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doodle-pops · 3 months

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Turn Back the Sands of Time

Feanor x daughter!reader

Request: Can I request a fic for Feanor, coming back to Valinor after hia death, finding out Nerdanel had been pregnant when he left and she gave birth to a daughter. And if possible, this daughter has Miriel's sewing gift. – anon

A/N: I took a different route to how their interaction would occur and made this quite sentimental than I intended :)

Warnings: female reader, soft angst, softness and comfort, reconciliation

Words: 2.4k

Synopsis: With the return of your father to the Blessed Realm, an attempt at rekindling what was never forged, is pursued.

“Leaving so early?”

Your mother’s voice reverberated through the morning air, clear yet carrying a stern undertone. The sun had ascended over the hills and forest, casting its benevolent warmth upon the damp, fertile earth, coaxing the crawlies to retreat to their hidden abodes.

Startled by her sudden intrusion, you jerked in surprise, twisting your neck to find your mother positioned in the doorway. Her hands firmly rested on her hips, already adorned with small flecks of clay and dust. A hasty bun confined her hair, and she wore the familiar work coveralls that marked her dedication to the tasks at hand. “Oh, you gave me a fright!” you awkwardly chuckled, your attention momentarily diverted from the contents of your basket. “I’m... heading out.”

Her bare feet made no sound on the polished floorings as she traversed the distance, positioning herself beside you. With keen observation, she watched as you hastened your packaging, attempting to conceal the contents within the basket. Despite your efforts, you weren’t as clever as you believed. However, she remained silent, extending her left hand to rest against your waist. Leaning in, she placed a tender kiss on your cheek.

“At least be safe on the road. You can borrow a few of my cloaks, they’ll keep you warm, and good luck. I cannot tell you how to decide, but when you do, know that it is something you will have to live with.”

Suddenly, she vanished through the backdoor, setting you on the arduous path to Formenos after brief stops at Tirion’s market to procure supplies. Pastries, breads, salted meats, and fruits were gathered in an attempt to ease any potential awkwardness.

Alone on the road for five days, you revisited regions where you had once stealthily ventured. The surroundings were steeped in familiarity as you leisurely strolled by. The rhythmic clopping of your horse’s hooves on the gravelled road, the subtle rustling of trees and bushes, vast open fields where the wind hummed its tune, and the delightful symphony of birdsong and frog croaks accompanied your journey. Small creatures scurried at the feet of your horse, some perching on your shoulders or head. Nightfall descended, only to be swiftly replaced by the break of day, marking the conclusion of your expedition.

As you arrived at your destination, the wear and tear on the landscape became evident. Paint had faded, stones were missing from pillars and posts, wood showed signs of decay, and windows lay shattered. Face-to-face with the relentless march of time and the scars of neglect, you confronted the tangible evidence of one’s transgressions.

Dismounting from your majestic stallion, you carefully secured him to an apple tree before continuing on foot. The path led you through a gateway and into a garden adorned with a subtle array of colours—some signs of life still blossoming. Your keen eyes noticed the adjustments since your last visit, becoming attuned to the intense presence and weight that the surroundings now bore.

With each step, the gravel and dust beneath your sandals resonated against the cobblestone, creating a symphony of soft crunches until you abruptly halted before the colossal red door, proudly displaying the house sigil in shimmering gold. Tightening your grip on the basket and assuming a more composed posture, a sense of tension gripped your throat, akin to barbed wires constricting around it.

Summoning your courage, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing three times in tandem with the palpitations of your heart.

Initially, it seemed like no one was home, but an imposing presence lingered in the air, prompting you to raise your hand for another attempt. However, before your knuckles could make contact, the hinges groaned, and a towering figure emerged. A giant of an elf with fiery red hair and silvery eyes loomed before you, meeting your tentative gaze. While a hunch suggested his identity, he was not the person you had come to meet. An acute observation of his appearance left you trembling at your core.

His features were the same as the portraits hung in your mother’s workshop, a stark difference to the descriptions your uncle Arafinwë explained. There were no scars, missing ligament or whitening of his hair, but it was still enough to elicit fright in your bones. The stories were enough, running their course to remind all of his actions.

“No trespassing, this is private property. Whatever business you are conducting, take it elsewhere,” he muttered under his breath with emptiness in his eyes before shuffling to slam the door in your face.

Luckily, you stuck your hand out. “Wait, please don’t! I uh…” you fumbled and exhaled, “I came to speak with Lord Fëanáro. Is he in?”

“If you are here to lay blame on him for his actions, I would suggest that you get in line—”

Waving your hands frantically in his face, you panicked. “No, no, no, no! You have it all wrong. I’m not here for that; I’m here to simply speak with him.”

“Speak with him?” Maedhros meditated. “Did King Arafinwë send you?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief at the surprising intensity with which your own brother reacted to your simple desire to speak with his father. It was truly perplexing that, despite all that had transpired, he continued to share living quarters with Fëanáro. Your assumption that their relationship had soured after recent events was swiftly proven incorrect.

