nolohini

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Barbie (2023) — dir. Greta Gerwig

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Fingon flaw: Short 😔

Point out a flaw of my muse

--- "I know! Turu and Arko stole my height." He looks at his absolutely gigantic brothers with a huff. They're lounging like massive cats nearby, and Arakáno has the audacity to smirk. "That's alright," Findekáno continues, taking a dramatic pause. "I'm the prettiest."

Exeunt pursued by two bears.

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Aredhel flaw: Self deprecating

Send in a flaw my muse has

--- Aredhel laughs, unable to resist from doing so. "Oh darling, I expected worse." She says in a dramatic wave of her arms. "Self depreciating? Well it's a dirty job but someone has to do it. Who else will keep me humble? Though you know," she leans down as if imparting a secret. "You're very lucky you told me this now instead of last week. Otherwise you'd be tasked with writing my obituary."

Another laugh, this time edged in a bit of insanity. "You know what would be hilarious if you had? You could've put on my tombstone: She died doing what she did best. Letting herself down!" The laugh that follows would probably be concerning for anyone who cared, shrill and maniacal. She can't help but picture such a tombstone. Dark humor finds a way.

[nolohini]

Point out a flaw of my muse and see their reaction!

[nolohini]

𝔊𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠 𝔄𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 (x)

[nolohini]

Olivia Laing, The Lonely City

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as a sidenote i just found this and damn. Aredhel coded.

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Turgon sprawled out on the couch, deliberately laying his head in the lap of whoever was sitting there, he didn't check he just did it. His head ached and he shifted so he was loosely curled on the couch instead of sprawled on it. "If anyone asks for me they can come back tomorrow."

---- Elenwë put down her tea and book upon the end table, golden brow furrowed, eyes showing evident concern. Her hands were on him at once, one upon his forehead where she gently rubbed to his temple, the other on his neck and shoulders, searching knowingly for knots of stress. She bent and kissed him as best she could, worry laid within the touch, a calming thrum sent through their bond.

Across the room Irissë walked in to Elenwë putting a finger to her lips in signal, then a motion to a folded blanket on a chaise. Irissë nodded and obediently fetched the blanket and returned. More gestures. She needed help.

"Up for a moment, my love." Elenwë softly instructed, pulling Turgon up to sitting ( into Irissë's shoulder who held him and patiently massaged his scalp. Elenwë turned with her back to the arm of the couch, propped up by pillows. A nod, Irissë pushed him back into her arms, this time with his head against her chest, and with carefulness the sister removed his crown, his boots, and laid a blanket over them. Elenwës hands were instantly upon his neck and scalp again, seeking to ease muscles and mind.

Irissë checked the teapot, scrunching her nose at the lack of it in spite of the pot being capable of holding more than one cup. Elenwë could only offer a sheepish smile and shrugged. "I'll get you some more." Irissë whispered. Kissing Turgon on the temple, she grabbed the tray and left with a promise of return and that his schedule would be canceled.

"Do you want to talk about it, orenya?" She asked at last, hugging his head for a moment.

@malkuvoitenoldoran

[nolohini]

FIREFLY PATH Liquid Dress if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways

[nolohini]

For the Silm asks: Turgon or more Eol. Wouldn’t say no to any of the Feanorians either.

Turgon was fun. dressing him totally in white distinguishes him nicely from Fingon. (although if i were him I'd be insulted to never get called 'The white Lord of the Noldor')

I also have a Eöl and teenaged Maeglin pic in the works that I thought was finished but really needs some reworks. so you may see some eöl in the future.

[nolohini]

biting still counts cause she’s biting Arakano

Inbox Answered---

--- Rest had come at last, if it could be called rest. It was silence, it was calm, it was empty. Arvegil looked out on the sea with memories piled at his door, things he'd sworn he'd parse out another day, when ruin and war was not in the forefront of his mind. Today was that day, but not because he'd wanted it. It had begun with one thing: he'd called Artanáro Findekáno. It had been a simple mistake, an easy mistake, he'd even done it before. But now, without wrath barging in, he could not find the distraction that shoved it back into its room and lock the door.

Grief had hit him full force, and laid bare every shard, every cut, every scar he'd ignored. His heart and soul were an empty battlefield, where the corpses of everyone he loved had been hacked to pieces. Some eyes were open, staring unseeing at the sky, as if their bodies from the waist were not twenty feet away ( Findekáno, his father, Turukáno, his guard, the Gondolindrim ) others eyes were closed as they lay out for burial, ( Irissë, her son, Aikanáro, Angaráto, Finderáto ) and last were those whose faces were obscured. He'd forgotten them, forgotten what they looked like, soldiers under his command he only knew a moment, children, women, soldiers, healers. Even Fëanáros sons were among these, save Maedhros who he still could see leaping to his death, and around them in this battlefield were their mother, his mother, uncle Arvo, his wife--

In the middle of his battlefield was an empty grave, and he knew it was for him. He had robbed it of its claim, throttled it until it had let him live, but what a price to pay. It whispered that one day he'd fill it, it was his destiny to do so. Escape could never last.

The feeling of hands upon his neck came up from behind, along with a familiar scent that pulled him from the grave and the battlefield. He was back in the chair, leaned comfortably against pillows, at the sea beside Lindon with Eryndis behind him. He breathed, gulping air as if he'd been drowining, and when he felt her teeth give an affectionate bite to his neck, he softly laughed.

"Come here my little wolf." He pulled her hand from his neck and out, knowing she would follow, and drew her into his lap.

He was here because of her now. The last war would have killed him through either grief or reckless anger. His hands pulled her close, until she rested on his chest, tightly held as he banished all thoughts of sorrow back into their box. Their bond was forged in fire, and he sank into it to find his comfort beside her heart. She was equal, his opposite, the artist to his warrior. Now he could give her the safety and gentle calm he'd always wanted to, every aspect that had been stolen by darkness. He would fight them all if he had to, but never again would let it touch her.

The sea rose and retreated, sounds of squawking seagulls overhead, but he had laid his heart against hers, leaned his head and kissed her brow. Strong arms forever at her service, circled protectively, and to keep her there against his chest, hidden teeth and claws ( bloodstained as they were ) would defend what softness still lie within her. The beast purred at her presence, smiled, and asked:

"How was your painting today?"

[nolohini]

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THE TUDORS 2.02 • “Tears of Blood”

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Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a diary entry featured in Rapture & Melancholy; The Diaries of Edna St. Vincent Millay

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The need to be held and fucked

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I would never knock anyone for making or enjoying art where aredhel kills eol - i completely get that these takes can be enormously meaningful to people in lots of ways. I’ll admit to rolling my eyes a little more at interpretations where she’s like enthusiastically cheering on a male proxy (usually celegorm, turgon, or maeglin) to do it for her, but I do still get the appeal. But for ME (the most important person in the world, of course) the most interesting, meaningful and multifaceted interpretation of aredhel is also the easiest to extrapolate from canon - that she didn’t and wouldn’t want eol harmed, even though he’s hurt her and maeglin so much. I get that this is uncomfortable to a lot of readers but there’s millions of victims who would never ever want their abusers dead for all sorts of reasons, there’s so many victims who will never stop caring about their abusers, and these stories are important and worthy of telling too.

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Irissë laughed, reaching out for Him in case he stumbled again. "Oh Eöl," she caught his hand and pulled him closer. "I love you too."

🍸 eol tell your wife you love her please

Question a drunk elf

"Irisseeeeeë...." he laughed, stumbling to his feet. He dropped his glass, but did not seem to notice. "I loooove you."