass, which occasionally blew over him and swept away the worst of the heat, keeping him comfortable. Overhead, birds caroused, wheeling this way and that, occasionally dashing across the tendrils of wispy clouds that were all that marred Valinor’s skies that day. It was entirely peaceful and Fingon let out a deep breath of contentment.

Ah, but Maedhros was still talking.

“Well?” he was saying, and Fingon realized he had let slip by a crucial moment to interject with a sympathetic or disapproving noise (whichever was most appropriate) and now was being asked a question. “Am I wrong?”

He caught his pigskin ball and opened his eyes, turning to look at Maedhros’ pale, vexed face.

“Well of course you’re right,” he said. “If Makalaurë listened to you, he wouldn’t be in half as much trouble.” When he had missed a cue, it was always good to fall back on “you’re right.” That usually calmed Maedhros down.

“I told him this would happen,” he griped, and Fingon debated whether he could inquire into what “this” was without revealing that he didn’t already know.

“You know Makalaurë,” he said with a somewhat indulgent smile. “Foresight is not his gift.”

“Foresight! I would gladly settle for common sense!” He snorted. “The way this city gossips—and he thought Culuina wouldn’t find out about Eteminion?”

“Well…” Fingon began, then trailed off, not sure if Maedhros would appreciate his speculating on the less-than-admirable behavior of his brother.

“Well what?” But Maedhros would not let a thought go unsaid once it had been hinted at.

“Perhaps he wished for her to know.”

“Wished!” Maedhros exclaimed. “Why would he wish for her to know he had been unfaithful to her?” Fingon shrugged.

“Perhaps he wanted their courtship to end and knew that she would do it herself if she knew,” he said. “Or perhaps he wanted her attention.”

“He was courting her,” Maedhros said. “In what way did he not already have her attention?” Fingon shrugged and started tossing his ball again. “Do share your thoughts, Findekáno,” said Maedhros, and Fingon could hear the annoyance in his voice. A smile twitched on Fingon’s lips.

“Perhaps Makalaurë enjoys the turbulence of his relationships,” he said. “Perhaps he thought if he riled Culuina this way, it would inspire her to passion.” Maedhros was looking at him like he had just suggested they test whether the Children of Ilúvatar had the power of flight, an expression at which Fingon couldn’t help but laugh as he sat upright.

“Passionate in her anger with him, perhaps,” Maedhros said. Fingon shrugged. Anger was passion, of a sort. “For what could he ever want such a thing? I think you have been laying in the sun too long.” Fingon laughed again.

“Is it so hard to understand?” he said. “Never have you wished to make another jealous to prove their affection for you?”

“Never!” said Maedhros, looking perfectly appalled. “Have you?”

“Once or twice,” said Fingon, shrugging one shoulder. “Never have I done it thought—it is rather immature, is it not? Although for Eteminion?” He grinned. “He would be worth the effort! Have you seen him on stage? There is an Elf who knows passion!” Maedhros was still looking at him like he’d gone crazy. “No? You find him not attractive?” he said.

“I never thought about it,” said Maedhros. “I do not watch plays to drool over the actors.”

“Are you accusing me of drooling, Russandol!” Fingon laughed. “One can appreciate both the art and also the bodies behind it!” Maedhros’ look had gone sulky, the way it did when they spoke overlong of issues concerning romance. “Perhaps you and Makalaurë simply cannot see eye-to-eye on this,” he suggested.

“I think perhaps we cannot,” said Maedhros quietly, picking at the grass. “It makes no sense to me, Findekáno, not even when you speak of it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The way people behave when they find another attractive,” said Maedhros. “How do they manage to lose all sense of reason?”

“That is nature of love and sex,” said Fingon with a little smile. “It renders one a little insane…but that isn’t always bad. One may enjoy a touch of madness.” Maedhros was just looking at him, indirectly, still tearing at bits of grass.

“It makes no sense to me,” he repeated, softer still.

It took Fingon a moment to gather that perhaps Maedhros was trying to tell him something. (He was not always very good at picking up on these things, which Turgon had told him.) Sobering, he folded his legs, setting his ball in the space between.

“You know,” he observed after a pause, “I believe Auntie Irimë is that way.”

“What way?”

“I mean, that she agrees with you. She is unwed,” said Fingon. “And I have never known her to express a desire for it.”

“Aunt Findis is unwed also,” said Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.

“Auntie Findis has always been a bit aloof, has she not?” Maedhros was shredding a long blade of grass between his fingers, a furrow between his eyebrows. Aunt Findis also spent a great deal of time out of Tirion, and was not in general inclined to discuss such things around her nieces and nephews, which made it harder to guess at her stance.

“Russandol,” said Fingon, and when Maedhros was looking at him, he pitched the leather ball right at Maedhros’ face. His nose was spared the unfortunate content by his quick reflexes, and then he glared in a way that would have made their cousins cower (it was rather reminiscent of Uncle Fëanor).

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“You are thinking no longer about your problem, are you?” said Fingon cheerfully. “You’re welcome!” The ball clocked Fingon in the head right before Maedhros tackled him.

***

It pleased the king to host, as frequently as he could, large dinners for the entire extended family. Atar always insisted they were there, to a man, and there was little that could excuse one from the event—academic demands were about the only thing. Grandfather Finwë would throw a celebratory dinner for nearly anything—Princess Findis visiting from Valmar or the start of a new season or a grandchild getting a particularly good grade or Atar finishing a new project—but often he hosted them for no reason at all. That night’s dinner was one of that sort.

The dining hall was bedecked in lanterns alongside the lamps of Atar’s design and the seats around the table had been cleared to allow family and guests to take food and wander at will. Maedhros and his brothers, as always, were dressed to the nines, as Atar would not tolerate them arriving at any event of his father’s smirched in soot or dirt, or dressed unsuitably. The particular headpiece Maedhros had chosen for that night demanded he move with stately grace, or it was going to fall off his head and with the weight of it, probably take out someone’s foot in the process. (It did look very fine though, and he had spent several minutes in front of his mirror admiring the effect.)

Choosing the right time to approach Lalwen meant not accosting her as soon as they arrived, while ensuring she wasn’t able to slip off before Maedhros got to speak with her. It would need to look natural—he was not interested in anyone else thinking he had cause to seek out his aunt. For a few moments he lingered around the wine with Maglor, to reassure him that there was nothing amiss between then despite Maedhros’ earlier annoyance. Maglor was then distracted by one of his many musical rivals and disappeared to go boast under the guise of conversation.

