#i just think it’s neat that of all the feanorians the one with the most awareness of how stories and songs work is the narrative loose end | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourlocalnetizen · 2 years

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Celegorm headcanons

He has massive pretty privilege and is completely aware of this and uses it to his advantage unlike his also canonically good looking brother Maedhros.

He's not as much of a workout junkie as people make him out to be. He's athletic yes, he has more of a lithe body type like Maglor's, but with more muscle. I actually see Curufin being the buff one out of the Feanorians given he's in the forges all day where as Celegorm spends more time running and shooting arrows so I think he's actually be sort of skinny like how Amrod & Amras who are also hunters are pictured.

Celegorm had fairly long hair which he tied back into a neat braid when he went hunting. It wasn't exactly ideal so he did have to cut it a couple times but he did like growing it out because he, like all Finwean's was blessed with great hair. Also his whole fam was praised for their hair, Feanor & Finwe had famous raven locks, Nerdanel & Mathan had hair that was a beautiful auburn color, Maedhros's fiery hair was iconic, and Maglor's hair was so long it reached his mid thigh.

Back in Valinor, Celegorm got along pretty well with all his (half) cousins except Turgon & Galadriel.

He never really got confrontational with Galadriel though. They just disliked each other because she somewhat openly hated his dad and thought he was narcissistic while he believed she was stuck up but they mostly ignored each other and gave each other fake smiles when others were around.

He and Turgon on the other hand would give each other dirty looks all the time. And talk smack about each other behind each other’s back. The unwilling victim who would hear most of this was Aredhel who would ditch them until they stopped complaining. The only thing these two will ever agree on is that Eol is garbage.

Celegorm used to give Amrod & Amras rides on Huan all the time when the twins were small. Sometimes he would let Argon ride Huan too, which is why the kid had a initially good impression of him and a part of the reason Turgon had a bad impression of him.

While Curufin was canonically Feanor's favorite son, I do think Feanor had a massive soft spot for Celegorm and let him get away with a ton of shit. Partially cuz Miriel, who's looks and silver hair he inherited but also just because Celegorm was an incredibly loving son, like the kind who give you lots of hugs and say "I love you" every day.

When he was younger, he had a massive desire to be liked by everyone so he would somewhat go out of his way to be nice. Especially in front of adults. It was also a part of the reason Orome was so fond of him, he really was a good kid despite what he later became.

Of course, many elves did like him so as he grew older, he somewhat expected to be liked by everybody he met.

It's not like he just started being mean to everyone though, If you were nice to him and didn't bother him, you were good in his book and he treated you well back. If you weren't, you would see the ugliest side of him.

Being close to most of the Nolofinweans, he spent quite a bit of time with his half aunt Lalwen and thought she was one of the coolest elves ever as a kid.

#celegorm #feanorians #feanor #nerdanel #maedhros #maglor #curufin #caranthir #amrod #amras #aredhel #galadriel #turgon #finwe #miriel #miriel therinde #miriel serinde #the silmarillion

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welcomingdisaster · 1 year

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ultramarine

celebrimbor & curufin || t || 1k || ao3

Tyelpë dips his brush into paint, carefully dotting blue over the glass in front of him. The pigment had taken him the whole previous week to put together, and he is proud of the brightness of the hue.

His father had pulled the bright blue stone from the cliffs some three or four years ago. It crushes with little effort, and they have found it dyes fabric quite prettily, but they save it for this. The rest is all him. The week before, when riders had come from the hills with orders, the neat, tabulated list of necessities from the forge in his uncle’s sharp slanted hand, he had gone out to harvest pine sap. He had scratched his nailbeds scraping it from trees and picking out stray pieces of bark. He had mixed that with the stone-dust, judging the saturation with both eye and hand, and kneaded the whole mass in lye, pulling the color out. He had worked in batches, carefully saving each; the first bright, rich, royal blue, the last an ashy, thick grey.

He will use both, here.

Tyelpë has an eye for hue, his father tells him; he mixes color with the sensibilities of a painter as much as a craftsman, thinks of use and beauty as not as two separate mistresses whom he must please but as two hands of the same muse. He can close his eyes and picture the facets of a gem under eight different angles of light.

His grandfather had thought much of light, his father says. Grief mixes with pride in his voice, with longing, with anger. Tyëlpe mixes paint.

He sits in a little raised alcove, his working-table positioned by the window. On days like this he starts work as soon as the sun is up and keeps working until the light is gone. No lamp, not even Feanorian lamps, shall do; such work requires natural light.

Below him, his father works the forge. Tyëlpe draws away from his own work for just a moment to watch his back, well-muscled and broader than most any other elf, a strength that comes with bulk. He holds a thin sheet of metal over the flames, then pulls it back, laying it upon the concave swage tightened for such purpose and hammering it into place. He must be strong, for to be weak would be to sacrifice the precision of the act; he makes the pounding of the great hammer look almost languid with deliberation, as though it is nothing to him, as though the choice of where to apply such force is as trivial as spreading ink upon parchment.

Tyëlpe looks back down at his own hand, his fingers white where he grips the little paintbrush. His whole body tenses in anticipation of dotting the paint, of leaving a mark one twentieth the size of his thumbnail.

Curufinwë hammers and heats, bores and cuts. Tyëlpe dulls blue with grey and brightens it again. Outlines the edges of circle with one long, slow stroke; dabs oil-soot black into the center. Leaves his brush to dry in the sun as as he carefully scrapes silver-leaf to catch the light and bring out a little brightness.

His father comes to sit by him just as he applies the final clear coat of spirit varnish. He tuts approvingly when Tyëlpe holds his project up to the light, watching the sun dance in the blue and silver.

“Each day you improve in skill,” he says, pressing his lips the top of Tyëlpe’s head from behind, “now, I daresay, you have surpassed your dear old father in the mixing of pigments. Look at that dappling.”

Curufinwë is hot yet from the forge, huge and solid and immovable behind him. Tyëlpe’s chest floods with warmth at the words, at his father’s approving gaze. He means what he says; his pride, Tyëlpe feels, is earnest.

“Your words taught me,” he says, “and your hands guided me.”

