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doodle-pops · 7 months

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Mr. and Mrs. Hours

Fingolfin x reader

Kintober 2023: Breeding

Warnings: fem!reader, breeding with the purpose of impregnating, marathon sex, mating press, a bit of fingering, did I slip in a daddy kink? maybe I did, a bit of praising, use of My King/Queen

Words: 3.4k

Synopsis: Fingolfin manages to keep you up all night, rolling around for hours into the next day, drenched in a heat to fulfill your desires.

List of Requests

“You want us to have children?”

“No. I want you to give me a baby.”

Had it not been for the firm grip at the back of your thighs as they dangled over the shoulders, bound by your ankles, around your husband's neck, you would have knocked into the headboard by now. Sweaty hands slipping to remain secure upon the fat of your thighs, massaging and digging into the flesh granted him assistance as his hips drove upon and into yours, knocking the tip of his cock against your sweet spot repetitively. The suction as he plunged in and out, the titanium grip of your muscles around his cock, refusing to allow him to reprieve or escape left breathless laughter slipping past his throat.

“Look at how desperate your cunt is for my cum, darling? She wants me to fill her up,” he breathed into your neck, teeth grazing your pulse and feeling it jumping under his touch. “You want me to fill you up nice and good?”

Nodding your head like without control over what happened next because all you wanted was to feel the sensation of his cum filling your insides, you felt your body being further pressed into the mattress. Hands scrambled to latch onto his sweaty back, slid off and landed into his biceps and curled their way into his muscles, loving the steel–like sensation as they flexed under the strain of his motion. The aggressive rolls of his hips and thrusts of his body jerked yours upwards and slid over yours like frictionless paper. His chest rubbed against the tips of your hardened nipples, rolling them around his silky muscles adorned with battle scars.

The body of a warrior which folded you deeper into the bed and had your legs dangling behind his head, anklet jiggling and chiming with every collision of your bodies, had stamina for hours. You’ve been rolling around for hours upon hours and that was all you knew; it was all your brain had the ability to comprehend. Nothing else but his name and pleads for him to fill you endlessly with his cum spilt past your lips. Nonsensical babblings were also accompanied by the mantra you cast which portrayed a whimsical grin on his face.

His fingers pressed your thighs further against your chest, prompting you into a devilish mating press, one you couldn’t escape from no matter how hard you tried—you doubt you wanted to after your request in the first place.

“Oh fuck! Please, please, please, please—fuck!” Wheezing out as your leg muscles trembled with the weight of his body being placed atop yours, your nails dug deeper into his arms, leaving behind reddened imprints.

A dark chuckle followed your squeals and whimpering before the loud sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echoed. The lewd sounds resonated wonderfully in the mind of Fingolfin, an inclination of his wife’s cunt being soaked and perfect for him to empty his release and take form. He could feel the twitch of his cock and balls at the approaching relief of flooding your walls again for the fourth time tonight—the creamy stains of his cum all over your cunt and his cock was evident of the marathon you two were enjoying.

Ripples of goosebumps spiralled throughout your body at the sensation of his cock deliciously dragging and twitching within your walls were felt. Even the loud grunting in your ear contributed to the goosebumps. In an instant, you felt him freeze, his body stiffening as his titanium grip on your legs tightened before a loud grunt echoed within the chambers of your ear. Soon, you felt another round of his hot cum flooding your passageway and settling deep within the walls of your insides.

Believing that it was enough for him to call it a round and take time off before he recuperated, you felt his fingers slowly massaging your legs and a deep groan in your ear, followed by kisses being peppered up your neck. One hand slipped off your leg and travelled to your lower abdomen, splaying around the expanse of your stomach and tenderly rubbing the area. There was a little pressure as he pressed the heel of his palm against the spot, causing the tip of his cock to meet with your sweet spot.

It was then you felt the hardness of his length embedded within you. He was still rock hard.

“I still think you need more before we’re positive you’ve conceived,” he clarified, lips dragging across your cheek and coming to meet the corner of your lips before landing a tender kiss. He continued rubbing the area where his hand was resting, however, in sync, he began gyrating his hips for his cock to move again. “You can take more of my cum, can’t you sweet pea?”

You were beyond breathless, mostly from the position and the weight of his cock nestled within your walls, grinding against your sweet spot like no tomorrow. Feeling yourself slipping into a trance, unable to respond, you tossed your head into the pillow and released a loud groan once his hands travelled lower and met your sweet bundle of nerves. Your body jerked in his hold out of oversensitivity after an earlier performance of him spending more than half an hour torturously sucking on your clit. Something along the lines of, “I must prepare you to take me with ease.” That nearly had you passing out before the main course of action happened.

“Fingolfin,” you whimpered into the pillow, lips parted and a bit of drool slipping out to stain the material.

To him, the sight of you drunk on his cock and cum after begging for him to fill you to the brim was prideful. A large pat on his back was delivered to him by him. What would he do to have you like this all over again?

