kamilone

[kamilone]

In which Idril tries to play hide and seek with a homesick Hurin! I don't know why, but I recently got the urge to draw the eldritch Gondolin crowd one-on-one with the boys ... We'll see if I can actually pull it off or not XD

Back to the painting, I imagine Hurin was hiding out in the king's gardens, feeling kinda depressed about the prospect of never returning home again, and then Idril snuck up on him! She's not actually that tall btw; either she's on a raised level or Hurin is going down some stone steps loll Nothing like a big eldritch princess to snap you out of your thoughts hahaa

[kamilone]

Fëanor and his, well, five sons

What a family

[kamilone]

I'm hard at work on Chapter 31, the first chapter of Part 2 of "Gorthauro Estel". I can't make any for-sure promises, but it may be out by the end of this month, or early next month at the latest. Here's an excerpt for anyone who is interested :)

______________________________________

As always, as he neared the far side of the courtyard, he veered off the track to pay his visit to the painting of Middle-earth. It had become a part of the daily ritual, even though he could conjure a perfect image of it in his mind at this point. But every day nonetheless, he still stopped in front of it as some sort of silent acknowledgement of his past and all that he had lost and to hold fast to his determination to have the final say in all of this.

This time however as he came into the clearing in front of the colonnade where the painting was displayed, he ground to a halt. Someone was already there. Anger flashed through him. That was his spot. His painting. His Middle-earth. How dare someone else intrude.

The person’s back was to him, facing the painting. But as the initial burst of instinctive anger faded, he realized what the person was doing.

They were painting.

They had an large easel set up in front of them on which rested a canvas. Sauron could just see over their shoulder enough to see the scene unfolding on the canvas surface, and his anger instantly cooled to surprised intrigue followed by something almost like excitement.

It was another scene of Middle-earth, almost an expansion of the original painting, or perhaps a different view from the same mountain top. It looked down over a mountain river, which twisted in roiling torment over several steps of rapids and a great waterfall. Mist coiled up from it into a hazy grey sky that Sauron could almost imagine against his skin. As with the first painting, there was some sense of sublime melancholy about the whole image which he could not quite name.

Sauron was no expert on the art of painting, but even to his untrained gaze, it was obvious that both paintings had been created by the same hand.

And with that thought, he realized that he was finally looking upon the mysterious painter about who's identity he had wondered countless times.

Overcome by curiosity, he moved forward, staring hard at the back of the painter’s head as he tried to catch a glimpse of whom it might be.

Momentarily, he forgot the power that his eyes had upon others: the burning, piercing discomfort they inflicted. The painter flinched, narrow shoulders shuddering briefly, and then they turned, far too quickly for Sauron to make any sort of retreat back into the trees and bushes.

[kamilone]

the idiots

I love them so bad... also the idea of chat noir using slang while speaking so sophisticated is funny

[kamilone]

(taps mic) where's my haleth/caranthir community

[kamilone]

WIP Wednesday

From The Air on Fire: “Fire that Warms”

They took their time getting their bearings, doing everything they could to remember who lived where and how to live off the land in Aman once more. 

“I only did this for you,” Maedhros finally said in front of high mallorn trees that blanketed much of the area. He put his hand to his throat. The hand that had once been severed, but now bore a scar as a reminder that he firmly believed he needed. 

“Just to hear your voice here…” Fingon said, leaning against his dearest, feeling the newly beating heart. He wanted to do a lot more, but chose to savor this moment. “Right now, that's all I care about.” 

[kamilone]

Silvergifting week – List of Prompts 2025

Day 1 (August 4): First meetings

Either a canon version, or your wildest AU take. What happens next?

Day 2 (August 5): Romance

Them. In a relationship. As spicy or soft as you want them to be. Enjoy!

Day 3 (August 6): Tension

Emotional stress or conflict in their relationship. Perhaps it is mutual pining, or growing suspicion? Or perhaps they are rivals? You decide.

Day 4 (August 7): Threesomes

Them - and someone else. This prompt can be used either for romantic or gen relationships.

Day 5 (August 8): Hurt/comfort and angst

Silvergifting week would not be complete without a healthy dose of hurt/comfort and angst. Comfort is optional.