Again he looks down at his creation. But his mind is restless, yet, and his gaze takes him further. Out the window, past the pine forests, towards the great grey-blue mountains in the distance. He been outside of Aglon, he knows; has come from other lands. But he remembers them not, beyond a hazy impression of sea and a great many people shouting. He cannot picture Aman. He cannot picture even the rest of Beleriand, his uncles’ fortresses only a few days’ ride away. He cannot picture where he sends his work.

“Father,” he says softly, nodding down to his work, “why should they need eight of these?”

Curufinwë freezes, startled. Tyëlpe feels him tense behind him, the comforting, soft solidity replaced with something far more rigid and fragile. “How do you mean, dear boy?”

“It seems a strange thing to lose,” Tyëlpe says, raising a hand to his own face, pressing his fingers against his own cheekbone, “so well protected.”

For a moment he thinks he may get a true answer. He knows there is much his father does not say. His father who fears to let him out of the fortress, to let him alone in the woods, even to gather sap. His father who comes to watch him sleep, checking twice each night that he is in bed, in his place. His father who cuts off his uncles’ stories with sharp words, too fast, too wounded. Watch yourself. Not in front of the boy. His father stretched too thin, fragile as the sheets of glass they work together. Push too hard, and he shall break.

But Curufinwë only exhales through his nose, sharp. He squeezes Tyëlpe’s shoulder from behind, and turns away towards the fire.

“These are strange times,” he says, “come, Tyëlpe. See my craft. I have built quite a clever mechanism for the fingers, and you shan’t like to miss it.”

Tyëlpe thinks of asking more. Of prying, of pushing.

Instead he sets the glass eye down on the table and follows his father to the forge.

#curufin #celebrimbor #my fic

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sparklecryptid · 2 years

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NICE face claim!

Also that bit about all of Elrond inherited Feanorians suddenly remembering her when they see her again is EMOTIONAL.

Imagining them all just going about their day, hearing that Erestor brought in a wandering elleth that saved Elrond's children, okay, neat, whoever she is she's earned points on that alone, she'll be at dinner and most of them have that shift off this week-

Small, dark braids, travelers clothing clean and well mended, and that quick bright grin-

Oh.

They know her.

They know her but they forgot her somehow, HOW DID THEY FORGET HER?!?!?

Anordil probably gets discreetly followed by at least two of them at all times for a while. If they let her out of their sight they might forget again, which is probably a special kind of terrifying for a species that does NOT forget such things as a general rule.

“Did you hear?” Aranion says idly as he finishes warping a loom, “The Lord’s sons were found, Erestor has brought them and the woman who delivered them safely to him back to the valley.”

Melehte makes a noise of interest in the back of her throat as she takes her weaving off a loom. “Not many Men would care for the fate of two elf children.”

“That’s the interesting part, she’s one of the Eldar. A Noldo if the descriptions of her are to be believed.”

Melehte pauses.

“A wandering Noldo? How odd. Not many of us wander in this day and age.”

“You’re curious,” Aranion says fondly as he shakes his head, “Why don’t you go and see her for yourself?”

“I have things to do, Aranion,” she says, “I don’t have time to dig into the lives of others.”

“Come to dinner in the hall then, Elrond has invited her to dinner.”

Melehte makes a considering noise in the back of her throat.

“I’ll think about it.”

The Hall is loud with life and laughter - as it always is - and yet everyone has one eye on the door as they wait for this mysterious elf to appear with Elrond. It is unlike Elrond or his family to be late for evening meals which makes it easy to conclude that he and Celebrian plan on making an appearance with their children and the woman who had saved them.

Melehte wonders if the woman’s motivations were truly pure, if she hadn’t saved the twins in an effort to curry favour with Elrond. An unkind thought to be sure, but Melehte has lived through the horrors of the First Age, she is suspicious of everything.

The twins laughter echoes as they approach the Hall, an unfamiliar voice follows them, gentle in it’s tone and amused. Celebrian says something that none of them quite catch and the unfamiliar voice laughs.

The voice digs at something in Melehte’s gut, it’s unfamiliar, she has never heard it before but it reminds her of something that was lost. Something that Melehte feels she should remember.

She doesn’t.

It’s annoying.

The twins enter the Halls first, tugging on the hands of their parents before they realize they’re being looked at and become shy. Elrohir attempts to hide behind his fathers legs while Elladan clings to his mothers hand more tightly.

It is a relief to see them safe, to see them alive and well and unharmed and a tension that had been lingering in the room eases as someone laughs and calls out to the twins.

The twins brighten in response, and after a quick nod from their parents they rush off toward a golden haired elf that had been stuck in the infirmary for the past week.

A smile makes it way onto Melehte’s face as she watches how Glorfindel easily raises the twin’s spirits. The twins laughter rings through the Hall again and the Hall erupts into laughter and chatter and cheers.

Melehte’s eyes are still on the door, still on the door where Elrond and Celebrian wait for someone.

Erestor appears first, dressed plainly in the dark colors he favours and he raises an eyebrow at the scene in the Hall before turning and speaking to someone behind him.

Laughter echoes through the Hall - soft and chime like yet causing everyone to pause and listen - and a woman steps out from behind Erestor to say something and-

Oh.

Melehte knows her.

Small hands following her movement as she teaches Vinyáre how to warp a loom. Wide eyes looking at Melehte as she is handed a child’s first attempt at weaving to pass judgment on. Those same eyes - dark brown and odd for an elf - growing bright with happiness as Melehte praises her.

Vinyáre had been precious to them. Maglor’s child had been a source of joy for those who followed the remaining sons of Feanor. It had been a welcome distraction to teach, to nurture and love a child who loved them back even with the blood on their hands.

(Melehte had been a soldier, hands strong and callused and with so much blood on her hands she doubts they will ever be clean. Vinyáre knew this. She had been told what her family and it’s followers had done.

She never flinched away from them, not once.)

A strangled sobs rips itself from someone’s throat and Melehte knows she is not the only one who remembers. She knows she is not the only one who forgot.

From across the room Vinyáre blinks, shock painting itself across her face as she recognizes them. Why did they forget her? How could they forget her? She loved them. They loved her. How could they forget her-

Elrond turns to her and asks her a question about the reactions of those in the Hall.