“Does that feel good?” he murmured against your lips, eyelids fluttering against your cheeks as he relished in the sensation of your walls squeezing around his cock the more his fingers nibbled and toyed with your clit. The soft whiny cry of his name tumbling out fuelled him to continue with an invisible grin. “Does My Queen want more? Want me to breed you nice and good till you’re all swollen?”

Feeling something snapping in you as his words echoed in your eardrums, your legs started trembling in the strained position he held them. His hips were endlessly grinding, causing some of his cum to spill and your arousal to gush all over his balls and the bed. On your face, a few droplets of tears flowed from the corner of your eyes at the building of pressure he continuously donned on your poor body—as if you hadn’t asked to be folded into the bed.

“My King…” you managed to cry out, lashed fluttering open to meet his mop of ebony hair which turned into crystalline eyes and a lopsided grin.

Nudging your cheeks as though he wasn’t aware of the eminence pleasure your tiny body was being engulfed in, he answered your call. “Yes, My Queen?”

Panting and struggling to get the words out as his fingers toyed and pinched your clit, playing with your pleasure, he wailed desperately, “Please, please, please, j–just fuck me! Fill me up until I can’t take anymore!”

Those were the commands he enjoyed hearing you give him. Words of satisfaction and pleasure that made his cock twitch like crazy. He could surely go for another round, and another and another.

With the refusal to retract himself from such a pivotal moment in both of your lives, a silence filled with tension and anticipation sat in the air before the slamming of his hips came down upon yours. The loud smack of his hips meeting the back of your sticky thighs left red imprints from the sheer power of his thrusts, even the bed vibrated under the force of his thrusts. There was a moment when your eyes widened from the unexpected race he took off on and your fingers panicked, unsure of whether to remain locked around his arms or reach for the headboard. Surely the latter sounded more reasonable as your body began sliding higher up the bed with each thrust.

Your voice was stuck in your throat, sounding like hiccups against the vigorous pounding of his hips. It was difficult to maintain your focus on his eyes as they twinkled with sinister intentions, you were dying to roll them into the back of your head to see the stars above the canopy tonight. You were most certain you had seen them multiple times tonight in one sitting.

His animalistic tendency and urgency to breed and fill you up, a primal instinct which wholly existed among the members of the House of Finwe echoed like a warrior’s chant in his head. All he could picture was the swell of your belly, perfectly round with the life you created and your breasts; he couldn’t get the image of the swells of your breasts all supple and succulent, filled with milk. Perhaps you might allow him a taste one day… That was an idea for another time to ponder on in private; currently, the matter at hand was getting all his cum buried in you without going to waste.

Fingolfin could hear the broken whimpers of your voice, high–pitched and whiny in his ear alongside the obscenely slapping of his cock sliding in and out your cunt. It was an ideal melody only for him to listen to in private; a song he would replay to enjoy leisure moments.

Feeling some tension in his lower back, he straightened his posture but kept your legs over your shoulders instead. One hand was enough to grip your ankles, ensuring to not disrupt the flow of your anklet chiming along with the action. It dangled perfectly over your head and added to the magnificent sight of your sweaty body taking all of him, inch by inch. A swift flash from your tired face to where his cock was buried took him on a trip as he observed the motion.

The way your lips gripped and suffocated him, tugging him back him unconsciously every time he attempted to leave, or the slight puffiness of them from all the caveman–style fucking you two were having. He couldn’t resist releasing a deep rumble in his chest at the notion of how wild you two were rolling around in the sheet for hours. It was only the first few hours into the early morning, and he wasn’t even halfway through. There was more his body was able to produce and he was willing to empty everything into you for certainty.

Balancing on the ball of his feet, sometimes switching to his knees for better reach, he hovered without resting all his weight. His face dangled above yours, grinning and staring at you with those seductive eyes, luring you into giving him more of your body for him to fulfil your desires.

“Hold your legs for me, love, spread them wider for daddy,” he commanded before adding a touch of praise, “just like that. Good girl.”

Releasing the hold on your ankles, he left them for you to struggle to keep up and apart while he dropped his hand to the bed for stability. It gave him the range to properly kneel and drive all of him, to the base, into your cunt. The choked sob that left your lips as he did so replayed the earlier images of when he attempted this action. You couldn’t run from his cock like this, not with the way he was burying himself all the way to the hilt and your pussy betrayed you by gripping him like some blanket.

From your vantage point, your breath was laboured, and your body contorted into a pretzel-like position as he thrust himself deep inside you. Broken whimpers escaped your lips, echoing the sounds of a woman in the throes of passion. His substantial girth stretched you delightfully with each powerful thrust, and the rhythmic slapping of his balls against your ass grew louder and more explicit as his lower body cocooned yours.

His knees caged you in like a predator capturing its prey, his thighs pressed firmly against yours, and his iron–like muscles tensed with each clench of your intimate embrace. His arm and upper body enfolded you, leaving no room for escape. In that moment, you felt entirely at his mercy, his desire to fill and breed you palpable as he ravished you with an intense heat.

