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annoyinglandmagazine · 9 months

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A Song Only You Can Hear Chapter 5

The question was out of his mouth before he had time to think it through fully. He’d been watching his roommate weave his damp hair into a simple short plait for bed like he did every night and curiosity had gotten the better of him. ‘Why do you keep it so long? Surely it would be easier to cut it more conventionally, do you not get teased for it?’ The thought occurred to him that he found it hard to imagine Maedhros getting teased for anything. It wasn’t that he fit in exactly, he didn’t, but he couldn’t get his head around someone disliking him. It may just have been him, he knew he could be a little biased when it came to his new friend, but he didn’t think it was. He had a presence, that meant no matter how quiet and non athletically inclined he was he commanded a kind of respect even from people who didn’t agree with him. He was polite and never made an ill timed comment, always calculating what he said beforehand and speaking so little that what he did say was listened to. This combined with his indisputably excellent grades and position of leadership meant that he was pretty untouchable in a way Fingon, though undoubtedly more popular, wasn’t. Maedhros seemed wary of this topic by the way he frowned and waited a few seconds before replying. ‘Well, I suppose I just like it this way.’ He wondered if his queries might have come across as mocking in some way and mentally kicked himself for his lack of tact. Of course he’d offended him, now Maedhros probably thought he was trying to say that he should change it. He tried to think of something to say to ease the way back into a conversation but at that moment the dinner bell clanged and Maedhros was out the door at once.

He kept almost working up the courage to talk to him again but thought better of it at the last moment, reluctant to put his foot in his mouth again. He didn’t have long to dwell on it because he received a letter from his parents the next day and all else was put to the back of his mind. He read through the unnecessary small talk with a little eye roll but skimmed none of it, the rambling about the daily running and dealings of his father’s work so formal and drawn out he practically felt like he was there impatiently fidgeting in the corner until his father finished up and took him out for lunch or he was asked to make friends with some other politician’s child or a potential donor’s. He was good at that normally, he was enthusiastic, friendly and there was little about him people normally found objectionable. That had stopped being enough a while ago but he tried to pretend it hadn’t.

His father took a page or so to get to anything remotely personal or relevant, as was his way, but when he did Fingon smiled to himself with the image of Turgon working on his school project of a model bridge out of paper and Aredhel running rampant and causing mischief throughout the house yet escaping punishment. The last paragraph though gave him pause. It was put very delicately of course, his father was ever the diplomat, but the gist of it was very obvious. There was some form of Trouble going on in London and as well as he hid it, his father’s worry practically bled through the page. It was not as simple a matter as he made out.

The bit that confused him the most was an instruction to be wary of Feanor’s son’s intentions in talking to him. His father was never the paranoid type when it came to potential rivals, always grounded in reality, so there must have been more to it than he put in writing. He thought back to the others’ words and he had to admit Feanor had sounded like a man who could have caused Trouble, but that was just idle gossip nothing worrying. If there was truly something wrong his father would have said wouldn’t he?

He tried to push it to the back of his mind but it lingered like a bad taste every time he looked at the drawer he’d stuffed the letter into. If Maedhros had had ulterior motives clearly they weren’t worth putting himself through another conversation with his roommate for. He wasn’t avoiding Fingon per say but he wasn’t talking to him, though he supposed he wasn’t talking to Maedhros either. Every time he went up to his room Maedhros was either working or asleep and either way did not seem to want to be disturbed. Finally summoning up all the courage that he’d always thought that he had, though it had also been called a lack of concern about the consequences of his actions, he went into the library.

He walked until he found the nook in the corner where Maedhros was reading, so far tucked away from everyone else that he was sure this place was practically reserved for him at this point. He was bent over a translation of the Iliad with his brow furrowed but his posture more relaxed than normal. ‘Hallo, do you mind if I sit here for a minute? I can leave I don’t want to bother you.’ Maedhros visibly jumped at the sound of his voice, flipping the book over as if to hide it.

‘Oh it’s you, umm, no sit down it’s alright.’ Fingon nodded and sunk down facing him. Well this is going brilliantly. ‘Right. I just wanted to say that I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier this week.’ Maedhros avoided eye contact, ‘You didn’t it’s fine, I just, I guess I’m sort of suspicious when people try to ask me questions, like they’re trying to catch me out or something. I’m not sure why. I, I know it’s small and ridiculous but it’s nice to be able to control something about yourself you know? No matter what other factors there are I like my hair like this and it’s small but it’s important in its own way.’ Fingon wasn’t sure how to go on but he ended up saying the first thing that came to mind. ‘I think it’s really pretty. It suits you.’ He flushed at the lack of eloquence and he noticed that he wasn’t the only one.

#silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #Fingon #russingon #a song only you can hear #victorian au #boarding schools #historical au #fingolfin #turgon #aredhel #maedhros x fingon

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swanmaids · 11 months

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Hii! If you're up to it, do you have any thoughts on 1, 10 and 25 for Elenwë/Turgon pls?

Of course!

Describe their first date.

I headcanon Turgon and Elenwe as that couple that gets together as teens, and then just keeps on being together. If I can shamelessly promote my own fic, I wrote about Turgon and Elenwe meeting accidentally before they get together when 14-ish Turgon is taking 3- ish Aredhel out to play (among other things) here, and I think once they get together for real they keep going on casual dates to the gardens, the park, the water fountains etc with Turgon bringing his little sister along (their parents kind of insist on this so they can't get too close). Sometimes smol Aredhel catches them sharing a very shy chaste kiss and is like DESGUSTANG!!!!! They're just cute awkward teens :')

10. Do they share any hobbies or interests? How do these things bring them together?

Well the obvious is architectural/design type hobbies, but I do think Elenwe was also interested in architecture! Sometimes they like to just sketch together in relative silence enjoying each other's company, and other times they like to work on creating super intricate model cities together. Gondolin definitely incorporated a lot of Elenwe's ideas. They also like to go various lectures together in Tirion, both about topics they know a lot about and also topics they're completely clueless about.

Also, they smoke together, often.

25. Do they share a room/house? If so, what does it look like and how does it compliment their personalities?

Yeah! They start living together once they get married. I think their house can get pretty chaotic in the way that it can get when creative people live together, but the chaos is mostly confined to one or two rooms. I think Idril's nursery is super cute with lots of nicely curated pieces either handcrafted or picked out months in advance. They designed both their marriage bed and Idril's first crib together.

Their stuff is also super mixed up - they don't have seperate drawers or cupboards or anything, they both just use everything, except clothes sharing because there's quite a height difference, they share jewelery though.

