#Caranthir refused to go

[isilwhore]

Maedhros and Maglor at the Mereth Aderthad

(They are sloshed AF and having a good time for once)

[feanorionapologist]

When the Nolofinwions & Arafinwions show up at Mithrim gates:

Maglor: I’m going to take our brothers back inside. I’m not saying this is an angry mob that wants to dethrone you, but if it is, I don’t want our brothers to see it.

Caranthir: Don’t worry, Maedhros. Maglor will come back out with a broken bottle if you need him though.

Maedhros: thanks.

[amethysttribble]

I've decided this is basically Maglor Sand's attitude towards killing people.

[raven5056]

●For blood ye shall render blood●

"𝘛𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭; 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.

𝘠𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩'𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘸."

– J.R.R. Tolkien Quenta Silmarillion, Of the Flight of the Noldor

Characters in order:

Maedhros

Maglor

Caranthir

Celegorm

Amras

Amrod

Fëanor

Curufin

(The Silmarillion)

I refuse to say how much time went into this, and I am AMAZED I didn't lose motivation halfway

(Cheers to all the details no one is ever going to acknowledge)

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Ok a lil hc for why Curufin is so close to Fëanor and why the twins went to Beleriand.

So idk how many of you have seen twin pregnancies, and no doubt many of you will know more than me. But the ones I have seen were *exhausting* for the mother. Constantly tired, unable to do a whole lot, usually in some kind of pain be it back, ribs from the kicking babies, legs, hips, you name it. Not to mention the nausea. Nerdanel would have been absolutely shattered for most of her pregnancy, but by this point Fëanor is confident enough (has been reassured by Nerdanel over the last five pregnancies) that he’s ok leaving her to her own devices.

What this means though is Nerdanel doesn’t have a lot of energy to spare looking after her other children. Caranthir is old enough to happily stick with his brothers or sit with his embroidery, but little Curvo is around 5/6 equivalent and is very attached to his parents. Nerdanel suddenly not being able to do much creates a distance, neither of their faults, in which Fëanor steps in. This time spent with his father shapes Curufin’s interests and personality to make him embody his mother name. Atarinkë indeed, in more than just looks.

Now this temporary distance that should’ve started to close by the time Ambarussa were two or three is furthered because now is when Fëanor and Nerdanel start getting into arguments. At this point they’re small spats at most, nothing too serious, but Curufin who’s very attached to his now primary caregiver and distanced from the other, immediately takes Fëanor’s side. Again at this point both parents are still trying to get him close to his mother again, but it’s not going well and with how heated both parents get, it’s difficult to keep disagreements behind closed doors.

Then Curvo becomes a teen and it’s his father above all else. The time for change is passing, Fëanor and Nerdanel have started to spend days apart, days in which Maedhros and Maglor often take care of the twins so their mother can have a break, and Curufin sees this as another sign his mother isn’t worthy of their family. By the time we get to the banishment to Formenos, Curvo refuses to speak to Nerdanel, and whilst his brothers still send letters and occasionally go out to meet her, he burns the letters as soon as they come.

On a side note, the twins end up very very close to their oldest brothers because of this. It’s why they decide to go to Beleriand: their brothers, their primary caregivers, are all going. So they are too. They don’t know their mother well enough to stay.

Disclaimer: I adore Nerdanel and think she’s absolutely brilliant. You have to have some guts to not only marry Fëanaro Curufinwë, but then stick to your guns and refuse to follow him. And successfully wrangle seven very skilled, very opinionated sons. She’s the best and was no doubt an amazing mother, but the way things turned out just didn’t work in anyone’s favour.

Also to still be known as ‘the wise’ after marrying Fëanor and everything he did? Insane.

Fëanor was also a great father ok. At least until Morgoth really got in his head towards the end of their time in Aman. There’s a reason all his kids followed him to Beleriand.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Assorted thoughts on the Silm AU where all the elves are hobbits:

Eol isn't a bad dude here he's just a hobbit who was raised by men and is therefore very unaccustomed to Hobbit social norms. He takes Aredhel on their honeymoon and everyone think he's kidnapped her. Aredhel loves the trip though, even when Celegorm interrupts it to try and "rescue" her.