The weight of his balls seemed to increase with every passing moment as they struck your skin, swelling with his essence and the clear intention of leaving his mark. You couldn't wait for the next surge of his passion as he pressed himself into every crevice of your being, desiring to immerse you fully in the robustness and weight of his length.

“Oh fuck! You’re so deep, God!” you wailed. You were barely holding on and unsure of whether or not you could for the next few minutes before his orgasm exploded.

Chuckling at your cries and exclamation at how good he felt, a simple chain of command slipped out, one that always helped him to finish faster when necessary. “Right where I’m supposed to be, love,” he breathed. “Now look at the cock for me, look at how well you take me…just like that.”

As he delved deeper, he could feel the intensity of your desire in the starry, lustful gaze upon his cock, sending shivers through his very core. Your captivating eyes had a mysterious power over him, driving him towards his ultimate ecstasy.

In this intimate chamber filled with the symphony of your passionate panting and his primal grunts, the air crackled with life and ardour as you both neared the summit of pleasure. The tremulous and fractured melody spurred both of you to reach new heights. To intensify the connection, he lowered his head to rest his forehead against yours, his cascading hair creating a tranquil veil over both of you, a stark contrast to the wild desire on display.

His eyes locked onto yours, avidly watching the rhythmic motion of his cock plunging in and out of your swollen entrance. The sensation of him surging through your velvety walls, repeatedly teasing your sweet spot, combined with the delicate touch of his fingers caressing your sensitive clit, enveloped you in an ecstasy like no other.

The sight of your eyes struggling to remain focused for a second, sometimes closing momentarily to relish the sensation before reopening, earned a breathy chuckle. His warm breath ghosted your face as he continued to look at his beautiful wife. Soon–to–be round with your child and thriving with life.

His length twitched again, and your walls grew tighter around him, increasingly on either end as the pressure built.

“C–Close, I’m close—” A broken and airy mewl, cut off by the intense pressure of your legs cramping and curling in on your body. From above, Fingolfin’s hands reached out to snatch your ankles, pushing your legs further apart through your orgasm as he continued to fuck you through the entire ordeal. Wanting to push your body into oversensitivity for you to take his seed better. There was no ounce of remorse in his eyes as he thrust into you, revelling in the bone–crushing hug your walls were giving to his length.

Hips stuttering with each squeeze your walls contracted, he wrestled with your trembling legs, not giving you the opportunity to push him away when he was so close. “Don’t fight it, love. Take all I’m giving you,” he unmercifully whispered into your face, panting behind the scenes as his thrusts grew sloppy.

“Tis too much…Fin—ah!” Feeling your muscles shutting off the moment his hips stilled and the warmth of his cum flooded your insides, you sighed and melted into the mattress, treating it as though it were clouds.

Gently clutching the sheets, he fervently filled you with his essence, and the pressure of his body settled upon yours as he collapsed. He was cautious not to overwhelm you, and he deposited his seed within your womb while burying his face in the curve of your neck. Low moans escaped him as his muscles contracted, releasing wave after wave, savouring the delicate grip of your walls caressing his cock and milking every ounce of his passion. His body quivered in waves with every enthusiastic squeeze you provided.

You both lay there for minutes, your breaths mingling, and sweaty bodies tangled with one another. It appeared as though he had no intention of releasing your legs from over your head for his muscles were still clenched as their grips remained firm around your ankles. Cramps were building and you weren’t sure how much longer you could dwell in the position now that you were definitely exhausted.

“My love, my legs, please,” you pleaded in broken form, hoping the message would be well conveyed. In an instant, he lifted himself off and took your legs with him to rest upon the bed in comfort. The loud groan that slipped past your lips the moment your muscles were able to stretch out, reverberated throughout the chambers and left a tender smile upon his face.

Following the actions, he pried the rest of his body off yours, pulling out as well and quick to place his hand over your entrance to prevent any of his seed from spilling out. The abrupt action left you whimpering from the sensitivity of your clit and his calloused hand over the entire region. Still on his knees and hovering, his two fingers were quick to slip in and push all of his cum back in, preventing any from escaping.

He was focused on such a simple task, brows pinched, and lips pursed as his fingers continued to pump the rest of his cum deeper to where it must stay. Taking the moment to thoroughly observe the fine specimen of a husband you had, his entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, glistening under the flickers of the fireplace. His abdomen was still taunted, hair clung to his body like a painting and his cock was perfectly coated in both your arousal and…still hard.

“There we go,” he encouraged as he finished up his actions and came to lie beside you, pulling your exhausted body closer. Wiping his fingers off the sheets, his hands explored your body, massaging your thighs mostly from all the acrobatics he had you under. You were positive you couldn’t walk for the rest of the week, and his answer to solving a problem like that was to add more exercise to it.