Vinyáre smiles.

(Melehte remembers those smiles. The awkward ones that Vinyáre would make when she wasn’t sure if she would be in trouble or not.)

“Oh,” she says, “I didn’t think they’re would be anyone who would remember me, that’s all.”

#the light of dawn verse #Anordil: certainly no one will remember me so i can have dinner and LEAVE-#the Feanorians Elrond has: hahaha NOPE #we just remembered you and you think we are gonna let you LEAVE #DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR FATHER WOULD SAY #anordil: actually i ran into him a while back he’s fine with -#the feanorians Elrond has: you think hes fine with it; he isn’t. he was /lying/

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awkwardkindatries · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 3: Uniform

Have I ever said how much I genuinely love Celebrimbor? best boy.

Celebrimbor/reader

NSFW

Words:2347

Elves in Eregion didn't really have uniforms outside of military forces, they did however, have a standard of dress for their meetings in court. This dress code typically consists of a high collar shirt, a button down tunic, full length trousers followed by high polished black boots. One's hair must always be done and braided back and most jewelry is kept to the minimum at a circlet and possibly a ring. All fabrics are embellished in elaborate embroidery and buttons polished to a lovely shine, not a hair or stitch to be out of place.

These court sessions aren't exactly frequent so within your time there you hadn't had the pleasure of catching him in his authoritative garb until today. You caught sight of him walking back to his quarters, his shoulders weren't square they were dropped in exhaustion, his eyes were tired and his brow furrowed in stress. You couldn't help but to follow him a few paces as he walked past you before grabbing ahold of his cuff, softly calling his name.

He whips around to stare at you allowing you to take full advantage of your close proximity. He's tall and broad as he towers above you, his clothing makes him look sharp and important, as if he could command a room of people and they listen without hesitation.

In contrast, his disposition was soft, worn down by politics and stress bearing down on him with the weight of Arda. Though you couldn't relieve him fully of this weight you could at least make the load seem lighter.

You offer him company on the rest of the walk back to his chambers, the halls oddly empty as the hour was not yet late. You suppose this was for the better as the added traffic would only have exasperated his condition. Chatter was relatively light between the two of you, and though you two had grown close you didn't want to wear him down further with topics of importance.

When you had made it to his door, he hesitated frna moment before allowing you to follow him into his room. It wasn't something new to you however, it was deemed inappropriate by the court for an unmarried individual such as yourself to follow a member of said court into privacy, let alone while he was still in his professional attire. He opens the door and before you enter you glance to both sides once more and follow him on, lightly shifting the door behind you. You turn in search of him and find that he has fallen backward in a large splayed-out lump on top of his bed, legs draped over the side and head inches from the wall.

His arms rest bent over his head, hands atop his eyes as he lets out a deep sigh, letting the stress of the day leave his body as well as he could on his own. You couldn't help the light snort that left you as you took him in, yes he was tired, stressed, more than likely overworked but he was an up and coming leader and you understand that there's an adjustment period to these things that your partner might still be adjusting to.

While he mulls about with his head in his hands and thoughts elsewhere you take the moment to look around his room. It's neat, like normal but there are still things out of place that feel like disarray in the normally spotless, “not a hair out of order” Feanorians room. Books are pulled from their spots and left about on the table in the center of the room, discarded after reading. A half-empty cup of tea remains beside it. The towel he had used earlier in the day has not made its way back to the bathing chamber and sits in a little pool on the floor at his footboard. And lastly, the circlet he had been wearing earlier now rested on the floor, more than likely having been aimed for the table and not bothering to pick it up after hearing it drop to the carpet below. Odd, it was his fathers. He only ever wore it for formal occasions and typically treated it with more care.

You make your way in front of him before bending down to pluck it from the carpet, setting it in its intended place. Once finished, you turn to him.

His arms and hands slide from his face before his eyes reopen and he stares you down.

“Thank you, though you could have left it. I'd have gotten it eventually.”

You give a kind smile in return

“I couldn't possibly leave something so important to you.”

The smile he gives in return is tired and barrel there but it exists and you cherish every moment. Reaching out your hand you offer help, and say “if we hurry then we might still be able to catch supper, I heard they're serving stew tonight.”

It is his favorite after all.

He grabs your hand and attempts to stand before his knees give a weak wobble and he plummets back to the mattress. His body was obviously much closer to shutting down than the two of you had originally suspected.

He drags you down with him as he reconnects with the bed, you landing on top of his broad chest, subconsciously to the expensive fabric beneath your fingers, eyes shutting in anticipation of impact.

When it comes, the impact isn't too bad. The Ellon beneath you is as firm and solid as a wall below, opening your eyes you look up into his and you're surprised. His face is flushed a soft pink as he stares down at you, mouth suddenly filled with cotton neither really capable of speech. You're just about to get up and awkwardly excuse yourself to the hallway in order to take your embarrassment elsewhere when you feel it.

You're resting on something that grows hard against your stomach and as a result, are probably much redder than you were a few seconds prior. Since your eye contact stopped the next few moments would almost be comical as he realized the very moment you figured this situation out. You in turn realize you'd been found out and look away is embarrassment, not entirely sure what your next move should be.

He sits up, slightly shaking as anxiety begins to rack his body.

“I-im so sorry!” he quick to apologize

As you still rest in his lap, fingers tightly holding his velvet tunic you begin to consider a few things. How tired he has been lately, his body probably reacting in many ways due to this. How hard he has been working to do better for the people, his constant commute back and forth from the dwarvish colonies to improve relations, how on top of all of his duties he still manages to do the bare minimum to take care of himself and still sacrificing what little personal time he had for you.

You wonder when he gets time for care, he spends so much of his time caring for others, he does he receive any back.

Perhaps you could do this for him.

Taking the chance, you brace yourself against him and push back, grinding against him. His hands shoot to your hips holding you fast, looking all the more like a deer in sight.

“What are you doing?” he asks

You clear your throat and attempt the best steady voice that you're capable of at the moment.

“ Could I- if it's okay, uh. Help with that?” you ask, gesturing slightly down with your head.