Clearly, his perspectives on Fëanáro differed significantly from yours, and he held personal convictions that he preferred to keep to himself. The intricacies of their business remained shrouded in mystery.

“Uncl—King Arafinwë did not send me, I sent myself,” you stated with pride, straightening out any fears in your posture and stretching a confident smile across your lips. “Can you tell him that a…a Lady Y/N is here to speak with him?”

The moment your name fell past your lips, you saw the micro-expression of your brother’s eyes widening before composing themselves. His stance changed from no longer blocking the entire doorway to standing aside and granting you a peek inside. You were half expecting him to make a scene, yet he proved otherwise.

Maedhros’ eyes fluttered and flickered around your frame, contemplating on his next decision. Exhaling, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind and ushered around you figure to the left of the house. “He’s situated on this side of the house. It’s quicker and less…obstructive. Follow me.” And you partially understood what he meant—the bloodstains from where your grandfather was slain, still staining the floors. However, it was the unwarranted meet-and-greet of the rest of your brothers.

You weren’t here for them, and Maedhros was kind enough to spare you.

The journey unfolded in a discomforting silence, compelling you to tighten your grip on the basket as the minutes passed. Your elder brother guided you through a labyrinth of twists and turns, eventually leading to the distant sounds of a babbling stream and the faint rustling of paper being crumpled. As you approached an archway, entwined and covered in an overgrowth of vines, the scene unfolded before you—Fëanáro, seated on a bench, holding a charcoal, and engrossed in fervent scribbling on parchment, an expression of exasperation etched across his features.

Despite the openness of the surroundings, the air felt stifling. The heavens above offered a solution to wash away the lingering muskiness, and yet, it persisted. How could anyone discover peace or find reprieve in such conditions?

“I’ll leave you to speak with him.” He offered a polite smile, and with a bow of his head, Maedhros departed, leaving you to face his father in privacy.

Acknowledging the bow with a graceful return, you redirected your attention towards the man seated on the weathered wooden bench. His appearance had undergone a noticeable transformation since your initial encounter—his once neatly tied hair now cascaded loosely, and his attire, less polished, resembled something reminiscent of what your mother wore when she was in her element. Absent were the ornate rings that had adorned his fingers, and there was a notable absence of any jewellery embellishing his clothing. In this particular moment, he existed simply as Fëanáro, the man who had seemingly returned from the realm of the deceased. The elf who had…

“How long will you linger in the shadows, child?” came his soft voice. It was much mellow that the confrontation shared with your mother.

Taking a large gulp of air, you crossed the archway, entered his space to stand at the entrance and called out. “Greetings Lord Fëanáro.”

A resounding cry escaped his lips the moment his eyes fell upon your timid figure. Joy and agony intertwined in his heart as he realized that his child had come to visit him. With a swift, almost spring-like motion, he abandoned his seat, forgetting the letter that lay there, and hurried over to stand before your magnificence. It was the first time he had a clear image of the daughter he had denied himself the knowledge of. In your features, he saw not just you but also your mother and the reflection of his eldest.

An intense yearning surged within him, a desire to reach out and grasp you, to finally experience the touch of a creation that bore no marks of his mistakes. However, hesitation gripped his mind, as the unexpected loomed overhead like ominous clouds threatening to unleash a storm. The uncertainty lingered, questioning whether the rain would be cold or warm, if it would bring wrath or peace—or perhaps an outburst of everything.

“You…” He laughed breathlessly with disbelief at the tip of his tongue. “You’re all grown up. I was told about you during my return, unsure if a meeting would occur. I had glimpsed you at your mother’s, hoping to be acquainted. Unfortunately, I had not been blessed.”

“Hm, I decided to come see you on my own after…” your voice trailed off, indicating his reunion with your mother. “Well, she had the inclination that I was coming to see you, yet she did not stop me. I wanted to hear from you on my own.”

His facial muscles engaged in a silent struggle, battling the instinct to react to every nuance of your words. His hands, twitching with the desire to pull you into a comforting embrace, held back, understanding that such a gesture might inflict more harm than healing. Your perceptions of him were coloured by his transgressions. You possessed ample reasons to maintain a distance, not just from him, but also from your own brothers.

“What is there for me to tell you when you are aware of everything, my child?” he responded with reservation.

“Why?”

Your question lingered in the air, a stain that defied any attempts at removal; not even the heavens’ rain could cleanse it.

One question. Millions of reasons. One answer, and yet, he chose to walk away with his back turned and head hung in shame. His body collided with the bench with his head in his hands facing the floor.

“What answer might I give to you that would satisfy your perspective of me?” he uttered. “You’ve heard it all; I chose the Silmarils over my family… Why you ask? Pride, maybe arrogance or my blind foolishness. I led my children into death and one by one I watched them succumb to the same madness as me.”

“But you have me who was spared from the doom. I exist, someone you can change for. Someone who can be the answer to why.” Were the words wanting to spill from your lips, however, now was not the time. There was much to be possibly kindled to know how much your words weighed.