Looking up to meet his distant gaze as he aimlessly massaged your thighs, you reached out to cup his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I believe it I who should ask you such,” he replied.

Snickering at the notion of him being right with his proclamation, you grew shy. “I feel fine, mostly sore due to your…roughness,” you managed to squeeze out.

Chuckling at the honesty in your words, he spoke up, “Well, when one has a wife with such a request, feeling ‘empty and desiring my seed,’ how can a devoted husband ignore her desires?”

The allure coursed through your veins as he repeated your request, and your fatigue began to wane. Sliding your hand from his face down to his firm length, you grasped him at the base, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. “Perhaps I still desire more, my husband. I haven’t had my fill yet. We can still outshine your proud older brother while the night is young,” you teased as you continued to stroke him.

With a sharp inhale the moment you squeezed his member, a groan escaped him. He swiftly opened his eyes to give you a determined look. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, his hands moved from your thighs to roll you onto your back, ignoring any lingering discomfort. He hovered behind you, and his warm breath teased the shell of your ear as he playfully bit the tip. “I hope you understand the gravity of your request, My Queen, for I won’t be as gentle as before.”

Masterlist

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lovefairymina · 2 months

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Nolofin, do you remember that very memorable lazy morning we had a few weeks ago? I was being a bit of a brat, and…*blushes*…you disciplined me. It was wonderful, but…I don’t know how to tell you this…I’m pregnant, and it must be from that time, because you were away to see your brother before, and to survey the lands after. I feel so bad for this baby! What a way to be conceived! *laughing and crying and pouting at the same time*

“Oh?!” His eyes were saucers the longer he stared at you, slowly absorbing your words and the moment they registered, he flew out of his chair to embrace you. Laughing into your hair and planting kisses to the crown, he beamed, “What a joyous day today has turned out to be! You've blessed me with the best news I've received in a while. Oh, thank you for adding joy to my life!”

#♡{sweet.hugs} ~ {fingolfin}#fingolfin x you #fingolfin x y/n #fingolfin imagine #fingolfin #nolofinwe #ñolofinwë #nolofinweans #house of fingolfin #silm imagines #middle earth imagine

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missrosiewolf · 1 year

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My personal headcanon is that Fingolfin has mixed feelings about his 1v1 battle against Morgoth.

Like, on one hand, he left the bastard with a limp after injuring him seven times and not many elves can say they 1v1ed a Vala so that’s pretty cool. That’s something to add to the resume.

But on the other hand, it was kind of a stupid, rash decision made in a fit of fury and despair — which is valid and understandable because he did think he was beholding the ruin of his people and very few people, I think, can react to that with a cool head. However, given what happened afterwards...yeah. Probably not the best move. Especially since iirc (it’s been 5ever since I read The Silmarillion so someone correct me if I’m wrong) it didn’t really achieve much beyond injuring Morgoth and the whole fight was why Morgoth never went forth from Angband again.

I just think Fingolfin post-death / post-reembodiment would have the wisdom and self-awareness to look at that fight and go, “yeah I’m proud I actually hurt him but in hindsight that probably wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made as King”

#The Silmarillion #silmarillion #tolkien #fingolfin #Ñolofinwë

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cosmic-walkers · 1 year

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When Fingolfin is re-embodied he isn’t very close to Indis or Finarfin. In truth, he never was but upon leaving and being reborn, their relationship is strained. He doesn’t accept Finarfin as king, neither do most of the Noldor who are re-emobdied or return from Arda simply because they don’t think that Finarfin understands what they’ve been through nor, do they believe that if ever the Valar mistreated them again, he’d say anything. That is beside the point for this headcanon though. Fingolfin doesn’t stay in Tirion that much, he wants to be away from his mother and brother but he doesn't really know where to go. Until during his travels he ventures to Formenos where his brother was exiled, because he does miss Feanor.

When he goes there, he discovers Formenos is not abandoned, for both Miriel and Nerdanel are there, and have both actively chosen to stay way from the other elves, whom they think poorly of after what happened with Feanor. Fingolfin is not welcomed that much at first, but Miriel has pity on him and invites him over to dinner. Nerdanel is distant at first but her good nature wins over her and she welcomes Fingolfin into her home as well. With Fingolfin comes Irime, who was also close to both him and Feanor and would play peace maker between the two. She also feels distant from Tirion upon returning and sticks by Fingolfin whom ventures to Miriel and Nerdanel quite often. They all share stories of Feanor and his sons, and how much they loved him. Though Fingolfin admits he never felt truly accepted by Feanor and his family, he always wanted to be. And Miriel declares Fingolfin and Irime honorary members of the House of Miriel. Thus, Miriel is the mother that Fingolfin (and Irime) never had and wanted. They even call her mother when they're alone with her. Elenwe,

#fingolfin #ñolofinwë #nerdanel #fëanor

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waitingforsecretsouls · 4 months

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I'll always maintain that (Crown Prince!) Fëanáro gave his sons names befitting Princes and future Kings of the Ñoldor, as (King!) Finwë himself did for his sons. They're basically dynastic names and given how his sons are Princes and it's the schema he and his half-brothers were named for as well, it's difficult for me to see anything wrong with that. These people are royalty afterall, which means they're figures of public and to a certain extent political life by matter of birth.

