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silmarillionwritersguild · 2 months

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Instadrabbling starts in an hour on the SWG's Discord server, at 13:00/1PM UTC!

Come write and create with us! Instadrabbling involves creating and sharing flash fanworks together. Want to give it a try? You can join our Discord server here!

(If you missed the open invite above, request an invite here.)

This event is a celebration of International Fanworks Day and is also an opportunity for participants in our Meet & Greet challenge to collect prompts for the challenge.

#silmarillion #tolkien #swg event #instadrabbling #swg meet and greet

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tame-a-messenger · 14 days

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just read the ask about what the announcement could be and how you said it wouldn't take long to organise SSG.

I work in immersive theatre and events, an undertaking like SSG even within an internal company would be a massive undertaking and could take between 3 months to 6 months to plan properly depending on where it's taking place.

You have to book the site where it's taking place, making sure no one else is around because Smosh are notoriously loud while filming. You have to make sure everyone is available, as a business they need to transport everyone out to the site and if it's far enough away put the cast and crew up in hotels as it's going to be a multi-day shoot and it may be too far for them to get back home. You also have to advertise it well in advance to maximise the excitement and views of SSG. There are also a ton of other details that I have no clue about because I don't work within film/TV/digital content. (Also call me stupid, but I think a sleepaway camp themed SSG would be hilarious)

I'm glad we can talk about this!

I also was taking into account most of the things you mentioned (booking a site that would be unbothersome, the hotels/lodging, everyone being available for at least a week straight(?), and the actual process of getting all the cast and crew to location) and I still believe that is something they could get done, with a lot of hard work.

My biggest worries regarding it (and the biggest reasons I feel they haven't done it already) are making sure everyone gets to go, with most of the cast being freelance and therefore busy.

Another BIG thing is having enough crew to film IRL content. Since most of the crew works with 3 steady-cams and the occasional hand-cam, it is a big undertaking if they tried to film anything as chaotic as SSG Wild West or any of the other Games versions.

I don't think they currently have enough people to film it well. (meaning they would have to hire on more camera operators and everything else) Which I'm imagining is not only a big chunk of change $ but also hiring new people could make for an uncomfortable atmosphere.

As for them advertising it- I haven't seen ONE person that's in the Smosh fanbase not want them to continue doing SSG/SWG. I'm EXREMELY CONFIDENT that if they did some crowd funding they would hit the goal. No question. Which leads me onto the next big thing-

I'm curious if they haven't done it because of legal issues regarding health and safety.

Most of the games they would do involved a lot of potentially harmful 'stunts' that the cast did themselves (obviously), like the mouse trap blindfolded thing they did in SSG Camp, or the mechanical bull riding in Wild West (pretty much every season had some sort of dangerous activity) so I could see them not wanting to have someone get hurt and have legal action taken. (obviously I wouldn't want someone to get hurt regardless, but we're talking about absolutes)

I still think it's possible for them to do it, it would just take someone with gusto to head the whole thing (something Smosh has been missing recently). It makes me really miss some of the old producers.

I think I mentioned that if they were going to do SSG they would have already been planning it for at least a month (so that would be the minimum you said- 3 months) so I'm starting to think because that wasn't what they were teasing today that we aren't going to get SSG but SWG is still on the table?... maybe...?

So biggest things I can see causing trouble-

Not enough crew

Cast having enough freetime for a week(?) of videos

Legal is scary

Not having someone willing to lead the charge (it is a big undertaking)(but not impossible)

If they wanted to they would. But benefit of the doubt says timing is a cold hearted bitch.

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ecoamerica · 22 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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elennalore · 2 months

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SWG Meet and Greet prompt

Here's a prompt for @silmarillionwritersguild Meet & Greet Challenge:

A minor catastrophe

#swg meet and greet #silm fandom event #swg challenge

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imakemywings · 5 months

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Uncovering The Hidden City: Depictions of the Siege of Gondolin in Popular Culture

KEY WORDS: Gondolin, Hidden City, Turgon, Idril, Tuor, Maeglin, First Age, Morgoth, Earendil, siege, theater, literature, radio, cinema, pop culture

Viewing options: AO3 | SWG

Not much is remembered of the famed Elven stronghold of Gondolin, but of a few things we are relatively certain: It was ruled over by King Turgon, son of high king Fingolfin; it kept itself hidden from the forces of the so-called “dark lord” Morgoth for centuries through a policy of careful isolationism; and it was eventually betrayed by Turgon’s nephew, his sister-son Maeglin Lómion.

What texts survive from the First Age—and few enough of the Gondolindrim survived both the sack of Gondolin and the Third Kinslaying to tell their tales—paint an incomplete picture, and since the end of that Age, we have been trying to fit the pieces together and complete the image. Why do we have such an interest in this tale? Is it because of the likelihood that Gondolin was the last of the Elven strongholds to fall during the Great Darkness, making it an event of staggering significance to the peoples of Middle-earth at the time? Is it out of a sense of grief for the loss of a city which, by all accounts, was a cultural cornucopia at the time? Or is it simply because the family entanglements allegedly involved make for such a lurid tale?

Pop culture portrayals of the event vary widely in both tone and focus, as well as which characters they sympathize with. Few things remain constant where so much is left to the imagination. Even the few key pieces of information we have about Gondolin and its people are open for manipulating where a playwright or director sees a chance for a more engrossing story. However, the endurance of the tale suggests that nothing can compete with reality in the realm of this particular event.

The Númenorean Play (Title: The Fall of Gondolin) – Published at the height of Númenor’s Elf-mania, this play is an unabashed love letter to Gondolin and the descendants of Fingolfin. In this script, King Turgon is a heroic figure for the ages; the play opens on his battling through the Nirnaeth Arnoediad as he hacks an escape for his soldiers through an onslaught of orcs. In the wake of Turgon’s coronation as high king of the Noldor, a tense conversation between Maeglin and Idril in an empty hall paints a subtle picture of the tensions waiting to pull Gondolin apart.

Idril’s husband Tuor is given a very prominent place in this production, which is perhaps unsurprising. Here, the Way of Escape is actually Tuor’s proposition, begun by Idril, though many historians vigorously defend Idril’s legacy as the one responsible for the escape route.

Having set the stage with the interpersonal conflict, The Númenorean Play wastes little time in rushing through Maeglin’s betrayal to focus on the actual assault. The height of this drama is Tuor’s rescue of Idril from Maeglin’s lustful clutches, and his son from Maeglin’s murderous intent. Clearly Númenor relished the notion of a Man being responsible for the rescue of the Elven princess and the defeat of the king’s greedy nephew.

Thanks to the copious records both kept by both Númenor and certain Elven enclaves of the time, we have a fairly solid understanding of the cultural impact. The play fell out of favor as Númenor turned away from the Elves, which made it all the more popular among the Faithful. It grew increasingly political in Númenor’s declining years, until it was scarcely about Gondolin at all, but rather a statement on the alliance of Men and Elves. In the final years of the kingdom, it was banned outright by Ar-Pharazon, who claimed it caused excessive unrest, and amidst criticism from his advisors concerning the portrayal of a Man wedding an Elf of higher rank than himself and producing a child of mixed blood.

The Play of Lothlórien (Title: The Final Days of Gondolin) – Few records survive of the arts of the Elvish enclave of Lothlórien, but those that do are almost entirely thanks to the efforts of lingering guests of Rivendell and Queen Arwen Evenstar of Gondor, who made documentation of Lothlórien’s culture and history a cornerstone of her rule. Therefore, although this play was not well-received by Mannish kingdoms at the time, significant records of it remain and it was performed at least once in Minas Tirith.

For reasons unclear, the playwrights of Lothlórienby decided to give a more sympathetic view to Maeglin, who here is actually put to torment by Morgoth before revealing Gondolin’s location, and who reaches out to both Turgon and Idril in an effort to repair the damage, but is somewhat coldly rebuffed by both. Dialogue also indicates Maeglin has been neglected since his arrival in Gondolin—here, on the cusp of adolescence, as opposed to in the fullness of adulthood as in other adaptations—and that he is unpopular among Turgon’s advisors, and is particularly misliked by Idril and Tuor.

While The Final Days of Gondolin presents an interesting “alternate” perspective, most historians today agree that it sacrifices accuracy for narrative, choosing to portray Maeglin’s unfair malignment and ostracization (in some versions, due to his mixed heritage—though Idril’s own mixed heritage is not addressed) as the main cause of his discontent. Today, many feminist groups also criticize The Final Days of Gondolin for the implication that Idril was at fault for not being more accepting of her cousin’s unwelcome romantic advances.

The Idis Play (Title: The Fall of Gondolin and the Kingdoms of the Elves) – Once again we see an effort by Men to capture the fall of Gondolin on stage. The Fall of Gondolin and the Kingdoms of the Elves is unique in the liberal use of horses on the stage, which makes it particularly difficult to put on nowadays. At its debut in Edoras, it would have been performed outdoors, making life a bit easier for everyone, with regards to the equine actors.

Once again, the Men of the story take centerstage. This play devotes time to Tuor’s journey to Gondolin, including a meeting with Ulmo, lord of the sea, in Vinyamar, before it dives into the politics of Gondolin, largely from Tuor’s perspective. The play draws strong comparisons between Turgon—who allegedly constructed Gondolin to honor Ulmo—and Tuor, Ulmo’s chosen champion. It devotes considerable time to Maeglin then cleaving Turgon away from Tuor, his spiritual kindred, and Idril, his loyal daughter.

At first brush, the play is perhaps surprisingly politically-focused for a play of the Rohirrim, but it is possible that the country’s past history with insidious influences on otherwise well-liked kings—one recalls centuries earlier the damage done by one Gríma Wormtongue—that this particular aspect of the fall of Gondolin struck home with the Rohirrim.

As to the speculation on Tuor’s pre-Gondolin wanderings, it is impossible to say how much is true or false. Whatever Tuor may have seen that led him to believe a Vala wished him to seek out this city has been lost to us. But one thing is clear—Turgon took Tuor’s words seriously.

Many modern showings of this play choose to conclude the final scene of the refugees’ flight with a few seabirds sailing overhead, foreshadowing the group’s arrival in the Havens of Sirion and perhaps even Eärendil’s future marriage to Elwing, last queen of Doriath, perhaps most famous for the tale of her transformation into a white seabird during the Third Kinslaying.

The Meadaz Novel (Title: Like Leaves from the Vine) – Like Leaves from the Vine, from Haradrim author Meadaz, focuses almost entirely on the relationships between Tuor, Idril, and those immediately surrounding them, almost to the exclusion of anything relating to Morgoth or outside threats. The book was a raving success at the time and remains on most “classics” lists for its passionate, poetic prose and subtle touch with the interpersonal relationships.