You broke him, you're convinced of it, he hasn't blinked or moved in possibly a whole minute and at this point you're certain that you've just embarrassed yourself enough for the rest of your lifetime, you've ruined all of the time you put into forming this bond with Celebrimbor. You make to get off but his grip on your hips holds firm and he speaks, it's low and soft, barely there at all.

“I couldn't possibly ask..”

Immediately you perk up and backtrack your last thought process.

“You aren't!” you insist “I'm offering, I’d really like to help”.

Another moment passes and he nods in approval turning his head away, possibly embarrassed himself “Alright, if you so wish it..”

After receiving his permission you suddenly feel much more authoritative as you have this powerful looking Ellon below you, wanting your touch.your hands glide up from the fabric of his tunic to his neck stopping at his jaws, forcing his face in your direction his eyes meet yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is simple but his reaction is almost like it was more intimate a request than touching anything below the belt. The answer isn’t as firm as the last one but he consents. Leaning in you apply soft pressure taking your time to make this count, to make him feel loved, appreciated. This cycle repeats until you slide your tongue along the seam of his mouth, asking for further permission. He shakes a tad but relents and squeezes your hips harder as you suck his tongue into your mouth and give a firm suck, the grunt that leaves him is intoxicating. Pulling away he already looks slightly out of breath and frankly you’re impressed with yourself.

You gently pull his fingers away from your body and move to kneel on the floor in front of him.

His hands now clench onto the fabric of his bedsheets as you take your time dragging up and down the sides of his thighs hoping to bring him more comfort. With a little more confidence your fingers trail over the fabric above his crotch, receiving a sharp inhale in return. Moving to the laces, unlacing them is quick then you make for the hem of his trousers. Looking up, he then understands and lifts up his waist allowing you to pull them further down to his thighs.

He's full and standing at attention, you glance up to him and you don't think you've ever seen his face any redder as he bites his lip in anticipation.

Taking him in hand you give a light kiss to the underside, his head falling back as a gasp leaves him. Continuing to watch his face, you grasped him tighter and began to stroke him up and down, a shudder leaving him at the motion.

In no time you've collected a fair amount of saliva and put it to use, giving a firm lick to the length of him. His breath chokes up for a second as he experiences this for the first Time. You repeat this a few times before taking a breath and wrapping your lips around his head. You hear the sheets stretch on either side of you as you work. Sucking in your cheeks as tightly as you could you swirl your tongue around the head, every so often flicking against the slit across the top.

Now that his noises have worked up to breathy sighs you take this as a sign to kick it up a notch. Bracing your hands on either thigh you push yourself up a little to give yourself a better angle. Tightening your hold on the bottom of his cock you took as much of him in your mouth as you could, barely making it to the top of your hand. Continuing your work and pace with determination you had barely noticed his hips following your pace chasing after the heat of your mouth.

His head is still tossed back as he breathes deeply occasionally gifting you with a groan and now you've given yourself a new goal. You want to make a mess of this man.

Removing your hand from his base you take a much deeper breath and begin to bob your hands as shallowly swallowing with every other bob. His hands shoot to your hair as a moan forces its way out of his throat. You have to try your hardest not to gag as tears prick your eyes and your jaw begins to ache at the size of your task. But you can do better, grinding the head of his cock against the back of your throat you begin to hum, alternating between bobbing and grinding your head in his lap occasionally scraping the tip of your nose against his pelvis.

You can feel his hands trembling in your hair as he doubles over above you, groans and moans trickling freely from his throat as he tries to contain himself from thrusting into your mouth and causing you harm. His feet can't seem to keep still as they slide against the floorboards below and his toes curl tightly under the polished black of his formal boots. The heat in his gut begins to bubble, ready to boil over as he gives a weak effort to warn you of his untimely end

“D-darling I *groan* I don't have much l-longer..”

Doubling down your efforts, you're determined to make his world crumble around him in rapture. Mere moments pass and relief washes over you and your jaw as his body locks, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his pelvis as he throbs out his finish down the length of your throat, a deep moan choking it's way from his depths .

Letting out a shuddered breath he lets go of your body before dropping back to his sheet, trying his damndest to regain his breath. His body feels like jelly and his head empty of all of his previous troubles as he basks in his euphoric high.

Pulling yourself from him you lick your lips in satisfaction as your loved one pants across from you. You make to grab his trousers hoping to help remake his decent before his hands gently cradle and hold onto yours. Sitting up a soft blush has resurfaced to his skin and he looks deeply into your eyes, you can't help but to feel warm as your arousal shoots back up.

“So then is it my turn?”

#lord of the rings #lotr #silmarillion #silm #celebrimbor #celebrimbor/reader #Celebrimbor x reader #spicy

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arofili · 4 years

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For the character ask: all the children of Finarfin

How I feel about this character:

Finrod: charming slutty blond twink with a heart of gold. maybe that’s too much fanon and not enough canon but you can tear that characterization from my cold dead hands tbh. like yes this is King “I Killed A Werewolf With Nothing But My Teeth And The Power Of Love” but he’s also Prince “I Rap Battled With Sauron And Lost” and Lord “I Befriended Men and Dwarves Before It Was Cool”

Angrod: of all his siblings i think he’s the most… Angry Boy. he has a temper, but he’s also married with a kid (I subscribe to the Orodreth Angrodion version of canon). i think he’s the ‘oh my god why can’t any of you be NORMAL’ brother. BOTH his mother name and his father name are derived from the word for ‘iron’ - he’s got an iron personality, very strong-willed and stubborn. i also hc that he’s the only arafinwean who has Earwen’s silver hair.

Aegnor: a hopeless romantic. the dreamiest arafinwion (and that’s including artanis!). very particular about his hair (which is a WILD canon detail that i love sjdfhdk) but also has terrible fashion. his head’s always in the clouds, he’s a daydreamer, but he’s also incredibly loyal and a really good friend. he almost always listens to his heart over his head - and the fact that he and andreth never marry is the One Time he listened to logic over emotion, and that haunts him forever.