It always seemed to me that father-names are the official names used for the political sphere (honestly something like titles almost), at least among the Finwëans (not least because their fathers tend to be the members of the royal family while their mothers marry in). Something I feel supported by the announcement of it in an official ceremony (Essecarmë), and which makes the contrast between the Fëanorians general tendency to prefer their mother-name and their half-brothers/cousins general preference for father-names very interesting (Obviously you can argue that it's simple personal preference or speculate about parental relationships (such as is canonically the case in at the least Fëanáro's case, though it's also still partly a political statement in its own right), but the point of this post is to go a little more political).

The Fëanorians are heirs to Finwë as the Elder House, but alone out of their wider family they're not primarily or even tangentially associated with one of the royal residencies. Rather, they spend their time travelling Aman to its outermost edges, and when not busy with exploration, are guests in Aulë or Oromë's Halls. They do not seem to have been involved in "politics" at all, prior to the Unrest, much less established in Tirion. In light of the abovementioned hypothesis regarding father-names political associations, the primary use of their mother-names serves to contribute to this air of an already rather casual conduct and presentation (see also Maitimo's comparatively 'casual' epessë (compared to eg. Artanis' or Gil-Galad's) in use specifically among close family, or the Ambarussa's nicknames (Given how they're not described as epessë) of 'First- and Second-Russa', which is not even mentioning the Fëanorians shortened father-names which could be considered potential 'nicknames' as well and even if not certainly imply a certain disregard for formality).

I'd argue that their unique status as not only descendants from someone confirmed to be neither royalty nor nobility nor associated with Tirion in any particular way in Nerdanel (which is not to claim that all Ñoldor of Tirion were career-politicians as a matter of course), but also the general fact of a less official and courtly daily environment and social contacts, e.g. seen in both Fëanáro's and Maitimo's notably close relationship to Nerdanels father Mahtan, both via kinship but moreso shared close relations with Aulë (with whom the Sons of Fëanáro additionally likely would have had closer contact growing up than Finwë, given aforementioned shared close association with Aulë and his halls yet Fëanáro explicitly not associated with Tirion as residency and noted to be living apart from the Finwë and Indis family unit even prior to founding his own family-branch) would have played an additional role in the development of their more informal manner (not that I see them as incapable of courtly manners, mind you (+ given Fëanáro's 'let them sa-si' comment were weaned on linguistic discourse at the very least, so no slouches in the academic department as well (Carnistir becoming economist prime in Beleriand as just one of the more concrete examples)) , they just canonically are very frank and to the point. Something I can see working favourable in the establishment of their many cross-cultural alliances in Beleriand).

I also think Nerdanel's lack of royal status might have played a role in keeping the mother-names she gave comparatively simple for the most part, making reference to their appearance and disposition (or, in Makalaurë's and the Ambarussa's case, prophetic insight, but even in the latter only because Fëanáro insisted on giving them separate names rather than just 'Ambarussa') in a less pompous or high-brow manner (compared to the mother-names given by noble-born Indis or of equally royal lineage Eärwen to their eldest in particular, Obviously this is more of a general tendecy, as we e.g. also get a prophetic name in Aikanáro, but I stand by Nerdanel keeping it notably simple by comparison).

The Ñolofinwëans in contrast are associated primarily with Tirion via Ñolofinwë, who, unlike Arafinwë, isn't mentioned to have had close contacts and frequent visits to Alqualondë, or primarily travel like Fëanáro and sons. Lack of additional crafts also leaves his later political plotting as only point of reference we get on his potential activities prior, making him a likely career-politician (which coheres with his better PR-management choices in the eventual feud and his kingly ambitions). Ñolofinwë married Anairë, who is most likely a Ñoldor of Tirion, given the lack of additional information on her (that mostly tends to get reserved for noteworthy deviations from "the norm", see also descriptions of hair-colour, where only deviations from the standart dark brown get explicit descriptions, or even regarding Finwëan wives, e.g. Indis, aside from the circumstances of her marriage, most noted for being a Vanyar and Eärwen a Falmari, Nerdanel for falling outside the beauty norms expected of the wife of a prince). Given that we do not get her children's mother-names, it's impossible to tell whether she added similarly ambitious/declaratory touches into them as Indis seemingly did for her sons.