Like Leaves from the Vine reads almost as classic Haradrim romance epic, beginning with a meeting of Tuor and Idril not long after Tuor’s arrival in Gondolin. The pair are clearly smitten, but much stands in their way, and neither is sure whether such a relationship would be possible (This novel posits theirs as the first romance between Elves and Men, though the accuracy of this claim is doubtful.)

In this novel, Maeglin arrived in Gondolin at the cusp of manhood and was welcomed by his cousin, who has, this far into adulthood, grown weary of rebuffing his romantic attention and mistrustful of his desires, despite lingering familial affection. It isn’t until his attempted assault of her on the night before Morgoth’s arrival that Idril seems to truly give up on him.

Also tackled in this novel is Turgon’s relationship with and his effort to mentor Maeglin—and Maeglin’s occasionally conflicted feelings about plotting Turgon’s overthrow. At times he seems to almost regard Turgon as a father figure, but he always comes back to his burning ambition and his resentment over Idril’s rejection. With far more time to linger than a play, Meadaz even digs into Maeglin’s relationship with Salgant, who here appears almost besotted, or at least eager to have someone’s approval, as well as Tuor’s reception by various lords of Gondolin, chief among them Glorfindel of the Golden Flower and Ecthelion of the Fountain.

Precious little is known about the lords of Gondolin, save that one of them called Glorfindel existed, and likely partook in the battle for Gondolin. Like Leaves from the Vine popularized his title as lord of the Golden Flower, but if it is accurate, it is difficult to say. Ecthelion may be an invention of this author, though the name was known in the area at the time.

Some literary scholars cite the awkward pacing of the novel’s conclusion as a sign that the author wished to end with the guard spotting the approach of Morgoth’s troops and Idril’s realization that someone has betrayed them to the enemy, but felt pressured to include the actual sack of the city for completeness’ sake. Others suggest extended, bloody battle sequences were simply considered uncouth among Haradrim literati at the time. Still other scholars point to the constant loom of Morgoth as a more existentialist threat, meant to stand in for the many non-military threats constantly facing any city at the time and argue that Meadaz uses the forces of “the enemy”—not seen until the very end of the novel—as a metaphor.

Deftly mixed into the ever-shifting interpersonal drama are Meadaz’s own reflections on a culture on the verge of destruction, perhaps reflective of Harad’s long history of struggle with despots and invaders. At some points, the text is positively philosophic, to wonderful effect for the reader who knows already what is in store for these characters.

The Blue Mountains Radio Drama (Title: Secrets of the Hidden City) – While radio was slow to take off in Dwarvish communities due to its limited functionality underground, use of it came quicker in above-ground diaspora groups due to the speed and convenience of communication. Dwarvish techsmiths quickly set about perfecting the system, and eventually the radio dramas popular among Men and Hobbits also took root. One of the earlier examples of an epic radio dramas put out by a Dwarvish cast and company was Secrets of the Hidden City.

What is truly impressive about Secrets of the Hidden City is how much research clearly went into it. Dwarvish historical productions tend to stick more closely to truth and accuracy than many you will see on a Mannish stage, and this was no different. Entire episodes are dedicated to describing city function and architecture—episodes very well-received by their Dwarvish audience. Historians continue to applaud the show for its commitment to accuracy, and where question arose, working out the most logical or likely truth based on surrounding information.

Playing into the crime dramas which were popular in the community at the time, Secrets of the Hidden City chooses to make Gondolin aware that it has a traitor in its midst and focus on the tension of the effort to root that person out. It takes pains to establish that Maeglin is a liked and trusted figure in Gondolin, suspected by Idril alone, so that to anyone unfamiliar with the tale, it comes as a shock when his treachery is revealed. Turgon’s agonized response is particularly touching; to learn that one he considered his own son had plotted the destruction of all that Turgon built is a crushing blow to the king, who chooses to remain behind and die with his city, in what is heavily implied to be a suicide.

Throughout Secrets of the Hidden City, there is a great focus on how beloved Gondolin is by its citizens, such that listeners are encouraged to grieve Gondolin as if it too, were a beloved character meeting a terrible end. When the characters at the finale wail and bemoan their losses, no one doubts that Gondolin itself is included in their grief, and that some of their tears are for all the history, culture, and memory that is lost with her destruction.

The Andir Play (Title: Reflection: Fall of a Bastion) – This play is entirely a soliloquy by Maeglin to the audience, which therefore requires an extraordinarily powerful actor to cast as the lead. Here, Maeglin is presented as a disembodied spirit who has rejected the call of Namo, the lord of the dead, and instead drifts in regret and bitterness around the ruined landscape of a Middle-earth deep in the throes of the Great Darkness.

Throughout the play he laments to the audience about his life, beginning with his complicated relationship with his father, Eöl. While Maeglin insists they are nothing alike, the audience listens as more and more similarities between them crop up. He takes the audience through his wonder at first arriving in Gondolin and his pride at his place beside the king to the resentment and ambition which consumed him as an adult, leading to his eventual betrayal of the city which had taken him in.

Perhaps the most powerful moment of this play is when Maeglin cries out to the silent theater that when he gave Morgoth the location of the city, it was not fear of torture first on his mind, but rage with Idril who had spurned him, and Tuor who had wed the woman he desired.

Therefore, while this play roundly condemns Maeglin’s actions in life, it also presents him as a very three-dimensional character, one with the capacity for regret: someone who had the ability to be better, but instead chose a path of darkness. It launched the career of playwright Andir who rocketed onto the scene, with most critics praising the claustrophobic power of the piece. It is also surprisingly historically accurate, though some things—such as Maeglin’s recollection of certain festivals of the city—were inventions of Andir to give more depth to Maeglin’s memories.

The Oreldes Film (Title: Princess in Peril: The Fall of Gondolin) – Princess in Peril places Idril front and center, and never strays from her. While the film has been criticized for its blatant historical inaccuracies in costuming and set design (Rog’s perm is particularly egregious), one can find few faults with the snappy performance of Ionith in the lead. Take issue with the modern dialogue one might (it seems doubtful that Gondoldrim ever started a horse race with “Cowabunga!”), but Ionith delivers it confidently and with the aggressive punch the director puts behind this entire interpretation of her character. Promotional posters of her from the film were so popular at the time they have come back in vogue as “retro glampunk.”

Princess in Peril does not perhaps present Idril as the most conscientious princess, but it does give enormous credence to her foresight and her suspicions. Additionally, in this adaptation, Tuor does not come to Idril’s aid during the sack: Idril slays Maeglin herself, and rescues Eärendil from the clutches of Salgant, aiding Maeglin to off Idril’s heir. It has been criticized for extending that fight too long—it takes several encounters with both characters throughout the chaos of battle before Idril offs them definitively, all set to the flaming backdrop of the burning city and a rock n’ roll score.

In the final sequences, Idril takes up her father’s fallen sword and charges the palace of kings in time for Turgon to be seized by a firedrake. His final words are an plea to flee with what Gondolindrim she can gather. Idril slays the firedrake and cradles her father’s body in her arms, bidding him a final sooty, teary goodbye before leading her people out of the city.

This focus almost exclusively on Idril comes perhaps as contemporary critics felt she had been overshadowed by the male drama of the tale. However, its own lack of nuance leaves something of a hollow final product, as we have very little idea of who this power princess is. Much of the film’s potential emotional stakes are sacrificed for the at-the-time cutting-edge special effects of battle. But even if the film fails to give us a satisfactory answer, it does indicate that even at this time, curiosity about who this woman was and what she experienced lives on, and if the specifics have been lost to time, we nevertheless remember her as a hero.

The Jolly Green Goblins Podcast (Title: Real Community Organizers of Gondolin) – Real Community Organizers of Gondolin was launched almost ten years ago now, and at one point was a pop culture staple. Borrowing from popular TV comedies several years earlier, it styled Gondolin as a workplace mockumentary and its razor-sharp, dark humor and lightning fast, quippy dialogue kept listeners in stitches for years.

Real Community Organizers of Gondolin picks up several years after the wedding of Tuor and Idril, with a meeting of the king’s council. It is the perfect opening to showcase the writers’ phenomenal talent for biting dialogue and quickly establishing characters and dynamics. Listening to the bickering of the Gondolin Home and Gardens Committee became such a staple of pop comedy that it was frequently referenced by multiple late show hosts during the podcast’s run. Similarly well-known gags, which pervade even that audience which managed to avoid listening to the actual show include Turgon’s interview sigh, which manages to convey a deadpan expression even without visual aid, and the constant references to everyone’s inability to leave the city (“I’d kill for a Hithlum taffy,” sighs Egalmoth. “I mean I really would. I better stay inside today.”)

However, the show rapidly lost favor in the final season, which chose to tackle the fall of the city as a way to wind up the show. It became painfully clear midway through the show the writers had no idea how to balance their typical humor with the overwhelming horror of what was taking place in the city. No amount of sassy quips could overcome Maeglin’s attempted murder of seven-year-old Eärendil or Ecthelion’s brutal death at the hands of a balrog.

In recent interviews reflecting on the end of the show, writer Cothes admitted the team could not decide between going dark enough to mock the terrible fates many of the characters met, or switching tone entirely to something more genuine, and the result was the confused muddle of the final season. She suggested they might have benefitted from simply taken far more artistic license with the story to make it fit their purposes better, but that they felt constrained by prior interpretations which are often take as the “truth” of the story in the popular imagination.

Nevertheless, the show’s focus on petty banalities and irreverent takes on the difficulties of ruling the Hidden City show a human side to the characters involved. There’s something relatable in seeing Idril oversleep for the council, in Turgon’s frustration with trying to get the lords to agree on something in Tuor’s realization about just how much of his monthly budget he’s spent on new outfits for Eärendil, in their tendency—as much as ours now—to get caught up in the minutia of things which barely matter in the grand scheme. Real Community Organizers of Gondolin shows us that they were all people, for better or worse, by giving us a look at their less noble sides.

Conclusion

What can we observe from these often widely varying interpretations of Gondolin’s end? It is one of those “grand tales” of the First Age, a towering myth in which is buried some truth, though much has been lost to the ages, and likely much invented by those that came after. There are some constants: We know there was a city. We know there was a king, a princess. We know there was a betrayal. And the city fell. The residents of Gondolin could not save their city, despite the best efforts of Princess Idril and perhaps of others—and while we cannot effect change of the past, we can do our best to remember them still.