When Maedhros did approach Lalwen at the table, he didn’t get his greeting past his lips before she said: “You took your time.” Then she turned to look at him, seeming amused with his expression. “I will give your subtlety is much improved on that of your brothers, but your eyes have been burning a hole in me since you arrived, Nelyafinwë.”

“You knew,” he said, deciding Lalwen did not need a lead-in. Lalwen shrugged.

“I theorized,” she said.

“But you said nothing of it. Why?” Lalwen added a few more dumplings to her plate and considered.

“You seem to me rather reserved,” she said. “And we have not spoken much. I did not think you would appreciate my theorizing, nor take it to heart. Some conclusions we must reach on our own, in our own time.” Maedhros was somewhat troubled that she had gathered so much about him despite the brevity and infrequency of their interactions.

“And are you?”

“I am,” she said, flicking her eyes up to him.

“How did you know?” She shrugged.

“It is harder to see a lack of a thing, but at some point, it becomes apparent. Anyway, it is not as uncommon as you might think. It is simply not spoken of.”

“And…Aunt Findis is…?” Lalwen let out a burst of laughter.

“Findis? No, not her. She’s only excessively particular—about what is she not particular—and will take only women as long-term partners.”

“Does…do people…know?” he asked.

“About me?” she asked. “Some do. Some may have guessed by now. My siblings know. But,” she added abruptly, holding up a finger, “that was by my choice only. Such things are private, and no one has a right to know what you do not wish to tell. This you should bear in mind, Nelyafinwë. To none do you owe answers or explanations about this. If I may offer counsel, as your aunt, little though I have taken the role—” This being the fault more of Atar than of Lalwen, Maedhros suspected, for she was close with both the children of Fingolfin and of Finarfin, “—let no one pressure you to speak when you would not. Your heart is your own business, and no one else’s.” She turned to go, paused, and glanced back. “There are many kinds of love. An absence of one does not mean an absence of all.”

Then someone was waving her down from the side of the hall and she departed with a last glance at Maedhros over her shoulder. In pensive silence, he took a few pork buns and meandered off out of the way of those trying to reach the table.

Witnessing Elves in the bliss of courtship and wedlock, it was easy to feel cheated. Taking in the countless works of art labored over with such effort and devotion for the sake of romantic love—for a particular paramour, or simply for the notion of it—it was hard not to be frustrated at his own lack of perspective and understanding. Hearing the way others spoke of romance and of marriage—how could he not feel the rest of the world was in a joke he simply didn’t get? Yet Lalwen seemed content.

“Russandol!” He recognized Celegorm’s excited call as he tore himself out of his thoughts. His brother was coming towards him with an ear-to-ear grin that usually spelled Trouble, and even more concerning, with him was Fingon, who rarely spent time in the company of Maedhros’ brothers, less still without him present.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Not what I’m doing,” said Celegorm in a poor pantomime of innocence. “What Findekáno and Irissë are doing.” Maedhros’ eyes snapped over to Fingon, who grinned.

“And what are Findekáno and Irissë doing?”

“Grandfather has some fireworks from your father he has saved for a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And?” said Maedhros.

“And Irissë and I have decided tonight is a special occasion,” said Fingon.

“And why is that?” Fingon shrugged.

“Because it is!” he said. “Tyelko is coming with us. Are you? When the party begins to wind down?” Maedhros scrutinized the pair, opposed in so many ways, but united over the opportunity to make things explode in pretty colors. They were both grinning at him, pleased as a bird on the wind with the prospect of their stolen pyrotechnics.

“Come on, Russandol!” wheedled Celegorm. “Come with us! It will be such fun!”

“I suppose I shall have to,” Maedhros sighed with feigned resignation. “Someone must make sure you burn nothing down by mistake.” Fingon pumped his fist in triumph.

“I shall come and find you when we’re ready!” he said, hurrying off for more food. Celegorm flashed a double thumbs-up and went to go steal sweets from Caranthir. There were plenty on the table, but he insisted the ones he took from their younger brothers and cousins tasted better.

The Arafinweans were in from Alqualondë for at least the next few weeks, which meant Maedhros could pick out their golden heads among the rest of the dark-haired Elves. Finarfin himself was there with Fingolfin, debating over what to take from the table, while Queen Indis leaned over the table to remark to them both. Finrod was over by a window with Turgon and a friend, where they were all in animated conversation about something, which presently involved Turgon using cheese cubes to make a demonstration (Finrod gave a wave when he saw Maedhros looking in their direction). Aunt Eärwen, warmly tanned after several months in her hometown, had her had bowed by Aunt Anairë’s, speaking lowly as they did when they wanted no one to intrude on their conversation. Atar was crouched beside Grandfather’s seat, listening attentively to whatever was being said, while Finwë observed his guests. Aegnor and Amrod were either playing or squabbling, it was hard to say, and either way it was happening perilously close to a pedestal housing a priceless vase. Lalwen was leaning back against a red column in easy conversation with the friends who had summoned her away from him before.

Something which had been tense in Maedhros for some time relaxed slightly. Ammë had warned him he had a tendency to overthink things and while he privately considered Ammë habitually underthought things, perhaps in this instance, there was truth there. Maybe Lalwen was right—maybe he was too worried about something that did not bear worrying about.

His bigger concern, in all truth, needed to be making sure Fingon did not set those fireworks off around a building.

#aspecardaweek #aspecardaweek2023 #maedhros #fingon #lalwen #lalwende #nerdanel #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction

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aliciajadee · 11 days

Note

I saw you’re video you made about what’s going on in your life, and I’m not sure if this will make you feel better but I’m currently struggling too. I think I made a comment about this but I can’t remember, but I had to homeschool last year (Grade 10) and then this year I decided to go to school (Grade 11). The teacher told me 2 MONTHS later that homeschooling isn’t real credits when Grade 11 is already almost over. They said my only option to graduate now is to do Grade 10 over, then 11, then 12. That’s practically 2 more years of school?? I got good grades and did tests home schooling it makes no sense. So I wanted to ask, do you think I should just leave it alone and finish grade 11, and 12 with only electives (I can’t do required classes such as math, science, and English) since I’m not planning on going to university or college anyways and I could still tell people I have Grade 12 for careers because I still would, I just didn’t technically graduate. So should I do that or should I restart Highschool over again?

you can 100% put year 12 completion on your resume. i don’t understand how a teacher can say “homeschooling” doesn’t count????? that makes absolutely no sense????? considering i know multiple people who were homeschooled and then transferred to in person and still graduated and completed high school with the rest of us. i’m majorly confused 😭

i mean if you’re not wanting to go to uni or college straight after graduating i don’t think missing a few credits from year 10 is going to be that detrimental. assuming you completed year 11 and assuming you completed and passed year 12 there’s not really any reason not to tell people that you didn’t complete year 12. you put in the work, the time and the effort and you finished the year. you completed year 12 and that’s that. you have every right to put “year 12 completion” on your resume and tell employers that you completed year 12

also if you decide later down the road that you do want to go to uni, there are sooooo many more ways to get in other than having and ATAR. i wish someone told me that sooner

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animatorweirdo · 7 months

Text

The song of the waves

Your attempt to end your life was unsuccessful, and you were left to continue your less meaningful life, but then the one who saved you came for a visit, and a promise was made.