The only child of Ñolofinwë singled out of the bunch during life in pre-Unchaining of Melkor Valinor is their daughter Írissë, for often going hunting in the forests with the sons of Fëanáro (to the point the narration sees fit to clarify that no romance was involved). While undoubtedly a free and adventurous spirit, the likely fact that she lived life in Aman primarily in Tirion would also add a neat layer to her readiness to accompany Turukáno (and eventually return) to Gondolin, the Tirion replica par exellence. While less overtly ambitious than her brothers or father I still propose that she was more comfortable in or at the very least used to the more formal environment of politics and appearances than often credited to her. Leaving its history of development aside, the fact that her father-name has a sindarized form (Íreth) which does not correspond to her Sindarin name actual in use (Aredhel) the argument can be made that her father-name wouldn't have been her preferred Quenya name, but rather her afaik unknown mother-name.

Given that we get no additional information on their whereabouts, it therefore also seems likely her brothers would have primarily been active in Tirion, and indeed later emerge as some of their fathers chief political supporters, Findecáno as primary Ñolofinwëan leader in the first half of the exile, and in Turukano's case commanding an eventual large following in his own right (thus fitting the pattern of favouring their more politically loaded names due to primary involvement in said social sphere).

The Arafinwëans are interesting, due to echoing Ñolo- and Arafinwë, descending from two royal lines, in their case both Nõldor (Arafinwë) and Falmari (Eärwen), yet firmly self-identifying as Ñoldor. Which I'd argue their deliberate use of father-name over mother-name signifies or at the least in effect serves to enhance, in addition to general royal gravitas. Given Melkor's warning to Ñolo- and Arafinwë that:

"Beware! Small love has the proud son of Míriel ever had for the children of Indis. Now he has become great, and he has his father in his hand. It will not be long before he drives you forth from Túna!"

, it also seems like, despite his distance from the family feud and marriage into the Falmari of Alqualondë, in whose company he often shared ("[...]he often sought peace among the Teleri, whose language he learned"), Arafinwë and his family still primarily resided in Tirion rather than Alqualondë. We later also see that at least Findaráto and Artanis out of their siblings harbour grand political ambitions such as ruling their own realms in Middle-Earth (mentioned as their motive for participating in the exile), while of Artanis we furthermore get told of a steep and ambitious participation in Ñoldorin academia (As for Arafinwë, given how Eärwen gave his own mother-name (Ingoldo) to their son Findaráto, it feels safe to say it wasn't the one her husband was primarily using. But in his case I'd even argue that his mother-name was the more explicit political statement, so there was no escaping the drama. As eventually happens, with ruling over the remnants of the Ñoldor-in-Aman. Though, funnily enough, it's Arafinwë rather than Findaráto for whom one can argue for a prophetic rather than strictly political nature of said name, even if I myself do not consider it as such).

Basically, I think that keeping in mind the more official nature of the Finwëan father-names adds fun potential additional layers to the world-building and characters in question.

#Silm #Finwëans assemble #“Hehehe silly Finwëans giving too unimaginative names” ENOUGH! That's the POINT they're ROYALS! A DYNASTY!#People are smart enough to realize the pattern but use it basically just to showcase how petty or egotistical Fëanáro or #Ñolofinwë are..#No Fëanáro and Nolofinwë and Arafinwë didn't just suck at giving names #The royal implications and brand recognition are both deliberate and reasonable to their stations #If everyone's doing it maybe it's not just a funny quirk but purposeful and the norm #Sorry if the Quenya names make me sound insufferable but it's not different in principle than the Melkor v Morgoth usage #that tends to be pretty consistent and wide-spread in fandom from what I've seen #and I felt like exploiting mobile for the easy acess to all the special characters of their Quenya names

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tengwar · 2 years

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I literally brought him to work

#adventures of crochet ñolofinwë #thats the tag because this is Not the end of this

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ilaneya · 7 months

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d6: kinship

fëanor and ñolofinwë standing in front of finwë’s stained glass portrait

#silmarillion #silm art #tolkien #fanart #tolkientober #fëanor #nolofinwë #finweans #house of finwe #finwë #ilaneya

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tilions · 6 months

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» In that vast shadow once of yore Fingolfin stood: his shield he bore with field of heaven's blue and star of crystal shining pale afar.

→ High King Fingolfin || Ñolofinwë Arakáno

#tuserosie #userindomiel #userlyndeth #usereowyn #userhaleths #fingolfin #tolkien #silmarillion #silmedit #tolkienedit #my edit #✨ mine #*returns after a month of creation silence* so uh... hi?#i was struck by sudden fingolfin feels #they were very strong and so here we are

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lovefairymina · 24 days

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Y/N is always second best at everything, but the one who always beats her is Fingolfin. Every. Single. Time. Her parents are always frustrated at her for not being the best, and in one completion it is announced that Y/N gets first, and she’s really happy, but then it’s added later that the scores got messed up and she actually got second, and Fingolfin got first, again.

Her parents start yelling at her, and she has a minor panic attack and rushes into the woods.

Surprisingly as you sat in the woods, Fingolfin had decided to venture on a small midnight stroll when he came across your figure sniffing in the dark. Gently approaching, as he was still unaware that it was you, he was careful not to startle as he called out to you. “Hey, are you lost? Is everything alright—Y/N? What are you dping out here this late?”

