#turgon scenario

[doodle-pops]

Dusk Till Dawn

Turgon x reader

Kinktober 2023: Squirting

A/N: My first time writing a single piece for Turgon and I enjoyed every second of it :)

Warnings: fem!reader, squirting, a slight overstimulation, Turgon being a tease and letting loose, dom!Turgon, a bit of power play, marathon sex

Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: Your King learns of your unique ability and makes use of it to pleasure himself all night.

List of Requests

“What’s the matter? Tired already?” His voice sounded mocking, and the uncommon nature of the King, as he stood at the end of the bed with an unphased and energetic expression.

How had you been going at it? Minutes that turned into hours that stretched into an eternity. You’d been tossed about the bed into complex positions to suit your King’s insatiable pleasure, a desire he kept sedated and suppressed out of fear and disgust. Now, he towered like an eternal being, body fit and filled with vigour for days to satisfy his hunger. The wickedly sinful lopsided smirk he gazed upon you with as his right hand roamed his body, slipping lower to grip his erect cock, stirred your rearranged insides. You could feel the tingling sensation building; your legs reacted, shutting themselves. His eyes didn’t miss the gesture, knowing it was the result of his undeniable wicked charm.

Panting the more you gazed upon his body, ripples of muscles just waiting to crush you under its weight, flexed and shifted for you to admire. Your eyes roamed from his pensive stare to his pectorals to his abdomen, all the way past his cock to his thighs. Those were the same muscles you adored whenever he trained in the early morning, now mocking you in delight of wanting more. It felt great to be pressed into the mattress by the giant stoic King; had you known there was the possibility he contained a loose bone, matters would have been enacted earlier instead of the tumultuous situation.

“My King…forgive me, but I was merely astonished by your raw power and strength. I require a moment to breathe,” you laboured, chest rapidly embarking on a journey to recover your momentum.

Instead of feeling sympathy on behalf of your problem, Turgon breathlessly grinned and hung his head to snicker. He warned you that this could possibly end wrong given his current disposition of not being enticed in years, and you informed him of your manageable abilities. Yet here you were, begging for resuscitation. Taking a step closer, knee touching the bedframe, his hand reached out to grip your thighs and pull you down. His body easily coveted your tiny figure with the devilish gleam in his eyes; who was this person? “Your expressions humour me milady. You would never expect a reserved person like me to have a display and appetite like this.”

Closing the gap by pressing his body against yours, his hands reached for you and intertwined them above your head. Without hesitation, his lips crashed against yours for another mouthful of air, swarming butterflies in your core. Your whines and moans were devoured effortlessly by his tongue the deeper he pressed on while your arousal slowly flowed out your cunt, adding to the stains already left on his cock. The friction from his erection rubbing against your fold accompanied by the waltz of your tongues left you shivering and covered in goosebumps. Each swirl of his tongue in your cavern left you panting and grinding into him aggressively.

Your legs, despite their soreness, wrapped around his slender waist and hooked their ankles to lock him in place. What an unorthodox contradiction you were exhibiting—it showed how much you craved him despite your mind pushing against the lethargy. Your body was your greatest traitor, and it did not please your mind knowing that Turgon manipulated its desires into feeding his salacious prowess appetite. His laughter echoed through the kiss and settled in the depths of your mind, melting the very fibre of your dignity and casting an enchantment. His sorcery was unmatched the more his tongue wrapped around yours and pulled sighs and indescribable moans out of your throat.

The yearning sensation grew when his grip around your wrist tightened and pressed greatly into the mattress. Now you understood what a warrior's grip felt like and meant. The deadliness and precision of his hands as they held you secure and firmly left you enjoying the pleasures of his hands. He was eating your lips and his body moved in great seduction. Grinding and gyrating against you in a mating ritual dance to hypnotize your body, soul and mind; to give your all and allow him to have his way.

Growing breathless as your kiss escalated, he broke it to stare with hazy turquoise eyes and reddened lips. “You told me you wanted this from the very start; can you handle the rest?” he whispered sincerely as he bit his lip.

Finding it impossible to reply as his hips slowly ground his cock through your folds, you choked on air, basking in the pulsation that developed from the motion. The little heartbeat in your cunt produced an alluring rhythm, preventing his erection from slowing its pacing, urging it to continue. Turgon was conscious of his actions, he bathed in your pheromones and body’s desire to satisfy the depraved beast. It was years since he had the bliss of indulging in pleasure in the highest form, and when you offered yourself to him so sweetly like a sacrifice, how could he refuse.

Releasing his left hand from your wrist, his fingers ghosted over your sweaty skin—dancing and adding to the sensations—to grip his cock and align it with your entrance. No time was wasted after seeing your response; Turgon slipped in to relish in the temporary absence of your warmth. His body crumbled momentarily, dropping more weight and immobilising you completely. The shudders of his pleasure rippled violently throughout his body, heightening all your senses and pushing you to the edge.

The very weight of his cock resettled within your heat, surrounded by the warmth and softness of your gummy walls pulsating and massaging his cock had his hips gyrating against yours. It had only been six minutes since he had returned to your heavenly temple, and it felt like a lifetime; your walls contracted to adjust to the sheer thickness he was endowed and Turgon swore to the heavens that it felt like the first entry. “It doesn’t matter how many times I have you tonight; you’ll always squeeze me so tightly,” his voice was raspy and stuffy as he struggled to focus.

The weight of him once more filled you to the brim; you should know that a King as regal and elegant as him would no doubt carry proportions to display his sophistication. Where he lacked in grith, he fulfilled in length and weight, and that one single vein that ran alongside his length. A hollow groan escaped his throat as your warmth enveloped him like a cocoon, swaddling him in a blanket.

Look up, your vision was blurred by the dark locks of his head buried in the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath as he panted and slowly made the first move to pull out, produced ripples of goosebumps across your body. Your free hand shot out to dig its nails into his back while your body arched into his. The delicious friction of your nipples gliding across his sweaty chest, and the grip his hands fought to hold on your thigh sent shivers down your spine. Turgon had no time to build any momentum and went straight for his target, to get you incapacitated before the night was over.

Straightening his posture and rising from your body, you had a curt moment to breathe before your body was being manhandled and dragged further down the bed to meet the edge. Tossing your legs haphazardly over his shoulder, one hand rested on your thigh while the other released your hand and rubbed at your clit effortlessly. The slick sounds of sweaty skin slapping against each other reverberated off the walls of his royal chamber alongside his grunts and groans. You watched as he majestically stretched his neck backwards to present his elongated, swan-like throat to moan. The way his dark strands fell over his shoulders and cascaded down his back was meticulously thought out; he knew what he was doing with every action of his, and it was astonishing to see him so relaxed.

Struggling to keep up and fighting to swallow the whiny moaned as his hips continued to drive his cock deeper, your hands came down to grip his wrist for stability. You could feel the pressure easily building as his thrusts grew with expertise and sin. Toes curling and eyes rolling, Turgon had you in an ensnared and eating out of the palms of his hands. The way his thumb would thoroughly rub circles on your clit, meeting the rolls of his hips that caused his tip to forever brush against your sweet spot; you were close to paradise.

“I can feel something coming love. Are you giving it to me like you promised?” he asked, lips running across your chest before latching to your left nipple.

Nodding and whining some incomprehensible response because the pressure was building at insurmountable heights, your grips around his wrists tightened synchronically with your walls. The loud hiss escaping his lips as he felt your gummy walls clamping down on his cock forced his hips to stutter before regaining their momentum. He laughed into your skin and continued to suckle your breast, switching from left to right.

“T–Turukáno… Please, My King—oh Eru!” you wailed into the air, eyes shut and body convulsing as the pressure snapped. You released; you came.

Sensing the insurmountable build-up of pressure pushing against his cock and movements, he slowed his thrusts and was met with the surprise of a lifetime. Caught in between watching you spasm and enjoying the liquid expelling from your cunt, Turgon pulled away from your breast to cast sparkled turquoise eyes at your orgasm. He didn’t stop, only slowing down to ease your sensitivity and observed the volume being expelled, a dazzling smile struck him. With a bite to his bottom lip followed by a lick, his thumb returned to your clit without hesitation and regained a languorous rhythm.

Turning his thrusts at snail’s pace at first, he arched over your body and hovered his lips above yours. “My, my, my. Is this why you didn’t want to continue in the first place darling?” his whisper was enchanting, prompting you to peek at him through slithered lids. Your chest heaved laboriously as you fought to catch your breath and maintain a focused gaze on him. The urge to roll your eyes again was beckoning from his torturous actions was dire.

Not a soul would suspect their King having qualities to classify him as villainous, but physical intimacies always brought out another side to people. As timid and skittish as he appeared, the key factor was the blood of Finwe coursing through his veins. The hunger and passion to perform like his life was dependent on it was crucial. “N–Not at all my King, never!” Your voice was faint and softer with a soreness lingering; courtesy of all the screaming he had you performing earlier.

“Really? Then you will oblige should I desire another, and another, and more…” He brushed yours before he took your bottom lips into his mouth and nibbled on it. The serenity of the lustful aura he released had a chokehold placed on your fuzzy brain; you couldn’t tell up from down, left from right. If your King said to be his mistress, wife or anything else, you’d happily oblige without insurgency.

Small trickles of your release flowed out and soaked his entire length as its pace picked up. Your legs dangled over his shoulder and your body perfectly pressed you into the mattress. All the rings of cream you left on him earlier disappeared as he was cleansed by the essences you withheld. As his pace doubled and tripled, the obscene slapping of sweaty and wet skin against each other reverberated throughout the room. Loud gasps and small chuckles as his hand slipped while gripping the back of your thigh followed. You were folded in half while your feeble attempts at gripping his thighs to slow him down were futile. A roll of his hips and your moans were stuck in your throat.

“Fighting me now, hmm? Ngh…don’t want to serve your King and give me what I desire?” he tantalisingly whispered now that his lips were ghosting the shell of your ear. “You promised to satisfy me all night; why are you running?”

Trembling in his hold as he pounded into you, the force creating creaks in the bedframe, you struggled to shake your head at him as tears pooled and cascaded down your cheeks. The shakiness in your breathing as your body moved up and down the bed from his powerful thrusts, knocked all the wind out of your lungs. He was rattling your skeleton and you could feel it jiggling inside.

As the temperature of the room rose, so did the heat in your breaths and bodies. He felt uncomfortably hot as his skin was stuck to yours; sweat dripping down his muscles and rolling over the curves as his body clung to yours. Chest to chest, his was rubbing against your nipples creating a luscious friction that synchronically fell into a rhythm with his thumb drawing circles on your clit. If your head wasn’t spinning then, it most certainly was now. “Oh Eru…hmm, fuck! So good, so good, fuck!” you screeched into the heated air, nails digging into his thick, muscular thighs as his cock drove deeper hitting your sweet spot.