Requested by Anon

Hi! Saw your requests were open so I hope I made it in time to be one of the 7 - can I request a continuation/next chapter to the song of the waves series? I really want to see what happens next with mermaid Maglor x reader uwu.

Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, scolding, getting grounded, angsty thoughts, energetic dog, social awkwardness, promises, and songs.

Chapter 4

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

The ocean was calm, and the city of Tirion brimmed with life. Mers and other creatures alike went peacefully along with their day, doing errands and greeting their neighbors. Nothing seemed to be out of place.

A loud shout was heard across the royal palace, stopping servants and guards in their tasks as they looked up in confusion and startle.

“You did what?!”

Makalaure, his brothers, and Angarato flinched from the loud tone of Nerdanel, Makalaure’s mother, who was the first to scold them after they returned from their adventure outside Tirion. Feanor Makalaure’s father was on the side with Angarato’s parents, watching him and his brothers with a disappointed look.

“Let me get this straight— you interacted with a human?” Nerdanel questioned.

“Makalaure. It was already bad you, your brothers, and your cousin spent the night outside meddling with a human. But you stayed the night in a human city?!” Nerdanel questioned, “My sweet son, there is a reason why they are considered dangerous,”

Tyelko leaned closer to Makalaure. “Maybe we should not have told them about the whole rescue thing–” he whispered. Makalaure only rolled his eyes before looking back at their mother.

“Do you have any idea what might have happened if other less good-willed humans spotted you and your brothers?” Nerdanel continued.

“Alright, Amme, Atar,” Makalaure started. “I’ll take the full blame over the incident. It’s just there was something wrong with the human we encountered last night. She tried to drown herself. She was obviously not okay, so that’s why I tried to help her,” he explained, and his mother fell silent.

“Oh? It was that kind of thing…” Nerdanel’s gaze softened. Feanor then swam beside her, laying his hand on her shoulder in a comforting manner before looking at Makalaure.

"You did something well-intentioned, son. However, it was still reckless of you and your brothers to spend the night near a human city. You would have risked your own lives if things had ended differently,” Feanor stated. Makalaure looked down in shame after his father's sentence.

"Therefore, as your punishment, you shall not leave Tirion for any reason for the next two months. This also applies to the rest of you," he said, glancing at his brothers and cousin.

“Wait! I can still go hunting, right?” Tyelko quickly asked. “No–not even hunts. Instead of being the responsible one, you followed along and indulged in the whole thing,” Feanor answered, making Tyelko quietly curse and whine.

“Your cousin will take punishment from his own parents. Now, is this understood?” Feanor stated.

“Yes—” his sons answered quietly.

“Good. Now go,” Feanor said, and everyone began leaving the main hall. Makalaure swam through the corridors after bidding farewell to Angarato, and the twins went to do their own things. Tyelko swam over him.

“Well, that went a bit better than expected, even though I got grounded from going to hunts,” Tyelko stated. “Like that has ever stopped you from going to hunt…” Makalaure answered indifferently.

“So… what’s next?” Tyelko asked. Makalaure stopped to look at his brother. “What do you mean what’s next?” he inquired.

“You’re still worried about the human, right?” Tyelko asked back. “You have been brooding ever since we left the human city, so you’re still worried about your rescued princess,” he smirked. “What did you two talk about that got you so worried?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really allowed to go check on her anytime soon,” Makalaure replied.

“So– you are planning to go see her again?” Tyelko’s smirk became wider.

“Only to check she has not tried to drown herself again. I don’t think you would want our old hideout to become a graveyard now, do you?” Makalaure asked.

"Well, true, but maybe it's also because you're worried about her well-being. She did seem like she was not all right in her head," Tyelko tapped his own head as an example, then began swimming away. "Anyway, do let me know when you go outside again. I'd be curious to see her again too," he called out as he disappeared around the corner.

Makalaure stood quiet, alone in the corridor. His mind was filled with thoughts of you, the way you spoke, and the look in your eyes, so devoid of joy and life. He hoped in the deepest parts of his heart that you were doing better than the last time you met and you had not tried to take your life again now that he wasn’t there.

He shook his head and journeyed to his room. Maybe he should try to check on you tomorrow — just to be sure.

You opened the door to your house. The door creaked as you walked in and then closed it behind you. The house was quiet as usual, but when you dropped the keys on the table, your ears caught loud footsteps and an excited bark.

You smiled when you saw your dog, Max, bounce at you with a toothy grin.

"Max..." you crouched down to hug him as he jumped into your arms and began to lick your face. "Max. No—" Delighted giggles escaped you as you nearly fell to the floor under his weight.

You sat down and began petting him, slowly running your fingers through his long white-gray fur.

As Max laid his head on your lap, staring at you with those adoring eyes, memories of the previous night rushed back to you.

Emotions and feelings welled up from within, compelling you to release the tears you had tried to hold back.

You sniffed as you began to cry.

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm so... sorry," Max whined when he noticed the sudden change in your mood. "I...did something really stupid, something stupid and selfish," you choked as Max began to paw you, trying to comfort you as your tears moved freely.

You chuckled as you grabbed one of his paws and held on to it, looking into his eyes that were filled with worry.

"Oh, Max..." You wrapped your arms around him and held him tight, crying on him as he stood still while wagging his tail.

"I'm so sorry. I was gonna leave you behind," you cried then looked at him.

"Luckily... someone saved me," you sniffed, "...someone unnatural," your mind returned to the dark-haired merman, his silver eyes staring into yours. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," you said. Max barked, licking your face like he was telling you to try him.