Oooh and perhaps they designed their garden to feature similar flowers and water features as the gardens that they visited together in their youth... uwuwuwuw I'm emo over them

#thank you!!#ask game #my hcs #turgon x elenwe

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doodle-pops · 1 year

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Think You Can Warm Me Up

[Elves and Cockwarming x reader]

Request: What elves do you think would like cock-warming? - anon

A/N: This was a lot of elves to think for since I've added more over the months gone by. Enjoy!!!

Warning: smut, cockwarming

More: Brat Taming

Loves it – sometimes when they’re too busy to have sex with you but you want to feel them, they’ll suggest you sit on their lap, only to feel them raising your body slightly to slide themselves into you. When you lift your hips to move, their hands will be planted firmly on your waist with a stern look on their faces warning you to stay still. They’ll keep their hands on your waist, using it to pull you closer to rest against their chest and hold you down. Some use it for punishment when your bratty side comes out. They’ll rile you up by making out with you, having you grind on them feeling as though you two are about to have sex, but then when you’re about to ride them, they’ll lean in to whisper, “Not so fast love, no moving, sit right there and stay still or I’ll leave you empty. You thought I’d just give in and give you what you wanted, my poor confused little one” Other times, they’d use it to literally warm themselves up. When you two are relaxing as such, they’d throw the suggestion out to you and once you agree, the two of you will just be lounging about with their cock buried in you, staying warm. There are times you’ve fallen asleep with them buried in you. “You feel so warm and tight love, stop shifting so much, just stay still. This feels good, now we can cuddle.”

MAEDHROS, Maglor, CELEBRIMBOR, FINGOLFIN, FINGON, Finarfin, FINROD, AEGNOR, GLORFINDEL, GALDOR, BELEG, Rog, Elrond

Hates it – the first time you suggest the act, they were down to try it, but once you sank your warm hole onto their cock, it was over for them. Their hands would immediately shoot out to grab your waist, urging you to move but you’ll simply push it away and lean into their chest informing them that you’re not supposed to move. “It’s called cockwarming for a reason. Now stay still. Don’t get mad, remember you agreed to this, so sit and enjoy it.” This was absolute torture for them, they couldn’t take it anymore. Knowing that if they moved their hips right then, you’d probably hop off and that wasn’t part of their plan. Waiting till you were settled in and comfortable, with ease, their hands would sneak around your waist holding you firmly to their chest and without any warning, begin thrusting into you. You’d admit that this was not how you planned the session to go but with the way the tip of their cock was brushing against your soft spot, your moans gave it away. Now whenever you suggest it to them, they’d smile at you saying that they’ll behave, only to abuse your heat as soon as you sink down on their cock. The longest they’ve ever lasted was five seconds. “If you really thought I’d sit through all that torture, you’re absolutely wrong. Now be a good girl/boy and enjoy my cock.”

FEANOR, CELEGORM, Curufin, Turgon, ARGON, ANGROD, EGALMOTH, ECTHELION, MAEGLIN, ELLADAN

Mixed feelings – one minute it’s torture for them the other it’s blissful. It just all depends on their mood not so much yours. If they’re tired and just want to be warmed or you want to feel them, they’d let you go ahead without interrupting you. They’d simply wrap their arms around you and pull you in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead and drifting off to sleep. Other times it’s when they’re busy doing paperwork and could do with a little relief. Letting you sit on their lap with the table hiding their cock buried deep in your heat, they’d let you lean into them so they could continue their work. “This feels good, didn’t think I’d be needing this, but after I’m finished here, I’d bend you over this table for a good fuck, hmm.” When you’re teasing them all day and acting up and then decide it’s time to kick it up a notch by making them feel you were about to ride them after your tedious torture only to sit still on their cock, now you’re just asking for it. They’d be grinding their teeth the entire time when you tell them not to move while pretending to do something important, informing them that when you’re finished then you two can go at it, they’re not going to listen, not when you were suffocating their cock. They wouldn’t care at that point, so say goodbye to whatever it was that you were doing. “Don’t you think this is a little too much love, don’t you think this has gone on for too long because I think so as well. How about we change that by having me fuck you, now.”

Maedhros, MAGLOR, CARANTHIR, Amrod, Fingolfin, FINGON, TURGON, FINARFIN, Finrod, AEGNOR, Glorfindel, GALDOR, Egalmoth, ROG, ERESTOR

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @lilmelily

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cilil · 12 days

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Day 1 ~ Daily Life & Customs

AN: For day 1 of @silmarillionepistolary. Yes, it had to be Cara for tax day, and yes, with Turgon. Thanks again to @elentarial for suggesting this pairing all the way back in December, I'm invested (pun intended) now.

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Caranthir x Turgon 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Caranthir is delighted to finally receive some personal correspondence - from his favourite cousin no less. 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

Dear cousin,

I hope you are well.

The pen you gifted me proves to be wonderful not just for writing, but for inking my sketches and drawings as well, so I must thank you again.

I have been making some progress with the tower I was designing, though I am not yet happy with the archway and window designs. Uncle Arafinwë was so kind as to ask Eönwë to take me to Ilmarin for inspiration, but Lord Manwë was more interested in telling me about the birds nesting in his towers than explaining the design.

I am admittedly lacking inspiration of my own at the moment, so if you happen to have other ideas, please let me know.

Regards, Turukáno

Carnistir read the letter several times, his brow furrowed in concentration and contemplation. It was quite like Turukáno to keep his correspondence short and to the point, yet another reason why he was — despite his sincere commiseration for his dear cousin's troubles — positively delighted to hear from him.

Prince or not, Carnistir didn't receive many letters, and most of the ones that ended up on his desk were formal correspondence, either addressed to him or to one of his brothers. Tyelkormo and Makalaurë were particularly notorious for forgetting to take care of theirs, and Maitimo had recently taken to spending a lot of time with Findekáno and was less willing to help out.

Thus many things fell onto Carnistir's shoulders, and private correspondence had become an even rarer treat. It made him feel important — even wanted in a strange and possibly pathetic manner, as he chastised himself — that Turukáno was indirectly asking him for help and opinions regarding one of his passion projects.

Determined, Carnistir pushed a stack of papers aside and placed his new favourite letter in the middle, reaching for an empty sheet of paper to compose his response posthaste. While not exactly an urgent matter, it was not one to ignore for days or weeks either.

Dear cousin,

I appreciate your letter, and hope this one finds you well.

If you would like my personal opinion, I am afraid I cannot say much without having seen the progress on your sketch. I would be happy to visit and have a look, though.

What I can also do for you, if you wish, is arrange a meeting with Grandfather Mahtan and possibly Lord Aulë as well; surely they could provide some better insights. Let me know if you would like that, and I shall speak to my mother promptly.

Regards, Carnistir

Carnistir hesitated before writing down his final lines. Briefly, he contemplated a warmer wording, at least a "yours" or "yours truly", but in the end decided the safest way was to simply mirror Turukáno's style. Besides, he didn't want to seem pushy or intrusive, not when he had such a golden opportunity to gain his favourite cousin's favour.