Gondolin is a neighborhood that hosts really awesome exclusive parties that very few people get invited too and no one can ever find. Turgon runs all the parties but no one's ever been able to get any information out of him about it.

Maeglin did once get kidnapped by Morgoth and blackmailed for party location information. He showed up and it was the most awkward night anyone there had ever experienced. He didn't even steal anything he just loomed over everyone and made insensitive comments about how short they were. No one blamed Maeglin of course, and he was fine afterwards. Turgon called Morgoth several mildly rude things at the party though so you know he was at the absolute end of his rope.

Caranthir is an aspiring textile merchant who often does trade outside of the Shire. During one of his trips, he meets a dwarfish warrior named Haleth and they end up getting married.

One day two very lost, sad dwarves named Tuor and Turin show up in the Shire and become the absolute talk of the town, especially when Idril (who has completely refused the many gentlehobbits who tried to court her) almost immediately runs off and marries him (say it with me, good for her!) Soon afterwards they have adorable little dwobbit Earendil.

Said Earendil, as a young adult, takes a perilous boat journey up the river to seek the elvish king, Manwe, to tell him that Morgoth is being a huge dick. Manwe is confused about this, because Morgoth was released from elf-jail with a guard who was supposed to stop him from doing anymore crimes. (He got imprisoned first because of an incident involving public drunkenness and tree-related vandalism)

The guard was Sauron. He did not, in fact, stop Morgoth from committing more crimes.

So Manwe and the other elvish nobles (the Valar in the original Silm) go down to the Shire, apprehend Morgoth, and return the stuff he stole.

As an apology for letting Morgoth cause so much chaos down there, Manwe leaves one of his finest warriors to guard the Shire. And that is how Eonwe ends up becoming the first elf ever to be deemed a hobbit-friend.

[doodle-pops]

When They See You In Someone Else’s Clothes

Characters: Maedhros, Turgon, Finrod, Ecthelion, Gil-Galad

A/N: Just lovable elves going green and denying it…typical of them.

Synopsis: When their friend or brother lent you their clothes to keep you warm or covered, and your lover caught the green-eyed monster.

Masterlist | Navigation

Maedhros — you wore Maglor’s old cloak

• He had just returned from an early council ride, dismounting with boots coated in snow and mud and hair slightly damp when he caught sight of you by the fire, cocooned in a long, deep-blue velvet cloak embroidered with silver thread that looked...suspiciously familiar.

• His whole body practically paused mid-step, and the usual composed ginger expression flickered, just a twitch—but enough for his brothers to smirk knowingly in the background.

• He tried to be subtle, really (failed). But the way his eyes narrowed at the shoulder seams like he was trying to measure them against your frame in such a not subtle manner.

• “That’s not mine,” he muttered grumpily, definitely unable to hide his discomfort. “Clearly.”

• You merely rolled your eyes at the bubbling of his little green monster and told him that his brother, Maglor, gave you the cloak when you left the archives because you didn’t have yours with you and you were cold.

• Knowing Maedhros, he said nothing, except a twitch of his eyes and probably a stroke from the way his jaw was clenched.

• All he could do was stand there and glare at the cloak like it had personally offended him. You could almost hear him mentally interrogating every hem: Why is it still on? Surely you’re warm now? Why haven’t you taken it off?

• He didn’t say anything more—at first. But then he casually added, “I don’t know why he still has that old thing. It’s probably infested with harp string fibres and misplaced poetry.”

• “You sound like the green-eyed monster over your brother caring for me,” you laughed. Clearly humoured by his ridiculous jealousy over a cloak. “I’m not jealous,” he said, so very, very calmly.

• Guaranteed, the next morning, a folded russet cloak with a faint scent of pine and iron was left on your chair. Not a word. No note. But it was Maedhros-sized, finely stitched, warm, and unmistakably for you.

• “Just wear that next time,” he muttered later, when you asked. “At least it won’t smell like stage fright.”