Day 6 (August 9): Rings of Power

Today's prompt can be used in two ways. It is either the Rings itself, or Silvergifting inspired by the RoP television series.

Day 7 (August 10): Second chances

They deserve that, don't they? Post-canon, new beginnings.

These prompts are totally optional, they are just for inspiration. Late entries are always welcome.

This year, we don't have a separate Alternative Universe | Canon divergence day. You can post AU content for any prompt.

Silvergifting week started as a Silmarillion fandom event, but the event also welcomes fanworks inspired by the Rings of Power television series. Those can be posted for every prompt, but day 6 is a special day in celebration for the tv series. The entries will be tagged #trop for those who want to curate their experience.

[kamilone]

Day 7: Post-canon

New beginning. Valinor. Reconciliation. Recovery. Remembering the past.

@silvergiftingweek

__________________

Non-betaed fic under cut, will edit post sometime later, probably will post to AO3 later as well.

Unfortunately due to uni I haven't been able to participate in this as much as I would have liked.

Hope you'll enjoy my work!

Warnings: Allusion to violence but mostly vague? Tell me if you think i ought to add another.

How odd it was, that he kept the scar across his sternum. 

It was an oblong starburst shape, pink skin puckered and occasionally white, other scars long and thin laid on top. It was the size of a hand, stretching and claiming. 

Celebrimbir had purposefully kept all his scars before Sauron’s betrayal, even the ones he gained during his reign as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil. All the burns from forge accidents, the fumbling of a knife or two, the accidental broken bones or burns or stray exploding metal from experiments gone wrong. 

It all held memory, memory of the bad, the good, of the naive and foolish or the learned and understanding. 

He couldn’t wear jewllery, at least, not the amount he once wore as proud lord of the golden city, teeming with promises of more. Certainly no rings, too many uncertain memories and broken promises and trust. Stone he wore proudly as if it was some great rare jewel to the bafflement of everyone outside of previous mebers of Ost-in-Edhil. Even his own family could not fully understand his care and dedication for the art of stones. 

It meant something to him that they didn’t question his choices. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the emotions were but it was somewhere in the range of appreciation and a weary understanding. 

They didn’t treat him as a child anymore, young and tagging along their adventures with short stubby legs, wide eyed and all innocence. They didn’t treat him as a young child or even a young adult, certain in his skills and voice. They never knew him as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil, beloved by all that dwelt within her once sturdy walls. The lord that hosted and welcomed all of any kind, elf, dwarf, human and other. 

The problem with that was they didn’t know how to treat him at all. 

They loved him, Celebrimbor had no doubt, but the years had gone by, stretching their already tenuous bonds. But it hurt him to see the heistance in their hugs, their kisses and affection. Even grandmother Nerdanel hesitated in hugging him, helping him braid his hair, and even the simple clap on the back or shoulder. 

Of all the things he missed of Sauron it was the easy touch and affection that flowed between them. 

Valinor, for all the paradise it was with no danger and plenty of things to do, people to talk with, crafts to learn and create, was stifling. It was like the whole world walked on eggshells when he entered, even old acquaintances were overly gentle and eager to please. Or rather they were the ones most akward. Very few of Ost-in-Edhil’s people could meet him eye to eye and talk as they once had. Even those within his venerated Gwaith-i-mirdain had doubts. Only Ithril, Kazforza and Fingrithil treated him normally. 

Everyone else talked in circles, making leaps and jumps to avoid talking about Ost-in-Edhil, his death and everything in the Second Age to his face. 

It was infuriating. 

It was hurtful and condescending and he deeply, deeply missed Annatar and the conversations they would have, taboo and casual, anything and everything, no thought filtered and halting.

He loved his family he did. Even with the awful deeds they had done, they sought a path forward to atonement, dragging themselves from the sea of blood that bathed them all cleaning themselves with the forgiveness of thise they wrobed and accpeting those who could not. Celebrimbor was proud of them beyond words found in any language, maybe save the one spoken by the Valar. 

“Tyelpe?” His eldest uncle’s voice called softly from the entrance to his bedroom. “Can I come in?”