He would accompany him to any meeting he might agree to, of course. It would certainly be helpful for his own studies as well, he justified it to himself as soon as the thought crossed his mind. If he was going to study the depths and nuances of things like trade, taxes and even the occasional textile work, something his family members liked to tease him about, some input on style, composition and architecture couldn't hurt.

Waiting for the ink to dry on the paper to avoid any unforgivable stains or smears, Carnistir began looking for an envelope and sealing wax. He was going to make sure that his letter would be sent as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

#silmarillionepistolary #caranthir #carnistir #turgon #turukano #turgon x caranthir #house of finwe #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing

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caliawen · 7 months

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Haunted

Pairing = Glorfindel x Reader

Genre = Teen and up

General ratings = a twinge of angst, fluff, smut implied (?)

Content warnings = smut implied

Word count = 1,4k

Notes = ……hi 🫣 I haven’t posted in a month 🙃 Life has been really busy and I haven’t really had the time (nor the motivation, truthfully) to write. I had a more regular schedule before, but I think for now it will stay… ‘irregular’. I have no idea when or what I will post next. Hope you can understand!

Glorfindel was being haunted. Not by ghosts- no. By the memories of his past life. Of his mistakes. Of his friends. Of their deaths. Of his death. The searing pain of his scalp as he was tugged down and down and down by the Balrog. Of the heat he felt as he fought for his life, for the lives of Idril and Tuor and Eärendil and everyone. His mind replayed those moments over and over, never leaving him a second of peace.

The slight smile of Ecthelion, Rog’s boisterous laugh, Turgon’s exasperation with them, Elgalmoth’s mischievous eyes as he gossiped, Penlod’s hums as he pretended he was listening, Galdor’s excited chatter about the trees and plants he saw, Duilin’s whistles as he walked, Tuor’s love-struck expression as his eyes followed Idril and Maeglin’s shy smile when someone asked him about his work…

Oh, Maeglin… Glorfindel had hated him, for a time. Hated him for giving Gondolin away to Morgoth, giving away their lives.. But that time had passed. In the halls of Námo, Glorfindel had had plenty of time to think before he was reborn. And think he did : about how Maeglin had lost his mother and father. About how his only parental figure was Turgon, who was too busy to really spend time with his nephew. About how he mistook his love for Idril as romantic and not platonic, and how that strained his friendship with her and Tuor. About how rumors spread that Maeglin was a vile being. About how none of them did anything to defend him. About how lonely Maeglin must have been.. About what impossible horrors he felt at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron. About how they never saw how broken Maeglin had returned. About how he didn’t care if he died anymore.

Yes, Glorfindel had thought, Maeglin had done something wrong. And he forgave Maeglin for what he had done, because Maeglin had been a child. A child who needed to be guided and shown love, but no one had stepped up to take up the role.

He thought about you. About your smile, your eyes, your nose. About the way you moved, how you talked and your passions. And he ached. Because he didn’t know what happened to you. He didn’t know if you had died, if you had suffered or if you were still alive. If you had moved on from him.. And that haunted him. His every waking thought, his every dream and nightmare.

Sometimes, Glorfindel dreamed of you. He dreamed that you were laying in his bed, in Gondolin, smiling at him. That you carded your fingers through his hair and told him that you loved him. And when he woke up, his heart ached and he did not know whether to thank or curse Irmo.

Glorfindel had a mission. He was going back to Arda Marred. And he found himself dreading going back. Dreading seeing how everything had changed and how the language had evolved. Dreading how no one he knew would be there. How he would be alone. At least in Valinor, he saw his mother and father. He found himself crying when he realized he did not remember what being embraced by his parents felt like. They took care of him and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them.

When Glorfindel departed, he stood looking at Valinor until it had been long since out of view. He stood still, wondering if he was dreaming. He thought, how ironic, for he was going back. Not anyone else. Him. Laurëfindelë Glorfindel, an emissary of the Valar, granted powers nearly as strong as that of the Maiar. And he didn’t want to go back. Nienna wept for him, for his sacrifice, for his fear and for his love. He found himself appreciating her understanding. She visited him, before he departed. He listened to her words, without understanding : “Dear Child, your heart is being haunted. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and your heart is rendered blind by your pain. But your gut, your gut is still there and strong. Follow it, follow what it tells you. But do not silence your heart and mind for it, listen to them. Listen, but do not follow.”

~~~

When Glorfindel arrived in Middle Earth, he did not know where to begin. He was tired, but could not sleep. He thought about you. About your lips on his, about your laugh, about your hands in his, about the ring he had passed on your finger. He thought and thought and thought. And his heart ached. He walked on paths and in forests, stopping to wash himself in rivers. And he despaired.

It was later that he found Lindon. Days later. Or weeks, he did not know. He met Elrond, someone who would confuse and amuse him for the rest of their lives. Part man, part elf, part maia. He wore the insignias of Fingolfin and Fëanor with pride, daring anyone to confront him about it. He was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and the patience of the wise. He was as kind as summer and Glorfindel found himself basking in his presence, like a flower who had grown up in shadow feeling the sun on itself for the first time.

Círdan was surprisingly mischievous. Subtle jokes, sarcasm and deadpan looks were all things he threw at others, uncaring if they understood or not. He was calm, but could easily terrorize anyone with his anger, like the sea. Board games were his favorite and Glorfindel spent time playing with him, thinking of strategies to beat the older elf.

Gil-Galad was as confusing as he was funny. His father was unknown and he liked to joke around about it. Glorfindel spent time with him when they could, talking about everything and nothing. When Gil-Galad felt Glorfindel starting to lose himself in memories, he would randomly tell a stupid joke. They made Glorfindel laugh each time.

Celebrimbor had been a bit weary at first. Glorfindel almost laughed at the memory of a small Curufinwë Tyelpërinquar staring at him with the exact same look. It wasn’t long until they became great friends. Celebrimbor understood : he, too, was haunted by his past actions and words. Maybe for different reasons than Glorfindel, but the important thing was that he related to how Glorfindel felt. Having his feelings validated was something that alleviated the pain in Glorfindel’s heart.

~~~

Glorfindel walked around Lindon aimlessly and leisurely, taking his time to look around. You haunted him. Everything he saw reminded him of you. From pretty rocks you would have collected, passing by a stand selling your favorite fruit, to someone wearing clothes the exact color of your eyes. His mind played tricks on him, making him imagine hearing your laugh or seeing your beautiful hair swaying in the wind.

He stopped walking at a bookstore, a feeling bubbling up inside him. He looked at the door, curious. His gut screamed at him to enter that store, for some reason. His mind dismissed the feeling, but his heart held hope. They warred against each other. And then, Glorfindel was reminded of Nienna’s words to him. And he went inside the store.