A smile appeared on your face as you calmed him down from his spontaneous excitement.

"At least... you care besides Meldrick," you stated.

Your eyes then noticed his empty food bowl. Groaning, you pushed yourself up from the floor and approached the kitchen.

"Come on, Max. Let's get you food and maybe push me into a bath,” you uttered to yourself as Max followed you. Your clothes were still damped, and your hair smelled like sea brine. Strangely, there was also an odd taste of fish on your lips.

The sea retained its characteristic calmness, its vast expanse stretching out in all directions under the azure sky. The water's surface mirrored the tranquil nature of the day, with gentle ripples occasionally breaking the stillness.

Makalaure gracefully swam over the rocky terrain, his observant eyes taking in the familiar surroundings. His gaze was like a beacon of light as it fell upon a sack of rocks and a broken rope, a sight he recognized all too well. However, the place around him appeared empty, and you were conspicuously absent.

A sense of relief washed over him, knowing you had not attempted to drown yourself again. Yet, despite this reassurance, an undeniable longing tugged at him—a desire to see you again, to ensure your well-being in person.

You walked up the small pier. The lake behind your house was as calm as ever, and you could smell the fresh scent of the ocean in the distance as it was in your sight behind the rocks and trees that surrounded the lake. The other houses and piers were empty, giving you peace as you sat at the pier’s edge, yesterday’s events still fresh in your mind.

Max was loitering at the beach, smelling the corners and doing his business while you stared into nothing particular.

You glance at your ukulele that was lying on the top of the little stand, a gift from Meldrick for your 13th birthday. He got it during his voyage to the distant islands and decided to give it to you since you were spending your birthday alone again.

Music sometimes calmed you whenever the dark thoughts spiraled within, even though you only knew one song.

You gently picked up the instrument, adjusting the strings before beginning to play, filling the silence with a simple melody.

In the sea, Makalaure wandered among the rocks and stone walls of the island. He paused when his ears caught a faint song echoing through the sea—a soft and somewhat melodic tune. He couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something familiar about it, as if he knew the person playing the instrument.

He knew the ocean could carry music from all corners of the world. That’s what made music so special to him and his people. And because of the familiarity, he decided to find the one playing the song.

The mer followed the song’s echo and tone to a cave. Through the darkness, he saw paths that led into the island. Curious and daring, he swam in, following the song.

You continued playing the ukulele, trying to remember which string to pluck while trying to enjoy the melody. It was nearly working, but something felt amiss, and you forgot the next part. Frustration crept in, causing you to stop and make minor adjustments to the strings.

Your feet dangled above the water, creating tiny whirlpools as you attempted to play the small instrument again, but something was off with the ukulele’s sound, so you gave up and set it down beside you, gazing at the lake.

Something glimmered in the water. You frowned in confusion, staring at the glimmer as a familiar face popped up from the water, the merman from before.

“Oh, hey…” you stared back at him, confused and surprised.

“Hey,” he said back.

“How… Did you get here? I don’t think this lake is connected to the sea?” you questioned.

"There are caves at the bottom of this lake. They lead to the sea, even though the water here tastes much sweeter," the merman explained.

"Ah…" you cocked your head. "I didn't know that... or anyone, in fact."

He swam closer to you, the scales on his tail glimmering with sunlight.

“Was it you playing that song just now?” he asked.

“Uh…” you started, unsure how he heard you play. “Yeah, I was playing my ukulele,” you grabbed your ukulele. “It helps me calm down sometimes,” you explained.

“I only know one song, so it's nothing much,” you said, then looked at him. “Uh… why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be wherever you live in the sea since it's forbidden to be here?” you questioned.

"I... wanted to check on you. You know, in case you tried drowning again," Makalaure looked you in the eye.

"Well... thanks, but I don't think I'll be trying that anytime soon," you replied with a hint of indifference, "Especially with you around."

“Where are the other ones? The blondies and the two redheads,” you asked, noticing their absence.

“They’re at home. They got grounded, so I came along,” he answered, making you look at him curiously. “You got grounded?” you asked. “Yes. Our family was not happy about the whole thing that happened last night,” he said. “Ah…” you looked away, “Sorry about that,”

“You don’t need to apologize. It was I who pulled them along and interfered with your…” Makalaure hesitated. “Drowning attempt,” he finished.

You said nothing, thinking of the whole thing. Makalaure looked at you uncertainly, like he wanted to say something.

“How are you… feeling at the moment?” Makalaure asked.

“Hmm…” you looked at him. “Nothing really… it doesn’t feel like anything changed,” you answered. “It’s just… nothing,” you said.

The air between you grew quiet once more. Makalaure observed as you stared into the distance, unsure how to break the silence. His gaze then fell upon the instrument in your hands, the ukulele, as you called it.

“Could you… play the song again?” he asked.

“Uh… sure. Why though?” you picked up your ukulele.

“I’m curious to hear it again. The melody it produced was lovely, and it was the thing that led me to you,” he said with a smile. “Oh! Uh…” You felt a bit flustered by the thought.

“I’m—” Something big and furry suddenly slammed beside you, barking excitedly and vigorously wagging its tail at the merman before you.

Makalaure pulled back in surprise as the dog beside you barked at him.

“Max, no! Bad boy!” you pulled your dog back, eliciting a whine from him as he lay down beside you, staring at the merman in curiosity.

You returned your gaze to Makalaure, “Sorry about that— this is Max, my dog. He’s friendly but can sometimes get overly excited, especially with new people,” you said.

“Oh, it's fine. I’ve heard about these dogs but never seen one up close before,” Makalaure said as he swam closer, staring at Max in fascination. You made space for him as he grabbed onto the pier and pulled himself up slightly.

“Can I pet him?” he looked at you.

“Sure, go ahead. Max won’t bite,” you said.

He then extended his hand, letting Max smell it before gently laying his hand on the dog’s head and slowly stroking and rubbing with a smile on his face. Max groaned in happiness, wagging his tail from the attention.

He then pulled back, chuckling when he saw Max’s fur stuck to his hand.

“Soft and sticky as much?” He looked at you humorously.

“Yeah… I guess it's Max’s fur-shedding time,” you said. “Sorry about that,”

“Oh, I don’t mind it at all. Your Max kinda reminds me of our hunting seals,” Maglor said, washing the fur away from his hand in the water.

You looked at him curiously.

“You use seals for hunting? Are they like dogs to you?” you asked.