Doubtless many Gondolindrim died or lived on thinking of how things might have been different. And perhaps that is part of the draw for us as well—that in this play, in this book, in this movie, maybe Gondolin will be spared. Perhaps King Turgon will not die. Perhaps Eärendil’s life will not be threatened. Perhaps they will not have to walk away from the corpse of their home.

Perhaps we are drawn to the heroism in spite of the grimness of Gondolin’s situation: that the lords of Gondolin fight, despite the overwhelming odds; that Idril leads the fleeing civilians rather than place her own life ahead of theirs; that Turgon goes down with his city. Or perhaps we cannot help but fixate on the tragedy of so grand a place brought down by something as small as one bitter malcontent, ready to burn it all to the ground to satisfy his anger.

The tale of Gondolin’s final days fascinates us for many reasons, not least of all because there remains in all the grief a spark of hope: the survival of Eärendil, future leader of the Gondolindrim, and one who will go on to bring succor to the people of Middle-earth, eventually turning the tide against the Great Darkness, allowing a calmer age of peace and prosperity to dawn, even if it did not last forever. Gondolin’s story takes us through a whirlwind of emotions: the joy of Tuor and Idril’s love, the anxiety over Maeglin’s resentment, the anger at his betrayal, the fear of the siege, the sorrow at Gondolin’s end. In living through this memory of the past, in keeping it alive, we remind ourselves that we are all the Children of Middle-earth, past, present, and future, and we have always and ever been together moving towards a softer, gentler dawn.

#rocky writes #turgon #idril #tuor #maeglin #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #somebody on ao3 suggested I write one of these for Gondolin so here we are #Gondolin #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction

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silmarillionwritersguild-art · 7 months

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Featuring @ylieke's incredible art like this portrait of Sauron

Ringed by wordless faces, the portrait room in an art museum has a certain hush to it. There is the human face, many times over, a deceptively simple theme. Yet within those faces, lines hint at past pain. Eyes flash from a face defined by age or youth. The best portraits seem to capture just a moment in a story passing on either side of that brief second in time. It is possible to imagine what happened leading up to the portrait and what transpired after. The impeccable, impressionistic paintings of Ylieke seem to belong in such a gallery. Although Ylieke describes her work as centered on storytelling, these are not complicated action scenes. Instead, it is the eyes, the hands, the faces of her characters that speak to what they are feeling and experiencing in that moment, leaving no doubt that there is a rich story happening on either side of it.

In our latest Tolkien Fanartics column, firstamazon @ettelene (Tumblr) caught up with Ylieke to learn more about her technique, goals, and beliefs as a fan artist. Interestingly, Ylieke describes her own work as, "not so good at drawing emotions," with which this viewer would strongly disagree. However, no matter what you creative form of choosing, Ylieke's careful look at her own work and approach to art might be useful advice: "Sometimes illustrations just don’t come out as they were envisioned. The best course of action in this case is to finalize the work as well as you can and move on. The next work will be 0.001% better."

You can read firstamazon's interview with Ylieke here: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/6965, published by @silmarillionwritersguild.

P.S. If you'd like to get our weekly email newsletter, you can subscribe here. Each week's edition includes fanworks added to the SWG that week, SWG news, and a rundown on ongoing events around the Tolkien fandom ... and of course our regular columns like Tolkien Fanartics, Character of the Month, a Sense of History (real-world comparisons), Cultus Dispatches (Tolkien fan studies) and more!

#swg art #silmarillion writers guild #tolkien fanart #tolkien fandom #artists on tumblr #artist interview #tolkien #silmarillion fanart

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cilil · 1 month

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✧࿐⭑ past events masterlist .*

⭑ collaborations/community events .*

✧.* dappled dapper drabbled pony races

✧.* my slashy valentine 2024

✧.* ainur secret santa (Námo & Irmo, Nienna)

✧.* tolkien pinup calendar (fic & art) (Melkor x Mairon x Gothmog, Manwë, Eönwë)

✧.* lotr secret santa (Eönwë x Gothmog | Melkor x Mairon x Gothmog)

✧.* white oliphaunt (Eönwë x Gothmog, Ori, Maedhros, Fingon, Caranthir)

✧.* scribbles & drabbles (overview here)

✧.* tolkien reverse summer bang 2023: to fan the fire (Orc OCs, gen) the rogue royal wedding (Melkor x Mairon, omegaverse) a reward for loyal service (Gothmog x Melkor x Mairon)

✧.* my slashy valentine 2023 (angbang, 5+1)

✧.* tolkien secret santa 2022

⭑ fandom weeks .*

✧.* silmarillion epistolary week

✧.* fëanorian week (event blog here)

✧.* manwë week (event blog here)

✧.* lotr week

✧.* tolkien family week (event blog here)

✧.* deadly sins

✧.* silm smut week

✧.* summer stories

✧.* ainur week

✧.* silvergifting week

✧.* angbang week

⭑ prompt events/challenges .*

✧.* femslash february

✧.* winter drabbles

✧.* dead dove december

✧.* november prompts

✧.* fotfictember

✧.* athelas 20 day drabble challenge

✧.* fotfics april alphabet challenge

⭑ swg challenges .*

✧.* swg it comes in threes

✧.* swg meet & greet

⭑ bingo cards .*

✧.* sweet & spicy bingo card

✧.* fotfics spicy bingo

⭑ holiday gifts for you! .*

✧.* cílil's fantastic ficmas

✧.* silmarillion gift giving

✧.* halloween special!

✧.* march 25th - one ring destruction anniversary 2023

#masterlist #fandom events #yeah i made a new one because it was getting long xd

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arizonapoppy · 5 months

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fanfic ask: 2 and 5 ! 👀

Thank you for the ask @batrachised ! I have greatly enjoyed following along with everyone's commentary on Kilmeny- I'm looking forward to joining in with the next read along in the LMM community. Which brings me to

2. Do you participate in any writing events or challenges throughout the year? If so, what do you like about them?

Most challenges I do are in the Tolkien community, because there is usually something every month, such as Teitho or Silmarillion Writer's Guild. MyEvilMouse has random challenges in the Star Wars community that take minimal arm twisting to join as well. EM's challenges usually get me out of my comfort zone, like writing smut for the Luke + All The Ladies challenge. I like the SWG monthly challenges because they are so creative and unique. I wish I could do more with them!

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

The perfect environment for me to write in is at the coffee shop across the street from the back entrance of my neighborhood. They have a meeting room with big long tables and outlets and a nice picture window. It has the most amazing muffins. Ideally it would not be a morning that MMO is there. One time I was busily typing in a different area of the coffee shop. This spot is off the exit to the courtyard. A three year old child came in from outdoors, walked up to me, and licked my peach crumble muffin that was sitting on the stool in front of me. The mother was mortified and offered to buy me a new one. I was pretty sure I had gotten the last one, so I just laughed and laughed and peeled that part off but it took me a moment to get back into the right headspace after that.

Anyone else want to send me a writing ask? Here's the list

#poppy's musings

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hhimring · 1 month

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A Special Find

Minor catastrophes cluster on the site of an archaeological dig and someone even gets hurt. But it could be worse, as an unexpected arrival changes the course of events. Then something happens in the middle of the night... And it turns out that our heroine can't tell anybody, at least not in (academic) print.

Maglor through the ages (modern period), with a dash of Indiana Jones and a female protagonist.

(c. 1300 words)

Read here on the SWG Archive.

#maglor #ofc #fic #swg challenge fic

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dawnfelagund · 9 months

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Independent Archive Survey

In what other ways might you be interested in volunteering for an independent archive?

Check all that apply.

community activities (events, challenges, etc.): 69% member support (helping creators use the archive): 56% moderation (monitoring fanworks/user interactions, addressing/removing content/interactions that violate archive policies): 50% policy development: 33% promotional (social media, recruitment, etc.): 30% tech support (software upgrades, bug fixes, etc.): 22% I don't know: 5.6% Other: Financial I am currently running a Dreamwidth archive and looking to expand it Responses: 36

Analysis

As I noted above, there are multiple items that show relatively low interest in the technical aspects of running an archive compared to the creative and "soft skills" areas, and nowhere is this more obvious than in this dataset. This isn't surprising. Creative/soft skills more closely align with what we already do in fandom. More of us could, for example, plan a challenge or help a newcomer than fix a software bug, given the skills we have right now. A lot of skills we use all the time in fandom concern creativity, communication, and interaction, so "leveling up" in those areas, so to speak, in an official capacity, is less of a stretch for most people.

Of course, as we (re)build independent archives, the technical aspects are essential in a way that none of the others are (with the possible exception of policies … but even there, small archives have gotten by with minimal policies or trusting the culture among a small group of users to serve in this regard). This loops back to the question of how to educate possible archivists to handle the technical demands of running an archive, but also making this either comfortable and interesting to enough fans that technical needs can be met. A familiar refrain to anyone who works on technical fandom projects is the loneliness and lack of help/support, and many fandom projects have failed for lack of interest in maintaining the technical aspects. I know, personally speaking, that having Russandol as a second tech admin on the SWG feels like a gift. When there is a problem to be solved, there is someone to bounce ideas off of and work alongside. In short, if we're to see independent archives work again, we need to figure out how to make that 22% a bigger number.

What is the independent archive survey?

The independent archive survey ran from 23 June through 7 July 2023. Eighty-two respondents took the survey during that time. The survey asked about interest in independent archives and included a section for participants interested in building or volunteering for an independent archive. The survey was open to all creators and readers/viewers of fanworks.

What is an independent archive?

The survey defined an independent archive as "a website where creators can share their fanworks. What makes it 'independent' is that it is run by fans but unaffiliated with any for-profit or nonprofit corporations or organizations. Historically, independent archives have grown out of fan communities that create fanworks."

Follow the tag #independent archives for more survey results and ongoing work to restore independent archives to fandoms that want them.

Independent Archives Survey Masterpost

#independent archives #fan studies #fanfiction archives #fandom data #independent archive survey

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viratsteelspecial-blog · 2 months

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Are you looking for Tool and Die Steel Supplier in Ambala! Ambala city known as Twin City in the state of Haryana, India is located on the border with Punjab and near Chandigarh, has a rich historical heritage dating back centuries, witnessed various historical events. During the British colonial period, Ambala emerged as an important military cantonment due to its strategic location Ambala is also known for its diverse and vibrant population and hospitality with mix of strong sense of communities, including Punjabis, Haryanvis, and people from other regions of India.