Galadriel: almost as much of a genius as Feanor and almost as humble about it, which is to say, not at all. she’s proud and stubborn and full of herself, especially in her youth - she’s also gorgeous and smart and right a lot of the time, which doesn’t help her ego. by the time she’s become Lady of Lothlorien she’s been through a lot and is much more humble and wise, but i think that comes not just from her experiences but also from being married to Celeborn the Wise. i think he balances her out very well tbh. (my favorite Galadriel characterization EVER is from this fic by @nerdanelparmandil, check it out!!)

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Finrod: I ship Finrod with anything that moves tbh….. I see him as super super gay, he and Amarie were mutual beards which is why she didn’t follow him to Endore. i am a Known Slut for Finrod/Turgon in particular, they’re kind of endgame for me, but also @raisingcain-onceagain has converted me to Finrod/Edrahil!! And while the Nargothrond Disaster Trio are in no way shape or form HEALTHY, i really really enjoy Celegorm/Curufin/Finrod content, that dynamic is delicious. i can also get down on Maedhros/Fingon/Finrod, though not really in a serious way. PLUS Finrod/Beor is very good, as is Finrod/Barahir and Finrod/Beren(/Luthien if we’re feeling spicy), and you KNOW he got busy with some dwarves! I just think he’s very free with his feelings and desires, especially after coming to Beleriand, and he takes full advantage of his freedom and position of authority to get what he wants. (not necessarily in a weird power dynamics way, though he’s into that kind of kinky shit too probably, i mean more in ‘it’s my kingdom i get to make the rules and i say No Homophobia and No Slutshaming’) - and I’m super happy to multiship with Finrod, there are verses where he’s fucking everyone and verses where he’s pining over Turgon and verses where he never even thinks about anyone other than Edrahil and etc etc etc. there’s probably even verses where he and Sauron get up to some funky shit!

Angrod: I don’t have a lot of headcanons about him and Eldalote. She has a Sindarin name, so maybe she came with him to Middle-earth - or maybe not, and he just missed her so much that he wouldn’t shut up about her and so her name was Sindarized to Edhellos. Either way I think they had a very strong relationship that ended in tragedy one way or another. I’ve also seen some fun Angrod/Caranthir enemies-to-lovers stuff, which I can get into, but I think Caranthir is aro so it’s not really my main hc.

Aegnor: i mean how can you NOT ship him and Andreth??? that relationship is just….so tragic and heartbreaking and beautiful. I like the theory that Gil-galad was their child, and he was given to Orodreth to raise because Andreth couldn’t care for an elfling and Aegnor couldn’t publicly claim a son out of wedlock. But also verses where they are just tragically pining after one another are beautiful in their own way. My headcanon is that the thing keeping them apart was less about the war going on and more about Aegnor fearing to lose her - but then he actually dies before her, and Andreth has to live with that pain. (idk if that works out timeline wise but. yeah)

Galadriel: Meladriel is very good and I enjoy that - I’ve also seen some great Galadriel/Luthien and even a Galadriel/Feanor fic I enjoyed. BUT overall i really love that she chose to marry Celeborn, a wise “dark elf” even when she’s completely out of his league - he balances her very well, and I don’t buy depictions of her walking all over him. she cares about him and he’s really good for her!

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Finrod: I ship Finrod/Turgon but also WHAT a great friendship they have!! I love that they go adventuring together :) And Finrod, Maedhros, and Fingon are so fun to imagine growing up together! Plus there’s his relationship with his nephew Orodreth, who he clearly adores, and also the fact that he’s still buddies with the Feanorians even after the first kinslaying (at Alqualonde! his home! where his mom is from!) and he’s so excited to meet new people from the Sindar to the Edain to the Dwarves. Finrod’s just EVERYONE’S friend and i appreciate that!!

Angrod: ….what if he and Caranthir used to be really close, like they are similar ages and grew up together, but then Something Happened and they started hating each other later on. that would be Very fun. also, he and Aegnor were lords together over the same land and died together, which implies they were very close - close like Celegorm and Curufin!

Aegnor: Again, he and Angrod were Best Bros which is great. I also think he’s probably beloved by Andreth’s people, he’s just this huge elf man they all kind of adopted and he’s so honored that they love him so much!

Galadriel: Melian!! obviously!! she stayed in Doriath specifically to learn from her, which is super neat. and then Gandalf in the later ages, i love whatever they have going on in the movies especially. i also think she and Celebrimbor had a weird rival-friendship i the second age, they’re both geniuses but from opposite sides of the family feud…except the family feud has killed pretty much everyone BUT them, so they come together to mourn that.

My unpopular opinion about this character

(this turned into more of ‘what are their negative personality traits’ than ‘unpopular opinions’ but whatever…)

Finrod: i’m sure he did his best but….when he was king of nargothrond he was still gallivanting all over the place. orodreth was probably More In Charge from before he was officially king…

Angrod: he’s a grade-A asshole. just a dick. mean as shit and holds grudges forever. really annoying to be around.

Aegnor: a dumbass. always listens to his heart and gets in trouble for it, until the one time he listens to his head and regrets it forever.

Galadriel: would make an EXCELLENT villain. ‘all shall love me and despair’ ? come on yall. if it had been HER versus sauron instead of Finrod (and…considering she was probably friends with Luthien, it very well could have been) i think she may have won, and im just imagining Sauron working for her, and the second and third ages going very differently with her being a Queen who everyone loves until they look back and realize she’s been corrupted and turned evil.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

so i think canon did mostly a good job with them SO some of these are some AUs!!!

Finrod: …if he had managed to convince Celegorm and Curufin to help with the Silmaril quest–the war could have ended before the Nirnaeth, maybe. or at least gone very differently.

Angrod: im gonna physically fight tolkien over giving us practically NOTHING on the wives of various characters - tell me more about Eldalote you coward!!!!

Aegnor: JUST MARRY ANDRETH PLEASE. i’m a slut for interspecies relationships and the fact that this one is male elf/female human is SO good and frankly unprecedented in Tolkien’s works. PLEASE i need more!!!

Galadriel: FUCK that evil!Artanis AU would be REALLY cool and sexy, wouldn’t it?