Inside the store, which was cozy and homey, he felt pulled towards a particular bookshelf. His breath hitched as his mind reeled to a stop, his heart pumping wildly. There you stood, browsing the shelf while smiling. Feeling observed, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw Glorfindel, your husband, your soulmate, standing there. Glorfindel was frozen, his mind scrambling and heart singing with joy. You were the one to make the first move, throwing yourself in his arms, ecstatic. Glorfindel hugged you back, a sense of wholeness overtaking his mind and body as he kissed you long and passionately.

The two of you spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, crying and hugging. This long-awaited reunion was a balm on Glorfindel’s bruised and battered heart. That night, under the stars, in a magnificent glade full of flowers, you rekindled your fëas. Glorfindel made love to you slowly and passionately, kissing every piece of skin revealed as he undressed you, worshiping your body with his hands and mouth. That night, in your arms, Glorfindel had no nightmares. He woke up to your sweet voice and felt free. Free of the thing that haunted him. And he smiled.

End notes : Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments & likes are extremely appreciated 🫶

@theladyvanya

#the silmarillion #glorfindel #laurëfindelë #laurefindele #glorfindel x reader #laurëfindelë x reader #laurefindele x reader #fluff #love #angst #mourning/grieving (?)#elrond #celebrimbor #tyelperinquar #tyelpërinquar #círdan #cirdan #nienna #Haunted

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outofangband · 5 months

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x x x x x x x x x

A lovely anon asked me to rank my favorite realms of Beleriand based on environment or other factors. I had a very hard time making a list but I wanted to make some boards to show some of my favorites based on various factors! I hope you see this, anon!

The ecology of Nevast, a coastal region of Western Beleriand where Turgon first made his home before Gondolin, is one of my favorites. The ecology is really fascinating to me! The combination of coastline, forests and wetlands (I adore the description of Linaewen with its outlines disappearing into the marshes)

I have a lot of headcanons about the environment and geology of Nevrast which I will make a seperate post for!

#the silmarillion #silmedit #silmedits #nevrast #beleriand

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lamemaster · 10 months

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The Glorious One

Request: Hi. I was wondering if you could write a fic, where Maedhros comes back from Angband and finds the female elf reader with a child and assumes she had given up on him and moved on. He decides to stay away from her life. The reader comes to him with their son, but he keeps his distance and still believes he ( son ) is someone else's son. Their son decides to participate in the war. Only for him to find out that the boy is his, after his death in the war. The reader and Maedhros had a heartfelt moment in the end.I hope you can understand this and it doesn't sound too confusing and complicated.

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Angst (caution- 100% concentrated angst)

Word Count: 3k

AN: Thanks for the request I loved writing it. Also, Baldur has been a long-time OC of mine so lmk if you would like to know more about it.

Part 2

The peaceful shores of Nevrast offer little comfort to your heart. The unease that hasn’t left you for the past months has followed you there.Yet, you wander these shores looking for the last hope. Your only hope.

Turgon had become your last resort. It was nearly a year since Maedhros’ capture and you were close to exhausting your options. The only remaining option now seemed to be Turgon.

Related to you by your aunt Anaire, your mother’s sister, you believed Turgon to be the only one who could help you find Maedhros. You had begged Maglor and pleaded to an unrelenting Celegorm. You tried everyone but none answered.

But now that you find yourself closer to Turgon’s averting eyes, where lingers no love for his once half-cousin, you wonder if it were to be you. You would have left long ago, had there not been kicking signs of life in your belly. Yours and Maedhros’ child.

You found it no later than when you first received the news of your beloved’s ambush. And now it became the only tether that kept you away from Maedhros. Maybe you had expected him to be back, for someone to care for him, for anyone of his extensive kin to go look for him.

You desired for him to be here for the news. You wanted him to witness your growing belly or be there for the mornings of your sickness. You never talked about having children of your own but you knew how much it would have pleased Maedhros. How much he would love his child.

So, by the quiet shores of the Nevrast, you wait for a time when you will be able to go look for your Nelyo. When you would be able to reunite the father of your child with them.

The pains of your labor pass in the halls of Turgon. The day that you wished to spend by Maedhros is spent alone in pain. It seems unending and there is no one to hold your hand as your body tears itself. But that too passes away when you hear his first cries.

Baldur, your son enters the world with shrill cries that drown yours. And just like this hope springs back into your life. He has come and Maedhros would as well.

It is that day you start counting the time that you would be allowed to go look for Maedhros. One day when your son would be old enough to be by himself and you could bring Maedhros back.

You spend years raising Baldur, who inherits your hair but glimpses of Maedhros reflect from his face. Cherishing every moment of his little life. Writing every passing moment down for when you will meet Maedhros.

So, it comes as a surprise when you hear the news of Maedhros’s return. Fingon rescued him from the cliffs of the Thangodrim. Holding your son Baldur’s little hand you make your way to Hirming. And on your way, you tell your son all of his father’s tales, his valor, his speech, his kindness, everything you remember your Maedhros as.

What greets you in Hirming is not a warm welcome…you did not expect that but a sense of hostility fills the air. Something that you did not expect to encounter. Not on the occasion of Maedhros’s return.

In your arms, Baldur excitedly whispers the name of each of his uncles. At least he tries to from whatever he can remember. Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curfin, Amrod, Amras, you have told him of all his uncles. Every single one of the big family he belongs to, even the ones separated by the sea.

“I must meet Maedhros,” you ask of Maglor who stops you outside of Maedhros’ door. Despite burying his head in your shoulder you can feel Baldur’s curiosity towards his uncles. The merry swing of his legs betray his excitement but your son has promised for Maedhros, his father to be the first one to be the one who he looks at. So, your darling waits with the patience of the most obedient elfling.

You, however, unlike Baldur face the disdain on Maglor’s face who does not budge from the door. “Brother is unwell,” your heart drops at his words but Maglor continues, “Please leave.” Curt words grate on your nerves. There lingers a dangerous edge of Feanorian rage hidden in your brother-in-law’s voice.

A dreadful sorrow fills your entire being as you re-adjust Baldur in your arms.

“You don’t unde-”

“I understand well enough and so does Maitimo. We have all honored your wish to choose another so leave. Do not burden my brother with any more grief. Do not make him witness your child with another,” words that leave Maglor’s mouth leave you numb.

“I would not…you know that Laure,” you try to explain to the ellon who does not believe anything that leaves your mouth.

“My brother has honored you enough to offer you a home in Hirming but nothing more. So honor him in return and stay away.” Yet your mind focuses only on the slight wetness on your shoulder. Your son’s tears dampen your gown. Little hands that clutch your fabric close in a fist. How could he, who you shielded from every hurt, how could he be bared to such cruelty?