#♡{sweet.hugs} ~ {fingolfin}#fingolfin x y/n #fingolfin x you #fingolfin imagine #fingolfin #ñolofinwë #nolofinwe #nolofinweans #house of fingolfin #silm imagines #middle earth imagine

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missrosiewolf · 1 year

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Fingolfin gave a quiet apology to the elf he had been speaking with and turned around to address his son, his lips start forming the words Finno what is it before he stops. He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks again and it takes another moment for him to exactly comprehend what he is seeing.

Fingon with the world’s biggest shit eating grin holding Meril, who was not amused, in his arms, having lifted her as high as he could. “Look!” he said. “She’s travel size for convenience!”

“I am not,” she retorted, looking somehow even less amused than she did only a moment ago. She had wrapped her arms around his head to steady herself. “Put me down.”

Fingolfin sighed.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion #fingon #findekáno #Meril #fingolfin #ñolofinwë #writing blurb

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welcomingdisaster · 1 year

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Do not hold it against him.

Help him pick up the shards. Forgive him. He did not mean to throw them.

Your mother will take you to the market tomorrow and buy you new ones. Do not speak of this again. Do not complain. The last thing he needs is anyone thinking he is unstable. You know how they talk of him already, and he is so young.

Take your brother and sister out of the room. Read them a story. Read loud, loud enough to drown out the voices in the other room. Do not cry. Quit it — quit crying. See how you worry your sister? Your mother will buy you new ones tomorrow. She will buy a dozen, if you want. This is such a small thing to cry about. It is not sad. You do not know true sorrow.

He does.

He looks angry, but it all sorrow. Fuller of sorrow than any could ever be; so full of sorrow it splashes out at you when he moves and stains your clothes. Your mother loves you; kisses your face and braids your hair, takes you to the market to buy those glass horses you like so much. She gives you flowers from the field, gives you sisters and a brother to love — and look how they love you. Look how loved you are. You have everything you could ever want.

Can you imagine what it would be like if you did not have her? Can you imagine your mother, lifeless, broken? Can you imagine your mother turning from you? Think of calling for your mother and hearing no answer.

Quit crying. Listen.

You feel only a fraction of a fraction of his grief. Do not hold it against him. Forgive him. Be strong.

Let it go, Ñolofinwë.

#fingolfin #finwe #finwë #feanor #my fic

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findekano · 7 months

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namiað

AO3 gen, no warnings. Maedhros discusses his abdication.

“What do you suppose my name should be?” Maedhros says, facedown. His back is still red and raw and hot under Maglor’s hands, cooling where the salve is rubbed into his skin. He hisses between his teeth when Maglor reaches his upper back, rubbing into the muscles around where his shoulder separated.

“Nelyo,” Maglor says, on the verge of exasperation.

“You know Nelui lacks dignity. Imagine Grandfather’s despair if I were to go by Nelui! I shudder at the thought.” Maedhros fake shudders, which ends in a bitten-off groan. Maglor tuts, and keeps rubbing Maedhros’ back, though with a lighter hand.

“Why this preoccupation with names? Two weeks ago, you could hardly recall your own,” Maglor says, uncertain. Maedhros’ grief is difficult to discern from his humour, and often they come twined together like fine yarn.

“I wonder if Ñolofinwë will keep the title,” Maedhros answers.

“What would that be?” Maglor hums. “Fingolfin? Finwë Ñolofinwë? Though he does not bear any right to that anymore, now that he has joined the host of the fleeing Noldor. And besides, the sound of Fingolfin is—” Maglor makes a face.

Maedhros turns his head to look at Maglor. His eyes are bright and clear and certain.

“Do you suppose Finelfin is any better?”

Maglor makes the same face.

“It is a burden to be borne,” he says, in that silly, affected way when he performs among well-mannered Eldar.

“Makalaurë,” Maedhros intones. Maglor ceases his ministrations and becomes that brother that Maedhros loves so well.

“I do not mean to take up Finelfin as my title. I know— Nelyafinwë is my birthright—"

Maglor interrupts with a sharp ai! on the inhale, breathy and quiet. Maedhros lifts his finger, and Maglor is silent.

“I bear Finwë’s lineage, though little good it does me in Beleriand, with Ñolofinwë’s people and ours on the verge of bloodshed. Nor would it be fit for the High King to be pulled from his people the way I must be. We did not come to Beleriand to rule, only to reclaim. We burned the boats, Káno, and a third of Ñolofinwë’s host was lost to the Helcaraxë.”

“You did not burn—”

“I stood aside only. I took no action against you. Would they see it any differently?”

“Would you not be a king renowned? Fëanor would have been a poor king, but you have a mind for it, and a care and talent. Do you not desire it?”

“I do,” says Maedhros, and his voice breaks. He pauses, pressing his hand to his eyes. “But any king with sense would see that he cannot rule a people so divided when he caused the division.”