#silmarillion #finrod #angrod #aegnor #galadriel #long post #silm #arafinweans #arafinwions #ask games #thanks anon!!!!#anon #answers #my meta #silm meta

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undercat-overdog · 5 years

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Most versions of Celebrimbor have him being born in Aman. This has some textual support in HoME, where his mother is said to have remained in Valinor (mind, there are also some versions that have him be a Teler or a Sindarin descendant of Daeron – you have to discard some backstory with him, though there is this fantastic meta). But LotR says he's Curufin's son, and imo LotR supersedes all other canon). There's a ton of interesting things you can do with him being Amanya, particularly if he's fought at Alqualonde (you could also do neat things with his relationship with Galadriel, having known her as a leader of the Exiles and a strong proponent of going to Beleriand).

But I still really what you can do with a Celebrimbor who was born in Beleriand. Reasons below the cut.

My fondness for this has almost as much to do with the first half of the Second Age as it has to do with him. It’s a time of rebuilding, and I think it's both interesting and thematically appropriate that its leaders are not the same as the leaders of the First Age. None of them save Círdan played a major role, and Celebrimbor arguably the most minor of all (he's less important plot-wise than every other great-grandchild of Finwe's – iirc it was Christopher Tolkien who added the line about him repudiating Curufin's deeds to the Silm). I also really like having Galadriel be the only person who saw the Trees – it gives her an appropriate role as an elder, sets her apart in interesting ways from the others, and imo it takes away something from her if Celebrimbor also saw them. It also allows for a certain bond between the named Second Age characters, even if/when they don't get along personally and/or politically: this is our home, not Valinor, that land only one of us knew.

The Elves in the early Second Age are recovering from a literal apocalypse. They've lost so much, not just the land they were standing on, not just the people who died or sailed, but so much knowledge too. If Celebrimbor was born in Beleriand (particularly if he was born a century or so before the Bragollach), he hasn't had the time to learn all the lore his father and others would have taught him, or that he would have learned in Valinor, and I really like him and his colleagues having to build from the ground up not just their cities but their science-magic-art from their own minds and whatever pre-apocalyptic records made it through. (I love the whole rebuilding theme.)

Aside from that, there are some other things I like about Celebrimbor being born in Beleriand:

It allows for him to be part-Sinda and I like the Noldor not having an exclusive claim on the second greatest craftsman. They have enough of a superiority complex already. It also helps reconcile some of the various backstories.

Speaking of him being part Sinda, his attitudes towards the Kinslayings get even more complex – his family killed members of his mother's culture (his culture – I doubt he was going around identifying as a Feanorian after Nargothrond and Menegroth). You can do fun things with the politics too – Celebrimbor calling himself either a Noldo or a Sinda depending on what he's feeling or reacting to. (I also want to see him and Elwing interact, and it makes a potential relationship with her even more interesting. They have very similar stories in some ways... aside, ofc, from Celebrimbor's being a dyscatastrophe rather than a eucatastrophe.) [Edit: making his feelings about the Kinslayings complex in different way, that is.]

It also it ties into how the various Elven cultures blended and melded in Middle-Earth: Lindon and Eregion would have been as much Sindarin as Noldorin, and Greenwood as much Silvan as Sindarin. Some of the other major Second Age figures – Gil-Galad, Galadriel, Elrond – are of mixed ancestry and I like Celebrimbor being likewise.

It lets him have a really interesting dynamic with Feanor's legacy, having never met the guy. I like him having to both live up to and live down someone who's a legend, not a person he knew. The culture considers Feanor both the greatest of the Noldor and their downfall, and if you get people (some of whom knew Feanor) looking at Celebrimbor, expecting him to be the next Feanor... How does he react to that? He repudiated Feanor's mini-me, after all, but still put the Star on the Gates of Moria. I tend to think he'd express, internally or externally, the opposite of what the person he's interacting with wants him to. It's a really complicated legacy, with so much to be proud of and so much to condemn, and I like him feeling that he doesn't understand it completely, having never known Feanor.

It means he's less likely to be close to his extended family. This is part personal preference of mine (I like having Celegorm (and Huan!) be the only uncle(s) he's close to), but it also ties into how the Finweans grew apart in Beleriand – some of them disappeared and never saw their other relatives again, some of them had children that never saw their relatives, and all the ones living after the War of Wrath declined to go back to Valinor, choosing Middle-Earth over their family in Aman (who, to be fair, they didn’t know). (Galadriel’s in a slightly different situation, since she’s under the Ban, but I imagine she had a “you can't fire me, I quit” reaction.)

It means he's less likely to catch weird things about what Annatar claims his backstory is, since he's never met another Maia besides perhaps Eonwe.

Finally, I like what you can do when Celebrimbor is reborn. The children of Middle-Earth (at least those born in the First Age and later) were born into a culture where death is a thing – even a culture where death is expected. There's a collective trauma that is appropriate for Celebrimbor and the Mírdain in particular, who are explicitly working to heal the world, but I think it also means that those people who die will have an easier time returning from Mandos and re-adjusting to life, since death is simply less of a shock for them (it was always in the back of their minds that one day it could happen). Otoh, living through eternity in a land of peace will be more difficult for them to adjust to, all the more so because it's not their home – in many ways, Aman is Exile for the Úmanyar. It would be especially difficult for those who came to Aman via Mandos – and Celebrimbor in particular, with the situation he left behind, knowing he'd given Sauron the ability to make a weapon of massive power, seeing Sauron destroy his city, and then not being able to go back to help? Angst aside, I like that adjustment, that culture shock. (I also like him returning from the dead sooner than most of the rest of the Finweans – and having to deal with their reactions when he does, especially since if he was born in Beleriand he doesn't know them well or at all; it leads to an interesting dynamic, particularly with Nerdanel, particularly particularly if in looks he's yet another Curufinwe iteration.)

Thanks to kazaera for talking with me about this a while back :)

#celebrimbor #second age #umanyar in aman #meta

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djinmer4 · 7 years

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A Fright of Ghosts

Inspired by: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12136836

When the sensation of being watched changed from a distant awareness to the feeling that of someone observing just over his shoulder, Elrond knew he was close. The forest on the western side of Ered Luin should have been empty, the humans wintering in the welcoming lands of the east below Forochel and the dwarves to their settlements under the mountains. Not even Cirdan would bother patrolling the desolate Forlindon in the winter. But Elrond knew there was someone here and hitched the rucksack higher, as if to cover his back from an enemy.