Your truth and your son’s truth go unheard. And you let it be for the prince you once knew to be your husband. The one who escapes your every sight.

Maybe it is your last favor to him. A mercy of sparing him of the bond he seems to deny so vehemently. You do not burden him, who has suffered enough.

Concealed behind the thick curtains of his room, Maedhros observes you leave. His heart drowning in what seems the most painful of hurts. Moments ago, what had been his unconcealed joy now turns into despair.

He had felt the familiar flutter of his heartbeat your voice albeit strained but it had been your voice. The one he had craved for years of his capture. The voice of love from Valinor, the voice who stood by even in the hour of their dreadful doom. Your voice.

But the reality of the present comes crashing down. His brothers had told him of your choice. Your binding to another who lived in Nevrast. And despite all that happened, despite your betrayal, Maedhros could not blame you. It was for better that you remained away from the Maedhros of middle earth. It was better that for you he will always be the Nelyafinwe of Aman. Unscared ellon you loved. Not the broken husk he had become. And maybe just the act of your care of coming to visit him was enough. It was enough for Maedhros. He could not ask more of you.

He watches you leave his tower, it is then that he notices the mass on your shoulder, and his heart skips a beat. Resting on your shoulder is a mop of hair similar to yours. A tiny squished face and dazed slightly reddened eyes of an elfling. Your son. Yours and someone else’s, who wasn’t him, who he could never be.

Years later as Maedhros walks the paths of his celebrating soldiers, he for the first time feels the thrum of joy run through his veins. Dagor Aglareb, the glorious battle had been glorious indeed. A win against the dark lord.

The air feels fresher and the walls of Hirming more welcoming than they ever did. Maybe there was hope for them. With a thousand future plans forming in the eldest Feanorian’s brain, the victorious battalion made their way to the fortress.

Yet, despite the joy that fills the party, the first night of the return is mellow. It is spent to honor the ones lost for the cause. There is a small number of them but that makes it even more important to honor those who took the fall for the cause of this world.

Heroes in their own right. It is members of a small segment led following an onslaught of a chunk of the orc army. Numbers smaller than the ones surviving. It is what most would call not a heavy loss.

Carrying the list of departed, Maedhros spends the night comforting the families. He sits next to grieving wives and lamenting daughters. He does that earnestly. Their tears become his and their burden his. But he does not stop.

So, the world falls silent when his steps land him in front of your door. The one he has ignored for so long. And Maedhros’ heart thunders and an ominous feeling haunts him, leaving goosebumps lining his arms.

Baldur, Captain of the guard. Died following a party of orcs. The words written on his list haunt him. The handle to your door is cold. There is a solitary chill that creeps through the wooden door.

Pushing open the door, Maedhros pauses as he takes in the scene in front of him. The entire room lies in disarray and in the middle of the broken glass pieces, a sea of cloaks, coats, pieces of paper, are seated you.

With your hair undone, your hands bleeding onto the floor as pieces of glass dig deep into your skin. Maedhros finds you. Your face is full of blood, for a fleeting moment it alarms Maedhros only for you to smear it further as you wipe your tears.

“Baldur,” your voice is a whisper as your hug a cloak close to you. “Baldur,” you repeat and Maedhros notices how hoarse your voice is. He steps closer but you do not notice him.

“I am sorry for your loss,” formal words feel awkward on his tongue. “He was a great soldier. A captain worthy of his title,” Maedhros strings sentiments that do not come easy to him. He tries to imagine the captain he cannot remember. A distant face, he had not known to be your son. “Your son’s body is retrieved. You may ask his father-”

“His father will not come,” you interrupt him. Your voice so distant. Maedhros aches to hold you. Even through this, a sense of rage fills him. The unfairness of the ellon who left you to bear this alone. “Why not?” Maedhros questions back.

“He does not know of his son. His father never knew how much his son cherished him. How much that child wished to be with him.” a cold seeping fear fills Maedhros. But he does not stop his next question. He cannot stop himself from asking you, “Who is it?” In some sense, he knows the answer.

You do not answer him. But Maedhros does not need words to know. He gingerly picks up one of the papers littered around you. It is written in a handwriting he has never seen but it feels hauntingly familiar nonetheless.

Silence hangs heavy between you, the unspoken truths and the untold years of longing stretching out in the space. The ache in his chest grows unbearable as he takes in the sight of you, battered by grief and loss. His voice trembles as he finally speaks the words that have been lodged in his throat for far too long.

"I am sorry," he whispers, his voice laced with regret and a pang of profound sadness. “I am sorry,” he repeats as his soul seems to be ripping itself.

Dearest Father,

The day I meet you, I shall immediately demand my Ataresse. You must name with pride. Every day I work hard for that day. For that fated day when you will recognize me as your son. I know it will come and how proud you will be of me. I will work hard for it.

I wonder about you a lot. All of you. I have heard your tales from Mother, from your soldiers who seem to admire and respect you more than the Valar themselves. Father, your strength, your kindness, your valor, I admire them all. I hope that I too can become likes of you one day.

Your empathy for trying to save the boats, your humility in passing the crown to grand uncle Nolofinwe, your strength in remaining unyielding to the enemy. I love them all. Mother tells me that I am as tall as you and that I speak just like you. You must tell me if that is true when we meet.

My mother loves you intensely. She speaks of you with such fondness that even I cannot help but be endeared to you, who I have never met. I too wish to find to love like that once in my lifetime. But I shall only do that once I unite you and Mother.

And when that happens I will meet all my uncles and ask them more about you and them. I am writing this letter as I wait for the Hirming guard to respond back to my recruitment. I hope this step brings me closer to you.

Until then father, I will pray that you will love me.

With all my love,

Baldur

Dearest Father,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It has been some time since I last wrote to you, and there are many things I wish to share with you.

I have recently been appointed as a squire to one of the knights of Hirming. It is a great honor, and I am learning a great deal from him. He speaks highly of your prowess in battle and your strategic brilliance. I strive to emulate your skills and make you proud.

Mother often tells me stories of your adventures and the battles you fought. She speaks of your unwavering courage and unwavering loyalty to your kin. I am in awe of your bravery, and I long to be a warrior like you.

Father, I have been practicing my archery skills diligently. I can now hit the target from greater distances, and I am improving my accuracy. I hope that one day, I will be as skilled as you were with a bow and arrow. I know you would be pleased to see my progress.

Sometimes, I sit beneath the stars and imagine what it would be like to have you by my side. To learn directly from you, to hear your words of wisdom, and to feel the strength of your embrace. I yearn for that day, Father, when we can be together as father and son.

I often wonder if you think of me, if you know of my existence. I hope that one day, you will hear of my achievements and be proud of the son you have. I dream of the moment when we will finally meet, when I can look into your eyes and see the love that only a father can give.