• His brothers refused to let him live it down for weeks. Caranthir made snide commentary about “Maedhros establishing dominance through outerwear” while Celegorm fake-shivered, throwing his hand over his face, pretending to faint and yelled, “Lend me your cloak, Maglor! I’m cold and pretty!”

• At some point, when the two of you were walking, he gently brushed the cloak back from your shoulder and said quietly, “Mine would always fit better. Just saying.”

Turgon — you wore Fingon’s tunic

• You were seen exiting the stables wearing a deep green and gold tunic, far too big for you but artfully belted—evidently Fingon had offered it after your riding shirt got soaked in the rain.

• And your broody lover was chatting with a courtier when he noticed. The conversation just ended mid-sentence as he simply…walked off. Leaving the poor elf awkwardly blinking.

• “Is that Fingon’s?” he asked, cutting directly to the point with a sort of scowling majesty only a Nolofinwion could conjure.

• “It was either that or catching frostbite. He said it’s an old one.”

• “Clearly. The embroidery is years out of date.”

• You raised a brow at his pettiness. Typical coming from him. “You memorise his wardrobe rotations now?”

• “Of course not. That would be ridiculous,” he replied, while immediately changing the subject.

• That night, he insisted on giving you a new riding outfit “fit for your station,” a clear upgrade in quality, stitched with white and silver threads in a pattern resembling the stars of Varda. It was mysteriously delivered, but you knew who had commissioned it.

• “And burn that tunic!” he told Fingon later in a not-so-quiet voice, unaware you were within earshot. “Burn it, offer it to Ulmo, drown it in the sea—I don’t care!”

• His brother just laughed at the typical level of jealousy to be expected of his younger brother. “Jealous over the fact that your brother politely keep your beloved from freezing?”

• “Not of you, brother,” he sniffed. “Merely concerned for aesthetic decency.”

• That didn’t stop him from giving you his own formal robe, heavy with pearl-edged detailing, “just to wear when you visit court.” It trailed on the floor slightly, but he helped adjust it himself.

• “There. You see?” he said, clearly pleased once it was settled. “Now that is what elegance looks like.”

• After that, any garment Fingon wore mysteriously vanished if left unattended. Turgon claimed “laundry rotation” but no one believed him.

Finrod — you wore Angrod’s travelling robe

• You were chatting with some scholars in the library, wrapped in a soft ochre robe that swayed around your ankles, a little too broad at the shoulders, with faded trim. Angrod had loaned it to you when the mountain air turned chilly during an evening stroll.

• And in strolled Finrod mid-conversation, stopping in his tracks, tilting his head slightly, and staring at you as though you’d announced you were betrothed to a dragon.

• “I see. My brother has taken to clothing you?” That was a he said at first, so calmly and softly, it was too gentle of him which made you suspicious.

• “I was cold.”

• “So naturally, he assumed you lacked any protection from the elements and leapt in with his extensive robe collection.” He sat beside you and draped his arm dramatically along the back of your seat. “Touching.”

• Finrod remained poised but could not stop himself from prodding the sleeve of the robe like it was personally offensive. “Faded trim. Unlined seams. Is that a scorch mark?”

• “Cooking accident, apparently.”

• “He can’t cook. That’s the accident.”

• Before the day was over, you found a pristine white and gold cloak folded neatly in your room with a note in his handwriting: This won’t catch fire. Nor will it fall apart when you breathe near it. Yours – F.

• That evening, he pretended not to notice when you wore it, but he kept smiling quietly every time you passed by.

• He also casually mentioned in dinner conversation that “golden tones are too harsh for most complexions. It takes a rare one to wear them well.”

• Angrod rolled his eyes and muttered, “Try saying you’re possessive in fewer words.”

• “Oh, I’m not possessive,” Finrod replied brightly. “I’m refined. There’s a difference.”

• The next time you needed a cloak, he personally fastened it at your throat with a soft, self-satisfied hum. “You’ll never need to borrow Angrod’s again,” he told you firmly. “Unless you wish to disappear into mediocrity.”