Stepping closer to where he sat hunched, you placed the basket beside him and knelt. Your hands were hesitant to touch his, but you managed to pry them off his face. “You know, there’s a saying that ammë says,” you whispered akin to the wind, “it’s something along the lines of, ‘second chances don’t come around often, but when they do, they appear in mysterious ways. It’s only if you desire it, then possibilities will arise’. If you want forgiveness, you can start with me. Show me the you who wants better.”

Fëanáro lifted his head, his mismatch teary eyes locking on your compassionate ones. He was stunned at your sympathy when his wife would not spare him the chance. If only he had not been so foolish, the family he desired would have existed before his very eyes. “You do not truly mean your words? Your mother would not pardon me—”

“I am not ammë; your quarrel with her is between you both. I am Y/N and this is between us. I choose to try building this relationship so long as you work with me,” you corrected with confidence laced in your voice. Your eyes were stern, filled with assertiveness and the reflection of faces you’d never met. “You have to want this.”

He considered with sorrowful eyes, too fearful of repeating his past and ruining his last blessing. With deliberate actions, he shifted to sit upright and meet you head-on. “Then I make no promises...no oaths.”

“Good, because I was prepared to convince you anyway possible since I brought treats for us to indulge, and I would hate for them to waste.” Your eyes darted to the basket filled with delicacies for you both to snack on during your formal meet-and-greet. “Imagine how awkward it would be had you rejected, and I had to return with a filled basket of treats.”

“You could have left it with your brothers. I’m sure they would be thrilled to learn their sister brought treats for them.” Fëanáro felt a surge of pride at the flow of your interactions, lacking awkwardness and tension. It gave him a sense of purpose to understand that all good things were not lost.

Though his refusal to utter the words of “Thanks” remained in his heart, for he knew Eru had heard and seen his gratitude.

Snickering as you reached for the basket to produce a blanket, you threw him a whimsical side eye. “I doubt that. You should have seen how the giant redhead was staring at me. I thought I was about to be thrown like a javelin out the yard,” you giggled.

“Maitimo?”

“Ay, I thought he was going to toss me out! Though it seems that the others are here as well?”

“Would you be willing to meet them?”

“Maybe another time, I only came with enough energy to deal with you.”

Masterlist

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

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moosalicious · 1 year

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and then curufinwë fëanáro, greatest of all the eldar, said unto the dark lord morgoth, “get off my lawn you little bitch”

#fëanor #curufinwë #curufinwë fëanáro #fëanáro #melkor #morgoth #silmarillion #noldor #tolkien

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ayaosguqin · 1 year

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“Condemned and betrayed

Now everything's said

See my eyes (are) full of tears

And a cruel price we've paid

But still I can't claim

That I'm innocent”

-Noldor-Song by Blind Guardian

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symphonyofsilence · 1 year

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It's so strange that Fëanor's suspicion of how Fingolfin is trying to usurp him is usually dismissed as his paranoia and Melkor's baseless brainwashing when literally the first thing that happens after Finwë's death is that most of the Noldor decide to follow Fingolfin & name him as king, & Finarfin becomes the king of the Noldor in Valinor, & Fëanor is left with the smallest host among the brothers, to the point that Fëanor & Maedhros will later get outnumbered by Melkor and suffer defeats and Maedhros will have to abdicate in favor of Fingolfin to keep the Noldor united. (And at that point a lot of Fingolfin's followers had died on the ice. But they're still more than the Fëanorians.)

and even before Finwë's death, Fingolfin was ruling in his place in Tirion while Finwë & Fëanor were in exile. You might say that it's because of Fëanor's own actions, and yes, it was. But even though Fëanor's response was extreme, Fingofin was indeed there before Fëanor, talking behind his back to Finwë, & specifically telling Finwë that 'If thou dost not now repent of it, two sons at least thou hast to honour thy words.'

So it doesn't really seem like Fingolfin was just sharing his concern with Finwë & what happened after Fëanor's exile to Formenos & Finwë's death was just a self-fulfilling prophecy that Fëanor caused by his own action while Fingolfin had no interest in usurping him. And I don't think Fingolfon added Finwe before his name in pursuance of his claim to be King of the Noldor after his father's death was just in response to being abandoned on the ice by Fëanor, though I think it did play a great part in his decision to so openly claim Fëanor's place.

I think making Fingolfin less ambitious & without any political game of his own is actually a disservice to his character. He's a more complex character than he's usually given credit for. As I explained here, I think becoming a king was his way of inwardly seeking validation and filling the void that was left in him since childhood.

And we know that at least Maedhros was politically smart & more of a peacemaker. So maybe all of Fëanor's sons weren't always just following him like ducklings everywhere, without thinking of their own, or being completely brainwashed. Maybe something was going on against their father that they noticed, too. We know that "Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros". So Maedhros & Fingon broke up of their own accord. And they were very close. How can someone lie to you about your best friend, who you spend a lot of time with & leave little thing unsaid to each other, without any basis, and you believe it and even break up with them if you hadn't seen anything that even slightly ruffled your feathers & gave validation to the rumors?