Until that day comes, Father, I will continue to train and strive to be the best version of myself. I will carry your name and your legacy with honor. I will make sure that the world knows of the great Maedhros and the love he has for his son.

With all my love and longing,

Baldur

Dearest Father,

Guess what?! Something amazing has happened! I can hardly contain my excitement as I write this letter to you!

I am thrilled to share with you that I have been chosen as the Captain of the Guard in Hirming! Can you believe it? I get to lead a whole group of brave warriors and protect our people. It's like a dream come true! I'm walking on air, Father!

Every day, I put on my shiny armor and hold my head high, just like you would. I feel so important and strong, just like the great Tulkas himself! Everyone looks up to me, and I make sure to lead with courage and honor, just like you taught me through Mother's stories.

Oh, Father, I can't help but imagine the day when I will finally meet you face to face. I'll run up to you, all covered in armor, and say, "Father, it's me, Baldur, your son!" And we'll hug and laugh and talk about all the adventures we'll have together.

I'm training harder than ever, Father. I want to be strong and skilled, just like you. Every swing of the sword, every strategic move, brings me closer to you. I can almost feel your presence guiding me, cheering me on. I'll make you proud, Father, I promise!

I have so many questions to ask you when we finally meet. I want to hear about all your epic battles, your wise words, and the lessons you've learned. And I can't wait to share my own stories with you too! We'll have the grandest adventures together, just you and me.

Until that magical day arrives, Father, know that I carry you in my heart always. Your spirit fuels my determination and gives me the courage to face any challenge. I'm counting down the days until we can be together, to laugh, to fight, and to create memories that will last a lifetime.

With overflowing excitement and love,

Your enthusiastic son, Baldur

Cheers of victory fill the empty field where Baldur lies. A smile creeps on his face. They made it. They had won. His father won.

The sword that impales him seems to pin him to the ground but Baldur cannot care. Even as shreds of his soul are ripped from his body, the ellon is full of pride.

The world blurs as his breaths come uneven and maybe he is indeed lost in a trance when he sees a blurry outline come walking towards him. He squints his eyes but it is hard to distinguish the battered armor that seems to be heading his way.

“Father,” he calls but no one replies.

Alcarinque, Maedhros names his son. The glorious one, who died in the glorious battle.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor elves #silmarillion x reader #angst #maedhros x reader #maedhros

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polutrope · 6 months

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By the way, do you have the impression that Turgon and Thingoil are characters that I think Tolkien liked and admired much more than most people who write fanfics, that Tolkie really admired them and has better opinions of them than many people in the fandom in relation to fanfic about them.

Hi Anon!

I am probably not the most knowledgeable about fandom-wide opinions because most of the opinions I'm exposed to are from people on my dash that I've chosen to follow, and I read fic by and recommended by that community of people. That being said, I try to branch out and remain open to various interpretations. My experience participating in fandom this way has actually led me to a lot of people and writers with quite nuanced, generally favourable opinions on Turgon and Thingol! It's only from those people that I have heard that this is not necessarily the norm 😔.

Based on what I have heard and occasionally encountered, I do think Tolkien "liked and admired" Turgon and Thingol more than many readers in fandom, but, crucially, I don't think he was approaching them with the same mindset as most of those fans who take an unfavourable, even hostile, view of them.

I'm not an expert on Tolkien the Man, i.e. who he was as a person and how that was brought into his writing, but I do know that he was a scholar and enjoyer of literary traditions that did not follow the conventions of dominant contemporary storytelling. Many of the stories that inspired Tolkien were about legendary, epic heroes who were violent, fallible, selfish, etc... but still heroes -- basically because the genre said so. I didn't study Norse and Anglo-Saxon culture and traditions like Tolkien, but I did study Homeric literature a bit and the stories and heroes of the Silmarillion have always reminded me of those legends and characters (it's why I love it!).

I think it's impossible to reach a conclusive argument about the morality of or a verdict on the actions of e.g., Homer's Achilles or Odysseus. It can be diverting, an interesting mental exercise, creatively fulfilling, but I think the storytelling is ultimately incompatible with that kind of analysis. The characters just are what they are, and if the text says they are Great then they are. That's that.

I believe it's that way with Thingol and Turgon. We are told they are glorious and wise kings but a lot of what they actually do doesn't seem very glorious or wise. (Feanor is like this, too -- big time lol.) I think that's because the genre/traditions the Silm is inspired by do not necessitate that the story back up a character's "quality of excellence." We are just invited to accept it.

My sense is that that is not satisfying to many people (works for me though!). It is interesting to judge characters for their actions. It's what contemporary novels/TV/film/etc invite us to do, and many like doing it (again, not really me, but I'm strange).

(Tolkien's later writings, like LotR and some of the post-LotR writings, do invite this kind of reading, and I think that Tolkien at that stage was taking pains to show as well as tell us that X character was noble/wise/brave/etc. Which brings me to an issue that I think is at the root of so many interpretive disagreements about the published Silmarillion, namely that it's compiled from a selection of drafts written over decades and those drafts are not always compatible with one another in terms of genre and tone. Christopher did his darned best, and anyone who has read through HoMe will appreciate what an impressive job he did, but while he could iron out inconsistencies, without extensive rewriting -- which he was determined not to do -- I think incompatibilities like this were unavoidable. So we get Tinwelint from the 1917-19 Tale of the Nauglafring blended in a soup with Thingol of the 1950s Narn i Hin Hurin and the result makes for a bit of a strange aftertaste. There's even some full-on characterisation whiplash for those who are looking very very closely, as us fans like to do. Turgon is another character whose story is drawn from disparate strands of the Silmarillion's textual history, hmm... maybe something there.)

So, I have been theorising that all this is possibly why there seems to be a disconnect between Tolkien's presentation of characters like Thingol and Turgon and how much of the fandom receives and interprets them. Storyteller and reader are looking at things through incompatible lenses. Which is interesting! I think the problems (and vitriol) arise when people are not recognising that their opinions are filtered through a particular lens.

Probably far more than you were looking for with this Ask, but this issue has been circulating in my mind. I hope it makes some sense. I am trying to articulate half-formed thoughts through the fog of a head cold.

#asks #anon #turgon #thingol #meta

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lovefairymina · 5 months

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*walks into Turgon's room, nervous and fidgeting*

"First I want to say, it's not my fault. I don't know why, but he followed me. Second, he's not exactly friendly, but definitely not hostile either, I think I would've noticed. Third, NO he's not the size of Ancalagon. More like a house cat in comparison."

Turgon: *extreme confusion*

"With all that out of the way..."

*roaring from outside*

"Do you want to see our new dragon?"