“I guess you could say they’re like dogs to us. Though they have less fur and fewer feet.” Makalure joked, making you snort. Makalaure felt a rush of joy when he saw you smile.

“That’s cool,” you said.

“What is your name? I do not think I asked last time,” he asked.

“(Name) and yours?” you replied.

“My name is Prince Kanafinwe Makalaure, the second son of Prince Feanor and Lady Nerdanel, but you may call me Maglor for short,” he smiled at you.

Your eyes widened after his introduction. “You’re a prince?” you questioned, your tone filled with shock and surprise.

“Oh god— I’m so sorry for all the trouble I caused,” you said.

"No, you don't need to apologize," he said, shaking his head. "Well, how would you react when the merman who rescued you turns out to be a prince as well?" you asked. “Oh! I… guess I would be surprised as well,” he said, more amused.

“My life is getting weirder and weirder,” you said. “I… don’t mean it in a bad way! I did learn about your existence yesterday!” you said, then looked at the sun.

“I think you should go home. It's getting late, and didn’t you say you and the others got grounded ?” you questioned.

“I am, but I told them I was composing a new song in my room. It can take hours, and they learned not to disturb me, so I think I’m safe,” he said. “Thought… dinner time is approaching, and Nelyo has a habit of checking on me by then,” he said thoughtfully.

"Yeah... so maybe that's why you should go," you suggested, surmising that Nelyo was someone family to him.

“However, I would have loved to hear you play the song again,” he looked at you.

"Maybe some other time. I don't want to get you in further trouble, and I'm a bit rusty, so it might not sound great," you explained. "So, how about you go through your punishment, and then you'll be more free to visit and hear me... if you want, I mean," you added.

“I kinda… got grounded for two months so It might take some time,” he replied with a painful look.

“Oh! Never mind then…” you looked away, feeling somewhat disappointed. There was no way he would come back by then.

Makalaure looked at you and sensed hidden sadness behind your eyes. It wasn't overt, but it had become more apparent to him. It stirred both sympathy and a glimmer of joy as it suggested you might want to see him again.

“How about this…” he started, gaining your attention. “I will be a good son and go through the punishment, then come back to hear the song once the two months have passed. In the meantime, you could practice and maybe learn more songs to play. How does that sound?” he asked.

“I… guess so. I’m not certain if I will remember it, though. I have a short memory,” you said back. “That’s fine. I’ll remember it for you. We merfolk are good at remembering things,” Makalaure said.

“Okay… well… I guess I can do that. Sounds simple enough,” you said.

“Excellent! Want to shake hands like you humans like to do? To honor our promise and new friendship,” he extended his hand. You were uncertain but did not want to disappoint, so you grabbed his hand and gave him a firm shake.

“I’ll see you then, (Name). Take care of yourself,” Makalaure smiled, then disappeared beneath the water, his blue tail splashing the surface before he was completely out of your sight. You stared at the empty spot for a moment.

Max whined, disappointed to see him gone. You rubbed his head in comfort, still perplexed by the whole thing.

“What have I gotten myself into?” you questioned yourself. Max tilted his head, staring at you with his black doll-like eyes.

“Will he… come back, though?” you uttered and stared at the water. Max lay beside you as you rubbed his head and thought about your promise to the merman. You didn't know if Maglor would actually come back in two months. You were someone easily forgotten by people, so you didn’t have high hopes. However, somewhere deep down in your mind – you hoped he would do.

With a shake of your head, you stood up and began walking back to your house – Max following right behind. The sun was setting behind the horizon, so you should get started with dinner and spend it alone with Max like you usually did.

#maglor x reader #silmarillion x reader #maglor #silmarillion #mermaid au #silmarillion au #silm fic #tolkien #angst #mermaid maglor #human reader #mermaid / human #middle earth x reader #middle earth

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mdzs-is-rotting-my-brain · 1 year

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Wangxian Mermay 2023

Day V: Ocean

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

A drunken confession sparked a trip three years in the making.

"You are still not going to tell me where we are going." Lan Zhan said.

His look was heavy, Wei Ying could feel the weight of expectation on the side of his face.

Adjusting his hands on the steering wheel he forced his eyes to stay on the road.

"Nope!"

He couldn't lie to his husband. Lan Zhan knew him too well, Wei Ying had been planning this trip for far too long. There had been so many moving parts, so many people to reach out too to make this happen. He was not about to give it away when they were nearly there.

"Sit back and enjoy the trip your devoted husband has made for you."

Lan Zhan settled into seat, picking up his knitting needles again.

Wei Ying loved his husbands knitting, he had four sweaters, five scarves, three pairs of gloves and two slouchy hats. He started the first sweater when they met through Nie Huaisang during a Cultivation event aimed specifically at inter-species cultivators.

Wei Ying really thought Lan Zhan had hated him when they were paired together. Now he knew that stubborn scowl was Lan Zhan fighting the urge to pin Wei Ying to the nearest surface, kissing him senseless.

He made a sweater every fall they had been together.

Four years was shorter than anything else Wei Ying had in his life before. His parents, his life in the Jiang Sect. Unlike those, this felt permanent.

He knew, no matter wha,t Lan Zhan would be there for him. Never let him go.

He had a ton of doubts about a lot of things. But their love. Their relationship was not one of those.

Up ahead he could see the mountains on the right side coming to an end. He knew Lan Zhan had picked up on his anticipation, he could feel his husbands eyes dart to him. Wei Ying fought to keep a straight face and his breathing level.

The mountains fell away to a glitter expanse of water that reached to the horizon and either on either side as far as the eye could see.

Lan Zhan inhaled sharply, his body going taunt.

Easing off the gas Wei Ying pulled into the cut out constructed for tourists.

"I have never been to the ocean."

Lan Zhan hadn't been what Wei Ying considered 'social.' Reticent and reserved. Everything about him so tightly controlled when Wei Ying said he was going out with his friends a year into their dating life, he floored Wei Ying by saying he wanted to come too.

He was pleasant company at the bbq restaurant, though he spoke little, when he did speak he commanded the table. Offering advice, or the most deadpan humor that was the funniest thing in the fucking world.

He also, as it turned out, had a low tolerance for alcohol. An interesting fact Wei Ying delighted in knowing Lan Zhan trusted him enough to watch over him while inebriated. One cup after he got home had been enough to put him on the flat of his back.

He laid with his head on Wei Ying's lap, watching an ocean documentary when he confessed he'd never seen the ocean.