We know that Nerdanel restrained Fëanor "when the fire of his heart burned too hot" but maybe it was less "your brother is not plotting against you" and more "pointing a sword at him in front of everyone in the parliament is not the way to go about it. Start your own political campaign".

And Indis naming Finarfin "Ingoldo" which means "THE Noldo" might have been in response to most of the Noldor not liking that their queen was a Vanya, and the fact that Finarfin was born blond, a very Vanya look, and Indis choosing to pronounce "th" as "s" despite already pronouncing it as "th" as a Vanya, while Fëanor insists that that was the correct pronunciation because Míriel insisted it is, might have again been Indis just trying to fit in among the Noldor, but Indis named Fingolfin "Arakano" which means "High Chieftain". And that trying to blend in with the Noldor obviously had a political side to it.

Could it be that all of these were just Indis trying to innocently make herself at home? And was she really a perfect mom to Fëanor who kept rejecting her affection?

I mean I don't think that she was downright an evil stepmother. I think she was nice to Fëanor, she really pitied him for being the only motherless child ever, and at such a young age, & did always try to win his favor, but that didn't stop her from seeking her own agenda for her sons.

Maybe we tend to make Indis more passive than she canonically was. Fëanor did notice his father showing Vanyarin behavior the more she was with Indis. & While I believe Finwë was a codependent and impressionable person, Indis might have also been actively influencing him. Or at least welcomed the changes in Finwë's behavior.

It might all be indeed innocent, but seeking to marry someone else's husband for the first time in history- because death doesn't do elves apart and Finwë & Míriel were still married when Finwë & Indis decided to marry- & by that condemning Míriel to stay dead forever because Indis has taken her place in her marriage while getting reincarnated is every elf's right doesn't sound to me like someone who is not willing to make moral compromises.

And It's very likely that after Finwë took Fëanor's side & went to exile with him when Fëanor raised his sword to Indis' son & Indis chose to stay in Tirion, things were broken between Indis & Finwë beyond repair. So Finwë choosing to stay in Mandos in Míriel's place forever didn't really surprise Indis. And even though it hurt very much, it didn't hurt as it once might have. After being proven that she would always be second to Míriel again & again, and for good the last time, it was clear to her that it would be Finwë's choice.

& Deep inside she thought that maybe she deserved it. And so did Finwë.

It hurt to be replaced.

And likewise, Fëanor vs Fingolfin incident might have also been the point of no return for Indis & Fëanor.

I headcanon that at Manwë's party to reconcile Fingolfin & Fëanor, it was the first time that Indis didn't smile at Fëanor, but looked coldly at him.

Finarfin has always seemed to me like someone who generally disliked this whole drama, and was not interested in ruling or politics and anything & was just there for Fingolfin's spiritual support. He probably spent most of his time with the Teleri, and like his brothers, he married young (it's not just a headcanon. He did marry young, according to NoME. I'll explain it in another post.) And mostly lived away from the drama. (when there's drama at home, all you gotta do is walk away-ay-ay)

But Fingolfin definitely had his ambition, and Indis might have had, too.

Another thing that Fëanor gets accused of Paranoia for, is that the Valar want his Silmarils.

...afer the Valar explicitly ask him for his Silmarils. And Tulkas claims that Fëanor doesn't even own them, & they're Yavanna's.

And later when one Silmaril is freed from Melkor, the only sailor that they allow inside Aman is Earendil who has the Silmaril. And then it's given to him to be used as almost the same way they wanted to use it when they asked Fëanor for them. This happens while Nerdanel, who would be Fëanor's heir & thus the rightful owner of that Silmaril is currently in Aman. And even if she doesn't want it, Findis, Finarfin & Finrod are there, too. Just because the Valar want everyone to enjoy the Silmarils' lights doesn't mean that they can forcefully take them away from their owners.

And later, the sons of Fëanor are again denied of their birthrights. Even if they couldn't touch them-which wasn't Eonwe's problem- Celebrimbor was still there.

So yeah, the Valar did want the Silmarils.

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a-happy-artist · 1 month

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I know this is a little late, but here is my entry for the c and c week prompt "childhood". I just was way to busy these past two weeks to finish this on time.

@candcweek I hope you like it!

It was great fun to draw them, because no matter how problematic they are, Celegorm and Curufin will always have a place in my heart.

#c+c week 2024 #curufin #celegorm fanart #celegorm #curufinwe #curufinwë #tyelko fanart #tyelkormo #huan #tolkien fanart #fanart #silmarillion fanart #silmarillion #silm art #feanorians #curufin and celegorm #celegorm and curufin

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grey-gazania-fic · 9 months

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A Momentary Pause in the Act of Death

Curufin at the Second Kinslaying. Rated T.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. Crumpled on the cold stone of Menegroth, now stained and sticky with blood, his blood, so much blood. No Silmaril to be found, and every breath sending stabbing pains through his chest and gut and oh Atar, Atar I'm sorry; we've failed you.

