#turukáno

[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 ✨

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

We as a fandom don't talk enough about the fact that Morgoth didn't only know most of the major Noldor socially in Valinor, he was specifically familiar with and afraid of Turgon. Imagine being the one person in this family whom the Great Enemy feels the need to avoid at public functions. I wonder how Fëanor felt about that.

#j.r.r. tolkien #turgon #turukáno

[lovefairymina]

Y/N: Heyyyy, Turgon….. Look what I found.

Turgon: *Turns around to see Y/N with a giant tiger in her arms, cradling it like it’s a baby kitten

Y/N: Isn’t he cute? *tiger chomps down on her hair*

Y/N: Awww, he took a bite!

“Hmm, what a cute bite. Try placing him closer to your face and see if he'll cutely bite you there,” he sassed with a bothered expression crossing his features. His mouth twisted and his brows were furrowed the more he watched you interact with the so-called cute beast.

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

[urwendii]

Prompt: russingon + secret (rating: mature)

The first time their secret is almost discovered, it happens in Tirion upon a social call from Ñolofinwë. Much tension there was in those times between the houses of Curufinwë and his brother.

Maitimo has set early that day toward his uncle's residence, carrying with him presents for Írissë's birthday. A silver tiara set with azurite and fluorite gems.

Findekáno greets him on the entrance's stairs, as the Eldest of the children, as his best friend, as his-

The light in his eyes rivals Telperion.

"Thank you for coming Russo."

"I would not have missed this."

As with everytime their eyes meet they cannot prevent their bodies to gravitate toward one another.

"Mother and Father will be pleased to see you." Findekáno whispers, hands clasping Maitimo's. He longs to kiss those lush lips.

They should move Maitimo thinks, they still linger on the threshold in plain view. He also thinks how Findekáno's golden jewelry shines under Laurelin's and how his warm skin calls his hands to roam free upon his body.

"Cousin!"

Turukáno exclaims merrily as he walks to them, little Írissë running behind him. There's a comely blush high on Findekáno's cheekbones that sends warmth pooling in Maitimo's stomach. Turning toward his cousins he kneels to greet the little Ñolofinwëan princess with a fond ruffle of her dark hair and laughs freely as she begs him to reveal his gift.

Turukáno is staring at his brother and then at the eldest Curufinwëan with a strange expression yet says nothing more as he invites Maitimo inside their house.

Behind their backs, Findekáno hooks one of his finger through Maitimo's long pale hand. It lasts three heartbeats but Maitimo's fëa trembles with anticipation.

Anairë sits him by Findekáno's right, when he leans to accept a goblet of wine their thighs brush and Maitimo longs for dark corners and brown coloured legs wrapped around his head. Turukáno, across from them, still have this strange light in his eyes when he looks at them.

"Are you staying with us for the night dear cousin?" He asks, innocence painted on his face. Findekáno stiffens almost imperceptibly. Maitimo forces himself to relax his shoulders and grace his uncle and aunt with his most polite smile.

"I would not dare impose -"

"Nonsense Nelyafinwë, you are family. If my brother," There's a flicker of something at the mention of Curufinwë in his uncle's eyes but its gone in a flash. "Can do without you for a couple days you are free to stay here as long as you wish to."

The offer is so very tempting, the Ñolofinwë household is at times a haven against the chaotic energy his six siblings produce.

On the other hand Maitimo does not see how close proximity with Findekáno for entire days under the scrutiny of their family isn't ultimately going to end in a conversation he is unwilling to have.

"This is done then!" Turukáno exclaims in a smile with too much teeth. His eyes flash with a challenge and dread pools in his stomach.

"I will have the guest room ready anon." Sweet Anairë announces and he looks aside, eyes wide when Findekáno suddenly blurts "No, no it's alright he can stay in my room."

Maitimo tries NOT to blush, forcing his pale face to remain that way.

"Oh but Nelyafinwë might like to have his own room."

He is suddenly aware of too many eyes looking at him with various different intents. Findekáno is pleading, the gorgeous silver eyes filled with so much longing he wants to wrap his arms around his Valiant cousin. His uncle and aunt are merely curious for his decision and Turukáno looks at him with barely disguised defiance and challenge.

He wets his lips and tries to keep his voice levelled and free of any emotions.

"I should not like to see my presence cause any sort of unplanned organisation." He swallows, then "I shall be fine staying with cousin Findekáno." A real princely smile, the one that says Eldest Finwëan heir.