• He also added, in a murmur as he leaned in, “If you wanted to wear something of mine, you need only ask. Preferably something I’ve washed recently.”

Ecthelion — you wore Glorfindel’s cloak

• The picture of calm grace when he entered the courtyard…until he saw you tucked on a bench by the window, a thick sapphire-blue cloak wrapped around your shoulders, lined with golden embroidery at the edges. The familiar clasp caught the light.

• He stopped mid-stride. Blinked. Then gave the cloak the kind of look reserved for mild insults to one’s dignity.

• “Is that Glorfindel’s?” he asked, a little too neutrally.

• “Yes—he lent it to me. I got caught in that storm on the way back from the eastern slope. My sleeves were soaked through.”

• He nodded too composed and sat beside you. Very close. “Mm. Practical. Warm. Slightly gaudy.”

• You tried not to smile. “You sound awfully green.”

• “I am not,” he said immediately—too quickly—eyes narrowed like a cat who just fell off a ledge but would rather die than admit it. “I am simply dismayed at your lack of appropriate aesthetic standards.”

• So casually, he flicked the hem over your knee. “These tassels look like they were stolen from a curtain.”

• You can pretty much guess that before the day was over, you got a new cloak—steel grey with blue silk lining, clasped with an elegant lily-shaped pin.

• “This is for you. So I don’t have to suffer the visual assault of that again,” he said, nodding toward Glorfindel’s cloak folded nearby. “You have delicate sensibilities. They ought to be dressed accordingly.”

• When Glorfindel found out, he just grinned and clapped Ecthelion on the back, saying, “Didn’t know I had competition in haberdashery.”

• “You don’t. You had a crisis in taste. It’s been resolved.”

• From then on, Ecthelion made a point of always having something to lend you himself—cloaks, scarves, gloves—just in case.

• “You’ll catch cold,” he’d say casually. “And Glorfindel’s wardrobe has suffered enough.”

Gil-Galad — you wore Elrond’s robe

• You walked into the high tower after a long ride from Imladris, bundled in a silver-grey robe with pale blue trim—clearly Elrond’s, given the slightly oversized sleeves and the scholar’s clasp at the collar.

• And when Gil-Galad had spotted yo u in that gaudy, atrocious attire, his entire face blanked. Then the scroll went down. “And what in the name of the Valar are you wearing?”

• “It was cold and Elrond had a spare.”

• “Fun that he has a spare,” he muttered, frowning. “You’re swimming in it. Is that embroidery? Are those herbs in the lining?” He leaned in, sniffed once, and grimaced. “You smell like a medicinal garden.”

• You chuckled. “It’s just sage. He said it helps with headaches.”

• “I have a headache now,” he deadpanned.

• Within the hour, he summoned a tailor and ordered a robe in rich midnight blue lined with velvet. “For official use,” he said grandly. “And warmth. And appearances. And taste.”

• Before you could even comment on his jealousy, he said immediately. “I simply believe rulers of realms should not go about looking like someone’s footman.”

• You wore the new robe the next day, and he looked excessively pleased.

• “Much better,” he said, looping his arm through yours with smug satisfaction. “Now people might actually mistake you for someone regal.”

• Later, when Elrond passed by and gave you a smile and a wave, Gil-Galad leaned closer and whispered, “You still don’t have his robe, do you?”

• “Yes.” “Burn it.” “No.”

• “…Fine. But if I catch you in anything that smells like lavender tincture, I’m confiscating it.”

• He’d pretend not to care, but every time he saw you even talking to Elrond while wearing something vaguely grey, he’d start fidgeting with his rings.

• Eventually, he gifted you a full wardrobe of deep blues, blacks, and rich emeralds—entirely coincidental, he claimed. “A royal should have options. Even if they’re not one yet.”

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[peasant-player]

War of Rohirrim fic ideas I wish we had like yesterday

I'm terrible at writing so I just suffer with those plot bunnies but who knows maybe someone like them?

Haleth switch up:

The haleth 1 from silmarillion gets swapped (body or just soul both very funny)with the Haleth2 from War of the Rohirrim.