"Curvo?"

Gentle hands, warm hands, one at his back and one on his hair, and the hiss of breath drawn in through clenched teeth when Makalaurë saw the slash across his torso. Soft voice, not suited to Kanafinwë – "I'm here, brother. Shh."

"Cold." Mumbling, lightheaded and thirsty, he closed his eyes to block the light – had it grown harsher, colder, brighter? This was wrong; they'd lost the stone (oh, Atar), and fear threaded its way through the pain as he shivered. The Void was waiting, cold and black and empty; he clutched weakly at his brother, trying to focus on his words, but all was fog and meaningless sounds and shallow, painful breaths. The cold snaked up his body, tugging him relentlessly toward the Dark, until the only warmth in the world was Makalaurë's hands. A breath, and another, and another, and even that faded; he could fight the cold no longer, and fell limp and still against his brother as it claimed him.

Makalaurë wiped futilely at his tears, cradled his little brother against his chest, and went to lay him with the others.

#character death cw #curufin #curufinwe #curufinwë #doriath #second kinslaying #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fic #silmarillion writers' guild #silmfic #tolkien fanfic #tolkien #silmarillion

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kiatheinsomniac · 10 months

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— ꒰‧⁺ ☾ 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐋𝐄 ˀ ☁️ *ೃ༄

──── 𝐌𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐋, 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ˊˎ - ☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: buck moon jul. 2023 winner: @one7hell7of7a7simp who asked for some possessiveness hehe 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Fëanor x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: possessive behaviour, marking (?), Fëanor thinking Fingolfin only exists to ruin his life lol

When Fëanor looks over you in your flowing dress, made of layer upon layer of soft, sheer oranges with a faint autumn leaf pattern around the skirt’s hem that subtly shows in the light like a mirage. He cannot help but smile and yet grimace at once. You look stunning. You take his breath away all the time and he sees you in the jewels he cuts, the ones he creates. He sees the curve of your cheek in the necklaces he makes, the sparkle in your eye in the earrings he crafts.

But it’s also a problem. You look almost too good and the last thing he wants is his brothers drooling over you, especially Fingolfin. He approaches you from behind. You’re sitting upon a stool in front of a vanity, applying a little bit of tint to your lips and cheeks. Fëanor sets down the box he holds in his hands upon the table as he takes your soft hair into his hands.

Without a word, he leans over you to pluck up your hairbrush from where it lays on the table in front of you. In his peripheral vision, he catches your eyes glancing up to his own grey ones in the mirror but his gaze is fixed upon where he’s pulling the brush gently through your hair.

“What’s this, my love?” You ask as you peer at the box he’s set down beside you. It’s a deep red colour with a white velvet ribbon wrapped around it in order to keep it closed.

“A gift for my beloved.” He answers simply, still tenderly brushing your hair. He leans down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. You’ve perfumed your hair for the important event of meeting his family. You smell like lily of the valley and he takes a moment to just nuzzle his nose against the top of his head while one of his hands cups your cheek from behind. You’re so wonderful, the elleth that possesses his heart and he’ll be damned before he stands by while his brother falls for you and tries to take you away from him.

Fëanor sets the brush down for a moment as his hands cradle your face beneath your jaw in order to tilt your head back so that you look up to meet his eyes, each of you appearing upside down to the other. He leans down once more to paint a trail of kisses across your face, starting from your forehead and then travelling in a straight line to your brow, your nose, passing over your mouth to your chin and then finally kissing your lips. It’s slow, soft and sweet. Each of his kisses is warm and tender like the simmering embers of his furnace when he is finished crafting for the day.

“Open it, my love.” He takes the box back into his hands and sets it carefully in his lap. His arms drape over your shoulders as he leans down over you, his cheek pressed to yours. He watches on with a silent excitement within him while your fingers pluck up the end of the velvet ribbon and then pull, undoing the knot. You slip your hands beneath the white material in order to slide it off the box and then you slowly lift the lid. You want to savour this surprise, especially when considering the effort he must have put into it.

You suck in a quiet, gasped breath.

Inside is a set of glittering jewellery and, with this being your husband, he has not stopped at just earrings and a necklace, no. Inside, crafted from gold and set with larger red gems and smaller white ones, is a set of earrings, a necklace, rings, a bracelet and an anklet.

“Oh, Fëanáro…” You breathe out in a whisper as you take up the largest piece – the necklace – in hand. The details on the gold are never ending, like the intricate branches of trees criss-crossing one another, overlapped by stem and leaf. Fëanor had abandoned no detail of them, adding a subtle amount of texturing and even working veins into the leaves.

They weave around smaller white gems that reflect little rainbows and larger red ones that glimmer against the gold. Each piece is polished to perfection and is cut with such attention and symmetry that it’s without flaw at all. Even the chain that clasps around the back of your neck resembles the same leaf-like structure. The bracelet and anklet are styles similarly but are much more simplistic whereas the necklace cascades over your collar.

