#frogpiss and ugly

[dalliansss]

“We need to dispose of this creature,” Curufin says, mirroring Celegorm’s sentiment.

“Do you think we can eat it?” Finrod wonders out-loud. “Steaks.”

Curufin rolls his silver eyes so hard, Turko briefly worried they might pop out of his head. “Ingoldo, do you remember when you first encountered potatoes? Yes? You ate them raw and food poisoned yourself. We are not eating anything wrought by Morgoth’s foul sorcery. Away with the idea!”

Finrod pouts mightily and harrumphs. Then Edrahil calls the King for an urgent matter, and the golden one flounces away to follow his captain. Turko shakes his head.

“Only one elf mad enough to suggest to try eating a godsdamn dragon,” Turko says, bemusement in his tone.

Curufin crosses his arms. “I’m dumbfounded you hadn’t suggested it first, hanno.”

“Are you shitting me? With the stink this creature has? Not even my most rabid dogs will want a piece of it.”

[Dragonsmoke / AO3]

#silmarillion #silm #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #finrod #curufin #celegorm #celebrimbor #finrod felagund #tolkien #my drabs #frogpiss and ugly

[dalliansss]

Forbidden love prompts:

“We were never going to work” Curufin/Finrod, please 🤍

—  ❛❛  //   𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴  𝚂𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂  ://    𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙱𝙸𝙳𝙳𝙴𝙽  𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴.        (  please  substitute  pronouns  as  needed.  )    

It was Curufin who found that two-story townhouse. Built at the lower levels, at the side of Tirion-upon-Túna that faced away from the Trees and thus perpetually shadowed, it had been a dilapidated property, and Curufin channeled funds into it, had it renovated and made livable. Outside it looked the same as its neighbors, plain, and assumed to be some pompous lord's rental property. Of course, Curufin wanted it to be thought of that way. And anyway, who in their right minds would think of a prince of the Noldor having such a property in such a terrible location?

It's their hideaway, this. Has been their sanctuary for years, this modest two-floor, three bedroom house sparsely furnished. Though right now the one room upstairs they share lies in shambles around them, and Curufin and Finrod are sitting away from each other, the aftermath of the quarrel silent between them.

Curufin is still in his work clothes, sans his leather apron. Finrod still in his council robes, now rumpled. Finrod pokes at a shattered bottle of wine near him. The contents having long seeped onto the wooden floorboards. He can't help a wince. That will stain...

"We were never going to work, aren't we?" Curufin asks, voice hushed.

Finrod now inspects his nails next. "You were the one who hurried off to wed an elleth that is so incompatible with you I am amazed the marital bond formed at all. And so now you are also the one with the nuisance of a bond in your head, to stay there until the end of Arda."

"I will not regret Telperinquar," Curufin snaps in his direction. Oh this....this infuriating elf, with his golden hair and his smiles and his insane charisma that draws even the Valar to him without even lifting a finger---

"Ah yes, it's all nice when Tyelpe is a baby, an elfling. Yet you will want more children, Curufinwë...and your little wife would either give you another one, or, I don't know, you'll have to take your time in the broom cupboard in the jewelshop."

Fury in Curufin's silver eyes. Devil from Udûn! Wraith from Utumno! This Eru-forsaken Findaráto Ingoldo, infuriating-- beautiful beyond compare yet striking like a snake where he knows it hurts Curufin the most, this--

He crosses the room and yanks a handful of that hateful, but terribly beloved golden hair, and their quarrel flares anew -- shoves and snarls, yanks and pulls and--

Like all their previous quarrels, it ends up predictably, this session. Clothes off, limbs tangled. Curufin simply pulls Finrod closer into his hold, his other hand's fingers possessively twining strands of the other's golden hair around.

"Fuck you, Ugly. You dare criticize me for marrying Helwë," says Curufin. "When you strut around with your little perfect Vanya princess. Hmph. She makes me want to puke, with how she hangs from your arm and how she smiles whenever you tote her around in the great feasts and festivals and balls--"

Finrod laughs. That ugly, snorting, snork-laugh of his that he never does in public. Snorting. Like a damn pig. "At least, I will not shackle myself with a bond that not even death will eradicate, Frogpiss. I will delay as long as I can, citing this and that, this and this, that and that, and I will find a means to--." He abruptly cuts himself short. Curufin scowls deeply.

He grips Finrod by the jaw and makes the golden elf look at him. "You'll find a means to what?" Curufin snarls, his nails digging into Finrod's perfect skin.

"To sail east," Finrod says, pushing on in equal viciousness, spitting the words very much like a snake spitting venom. "Yes, bastard, I will sail east, leave your sorry, pathetic arse -- unless you bundle up your son as I will bundle up Aikanár, and leave with me."

It is only the last part of the statement that makes Curufin stop himself from really hurting Finrod. He studies that infuriatingly beautiful face -- those summer blue eyes, those long, curling lashes, those golden eyebrows--

He kisses him. (They're mad. It's the only explanation for this tumultuous relationship. Whoever sane would keep seeing Curufin when he is wed? Only Finrod was insane enough.)

"Can you wait?" Curufin hisses. "Wait until the boys are grown-- and then we ask them, then we take them along--!"

Finrod shoves him off. "Stinker," the older elf says, already getting up and padding to the bathroom. Curufin snarls. He scrambles up and rushes to follow his lover.

#silmarillion #my drabs #curufin #curufinwe atarinke #finrod #finrod felagund #findarato #curufinrod #murder smith #golden poster boy #frogpiss and ugly #cheating tw