“I’m alright,” Celebrimbor hastily said, rising to his feet. It took an immense effort to tear his eyes from the mirror, or more accurately the reflection of the scar on his sternum. It was not the largest scar he had kept, not by far really. He wasn’t sure why he kept some of the scars himself, marks from whips and burns from balrogs and that one that came from a furious and heartbroken elf who heated up his sword with the symbol of his house etched onto the pommel and burned it where his heart laid under skin, flesh and bone.

“A silmaril for your thoughts?” Maedhros’ voice was light but concern tinged it. 

“Come in, come in,” Celebrimbor ushered him in, realising he hadn’t actually answered Maedhros. “Nothing important, just thinking of the past.”

That earned him one of Maedhros' very unnerving stares. The one that felt like it looked into one’s feä and judged it. A little like how Manwë and Namo’s gaze had felt. But his uncle judged that Celebrimbor was alright, not lying and not about to have any sort of panic attack or flashback. It had happened a few times. 

With Celebrimbor and pretty much all of their family, save Nerdanel whose worst mood would be an oppressive sort of worry. 

She had not participated nor started the whole kinslaying afterall. 

“You’ve been off for the last couple of days,” Maedhros quietly remarked, looking out of the window, gazing at the setting sun and the garden that they all had built and grown together. It had been healing for his father and uncles, knowing that their hands were not restricted to the mastery of the blade. Feanor merely grumbled about dirt under fingernails which amused them as his work in the forge arguably dirtied them more. 

“You did not flinch nor mourn at Sauron’s defeat, nor did you hesitate in greeting the little Hobbits that have taken residence amongst us,” he continued, “your behaviour after the aforementioned events were predictable, nightmares and regrets dredged up but not wholly destructive to your healing.” 

Celebrimbor kept silent, hands frozen on the back of a chair. Maedhros stood, still gazing out the window. It was the stance he took as a soldier, a general, standing at attention all wound up. Now too, for Ages of habits drove him to. 

“And yet,” his uncle sighed, turning to face him, “here we after all of this, the Fourth Age of Men starting strong and continuing, all of us free and healing, Sauron finally defeated-” His remaining hand came to rest on his stump - “yet still there us something troubling you, something new.”

He turned to face Celebrimbor.

“What is wrong?” Maedhros asked.

Celebrimbor knew the last few days, nay, weeks had him behaving oddly, something making him restless and jumpy despite being perfectly at peace for more than half an Age.

“I-” he started saying before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, are you here by yourself or with the others?”

Maedhros shrugged. 

Sighing, Celebrimbor sprawled across his bed, mussing up the cleaned linen. 

Of course they all elected Maedhros to be the one to ask him. Of course they did.

Silence filled his room.

On one hand, he had no desire to talk today, let alone about the odd presence that perplexed him. On the other, he knew his uncle well; an unending well of patience and a keenness that rivalled Manwë’s eagles. His uncle would wait until Celebrimbor was comfortable to talk, no matter how long it took. A day, a week, maybe even a yen if he needed to. 

He sighed again. 

“There’s… something.” Celebrimbor at last admitted. Frustrated by his inability to give forth direct answers, he gestured angrily at the ceiling. “ I mean, what I meant was-”

He tried to organise his thoughts, to explain the taste lingering in the air, the presence that occasionally brushed past, soft and light like how a cat moves around a person. To explain the smell of ash and regret. To explain it wasn’t a bad smell but relieving in a way. To explain whenever he entered the forge it felt  like home, then a warning, then a deep set regret, then a gentle but hesitant nudge forward, a sort of controlled eagerness. A penance, an acknowledgement. 

To explain the utter soul crushing relief that he was back. 

Back and diminished and suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh,” Celebrimbor exhaled. “Oh.”

He could see in his minds eye how his uncle inclined his head out of confusion, the rustle of clothing as Maedhros adjusted his position and waited for an explanation.

What could Celebrimbor say?

Should he say anything?

The Valar should know. Or maybe they already did? No. No, the presence would be like a grain of sand on the sea shore. Diminshed as such to be on par or even less than a mere elf’s.

He distantly registered his uncle walking out from his room, closing the door with a soft click. Like all the doors in the house, the lock had been refitted so that it could only be locked from the inside and not out. 

Celebrimbor stayed there as Arien fell, and Teleprion replaced her golden light with a silver one. 