You couldn’t begin to compare how artfully magnificent his thrusts were. With each sinful roll of his hips, you felt like a story was being told; one of lust and desire, another one of loneliness and a yearning for companionship and one of unfulfilled desires treated shamefully. You knew of his loneliness after the passing of his wife, all his frustration pent up without an escape. He was a like bubbling pot with a sealed lid, waiting to explode. It was safe to say, you considered yourself lucky to catch his eyes to relieve his sexual tendencies and he was living up to all your fantasies and more. The King of your city had you sprawled out on his bed with your legs dangling over his shoulder while plunging his cock into your cunt for his satisfaction. You were a gift in his eyes, and he would choose no other to be with at that moment.

Shutting your eyes to relish at the moment properly, a yelp slipped out when he pressed more of his weight onto you, leaving you immobilised, thoroughly. Dropping your hands from his thighs, they reached for the bedsheets, not caring if you tore them apart as he battered your insides. His vigorous thrusting left your ass reddened from the weighted impact with every collision. In addition, his heavenly grunts and moans in your ear were a melody crafted by the Gods, it made your essence trickle from your cunt. “Your cunt sounds so sweet, music to my ears,” he cooed, “but I want to hear it squirting for me. Can you give me another release love? I know you can.”

Whining to look up at his face as he pulled back to hover, you could barely get a syllable out. A hand left your thigh and slithered up your torso, stopping to grope your breast and tweak your nipples before arriving at your face. He wasted no time cupping your chin and forcing you to look at his turquoise eyes. “Is my Lady going to cum for her King? Are you going to give it to me…” His eyes bore holes into yours, and his sinister smirk wasn’t helping as your walls began contracting and the pulsation grew in tempo.

You could feel your heart beating in the core of your cunt, right where his tip met your sweet spot. All the butterflies that swarmed your stomach left and travelled to your cunt to meet your heartbeat and increased the sensations. The widening of your eyes as your breathing shortened and released in small intervals had your muscles clenching around his cock tighter. The choked sob and stutter in his hips were no escape to cease performing, for he tunnelled through your gummy walls and left them battered. His goal: rearrange your insides and get you to squirt now that he knew it was possible.

“Tu–Tur–…fuck! I can feel it, it’s there…ngghh!” you wailed. Your nails had tightened their grip on the luxurious fabric and tugged with aggression as the pressure built with nowhere left to run.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that,’ he praised as the motion of his thumb steadied and he felt a force opposing the thrusting of his cock. For now, it was pleasant if he had not cum and painted your walls in his release, he was taken caught up in the bliss of knowing that he could pull such a reaction out of you. It went to show that he still had his abilities after all those lonely years without practice. Now all that meant was for him to continue his ministrations to regain his prowess.

Without a second to lose, Turgon wanted to savour the moment you squirted everything on him and drew closer to capture your lips. Eating your lips and moans, he breathed into your mouth at the insurmountable pressure that collided with his cock and sprayed all over his lower abdomen and thighs. You could feel your body shuddering as the dams broke and expelled everything you had all over him. The moans of satisfaction that vibrated in his chest through the kiss alerted you of his contentment. Shivering violently in his arms, your hands slipped in between and pushed against his stomach to cease his thrusting; he was still going without any remorse for your sensitivity. “Turukáno, ease…ease up on me, please. Sensitive,” you cried out.

Reluctantly he slowed his thrusting until they came to a stop, he eased out with an obscene squelch and stood climbed off the stand at the edge. Curling up as your legs flopped off his shoulders, your body convulsed and shook as though you’d been electrocuted.

The chuckle that followed when he gazed at your fucked out state, lips swollen and red, eyes hazy and teary, loopy smile, tear-stained cheeks, hair tangled and a sweaty body, he mentally gave himself a pat on his back. You observed the way he licked his lips as his eyes roamed your body while grinning and shutting your eyes with a dazed smile. The image of him stoking his cock as though he wasn’t tired was painted vividly in your imagination. Enough to tell you that your night wasn’t over.

“Tired?” his voice rang with concern, eyes cautious gauging your reaction and body for injury.

Squinting through your right eye, you noticed his arched brows, meditatively waiting for your reply. “Well, what you suspect Your Majesty? You’re the one who laid the damages.”

Chortling, he placed a knee beside your limped body and beamed, “You look like you could do with another round to remedy your fatigue. I’m still becharmed by your little trick for I desire to see more.”    

Flashing a look of scepticism at him, both eyes were opened staring at him with livid horror. “Your Majesty—Turukáno, you can’t be joking?!”

“I’m not. You commanded that you would be the source of my pleasure tonight, and to that I oblige,” he charmed with a magical grin as his body slid over yours like a snake. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me, I wish to note if my fingers can do the same.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

#mina_kinktober2023 #silm smut #turgon x reader #turgon imagine #turgon smut #turgon scenario #turgon #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth smut #middle earth fic #house of fingolfin #nolofinweans #turukano #turukáno #x reader smut #x reader insert #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[arafinweanappreciation]

Crack AU where instead of it being Thorin’s Company getting Bilbo to help them reclaim Erebor from Smaug, it’s Turgon and the Lords of Gondolin trying to find Gondolin. Nothing written in the Silmarillion has changed. Tuor and Maeglin are both there. Gondolin is still under the sea. They all remember what happened. At no point does anyone comment on any of this. They play out the entire plot of The Hobbit. Gandalf is still in charge.

#maeglin and tuor are obvs fili and kili in this scenario #except they openly hate each other #maeglin tries to convince the trolls to eat tuor first #idril upon hearing that a bunch of elves are trying to reclaim gondolin from the literal ocean: what a bunch of idiots #idril upon hearing that they are being lead by her husband and her father: oh no those are MY idiots #they get REALLY excited when they find the gondolondrim swords in the troll cave #elrond internally when they arrive in rivendell: this is a terrible idea but i can't just say that out loud to my great-grand father's FACE #(he can and he will actually) #the height difference between turgon and bilbo (or any other hobbit tbh) would be hilarious #please don't point out any flaws in the plot logic or whatever it's crack for a reason #the hobbit #silm crack #bilbo baggins #silmarillion #turgon #silm #maeglin #tuor #gondolin #glorfindel #ecthelion #lords of gondolin

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion AU - Fingon Lives (Dark Fingon AU)

I’ve seen the idea of Fingon surviving the Nirnaeth (potentially along with Maedhros dying in it) and spent a bit of time considering what I thought the results of that might be.

And while I understand, on some level, the narrative-parallel appeal of a ‘reversed’ storyline where Fingon goes off the rails after losing Maedhros and joins up with the Fëanoreans for the Second Kinslaying, it doesn’t feel likely to me. I think he’d have quite different priorities.

If Maedhros dies in the Nirnaeth, Fingon is not going to blame Doriath, because it frankly takes a very tenuous and twisted chain of logic to get there, and there are much more obvious people for him to blame. First, Morgoth, who is not a viable target post-Nirnaeth. Second, and even more directly - the traitorous Easterlings, who, in a scenario where Maedhros died in the Nirnaeth, would probably have been the ones to kill him. Amd the Easterlings, now the occupiers of Fingon’s home territory of Hithlum and Dorthonion, are viable targets. So if Fingon is defeated, his army destroyed, and he goes (somewhat) off the rails, but he survives (possibly with a small number of others) and makes it back to Hithlum, the most likely putcome to me is him going ruthless-guerilla on the Easterlings who are occupying and oppressing his people and are responsible for the death of his closest friend. I can see scenarious where he gets something of a resistance movement going, and Túrin does not leave Hithlum and, once he hits his teens, joins up with them. That would be an interesting interaction, because Túrin’s canon interactions with elves are mostly with ones who have at least slightly more chill than he does, and that would not be the case here. I can see Tuor being part of it for a while before getting discomfited with hiw far the guerillas are willing to go (and how they’re not achieving much but revenge) and noping out of there and heading to Gondolin as in canon. That makes for an interesting AU in itself.

But that’s if you can come up with a plausible tactical mechanism that gets Fingon back to Hithlum. Because one of the reasons for the heroic last stand of the Men of the House of Hador, in addition to guarding Gondolin’s retreat, was because there was no way for them to get back to Hithlum, and they were not willing to be driven from their homes. So if Fingon survives, some of the Edain of Hithlum might as well. (You could even have a version where Húrin survives and isn’t captured and his family isn’t cursed, which is altogether more hopeful, not only because of the curse but because Húrin has a lot of good sense.)

The alternative, and tactically more plausible scenario, is one where Fingon survives the same way any other west-Beleriand forces who make it out of the Nirnaeth alive do - by retreating to Gondolin. And ironically, although that’s safer territory, I think it could end worse than the Hithlum option. Because Turgon post-Nirnaeth is 100% of the nobody-leaves-Gondolin mindset. During the retreat everyone is too exhausted abd demoralized to talk policy, but once they get there and Fingon learns via Thorondor that 1) his people are occupied by the Easterlings; 2) Maedhros has been betrayed and killed by the Easterlings; and 3) he’s never allowed to leave Gondolin to do anything about the first two items….he is not going to react well. In canon, some of the Noldor of Hithlum did join with the Gondolindrim and survive, so Fingon may still have a group that is loyal to him. It’s going to get messy.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #au #fingon #hurin #turin #turgon

[imakemywings]

Summary: Anaire forgives Fingolfin in pieces.

Length: 4.7k

AN: Anaire/Fingolfin reunion smut for @silmsmutweek (throwing in a tag for @nolofinweanweek too!)

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Dainis Graveris on Unsplash.

It was years gone now that Anairë’s husband had returned, almost hesitantly, from the Halls of Mandos. Years gone since she had first been truly confronted with the notion of what to do with him standing in front of her again; since all those conversations she’d played and replayed in her mind over the centuries were suddenly not just an exercise in fantasy; since there had been another laying down their head in the home she’d grown to think of as hers.

Indis and Finarfin had been kind enough to let her keep the old apartments in the royal palace—she was, they said, still a princess of the Noldor.

When Indis had followed her eldest back to Valmar, and Eärwen had departed for Alqualondë to grieve and offer aid, and Nerdanel had quitted the palace for a home of her own (she didn’t say where, when she left, though Anairë had since figured it out), Anairë had learned just how quiet those apartments could be. When it was just her and Finarfin at dinners that had once held dozens, conversation now sparse and shallow, she understood at last the meaning of the word empty.

Was Fingolfin her responsibility? Only as much as she would be his, in a similar scenario, she reasoned. And where was he to go, otherwise? She doubted he would be welcomed in Valmar, even if Indis and Findis wished to offer him a place. So perhaps it was inevitable that he landed back in the same home he had resided in when he left.

Anairë made him sleep on the sofa.

They had slid a bed into his old study since those early days, for never since his return had Anairë allowed him into the bedchambers which now belonged to her, and he would not overnight in the children’s rooms (although she had caught him lying on Aredhel’s bed one afternoon, fingers clutched around some youthful wood-working project of Turgon's still lingering in his sister's room).