The rings are no less lavish, some more simple whereas others have larger, statement stones. They all follow the same theme as your dress and the necklace your husband has crafted to match it. Some are bare branches while others are crafted from golden branches or are made to resemble a leafy crown. The earrings are the most different though as it is the gems that are shaped like leaves – cut so thin, you wonder how many Fëanor might have broken before he got them right though you doubt the number is too high as he is the best in his profession – and they dangle from golden chains to make an effect like they are falling from the little branch cuff that crawls up the curve of your ear.

“I’m speechless, they’re wonderful.” You say softly, truly at a loss for words as he takes the necklace and clasps it around your neck. Mine. Then he does the same with the bracelet. Mine. The rings. Mine, mine, mine. The earrings. Mine, mine. And at last he kneels in front of you and his hands glide to the back of your calf, gliding his hands over the curve of your soft leg as he sets your foot in his lap so that he can fasten the anklet around you. Mine.

He looks up at you as his fingers gently caress your leg. You’re adorned now in jewels and precious metals that he moulded with you in mind. His craftsmanship is all over you and he hopes that it will serve as message enough that you are off limits. You’ve stolen his heart now. You have a piece of him and he will protect you and his heart in your hands for as long as he breathes air into his lungs.

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🏷️@clumsycopy @edensrose @augustwithquills @involuntaryspasms @eunoiaastralwings @spidergirla5 @wandererindreams @singleteapot @noldorinpainter @asianbutnotjapanese @yourfamilyfriendsatan @firagirl @aeonianarchives @batsyforyou

#— ꒰‧⁺ ☾ lunar raffle ˀ ☁️ *ೃ༄#i know i advertised this as strawberry moon but i messed up it's actually the buck moon lol #oops #fëanor #fëanor x reader #the silm #silm #the silmarillion #the silmarillion x reader #curufinwë #curufinwë x reader

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uglynovemberrain · 26 days

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What about coconut cheese would elves like it????? I NEED TO KNOWWW

Fëanor is not impressed... Maybe ask someone else?

#art #fan art #ask #fëanor #curufinwë #the silmarillion #silmarillion #silm art #the silmarillion art #jrr tolkien #middle earth #uglynovemberrain #my trash #crack

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lovefairymina · 4 months

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Me seeing Feanor peacefully asleep: puts makeup on his face and quickly goes and makes his favourite food so he doesn't get mad at me...

“W-What...What is this?! Y/N!” His footsteps were loudly heard as he moved briskly through the house in search of you until he arrived in the kitchen.

“What have you done to my beautiful face?!” he screeched. “You have turned me into a jester when I am a Princ—is that a blueberry tart you are making? For me? ...then I’ll consider this prank null and void.”

#♡{sweet.hugs} ~ {feanor}#feanor imagine #feanor x y/n #feanor x you #fëanor #fëanáro #feanor #curufinwe #curufinwë #house of feanor #silm imagines #middle earth imagine

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giaffa · 1 year

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Curufinwë senior, Curufinwë junior, and Curufinwë the 3rd (to his dismay)

#sorry for the image quality the page got super dirty #tolkien #tolkien art #tolkien elves #silmarillion #the silmarillion #the silm #silm art #feanor #fëanor #curufin #curufinwe #curufinwë #celebrimbor #tyelpe #sketches

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sillysistersusi · 2 months

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You are more than that

Celegorm & Curufin

Summary: Curufin gets mistaken for his father and gets insecure about his worth. Celegorm is there to help.

Warnings: self doubt

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Curufin dropped head first onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow as the first tears began to fall.

Some other elves had mistaken him for his father.

What didn't seem like a big deal at first was a big deal for Curufin. All his life he had lived in his father's shadow and no one had ever seen him as his own person.

Everyone called him 'little Feanor' but not even half of them ever used his name.

When Curufin had been smaller, Maglor had always referred to him in his songs as the 'image of our beloved Atar'. He knew that Macalaurë had never meant any harm, but it had still stung his heart whenever he heard it. For even to his brothers, he was nothing more than a poor copy of their father.

And even though he was no longer a child, a comment like that still really hurt him.

Then he heard his bedroom door open quietly and close again immediately afterwards. At first he thought it was Tyelpe, but then he heard Celegorm's voice ask: "Curvo? Has something happened? You seemed so absent when you came back."

Curufin sighed into his pillow. "It's stupid," he muttered quietly.

"It always is. "Celegorm grinned, but when he didn't get a reaction from Curufin, he swallowed hard.

He dropped onto the bed next to him, causing the whole mattress to bounce up and down.

"Come on, tell your big brother," Celegorm said, wrapping his arms around his brother's middle and burying his face in his shoulder.

Curufin tried to struggle free, but Celegorm was stronger and wrapped his arms around him tighter.

Curufin lay in his brother's warm arms for a while. Because even though he had tried to fight his way out of the embrace, he liked it when his brother hugged him. When they had both been smaller, Celegorm had often wrapped his arms around him from behind and held him close.

