natakeentrash

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Shut your up.

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guys who grew up in the most sterile environment in the galaxy and guy who didn't

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The Fate Of The Silmarils, my digital art.

This story is about Elwing, who turned into a white bird. She took the stone to the sky. And about the two brothers who disappeared with the stones. One in the sea, the other in a fiery pit.

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Devotion and Desertion @russingon-week day two

Plus (Gen Rated) drabble below. Or read it on Ao3

Sanskrit: Svayaṃvara -> english: self choice -> Quenya: self - immo, choice - cilmë, wedding - vestalë -> imcilmë vestalë

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It comes as no surprise to anyone that Turukáno garlands Elenwë of the Vanyar at the Imcilmë Vestalë. They have been courting for several years, a slow pace by the reckoning of the Eldar.

Russandol wanders the hall, his garland of needleflower and hibiscus almost invisible against his red attire. It does not invite speculation. Still, the speculation is inevitable for any noble of age, even some not yet of age are eyed as viable prospects for an alliance.

His brothers are similarly attempting to blend in, except for Kanafinwë who, of course, has fashioned a garland entirely of jasmine and gold beads, as though he intends to make a match of a Vanya himself. It is a bold statement, even for him.

Fëanáro destains the tradition, despite choosing Nerdanel at his very first Imcilmë Vestalë and causing a massive argument among the suitors by avoiding all the appropriate selections. Tales of him veering past the many assembled nobles to place his garland over the head of a simple smith’s daughter still inspire songs, as do tales of Nerdanel weaving a magic gown to enchant him, or answering Manwë’s riddles to attend the Imcilmë Vestalë.

Within her own household it is well known that Fëanáro invited her there himself and was perfectly clear with his intentions, but that does not make for entertaining songs.

Fëanáro's sons have grown all too used to hearing a familiar tune hummed by hopeful maidens as they pass by, as the Valimar guards have grown all too used to plucking the uninvited from the high walls of the great hall during a festival.

Findekáno finds him in the crowd, his arm slipping around Russo’s waist, his head falling against his shoulder. He brings with him a strong scent of flowers, almost enough to cloak his own honey-wax and leather scent.

How Maitimo wishes they could be in the stables instead, saddling the horses for a long ride over Túna’s low hills, to sleep on bedrolls under the light of Telperion away from courtly rules and taboos. Instead it will be feasting and singing and every cousin and sibling wandering in and out of each other’s rooms in the Vanyarin palace with no space for smuggled kisses and hidden caresses. Not to begin to speak of Ainur lingering around every corner.

‘No one catch your eye, cousin?’ Findekáno jests. He might have been taken for sincere by anyone else but his bedmate.

‘Alas, my heart remains with my family,’ Russandol dares to laugh and loops his own arm over Findekáno’s shoulder. ‘Are you so weary already?’

His garland is plush with hydrangeas and delphiniums, dotted with striking passionflowers and beaded with lapis lazuli at the back. Russo plucks at a bead and Finno swats his hand away before he can crush the delicate flowers further.

‘Turukáno has absorbed all the energy for his own celebration.’

‘My congratulations to your household.’

‘Oh yes, thank you, we receive them very gladly indeed.’ Findekáno fakes a yawn. ‘Is it over with yet? I need a drink.’

Intoxicants are not allowed at the Imcilmë Vestalë, as the choice is meant to be uninfluenced. As though that stops families from forcing together a desired match until they cave to the pressure.

‘Soon enough now.’ Russo presses a kiss to the side of his forehead and reaches out his free hand to spin Írissë as she passes in a smiling blur of white and blue.

‘You know, I heard talk of matching the pair of you.’ Finno looks up at him slyly.

‘Me? With Írissë? Ridiculous.’

‘I’m quite serious; I believe the reasoning was an alliance to soothe the warring Noldor families.’

‘Turcafinwë will be glad to hear the attention has lifted from him.’

‘Not all; they want him with young Artanis.’