Ambala is a city in Haryana, India, that has many steel industries. Some of the companies that manufacture or supply steel products in Ambala. It also has some steel industries that manufacture and supply various steel products, such as tool steel, die steel, alloy steel, mould steels and Alloy Steels, En-Series. Tools and die steel industries are companies that manufacture or supply tools and dies for various industrial applications. Tools and dies are specialized devices that are used to cut, shape, form, or mold materials such as metal, plastic, rubber, etc. Some examples of tools and dies are punches, dies, molds, jigs, fixtures, etc.

One of the best Tool & Die Steels Supplier in Ambala city is: Virat Special Steels Pvt. Limited : This is a company that deals in all kinds of tool steel, die steel, plastic mold steel, high speed steel, and alloy steel. They provide value added services, such as material machining, cut pieces, and tailor-made material. They also offer metallurgical advice and quality assurance. They have a state-of-the-art plant in Gurugram and Ludhiana. They also have a strong distribution network across India.

The following grades of steel are available with them on an ex-stock basis:

DIE STEEL ( HH 370 - 410 BHN ) (DB6 / DIN-1.2714 / AISI L6 )

HOT WORK STEELS (DIN 2343, 2344 / AISI H11, H13)

PLASTIC MOULD STEELS (DIN 2738, 2311 , AISI P 20 )

HIGH SPEED STEELS (DIN 3243 , 3343 / AISI M2 , M35)

COLD WORK STEELS - HCHCr. (DIN 2379 , 2080 / AISI D2 , D3)

ALLOY STEELS, EN-SERIES ETC.

Here, they also have an impressive fully equipped quality assurance and process examination facility. This includes a laboratory for analyzing steel by conducting both chemical tests and spectrometry; ultrasonic examination and hardness testing on Vickers, Rockwell and Brinell scales. This adds value for their clientele by allowing for them to select the most appropriate type of steel readily available for their specific application; and also allows them to examine options and in the long haul optimize costs.

As par in terms of Quality, Price & Services with steels of the same grade from multinational companies such as Thyssenkrupp, Poldi, Huta Celsa, Vitkovice, Lucchini, DEW, SWG, Edelstahl Groditz, Nippon, Hyundai steel, Seah, Villarus ( Bohler Subsidiary ), TG , EWK, DEW, A Finkl , Swiss Steel, Sanyo, Somers Forge etc. Virat Special Steels offer “Make In INDIA” products at competitive prices, great quality, and prompt servicing to increase & improve CPC (Cost Per Component) for their customers.

Learn More: https://www.viratsteel.in/locations/tool-and-die-steel-supplier-in-ambala/

Consult our Gurugram office for further assistance. Meanwhile for more on Virat Special Steels; Email Us: [email protected]. Contact them by mobile numbers 98140 - 21775, 99991 - 24971 to 79.

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gwaedhannen · 4 months

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For the Sorrow Beyond Words series, I want to add an editor's note to each excerpt, giving a bit of context for the speaker's identity, how the document came to Elrond, and/or any relevant events from the War. I'm unsure whether I should be putting these before or after the text though. As an example, here's one I wrote for the Nargothrond excerpt:

Editor’s note: the following/preceding passage was extracted from a journal recovered from the body of an unknown Edain soldier slain at the Second Battle of Tol Sirion in F.A. 552. Nargothrond was reclaimed by the Host of Valinor in the summer of 551 and deliberately flooded shortly afterwards.

I feel like putting this before the text spoils too much of it, but I think in these kinds of anthologies any notes would usually go before the text? Maybe I'm entirely wrong and overthinking it. Opinions appreciated!

Anyway, the other main reason I haven't started posting these to AO3 and SWG yet is wanting to have the first chapter be a preamble from Elrond, but I've written all of three sentences of that and keep getting distracted by new AU ideas.

#stormthinken #also ask me about my AU ideas :)

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ecoamerica · 22 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

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silmarillionwritersguild · 1 year

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In the spirit of the season, Himring and bunn will be hosting a reading of Tolkien's Father Christmas Letters on the SWG Discord, beginning 22 December through 1 January 2023. Both synchronous and asynchronous discussion is welcome, and there will be a live reading of favorite passages on 29 December 2022 at 19:00 UTC. (Find this event in your timezone. Note that the time of this event may change.)

The schedule is as follows:

22 December: Discussion: Letters 1920-25

27 December: Discussion: Letters 1926-1930

28 December: Discussion: Letters 1931-1933

29 December: Live reading of favourite passages, hopefully, 19 UTC

30 December: Discussion: Letters 1934 -1938

1 January: Discussion: Letters 1939-1943

All discussion will take place on the #father-christmas-reading channel on the SWG's Discord. If you want to join our Discord, send us an ask or email the mods, and we will send you an invitation. All are welcome!

#tolkien #father christmas letters #swg event

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adrianicsea · 9 months

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Hi this is a weird question! I really like the writing of yours that I've read, and you talk so lovingly and caringly about swg, but I've never actually seen saw, nor do i know anything about it. Would I understand swg, or do i need to know saw lore etc to get it? Thanks!!

hi there!! thanks so much for being THIS interested in swg and my writing in general— it means a great deal to me that you’re so interested in it that you’re willing to jump into a fic for a series you’ve never seen 🥹

i would say that, to get the most out of sleeping with ghosts, you would at least want/need to be familiar with the first movie, as the two main characters of that film (lawrence and adam) are the main characters of swg. the fic is basically a retelling of the events of the first three saw movies If Lawrence And Adam Were There, so for your best mileage/enjoyment, i would recommend either watching or reading the synopses of saw i-iii, depending on your personal comfort level!

the first saw movie isn’t nearly as graphic or gory as its reputation would suggest (if you watch the theatrical cut, it’s pretty tame, and the theatrical cut also has an extended scene between lawrence & adam that ISN’T in the unrated director’s cut), but the second and third ones both get progressively nastier, so you may prefer to read about those instead if gore is an issue for you.

beyond that, some plot points and characters from the later movies DO make appearances in swg, but in those cases, the characters/details are explained and recontextualized in a way that (i hope) makes sense for people that haven’t seen those later movies, as i have yet to watch saw iv-vii myself. if you end up liking the series and watching all of them, it might add to your enjoyment of swg, but i wouldn’t say that it’s required!

whatever you end up deciding to do, i hope you have fun with it. if you end up watching the movies and/or reading swg, i’d love to hear about it— and if not, thank you again for your interest and having such a high opinion of my work!! 😄❤️

#asks #anonymous

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elennalore · 1 year

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Little Lómion in Nan Elmoth.

My art, made at SWG discord’s paint-in event today.

#my art #lomion #maeglin #nan elmoth #silmarillion #silm art #silmarillion art #silmart #lómion

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imakemywings · 7 months

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Summary: Maedhros gets a reward for a job well done.

Length: 9.2k

AN: Saved my piece de resistance for the last day of @silmsmutweek

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

When her secretary told her which number was calling, Thingol allowed it to be patched through, but she took her time answering and lifting the phone up to her ear. She could almost hear the intake of breath on the other side.

“Do you remember what I told you about this number?” Her voice was not reprimanding, only reminding—giving her caller a chance to consider.

“Only for remarkable circumstances,” breathed Maedhros on the other end.

“So.” Thingol leaned back in her seat, twisting so she had a partial view out the windows behind her. “What is your remarkable circumstance?”

“I was accepted to the journal.” A small smile spread over Thingol’s mouth despite herself. Unhurried, she let Maedhros’ statement sink in before replying.

“Precisely as I expected,” she said, but there was a warm note in her voice. “Well done, little one.”

“Thank you,” came the rushed response, and Maedhros sounded a little dizzy, as if she had called right after getting the news.

“Are you celebrating tonight, or shall I see you at the apartment?”

“I’ll be at the apartment.” Another smile tugged at the corner of Thingol’s lips.

“I look forward to it then. Make sure you call your parents.”

“I will,” said Maedhros with only a hint of impatience in her voice, even as she confirmed for Thingol that she had not called them before placing this call.

“Good. Then I’ll see you later.”

Maedhros bid a hasty goodbye, and Thingol set the phone back in the cradle, allowing herself another private smile. Even if she had anticipated Maedhros’ success, it was still good to hear her talent being recognized—and that Maedhros chose to share this moment of triumph with her didn’t hurt either.

***

Thingol had an apartment in the city whose hilltop location allotted a view that looked out across the cityscape towards the mountains in the distance despite being under a dozen stories tall. She kept it mainly for its proximity to the office; her truer home was an estate an hour’s drive out into the countryside, surrounded by so many hills and trees it wasn’t visible until one was nearly upon it. Maedhros had been there only once, and the memory of it was like an intoxicated dream, something she couldn’t quite believe had been real. There dwelled Thingol’s wife, who had appeared bothered neither by Thingol’s absences into the city nor by Maedhros’ presence; they had greeted each other with kisses as if they had been apart only a few hours, rather than a week or two, and later that night Thingol had still taken Maedhros up to her bedroom. Melian did not enjoy the city much, had been Thingol’s only explanation.

Maedhros did not ask questions about it, nor about their daughter and how exactly she fit into things or who she was related to. Thus far, Maedhros’ aversion to incivility had overcome her curiosity.

That night, when she had finished a passable amount of work (Maedhros had never been known, when asked, to say she had done enough work)—or more truthfully, when she could not keep herself in her skin anymore—Maedhros threw a few things in her bag and hopped in her car.

What exactly Thingol did for work was also not clear to her. She knew that Thingol ran a company she and Melian had founded, and that a part of it was a charity organization, but also that it had a strong production of artisanal wooden jewelry and home goods (sustainably sourced, as all the labels prominently asserted), as she had met one of their artist partners at an event. Thingol had bought her a new suit for the party, tailored to her measurements (when or where Thingol had gotten those she wasn’t sure), which now lived in a storage bag under the bed, as nothing in her closet was safe from Maglor’s grasping hands, no matter how many warnings Maedhros gave. The gold ring that had gone with it, Maedhros usually had in her pocket.

Some time ago, Thingol had given her the passcode for the building, so she buzzed in only to let Thingol know she had arrived and was on her way upstairs. The building was a historical landmark and thus, despite the hefty price tag on its units, possessed an endless variety of “quirks.” Thingol had mentioned that she found them rather charming, and Maedhros had replied that she just wanted to know the elevator was going to take her all the way to the floor she needed when she got on it. It was so old she was fairly sure it was as large as it was to accommodate an elevator operator.

Furthermore, there was no mirror in it, so Maedhros could not perform any last-minute assessments of her appearance beyond making sure her necklace was centered, a thin gold pendant hanging delicately against her chest, before arriving on Thingol’s floor. Each floor was devoted to only a single unit.