Forgiveness was a fickle thing sometimes, she thought. Eärwen had still not forgiven her children for their leaving and the manner of it, as if all her forgiveness had gone into Finarfin and left none for the children. Finarfin had been nearly delirious with joy at the return of any of his babies and if he had harbored any resentment until then, it had vanished the moment Finrod stepped light-dazzled and wary out of the Halls. What discussions—and there had been many—Indis had had with Fingolfin Anairë couldn’t say, for Fingolfin had not shared much and she had not pried. She knew Finrod had been often in conversation with Olwë since his return, continuing the efforts at healing which Eärwen and Finarfin had been driving at between their peoples since the Kinslaying. Findis had not yet called on Fingolfin, though they had spoken once when she traveled with Indis to and from Tirion.

Anairë knew why Fingolfin had done what he had done. She had resented his departure, particularly after Alqualondë, but at the same time, she could not wholly condemn it, even if she thought it had been the wrong choice (Only once had she pointed out that Finarfin had been willing to return and take his due punishment, and that had been one of their more raw conversations). Still, she took several years to decide that she was going to forgive him. The next question was whether that forgiveness included allowing him to be a part of her life again, and to what extent. That was another several years.

All told, when she invited Fingolfin up to the bedroom that had once been theirs, few could blame him for seizing the chance.

His fingers must have remembered the trick of the lock on the door; he flicked it closed with one hand even as he pressed Anairë back against the wall beside it (the lesson learned in a family as large as Finwë’s was better safe than sorry even if you were quite sure the house was empty). His hands were like a dream as they slid up beneath her pale blue robes, so achingly familiar and yet so distant she had to reach for the memory.

Anairë sighed and leaned back against the wall, her hair pillowed in a black halo around her head; if she shut her eyes with his mouth against her throat, it could almost be one of those things she pictured in her mind late at night, with one hand pressed between her thighs, furious with him him and wanting him, and most of all, missing him.

Fingolfin had been the last of his brothers to wed, though he and she had been courting before Eärwen and Finarfin began. Anairë did nothing in a rush. But all her careful planning and weighing of options and possibilities had left her in no better position than Nerdanel’s hasty nuptials with the shockingly young crown price; in the end, her house had been just as vacant.

Fingolfin’s hand began to travel upwards, but there was a hesitancy there she had never felt in him before, and when she opened her eyes, the realness of the moment shocked her, sending a shudder through her body, a not-unpleasant ache low in her belly.

His topaz eyes were fixed on her face, a slight knit in his brow, a question on his lips as his fingers brushed against her thigh but dared not yet reach for more. Anairë stared back and said nothing, wondering what he would do if she went on saying nothing. But there was something in his eyes that made her remember what the others had told her about how he had died.

How brave was he! the returned Noldor cried to her, nearly clutching at the hems of her robes, How selfless! How noble! What an image of the Noldor! But all that Anairë had heard, when they spoke to her of how Fingolfin had ridden alone to the fortress of Morgoth and bid the dark lord come forth for combat, was the howling song of Fingolfin’s pain and despair. How can they not see! she had vented at one of her few visits to Nerdanel. How can they not see he had no hope? She needed not have been there to know that.

She cupped her hands against his cheeks, her skin dark even against the brown of Fingolfin’s. He had taken very much after Fëanor and Finwë’s looks, to Fëanor’s chagrin: there was no denying their relation (and if Nerdanel hinted that Fëanor was the better-looking of the two, Anairë would only shrug and give her beloved another kiss when she saw him next). She stroked her thumbs along his sharp cheekbones and followed the urging in her chest to lean in and kiss him, long and slow. Something like a whimper came from Fingolfin’s throat and he pressed nearer to her, pushing her against the wall as if to burrow in between her ribs and take shelter there, beside her heart.

Anairë parted her lips and slid her arms around his shoulders, the solid feel of him sweeping back the notion it was all just a fantasy of hers. She let go of him and began to pull at his belt and sash, stripping his robes away from his shoulders and baring him down to the waist. Fingolfin let them fall to the floor and did not move, waiting for Anairë’s lead. Her body ached for his touch.

“Did you not miss me?” she said, holding his gaze. Without troubling to pause for words, Fingolfin grabbed her in another kiss, molding his body against hers, hands holding her waist, and Anairë could not restrain a breathless moan as she felt his arousal against her inner thigh. She arched off the wall and his hands moved down, sliding under her ass to cup and squeeze and she moved her leg to press up against the growing bulge in his trousers.

It had been a learning process for each of them to loosen up in bed, enough that in the beginning, they had been sure they were doing something wrong, for surely this came naturallyto everyone! Now, Anairë felt the ghost of those old barriers half reconstructed in Fingolfin’s absence, and a part of her wished to retreat behind them, to simply exist and let him touch her without taking any part of it herself. Such couplings asked nothing of her, but they were also far less rewarding, and the greater part of her felt she had earned a reward from Fingolfin—if it required her to make herself more vulnerable.

She put one hand over his, and together they guided it between her legs, drawing another low noise of approval from her. Fingolfin felt around in the folds of her clothes until he could slide his hand down the front of her shorts and press his fingers into the thatch of coarse hair there, his breath stuttering when he felt how wet she was.

“Anairë,” he breathed, dragging his fingers maddeningly up and down her slit without pressing deeper.

“Mm…” she responded, one hand on the back of his head, digging into his hair as he nibbled at her neck. “Yes?”

For a moment, his only response was heavy breathing and his fingers finally pushing a bit harder to circle her clit, teasing over the swollen head.

“I need you,” he whispered at last.

“I know,” she answered. “And here I am.”

Fingolfin dropped down to his knees, pulling her shorts down and pushing her robes out of the way to bare her sex. For a moment he only looked, as if he were gazing on some wonder he had expected never to see again, and then he leaned in, mouth open, and dragged his tongue over her lips. Pausing only to pick one short, curly hair off his tongue, he parted her and pressed his eager mouth against the bud of her arousal. Anairë’s head tipped back against the wall and the rush of need that swept over her as Fingolfin buried his face between her legs, lapping, sucking, scraping with his teeth, as if this were where he might truly earn her forgiveness—as if she had put him on his knees for this—was nearly enough to finish her right there, which was far too soon for her mood.

            Still, she could not bring herself to stop him. Another moan tore from her throat and she rocked her hips against his mouth, vaguely aware he was moving just before he shrugged one of her legs over his shoulder so that he could be nearer to her still. Electricity crackled through her body as if she stood on a hilltop in a thunderstorm; she clamped a hand over her mouth, and knew that if she did not stop him soon, her turn on this ride would be over very quickly.

            She raked her fingers back through his thick black hair and pushed his head back, away from her, giving her a view of how his mouth and chin glistened with her slick.

            “Not like this,” she said. “Together.” There was a brief confusion on his face, and she knew he had meant to bring her off here, and likely to ask nothing of her in return. “Bed,” she said, pushing him in that direction. “If I would have you, I would have all of you, Nolofinwë.”

            “Yes,” he agreed senselessly at once, rising to his feet and shuffling towards the bed, dreamlike. “As you wish.” He paused there again, in front of the bed he had not touched since his return, and Anairë reached around from behind him to loosen the ties of his pants.

“If you wish to prove something to me,” she murmured, “prove it.”

            Fingolfin turned more boldly to her and, despite the considerable tent in his trousers, took his time undoing the clasps and ties of her robes to let them fall in a fluttering heap at her feet, eyes widening once again as he swept them over the expanse of smooth, dark skin and soft curves. His fingers brushed lightly at her hips, following the line of her body up over her ribs to her breasts, along the line of her throat to her face, where he cupped her cheeks and drew her into a kiss that made her nearly melt into him.

            I missed you, she thought, but if she lingered too long on that, she might cry. Instead, she broke away from him and dropped her earrings on the bedside table before she laid down, settling herself comfortably back against the pillows to regard her…husband? Former husband? Estranged husband? Lover? Friend?

            Fingolfin stayed where he was, looking at her as if he were one of the university art students being asked to memorize a scene within five minutes to recreate it after. Despite her body’s attempted urging, Anairë did not rush him past this.

            “Anairë…” he began again.

            “Yes?” she asked, more softly.

            “Do you want this?”

            She blinked at him.

            “Have I given another impression?” she asked.

            “You would never, unless you meant to,” he said. “But I…things have been…” Fingolfin was not often at a loss for words, and she could see even then a flash of annoyance in his face at this difficulty. “I would not wish you to feel this was any…obligation of yours,” he said at last, still displeased with this phrasing. “You are not…responsible for me.”

            “Nolofinwë Arakáno,” she said, “if I wished to keep you from my house, I would have done it.” Her face softened. “Think you that the pain of our separation was on your side only?” she asked quietly. “That I have not thought of you since you left? You know that isn’t so.” She had told him. Sitting up, she reached a hand out to him. “I want this,” she said. After a pause, she added, feeling more exposed than she had when he had dropped her robes to the floor: “I want you.”

            Fingolfin hastily stepped out of the remains of his clothes, cast aside his own golden earrings (one of which hit the bedside table and skittered onto the floor), and parted her legs carefully to kneel there. Once more he paused, eyes glazed with thought, and Anairë wondered what he was thinking, being back in their room again after so long. She could not think now of the pleasant times they had passed there before, or she would cry.

            Instead, she wound her arms around his shoulders and drew him into a kiss, sighing in pleasure as his sex rubbed against her own.

            “I want you,” she murmured against his lips. “As before.” What a fantasy, the notion he could love her now as if nothing had happened, as if beyond this door, beyond those windows, the world was all as it had been before the Darkening!

            Fingolfin shivered and pushed her back against the pillows, trailing his kisses over her jaw, down her neck, to her chest, where he nuzzled between her breasts. The ache within her had sharpened now and she squirmed impatiently, something that made him lift his head with a look she knew was his effort not to smile.

            Anairë stared him down.

            “Have you something to say, Nolofinwë?” she asked gravely.

            “Not a thing,” he answered promptly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

            Anairë, as has been noted, was not an impatient person. Therefore, it should not come as an enormous surprise that Fingolfin took an inordinate amount of pride in being able to make her impatient. This time, she could not stop the wave of memories from rolling over her, flooding her mind with past instances of his teasing—the firmness of his thigh between her legs—the thrust of his fingers—the smirk. Rather than allow it to make her maudlin, Anairë savored how these recollections made her throb with need.

            “Did you come here today not to please me?” she asked. His eyes snapped to hers at once, as if he might lose his chance. Before he could grapple for a response, she let a faint smile curve her lips. “Then please me, and let us be pleased together.” Fingolfin relaxed and shifted up to kiss her full lips again. One of his hands brushed over the outside of her thigh, shifting her leg slightly to position himself, and goosebumps broke out across her skin; her stomach twisted and flipped as it hadn’t since quite early in their marriage.

            “Only give me a moment,” he murmured, reaching down to use one hand to ensure the smoothness of their coupling. A whimper rose in Anairë’s chest as, for the first time in thousands of years, she felt Fingolfin press into her core. His breathing had gone all atremble and he could not restrain the wordless noises of throbbing arousal that passed his lips as he, with obvious effort, entered her slowly. When he had sheathed himself to the hilt, he stopped, and looked at her, with a look not unlike the helpless, lost look he had given her when first he had emerged into the daylight of Aman once more. For a moment they were still, absorbed in the sensation of being so connected again.