He ignores how his other cousin narrows his eyes.

After a warm hug from his aunt and a proud shoulder pat by his uncle, "It gladens my heart so much to see you and Findekáno such tender friends." That sends tendrils of guilt and something as unpleasant through his hröa, he follows Findekáno to his room.

The moment the door is shut he is flattened against the dark wood by Findekáno's warm body, lips assaulted under tongue and teeth, fingers working impatiently at the sash of his robes, and Maedhros has to bring much needed air in his lungs when Findekáno's fingers palm his hardening member. He tries to remind himself of what he has intended to say. Earlier. He groans quietly when his braid is pulled, in that half harsh way that has his insides turns to molten honey.

"Fin-" He tries. Once, twice or five times. He's now lying amongst his cousin's comfortable bed, blue cushions everywhere and it reminds Maitimo of the sea.

"We - we should be more careful."

"We should be naked." Retorts Findekáno and Maitimo bites his lips hard when there's a hand wrapped around his length. He closes his eyes and forces his brain to work.

"Your brother, Fin, he's - Valar be good," the touch of Findekáno's tongue robs him of another minutes of intelligent thoughts.

"He's onto us."

"Don't care." Findekáno replies, mouth full of him and Maitimo has to cling to the silky sheets beneath him to prevent a loud moan from escaping him. The conversation, or debate(?) comes to a natural end as the efforts on his length increased and soon Maitimo has no more qualms because Findekáno's mouth is hot and warm, his lips soft and swollen and he's so, so close and then spilling on a wicked tongue and he wants to lie there, in this instant and live in it with Findekáno until the Breaking of the World.

When Turukáno barely knocks on the door later before bursting in the room, Maitimo has put his robes back on and is writing on a scroll, and Findekáno is lounging on a plush chair by the fireplace with a book and sated eyes hidden by glorious thick dark curls.

His cousin looks at them for a moment, then rolls his eyes and announces he's going to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

"He's an idiot." Findekáno says around a snort as he drops the book on the floor. Maitimo agrees.

#prompt: tolkien lgdrm #russingon #maedhros x fingon #fingon #maedhros #for those not used to their valinorean names: #maitimo = maedhros / findekáno = fingon #nolofinwë = fingolfin | curufinwë = fëanor #írissë = aredhel | turukáno = turgon #the brainrot continues so i must exorcise it #its silly and im trying to ignore my perfectionism there #i CAN write without suffering i CAN write without suffering I CAN-

[irithyllians]

turukáno and anairë. like mother, like son.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #turgon #turukano #anaire #my art #q

[welcomingdisaster]

years of the trees tumblr dashboard simulator

🦜filitárifinds Follow

second mingling soft mouse

🌸 drunkinalqualonde Follow

second mingling soft mouse reblog for peace and comfort always

🌧️ hailxrainxstars Follow

i can't scroll past the mingling mouse

🪻dancer_spirit Follow

guys it's literally opening hour

🦦 whatabotterit Follow

opening hour will end but mingling mouse is forever

#sighs #i suppose i must reblog #second mingling soft mouse

( 12990 notes )

🌻sweetflowersofspring Follow

spilled all the seed pods at yavanna's temple and accidentally sa-si'ed in front of my crush (who only ever uses Þ 😭) and now i come home and learn the hounds have come loose and run off to chase the wild hunt... can i just get whatever queen miriel died from it's too late for me now folks

🔥lordoflight Follow

Explain to me how and why you think it's okay to joke about that.

#idiots online #disrespect #upsetting

( 12 notes )

🌳 twotreesdaily Follow

Yet another image which fails to capture the majesty and beauty of Laurelin, yet in its imperfection reveals the grandness and completeness of that design, which none shall surpass.

#perfection #beauty #tree #merging of light and life #the valar #gold #symbol of eternal youth and the divine feminine #wow

( 299 notes )

🐾 awwooooo Follow

join the wild hunt we've got deer jerky

🐾 awwooooo Follow

also orgies

🐾 awwooooo Follow

but seriously so much deer jerky there's too much someone please take some

( 188 notes )

🪺 maidenwithoutacause Follow

normalize taking naps and being so so sleepy

🗡️fireson5 Follow

That literally kills people.