Bewildered, stunned, confounded, perplexed, apprehensive, terrified, and the list went on and on as the roar of your newest companion echoed from outside.

Frozen and staring at the entrance, his eyes had not met yours, so his mouth had done him the favour of stating his concern. “Who, what, when, where and how, please?”

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

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felagund-the-valiant · 4 months

Text

All I Want Is You - Fingon x gn!reader

There’s only one thing Findekáno wants for his Begetting Day – to finally start courting the love of his life.

Words: 1.1k

Tags: best friends to lovers, first kiss

A/N: sooo, this is the first proper one shot i've ever written for fandom stuff. i hope it doesn't suck.

Aikanáro - Aegnor, Angaráto - Angrod, Fëanáro - Fëanor, Findekáno - Fingon, Maitimo - Maedhros, Turukáno - Turgon

Findekáno noticed you the moment you came through the door and made a beeline towards you. “(Y/N)!” He exclaimed in his usual cheerful manner and pulled you in for a hug that seemed to linger just a second too long, not that you minded. You discreetly breathed in his scent and felt your stomach flutter. “Happy Begetting Day!” You said with a bright smile when he let go of you and handed over your present to him. He gratefully accepted it and went to put it with the other presents he had received. Even though you shouldn’t be, you were astounded at the volume. He was a prince, after all, and you couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit self-conscious, hoping your gift wouldn't appear too simple next to the others. You pushed the thought aside and followed him to the opulent buffet to grab something to drink and a bite to eat.

You observed him carefully as you followed behind him. His hair was adorned with his signature golden hairbands that matched the artfully crafted jewellery he wore as well as the intricate embroidery on his royal blue robes. He looked stunning as always and you could only hope your own appearance was a suitable match.

After the two of you had filled your plates, you settled down at an empty table and you happily listened to him chatter away about all the planning that had gone into the celebration as well as the latest royal family drama. Apparently Maitimo – his oldest cousin – had managed to convince his uncle Fëanáro to attend and so far, he had only gotten into minor squabbles with Findekáno’s father. One would see what the rest of the evening would bring. After the recounts of drama were finished, he went over to presenting his newest jokes to you. He loved making you laugh. You were oblivious to the fact that he had practised all of his jokes on Turukáno beforehand, making sure they were actually funny, and he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of you. Although he sometimes wondered if his brother was the right choice for this as he wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humour.

When the conversation came to a natural lull he glanced over at the minstrels and the other guests dancing to their harmonious music. He rose from his chair with determination. “Would you care for a dance, my lady?” He asked with a dramatic bow and extended his right hand to you with a mischievous spark in his eyes. “You know I can’t dance, Findekáno.” You grumbled. You had been over this countless times, he seemed to ask you to dance every time there was a chance and you tried to not read into it, even though you desperately wanted to. It’s not that you disliked dancing with him – quite the opposite, you cherished every moment you got to be this close to him – you just hated making a fool of yourself in front of him. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll show you. Also, it’s my Begetting Day, meaning you legally can’t deny my wishes.” He gave you his best puppy eyes and broke into a triumphant grin when you let out a resigned sigh. “Fine, but don’t be upset when I eventually trample your feet.”

To your credit, the dance went considerably better than you had thought – you only stepped on his feet two times and both times he laughed it off, assuring you it hadn’t hurt at all, though you suspected that was a lie. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” He said out of nowhere and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. You felt your insides melt a little at the contact. “This colour really suits you.” He continued and gave you an earnest smile. “Thank you. You look quite dashing yourself.” You replied a little bashfully. Friends give each other compliments, you reminded yourself, there’s nothing more to it. Right? He stopped his movements after a while and threw a look at a set of doors that led out to an empty balcony. “I could use some fresh air.” He declared. “Care to join me?” You nodded and he led you out to the cool evening air.

Findekáno leaned against the railing and you followed his example. “Thank you for coming today.” He said. “Of course. You’re my best friend, how couldn’t I?” There was a short pause. “Have you … ever thought about us being more than just friends?” He asked with bated breath. You blinked rapidly at him, not sure if you had heard him correctly. “What do you mean? Like … courting?” He nodded, eyes filled with hope and nervousness at the same time. You felt an aggressive blush creeping up your cheeks and averted your eyes. “Maybe.” You said barely audible. “What about you?” “I have. A lot.” He replied and reached for one of your hands. “(Y/N), I’m in love with you.” He finally confessed. “I have been for a long time, but I was scared that if I told you, it might ruin our friendship.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “But I’m tired of hiding my feelings and it’s okay if-“ “I love you, too.” You blurted out and covered your mouth in surprise. “You do?” He asked and you nodded your head vigorously. His face lit up brighter than both Laurelin and Telperion together and he let out a laugh that almost sounded giddy. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” He exclaimed and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you tightly before loosening his grip a little. You looked up at him and found your gaze wandering between his eyes and his lips. Findekáno smirked knowingly. “Is there something on your mind?” He asked in a teasing tone. You bit your lower lip slightly. “Can I kiss you?” You asked while subconsciously gripping the front of his robes. “You most certainly can, melda.” He replied and leaned down to which you rose to the tips of your toes to meet him halfway.

All your fantasies paled in comparison to the real kiss you were sharing, and you wished it would never end. When your lips parted you reached up to caress his right cheek and he lightly leaned into the touch. “I love you.” You repeated in a whisper. “I love you, too.” He whispered back and in that moment nothing else mattered.

If either of you noticed your other two best friends, Angaráto and Aikanáro, lurking outside the doors and triumphantly exchanging money, you didn’t comment on it.

#tolkien #jrrt #silmarillion #fingon #findekáno #reader insert #fingon x reader

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aotearoa20 · 6 days

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FanFic Rec Moodboard Masterlist

Bookmark Fic Recs art for fics I found in my bookmark lists and I loved

Eldritch Maglor (Maglor & Lindir)

On the ephemeral beauty of mortals (Caranthir & Angrod)

The Kingmaker (Maedhros & Curufin)

And in doing so, you will fail (Maglor & Glaurung)

And she danced on feet of silver (Maedhros & Idril)

lakesong (Maglor & Maedhros)

The One (Maedhros & Eru)

I promise you I'm not broken (I promise you there's more) (Maeglin & Celebrimbor)

All That's Best of Dark and Bright (Elu Thingol/Melian)

in the ranks of death you will find him (Turgon & Finrod )

Heart and Head (Nimloth & Celegorm)

Louder than Words (Celebrimbor & Sauron)

Presentation Practise (Feanor/Nerdanel & Maedhros)

ao3 links and tags are on the linked posts but lmk if you rather they were here to. Definitely check them out, they are all really good!

Avengers x Silm. these ones are all inspired by the same marvel crossover fic by @the-elusive-soleil, again definitely recommend!