The rest of the story came from there. His mother, a deep sea Atar, from a village so deep in the south it was impossible to find for the few letters she'd been allowed to write, but something she spoke so often Lan Zhan was able to nearly recreate it in paintings.

The paintings he did and the poems she wrote on the back were all he had left her. No family, no village, no connection. He'd wanted so badly to find that village after her death. A desire so deep he went against his uncle and brother, leaving home at fourteen with his inheritance to search for it.

He never found it. And he never had the courage to reach out the family he had left. He didn't want to be judged for his failure despite his conviction.

It was, admittedly, a lot to divulge. More than the knowledge of his story, was the desire to help his boyfriend.

If desire were contagious, then Lan Zhan was patient zero, because after that Wei Ying laid out a plan with Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Mianmain, jiejie and her husband, Jin Zixuan, and the two-faced butterfly, Nie Huaisang. If anyone could do anything and make someone think it was their idea, it was Nie Huaisang.

He'd had the disturbing front row seat to seeing it happen to Meng Yao a few years ago.

Wei Ying was saved from having to work around his boyfriends confession, when he woke the next day remembering nothing. Wei Ying said he spent a few hours rambling about rabbits and their care and fell asleep in the middle of the show.

Lan Zhan seemed pleased and a bit embarrassed, an embarrassment that melted when he took Lan Zhan to the animal shelter to spend a few hours with the rabbits.

(If he had already called and bought the two he knew Lan Zhan had been eyeing for months. No one needed to know but him.)

A successful distraction acquired, Wei Ying set his plan into motion later that week by searching every box in their apartment and storage room until he found the cared for paintings.

Finding contact information for Lan Huan and Lan Qiren was easier.

Sadly, he didn't find them before his and Lan Zhan's modest wedding, but he was sure they would be up for a lavish vow renewal.

It took a long time, lots of searching and traveling up and down the Jiangnan coast by Nie Huaisang before they found the village and the family they were looking for.

He opened the passenger door, offering his hand to Lan Zhan.

Walking with him to the guardrail to look at the greyish blue waters glowing in the late afternoon sun.

Lan Zhan's face was wide open, though he often didn't hide from Wei Ying, he was reserved from a lifetime of habit. It wasn't hard to read him, not after he'd put in the work to learn how Lan Zhan communicated. But he did enjoy these moments. When he did something that obliterated the habit of reservation. Pure awe and delight written in the wide eyes and slight open mouth, his hands gripping the guardrail.

Wei Ying slid an arm into his, kissing his cheek.

"There's more. And I'm letting you know now, I have alternative plans if this is too much for you."

It took a long moment for Lan Zhan to turn away from the ocean, his face still bright, eyes as deep as the sun.

He asked in the slight narrowing of his eyes, the turn of his mouth, and the tinniest of wrinkles between his brows.

Wei Ying kissed the corner of his mouth and stepped asked, gesturing to the village built along the shore.

He felt Lan Zhan go stiff, all emotion wiped off his face.

Wuzhen Water Town was one of the oldest villages on the coast. According to most rumors, and Nie Huaisang, it was the first village to met Atar's.

Like a diamond on a string of pearls, while buildings were dotted among the landscape of forest and shore. Dark roofs polished a deep black and blue, windows glowing with warm yellow light.

Somewhere down there Lan Zhan's maternal family lived, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles. Distant relatives. Local foods he'd never tried, the songs of his people he'd never heard.

And, of course, Lan Huan and Lan Qiren, both of them probably piles of nerves and anticipation.

Lan Zhan's eyes were red, his mouth wobbling, his hands kept flexing on Wei Ying's waist. His gaze kept darting to each house, as if he could pick out his mother's house from the scant few times she described it.

"It's that one, there." Wei Ying pointed to a large estate on a hill, with a balcony built over the cliffs. "Your zufu says-"

"Zufu?" His voice is a warbling note of hope and caution against the hurt.

Wei Ying pulled him into his arms, kissing his neck.

"Your entire family has come from the Deep, and the Land to see you. We didn't stop until we were sure we had everyone." He squeezed him a bit tighter, "Everyone."

"Shufu, Xiongzhang?" His cracked on his brothers formal address, his hands tightening in Wei Ying's jacket.

"Yes. I brought them too. If this is too much I have a hotel reservation a few mi-"

Warm lips silence the rest.

Every kiss has been as exciting as the first, this one more so for the salt that slipped between their lips. How tightly Lan Zhan held him, his fingers digging into Wei Ying's back. One of these days he was going to get something ethereal and beautiful tattooed on his body in every place Lan Zhan left bruises from holding him so tightly.

"Wei Ying." His voice was shot. Rough and thick, the depth of it made Wei Ying want to pull him into the back seat.

"This is about you love." Wei Ying laid a hand on Lan Zhan's chest, his rabbiting heart racing, "How long we stay, who we talk to, and what we do. You say go and we're gone. Anything." He met Lan Zhan's eyes. His face a pale gold from the setting sun, his eyes glowing. Bright and alive. "I mean it."

Lan Smiled at him, both of his hands cupping his face, holding Wei Ying like he was the most precious thing on the planet.

"I want to swim in my mother's ocean with you first."

Wei Ying smiled at him, "Okay."

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Self contained one shots?

We don't know her.

Fun facts: the first recorded legends of mermaids was in Syria (according to an Internet search and no follow up) called Atargatis. So the atargatian potion from day four and the 'atar' abbreviation are mutilations of Atargatis because...I don't know why really Mermaid felt childish to me. I wanted something that was carried differently.

#modao #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #mdzs fanfic #mirmb wangxian mermay 2023 #wangxian mermay 2023

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dalliansss · 6 months

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❝ oh I hate that man, I hate that man ! ❞

→ 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑺𝑳𝒀 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑺.

Findekáno -- Fingon, on this side of Arda, looks up from doing an inventory of his clothing and effects just as his Atar, Nolofinwë (Fingolfin, on this side of Arda), strides into his tent, looking positively livid -- red in the face and stomping his feet like a toddler denied some present or candy during Yule Festival. Fingolfin is still in furs -- as is Fingon -- for here by the lands called Mithrim, it is quite cold. The Noldor decided to encamp here after the ships landed by Losgar, if only to set down their roots before the plans for the first delegation toward Doriath were consolidated.

But back to the present. Fingolfin looked ready to draw his sword and charge all the way to Angband and demand recompense for every discomfort the sailing from Alqualondë had done to him (which, in the very extensive list, consisted of the following: itchy, rough sheets; too thin blankets; round-the-clock vomiting over the railing of the Swanship; the fishy smell from the ocean which they had to endure for months-- etcetera, etcetera).