🪺 maidenwithoutacause Follow

that was ONE time

#sorry op but it's literally 100% of our mortality rate he's got a point

( 355 notes )

🦢 silversmith Follow

"nolofinwë's right" this "curufinwë's right" that ... do we ever talk about how arafinwë just fucked off to to drink cocktails on the beach in alqualondë and married the hottest elf-maiden in all of aman? icon for this

( 82 notes )

Based on your likes!

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

any girls want to go to the macalaurë feanorian orchestral and exchange kisses under the starlight....

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

perhaps tenderly grasp each other's hands

🐞 bugdaughter Follow

... unwed

#not safe for tumblr #horny posting

( 19 notes )

🕊️ justsomevanya Follow

okay wondering if i'm weird

#polls #haha is it just me

( 58 notes )

🎶freepeoplefreesong Follow

gotta be real it's sad to see cancel culture coming for melkor he's done his time let him live

🌄 smithworkirl Follow

bestie he's a war criminal

🎶freepeoplefreesong Follow

he's coming to my house party tomorrow ✌️ peace and love

#seriously tho unfollow me if you think people can't change #the light is healing and cleanses all #don't you believe in redemption

( 31 notes )

⛰️ 12elves3kings

prince turukáno house of nolofinwë. you agree. reblog.

( 67 notes )

#someone take my laptop i'm addicted to making these #silly shit tag #silmarillion #lena speaks

[firinaira]

Nolofinwë, Irissë and Turukáno with little daughter. Somewhere in Helcaraxë after Elenwë's death.

Do not use without my permission, please!

Больше моих работ по ссылке - не забудь подписаться прежде, чем унести на Пинтерест😉

#firinaira #nolofinweanweek #nolofinweanweek2023 #fingolfin #nolofinwe #irisse #aredhel #turukano #turgon #itarille #idril #helcaraxe #silm art #elves #fantasy #tolkien #the silm #the silm fandom #tolkien art #tolkien tag

[mag-lore]

Turukáno the Wise King of Gondolin

#he was also the high king but shhh #i had to mention gondolin at some point #also half of them would say high king if i didn't #he doesn't have a mother name does he? #i also am not sure about calling him wise but #we'll go with the text in this instance #silmarillion #turgon #silmarillion edit #silmarillion moodboard #my edit

[melestasflight]

A snippet from Against His Wisdom for @march-of-the-noldor

It is not the cold that eats as much upon Nolofinwë. There are things one can learn to produce warmth sufficient to keep walking. He learns, they all do.

But the quietness is an entirely different matter. There is no birdsong on the Ice. No buzzing of insects to fill the air nor the rustling of foliage to draw the ear overhead. 

The Helcaraxë is a silent desolation interrupted only by the frightening pitch of frozen sheets beneath their feet and the repetitive rhythm of marching — step, step, swish, step, step, swish — for time immeasurable. The monotony drives him to madness so Nolofinwë concentrates on learning the strides of each of his people to keep his mind occupied. He does not need to look even to know who walks beside him. 

In that agonizing silence, every small murmur travels like a breeze down the marching lines and rumor reaches Nolofinwë's ears, whether he seeks it or not. 

Nolofinwë leads us against his wisdom, some say, for his son so urges him. 

His son, the kinslayer, another mutters, is as mad as Fëanáro, may he be damned— 

Nelyafinwë poisoned his mind—

Betrayed the kin of his friends, as brothers they were— 

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Fëanáro—

Findekáno—

Kinslayers!

Nolofinwë cannot bring himself to command silence because his people are already stretched too thin and he sees them fragmenting, Findaráto’s followers on one end, Turukáno’s on the other. And because, in the hours when the wind howls with a peculiar intensity, even he sees some truth in the resemblance. 

In profile, somewhat obscured beneath the thick layers of pelts, Nolofinwë recognizes Fëanáro in Findekáno’s high cheekbones and determined gaze. When his son walks before him, there is something about the strength in his marching steps that is almost unnatural. A power cracked open by drawing of blood from another body. When Findekáno looks behind him, as he often does to make sure his father still stands on firm ground, Nolofinwë catches himself expecting his brother’s stern face.

It grows as they walk further, this darkness. The same darkness Finwë had carried with him from Middle-earth and even in the calm of Valinórë passed some of it onto his eldest son. It now flickers behind the light in Findekáno’s eyes, calling for his bloodlust.

But unlike many of his people, Nolofinwë does not fear this power. Findekáno’s fire is not wholly of destruction. Its warmth when tamed nurtures life, even as Fëanáro’s had before grief consumed him.