The presence never approached him within his room, he realised with a start. Nor when he was together with his family, any one of them. He sat there calcuating and recalcuating the effects of taking ones own soul and using it as a material to be harnessed. 

Theoretically some of the power would be lost in the process of the making. Even more would be at its unmaking, an explosion of sorts but how could you measure whats lost with a material that never had been used as a one in the first place? 

Wpuld it be categorised as a death? Could Ainur die? Or would it be a restructuring rather than a death? However to restructure something, does it not mean a part or whole of the previous would have to ‘die’ in some way? To make space for the changed. 

That led to the Ages debated question of the Ships and Celebrimbor could admit, although rather reluctantly, that he was not suited for those lines of thinking. It usually resulted in a headache.

Whatever reason the remnants of Sauron had in seeking Celebrimbor out, and staying, could only be found with the Dark Lord himself. Or ex-dark lord? The maia certainly hadn’t done anything yet but be arguably helpful and encouraging. He also didn’t think Sauron had any remaining power left, not if he bypassed all of Valinor unnoticed to come to Formenos. 

It was surprisingly easy enough of a decision, to escape from his bedroom through the open window and into the darkened forge; his grandfather had gone to bed after countless hours of needling by his grandmother, his father was away with Celegorm and Ambarussa on a hunting trip recently departed and not due to return in another week or so. Maglor and Caranthir were in Torion, hosted by Elrond and Celebrian for the next few days too, and Maedhros no doubt had gone to bed once he thought that Celebrimbor would stay in bed for the rest of the day and night. He might have rivalled Sauron in cleverness and strategy but with his family, his guard was unconsciously lowered enough.

Celebrimbor didn’t quite like the nagging notion that his father and uncles had decided their presence would hinder his healing and understanding. 

His bare feet were silent as he slipped into the forge, lighting only a single candle and placed in the corner where no light could be seen from outside and no smell of smoke or incense could be detected form inside the house. 

He waited.

First he waited standing, leaning against the wall and looking at the flickering candlelight, watching the shadows dance and twirl in faint light amongst the darkness of the forge. Then he slid down to kneel and meditate, closing his eyes but not his ears. 

After a few minutes and countless breaths, he registered the faintest brush against his feä. He kept steady, keeping his own feä from responding and reaching. Much like a cat, he thought in wry amusement though he allowed none to show on his fana. 

Soon it grew stronger, the barest brushes becoming more persistent and more present. It reminded him of how cats demanded attention, how they took to warm sunlight, fires or presences. He wondered how conscientious the action was on Annatar’s behalf. Sauron’s that is. 

Celebrimbor. 

At last, Celebrimbor thought. He smiled and responded sweetly, Sauron.

A pause and he could feel the other presence debate on what might have been called a tactical retreat. Or, since Celebrimbor was feeling rather ruthless as of now, cowardly flee.

He reached out to the maia and offered up a memory. A recollection of tangled feelings, of grief and mourning for a friend and foe, for longing of the presence of someone who finally, finally he felt harmony with. Who destroyed him as much as brought him to life. 

Sauron shrank from the echoes that stretched between them. A quiet but no less powerful, I’m sorry came forth from the unhoused spirit.

Celebrimbor wandered how many times Sauron had said that before and had genuinely meant it. He wandered how often he himself had longed to hear those words, to hear the acknowledgement that he, the all powerful maia supposedly better than all Elder, was wrong.

Victory tasted like bloodied dirt in his mouth, dry, coopery. Inescapable. 

I love you, Celebrimbor thought.

You loved me, Annatar corrected. 

Eru damned fool, Celebrimbor was going to find a way to give this formless spirit a void-damned fana if it meant he could punch him. 

And now he was wandering about the mechanics that allowed a fana to be operated. He sighed. Of course he would have the strangest and appealingly challenging ideas due to Sauron. 

I do not say things lightly; my choice of tenses was purposeful. Celebrimbor admonished. 

For a long moment he was sure Sauron had fled. 

Then the hint of utter confusion, horror and an unwanted relief touched his feä and he felt deeply, deeply satisfied.

Maybe it might have bordered on smug but he quite rightly deserved to.

Why?

Why not? He countered just to be contrary. 