Both Haleths are very battle ready.

Haleth 1 takes Hera under her wing and and takes this situation to at least safe someone's brother. So hama lives!

You can even put some angst into this!

She is literally yeeted into the future,her clan doesn't even exist anymore or something like that.

She also travels with Hera and Olwyn around or becomes queen! Again many possibilities!

Haleth 2 takes very quickly care of the orcs. I so want him to get shipped with Caranthir too. That would be hilarious.

He also takes one look at the women around him desperately fighting and wanting to fight and thinks about his sister. They all now got a big brother who makes shield maiden out of them.

He also literally refuses to belive he time traveled. It would be very funny if he is in original haleths body and just goes with it.

Olwyn × Targg enemies to lovers/second spring/found family

I have multiple scenarios in my head.

1. Targg survives the stabbing and gets saved by some loyal wild men.

They die looking for food (he doesn't know that) he then is thinking about his uncertain future and doesn't know what to do. Hera and olwyn are traveling near him and get attacked by some orcs. They run. Meet targg. He kills the orc. He ask if they saw his friends. They are dead. Much sad. He tags along because he is usefull. Olwyn threatens him with a sword. He likes that. You know the rest. Push and pull. Sad backstories. Funny found family things. Hera basically gets a new cool dad. Foreboding. Meeting elves and dwarves. Exploring endless possibilities.

2. I call this Hama using that clever mouth he had.

No, not in that way. Perverts

He convince Targg too look closer at Wulf who is already very crazy.

Targg saves Hama and gets injured.

Targg becomes part of the Rohirrim and helps them. Again many possibilities and a other view in culture. Much sad.still ship him with olwyn.

3. New character or even self inserts!

A wild men/women disagreed with the kidnapping of the princess and secretly helps her escape. Time passes. Wulf is getting more and more crazy.

Some good wild men form a group and they leave to warn Rohan. Saving some of the people or even Haleth! Nice.

Perfect scenario for every ship you want except wulf. Deep dive to some cool culture and different views! Cool wild men armor. Food. You can go nuts with this one.

Wulf redemption

Wulf dies. Sees his life and his treatment and his wrong doings. He gets a second chance. He is not suddenly 100% good but he feels really bad how he literally destroyed everything around him. Let him see hera defend him. Targg talking calmly to him and being loyal and he ruined everything. Angst. But a chance!

A new try. He saves his dad(because he loves him) and still gets banned but now he is not the one that starts a war. Shit it is his dad! Going crazy and very dangerous. Wulf leaves him. He is devastated. everything is worse then before. But surprise! Targg comes with him! (Wulf cries a little here)

Wulf know tries to warn Rohan but that is very difficult when you are banned. He tries to get to Frealaf thinking he is the most calmest but meets Haleth on a accident.

Haleth is wary but takes the threat serious. He also sees wulf disheveled looks and decided to basically become his brother-hen (motherhen but MANLY)

This is a healing fic with no shipping. Just bromance. Wulf realizing that Hera does love him but not in a romantic way. He gets a new family.

I want him to die dramatically to save Hera and he kills his dad or something.

Wulf moves on with a light heart.

That's all that is running around in my head.

I want those fics on next Monday yes ❤️

No please if someone see this and wants to use that just go ahead and send me a link please!!! I want to read everything!

[alsethwisson]

Unpopular opinion: I HATE Haleth/Caranthir discourse with a passion.

Not because it operates on the frankly crazy heterosexist assumption that if a man and a woman met once and didn't hate each other they are contractually obligated to fuck.

That's its own can of shipping worms, I won't go there.

But. (Warning: very long read.)

Tolkien - that crusty old white extremely catholic man - has written us a female character whose most defining trait was refusing to be seen as anything but her own independent person.

She was no vassal of elves, she was no wife of any man. She was Haleth.

It was a conscious choice on Tolkien's part, rewriting his early male "Haleth the Hunter" into Lady Haleth and giving her exactly this defining traits. She was a part of a wider revision of Arda's female characters and their roles he undertook as his understanding of real-life roles women could and would take widened.