            Tendered to his vulnerability, Anairë guided his head down to kiss him gently, then with sharper desire, teeth against his lips, her hips twitching up against his.

            “Is this what you want?” he murmured.

            “Yes,” she breathed. “And you?” He nodded hastily.

            “I have thought of—since I left you—I have wished—have dreamed—” Anairë silenced him with another kiss.

            “It is not a dream,” she whispered. She pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the faint beat of his heart. “It is real.” There was a furrow between his brows for just a moment, and Anairë wondered if he was playing an obstacle course with thoughts that would bring tears to his eyes as well, but he smoothed it out and leaned down to kiss her cheek as he drew back and thrust into her at last, chasing away all other thoughts from her mind.

            He began slowly and she guessed he wished to savor their first union since before the sun rose; the problem with that state of affairs was the neither of them was inclined to patience. Anairë had come near to finishing once already, and Fingolfin did not seem likely to outlast her, and as much as they each wished to draw the moment out, they were perhaps more eager still for their final pleasure. It was therefore not long before Fingolfin was fucking her with something near desperation while Anairë arched off the bed, rutting vigorously against him.

            “Anairë,” he gasped, shifting to balance his weight on one forearm so that he could reach his other hand between her legs to thumb her clit, “I can’t—”

            “It’s okay,” she panted, frissons of pleasure washing over her, pulling her closer and closer to her finish, emptying her head of all thought. “It’s okay. I’m nearly there.” But she held on, wanting to feel him go first.

            It didn’t happen.

            Not for lack of effort, but it was not as if they had never engaged in these unions before, where effort was not necessarily enough to bring about a finish. The more difficult thing was that Anairë wanted to, but the growing sensation that something was not right made it feel inappropriate.

            “Nolofinwë,” she said, trying not to gasp out his name as if she was holding herself back from climax, which was precisely what she was doing, although the vigor of his movement from moments earlier had cooled.

            He made some indistinct humming noise and did not stop moving, which was not conducive to their having a coherent conversation, because all Anairë’s body wanted her to focus on was the stretch and thrust of him.

            “Nolofinwë.” Then he paused, and she said: “Is everything o—oh. Oh no.” She had not meant for things to go in this order, and there was a certain indignity in having to wait for her orgasm to finish before she could go on asking him if something was wrong.

            She had grown so accustomed to those she gave herself she had nearly forgotten what it was like to finish with a partner: the waves of pleasure that washed out over her from head to toe, making her cry out and dig her nails into Fingolfin’s back; the intensity of her need to be close to him in that moment, feeling his weight pressed flush against her; the way her muscles relaxed entirely afterwards, leaving her limp on the bed.

            When she came to again, Fingolfin was stroking her cheek delicately, unabashedly watching her, his lips slightly parted in awe.

            “I meant to say,” she tried again, still half out of breath, “is everything okay?”

            “Okay?” Fingolfin echoed. “Okay?” For a puzzling moment, she wasn’t sure if he had somehow failed to understand the question. It was also difficult not to be keenly aware that he was still inside her. “How could I be ‘okay’ when—” She recognized his effort at controlling his feelings, trying to keep his voice steady. “I did not think…I could not…” Once again, words failed him, and he bowed his head over her, the trembling of his shoulders coming shortly after. “I thought I might never see you again,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought you might never wish to see me again. And yet—to see you now—like this again—and you ask if I am okay—”

            He raised his head and there were tears on his cheeks; he touched her face again, reverently, as if it were she who had called him forth from the Halls, and whispered: “I missed you so much. I missed you so much.”

            Anairë’s throat was tight, and if she thought too much on the tone of his voice, she would cry too. She drew him near and pressed her forehead against his, smoothing her thumb over his cheek.

            “I missed you too,” she answered quietly.

            She did not say I wish I had gone with you; neither did Fingolfin say I wish I had stayed. Perhaps they could live with that, she thought. Each thinking they had made the right choice, even if they had both been pained by it. Perhaps larger differences in thought could be accommodated than either of them had believed when all they had known was the bliss and petty squabbles of the noontide of Valinor.

            It might have been nice to sink into that moment and let it stretch out for hours, but they had gotten themselves into a more pressing situation—resolved now for Anairë, but not for him.

            “Let me—” she began at the same moment he began to pull out of her saying: “I should—”

            For quicker results, Anairë just pressed the heel of her foot against his ass to keep him from moving away.

            “‘Together,’ I said,” she said. “I did mean that. Think you I brought you into this room for the first time since before the sun rose to let you leave unsatisfied?”

            “I am not—” he began very emphatically, but Anairë just shook her head and reached down to grip him in her hand. A few jerks of her wrist silenced him quite effectively—at least as far as words were concerned.

            “Shh,” she murmured against his lips as she kissed him. “Carry on; finish. I want that too.”

            So Fingolfin pushed into her again and she tugged at his hair and nipped as his neck as he moved within her until with delight she felt the tension in him heralding his climax and then the warmth of his seed as he moaned through his finish. When it was done, he slumped on top of her and Anairë ran her hands through his hair, eyes half-shut, and for once, her anxieties about the rest of the world—even about Fingolfin—could not speak loud enough to grab even a fraction of her attention.

            Fingolfin moved off of her and she felt his absence, along with his fluid seeping out against her legs, another dimly, yet deeply, familiar sensation. As they lay beside each other on the expanse of Anairë’s midnight blue sheets, she allowed herself to skim the surface of memories she had been trying to keep at bay.

            On the night of the day that Fingon was born, they had gone to bed in that room—her, exhausted; him, keyed up with excitement—with their precious bundle between them. Despite her weariness, Anairë had not slept until Laurelin’s light was warming the sky; she had lain up all through the night, marveling at Fingon: the perfect swoop of his tiny nose; the outline of his flawlessly-formed little ears tucked beneath his cap; the roundness of his tender brown cheeks. At some point in the night, she had lifted her gaze from the baby to see the light of Fingolfin’s eyes on the other side of the bed—still awake, doing the same thing as her. At that moment, Fingon was the greatest thing either of them had made—and they had made him together.

            “Do you remember—”

            They both stopped.

            “Were you thinking of Findekáno?” she asked.

            “Arakáno,” he replied.

            How could she forget the first night with Argon! The night they had both wanted to sleep, but somehow the baby did not, and had pulled their hair all night until they were snarling at each other—and then realized it was the baby responsible (always a squirming thing—swaddling him effectively had been a nightmare).

            A smile twitched on Fingolfin’s lips, and Anairë couldn’t help returning one in kind. She shifted, pulling the sheets up over herself—it was chillier to be naked in the room when they were no longer moving. She caught Fingolfin’s intention to move just before he did it, and blurted out:

            “You may stay, if you wish.”

            It wasn’t quite the hour for sleep, but it was not uncommon for Elves to nap after such things, given how much energy it took from them.

            He still looked hesitant, so she flicked the sheets out over him as well.

            “Stay,” she said, softer, holding his gaze.

            “Somehow,” said Fingolfin, “I had imagined this moment…differently.” Anairë felt her cheeks warm slightly; married life presented a host of scenarios less than the totally thrilling experiences one might expect after reading a few novels and having a few breathless conversations with other similarly inexperienced individuals—like falling asleep during the act, which had happened to both of them (children took a lot of energy!)—but she could have had her first time back with Fingolfin without such atrocious timing on her part.

            “We are rather out of practice,” she sighed. Fingolfin said nothing. Anairë reached out and wiped some of the tear-tracks away from his cheek. He merely held still and let her touch where she wished. Only when she drew back did he reach out to touch her in turn, skimming his fingers lightly over her shoulder and then no more.

            It was not the first time that Anairë had felt that being with Fingolfin now was like learning to walk all over again.

            “Let us have rest,” she said quietly. She turned over, for if she kept her eyes on him she would not sleep, and pulled the sheet up over her chest as she closed her eyes. For a moment the room was still, and then she felt Fingolfin shift nearer to her back. Still he did not touch her, so she reached back blindly for his hand and pulled his arm over her. Promptly after, he snuggled up against her, fitting the curve of his body to hers as they had once done with such familiarity, so that she liked to imagine she could feel the beat of his heart against her back. She felt him nuzzle briefly into the cloud of her hair, before settling on the pillow. She threaded her fingers through his and held his hand against her chest.

            I missed you, she thought, and this time, she did not feel like crying.

            Neither of them slept, but laid like that until there were other duties that called them up, and when she rose from the bed, Anairë squeezed Fingolfin’s hand, and smiled.

#anaire #fingolfin #anaire x fingolfin #the silmarillion #tolkien tag #fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #silmsmutweek #rocky writes

[gondolinweek]

HEAR YE! HEAR YE!

Note: This will be the last early details revealed before we unveil the individual scenarios for our daily prompts.

May 14th Feast of Summer Turgon, Idril, Eärendil

May 15th Ceremony of Silence Aredhel, Maeglin, Rog

May 16th Songs of Sunrise Ecthelion, Salgant

May 17th Dance of Daylight Duilin, Egalmoth, Penlod

May 18th Tales of Triumph Galdor, Glorfindel, Pengolodh

May 19th Parade of Passage Tuor, Voronwë

May 20th Freedom of Summer FREE

While we cannot stop you from using this information to begin creating your works (and, in fact, encourage you to), we would ask that you consider using tumblr's scheduling feature to post your works. Regarding works posted in the AO3 archive, the collection will be moderated throughout the event, and works will be revealed once Gondolin Week begins on May 14th.

#gondolinweek2023 #gondolinweek #gondolin week #gondolin #ondolinde #tolkien #jrr tolkien #the hobbit #the lord of the rings #lotr #the silmarillion #writing challenge #art challenge #glorfindel #ecthelion #turgon #aredhel #idril #tuor #earendil #maeglin #pengolodh #salgant #egalmoth #rog #duilin #penlod #galdor #voronwe #morgoth

[tiutale]

"Galdor hand me that-no the-woukd you let me finish and stop grabbing random objects!" Glorfindel's amused voice barely made it through the din of the hall. Galdor laughed holsing his hands up in defeat.

The Main Hall was bustling with elves of every House Lord to cook to chamber elf helping get things ready for mid winter.

Egalmoth walked passed the two shaking his head. Arms laden with strings of flowering plants. Rog's booming voice cut through the laughing cries of Ecthelion as his ladder once more was bumped by a rushing elf. An elf who colored at Rog's admonsihment to be careful and apologized in deep bows to Ecthelion.

Turgon grinned at Idril as they both set up the tables near the east wall. Where the prizes for later games would be held.

"Galdor! Are you going to hand me that or simply play with it?!"

Galdor grinned and tossed it up to the menacing vanya. "One would think over the years we would find a way to decorate with less chaos." Setting his hands on another string and bracket he glanced up and moved to steady the ladder Glorfindel was on. "There now. Do not overstretch or you will spill yourself into my boxes here."

Glorfindel grinned down at him. "I have never fallen from-"

A shout and crash across the Hall cut off his words. Laughter errupted soon after and chaos of a less organised scene began to ensue. Rog's vouce cut through the din as both Glorfindel and Galdor watched with worry and amusement.