As it was, he nearly fell into the blaze, when empty woods suddenly changed to a neat camping site. A strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him away and saving him from a nasty burn. “Alatulya, yonya. I did not expect to see you so late in the year.”

Elrond sighed, then sat down on the bench beside the fire. The small encampment he had been expecting to find was actually a large clearing, with a well-built cabin to one side with the beginnings of several structures. The bonfire he had nearly walked into was in fact the beginnings of a small forge, too small for any great work, but set away from the cabin. He ignored the various flickers of red on the edge of his eyes, and focused on his father.

“Mara re, atar. I had not thought to look for you so soon after our last meeting, but I needed to speak to you about something.” He passed the rucksack to Maglor. Within contained some items he did not think the other could obtain easily in isolation: some bottles of wine, cheese, a set of silver strings spelled against corrosion. A new cloak, although it appeared that the Feanorian’s current one was still serving well. “Did you see a ship sail into the Gulf of Lhun this past year?”

“I did indeed.” The older ner set the the rucksack aside. “And I know exactly what and who came on that ship.”

Elrond released a silent sigh of relief. Cirdan had known the Maia for what they were immediately, but not who. And given what happened the last time a Maia claimed to be a messenger of aid sent by the Valar, any information on the identities of these Istari was essential. “Could you tell me who they are and what we should expect?”

Maglor did not answer, but instead looked over his son’s head. The sensation of being watched did not cease, but doubled, then split and came to rest on each side of Elrond. He kept his eyes on his father. “Alatar,” said a voice like the crackling of fire, a shadow of smoke and soot on his right. “A servant of Orome. Strong, aggressive. More interested in the arts of the ethereal than the physical.” Images came to mind, of shared hunts and bitter arguments in distant Valinor.

From his left, a gurgle from a torn throat. “Pallando is the other. Alatar’s friend and follower in all things.” He knew if he turned the image would be far less abstract, but more disturbing, almost a real body but with dull eyes and blood dripping from both throat and mouth. Elrond wondered how Maglor could bear to look. From this shade he received no memories, but merely a sensation of wistfulness and loyalty.

“Hantanyel, uncles. Could you tell me more, please?” But Maglor stirred himself, and put out the forge fire. “Not tonight. The others are scouting the area. They can tell you more.” He picked up the rucksack and turned towards the cabin. “You take the bed and I’ll take the floor. As I wasn’t expecting company, I don’t have any meat, but there’s lembas and plenty of fruit.”

The peredhel smiled. “They’ll go well with the wine and cheese I brought.”

The next day, father and son spent the day preserving meat and curing hides. Elrond didn’t ask how the pile of skinned corpses had appeared outside Maglor’s door overnight, and Maglor didn’t ask how Elrond had slept with the howls and screams that had filled the dark. When the day approached the end, again the sat by the forge fire. Today, instead of a feeling of being watched, the air felt heavy, smothering and cold, as if he was deep under the waters of a lake rather than walking in the air. No shade or ghost appeared before him, but rather heavy hands upon his shoulders and a cold breath ruffled his hair.

“Aiwendil, follower of Yavanna. Naive and scatterbrained, but brave in his own way. Lover of birds.” Elrond fought for a deep breath. “So we can trust him?”

Bitter icy laughter, and the heaviness drew crushingly tight around his chest, like one of those strange waistcoats they wore in Arnor, made from whalebone and steel. “You can trust him to follow his nature and to follow the mission he was given. But Yavanna loves the wolf as much as she loves the deer. Loves the end of life as much as the beginning. Loves the Eldar, but the rat and the fly as well, and there are millions of them for every one of us. Trust him to follow whatever mission the Valar gave him, but he is no more a friend to us than a plague is.”

With that, the heaviness constricting Elrond disappeared, but the cold air remained. “Enough for tonight?” asked Maglor, coming up with an armload of firewood. The younger ner nodded. “I’ll stoke the fire a little more tonight. Maybe add some of the linseed oil so that it will burn a little brighter.”

The next day proved that winter was well on it’s way. Even the inside of the cabin was covered in delicate webs of frost. They spent that day bringing in the last of the garden vegetables before the cold ruined them. The frost formed brilliant patterns over everything, like the finest embroidery fit for a king, and lingered far into the afternoon. When they finally sat down to talk, Maglor had taken some paper and a sharp quill and was copying the icy patterns designs onto paper. Elrond did not ask to see them and Maglor did not offer him any.

This day Maglor did something a little different. The forge had stayed closed today since the Noldo didn’t have any repair work to do. But at the end of the day, Maglor opened the forge door and there was golden light inside. He pulled out a large gemstone, like a topaz carbuncle but glowed with it’s own inner radiance. He looked up and laughed at Elrond’s wide eyes. “Did you expect I’d carry it around everywhere I go? That would be quite inconvenient.”

“You’re using one of the most precious artifacts of the First Age as a forge fire?”

“It’s quite appropriate, thematically. Besides, it gives both of us a chance to have some privacy in our thoughts.”

The ghost of the greatest craftman of the Noldor did not look like a ghost or wraith or remotely supernatural. If Elrond hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was looking at a living person. “Curunir’s clearly been appointed as their leader. He’s another one of Aule. We knew him well. Ambitious and active. Curious and delights in pushing boundaries. Against the dark he is a formidable ally.”

The smile on Feanor’s face became sharper and darker. This might have been the face he showed Fingolfin, over a sword in Tirion. “All things that were said of Sauron too.”

That night was filled with nightmares. The golden light of the Silmaril seemed blood-tinged and the shadows it cast moved like living things upon the walls. Despite the love between them, Elrond began looking forward to leaving Maglor’s home. Sensing his disquiet, Maglor drew him outside, to finish the conversation in the light.

“The last is Olorin, who has been in the service of Manwe, Varda, Irmo and Nienna.” Maglor did not bother to wait for any of his brothers to appear, instead filling the role of teacher by himself. “Of all the Maia sent, he is the one who perhaps best understands those of us still here in the changeable world.”