(Which is a fascinating story in its own right, by the way, and people who indiscriminately cite some earlier letters as if they were end-all be-all of Tolkien's inner thought are extremely wrong. While conservative to a fault, Tolkien was not unable to correct his beliefs. Cf: Nerdanel and generally the explicit denial of earlier "elven women channel creativity into childbearing" idea in Shibboleth.)

It's very deliberate - and very important - that Caranthir is barely a footnote in Haleth's story. He was interchangeable. It could have been any elven lord. It could have been an Edain lord, as well.

Haleth was not going to let herself or her people be dependent, it's important.

And then fandom came and turned it upside down, and Haleth became a footnote in Caranthir's story. One of a few characters (of both genders to be fair) to have neither marriage nor romance subplot and to be solely defined by her political actions becomes defined by fandom-invented romance with a dashing man.

Yikes.

[felagund-the-valiant]

Caranthir SFW Alphabet

A/N: trying my hands at these, for some reason it was much more difficult than I’d thought. Sometimes formulating concrete thoughts is hard lol, might come back to this in the future.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He’s not big on pda, so most affections would take place in private. The most he would do in public is holding your hand and maybe giving you a quick kiss or hug if you initiate it. He’s kinda awkward about it in the beginning but slowly warms up to it over the course of your relationship.

In private it’s a complete switch, you can be as affectionate as you want and he has no second thoughts when it comes to returning your affections.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

His reputation scares away a lot of people, so he doesn’t have a lot of close friends, though he does have several good acquaintances. An ideal person to vent to, he‘s never going to judge. If there‘s someone who understands the need to load off frustration in a confidential setting, it‘s him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Actually really likes cuddles but is hesitant to admit it at first because he doesn’t want to be made fun of for how opposite it is to his usual gruff demeanour (not that you would ever do so). There’s something about the way he holds you that makes you feel completely safe, like a Balrog could burst through the door and still nothing would happen to you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Absolutely not against settling down, he starts thinking about it once he feels like the two of you are secure enough in your relationship. Since you‘re one of the people he wants to avoid conflict with as much as possible, he makes it a point to take initiative when it comes to chores.

A decent enough cook, and he enjoys preparing meals with you together – which doesn’t happen often unfortunately, since both of you are generally pretty busy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would probably be like ripping off a plaster – just get it over with as quick and painless as possible. Might come across a little cold, but it’s just him trying to keep his feelings under control so he can actually go through with it and not back-paddle at the last second.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

In Valinor he’s pretty open minded when it comes to marriage and if you expressed willingness to get married as well, he’d happily start planning a proposal – which would take place in private, the thought of a public proposal would never even cross his mind.

In Beleriand, he absolutely refuses, no matter how much you plead with him. Even if you turn the tables and propose to him instead, he will straight up tell you no. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you binding yourself to someone as doomed as him. Doesn‘t give a damn about what anyone thinks about the two of you living together unwed.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Once you break through his tough outer shell, you‘ll find he‘s got no problem with being gentle and even quite enjoys it – as long as it’s kept behind closed doors. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all. (It’s much more serious in his mind than it actually is, poor guy.)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Adores hugging in private, he‘ll never turn you down – it‘s a wonderful way for him to destress and as we’ve established, his cuddles and hugs pretty amazing.

In public it‘s a different matter. He doesn‘t mind having his arm around you casually, but full-on hugs are often too much for him.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Has no problem with taking the initiative once he’s certain of his feelings for you. Although it might end up happening in the middle of a heated discussion. You know, like “Why do you care?” “Because I love you.” (I‘m weak for scenes like that, help.)