Ecthelion dangled from the wall he had been decorating holding to a sconce that thankfully held no torch. The ladder he had been on was lying several feet away with an elf half beneath it. Fabric was wrapped about both and two others were trying to figure out where the elf, ladder, and fabric could be seperated.

Rog was shaking his head. His smile was wide enough to tell no one had been injured. Egalmoth stood just to the right of Echthelion calling up to him what he said the two Lords could not hear.

Turgon and Idril were laughing off near another table.

"Should we assist?" Glorfindel asked a little worried that no one had tried to help their friend down just yet. "Ee do have a usable ladder."

Galdor pretended to think over the scenario. "Do we wish to endanger our ladder? They have proven untrustworthy of such a tool. "

Glorfindel laughed climbing down from his perch. "Then we shall have to surpervise them as one should do with errant elflings playing with tools they ate not grown enough to use."

Togethe they carried their ladder over to the other Lords and made short work of rescuing the dangling Ecthelion. A break had been called until the chaos had settled once more.

Midwinter in Gondolin alwaya proved to be something to remember. This year was proving to be one above all tha would remain in their minds for some time.

#Glorfindel #Galdor #Ecthelion #Rog #Egalmoth #Tuegon #Idril

[yourlocalnetizen]

Feanor's downfall is really depressing if you think about it enough

Like Turin, he was most certainly screwed over by the universe (which is why I defend him so much) but he just had so many chances to be better...

Including:

If he had given up the Silmarills

I know it would have broken him but it honestly would have been the best scenario for him and his family.

No child of Iluvatar would have been held in higher regard than Feanor if he made this choice.

No one. Because he would be the reason light still existed in Arda.

He would have been the greatest and most beloved not only in the eyes of his father, but in the eyes of everyone.

Indis's descendants would have absolutely nothing on him. Because even the Valar would love him the most. Perhaps he'd be even more beloved than Ingwe, the high king of all elves.

If he and his sons hadn't sworn an oath

Okay, so Feanor would still loose the Silmarills and his father but he doesn't go to the drastic measure of declaring an oath. Meaning he and his sons do not need to kill everyone in their way.

They can at least drop out consequence free if they feel like it's gone past their limit. Maybe at the very least some of them can preserve their lives.

If he decided to use the helcaraxë

It would be dangerous and it would be unwise and some lives would still be undoubtedly lost but at least the Feanorians are not enemies of the Teleri or Turgon, who may have never liked Feanor but he was said to only start hating Feanor's sons after Elenwe died, leading me to believe he was possibly indifferent to them before.

Feanor would of course still be defying the ban of the Valar but he wouldn't be a Kinslayer, so still better than in canon.

Maybe they'd even get along with Thingol in this version.

If he didn't burn the boats

This would still be pretty bad.

Feanor would have still wronged the Teleri among all the other stuff but at least he'd have an ally.

While Feanor's history with Fingolfin is difficult to say the least, the point stands that Fingolfin was willing to help him avenge their father and get back the Silmarills.

Fingolfin alone was powerful enough to mortally wound Melkor. Teamed up with The Spirit of Fire, Melkor might even have been defeated.

...

In conclusion, I totally understand why Manwe cried over this dude.

I'm crying over him too.

#the silmarillion #feanor #feanorians #finweans

[swanmaids]

🦾👗😬 for Idril?

disability hc - idril is a decent hobbyist metalworker, though it's not her favourite craft. her prosthetics are made by rog, but she designs her own filigree embellishments for them, and she is capable of performing her own routine repairs and upkeep.

clothing hc - became a refugee for the second time in her life while dressed in her finest clothing for tarnin austa when gondolin fell. clothes were mostly rags by the time they reached sirion.

the worst thing they've ever done headcanon - you know that thing where you revisit a memory so many times that you can't tell which version is the "correct" one? well, idril knows what the "soup" of meat chunks floating in broth that turgon and aredhel woke her one night on the ice to eat was really made of. but what she can't remember is if she ever believed her father's comforting lies about what she was eating, or if she always knew what she was doing -- and she can't decide which scenario is worse.

#ask game #my hcs

[maedhrus]

Please write an essay on the merits of Maglor/Fingolfin. I'm listening.

excellent. you may regret doing so.

maglor and fingolfin share similar positions of being the second son to an important father and have carved out niches for themselves (maglor’s music vs fingolfin’s politics) as a result of this. where this pairing really gets me going, however, is immediately after fingolfin’s host arrives in beleriand. here, fingolfin has just suffered the loss of his (favourite? i choose to believe so) son, has spent 30 years fighting for survival on the helecaraxeë, shouldered the grief of his people and loved ones (because we all know that turgon got mega fucked up by elenwë’s death), is likely still reeling from finwë’s death and the noldor’s subsequent rebellion/exile, and was betrayed and abandoned by the brother he gave up everything to follow. that same brother who is now dead! before he has the chance to air any of this out! and, instead of his eldest nephew ruling in fëanor’s place, he instead meets maglor. maglor who never expected or prepared to be king, has little to no political experience, (is possibly dealing with the death of his youngest brother if we go with the crispy!amrod draft), and has given maedhros up for dead, because what else can he do! imo, this creates a delicious scenario for angsty conflict where fingolfin is both desperate to lash out and duty-bound to protect his people, and maglor is haunted by grief and guilt but will stubbornly hold onto his and his house’s power as long as he can. and then when fingon fucks off to rescue maedhros leaving maglor and fingolfin the heads of a very divided people held together on a string. and i feel like fingolfin would see ruling as more of a calling than maglor does, but maglor’s pride and his love for fëanor prevent him ever ceasing power to fingolfin, despite them both knowing he’s far more equipped for it. they’re both seeking to almost torment the other because they have their own guilt they can’t confront and the more they turn to each other, they build a relationship, and intimacy. and that guilt builds.

i think that a maglor/fingolfin relationship would be a perfect blend of repression, poor coping mechanisms, the confusion of familial and romantic love, seeking comfort in the other, and long debates over the nature of loyalty and duty. i think what began as a form of self-flagellation and punishment to inflict on each other turns to finding comfort in incredibly trying conditions turns to an affair they both hate themselves for but can’t bring themselves to stop. it’s also the perfect relationship to use if you want to pick apart the “saint fingolfin” narrative and get real gritty with them both.

in summary, vote magolfin in this year’s election

(also the potential for maglor/fingolfin to do the rhaenyra/daemon “take me to dragonstone and make me your wife” is incredibly sexy but I understand that it’s a completely personal taste)

#tolkien #silmarillion #maglor #fingolfin #maglor x fingolfin #magolfin nation rise! #asks #this may be rambly and ill-conceived which i apologise for #but that you for enabling me dear anon

[novemberthecatadmirer]

I want a Morgoth-captured-Tuor AU

I absolutely love Tuor but

I want to see a Tuor instead of Maeglin got captured by Morgoth AU

Think about it, the two events absolutely gave BAD karma to Gondolin

Turgon pushing Eol down the wall. In many cultures it is absolutely a horrible idea to bloody your own home by murder. It stains the place and draws in bad luck.

Turgon denying Hurin help. Betraying your friend who sacrificed his people and his whole family for your city is just asking for justice-through-karma.

In canon Morgoth chose to use Maeglin the son of a Teleri or Avari outsider who got executed by the city.

I think he could also effectively use Tuor too.

I think the top 3 on his hit list were Idril, Tuor, Maeglin. Then the other lords of Gondolin.

But Idril was too wisely paranoid to leave the city, and she had no reason to.

Maeglin ended up captured because his profession made him easily accessible.

However

In another scenario

Morgoth could just… lure Tuor out with information about Hurin

The same way like how he lured out Morwen and Nienor

And we know Tuor was not okay. He could not be. He never met his parents and any of his relatives. He grew up among elves, separated from his culture and heritage. When he got in contact with mortal men again it was the people who enslaved him. He spent 4 years living in the wild and murdering random Easterlings passing by. He had this grief and trauma. He just jumped at it when Ulmo offered him the mission and decided it was his purpose of life.

Then Turgon just didn’t listen.

And now he was stuck in this city that everyone were super traumatized from Unnumbered Tears (Morgoth’s ptsd spell) and was probably drowning themselves in parties like the world was going to end the next day. And nearly nobody wanted to listen to his warning. Idril was, but she was also viewed as very paranoid.

Also we have the question “Did Tuor know Turgon rejected his uncle.” And “Did Tuor know his cousin’s fate.”

I think he did not know.

Then in a horrible alternative universe Morgoth could just… send him visions.

I do think Gondolin had Ulmo’s protection. But with Morgoth polluting the water in the North the protection was fading. (I think that was how Maeglin got captured.)

And we don’t know how much power the curse on Hurin’s family extended. Does that extend to Tuor too? I think Ulmo’s bliss was fighting Morgoth’s curse all the time.

Morgoth could just… send Tuor visions of truth. He did not even need to lie.

Morgoth could show Tuor how he missed Turin on his way to Gondolin. The idea that Tuor was in some way responsible for his cousins’ tragedy because Tuor was wary of Turin’s mad behavior and stayed away. The idea that Tuor gave up intervening because he wanted to stay safe on his trip to Gondolin. The idea that Tuor chose Gondolin over his cousin.

Then Morgoth show Tuor how Turgon rejected Hurin. Again, one of his relatives was left alone in their grief-induced madness because someone chose Gondolin over their well-being. And how could Tuor not feel that horrible survivors’ guilt.

Tuor was wise and cautious. He ask other people he trusted for advices and listened. But after seeing Turgon abandoning Hurin in his dream he tried to investigate alone and it turned out his dream was real. Then he started to keep secrets of his feelings, and he was GOOD at keeping secrets. He was a slave and he had to learn how to keep secrets.

With anything else he could ask Idril but this was Turgon, Idril’s father. And he did not want to pitch his wife against her father.

So he ended up with no one to ask.

Then Morgoth could start sending him false visions of Hurin suffering. And Tuor would believe it because all the visions before were true.

And that was how Tuor could be lured out of Gondolin.

He could be convinced he already passed over Ulmo’s warning. His mission was finished. He tried to convince people and they were not listening. What use could a mortal have in an elf city? Meanwhile his family have suffered and his uncle is there half-mad with grief running into his own misery end.

Tuor could be convinced that he should have left the city much earlier. Maybe he could save his cousins and his aunt. Instead he was enjoying his life in a safe white city date beautiful elf princess when his surviving family members were suffering. But now at least his uncle is still out there. And he must save his uncle.

And Morgoth would be waiting there for him instead.

And look… Tuor was not Maeglin he won’t crack the same way

But the issue was

Morgoth had access to the remaining people of House of Hador

Which gave him just enough of men, women, and children to threaten Tuor for the information of Gondolin

And the little “your uncle tried to play hero for that city too, and look what I could do to his family, and the city did not even appreciate his sacrifice” to salt the wound

After Morgoth was done he did not even need to return Tuor to Gondolin.

He was a lord of a small amount of people, or maybe not even a lord. (In canon it seemed that Idril made him a lord after starting to suspect Maeglin.)