Russo chokes on air, and has to let go Findekáno entirely for how hard he is laughing, doubled over with mirth, tears in his eyes.

Recognising his brother drawing near he straightens and gestures him over to join the nonsense.

‘Makalaurë, come here, you must know of the awful scheming Finno has overheard!’

———

After the Imcilmë Vestalë the attendees walk out to Ezellohar to sing by the Trees and get, very necessarily, drunk.

Findaráto and Kanafinwë have already managed to procure several bottles and try to entourage him to join taunting the newly engaged couple with the bawdiest songs they can invent.

But Russandol demurs, though he steals a bottle from them, and goes to seek out Findekáno, who was parted from him in the merriment.

The bright lights of Valimar fade away into the peace of Lorien, the long tresses of the willow trees blowing in a gentle breeze, the tranquil lake beyond.

Findekáno stands looking out over the water, braids hanging black and gold down his back. Under the silver light he glows with warmth.

His garland lies discarded on a nearby bench.

‘You knew to find me here,’ Findekáno says, the smile obvious in his voice before he turns and casts its full radiance upon Russo.

‘You know I dislike the crowds.’

He uncorks the purloined bottle and refills the empty goblet Finno holds out to him.

They sit and share the miruvórë as they have a hundred times before.

Findekáno’s fingers are warm, the wine cool and Russandol feels himself suddenly overwhelmed with affection.

His garland is off his neck and in his hands, held out to garland Finno, before he has fully thought it through.

‘I may not yet declare it before the gods and our families, but know that my heart’s choice is and always will be you.’ He confesses, more earnest than he means to be.

‘Oh, Russo, I’m devastated,’ But Findekáno’s eyes shine with affection and with mirth. ‘You beat me to it!’

He lifts his own garland from beside him and offers it out haplessly.

Russo scoffs at his antics.

He garlands Finno and ducks his head in return and to his surprise feels a tear trace his cheek.

On close examination he realises that nestled in the all the blue flowers, in the joints of the garland are uncut rubies. Ah, so Findekáno had planned it as he made it, and Russo simply stumbled upon the idea in the moment. How unlike each of them.

‘I’m not so upset as that!’ Finno laughs, his hands cupping Russo’s face.

‘It’s happiness, fool.’ Russo growls, unable to sound as harsh as he wishes when his chest is so full of love.

‘Fool you’d wed.’ Finno grins and kisses him.

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Stay With Me

Written based on #130 from the prompt list posted here.

“I’ll stay while you sleep. Nothing’s gonna happen while I’m here, okay?”

Pairing: Maedhros & Fingon Rated: T Tags: Referenced canon trauma/torture, hurt/comfort

The fire outside the tent crackled low, a soft sizzle in the damp air. Rain tapped against the canvas above them in a rhythm that should’ve been soothing, but Maedhros was sitting upright on the edge of the cot like sleep was a predator lurking just out of sight.

His long hair was unbraided, falling in tangles over his shoulder, half-shadowing the hollowed curve of his cheekbone. Fingon had tried to convince him to lie down twice already. Once gently. The second time with an arched eyebrow and the pointed reminder that even a son of Fëanor would not be immune to collapse.

Neither had worked.

Maedhros sat still, rigid as carved stone, his remaining hand clenched in the blanket beside him. The stump of his right arm, carefully bandaged, rested in his lap. His skin was pale, drawn tight with pain and something deeper, something quiet, clawing, and old. A memory still bleeding.

Fingon knelt beside the cot.

"You're exhausted," he said softly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from Maedhros’ face. “You need to sleep.”

Maedhros turned toward him, but didn’t meet his gaze. His eyes were far away- still chained to the cliffs, Fingon thought bitterly, even now.

"I can't," Maedhros said hoarsely. “Every time I close my eyes I’m there again. I feel-” His breath caught, “-the wind. The iron. The silence.”

Fingon’s throat ached as he swallowed back the emotions that wanted to escape at that confession. He pressed his hand gently over Maedhros’, grounding them both. “You’re here now,” he said. “You’re safe. And you’re not alone.”