“And the caveat?” But the answer came not from Maglor, but rather a familiar voice behind him. “Of all of them, I do not believe that Olorin will fall.” Maedhros was bright, burning. If Feanor could have been mistaken for a living Eldar, then Maedhros for a Maia. He was like a shade of stained glass, overfilled with the light of the Silmaril he had burned with. “Nor will he forget that he is here to succor the Free Peoples of the West. But as the others fail or falter, he will be forced to take more and more burdens. He will not fall, but he may fail and return West with the mission only half complete. And even if he doesn’t, the choices he will make will be ruthless indeed.”

Mercifully, Maglor had let him sleep after he had fainted. Elrond suspected his father had cast a few spells of his own, allowing him a peaceful, dreamless rest. Even with that, however, the clearing was overfull, with the flickers of color seen from the edge of his eye, areas of heat or cold or pressure.

“You will be here for a while?”

“Yes, the twins would like to spend more time on woodcraft. And after spending a decade in a Secondborn settlement, I’d like some time to myself.”

“When I first came, I had thought of asking you again to come to Imladris-”

“No.” Maglor cut him off gently, but firmly. “Perhaps in a century or two I’ll visit for a month or a year, but I cannot stay long in the presence of other Eldar.” The younger ner just nodded. He’d braced himself, but even he had found the phantoms that surrounded the last living Feanorian too much. For other elves, lacking the connection he had with the House of Feanor, those sensations were a hundred times worse. His uncles and grandfather had tempered their fear around him and given useful advice. The only other person they had been as kind to had been Celebrimbor. “Give my regards to Artanis.” The last time Galadriel had attempted to see Maglor, she had fainted before getting within a mile of him. Celeborn had had to drag her back to Mithlond before she had revived.

(Strange that the Secondborn never were effected. They could be harmed, hurt or helped but they never saw or noticed the ghosts. When Maglor wanted company, he would go to their settlements to stay for a while.)

“I will.” Elrond hesitated for one long moment, staring around to determine where every shade was preoccupied with something else before stepping close to Maglor. “Atar, have you ever considered . . . getting rid of it? Just toss it into the ocean. Maybe then both you and they would be able to get some rest.”

“Oh Elrond, don’t you think I’ve tried that already.” They both gazed at the Silmaril, glowing gold in the forge again. “It always comes back.”

#elrond #maglor #ambarussa #caranthir #Feanor #maedhros #JRR Tolkien #the coming of the istari #silmaril #ghost enforced isolation #feanor still has it in for galadriel #celeborn wishes dead noldor would stay dead #the silmaril came back #elrond is remarkably stable given his life (both childhood and adulthood)

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thelioninmybed · 7 years

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misc replies

imindhowwelayinjune replied to your post “What are your MOST and LEAST favorite things about asoiaf?”

I had somehow forgotten the fat pink mast, probably due to years of effort, and now you brought it back. God fucking damn it grrm

I kinda like knowing the fpm exists - whenever I’m questioning my own ability to write smut, I think of that and am consoled.

curufins-smile replied to your post “What are your MOST and LEAST favorite things about asoiaf?”

bUT ITS SAVING FANTASY RAH RAH etc ad nauseam ughhhhhhh. basically agreed 200% haha. the tv show makes me hate it even more and the hype machine just makes me want to punch people in the face when they try and claim that it's anything but tits and violence... i have strong feelings about asoiaf/got haha. I really enjoyed the books at first but subsequent books and fan hype have just really soured me to them :/

Yeah, it’s a series with serious flaws, that’s nowhere near as revolutionary as its hype claims it is. And HBO’s approach to sex and violence is reprehensible. But on the other hand there are aspects of it that I really really like and I am gonna but the next dumbass book if it ever fucking comes out.

actualmermaid replied to your post “plump elves. which one would be?”

I'm here for thicc Nerdanel (and the house of Mahtan in general)

I was just gonna be like ‘- Feanor’ but can’t with the Mahtan proviso.

vardasvapors replied to your post“plump elves. which one would be?”

Fifi! The canon wrestler!

yes, let’s all take a moment to think about him naked and oiled up, I think this is a v. productive course.

erotetica replied to your post “plump elves. which one would be?”

caranthir tho

Y U P

imindhowwelayinjune replied to your post “plump elves. which one would be?”

...fingon with love handles really does it for me

-maedhros

the other feanorians watch with increasing frustration as he redirects as much of their harvests as he can get away with to Hithlum.

valaraukars replied to your post “Prompt? Because I miss your Russingon stories: Fingon and Meadhros...”

Maedhros' pragmatic and goal-oriented approach to dildoacquisition is almost as inspiring as his blatantly streamlined manipulation of brothers

also, we talk a lot about maedhros having to deal with his siblings and what a cross to bear that is, but this shows not to underestimate the other POV. Poor curufin, indeed

I was gonna say ‘if the silmarils could be used as a sex toy they’d have reclaimed them centuries ago’ but...i already wrote that fic so...

they all deserve each other tbh. Hell is being trapped in the darkness everlasting with your awful fucking brothers.

imindhowwelayinjune replied to your post “Prompt? Because I miss your Russingon stories: Fingon and Meadhros...”

it strikes me that if it weren't for certain factors, mae would rule the world

he is d i a b o l i c a l

and apparently v good at dick, well done him

i also adore 1) inconsiderately considerate love and 2) curufin covered in smuts 3) (lol)

he already rules fingon’s butt, what is the word compared to that?

I will not stand for this talk of smuts on my blog, it’s positively filthy.

erotetica replied to your post “Prompt? Because I miss your Russingon stories: Fingon and Meadhros...”

'that was the nargothrond issue solved' ahHAAHAadgdj

I love how curvo is only of violent temper if he can also keep his stuff neat

Forge safety is important, okay!? If the feenerians do nothing else right, you can be damn sure they tie their hair back and keep a waterbutt close at hand (if not initially, they sure did after Dad spontaneously combusted)

#curufins-smile #imindhowwelayinjune #actualmermaid #vardasvapors #erotetica #replies

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