Maedhros (Captain America)

Ambarussa (Hawkeye & Black Widow)

Celegorm (Hulk)

Curufin (Iron Man)

Caranthir (Loki)

Maglor (Darcy Lewis)

#moodboard masterlist #fic rec masterlist #moodboard #silmarillion #tolkien #ao3 recs #silm fic #tolkien edit #to be edited as and when:)

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doodle-pops · 6 months

Text

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.”

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cilil · 4 days

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝐍𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

𓄌 Characters/pairings: Caranthir & Fëanor, hints at potential Caranthir x Turgon 𓄌 Synopsis: Fëanor offers to craft accessories for his sons to wear at the next Feast of Horns. Caranthir has what he believes to be an unusual request. 𓄌 Warnings: / 𓄌 Oneshot (~1.2k words) | AO3

Carnistir had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment, though the former outweighed the latter.

His father had announced that he would be crafting accessories for all of his sons for the next Feast of Horns, celebrating that the entire family would be in attendance for the first time, and promised that each of them could pick whatever they wanted and he would make it.

For most, if not all of his brothers, it was an easy choice and they knew exactly what they wanted, or so Carnistir believed at least, but for him, it was more difficult. Not the choice itself, if he was honest with himself — he had an idea what he wanted — but he grappled with it regardless and disliked the idea of having to explain himself to his father.

It wasn't Carnistir's first time participating in the Hunt. His brothers had dragged him along once before, with Tyelkormo in particular claiming that he couldn't miss it, and as was tradition for debutants, he had been among the Hunted. The greater battle had been with himself rather than the Hunters, finding himself strangely enchanted by the idea of being desired and pursued, while unable to admit it to anyone else and acting aloof to hide his inner turmoil.

In the end Carnistir had successfully hidden in the woods of Oromë — no small feat as he liked to think, especially with Ainur participating in the Hunt as well — and rejoined his brothers at the end of the night. Nobody had bothered to inquire about his whereabouts after his declaration that everything had gone well, and he preferred it that way. Even so, the aftermath had left him with a sour taste in his mouth, his mind ever wandering to all the possibilities he had denied himself out of pride, shame and, as much as he hated to admit it, cowardice.

But this Feast of Horns would be different. Carnistir had promised himself that it would.

And then he had also learned that Turukáno would be a Hunter.

I could hunt as well. Maybe alongside him, if he agrees to it.

Though perhaps I should be hunted instead to rectify my mistake. Any other choice would only be further cowardice.

Turukáno could hunt me. I think I would like it if he did.

But why would he? Especially if Findaráto joins in as well. And he most likely will.

Such was the back and forth between the two warring forces in Carnistir's mind, unfulfilled desire raging against what he believed was his better judgement, yet his perceived lack of courage and bravery was what eventually tipped the scales in favour of the former. He was a son of Fëanáro after all, he couldn't hide in a corner while his brothers participated in the Hunt.

Even so, choosing the Hunted meant that he would have to ask his father for a necklace or even a collar instead of horns or antlers, and Carnistir dreaded having such a conversation.

Thus he made his way to Fëanáro's forge reluctantly when Nerdanel told him that it was his turn. He announced himself with a short, sharp knock and entered in tandem with his father's invitation to come in.

Fëanáro was sitting at his workbench and bent over an elaborate sketch he was working on. A quick look confirmed that it was most likely Tyelkormo's gift, and Carnistir tried not to let his mien sour too much. Of course he's still busy with someone else.

"Ah, Moryo," his father greeted him and looked up with a smile. "Do you already know what you would like or do you want to take a few more minutes to think?"

"I am ready," Carnistir replied curtly. It hadn't escaped his notice that Fëanáro appeared to be in good spirits, and he was about to ruin it all; but it was too late for second guessing himself. A plan of action had been made, and he would stick to it, come what may.

"Very well. What are your ideas?" Fëanáro asked and finally reached for an empty sheet of paper to place on top of the sketch, ready to take notes.

"I want a collar and I don't want gold."

Silence fell between them for a brief moment.

"So you wish to join the Hunted?"

"Yes." Carnistir pressed his lips together, ready to defend his choice, but his father took notes without further inquiry.

"Do you know which materials you want instead if gold is not to your liking?" he then asked conversationally.

Carnistir gave a light shrug. He had thought of everything, every complaint or counterargument that might be brought against him for making what could be considered a strange choice for a Noldorin prince, but not the gift itself.

"Something practical," he said eventually.

Fëanáro smiled. "I hope you will allow me to craft a silver one then. I think it would look lovely on you."

"Fine by me."

More notes were added.

"And what kind of details and ornaments do you want? Maybe some jewels or gemstones?"

Another shrug. "Plain."

"You know you can choose freely, Moryo?"

"Yes." Picking up on the hint, Carnistir thought about it again. "Lots of people have little charms attached to their collars, like antlers or spear-tips or arrowheads. I think I would like that too."

"Anything in particular?"

"A dagger." Inspiration came spontaneously, but for once Carnistir allowed himself not to overthink it.

"And what about the gems?"

"No gems. They sparkle too much."

Fëanáro grinned at him. "Ah, I see. You don't want to make it too easy for the Hunters to spot you."

"Of course not."

"And you are right. A favour from one of the princes of the Noldor should not be won too easily after all." He wrote down more notes. "Anything else?"

"No." Carnistir paused for a moment, then added, "I leave the rest to you, Father."

"I shan't disappoint. If you like, you can have a look at my sketch in a few days — I will take some time to think about it."

He nodded. "Thank you."

They fell silent again, but no further words were needed. An unspoken understanding that the conversation had concluded hung between them, and Carnistir turned to leave.

On his way out, he spotted another sketch at the very edge of the workbench, slightly crumpled as if it had been hastily swept aside in favour of Fëanáro's tools and the other notes and sketches he had made. To his surprise, this one depicted a collar as well, not too dissimilar from what he had asked for and imagined for himself.

Unable to resist, he stopped and pointed at the sketch. "Someone else is joining the Hunted as well?"

Fëanáro looked up to meet his inquisitive gaze, and his eyes sparkled with the same sort of mischief Carnistir would normally see in Tyelkormo and the Ambarussar.

"That one is for me," he said, lips twitching as if he had to suppress a bout of laughter when he saw his son's shocked expression.

Carnistir left the forge without another word, his cheeks flushing bright red. He needed a moment to process what he had just learned, only to decide that he neither needed nor wanted to know the implications of Fëanáro's words regarding his parents' relationship.

Well, he thought to himself, if I was wrong about Father, maybe I was wrong about Turukáno as well and he may hunt me after all.

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#feastofhorns #caranthir #carnistir #feanor #fëanor #silmarillion #oneshot #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #cílil writes #my writing #again sorry i'm late

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