Maedhros didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.

With slow, deliberate care, Fingon sat on the floor beside where Maedhros was sitting, cross-legged. He leaned his shoulder lightly against the edge of the cot.

“I’ll stay,” he said. “While you sleep. Nothing’s going to happen while I’m here. I swear it.”

Maedhros looked at him then. Just looked- like he was trying to see through time, through the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. Then, without a word, he lay back onto the cot. The motion was stiff, almost reluctant, but it was something. A beginning.

The fingers of his remaining hand unfurled slightly, brushing against Fingon’s sleeve as if to check he was real.

Fingon caught it in his own and held it, warm and steady.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, for the first time in years, Maedhros slept through the night without waking.

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very much a fan of this post so i felt compelled to make my own. print it out and give it to your coworkers or hang it in your cubicle and go "don't make me tap the sign"

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Listen, listen, there are many weird and puritanical things about the way Tolkien writes about elf sexuality. But this is just absolutely hilarious and gives the opportunity for sooo much funny shit.

I really wished I knew who originally made the post, but I just had the screenshot on my phone to snicker with my sister about.

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What a beautiful thing to feel this young again.

Maedhros closes his eyes as a wave of warmth rises through their shared bond. Doubts wash away, leaving him marvelling at the sensation. To see his memories, hear his thoughts, feel his emotions.

It casts the world in kaleidoscopic perspective. Gods, how he missed him. Missed this.

How effortlessly Fingon tears down his defences – the walls Maedhros built so carefully to shield his mind and cage his shadows. But to whom, if not Fingon, could he lay bare his scarred heart?

No constraints. No illusions. Just them. Just this, once again.

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“Do you want to make a stop for Batburger?”

[Incoherent concussed Jason noises]

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Glorfindel with his big cool white horse and luscious hair <3

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*insert something poetic here idk*

Awhile back I saw a photo on Pinterest and was immediately hyperbeamed with inspiration. Unfortunately, it was during finals week, so I only just now got around to acting on that. Enjoy the product of that :3

Inspo/Reference pic under the cut!

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post-431 conversation

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Red Robin fanart that I made some time ago and forgot to post here 🙃

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Fox and some office Tookas! I felt like drawing some animals, and I love these silly-looking critters.

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gave them impractical but very pretty embellishments hehe

additional notes below the cut:

CODY: I was not expecting Cody to end up looking like a paladin, but it suits him. Ironically, the more I designed him, the more I ended up appreciating his actual design. Something about how he deliberately does not wear any major embellishments reflects his personality as competent and straightforward. He doesn't need any embellishments or fancy maneuvers to command respect, his work speaks for itself.

Also gave Cody a Big Gun (TM) because it looks way cooler than the teeny blaster he usually uses. This is the very first time I've ever had to research firearms for my art because some gun nerd worked on the series and now every single damn blaster is an actual known model and design rather than just being a generic long black rectangle.

WOLFFE: Self-explanatory

FOX: Really struggled with Fox. I love his default design because it already has very little white and I didn't want to hide his fancy pattern. I was originally going to go for a kitsune approach but I was struggling to give his helmet a fox pattern, especially since I didn't want to remove his visor (Wolffe's designers really popped off with his helmet, idk how they managed to fit the wolf design on it).

Ended up giving him the fox pelt shrug, cape, and tassels because I imagine that the Coruscant Guard is extremely public facing, especially in the Senate, so a certain level of decorum and dressiness is expected of them, kind of like the King's Guard at Buckingham Palace.

Shout out to Hot Toys, whose action figures are so beautifully designed I could actually use them as refs for art. Double shout out to them for making every single clone, including the Bad Batch, actually look like Temuera Morrison or derivative of him.

((( I'm sorry TCW but you cannot convince me that the 2008 clone models you made and then got stuck with look anything like Temuera Morrison. ))))

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refugee fam beach day feat. elwing and elros :)