It is now Findekáno who sings after those who stray away in the darkness even if they cursed his name. Findekáno who offers to step first when the ice turns more treacherous. Findekáno who hews Itarillë’s blackened toes and becomes her legs, carrying her on his shoulders beyond exhaustion.

His son looks after their people, so Nolofinwë takes the task of looking after him. He eats less so Findekáno can have more. Stands so Findekáno can sit. Keeps his dreams at bay in the precious moments of rest.

‘Walk with me, Findekáno,’ he says when his son marches alone at the head of the host for too long.

Kinslayer or no, Nolofinwë will walk by his son.

Read Against His Wisdom on AO3

#fingolfin #fingon #maedhros #feanor #helcaraxe #march of the noldor #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #nolofinweans #mind the tags

[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.”

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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 ✨

[cilil]

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. 

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

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

[lovefairymina]

*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

[searchingforserendipity25]

Hold on. Hold on a second.

If Morgoth got enough feelings of prophetic dread from Turgon to know his eventual defeat would come from him, then logically, he'd be just as creeped out by Elenwë. She is Eärendil's foremother, and from her, very directly, the hope of the Children of Eru and all free people will come.

And then she dies on the Ice? Not that suspicious, in those circumstances, but consider: Melkor, in the splendour of Valinor, avoided high-minded Turukáno and his keen-eyed lady, but most of all he did his best to be the hell away from their very adorable and very creepy baby girl, around whom the Music sang with chords of mighty righteousness. The crack that splintered the Ice underneath Elenwë's feet was no accident; she was never supposed to be fast enough to throw Idril away from peril.

#epiphany of the closed eyes while settling in bed opening suddenly sort #morgoth #turgon #elenwë #idril #the silm

[eleneressea]

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

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

okay :D

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does my brother live here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where does he dwell, then?”

“Who would this be?”

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

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

“How long does this process take?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[actual-bill-potts]

Belated birthday present for @that-angry-noldo <3 <3 I love u bestie

Finarfin and Eärwen had requested a six-day before anyone came to visit Finrod. No one had protested, of course; but Anairë, when she heard the news, had withdrawn into herself tightly, and requested curtly that she be the first visitor. They could not refuse her, second mother to their children as she had been, and Finarfin did not wish to; but he hoped, a little, that she would not still be angry when she knocked upon their door.

The six-day had been quiet. Finarfin had spent a great deal of time alone, trying to reconcile himself to this third loss of Aikanáro, to accept that bright little Findaráto was now quiet Finrod, to weave his son into the pattern of a life defined by solitude. But this last was not an arduous task, and smiling came easier to him than it had for many years.

He still found himself anxious when the seventh day came since Finrod’s Return and Anairë swept into their little cottage full of dignity. She did not seem angry; but something in her bearing made Finarfin half-reach for the spear that no longer hung at his shoulder.

No more fighting, he thought, please, no more, and ignored the voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Eönwë at his proudest, and said, Peace will not come simply because you wish for it.

“Hello, Arafinwë,” Anairë said, face softening a little as she looked at him. “Do not worry; I do not intend to cause harm.”

Intent rarely matters, thought Finarfin, but he returned the greeting and led her further into the cottage. As she and Eärwen embraced, he tapped gently upon the little glow that was Finrod in his mind. Anairë is here, he said, will you see her?

A little nod; and a moment later Finrod slipped into the room.

Anairë looked up. The hiss of breath that left her was so sharp Finarfin almost hastened towards the tea-kettle.

“Eäryonya,” she said, voice steady.

Sea’s-son, the name Anairë had used for all Eärwen’s boys, and they in turn had called her -

“Tarasamil,” said Finrod gently, and held out his hand. “Thank you for the keeping of my mother’s heart.”

“Someone needed to do it,” returned Anairë; but she took his hand and gripped it hard.

Eärwen flinched a little; Finarfin, as quietly as possible, slipped to her side. She put her head on his shoulder, and he felt something deep and cold within him unclench.

“Yes,” said Finrod. “Yes.”

“How fare my children?” said Anairë. “My husband?”

“I slept long and deep in Mandos, in dreams I half-remember; and only Turukáno came to me. He grieves,” said Finrod, “grieves for his city.”

“Does he grieve for those he killed in a land of peace?” said Anairë harshly. But she did not release his hand.

“Of course,” said Finrod, “but they no longer reside in Mandos.”

“Point to the kinslayer!” said Anairë. “But was he happy? In Endórë?”