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

His jealousy is hit or miss. He generally trusts that you can handle yourself when it comes to others making advances (though he will firmly step in if you appear intimidated or too uncomfortable). The only thing that really gets to him at times are the personalities of others. There are moments where he sees you happily chatting away with more easy-going and cheerful people than him and subconsciously wonders if you preferred it if he acted more like them.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He likes kissing your forehead as a quick reminder of his adoration, especially when you stop by his office during the day. Other than that, he has no real preferences. All kisses are good kisses to him, and he enjoys them to the fullest extend.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Having three younger siblings and plenty of younger cousins, he‘s more than used to being around children. Still not the biggest fan but would never even dream of acting negatively towards them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If you think he has grumpy tendencies during the day, you haven’t witnessed him in the morning. The polar opposite of a morning person. Only the bravest souls schedule an early meeting with him.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

More often than not, you have to drag him away from his desk to make sure he gets some proper rest, he’s just that much of a workaholic. He might complain in the moment but once he’s actually in bed he’ll begrudgingly thank you. Also doesn‘t take long for him to fall asleep after that because the exhaustion catches up with him quickly.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

A pretty secluded man, you‘ll have to do a lot of poking in the beginning. Once you have earned his trust and he fears no judgement from you, however, you can ask him basically anything.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I don’t think I need to elaborate much here. His reputation precedes him, and people usually know not to agitate him too much. However, I don‘t imagine he gets immensely enraged 10 times a day, he‘s just too good at bottling things up until the seemingly most insignificant thing sets him off. Like an annoying cousin.

He‘s quite proud and doesn‘t tolerate any slander of his house – will always make sure to put people in their place. The same goes for any negative comments about you, especially when they are about you being together with a Fëanorian.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

The Eldar have excellent memory so he‘s definitely going to remember most things about you. Might be a little disappointed if you‘re not the same way about him.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

As strange as it might sound, one of his most cherished memories is the moment you let him properly vent to you for the first time. Having you hear him out without judgement, without immediately writing him off as an overreacting hot-head and actually taking his concerns to heart was a reaffirmation of your love for him. You‘re his safe space, even if he might not be able to articulate it properly and he will never take it for granted.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

His protectiveness is on a steady incline the more time passes. He knows that at certain times/in certain company, being associated with a Fëanorian can paint a target on your back and he does his best to shield you from any harm, be it physically or verbally.

If you make any sort of promises of protection towards him, he‘ll laugh and reassure you that he is more than capable of taking care of himself. He appreciates the gesture, though.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He goes all out on gifts, it’s his #1 love language. You mentioned in passing that you liked a certain item? He’ll make sure to save that information in his mind for future reference. Likes to spoil you with all your favourite foods on important occasions, you can be sure he‘ll acquire all the most high-quality ingredients and let only his most skilled chefs prepare them.

A lot of times he comes to you with a nonchalant “Here, this made me think of you.” and hands you a gift that is worth a fortune.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s a sore loser and his brothers make use of it to piss him off intentionally, challenging him in games they know he’s bad at.

Has a secret petty streak. Please don‘t enable him, it won‘t end well.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He‘s not one for flashy outfits, but he does make sure his appearance reflects his status. Enjoys indulging in the finest materials. (Which isn‘t a problem, considering his position in Eastern Beleriand.)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He‘s always been a pretty independent person who knows his own worth. So while he does value you more than anything else, he is also more than fine on his own.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He‘s a cat person. The whole “cold and aloof” stereotype while actually being soft on the inside makes him feel a certain kinship. Would love to have some but knows he probably wouldn‘t have enough time to take care of them on his own. Now if he had a partner … he might have to reconsider.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He definitely bears grudges, and it drives him up the walls when people are (in his opinion) unnecessarily quick to forgive.

Doesn’t care for boasting – prefers to let his actions speak for him, not his words.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He can‘t sleep without a blanket, no matter how hot it is outside (if you want to cuddle in summer, prepare to sweat buckets. He makes no compromises when it comes to blankets). This can make him a bit of an unknowing blanket hog.