"Oh, I hate that man! I hate that man!" Fingolfin yells in accented Sindarin.

But Fingon doesn't lose his head. He fiddles with his tunic, inspects it, then folds it and adds it to the stack he's already accounted for. "Who is it today, Atar? Who offended you?" He asks his father, his tone amicable.

"YOUR THRICE-BESHITTEN UNCLE!" Fingolfin rounds on him, eyes round as dinner plates. A vein throbbing somewhere by his left temple that should probably concern Fingon, but, uh... "DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?! DO YOU?! DO YOU?!"

"Uhm, no, considering that I've been here in mine tent all day, doing an inventory of all my possessions. I am also busied counting my money; I've a mind to visit Ingoldo and Carnistir's shop later and see if I can buy myself eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow--"

"YOUR THRICE-BESHITTEN UNCLE WENT OFF TO EXPLORE THE MOUNTAINS! EXPLORE THE FUCKING MOUNTAINS! FOR ORE! WHAT THE-- HE'S THE KING! HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO GALLIVANT OFF INTO THE SUNSET YAMMERING MADLY ABOUT ORES! I'LL SHOVE A GEODE RIGHT UP HIS A--"

"Language, please, Atar," says Fingon. He holds up a pair of undershorts. Aw. He will also have to ask Carnistir to replace the garters... it'd be quite a loose fit.... "If I remember correctly you were the first of us to swear fealty to uncle. You can't curse your king like that. It'd be treason. Please don't give Uncle Fëanáro any more excuse to decapitate you before your time."

Color rushes all over Fingolfin's face. The vein by his temple seems to grow larger. Fingon, despite himself, feels the very faint beginnings of alarm. Should he scream for a healer now? Could Elves die of a busted artery or a vein? Maybe they'd find out.

"Useless!" Fingolfin mutters before he rushes out of his eldest son's tent, no doubt intending to go to Turgon's and there continue his whining in the hopes of finding someone sympathetic to his cause. Fingon had a shrewd idea what his father was up to: rally some support, march out with said support, and bodily drag his Uncle Fëanáro from his budding love affair with the local rocks.

Nasty business, that. Fingon didn't want to deal with the fall-out.

Humming, he finds three more undershorts that need garter replacements, and picking these up, he stands and ventures out of his own tent. Where was Carnistir? He hopes he brought spare garters-- or perhaps Ingoldo did. He has enough coin to pay for some stitches-- or so Fingon hopes. Hmm.

#silmarillion #my drabs #fingon #fingolfin #findekano #nolofinwe #along came an elf

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annoyinglandmagazine · 1 year

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Lesbian Halenthir prt 9

‘Tell me about your brothers. Do I need to worry about them trying to kill or declare war on me for breaching your honour?’ ‘Not unless you do something stupid. Kano got cheated on a few years ago and no one’s seen that guy since.’ Haleth wrapped her arms around Caranthir’s waist and Caranthir let out a sigh of contentment as she settled her head on Haleth’s stomach from her place lying between her legs. ‘Well I don’t need to worry then.’ ‘You do stupid things all the time.’ ‘Not to you.’ Caranthir went quiet as if not sure how to respond before changing the subject.

‘The twins are the youngest. They’re just the babies, no one takes them seriously even though they’re several thousand years old. Amme called them Ambarussa. Yes both of them. We call them Pityo and Telvo most of the time, though the shared name is helpful considering most people can’t tell them apart. Then we have the three Cs of which I, unfortunately, am part. Also known as the problematic middle children.’ At this Haleth let out a giggle, ‘you’re a middle child?’ ‘The middle child actually. Fourth born.’ ‘That explains so much.’ Caranthir reached up to playful jab her arm only to be met with further giggles.

‘Anyway, the younger, Curvo, is basically a carbon copy of Atar. Creepy little arrogant genius. He’s closest with my older brother Tyelko, who literally just enjoys shooting things and being an idiot. Also annoying. They’re conjoined at the hip it’s really weird.’ ‘Are you close with them too?’ ‘Well I don’t like them. We’ve always spent a lot of time together. We spend most of it riling each other up but still. They’re more my brothers than the others to be honest. The older ones were always more like parents and the younger ones just need protecting.’

’What about the older ones? Was one of them king for a while? I’m not entirely sure how the succession works but they should have been high on it right?’ ‘They were both actually.’ And Haleth could tell she’d broached a difficult subject. ‘Nelyo is the oldest. He’s always sort of looked after us. He was good at it. We always went to him when-’ and here she cut off taking a few deep breaths ‘He got- taken a while ago. He hasn’t been the same since we got him back. He couldn’t continue ruling afterwards. While he was- gone, Kano took over for a bit. Kano wasn’t really cut out for that sort of thing. He’s more gentle than the rest of us. A musician, not a warrior.’

For a race that sounded so mystical and above everyone they sounded more like people than Haleth expected. A family that laughed and suffered together, like so many she had known. People forced into positions they were not ready for like she herself was. Caranthir’s fond tone of voice when talking about them, showing that despite everything she seemed to dislike being away from them. Caranthir seemed sad even talking about them so Haleth decided to change the subject.

‘They all sound like they have more than one name, do you as well?’ Caranthir latched onto the topic clearly very happy to have been given an opportunity to talk about it, as if she wasn’t normally meant to. ‘Well my birth names are Carnistir and Morimiriel. Moryo, for short.’ ‘Morimiriel’ Haleth repeated relishing every syllable on her tongue. ‘Why do you introduce yourself as Caranthir then?’ ‘The language of my people has been banned so we had to translate our names to Sindarin.’ This was definitely a topic she had a lot to say on. She let it go though smiling shyly ‘you should stick to Caranthir in public, it’s a politically charged situation. But I wouldn’t mind if I were to be called by the names given to me when it’s just the two of us.’

’I think I can manage that my darling Carnistir.’ She kissed the elf’s shoulder and gazed with a swell of sudden emotion as she drifted asleep with a gentle smile on her face.