Turgon would realize he left to find Hurin and he might not dare to think that he might get captured instead. He was too overwhelmed by his guilt.

Maeglin would likely be “good riddance now Idril won’t fade of grief like Luthien when the mortal man get old & die.” And “good for him, this damned city is a fucking cage especially for Men with such a short lifespan and maybe he finally noticed almost everyone were treating outsiders like some exotic animal.”

Only Idril being paranoid she was was like “oh shit fuck fuck fuck it’s Morgoth it must be Morgoth I am going to dig a tunnel to escape when everything burn in fire.”

And Gondolin would pretty much fall similar way because Maeglin and Salgant now actually had MORE reasons to convince Turgon to stay

Maeglin would not even know Morgoth would win. Being stupid the way he was he would genuinely believed they had a chance to win.

Also there’s no Tuor there urging them to abandon the city and escape.

So yeah, in the end it would still be Idril leading people escaping Gondolin

And the survivors would blame Tuor. The mortal man who deceived their princess then abandoned her and her child and betrayed the city to Morgoth.

—————

If you want Tuor to survive in this au

I think Morgoth might turn him into a wrath trapped in some crystal. And force him to watch the Fall of Gondolin

Or Morgoth might chain him onto his uncle’s old chair. And force him to watch the Fall of Gondolin.

The better situation would be Morgoth releasing Tuor after some years on that chair, hoping to repeat what he did to Hurin

But Tuor being the boy-who-befriended-the-slavers-dogs he REFUSED to go down the road of anger and hate (maybe he’ll befriend some wargs this round too)

And somehow became another backfired-headache for Morgoth

—————

Maeglin… I suspect he still had some high chance to die rolling down the wall into fire beneath.

You can actually have him survive the Fall then had everyone MAD at him for convincing Turgon to guard the city. Also the guilt of pitching a horrible decision now most of your people are dead or enthralled, your coworkers dead, your uncle dead, your best friend who supported your horrible decision rumored to be captured and forced to play music for Morgoth

Like, congratulations on not being the traitor in this timeline. But you’re still the major reason everyone died. What’s the real difference

Also, maybe he did get another chance to fight for another falling city. Yes Sirion was going to be fun. Meet your other uncles (the crazy ones) you only heard from your mother’s tales and your uncle & cousin’s angry rant. Now they are coming to kill your people and hurt your niece-in-law and the children for their stupid rocks. (What’s the point a shiny rock isn’t even that interesting.) So do you fight your crazy uncles or not.

Or maybe you steal a stupid rock but is that really a wise decision when so many of your people being depressed and traumatized were now hanging on the little bit of light of such rock to not go crazy and off themself.

Idk. There are so many chances for him to still suffer in an interesting way.

#tolkien #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm #silmarillion headcanon #silm headcanon #tuor #idril #turgon #morgoth #maeglin #gondolin #fall of gondolin #silm fic idea #silmarillion au #silm au

[grundyscribbling]

21/25 and Curufin for the ask game?

Thank you, this is an interesting one. Particularly since I'm currently writing the Sudden Flame and its aftermath from his POV...

21. If you’re a fic writer and have written for this character, what’s your favorite thing to do when you’re writing for this character? What’s something you don’t like?

I like to let him snark and be sarcastic. I also like having him hanging around with Finrod. They're a fun combo - especially since both of them are well aware of their reputations and not above playing into it. I also write him as having been besties with both Finrod and Turgon pre-Darkening. (Turgon is not nearly as forgiving as Finrod.)

Something I don't like? Trying to figure out how much of various crafts/disciplines he would know. I don't need more research projects!

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

First impression 'what an asshole'. Now I think he was intelligent enough to understand the no-win scenario he was caught in, and how much of it was of his own making. He fully got how badly he'd screwed up, and that there was no fixing it.

#character ask game

[doodle-pops]

Insufferable Beginnings

Turgon x reader

Request: Turgon x reader, enemy’s to lover in Valinor, angst?… (help I live the enemy’s to livers trope to much 😭😭) - Anon

A/N: I originally wanted to keep this short, like under 3k, however, dialogues became my weakness and I fell in love with the hating each other a little too much. However, I do hope that this was good enough to your liking. Apologies if it’s too long. Enjoy!

Warnings: female reader, arranged marriage au, enemies to lovers au, angst/comfort, arguments, insulting one another, a knife gets drawn (a butter knife), kissing, confessions, since it’s set in Valinor I used Quenya names

Words: 4.6k

Synopsis: Arranged marriages when you and your millionth reason why were at each other’s throats was always the best way to introduce a new emotion on the battlefield and seek victory.

“Must you look so disparaging? It is our wedding, after all, cheer up and have a drink!” Turukáno sat beside you, or rather two feet away and towards the end of the table, leaving you to wallow in your bitterness. He managed to find your expressions throughout the entire day more entertaining than ever, it made the wedding interesting.

Casting a dreadful and bone-chilling side eye at your newlywed husband, your fingers twitched in your lap with unbridled rage to wrap them around his obnoxiously long neck and choke. However, he remained aloof under your threatening gaze and took another gulp for his sixth cup of wine for the night. Anything to avoid going home, sane, to a shared house.

“I’ll only smile if you disappear and leave me alone.”

He paused with the chalice against his lips, pondering before scoffing and taking a violent chug. Emptying the cup with an enthusiastic exhale and slamming it on the table, he reached for the vat of wine to refill. “So you can find yourself in the arms of one of your pathetic suitors or my cousins since you enjoy kissing their asses so much.”

“Anyone else would be a better company.”

“What’s stopping you then? I thought you loathed me with an unbridled passion to the point that you would do anything to make your life less miserable,” he half-heartedly muttered while gazing at the ruby liquid in his cup. “Or maybe you didn’t want to humiliate yourself knowing that no one else would accept you and your terrible personality.”

“What makes you think that one of your cousins would not accept me?”

“So it’s my cousins you’re interested in. Well, I think you and Tyelkormo or Atarinkë would suit each other well, especially with the similar personalities you all share.”

You growled through bared teeth, “Do not ill-speak of the House of Fëanáro. They are far nobler, skilled and of better status than you can ever be.”

“Ah, so you admit that your personality is dreadful then?” Awed by the revelation of your words, he flashed a blinding grin at you.  

“You act as though your personality is perfect, and do not make this about me when it is not!”

“My personality isn’t perfect, but it’s better than yours,” he snickered and sat upright. “Besides, it is your wedding day, you are the centre of attention, so everything is about you.”

“You’re simply bitter and jealous that I would never choose you in a world of standards because you are as poor as your insults.” Flipping him off with a triumphant smirk, you crossed your arms and performed a mental victory dance at your comeback.

“Of course I am,” he muttered half-heartily as he slammed his chalice on the table once more and slumped deeply into his chair. As much as he wanted to leave the table, his grandfather and father were eyeing you down like hawks. “No power and no high status. Yet I was still chosen to be your future husband by the King.”

Not caring that he was being stared at, Turukáno exited the hall and rushed out of the palace to find a secluded spot for a bit of fresh air. He didn’t care about what became of you during the rest of the night. You could have returned to your parent’s house and left him alone in your supposed shared home or run off with his half-cousins, he would surely find something worthwhile to fill his time with.

Making his way through the half-empty streets of Tirion, he slid his body through a few alleyways before breaking into the hills and entering the outskirts of a small forest. A familiar path he took which led to a small pool—a place where he and Findekáno formerly commuted before his successful marriage—now became his fortress of refuge to his unbearable hater.

Being petty, bitter, and judgemental were common traits of the second son of Ñolofinwë, however, you brought the worst out in him. It was only the day you entered the picture with your desirous hatred towards him, his boring life became infuriating. There wasn’t a day you didn’t make his life a living hell.

Wanting nothing more than to refrain from continuing his thoughts on you before his head exploded, he undressed and took a midnight swim, spending the rest of his wedding with peace of mind. He would deal with you another day with the guarantee to make you regret hating him.

**

The first year of marriage was always described as challenging and for God’s sake how fucking true it was. You weren’t even past the first three months without wanting to launch objects at him, which you had already done numerous times before. But the point was that you wanted to launch the entire dining table at him for interrupting your peace of mind. Why did he have to show up at the same hour? Did he not have something more important to do like die?

“Can you not eat so loudly? It is breaking my concentration?” you retorted sharply.

“Then cover your ears. To eat I must; to hear, you can choose,” he lazily replied in a bored tone.

Your left eye twitched as did the cutlery in your hands as you pressed the knife and fork into the porcelain plate to evidently create a hairline fracture. Casting a look at the servants lined up on each side of the room with a monotonous expression, you felt a wave of embarrassment.

“What, no counter to my response? Finally realised how foolish you appear hating me unnecessarily?” he mocked.

Deeply inhaling, you managed, “I merely asked you to cease chewing so loudly. Is that not a possible task, something a Prince of your lowly status can adhere to?”

Countering without waiting for a second, he stated with plainness, “I must chew if I am to eat, don’t you know that or have you forgotten the fundamentals of eating?”

“Then don’t eat, starve and die.”

Turukáno’s lips twitched as he fought a sarcastic grin, instead, scoffing as his breathing fumbled before he lifted his head to gaze at you across the table. Your seated presence at the opposite end, surrounded by an array of candles left a glowing aura casting a glow on your figure to appear as some omnipotent being…a demon in sheep’s clothing.

“My dear, have you not paid attention to the tranquillity of the room? A pin drop can be heard; thus you will hear my chewing, same can be said for yours.”

“I do not chew loudly!” you snarled, visibly vibrating in your seat.

“Of course not, how rude of me. Where are my manners?” he satirically replied, casting a mocking smile at you; his turquoise eyes shining brightly under the glow of the candles. “Allow me to clarify, you yap like a goat.”

Springing from your chair, your palms came crashing down on the table, prompting the ornaments to tremble, even the servants shifted on their feet at the intemperate tension. “You should have care how you speak; it might be your last.”

“What are you planning on doing? Launching another poor object at my head and missing like you did in the last fifty attempts? Best of wishes, may your aim be true, or would you prefer I stand within three feet, so you don’t miss?” he snickered with a shake of his head.

Darkly whispered, you picked up your butter knife and stabbed it into the napkin. “I could end you right here and now,”

“How terrifying?!” he dully muttered and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Somebody save me!”

“Would you stop that!”

“Ah, so it would appear that I have struck a nerve?” Turukáno grinned delightedly and took a sip of his wine while appreciating the sight of you pointing your knife at him.

“You have been a pain in my ass since the day I met you!” you rumbled, jabbing the knife through the air towards his figure peacefully sitting unbothered.

Wanting nothing more than to bask in the glory this unnecessary argument brought, he rose from his chair and strolled around the table. Fingers gliding along the tabletop as he took his time to approach you, he appeared smug. “What you are telling me, is that I’ve always been on your mind? I’m touched. No one has ever thought of me so much as you did, my number one supporter and hater. Makes this union worthwhile because you can continue to think of me even more while allowing it to consume your every thought.”