Sauron snapped back, roiling tension and anger and something that seemed like so much hope it hurt. Tyelperinquar! I ripped and ground our home into the earth, I burnt our people, I tortured you-

Sauron shuddered, regret clear in his tone and feä, alongside a deep, deep longing that matched Celebrimbor’s own. 

Nothing can repair what hurt you have dealt, Celebrimbor remarked sharply, to you or ours. To the countless thralls and orcs that still suffer now. To my family and our friends. He softened. But that does not render what we once had and now could have moot. 

But why would you choose-

“Is it a choice?” Celebrimbor whispered out loud, disturbing the silence that had descended softly onto the forge and house. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the candleflame had petered out, the wick still slightly smoldering. 

He sighed, not feeling Sauron’s presence anymore. His back ached and he was cold.

Brilliant red hair caught Arien’s early rays. 

“That wasn’t directed at me, was it.” His eldest uncle remarked sitting crossed legged on the anvil.  

Celebrimbor yelped. 

[kamilone]

Page 65 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which a new year rolls across Paris, and two weary heroes watch the fireworks together... 🎆✨

Index | Start | Prev | Next (coming soon!)

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[kamilone]

when i first designed erestor 3 years back i wasnt totally aware of his potential half-elf status, and since then ive come across some more fanon interpretations of him being haleth and caranthir's kid which i really liked!!!! so ive decided to rework him a little by combining my original lore for him into this concept 👉👈 i ended up getting carried away on whole different tangent with his backstory which ive summarised down below HAHA

tldr to expand on some key points under the cut:

born in F.A. 371 to haleth and caranthir; his parents' romance is short but passionate, and while many of the haladin are initially unsure about the nature of this union, they dont oppose it. for 4 years they live an unconventional but happy life together

haleth leaves thargelion in F.A. 375 and raises erestor with her people once they resettle. he's too young to remember much about caranthir. throughout his childhood she never tells him who his father is, but he also never really feels the need to ask.

he's captured in F.A. 460 (40 years after his mother's death) and escapes in F.A. 510. two years later, he finally finds refuge in Amon Ereb-- six years after the deaths of caranthir, celegorm and curufin in the 2nd kinslaying.

is tasked by maedhros to assist maglor with elrond and elros' education after they're taken in following the 3rd kinslaying in F.A. 538. he becomes a weird mix of a nanny/older brother/teacher figure to them, and a strange but sweet bond forms between them.

entrusted to protect elrond and elros following the break out of the war of wrath. he leads them to the Host of the Valar, where the twins are given the choice of the half-elven; to his surprise, he's afforded this choice as well, and decides to remain elven out of compassion for elrond after elros chooses mortality.

remains by elrond's side to watch over him for most of the 2nd age. during this time he resides in lindon as a healer, translator and archivist; later joins elrond in imladris, and partakes in the war of the last alliance as a combat medic.

in the 3rd age, is beset with sea-longing after what he regards to be a long and tiresome existence; he's also filled with guilt for being unable to help elrond heal celebrian’s psychological wounds, and contemplates following her back to Valinor. ultimately decides to stay back a bit longer, however, and lingers until after sauron’s defeat when the rest of the elves finally depart for the West. 

that's just a very condensed version but one day i hope to explore in some 4th age stuff where he finds out who his dad is...?! or will he?!?! who knows lol

[kamilone]

uncle nolo and little maedhros shenanigans is a concept that lives rent free in my head and i had the draft for this comic sitting in my head since november 🕺 it likely takes place a few years after nelyo was born before nolo married, and unlike arafinwe who leapt shamelessly into unclehood, he was a lot more reserved and hesitant to even interact with his nephew for fear of deepening feanor's distaste even more HHAHA

bonus in which nolo's fears are proven true:

the cute sparkle bg i used can be found on cartoon network's website !

[kamilone]

was real busy this week so no time to draw, but i had some little chibi heads lying around that i didnt have a real use for so i wanted to try my hand at some character relationship charts 😌 i used to really love reading them when they would be compiled for old jrpg or visual novel games i was into, so i thought it'd be fun to explore some finwean dynamics i personally tend to lean on in my fics n comic wooo

[kamilone]

Baby Curvo being cute while Tyelko continues being a menace.