#Silmarillion #tolkien #female caranthir #lesbian halenthir #halenthir #haleth #sons of feanor #lesbians #daughter of feanor #genderbend

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 11 months

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so, a random high school memory just popped into my head, and also not so randomly popped into my head from going through my 'relationships I guess' tag.

anyway, I've probs talked before about how anal the catholic school that I went to for high school between 2008 and 2011 (years 7-10) was about the whole "duty of care" thing- especially when it came to formal/prom season in year 10 (2011 for me) and year 12 (2013 for me). so imagine you're one of the 'popular' or 'hot' girls in your year group, and you've got your hot boyfriend whose 21 (yikes in hindsight), that you want to bring to your year 10 formal. the school says no bc of "duty of care"- so then you have to pair up with one of the boys in your year that you don't like in that way- just for the sake of having a formal date/partner.

say you're now in year 12 and you're still one of the popular girls- albeit one of the ones that everyone hates. you want to take your boyfie who graduated the year prior (2012), who is from the same school. however, that also rules him out as a date to your year 12 formal, despite him being only a year older and a previous student of the school. so again, you must take one of your guy friends from your year group to the formal with you.

compare this to the public school that I transferred to for years 11 and 12 (2012-2013). one of my close friends took her 21 year old boyfriend to our year 12 formal. like obvs there's not much you can do, considering nearly all of us (bar people who were late November and December birthdays) were 18, so maybe the teachers at that school felt like they didn't have much of a say of who people brought as their dates to the formal. also two boys from the catholic school actually turned up to this school's formal too.

but it was the distinct form of freedom to me, that the school didn't seem to give a flying fuck about what you did or who your brought along to this event. whereas the catholic school enjoyed sticking their noses into EVERYONES business telling you who you can and can't take to your formals/proms- even if they were former students of the school the previous year- or even current students in the year below you. it's a date from your year or NOTHING- and woe is you if you have the sheer audacity to go alone to the event. what a shame.

but in the case of the girl who in year 10 in 2011 that kept campaigning for her 21 year old DJ (house party dj) boyfriend to not only be the DJ for our formal (he has better music than the DJ the school uses for our socials (school dances)), but also to be her date... like paula. that 21yo grown ass man does NOT love you. you are 15/16. what on earth does this 21yo scumbag douchebag dude have in common with you??? why is he pushing you to take him, as your date, to your HIGH SCHOOL formal??? please don't bring him and stop begging to have him as the DJ.... when it's not the music that he's really there for. it's the access to girls your age.... when he's fuckin 21 and should be nowhere near a teen girl's year 10 formal/junior prom (not counting family tagging along to the photos portion of the event).

because I can see now that the catholic school, to some extent, did care about safety when the 21yo boyfriend wanting to be a formal date thing came into play. because I remember when I turned 21 in 2016, when the 16-18yo year 10 to year 12 students from the nearby high schools would come to my home uni's campus for lunch and decent coffee during their free periods or lunch breaks. i remember thinking "christ they're so young" and stuff like that. whenever I heard them talking amongst each other about their HSCs (end of high school exams) and ATARs (uni entrance marks), I always thought to myself, "god. I remember when that shit actually mattered.... and it doesn't now lmao bc I'm here". and "they really are just kids."

then when I did a couple of first year electives the next year, 2017, and I talked to the 18yos in those classes..... I realised how much I'd grown and stuff in the 4 years since high school had finished for me. and it was esp stark when all those kids kept telling me to turn in my work from high school.... all because that's what they were doing to save time, and they were apparently "getting high distinctions" bc their work was just "so good and intelligently written" or whatever bullshit they told me. so when I told them that, "hey. uh I can't really do that because I've grown so much since late high school that my writing voice is quite different and matured... and I don't think I could make my work NOT sound like it was written by 16 to 18 year old me." to which they'd always respond to me with "well that just means you're NOT a talented enough writer like me. why are you even in an arts degree if you can't make your work sound as good and as smart as mine???" like good luck, dana and jack, when your high school bs work starts running out..... and you realise halfway through uni that you're not as talented as you think you are.... and that your professors were just being nice to you in your first semesters. your teenage hubris will come crashing down soon. trust me.

but my point is that my growth between my late teen years and my early 20s was pretty big. I remember thinking that even the 17/18yos I was with in those 2017 first year electives with were practically still kids. but obvs being 18 and having moved interstate (some of the first years) makes them, to themselves, more mature and worldly than me, who is just a lowly local student vs becca who moved 10 hours away from her family to attend my local uni.

but my point is, to my younger followers, if i have any.... is that your high school has a point with duty of care rules, to not let you take your partner, esp if they're in their early 20s and you're 16-18 for your junior or senior prom. like yes it may be an absolute pain that you have to take laikynn, who is a dumb rudeass jock or the weird kid teddy or yknow- shock, horror you dare to go alone- bc fuck "needing a date" to these things.

but your early 20s partner is at a different stage of life to you- and defs should not be cruising around a year 10 formal/junior prom venue trying to idek "keep an eye on you" or whatever the stupid excuse is about wanting to go with you- let alone date you in the first place. bc never once, in my early 20s, did I want to date a 16-18yo. even if yes, there was only 4 years of age difference between me and the new 18yo uni students in 2017. but that 4 years meant that I was almost graduating, meant that I'd been to business college (this was a rip-off to get me into uni tbh) and had significant other stuff going on that made me grow, instead of y'know, just stagnating and staying in a teenagers mindset.

it meant that I was contemplating my future a bit... where would I go with my english/philosophy degree??? while the new students were still riding the highs of getting their desired ATARs or getting into uni through early entry. probs still thinking nice fluffy thoughts that an arts degree will make them a millionaire and get them hired instantly. when in reality, no one wants to hire you and will instantly pigeon-hole you into a teaching role.... despite your complete disinterest in the job field... and you personally knowing that it's NOT a fit for you.... but i digress.

so yeah. I now realise that the catholic school actually had a point with being hella anal about duty of care when it came to my formals/proms. so to any younger users on here: if some early 20 something person wants to date you, and wants you to take them to your high school event, really question their motives and why on earth they'd really want to go to your year 10 formal/junior prom or even senior events, with you.

you're 15/16 for junior prom/Y10F. take jake from science class or carina from english class. or go alone with your friends, bc you won't die if you don't have a partner for these events.... despite what that society says. or whatever weird bs an older partner could spit out to try to go with you. same goes for senior prom. go with someone your own age, not your 23yo partner who shouldn't be dating a teenager - like bro (gender neutral) knows what rent is and how to pay it. bro knows how to pay interest on a car loan. dump their ass. hell go with a person in the year below you, like i could've done for my year 12 formal. just don't invite some 20 something year old to a high school event it's weird af.... and your school has a point in regards to safety.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #relationships i guess

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