“There was no unmarred joy in Beleriand,” said Finrod. “But by the deep pools and flowing rivers of Nevrast he was as peaceful as I have ever seen him. Irissë ran wild and free, and Findekáno took joy in his own fierceness and strength, and little Itarillë grew into great strength and wisdom. And your husband sought your counsel ever, even from far away.”

“Of course he did!” said Anairë. “I should not be glad to hear that my children won joy through bloodshed, and in bloodshed; but -”

She drew him into an embrace. Finarfin, watching carefully, was glad they had waited the six-day; Finrod’s hands were trembling and the set of his shoulders was not easy. But he did not flinch away.

“And you!” she said. “Was it worth it, Findaráto?”

“I am called Finrod now,” said Finrod into her shoulder, “and I paid for the joy I found many times over. I would not give it up now for even the unmarred bliss of Aman.”

“Yes,” said Anairë, “The price is marked upon your body,” and she moved her hand across the place just below Finrod’s left shoulder, where Finarfin knew there was a thick, ropy scar: muscle and bone cleaved by the claws of a wolf.

Finrod shuddered, and Anairë drew him closer.

“I am glad you are here, despite everything,” said Anairë, “and I am glad you were with my son. You kept his heart as I kept your mother’s, at least for a time; and I will not forget it.” She drew back. “And now I will make your father happy, and release you, and ask if there will be tea.”

“Yes,” said Finarfin, relieved beyond measure, and went into the kitchen to prepare.

#finarfin #finrod #anaire #earwen #silm fic #my writing

[pearlescentpearl]

Political Pawn AU 2

You can find Post 1 here.

Findekáno does not go to bed

Turukáno finds him brooding on the lake shore, stone eyed and tense

“You’re rethinking things you ought not rethink,” Turukáno says, though he knows it is in vain

“I am trying not to,” Findekáno tells him, folding his arms tighter against the wind. “Whatever he did, it doesn’t change the outcome. Those who suffered still suffered. Those who died still died. I can think better of him for trying to speak on our behalf before the betrayal became irreversible, but not for helping kick it off by taking the ships at Araman, nor his foolishness in thinking the situation would be otherwise.”

And he does think a great deal better of Russandol, for trying. Fëanáro’s wrath had proven no small thing to risk. He failed to stop what he himself abetted, and in his failure rested the horror of trekking the Helcaraxë

But still, knowing someone tried to protest, knowing someone didn’t forget them, that Russandol didn’t forget him...

It’s something

“Father and Aunt are already embroiled in plans for how to use this,” Turukáno says dully, settling next to him on the grassy bank. “I left because I couldn’t stand listening them anymore.”

“What are they thinking?” Findekáno asks, half-fearing the answer. Too many have waited too long for the slightest crack in Fëanáro’s defensive stubbornness, and the feud the eldest sons of Finwë wage has always driven them to unreasonable heights. He doesn’t delude himself into thinking the next move won’t be stunningly vicious

“Father’s hoping to foment Fëanáro’s own people against him by suggesting Nelyafinwë is the only of their House deserving of the crown, seeing as he doesn’t agree with abandoning his people,” Turukáno says bitterly. “He’s hoping it will galvanize those who didn’t agree with their traitor king’s actions into... I don’t know, forcing Fëanáro to do something about them.”

Findekáno huffs a disbelieving laugh, voice cracking. “The man is being tortured in Angamando, and Father would make him king? What is he thinking? This is going to rend the Noldor worse than we already are!”

It wouldn’t just be the Fëanárian Faction tearing into itself over this, it would be their own people too. What cohesiveness they’d held onto all this time would dissolve as the question of Russandol’s actions and what they were worth became a Kindred-wide debate

In Valinor they could get away with that. On Angamando’s doorstep?

Death would come for them in their distraction

“You know how Father gets when Fëanáro’s involved,” Turukáno says, and they share such a look of deep commiseration

“I also know how you get about Nelyafinwë,” Turukáno continues, and Findekáno hunches his shoulders. “You’re just like Father, you know. Not an ounce of objectivity in either of you.”

“I am trying to be better,” Findekáno protests defensively. “I know I... I ruined so much acting out of love instead of wisdom.”

“You are not the only,” Turukáno says heavily, “who has made ruinous choices out of love.”

“I think, at some point, we two, it stopped being about love and more about pride,” Findekáno whispers. “It was love when I raised a sword at Alqualondë. It was pride when I helped them steal the ships; too much pride to stop and repent when I learned the truth.”