She did not have a key to the apartment, so she had to simply ring and wait. She took the moment to silence her phone; she did not want to be interrupted that night, and she knew Thingol found her frequently checking her alarms and calendar tiresome. Thingol opened the door in slacks which Maedhros knew counted as loungewear for her, and a gray cashmere sweater.

“Hello kitten,” she said, kissing each of Maedhros’ cheeks as she stepped into the unit. She had a smooth, deep voice that Maedhros found always soothing to the ear; a resonant sound that seemed able to reach inside her and call up peace, anger, passion, at Thingol’s will.

She took them into the living room, where she waved Maedhros towards the couch and went to the positively antique drinks cart to fix them something each. This room of all the rest had been updated with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling cityscape below, the last of the fading light of day bleeding out of a dark sky. She set something peach-toned in a coupe glass in Maedhros’ hand and perched on the back of the sofa rather than joining Maedhros on the cushions, which was less than ideal. She could not put her head in Thingol’s lap like this.

“Congratulations, darling,” she said, raising her glass to Maedhros’ success. “Clever as you are, these things do not always turn on what we think they ought. I am very proud of you.” There was a tenderness in Thingol’s gaze that made Maedhros flick her eyes away even as her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Thingol knew—even when Maedhros said nothing, but that wasn’t unusual—how stressed Maedhros had been about her professional progress. Her accident had kept her from graduate school for years, and she had felt ever since she was running herself ragged playing catch-up, something she detested.

Thingol pried her with some questions about the journal, though there was little enough she had not asked about when Maedhros first shared she was submitting an application. Thingol was never rushed, never hurried, and sometimes she set Maedhros’ nerves to crackling with her languorous pace. Yes, she had already eaten. No, she was not hungry now and did not wish even for something small. Yes, she had called her parents and they were perfectly thrilled, and Dad already wanted a draft of her first article. Yes, her friends were pleased also (the nebulous friends Maedhros never mentioned by name, lest she give away how few of them there really were). No, she hadn’t seen Daeron’s latest concerto, but yes, she might be interested in going along with Thingol next week. No, she didn’t need a refill on her drink. Thingol had her in agonies on the sofa, wanting Thingol to come and sit with her, which she thought Thingol knew perfectly well. The woman was a devil of driving Maedhros out of her mind with want, and worse, seemed to take pleasure in it. Did she not mean to reward Maedhros tonight?

“So tell me,” Thingol said, sliding off the sofa to meander around the room, half-heartedly looking at the view from the windows before turning her gaze back to Maedhros, “what are your plans now?”

“I never mentioned plans,” said Maedhros, being childish (she knew that Thingol would indulge her, to a point).

“I have never known you not to have a scheme in progress,” Thingol laughed, leaning back against a mid-rise wood cabinet, smiling at her companion. “So will you share, or will you surprise me later?”

“Perhaps I have not yet determined them,” Maedhros said, which wasn’t entirely true. She had drafted a list of article ideas before she had even been accepted, and had seven folders of research on her computer relating to those, and had earlier that day broken down into her digital calendar her own self-imposed deadlines for her work. Thingol told her she needed more slow-paced hobbies. “I was only admitted today.”

Thingol’s knowing smile suggested she had some preternatural sense about the research folders, but she said nothing else. While the conversation had subsided, she still showed no sign of coming over to the sofa again, and Maedhros was getting desperate.

“Won’t you come and sit down?” she said at last, which was already more of a request than she liked to make. Thingol’s piercing gray eyes studied her and Maedhros knew that Thingol was well aware what Maedhros was doing, but being so caught out had the regrettable effect of only making Maedhros’ situation more dire.

“Why don’t you fix me another drink first?” Thingol suggested, holding her empty glass out, the stem pinched gracefully between her long, tapering fingers. Maedhros’ pride balked, but she also sensed a game, and her desire for the rewards of playing along outweighed her resistance, after several moments of internal debate.

Her rebellion was in making the drink without asking what Thingol wanted, which received no comment, only a raised eyebrow as she took the glass back and raised it to her lips. Maedhros was near enough to see the divots in her lip.

“I forget how little taste you have for sweet drinks,” she said as she lowered the glass, her lips upturned as she studied Maedhros’ face. “Or perhaps your mind is elsewhere,” she suggested.

“I can make another,” Maedhros said.

“No, no, this will do,” said Thingol, seeming to confirm Maedhros’ guess that it was not about the drink at all. She took another leisurely sip and then declared, “I suppose you ought to have a reward for your achievement, hm?”

Maedhros did not respond, her focus being on not quivering at that statement.

“Do you think so?” Thingol asked her more directly, which always inspired hesitation in Maedhros, ever reluctant to out loud say that she thought she was owed something. “I think so,” Thingol relented quickly enough. She drew her fingers down the underside of Maedhros’ jawline, coaxing her nearer with a feather-light touch. Thingol was one of the few people Maedhros had to look up at in any capacity. “I know how hard you worked for this,” she said softly. “I hope you are giving yourself due credit.”

“I should have gotten it,” Maedhros said.

“I agree; you ought to have been a shoe-in.” That was not quite what Maedhros had meant, and she suspected Thingol knew it. “But many things are at play in these decisions and ability alone is not always the deciding factor. You did well, and you should be proud. There are many others who are not celebrating tonight.”

Maedhros said nothing.

Thingol tilted her chin more sharply upwards.

“It is not nothing that you achieved this, even if we were quite sure you would,” Thingol said. “It is still an achievement, Maedhros.”

“I know,” Maedhros said reluctantly. Still—she should have gotten it. She would have been disgusted with herself if she had not.

“You did well,” Thingol said. “And you should be proud.” Then she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Maedhros’, and Maedhros sank into the kiss, resting a hand against Thingol’s ribs as her eyes fluttered shut. Thingol’s hands moved down to her waist, tugging her nearer, and it was only when the pressure of Thingol’s thigh between her legs made Maedhros gasp that she realize she was straddling one of her legs.

“Is this to be my only reward?” she asked, hoping this would encourage Thingol to move things to the bedroom.

“Perhaps not only,” said Thingol. “But first.” She pulled Maedhros into another kiss and shifted her leg, and Maedhros grit her teeth against the urge to rut. Without breaking their kiss, Thingol slid a hand down her lower back to her ass, pressing her nearer, and this time Maedhros could not resist bucking her hips against Thingol’s thigh, her body ravenous for that contact no matter how degrading it seemed to hump her lover’s leg like an animal.

Thingol’s mouth had moved to her throat, the taller Elf bending for such access, and Maedhros tilted her chin up without thought, eagerly welcoming more of Thingol’s touch. Her hands reached up for Thingol’s platinum hair, nearly always worn loose, and she dug her fingers into the fine, soft tresses.

“Mm…”

“Take more of your pleasure, if you want it,” Thingol murmured, and Maedhros surrendered to her body’s urging, grinding herself against Thingol’s thigh until her face burned and her gut was turning summersaults. Won’t you give me more? she cried silently.

“I…this isn’t…” Maedhros panted, fighting against the please which bubbled up in her throat. “This isn’t enough!”

Thingol only laughed merrily and nipped at Maedhros’ neck, drawing a half-aborted moan from her as she pressed urgently down against Thingol’s leg.

“Not enough of a reward for my industrious student?” she teased, rocking her thigh a little, which made Maedhros bite her lip before she realized what she was doing.

“No,” she replied, trying for ‘imperious’ and getting something, to her chagrin, more like ��petulant.’

“Hm…well that won’t do,” said Thingol, quick as molasses, running her hand up and down Maedhros’ back as she kissed the underside of her jaw. “I ought to reward my kitten properly…” Her mouth traced a path over to Maedhros’ ear, where she nibble at the earlobe, making Maedhros’ earrings tinkle. “Perhaps if she would tell me what she wants.”

This was an exercise Thingol frequently employed, no matter that it was at least half the time unsuccessful. Maedhros hated asking for what she wanted almost as much as Thingol liked hearing her do it. Grown women ask for what they want, Thingol said. Maedhros preferred Thingol to just give it to her.

Sometimes, as then, Thingol would pose the question when Maedhros was desperate enough to give in, at least partway.

“I want you to touch me!” she said. This, of course, left her open to Thingol pointing out that she was touching her—just not where Maedhros wanted it, in the way that she wanted it—but she must have been feeling generous in light of Maedhros’ achievement of the day.

“Is that all?” she said with feigned surprise. “You need only ask.” She tweaked Maedhros’ ear which made Maedhros jerk her head away, and then took her time undoing the tie belt and the button and the zipper of Maedhros’ slacks to be able to slip her hand down the front of Maedhros’ panties—which were shamefully wet, given how little had actually happened yet. She could not completely contain the whimper that burst in her throat when Thingol’s hand slid over the swollen bud of her clit, and she realized how tightly she was gripping the cabinet behind Thingol in her effort not to move.

Thingol seemed ready to give her all she wanted and Maedhros thrilled with this triumph nearly as much as she had getting the email confirming her acceptance onto the university journal. She panted against Thingol’s neck as her hand moved deeper, plunging two fingers through the nest of brown curls into Maedhros’ hot sex; now, Maedhros could not resist rocking against the touch. It was so rare that Thingol gave into her wishes without playing games first! (Given, the frenzy Thingol worked her up into first made certain that these orgasms were an an entirely different category than the ones Maedhros hastily rubbed out while her sister was out of their apartment, but still! Shouldn’t she get what she wanted tonight?)

Maedhros ought to have known how delusional she was with desire for an orgasm, and it should not have surprised her when, having settled into place with her fingers in Maedhros’ cunt and her thumb against her clit, Thingol stopped moving. Maedhros too, fell still, sensing too late she was about to get another lesson in the pleasures of taking one’s time with things.

“Well?” Thingol drawled, crooking her fingers and almost drawing a gasp from Maedhros. “Is this not what you wanted?”

“No,” Maedhros whined. Well—she would not have characterized it as a whine, but Thingol would have (and so would most others).

“You wanted to finish?”

“Yes! Why else would I—oh!” Thingol cut off her testy reply with a press of her thumb, the pressure of which did not last nearly long enough. Maedhros glared, but Thingol only smirked (smirked!) at her in that way that always made Maedhros both irritated and horny.

“Then finish,” she said sanguinely, and Maedhros growled.

“This I can do myse—ah!” Thingol curled her fingers inside of Maedhros in a way that made Maedhros instinctively try to shift closer to her.

“I want to see you cum,” Thingol murmured against her ear. “Do I not always give you a just reward? Do I not always satisfy you?”

That was hard to argue against. Usually when Maedhros left Thingol’s residence, she was so thoroughly fucked it took her twenty-four straight hours to get her brain back online. That didn’t mean she couldn’t be impatient though!