At this point, Turukáno was standing before you as your body had turned to meet him head-on, the knife in your hand still focusing on him. Despite his towering figure, you were able to match his height with the passion in your eyes that made you grow. Those turquoise eyes of his darkened and narrowed into slits as the gazed down at you. No one dared to whisper a word, only the sound of heavy breathing which was still too soft for the other’s ears.

Suddenly, his left hand gingerly reached out to grab the wrist of your right, which held the knife and brought it to his throat. He knew you couldn’t cut him with a butter knife, yet he wanted you to realise your folly. The action urged the servants in the room to break their formation and panic as they looked on. He felt the trembling of your hand as he held onto it, steadfast, while the expression on your face spoke the reason for him. All bark and no bite.

“Do it,” he taunted with s whisper, gazing his playful eyes at your paralysed ones and pushing the knife harder against his skin.

You wanted to reply. Counter as equally as petty as his insults or even take actions, but the wheels in your body weren’t rotating. You didn’t know why, but the longer you stared into his slithered eyes; you noticed the ring of green around his iris, the small mole under his left eye and his neatly shaped wine-stained lips. His change in demeanour made him appear ridiculously attractive and you fought to deny it, but comparisons between him and the sons of Fëanáro’s beauty had already crossed your mind.

It outmatched a few of them.

You struggled to catch yourself the longer you focused on his face, grip on your knife slipping, yet the grip around your wrist tightened and tugged. Your lips parted and your head inched closer, grateful for your height, you were able to lean into his personal space, breathing in his air. Wine and spearmint. The alarms were blaring in your head that it was a precarious move you were making, but his standstill stature encouraged you to persist and bridge the gap.

Turukáno didn’t know who moved first, he or you; all he knew was that his hand gripping your wrist had tossed it over his shoulder, with the knife still intact, as his lips moulded against yours. It was full of anger, confusion and hidden truths as your bodies were entangled in an unceremonious form of solving the argument. Lips breaking apart to gasp for air, catching your breaths before returning to the task, his hands were busy cupping your cheeks to tilt your head to increase the vigour. He forgot—or rather, didn’t care—about the knife in your hands behind his neck as he pressed his body closer, wanting you to experience his heat, raging from the passion you sparked tonight.

Yet nothing was ever long-lived as you caught your biting his luscious lip and pulled away, gasping. Casting your eyes downwards, a questionable frown appeared. Unable to take the confusion and possible humiliation of the suddenness of the scene, you muttered a curt, “Excuse me,” and slipped out of his embrace, vacating the room while leaving him hoping.

**

You began to avoid him even more; more than what you normally would, yet failure was the start of something different. Your mornings were clashing, him showing up at the same time for breakfast, exiting and entering the house, and needing to share the same space. It was as if fate was playing a sick joke on you to remember your kiss. He appeared the same, refusing to bring it up and make any eye contact, however, his persistence to irritate and aggravate you never ended. The night of the dinner was just the beginning of him goading you to commit your desire.

Standing at the entrance of the drawing-room, you fixed your body behind the pillar that rested a vase and observed him. He appeared relaxed and a level of comfort you wished to achieve in the shared household. How was he able to be unbothered? Didn’t your presence usually provoke him? Was he not thinking about you the way you always thought about him?

“Cease your staring from behind the pillar, please. I know that I’m not the best-looking elf compared to your idolised house, so spare me your soft gaze as though you considered me,” he huffed and turned the page of his book without lifting his head to make contact.

Soft gaze?

“I was not gazing at you, I was glaring…” He was right, whether you were gazing at him or not, you were silently observing him. Clearing your throat to avoid making a fool of yourself, you stepped into the spotlight and clasped your hands together. “I was coming to call you, There’s an invitation addressed to you…and I.”

“My grandfather?”

“Hmm, a dinner party.”

The room fell into silence as you both took in the silent meaning behind the invitation. This was the first event after the wedding that would display the depth of your relationship with his family and others.

Turukáno’s eyes lifted off the pages to fall on your nervous figure standing in the doorway. No animosity or disdain was held in his eyes as they softened on your appearance; he almost felt sorry for the discomfort you were about to be placed in, similar to himself. Gatherings involving the entire family usually made him cautious and uninterested due to the typical outcomes.

“You can stay at home if you are uncomfortable attending. I’ll make up an excuse that you’re unwell and request tranquillity,” he suggested while shutting his book and placing it on the table.

Puzzled at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, you wrinkled your forehead. “What about your grandfather when he questions why you’re not at home looking after me?”

“I’ll make up some lie, whatever comes to mind,” he monotonously muttered, drifting his eyes to meet your astonished ones.

“Why?” Your question lingered heavily in the air like it weighed a ton. A sudden increase of pressure showered over you, leaving him wondering if he had made a mistake in his response to warrant your opposition.

“Why not? You’re not interested in meeting my family for known reasons, and if you want to stay at home, you are welcome to.”

“But don’t you hate me?” you delicately uttered. “You shouldn’t be concerned about how I feel or whether I desire to stay at home; you should ignore me like you have always been doing.”

Opening his mouth to counter, he closed it and dropped his gaze to your feet. The look of puzzlement decorated his face the longer he contemplated a response while reasoning with himself for the corner he was backed into. There was never a discussion he wasn’t able to counteract, but here you were causing him to fumble. A sharp look at your face, the squinting of his eyes and a nervous chuckle he conjured a response rattled off the tip of his tongue. “I don’t hate you; I don’t particularly like you, but ignoring you is incredibly difficult when you have an unmistakable aura that causes me to consider you in whatever way I can.”

His eyes widened at the acknowledgement of his words. Unable to feign his mistake, he rose immediately off the sofa and marched to the opposite exit of the drawing room.

“You…You don’t hate—”

“Forget what I said. Simply do whatever you want for the dinner, it doesn’t matter to me.” With that, he departed the room and rushed to his chamber, slamming the door.

In the following days, Turukáno had done his best to avoid you after his slip-up while you became fixated on decoding his grand speech and his nonchalance towards his actions. It wasn’t like him to use words which didn’t coordinate with his enmity-like personality. All the screaming, shouting, slamming the doors and throwing objects at each other died down, and all you received were his typical smart-ass comments which started carrying a two-meaning message. You were positively sure that he was not aware of his choice of words; he never mixed his vocabulary.

For the prim and proper Prince he was, he was enunciated.

Hence why you were gawking at him all night from behind a pillar, avoiding interactions with his siblings and cousins to observe his mannerisms. His face seemed to be a lot more relaxed, visibly pleased, lips stretched into a grin, and laughing. You had never seen him like this around you, it was a side he withheld during your arrangement, and it stung that you would never be fortunate to experience it due to his hate towards you. No sweet moments exchanged, smiles and words reserved only for you, or another kiss like that night.

Licking your lips and biting it, your fingers touched your lower lip as you held eye contact with his figure. The events of that night were still unexplainable.

“Staring at my brother.” The teasing voice of Princess Irissë came from your left before you felt her arm linking with yours and pulling you closer to her. “Well, you should be, especially after how great your relationship with him is going. Look at how much my brother is smiling; he’s talking about you.”

“Y-Your Highness?!”

“Relax. You can drop the formalities for now. It’s a family dinner and we’re all family, so call me nésa,” she laughed which resembled crystal bells tinkering.

Feeling overwhelmed by the plethora of information you consumed, your chest felt tighter all of a sudden, as though the dress shrunk. “I uh, do not understand what you mean by your brother. He is talking about me?”

Surely not good things, no wonder why he was smiling. Prattling his cousins’ heads about how terrible you were to live with. You felt your heart sink to your stomach, not realising how much you hoped for good things to be spoken about you.

“Of course he is! You’re his wife!” she exclaimed and gave you a small shake before guiding you away from the pillar. “He was asked to produce grandfather with a report at the start of the dinner in private, we were all there, and we heard him speak about how things are looking brighter, and that he’s pleased. So that means you two no longer hate each other and grandfather’s idea worked.”

Holding eye contact with her before looking at the wine in your hands, you felt uneasy at the explanation. “I guess it did,” you uttered in disbelief.

It didn’t take long for interrupting footsteps to break your concentration. Knowing the echo and presence before the voice rippled into your ear, your head snapped up to gaze at him already looking upon you with softer eyes and a tender smile. Your lips quivered as you bit back the urge to cry the longer you held his gaze, unable to focus on the sound emitting from his lips.

He was cruel and unkind to make you feel such a way.

“Is everything alright? You haven’t responded to a word I said,” he inquired worriedly, inching his head closer to yours. At this time, Irissë had slipped free and sauntered away to annoy her cousins, leaving you two to embark on your hateful-love relationship.

“I um, I.” Why was speaking so trivial? Just spit out your words for they were at the tip of your tongue. “I must speak with you, immediately.”

You had no time to witness the painful frown on his face as you swivelled and marched out of the ballroom with him following a few metres behind, confused. Exiting the room and meandering through the corridors, an earful away from eavesdroppers, you fumed in your mind at how careless you were to allow things to escalate to immeasurable heights. You couldn’t undo what had been done, not even the sea could wash it away. Though Turukáno hoped he had not said anything during the day to disrupt your tranquillity, he was most mindful of his words and behaviour due to his joviality.

“Have I said or done something to displease you, Y/N?”

“Yes! Yes, you did!” you shouted and spun on your heels to stand in the middle of the corridor and face him. “You, You, ugh, you infuriate me on levels beyond comprehension! How can you say those things so openly without disgust?”

“What things?! What have I said about you?!” he cried and took steps closer, still maintaining his distance.

“You–…I hate you! I hate how you…how you were talking about us and the house and how things are getting better! Or how you were smiling and happy and laughing and making everything seem like it is perfect and great when it’s not because I hate you!” Your temper flared as millions of reasons raced across your mind, and yet you were able to stutter out jumbled words, making a smile stretch across his face. “I hate the way you look at me with those eyes and I hate the way you look at others because you’ll never genuinely look at me like that. I want your eyes on me, but you’ll never because of how I hate you!”

“You hate me?” he questioned in an affectionate teasing voice.

“Yes, I do! Because ever since this arrangement began, you made me feel crazy and I found myself unable to think of anything else! I am utterly consumed by you, and I hate it! I’m supposed to hate you!”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe and glared at him through the crystal droplets. You knew he was looking at you the same way you wanted and hated. Your emotions were truly a bitch who couldn’t make up its mind.

Turukáno grinned and took more steps to bridge the distance between you both. Standing three feet apart, he looked down at his boots as his voice rumbled in his chest. “I know and I accept this,” he softly whispered. “I’m not the best at emotions, but I also hated you till it was aggravating. You were constantly on my mind every second of the day, consuming and leaving me thinking about you more than I breathed. I thought of everything about you, even your insults. You were able to contest me, a feat no one else could muster and still stand facing me; I enjoyed the pleasure it brought, drinking and desiring more. Then I started seeing you as my equal and no longer my source of hate, but my reason to look forward to each day. I considered you and thought about you too much, I bent the knee before you…”

Standing there baffled, you wanted to know who this individual was.

“I know, I know,” he shrugged. “I’m not great with emotions so it was impossible for you to notice my changes. I thought I was subtle, and neither are you.”