“I should hit you for being right,” Turukáno sighs, leaning back on his hands. “I can not separate the love from the pride since the Darkening. I only know we, none of us, acted with wisdom when we had the chance. And now we must live with it, and hope to be wiser in the tribulations to come.”

“Like this harebrained plan of Father’s. He’s not going to get reparations if he’s just going back to undermining Fëanáro. I want to tear the man down from his high horse as much as anyone, but I’m so sick of the feud, Turvo. Hasn’t it taken enough from us?”

“It will only stop taking when we all stop feeding it.”

“Might as well ask the both of them to starve themselves.”

“Hah!” Turukáno laughs. “That will be the day!” A pause to let the mist billow by. “Brother. You’re thinking about doing something.”

Findekáno doesn’t deny it. “Someone has to check Father’s worst impulses.”

“Whatever you do,” Turukáno says, “I beg you. Act from love. Not pride. I can forgive you for love. I am not sure how much more I can for pride. For anyone.”

“Even yourself?”

“Perhaps especially myself.”

Findekáno leans over to bump his forehead to his brother’s. “For love,” he agrees. Leaning back, he admires the sight of the unvarnished stars, Rána in its dark phase. “If anyone should ask, tell them I left early on patrol.”

“And if I should ask?”

“I will say only that I promise to return.”

“Heartening.”

In the morning, Turukáno indeed tells any who ask that his brother is on patrol, though he is sure to put up his most dour of expressions to dissuade any who might try to ask him. Easy enough, with the speech his Father starts the morning with

Itarillë, nearly full grown now, finds him halfway through and threads her fingers in his

Glancing down, he finds her pensive, brow furrowed in a mirror of his own expression

She was born during Fëanáro’s exile. Half her life has been spent on the Helcaraxë. She only knows her half-relations through stories, and glimpses during the march to Araman. They are as strangers to her. He wonders what she makes of this speech upholding a man she would only ever have heard cursed

He feels her mind brush against his, a wisp of winter wind carrying the scent of evergreens

The townsfolk are listening, she tells him

And do they agree? He asks

Her head turns to regard the mingled Lestorodrim and Fëanárian Loyalists. Some of them, maybe. The Lestorodrim have minds as girdled as their homes, but ultimately Noldor matters are Noldor matters to them. The Fëanárians are... split. I see much shame and regret in them

Not so much they’ll act on it of their own volition, Turukáno retorts. He recognizes the pride that refuses to humble itself in the face of wrongdoing as easily as he sees it in his mirror

He’s not blind. He sees the shame in their faces too

If they want forgiveness they’ll have to humble themselves first

Itarillë elbows him

Following her intent gaze he sees one of the Ambarussa in the crowd, face going pale and intent

“Which one is that one?” She murmurs

It’s difficult to gauge at this distance, what with the mist making everything perpetually damp, but he thinks that dark shade of red denotes Pityafinwë, the elder twin

“Well,” Turukáno murmurs back. “Your grandfather has garnered the attention he wanted.”

“But is it the attention the rest of us need?”

“That remains to be seen.”

As Finwë-Ñolofinwë wraps up his speech on Fëanáro’s flaws as a leader so far (many), Nelyafinwë’s virtues in comparison (anyone would come out smelling like roses compared to Fëanáro), and the obvious disregard of the people’s will displayed in Fëanáro’s refusal to repent, Amabarussa takes off to Barad Eithel

They would have Fëanáro’s response soon

It will be ugly. Turukáno doesn’t need foresight to predict that

“What do you think of all this, Father?” Itarillë asks, jarring him out of his dire thoughts

“I spent far too many times telling you as a child that it’s important that you tried, even when you failed,” Turukáno says after a moment. “Sometimes, especially when you failed. I am loathe to make a mockery of yet more of the virtues I tried to raise you with. Yet my heart is broken. Whatever healing or amending I may find in the future, it cannot make that fact not be.”

“I do not think you make a mockery of anything,” Itarillë says. “You raised me to believe in the importance of trying, even in the face of failure. You also raised me to contend with the consequences of failure. I expect no less maturity from my elders.”

Overhead, the sky is clouded

#silmarillion #political pawn au #I meant to follow Fingon but Turgon had Things To Say #Maedhros soon Maedhros soon Maedhros soon #things are really heating up #let the tug of war begin