Thingol’s thumb circled her, as if to encourage her towards the desired response.

“Be good for me.” Thingol’s breath was warm against Maedhros’ ear, her shoulder solid to lean against, and her thumb pressed idly against the root of Maedhros’ clit. “I know you can. Isn’t this what you came here for?”

A whine built in Maedhros’ throat, but she swallowed it down and rocked lightly against Thingol’s hand.

“There we go,” Thingol encouraged her. “That’s it.” Maedhros took in a trembling breath and forced herself to let go of her compunctions. Thingol was right, of course—this was precisely what she had come here for, and her resistance served her only as far as it was enjoyable to push back against Thingol, and not when it went as far as to deny her what she really wanted. So she began to move her hips more firmly and purposefully, riding Thingol’s hand as she was bade. She anchored her hands on Thingol’s chest instead of the cupboard behind her, and Thingol occasionally passed her thumb over the pearl of Maedhros’ need.

Thingol raised the drink in her other hand, which Maedhros had honestly forgotten she still had, and took a surprisingly steady sip of it.

“Good girl,” she said when she lowered the cup. “You’re close now, aren’t you?” Maedhros grit her teeth and nodded, shuddering against Thingol’s hand. “Do you need some help?”

“No,” Maedhros gasped, shifting her angle and picking up speed, fucking herself on Thingol’s fingers. “I can do it. I’m so close!” Thingol set her drink down on the cupboard and dug her free hand into Maedhros’ hair, which she had worn only partially up that night.

“Yes, you can,” she said, giving just a slight tug on Maedhros’ hair. Maedhros let out a sharp intake of breath and clenched her thighs against Thingol’s, half trying to climb up her to get Thingol’s fingers deeper into her heat.

Almost, almost, she thought desperately, thinking she would not be opposed to Thingol shoving her entire hand inside at the moment. When Thingol opened her mouth to make another comment, Maedhros grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand more firmly against Maedhros’ sex, forcing her fingers deeper in, muffling her cry against Thingol’s shoulder as this tipped her over the edge.

“Good girl,” Thingol said more softly as Maedhros’ hips continued to judder arrhythmically against her through the tail end of her orgasm. If asked, she would never have imagined that being spoken down to this way would be anything but repulsive, and yet—when Thingol said it, it didn’t feel like being spoken down to. It felt true. She was good. She was proud. She was accomplished.

She was trembling and catching her breath against the older woman, who did not withdraw her fingers from Maedhros’ cunt until Maedhros had let go of her wrist (it took her several moments to remember how to loosen her fingers). This hand landed on Maedhros’ rear, while the clean one stayed stroking her hair, and so Thingol held Maedhros to her. Her hand moved down to scrape her nails gently along Maedhros’ spine in the way she knew Maedhros liked, soothing her through the end of it.

“How do you feel?” Thingol asked gently.

“Good,” Maedhros mumbled muzzily. “I’m good.”

“Tired?”

“No.” That got her more alert at once. It was Thingol’s preference, it seemed, to give Maedhros as many orgasms as she could take—and given how wound up Maedhros was that night, she did not want to give the impression one was all she was after.

If Thingol was amused with her eagerness, it showed only faintly, and she straightened up and took care redoing the zip and buttons of Maedhros’ pants. She re-tied the belt as well, into a neat knot.

“Let me get you something to drink,” she said.

“No, I’ve had enough—”

“I meant water, sweetling,” said Thingol.

“Oh.” Maedhros didn’t really think that was necessary, but Thingol also often seemed to have a preference for insisting she stayed hydrated. She sat on the couch, her stomach full of butterflies in contemplation of the rest of the night, and Thingol returned with a glass of juice—cranberry, once she’d taken a sip—which she passed over to Maedhros. Now she sat on the sofa alongside Maedhros, but touched her only lightly—her fingers rested just so against the top of Maedhros’ thigh and she wanted to move for more, but she knew well enough by then that she needed to finish at least the better part of the juice before Thingol was going to touch her again—no matter how long that took.

Thingol leaned on her elbow against the back of the couch and they exchanged light words about nothing—briefly, Thingol rhapsodized about a backpacking trip she had and Lúthien had gone on recently—while Maedhros nursed her juice. Once, just to be difficult, she had chugged the whole glass at once, and while Thingol had not commented, it had been clear she was less than impressed.

When the glass was empty, Thingol stroked her fingers down Maedhros’ cheek, and the younger woman shifted nearer to her so that Thingol could slide an arm around her shoulders. For a few moments they just sat, Maedhros leaning against Thingol, and then Thingol asked quietly:

“Are you ready?”

“I have been ready,” said Maedhros. Thingol chuckled and kissed the top of Maedhros’ head.

“Very well, along you go,” she said, and the smile that flickered across her face as Maedhros rose from the sofa set the butterflies to rampaging in her belly. “Time for bed.”

Thingol finished the drink that Maedhros had made for her and then followed her into the bedroom.

It was second only to the living room in sheer expansiveness, so that even the colossal teak bed did not manage to dominate the room. Half the windows followed the view of the living room over the city, while the others looked towards the darker edges of town trending towards the more rural surrounding areas. The room was large enough that several of the drawers of the antique dresser had been wordlessly set aside for Maedhros’ use. She didn’t keep much there, but Thingol kept them empty even when Maedhros added nothing herself.

The dark green paint over the walls and ceiling always made the room feel tucked away somewhere, even when the bright light of morning was streaming in the windows. Thingol’s tastes ran very different from those of Maedhros’ own family, with their preference for high, open spaces and plenty of natural light, but if anything, this only increased the appeal of spending time in Thingol’s dark, cozy places.

Maedhros went without direction to the bed, pausing to slip her shoes off just inside the bedroom door, and stretched out. Thingol’s bed—both here and at the country estate—was dangerously comfortable, and Maedhros had, humiliatingly, fallen asleep waiting for her on at least two occasions (more galling still, Thingol would not wake her in such situations, but simply let her sleep until morning). Now, though, she was too keyed-up for that, even if she did appreciate the impossibly soft mattress and plush covers—and the battalion of pillows—cradling her.

Thingol went to the closet to take down Maedhros’ favorite box in the apartment (which was saying something, since one of those boxes housed a set of antique encyclopedias from the sailing age). Sometimes, if she had had a difficult day, Thingol would let her choose the phallus, but most often Thingol chose, and Maedhros rarely had complaints. (There wasn’t always a phallus—Thingol had other toys, and sometimes was content to drive Maedhros mad with just her fingers and tongue.) Tonight, she withdrew a particularly girthy number from the box, its vibrant teal-and-purple marbling giving it the air of a fresh summer fruit.

“What do you think, kitten?” Thingol asked, holding it up for Maedhros to view. Feeling her mouth go a little dry, Maedhros nodded with a flash of eagerness.

“I think that will do,” she said placidly. “If it pleases you.”

“It pleases me if it pleases you,” said Thingol. She took from another box and displayed for Maedhros a little vibrator with a finger strap, and Maedhros gave another nod. “Do you plan to stay dressed for this?” Thingol asked as she she fished the harness out of the closet, half-teasing, half-genuine. Maedhros had cum too hard from being fucked in her work clothes for Thingol not to be at least a little genuine.

Tonight though—tonight, she wanted Thingol to see all of her, and touch as much as she would. Maedhros rolled off of the bed and made efficient work of piling her clothes next to the bedside table, the soaked panties set a little off to the side, away from the rest of her things. She also rolled the duvet back to the foot of the bed. She knew herself what a wearisome task it was removing a duvet cover to wash—no sense soiling it if they didn’t need to do it. Before she could settle back on the bed, Thingol beckoned her over.

“Help me,” she said, although what she really meant was do it for me. Maedhros made a methodology of it: First, she removed Thingol’s earrings and her necklace (the nose stud she left in place) and set them on the vanity; second, she helped Thingol wriggle out of the cashmere sweater, which she folded and placed on top of the dresser; then, feeling her heartbeat in her ears, she leaned in closer and reached around to undo the clasp of Thingol’s bra and remove it from her as gently as she would have handled one of Grandfather’s decorative eggs (here, she became briefly distracted by Thingol’s tits, which she felt was not wholly her fault) and eventually folded it into the proper dresser drawer; next—her heartbeat was so loud she wasn’t sure she would have heard if Thingol had addressed her—she undid the side zip of Thingol’s pants and slid them down so she could step out of the soft black fabric; lastly, she became sorely distracted by Thingol’s black and lavender panties with the lace around the edges, and how much she wished to touch and see if Thingol had gotten wet in the living room as well, but when she saw Thingol’s hands twitch, she came back to herself and quickly moved her hands to Thingol’s hips.

She lifted her eyes to Thingol’s amused gaze and for a moment, she thought Thingol meant to kiss her, but she did not.

“You must be wandering in thought indeed,” the older Elf teased. “You are not often so lost anymore.”

Maedhros flushed lightly.

“I am not lost,” she said, pleased with the self-assurance in her voice. “I am…taking note.” Thingol carded a hand through Maedhros’ auburn hair and tucked the loose strands behind her ear.

“Far be it from me to rush you,” she said.

Maedhros wanted to touch—but she knew well enough that she was not to touch Thingol’s cunt without permission, which she was not likely to get, presently. So instead, she slid the underwear off and tried to content herself with caressing her way back up Thingol’s thighs to her hips to press her thumbs into the cushioned arc of Thingol’s hip bones. The hair between her legs was much darker than her head, a chestnut brown nothing like her silvery crown.

“Are you still taking notes?” Thingol asked softly, the corners of her mouth curving up.

“Yes,” Maedhros answered in an exhale, skimming her fingers lightly up Thingol’s sides, where Thingol captured them and then capitulated to drawing Maedhros into a kiss. She could not resist the smile that pulled at her lips at this triumph and she gladly leaned in, but Thingol broke it off much too soon.

“Bed,” she said, but there was a softness in her eyes that Maedhros wanted to chase more than life itself. Nevertheless, she went to the bed.

“You don’t want help?” she said, although she already guessed the answer would be no, and it was. Thingol got herself into the harness and situated the dildo on her own, and then simply observed Maedhros on display in her bed. Maedhros twitched, and wanted to pull the sheet up over herself, but she forced the impulse down, recognizing it as the senseless thing that it was. Instead, she made herself lay relaxed under Thingol’s gaze and gave her a look as if to say Are you coming?

“Are you ready?” Thingol asked again, and Maedhros nodded.