The embrace made him feel safe and secure and he actually wished that the hug would never end.

"Is it about Tyelpe?" Celegorm asked.

Curufin shook his head and exhaled shakily. "No, it's not about Tyelpe. It's-"he sighed. "it's complicated."

"Come on, Curvo! Tell me. Just like when we were kids!"he said.

Curufin was quiet for a while. Everything in him wanted to tell his big brother. Whenever he had told his brother what was bothering him when they were small, Celegorm had done everything he could to make it up to him. But that was the problem. Curufin was no longer a small child. He should have come to terms with it by now and not make such a fuss about it.

"I-" but he interrupted himself and swallowed, "Do you think- do you think I would be worth less if I wasn't the image of our father?"

Celegorm sat up a little and loosened his grip on Curufin, but only so that he could lean over him. What he saw made his heart break a little. Curufin's eyes were red and swollen and a few silent tears were still running down his cheeks.

"Oh Curvo!"Celegorm gently wiped his cheeks dry with the sleeve of his robe, "My dear Curvo, what are you talking about? Who said you would be worth less? Who? I'll see to it that this person never steps under your eyes again."

"Me! I'm the one who said that!"Curufin turned to Celegorm, his cheek almost as red as Caranthir's when they had teased him as a child. "Not once did I feel that anyone liked me, just because of what I am, but because of my similarities with Atar!"

"Hey, "Celegrom's voice had become softer. He leaned his forehead against his younger brother's, "I like you a lot better than our Atar and I hope you know that. I wouldn't spend almost every minute I'm not hunting with you and Tyelpe otherwise, believe me."

"It's just- sometimes there- it feels like there isn't me, just a younger version of our father. "Curufin whispered softly.

"But you do exist." Celegorm whispered back softly, "And- and you're wonderful. I don't compliment many people, so feel honoured."

Curufin's mouth turned up into a slight smile as he looked up into his older brother's face.

But Celegorm wasn't done yet. Because if there was one thing that made him sad, it was when Curufin was sad. "You are so much more than our father. You put your own personal charm into everything you create and make it your own unique creation. You are a great father to Tyelpe, in a way that our Atar was not. I'm not saying he was a bad father, just that you and Tyelpe have a much deeper connection than Atar and some of us. You're also the only person I can stand to be around, no matter the time."

New tears welled up in Curufin's eyes and he bit his trembling lower lip.

"Why- Why are you crying again? Has something else happened?" Celegorm asked in a panic. He wasn't the best with emotions, but he had thought that what he had said had been all right.

Curufin wrapped his arms around Celegorm's neck and pulled him close. "Those are tears of joy, you idiot," he murmured as the first new tears escaped his eyes.

"Can I join in on your cuddling?" asked a high-pitched voice from the direction of the door.

Celegorm looked up and caught sight of his nephew Tyelpe, who poked his head through the door curiously.

Curufin released one of Celegorm's arms and said with a smile, "Come here."

Tyelpe grinned softly and threw himself onto the bed with his father and uncle.

Curufin hugged them both tightly.

#curufin #curufinwë #curufinwe #celegorm #tyelkormo #tyelpe #telperinquar #sons of feanor #sons of fëanor #hurt/comfort #fanfic #fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #celegorm and curufin #turcafinwe #the silm fandom #the silmarillion #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic

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doodle-pops · 9 months

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Hate You, Love You, It's The Same Thing

Curufin x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: Curufin can't tell if he hated or loved you, but all he knew was that he felt some attraction towards you.

[Q]: Nai elen siluva omentielva — may the stars shine upon our meeting.

Curufin can’t stand you at all.

The way you smile, or how your eyes crinkle at the corners to produce an extra sparkle in your eyes, the little dimple at the corner of your lips or the way you toss your head back when the joke escalates, or how you would cover your mouth with your right hand—always your right—to hide your smile you once admitted to being embarrassed about; he couldn’t stand you. The longer he looked on, the more agitated he grew—it was the growth in the audience you attracted. Every time you stepped out into public, there was always a crowd, you simply couldn’t have attention on you at all times.

He rolled his eyes when you grew flustered at his older brother's jokes. Maedhros and Maglor, the famously attractive Noldorin Princes. To think that Curufin, after being labelled as a replica of his father would also be considered one of the most handsome elves, was a laughable joke.

Atarinkë. Call me mini father and I don’t even sport a single portion of his looks. If I did, you’d think I would have also attracted many people like him.

He continued to look on as you lifted the wine glass to your lips and took in a deep swig before sighing at the relief you must have felt from suffering a dry throat. All that laughter you had engaged in during the festival, and it wasn’t even nightfall yet. Teleperion was now coming into full bloom, overshadowing Laurelin. He scoffed again. Even Caranthir approached to offer you another glass of miruvórё when he noticed yours reducing; you had all his brothers wrapped around your fingers, and what did you do, flash a smile. Curufin knew that you knew what you were doing, and he hated it.