Finally finished part VI! One more to go (I‘m scared). Lowkey gonna be relieved to finish this series… It turned into way too many people for one drawing very fast lmao!

I also change the background approximately 5 times because I never liked it. I still don’t but I also don’t want to keep working on it so whatever. I blurred it a lot haha

part I&II

part III

part IV

part V

[kamilone]

Russingon time traveling idea

At the moment of their respective deaths, Maedhros and Fingon both wake up in the Years of the Trees, before Melkor is released from Mandos. Unexpectedly their marriage bond also travels back in time with them. There they discover something is little different in this new version of the song, you could make it that Fingon is now female or Maedhros can be genderbent/trans depending on your preferences.

They both soon become tired of being dragged into their fathers’ feud, and unable to bear the future they came from, Fingon and Maedhros decide to vanish. They escape into the uncharted wilds of Valinor, in forests and valleys untouched by the Valar’s gaze. There, they begin a quiet life of peace and eventually, they have children too!

They are eventually discovered by one of their siblings/cousins for maximum drama. And cue the family drama and angst, kudos for writing the reactions of Fëanor and Fingolfin.

This AU can go in any direction—domestic fluff, high-stakes political intrigue, character studies, drama-laced romance, or even an attempt to change the future. The tone can range from soft and bittersweet to angsty or epic, depending on where you take it.

[kamilone]

Yay, my favourite potato! Who would give Din the scariest shovel talk: Leia, Chewbacca or R2?

droids and angry wookies are no problem for a seasoned bounty hunter like din! the first one though...

(commission info // tip jar!)

[kamilone]

okay but where's a silvergifting fic where Tyelpe's pregnancy kink led to more or less avoidance of war and numerous deaths?

first one is an accident, before Annatar is set to depart for Mordor and make the One Ring. Becoming pregnant moves the timeline of his plans, to his utter annoyance, but he's not opposed to being showered with his husband's affections. And their son is beautiful, with a tuft of Tyelpe's silken dark hair and the same amber eyes of his present guise.

but then the second is also an accident (or so Annatar likes to convince himself and not Eru listening that one time where he pictures what he and Tyelpe's next child will look like next), and so his plans are shot. Again. Except he finds himself occupied by two newborns, a girl and a boy, with identical features burnished copper hair and gray eyes.

the third time he falls pregnant, Annatar suspects that it's a ploy of Tyelpe to prevent him from leaving. Annatar promises that this will be the last one, and curses at his husband and his dick in the middle of his harrowing delivery of not one, not another twins, but rather triplets of fairer hair than their twin older siblings, and dark eyes with flecks of gold.

he did promise that the triplets will be the last, but the joys of fatherhood with the added urge of inebriation on their firstborn's fiftieth nameday celebration puts Tyelpe in a rather experimental mood, leaving his husband full and wanting before the next day rolls in. Annatar sleeps knowing it will take, but he's too exhausted and sated to fucking care. When the year's spring mist arrives, there's another little girl introduced to the family.

when Annatar starts to think of leaving (though more in the lines of setting his affairs in Mordor in order to abandon the original plan because at the rate he and Tyelpe are producing, he might as well leave it to their children to take over the Middle Earth), the threat of castration is not enough to discourage Tyelpe from taking him in their forge, where their boy who greets them at turn of the year was conceived.

a spiteful part of Annatar takes glee over the fact that he and Tyelpe have a brood of their own strong children who each have the potential to grow greater than any other. Forget Luthien and her beauty, for she has nothing on his and Tyelpe's eight lovely children. If Eru and the Valar are not smiting them yet for populating Middle Earth with half-maia and half-Noldorian as much as possible, then they must be doing something right together.

And it's all definitely worth it as he pictures Feanor rolling in the halls of Mandos while his grandson and his enemy pump out children in far greater number compared to him.

[kamilone]

Fëanor’s hand settles on the back of his neck and squeezes, feeling nearly as much a threat as a comfort. “If you were not already grievously injured,” Fëanor says lowly, voice dark and furious, “I would punch you.” “It is a good thing I am grievously injured then.” He leans more of his weight on Fëanor. 

Fanart for chapter 4 of "you're in the wind, i'm in the water" by @atlantablack

If you like Fingolfin, Fëanor and time travel you should definitely check this fic out!