“I’m ready,” she said. Please hovered on her tongue again, but she swallowed that too. Thingol did not make her wait longer, anyway—she came to the bed and ran her hands up Maedhros’ legs from her ankle to her thighs, fingers brushing through the coarse hair, and then lowered her face between Maedhros’ breasts to kiss her there. Maedhros’ eyes fluttered shut as Thingol’s mouth moved down to her belly, her nose brushing over Maedhros’ ribs, and then began again at her sternum and moved up to the hollow of her throat. The sigh that escape her chest could not be helped.

“My beautiful girl,” Thingol murmured, squeezing Maedhros’ hip with one hand as she nuzzled against Maedhros’ left shoulder, laying kisses against the crook of her neck. “My clever, beautiful girl.” A shiver went through Maedhros and her fingers curled up slightly in the sheets. The toy brushed against the thicket of hair between her legs and sent a bolt of electricity through her. Thingol’s mouth continued over the underside of Maedhros’ jaw and finally caught her lips again, and Maedhros surged up into this kiss, one hand going to grip Thingol’s hair, the other propping her up against the mattress.

Accepting the intensity of Maedhros’ need, Thingol sat back on her heels and gave Maedhros the room to sit up and chase more kisses. She wound her arms around Thingol’s shoulders and finally took as much as she wanted, parting her mouth wetly against her partner’s, pressing her tongue to Thingol’s.

“Are you pleased?” she breathed.

“With you? Of course I am,” Thingol answered, caressing Maedhros’ cheek.

“Really?”

“Yes. I would not lie to you about such things; have you known me much to stroke your ego for its own sake?” Maedhros found no lie in Thingol’s deep gray eyes, so she gave her another open-mouthed kiss. “You work so hard,” Thingol murmured when Maedhros broke away for air. She kissed Maedhros’ pointed ear. “How could I not be proud of you?”

It was awkward trying to get her mouth to Thingol’s breasts in this position, but she made the effort. (With some fluster, she had noticed that one of Thingol’s nipple rings had been removed, not unlikely because Thingol had noticed Maedhros’ penchant for giving her this particular attention.)

“I feel I should lie down, before you injure yourself,” said Thingol somewhat dryly to this contortion. When Maedhros looked up, Thingol laughed. “Don’t look so serious, sweetling,” she said, running a hand through Maedhros’ hair. “As I said—you have earned a reward tonight.” So she lay down without being asked, and Maedhros pounced on her at once, though she was careful not to touch where she was not meant to do so (a fact which naturally only drew her attention there more). But for now, she focused quite happily on Thingol’s chest, lavishing kisses on her breasts, which grew into nibbling and grabbing. One hand traveled up to toy with and tug at the ring through the other nipple, which she knew Thingol enjoyed. She was not to leave marks without express permission, but that was no trouble today, for she moved quickly to taking one of Thingol’s nipples between her lips, laving her tongue over the tender skin, not even realizing how she was starting to press down against Thingol’s thigh again.

She felt Thingol’s hand card up through her hair as she suckled on her breast. She broke away only when she needed to catch her breath, and then she laid her head on Thingol’s chest, panting.

“You do have energy to burn off today,” Thingol remarked.

“It is not just energy,” Maedhros said, somewhat temperamentally.

“Of course not,” Thingol gave way, rubbing Maedhros’ back. “I am not patronizing you, dear.” Maedhros sighed, and pressed her face between Thingol’s breasts, and knew she had been too sensitive. Always looking for someone accusing you of incompetence, a former acquaintance had said to her once.

“Even if it were, I should hardly complain,” Thingol added more lightly. “For I benefit of it.” Her nails scraped against Maedhros’ spine and Maedhros shivered in delight, lifting herself up to kiss at Thingol’s throat. As she did, Thingol raised her thigh to nudge it more firmly against Maedhros’ warming sex, and now Maedhros did not have the desire or the restraint to keep herself from rolling her weight against Thingol’s leg, relishing the pressure against her growing need.

Slowly, Thingol pushed herself up with one hand, the other still resting against Maedhros’ lower back, capturing Maedhros’ lips in a kiss as she did so.

“Let me take care of you,” she said, her voice in that low, melodic place that made Maedhros shudder and melt. Her hips twitched, seeking some satisfactory contact. “Let me look after my kitten.” When she kissed Maedhros again, it was so gentle as to cool Maedhros’ fire and make her lie obediently down.

When Thingol drew her hands up Maedhros’ inner thighs, she could not control the shivers that went through her, or the aching frissons of desire that coursed through her, making her grip one of the pillows by her head and clench her teeth to keep from pleading with Thingol to touch her where she wanted it.

“My sweet, wonderful thing,” Thingol breathed against her belly, kissing her just above her thatch of hair, making Maedhros squirm unwillingly under her. “I am so pleased you wished to come here tonight.”

“Of course,” Maedhros gasped. “Why—why wouldn’t I?” Thingol did not reply, although later Maedhros would eventually suppose Thingol had been referring to the possibility of her having other plans.

When Thingol leaned up kiss her, the toy pressed sharply between Maedhros’ legs and she couldn’t help the whine that left her, or the way her hips arched off the bed, seeking more of that.

“On your knees,” Thingol said then, her voice shifting at once into the tone she used for commands. She sat back to give Maedhros the room and Maedhros, without hesitation, turned over onto her hands and knees. “Good girl.” She felt Thingol’s hand caress her ass, followed by the light dig of her nails, which made Maedhros crane her head back. Spanking was something she was only rarely in the mood for, but there were no slaps forthcoming—Thingol was only teasing, as usual (it would have been unlike her in any case, to strike without making it clear that was coming—and giving Maedhros the chance to refuse). This nís will be the death of me! Maedhros thought, both furious and aroused.

“Tell me,” said Thingol, pushing Maedhros’ head down, “what did you accomplish today?”

“I was accepted to the journal,” Maedhros recited dutifully.

“And was it difficult?”

“I have always been a decent writer—”

“How many hours did you put into the application?” Thingol interrupted. Maedhros considered.

“It was work,” she allowed, after some approximate calculations.

“Are you pleased with your achievement?”

“I am,” Maedhros said.

“Are you proud?” Maedhros considered again.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I should be on the journal.” Thingol’s hand was stroking her ass again.

“How much of a break will you give yourself now that you have achieved it?” Maedhros said nothing. “Maedhros.”

“I need to start preparing,” Maedhros blurted out.

“You need to rest, too,” Thingol countered. “Do not make me take you out to the country again.”

“Is that meant to be a threat?” Maedhros asked, nearly rolling her eyes. She’d commit arson to be permitted to return to Thingol’s country estate. Thingol laughed.

“I suppose it is not much of one for you, is it? What if I reminded you there is no Wi-Fi there?”

“There…” There wasn’t? Maedhros had to think hard back on the one visit to remember. She had not had much time to notice. Thingol snickered and Maedhros felt the warm press of lips against her back.

“Take two days at least, little one,” she said gently. “Your work will be better if you rest first.”

“I am trying to relax right now, but someone is making it difficult!”

Thingol’s laughter suggested she was not in the least repentant for the throbbing of Maedhros’ sex.

“We shall see what I can do for you here,” she said, that playful note still in her voice, “and decide on any necessary kidnapping later.” She slid the toy between Maedhros’ legs, making her exhale in relief that they might be getting somewhere, but Thingol was apparently not yet ready for that—she moved her hips to rub the dildo over Maedhros’ lips, but did not penetrate her yet, and it was impossible for her to grind down against it without merely pushing it further out of reach.

“Thingol,” she whined at last, dripping with unspent arousal.

“Let’s see if you’re ready,” Thingol said, as if Maedhros’ vagina wasn’t a textbook picture of insert here, now, please! She plunged two fingers in and hummed in satisfaction to feel Maedhros’ wetness and Maedhros resisted the urge to rock back against the touch. “That’s my good girl,” she cooed, but reached for the lubricant in the drawer of the bedside table anyway. Maedhros’ head fell forward, pressing her face into the pillow over the agonizing sixty-to-a-hundred-and-twenty seconds it took Thingol to lube up the dildo.

“This is really not necessary,” she said, just to be difficult.

“It will be more comfortable for you, kitten. I’m not going to hurt you.” Maedhros groaned, and refrained from claiming she didn’t care if she was hurt, as long as it happened while Thingol was fucking her. That would only draw out the conversation.

Presently, Thingol placed the head of the toy at Maedhros’ entrance and she shivered in anticipation, able to feel its breadth already. Yes, yes, yes, please, she thought desperately. Thingol at last did not take her sweet time, and once the head of the toy had passed into Maedhros, thrust the rest in in one smooth, sharp movement. Maedhros cried out, fisting her hands in the pillows, and was not able to stop from shoving her ass back towards Thingol to take the phallus in as quickly as she could.

“That’s my girl,” Thingol encouraged her, stroking the inside of Maedhros’ thigh. The stretch of it was delicious, bordering on painful, and Maedhros throbbed around it, unable to make some quip in return, being occupied trying to accustom herself to this considerable bodily intrusion. The ridges of it pressed and scraped against her walls, nearly overwhelming her. “Let’s take care of some of that energy, hm?” Finally, finally, finally Thingol fucked her! Done with the teasing, done with the coyness, done with the games—Thingol’s athleticism showed in how fast and hard she drove the toy into Maedhros’ cunt, making the old bed creak faintly in protest as she hammered away until Maedhros almost sobbed with pleasure, writhing in the sheets and no longer in even an approximation of control over the sounds that came out of her. Her legs no longer felt like they could support her, and she was sinking further and further down into the mattress as Thingol pounded into her.

“Oh! Oh, yes,” she gasped, shaking as Thingol adjusted her angle and thrust hard and deep. Maedhros wailed, too far gone to even be relieved about the thickness of the walls in the old building. “Oh, yes, Thingol, please! Please! Fuck me, please!”

“Anything for my good girl,” Thingol panted, grabbing Maedhros’ hips to haul her up into a better position. Here, Thingol trusted her to tap out if it was too much, but Maedhros had not yet found the exact words to describe how being pushed so far was part of the experience—one she had allowed herself with no one but Thingol. Fortunately, the older Elf seemed to understand at least a part of it without Maedhros’ ineffective efforts at explanation. Thingol’s fingers dug into her hips and Maedhros jerked backwards, clumsily trying to move with Thingol, trying to get more of the brutally large toy stuffed into her.

Thingol responded by pushing her down against the mattress, but rewarded her acquiescence with reaching around to rub at Maedhros’ clit, at which point Maedhros realized she must have put on the finger vibrator she’d left on the bed. That forced her to slow down with the toy, but she had Maedhros so near the edge by then it hardly mattered, particularly once the vibrator started buzzing against her, sending waves of pleasure out through her and tearing a broken gasp from Maedhros’ throat.