In fact, it’s not that he couldn’t stand you, he loathed you. Yes, he did.

Huffing and puffing in the deepest corner of the garden, he observed couples stumbling about the ground with unkept clothes, rumpled in areas that spoke of their activities or attempts. Intoxicated he could tell, others merely frivolous, and in his heart, it stung him. It pained him to know that everyone else, even the ones he mocked and considered unappealing and unapproachable were busy being swooned and courted while he remained untouched and unsuited.

Humiliation was not a pleasant and welcoming emotion in the House of Feanor, his father would be quick to inform him to dismiss such feelings. But as much as Curufin attempted to cast it aside, it came crawling back to him like a leach. The sluggish sensation creeping through his veins and pumping its deprivation through his bloodstream forced him to empty his glass and reach for another as a worker made a quick pass through the layout of the grounds.

“Oi, háno! What are you doing sulking all by yourself in a corner? It’s most certainly not like you!” Tyelko’s booming traversed the area, sending shockwaves from his volume of speech. Only Tyelko would ignore his volume and manners, and annoyingly call out his favourite brother without the thought of being counselled.

If Curufin was aggravated, he became infuriated when not only the rest of his brothers cast their eyes upon his shadowed figure, but you. Your kind, sympathetic eyes held his in an unbreakable trance. He felt himself slowly slipping on the ice, but landing on green, luscious grass. He felt himself being transported into a windy field with small rolling hills in the distance, short-kept grass, flowers in their full bloom and radiant abundance and you standing there with the wind in your hair and a gorgeous smile. He could feel how cool the summer breeze was, dancing across his skin and planting kisses as their travel. It was years since the wind had ever felt so divine. As you smiled, there was nectar pouring into his mouth. He couldn't spit it out, even if he wanted to; he didn't want to, he enjoyed the succulent richness of its taste.

He definitely hated you.

“I think he’s broken.”

“I haven’t seen him this lost since we left him in the forest that one time.”

“Think he’s probably drunk?”

“Have you ever seen him drunk?”

Gapping at you the longer your eyes held each other’s gaze, he silently grounded his teeth. He hated you, he chanted, but the butterflies in his stomach and the warmth spread through his skin, starting from his heart sang a different tale. Sharp silver-grey eyes continued to stare, and even you were sucked in the longer your heart swelled. Curufin didn’t know how long he stood there in silence gawking at you, but it was enough to become unconscious to your figure approaching his. The crowded silence had died in the background and his brother’s voices had been shut out the moment you left their company to join his.

You stood before him, shorter than most but tall enough to equate his height. His eyes were still locked onto your figure, not realising that you had already crossed the grounds and stood before him, a foot apart. Curufin was still lost in your world, your paradise, refusing to believe that you truly possessed what he already knew you did. He didn’t want to leave, but he also wanted to upkeep his notorious attitude of being unbothered and disinterested. That thread was growing thinner by the second and his patience becoming precarious the longer he spent time in your presence.

But it took a smile from you and a simple greeting to make him shut down.

“Hello, my prince. Nai elen siluva omentielva.” You greeted politely with a curt bow of your head and your hand extending outwards. The same smile he claimed to hate was accompanied by the greeting. You were angelic, or some deity that did not exist in his world or any other realm; too perfect for him to reach out and embrace.

While he thought of himself as high and mighty for bearing his father’s name and the status of a prince, he felt humbled. The genuineness you held in your eyes stripped him bare of all fear and worries that you would judge his character; the one he fought to uphold in honour of another and not himself. You deserved to be treated with the utmost care.

“G-Greetings,” he stuttered with a slight crack in his voice. His eyes made a rough dart behind you and noticed his brothers all gathered to observe. If you weren’t present, he’d toss his glass of wine on them, but then it would be a waste of good mead.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you…looked lonely and I wanted to ask if you would like a stroll in the garden or nearby the lake?” Why didn’t you say he was staring? He was most obviously staring at you; anyone on the premises could see that he was in fact gawking at you.

His palms grew sweaty, and his throat tightened. He hated you, so why would you with your beautiful wine-stained lips and starry eyes ask to spend time in his company? There was a thump in his heart. His tongue grew slack and spoke what he refused to acknowledge sincerely. “…Yes,” he curtly replied. A rosy blush had spread across his cheeks, and it was not from the wine. The unversed unorthodox feeling flowing through his veins was unlike any other he’d experienced. A whisper or two may have slipped into his ear growing up, but never detailed or spoken about on universal levels such as currently.

Uncoordinated body and trembling limbs reached out for you to take—tales of being a courteous gentleman—and almost accidentally spilling your wine. It was a first step into making a move and rewiring the oxymoron his brain and heart were performing, getting them to be on the same level. But even the prince knew that it was a challenge to accept when he detested and craved you at the same time, and a challenge he adored. You gave him a breath of fresh air and something to look forward to, a love unlike any other he would ever experience.

To hate is to love, they are two sides of the same coin. Ah, yes! He definitely hated you.

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