Maglor begins to weep, then, great tears landing on Maedhros’ cheeks. “Do you still despair? Do you have so little faith in yourself?”

“I have hope,” says Maedhros simply. “Findekáno’s rescue has already begun to repair the wound between our kin. If I abdicate, and pass the crown to Fingolfin, we may yet build a power strong enough to repel Morgoth. We may yet look upon the Silmarils.”

Maglor searches Maedhros’ face with his dark eyes and relents, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, straightening. If his brother is of sound enough mind to work abdication to his advantage, then there must be merit to his words.

“If you choose to abdicate, you cannot use your father-name, and neither can the rest of us, though I expect Curvo will do it in spite of you.”

“Perhaps that is for the best,” Maedhros says with a wicked glint in his eye. “Findekáno is choosing Fingon as his Sindarin name, and Kanafinwë would follow the same pattern into Sindarin. You are a preening bird with all your vanity, and I do not think your pride could withstand sharing a name. Not to mention how confusing the histories would be! Would you be Fingon I or would Findekáno? Perhaps Mingonfin and Tadgonfin? It all seems rather—”

Maedhros yelps as Maglor grasps a modest handful of Maedhros’ hair and tugs.

#the silmarillion #my fic #maedhros #maglor #thank you to finelfin for this

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eleneressea · 7 months

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🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

54 sentences, what, do you want an entire fic?

okay :D

Turgon grit his teeth when he saw the red-cloaked guards. He had deliberately not learned the sigils the sons of Fëanáro had chosen for themselves, so he wasn’t sure which of them had claimed the sign of two mountains, but none of the options were good.

“State your name and business,” one of them said, cheerfully. They would have recognized him, by sigil if not face. This could only be for their amusement.

“Turukáno Turondo, King of Ondolindë, here to seek my brother.”

“Do you have any identification to prove this claim?”

“Why would I need identification,” he said, baffled. No city in Aman or Beleriand had ever used identification beyond someone's word.

“Ah, yes, that would be how your city got infiltrated,” one guard said, nodding sagely. “Lack of identification checks.”

“So you acknowledge that I’m the King of Ondolindë—”

“Can’t admit you into Formenos without any paperwork, of course. We can send a messenger for the proper forms to seek identification—really very simple, we would just need you to name three people who can vouch for you, but of course these three would have to be properly identified.”

“Does my brother live here?”

“Which brother would this be?” the other guard said. “We’d hate to give you word of the wrong one.”

“My elder brother, Findekáno Soronindo, the High King of the Noldor.”

“Why would you seek a High King of the Noldor in the city of exile?”

“King Ñolofinwë told me to seek him here. Was he misinformed?”

“No High Kings dwell in Formenos, in accordance the statute of the Valar banishing, at the time, High Prince Fëanáro.” The guard gave him a sunny grin that he did not trust an inch. “We, of course, obey all statutes set forth by lawful authority.”

Turukáno did not want to think about how the followers of Fëanáro defined lawful authority. He had a suspicion that the Valar did not rank among those numbers.

“Where does he dwell, then?”

“Who would this be?”

“My elder brother.” Turukáno did not yell in frustration, because he was an adult and a king and would not give them the satisfaction. “Where is he?”

“We are but humble guards of the gate,” the right-hand guard said. “We would need to speak to our superior, who has the authority to divulge whether or not a given person dwells in Formenos. To do this, she must contact the archivists, who would then diligently search the records for this person. Provided that such a person dwells in Formenos, she would go to the address on record to speak with them and acquire their permission and goodwill to carry news of their location to us, who would then inform you of their wishes. However, if their goodwill is not obtained, or if they cannot be found at any of the addresses on record, or if no person matching the name can be found in the archives, then unfortunately the records of Formenos cannot be of use to you, nor can her guards. Do you have any other questions?”

“How long does this process take?”

“We are always diligent in our searches, to ensure that no mistakes are made. As such it can take up to five decades to process these requests. We can send a messenger provide you with the proper paperwork to fill out if you would like to do so now, otherwise requests can be made in writing to the castle, and the proper paperwork can be delivered by messenger.”

Turukáno was no fool. He narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Send a messenger for this paperwork, then.”

“If you will excuse me for a moment,” the right-hand guard said, stepping inside for a moment before returning. “Do make yourself comfortable, it may be some hours to find the correct forms.”

“I’ll wait here.” These guards were bluffing, and Turukáno would wait them out.

Unfortunately, a few hours later, he was staring at a pile of very real forms. He recognized the handwriting.

Of course it was Carnistir. He should have known. The sons of Fëanáro were all horrible, every last one of them, and somehow Carnistir managed to be the most infuriating of them all. He could practically hear Carnistir laughing at him from the paperwork.

#for the record: none of these things are actually requirements to get into formenos #the guards saw an opportunity to fuck with turgon and took it with all four hands #caranthir is so proud of them. they're going to get raises #he made the forms on the spot

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