“Are you close, sweet thing?” Thingol asked.

“Yes,” Maedhros replied, “I’m so—oh! I’m so,” she panted, “I’m so—!” She realized she hadn’t been breathing and drew in a ragged gasp of air. “Tell me again,” she begged, shuddering against Thingol’s weight. “Tell me again!”

Thingol leaned over her to speak softly by Maedhros’ ear.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. Maedhros let out a cracked cry and her orgasm swept over her, turning her limbs to jelly, driving a babble of gasping and moaning out of her mouth as she jerked and shivered against Thingol’s hand and strap. She collapsed onto the bed, the toy sliding free of her with an obscene slurp, and Thingol drew back with the vibrator.

Thingol’s hand was cool against her back, stroking very lightly, careful not to risk overwhelming her. After a few moments of this reassurance, the touch disappeared, and Maedhros felt Thingol move off the bed, heard the sound of her removing the harness, setting it all aside to be cleaned later along with the vibrator (Thingol always cleaned their things; she never delegated this task to Maedhros). Some part of her felt she ought to be sitting up and offering to help, or return the favor, or doing something besides laying there like a slug, but she could not begin to imagine moving her muscles, or that they might cooperate with her brain even if she wished to move.

Thingol returned to bed and sat beside her. She pressed her fingers against Maedhros’ right shoulder and one could be forgiven, based on the noise that Maedhros made, for thinking they were still having intercourse.

“Feeling alright?” Thingol asked in a low voice, which felt appropriate to Maedhros’ present state.

“Mhm…that’s good…” Maedhros forced her mouth to say something coherent. Thingol began to rub more concertedly then, cautious with the amount of pressure she applied until Maedhros failed to wince or warn her off.

There had been aches and pains that never left her since the accident, and it had become clear they never really would. Maedhros had only mentioned it once or twice, but—Thingol remembered. Thingol always remembered. She was always gentle with Maedhros’ right shoulder and never asked her for any favors that required fine motor skill. Since the one time that Maedhros had gone for pain medication in Thingol’s bathroom to find there was none—and been in quite a foul mood about it—there had never been less than half a bottle of two varieties of NSAID in the apartment (or in the house).

Thingol remembered. She remembered how Maedhros liked her coffee, and her drinks, and where she liked to be touched and how, and when she had important events coming up, and her preferred pain medications, and how she liked to wear her hair, and the words she liked to hear when she wanted to be comforted.

For several minutes, Maedhros let Thingol massage her shoulder, then she sat up abruptly and caught Thingol’s cheek with her hand, drawing her into a kiss, her stomach fluttering at how easily she gained what she wanted.

“Can I take care of you too?” she asked, her tone still subdued. Thingol did not always permit it, even when Maedhros knew her to be aroused. She had probed around this before, but never got more of an answer from Thingol than that she was not in the mood, always said with a tone of finality which blocked further questioning. That night, though, Thingol was in the mood.

“How would you like to do it?”

Maedhros resisted the urge to look down at Thingol. She held the desire in the palm of her hand, savored it for a moment. She wetted her lips.

“Can I use my mouth?” A smile spread fondly over Thingol’s face and she patted Maedhros’ cheek.

“Yes, if that’s what you wish, you may,” she said. They still rested a few moments more, with Maedhros slumped against Thingol, idly tracing patterns over her ribs. She did not know how Thingol could summon such patience, as Maedhros felt like shredding a pillow with her teeth whenever Thingol made Maedhros get her off first before Maedhros was allowed a turn. Maybe it came with age.

When Maedhros felt less like she would swoon if she stood upright, she turned her head to press kisses against Thingol’s breasts, nuzzling against the soft flesh, enjoying the heat of her lover’s body. In the winter, when the heat in the aged building was weak, and Thingol cradled Maedhros through the night in a cocoon of warmth under her covers, Maedhros felt as if she had retreated to some youthful vision of total and complete safety. Carefully, she shifted to straddle Thingol’s lap and, leaning in, paused a moment to study the familiar planes of her face—her sharp cheekbones; her thin, finely-arched brows; the scar, no larger than the tip of a fingernail, on her lower lip—before molding her mouth to Thingol’s.

She rolled her hips against Thingol’s, a movement she had been honing since they first began this, and trailed her kisses down Thingol’s neck in the way she liked herself. Down Thingol’s pale throat she went, over her collarbone—she lingered again on Thingol’s chest, using her teeth to tug at the nipple ring this time as she sucked—and then down the sternum—she paused again to leave a mess of kisses on Thingol’s stomach—and then she was kneeling between Thingol’s legs, looking at what she wanted.

“Can I?” she asked, looking up. Thingol nodded benevolently, and Maedhros drew her thumb up Thingol’s slit, parting her lips slightly, the sight of the glistening pink flesh thrilling low in her gut. (Was it silly, that she was still so pleased Thingol could get this wet for her?)

Her eyes flicked back up to Thingol’s face, and then she pressed her thumb a little deeper, dragging it through the moisture gathered along Thingol’s entrance, breathing in the pungent, earthy smell of her arousal. Slowly, she slid down onto her belly—grateful as usual for the vast size of the bed—and pressed a breathless kiss against Thingol’s cunt. Her tongue flickered out against the lips and then she used two fingers to part them and tease her tongue against Thingol’s swollen clit. She heard an intake of breath from her partner and smirked, repeating the gesture.

Flattening herself further still, she slipped an arm under each of Thingol’s legs and applied her mouth to the pearl of Thingol’s need with the same studiousness with which she approached her work. It was better this way, she thought, when she had climaxed already, and could focus more on pleasing Thingol without needing to be constantly redirected.

For several moments, she focused purely on this, lapping and sucking at Thingol’s clit, nuzzling her folds, Thingol’s fluid coating her lips and tongue. When she looked up again, her chin was wet with it, and she gazed up at Thingol with intent, hazarding a (educated) guess about the effect of this look on Thingol.

“Is this good?” she asked softly. “Does it please you?”

She could see Thingol swallow and she could almost feel her body start to rouse again at the sight and the knowledge of how much she could get to Thingol.

“Yes,” said Thingol, and there was a breathless note in her voice. “You are doing very well.”

“Should I go on?”

“Yes, if you would like.” An underhanded reply—Thingol knew Maedhros wanted to do it!

“I would,” Maedhros replied, and bowed her head over Thingol’s sex again. She shifted down, tonguing at Thingol’s entrance, wishing she had asked if she could also use her fingers, but not wanting to break from what she was doing then to seek permission.

When she returned to suck with vigor, she drew a moan from the other Elf, which almost made her shiver with delight, and she applied herself with double enthusiasm until she could feel Thingol’s hips twitching up towards her mouth. It felt like she held a fucking machine gun in her hands, a delusion of power she was all too happy to embrace. She hummed against Thingol’s heat and, muffled, she heard:

“That’s my good girl,” which went right to her cunt, predictably. She could feel the tightness of Thingol’s muscles as she drew nearer to her finish and she paused to pepper kisses on her sex before thrusting her tongue between the folds again. Sometimes, this went on long enough to make her jaw ache, but it was worth it for the pride she got feeling Thingol shiver apart under her mouth (when she was so successful). “Nearly there,” Thingol panted. “You’re doing so well, sweet one.”

Despite this proclamation, Maedhros went on several more minutes without a reward, at which point she decided more drastic measures were needed. Once again she lifted her head from her feast and looked up at Thingol, resting her cheek against Thingol’s trembling thigh.

“For me?” she said delicately. She bent her head and kissed Thingol’s sex and laved her tongue over her clit. “I want to see yours too,” she murmured to Thingol’s heat. “I need it.” This time, when she went to work again, it was only moment before Thingol cried out softly as her orgasm rippled through her, one hand reaching for Maedhros’ head to grip her there as she arched back against the pillows. Maedhros laid her head contently between Thingol’s legs and listened to the sound of her lover’s panting as she caught her breath.

When it had fully passed, Thingol coaxed Maedhros to lie up beside her, where Maedhros plucked a few unfortunate strands of curly hair out of her teeth to flick onto the mattress.

“Shall I bring you the floss?” Thingol asked, amused.

“Later,” Maedhros sighed, sinking back against the wall of pillows. She was too comfortable now to move, and she certainly didn’t want Thingol moving. She shifted nearer and wrapped her arms around Thingol’s hips, holding close to her, with her head on Thingol’s chest, rising and falling with her lover’s breathing.

It was not the most taxing session they had ever had by quite a mile (after one particular encounter at Thingol’s country home, Maedhros had slept thirteen straight hours after and woken feeling positively reborn and also not certain what the year was), but she had nowhere to be and nothing which immediately needed doing, so she surrendered to the post-coital stupor.

“You’ve gotten better,” Thingol observed. Maedhros smiled to herself with pride and turned her face more against Thingol.

“If I had more practice I would get better faster,” she said, in something that did not really possess enough subtlety to qualify as a “hint.”

“Mm…but then what would I do with you on special occasions?” Thingol asked.

“Find a bigger dildo,” Maedhros suggested.

“Soon I will need to have them custom-made for you,” Thingol said, but Maedhros was unabashed on this point.

“Good thing you can afford it,” she quipped back.

“A good thing indeed,” Thingol replied. She scraped her nails over Maedhros’ scalp as she stroked her head. “Perhaps a begetting day gift for you.”

“One that stays in this apartment!” Maedhros needed to have that explicit.

“Oh? Oughtn’t I send it to your house?”

“Only if you want Maglor to steal it,” Maedhros snorted. “She is chronically incapable of keeping her hands out of my things. And once she’s had it, I will be done with it.”

“I will save it for your celebration here then,” Thingol said as she cradled the back of Maedhros’ head, as if there had ever been any question of that. “I won’t have any magpies thieving from my starling.” Maedhros should not have been so pleased to be the more well-liked of the two birds, but for a moment it was tempting to tell Maglor about this rendezvous just to mention that particular comparison. “Do you want to have a bath?” Thingol asked, rubbing her hand down along Maedhros’ spine.

“In a minute,” Maedhros mumbled. “I’m comfortable here.” Thingol smiled.

“As you wish, kitten.”

#thingol #maedhros #maedhros x thingol #the silmarillion #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #rocky writes #silmsmutweek

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silmarillionwritersguild-art · 1 year

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Our very first Tolkien Fanartics article features an interview with @arlenianchroniclescles about her luminous, emotionally wrenching work which brings to life some of the most emotionally complex scenes and relationships in the legendarium. She also shares her creative process, how she became an artist, and what role art plays in her life.

View more than a dozen of her artworks, along with the interview, here...

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