“Excuse me?! You’re telling me about how I feel?” you sniffled.

“You claim to hate me, but you don’t,” he breathed as he finally bridged the gap, standing in the same proximity as the kiss. His fingers twitched with urgency to hold you again as they remembered the last time they held you closely. “You don’t tell someone you hate them; you show them, make them feel it. And how you feel for me is what I feel for you, it was only masked by hatred.”

Scoffing with a teary eye roll, allowing a few drops to roll down your cheek, you countered with a teaspoon of attitude, “What do you know about how I feel? You’re just a foolish Prince who thinks he knows people better than themselves.”

Lifting his hands, he was allowed to cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears. Smiling along with his thoughts, he felt relieved that your flame had not been diminished. “Of course I am, but you’re no different. Foolish for hating me till it makes you look ridiculously in love.”

“You should stop talking because you’re not making any sense like you always do.”

“Then silence me if you dare.”

The silence that followed rang sharply in your ears as your eyes locked and dropped to each other’s lips.

This time, you were aware of who had made the first move when your lips moulding against one another. Grinning into the kiss, this time you were able to bite his lower lip without feeling disgusted as it only deepened the kiss, causing him to groan from your actions. Turukáno’s hands cupped your cheeks and tilted your head higher to allow him to take over the kiss while your arms contently encircled his slender waist. There were a few blissful sighs and breaks to take in air as you lazily kissed in the open corridor, unconcerned by the possibility of being trespassed upon. Regardless, Turukáno had the decency to break away first with his soft turquoise eyes roaming your face, landing on your lips one last time before exhaling.

“Tell me,” he muttered affectionately. “Do you still hate me?”

“Irrevocably.”

“And do you hate me for getting us into this arrangement?” he asked again.

“No,” you gently murmured. “I can live with it.”

“Then that is enough for me.”

Masterlist

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#tugon x reader #turgon x reader #turgon scenario #turgon angst #turgon #turukano #turukáno #nolofinweans #house of fingolfin #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion fic #silmarillion angst #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fic #middle earth angst #x reader insert #x reader angst #enemies to lovers au #arranged marriage au #angst/comfort #angst with a happy ending #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[finnritter]

For the ask game - Tuor!

Ask Game:

Thank you for the ask!! Another character who's so dear to me (and got me rambling a lot, again)

Tuor

one aspect about them i love

How resilient he is. It’s something I admire a lot, in reallife people and fictional characters alike, and he is such a good example of a character who honestly was dealt a pretty bad hand in his early life and still continues to persevere and make the best of it. And he even keeps most of his bold spirit! Sure, he has baggage to deal with, but he does not at all seem like a cynical or despairing character – the obvious contrasting parallels with Túrin are such a fun aspect to analyse as well! Overall he absolutely seems to me like a dude who just gets throwin into the weirdest shit and basically reacts like: ok cool, let’s see how I deal with this. And it works out for him pretty well at the end, I would say.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

I don’t think that he gets talked about enough to be actually misunderstood, so I’m just using this category to scream about him: He’s so cool!! But in such a simple way!! He has the thing that Beren also has, even though a little different in practice, where he is… just a guy. A very good guy who somehow ends up doing a lot of cool shit, but at heart he is just a dude and I love that for him. He loves his wife and his friends and good food and a comfy home. He’s also the perfect example for “found family is true family, not matter how long it takes to find them”. And I’m so happy for him that he does!!

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

Idril and him are both certified dog-people-tm. They probably have several dogs in Gondolin, and at least one of them is a gigantic, lazy, saint bernard-shaped one. Tuor was absolutely ready to get up at 5 every morning to go jogging with this enormous powerhouse of a beast and had to learn (with a little bit of disappointment) that mr. dog really just wants to nap and sometimes have chill walks around the city where he stops to sniff every two steps. He is big and strong enough to easily carry little Eärendil, though, and so he does. Constantly. Eärendil loves it and honestly, his parents were a bit concerned that he would never actually learn how to walk. (Sorry that this is now mainly a hc about Tuor’s dog, instead of about him. But he’s important to me.) (Btw, the dog also likes to slobber on Turgon, specifically. Certified cat-person-tm Turgon does not enjoy it.)

one character i love seeing them interact with

Voronwë, always!! I talked a little bit about the importance of the Idril/Tuor/Voronwë-trio (I want to call them Gondolin-trio, but Gondolin has so many good trios) in my post about Idril, but Tuor’s and his friendship is especially important to me! I love fics about their travel, their time in Gondolin and – although I have found very little about this  - about their time after the Fall as well. They go through so much with each other and support each other throughout. I absolutely believe in the theory/version that Idril and Tuor took him with them to Valinor in the end, they deserve to not be separated again. Also Tuor and Voronwë have one of the strongest cases of “not friendship, not romantic love, but a secret third thing”-dynamics for me, which I always love so, so much.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

This is so random, but I had been thinking about a scenario where a) Idril and Tuor (and Voronwë) reach Aman, like they always do in my heart, by the way, and b) Elenwë eventually gets reembodied and man, I would love seeing Tuor and her interact! I am so convinced that they would like each other instantly. They would cook and play cards and have fun conversations while Idril and Turgon (bc apparently this is a fluffly “everyone lives again”-au now!) in the next room are heatedly discussing TA-Tirion’s infrastructure or something. Also in the same vein, Finrod. Tell me Finrod would not be absolutely crazy over the only Edain in Valinor. Also Turgon’s son-in-law. He would not leave him alone. (Even though this train of thought always makes me a little said because of Bëor and Andreth. ANYWAY, this is not what this question was about.)

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character He was very communally raised. This is way I have been going on so much about the “finally found a family” thing in this. I absolutely do not want to dump on the elves of Mithrim, who raised him, since they apparently did a good job of bringing him up and teaching him. But I like the thought that, even though Annael was the one who took him in, Tuor did not really have one exclusive parental figure. I mean, he calls himself “son of Huor” and lists the houses of Men as his ancestry very famously in FoG, he is definitely proud of his heritage, maybe more than of his upbringing. I think Annael and the other elves made sure that he knew his roots, obviously wanting to be transparent with him, but of course this also instantaneously created a rift between him and them. Also, considering that he was probably the first mortal child many of them had ever met and that 16 years feels like almost nothing to elves, I’m fairly certain that this time could pass without any of them forming a particularly close bond to him. I can see 12-year-old “my dad was a war-hero and I wanna be like him!!”-Tuor considering all these immortal elves his friends, maybe his guardians, but not his actual parents. He got fed, he got cared for, he had people he could ask questions and learn from, he surely also got cuddled and comforted if he asked, but it was also very clear to him that this was not the place he actually belonged to.

#idk what happened with the sudden dog hc #but i love it tbh #someone pls draw baby eärendil with a huge chubby dog i will actually melt #silmarillion #tuor #idril #voronwe #annael #ask game #answered

[warrioreowynofrohan]

I don’t think I could ever do a ship fic meme in the style of “give me a couple and a scenario and I’ll write a fic about them” because I don’t have a lot of thoughts about most ships, but give me almost any Silm character and I could probably write at least a drabble or some meta about that character giving or recieving an apology.

(Fic(s) posted: Maedhros (multiple occasions), Maglor (multiple occasions), Nerdanel, Fingon (both directions), Aredhel, Eärwen, Finrod, Elrond, Eärendil, Elwing, Legolas, Varda.

Fic(s) envisioned or partially written: Manwë, Ulmo, Thingol, Celegorm, Turgon, Idril, Maeglin, Tuor, Finduilas, Gwindor.)

#tolkien #the silmarillion #fanfic #fic meme

[ambarto]

Ask game, 💀

You have a "Get out of jail 'Doomed by the Narrative’ free” card. Who do you give it to?

Alright so. It took me a bit to see your ask but then it took me even more to think of a reply because this is indeed the hardest question. Do I use this to save my fave, but potentially make the overall narrative even worse, or do I use it to just make things better? Who ultimately deserves this card? What is the best use for it?

After long thought, I think a solid option would be Fingolfin. He isn't one of my faves, but I think strategically? It's a pretty damn solid choice. Say Fingolfin does not go into battle with Morgoth and doesn't die, say he stays king. He was a pretty solid king, as far as we know. I don't know if his presence would have made Celegorm & Curufin be less dicks during the Luthien events, maybe it wouldn't have saved Finrod, but after Beren and Luthien comes the Nirnaeth.

Now, if Fingolfin was still alive, would the Nirnaeth have happened? Maedhros might have gotten the idea either way, but we can assume he didn't have the same influence on Fingolfin that he had on Fingon. Fingolfin could have put a stop to it, or at least convinced Fingon, Turgon, and maybe Orodreth not to take part in it, which could have worked to dissuade Maedhros in the first place.

Assuming the Nirnaeth wasn't stopped... Fingolfin is still the undoomed one. It wouldn't be fair if he was no longer doomed by the narrative, but then still lost a son in a manner as horrible as Fingon's death. We can think maybe Fingon would have survived either way.

The Nirnaeth was also the beginning of Maedhros's downwards spiral. Could the Second Kinslaying have been prevented without it? Maybe not. The Feanorians are still all very doomed in this scenario, and so is Dior. But we could imagine that with Fingolfin in charge and Maedhros in a better mental state maybe, maybe something could have been better.

I don't want to say that saving Fingolfin would save everyone in Beleriand, or solve every problem. I don't even want to say that he was necessarily the best guy to be put in charge because he was reckless as fuck, but at least he seemed competent enough at the job. I feel a lot of what the Noldor do post-Dagor Bragollach was also influenced by the fact that their kings started dropping like flies and no one was really in charge anymore and there was constant adjusting to the new authority and all. If the king was kept steady, that could have worked to cool tempers.

(I did think about giving the Undoomed card to Feanor too to cut every problem at the root. But I'm not entirely sure Feanor being alive for longer would have like done anyone any favor, Doom of Mandos or not)

(If we're disregarding broader narrative implications and just giving the card to whoever like, then Maeglin baby on god we are breaking the cycle of abuse with you)

#ask #novemberthecatadmirer #thanks for the ask!

[tolkien-feels]

So which Fëanorian does Idril, also Turgon's kin, attach to? I vote Celebrimbor because I've managed to contrive a scenario where he ends up in Gondolin after Nargothrond falls. They can bond as the last two fourth generation Finwëans who remember Aman (while Turgon wrings his hands despairingly in the background), and Idril can have a cousin who isn't trying to marry her.

I have no idea about Argon though. Amrod and Amras?

I actually headcanon that Argon takes his father's side and doesn't hang out much with the Feanorians. When he does, it's usually with Celebrimbor, in keeping with my headcanon that Argon is very young, and Fingolfin is Maedhros's age.

Idril is a good girl who has no close friendship to any Feanorians. She was too young in Aman to be friends with any of them (more like, collective Finwean kiddo who has feud immunity), and after her mother dies, she doesn't like the guys her father doesn't like. By the time she's grown up enough to think for herself, she's already in Gondolin so she doesn't meet any of them, not really.

If it helps, Finrod breaks Turgon's heart by refusing to hate the Feanorians with him :/