[sesamenom]

House of Feanor going to the festival on taniquetil

feanor refused to dress up (or even wipe the soot off) specifically to spite manwe.

maedhros picked out a nice appropriate fancy outfit. maglor is dressed for one of his concerts, complete with jewel dust in his hair and pearl strings on his sleeves. celegorm is wearing his orome cosplay like it's valarcon. caranthir is wearing like. the elf equivalent of a business suit and curufin was going to dress up but he had to drag both feanor and celebrimbaby out of the house and ended up forgetting his coat

the ambarussa were supposed to be dressed as various maia of orome (to match celegorm) but amrod forgot about the festival and went for a walk. amras had to retrieve him last minute

nerdanel just put on some basic jewelry and a nice cape thing over her normal clothes

[lamemaster]

Yours Truly, Passenger Princess

Pairing: Caranthir x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: On a normal day Caranthir did not care of snobbish, bratty human princesses. He on most days, did not care much for the second born. Some wonder caring had done in the past.

AN: I really love it when one day you're doing your homework and this just randomly floods your mind. Gosh I loved writing this. Peace✌️(Also the annon that sent me so many Curse of Bloodline requests...I gotchu)

"Ew, I'm not stepping on dirt," the princess declared, her voice dripping with disdain.

Caranthir felt a vein throbbing in his temple. Hours they had been waiting, his normally swift strides reduced to a slow, frustrated escort for this… this… human embodiment of a gilded cage.

"It's land," Caranthir gritted out, staring at the princess who remained stubbornly ensconced in her palanquin. "Do you need clouds to step on?"

The princess tilted her head, her perfectly coiffed hair glinting in the sunlight. "Cloud?" she echoed, a look of genuine surprise crossing her features. "Can you do that? I've never stepped on a cloud before. The closest I've come to is, the fur rug that looks like a well...rug." She finished with a self-satisfied pout, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension.

On a normal day Caranthir did not care of snobbish, bratty human princesses. He on most days, did not care much for the second born. Some wonder caring had done in the past.

Most humans were either too strung up about their ideals or busy bending backwards to be a part of his people. And the later were worse.

But your brand of human was rare. Utterly depraved, exponentially ignorant, blind to misery you caused. You sat in your palanquin, fiddling with your bejeweled rings, while the peasants beneath you wilted under the unrelenting sun.

And today, you were Caranthir's problem. One assigned by Maedhros.

You were supposed to be the lucky charm that secured an alliance with your warlord father, who, conveniently, refused to sign anything until his precious daughter graced the council with her presence.

You hummed a nonsensical tune, completely oblivious to the growing tension. Caranthir glanced towards the servants struggling with the palanquin. A bead of sweat trickled down the forehead of one, and he let out a barely audible cough.

Caranthir, at his wit's end, resorted to the last thing on his mind. He ushered Melena, the gentlest mare in all of Arda, closer to your palanquin. Her soft brown eyes seemed to plead with him for this not to be a terrible idea.

"Ride with me," he offered, extending his hand towards you. Melena, ever drawn to shiny objects, leaned in further, her nose twitching at the glint of your bejeweled rings. Caranthir mentally apologized to the mare, knowing this wouldn't be a peaceful journey.

"Absolutely not!" you declared, your voice leaving no room for argument. "A lady does not ride horses. My father forbids it!" You glanced towards Melena with wide eyes, your hand hovering cautiously near the magnificent creature's mane. "Does it… bite?"

The question tumbled out of your mouth with such innocent curiosity that Caranthir couldn't help but chuckle, albeit a humorless one. You, of course, misinterpreted the sound, snapping your hand back as if burned. This only served to further pique Melena's interest. She nudged your hand playfully with her soft muzzle, the glint of your rings mesmerizing her.

Caranthir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a longer day than he anticipated.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice strained. "How about we try something else? Perhaps…" He cast a desperate glance at Melena, then back at you. An idea, slightly less ridiculous than the last, began to form in his mind.

The palanquin swayed alarmingly as Caranthir lunged for you, arms outstretched. A breathless yelp escaped your lips before you were engulfed in a whirlwind of silks and jewels. Caranthir found himself face-to-face with a mountain of fabric, the delicate scents of your perfumes assaulting his senses.

"Ah – eep!" you sputtered, your voice muffled by a particularly feathery cushion that was conveniently his chest. Realization dawned on your face, and horror began to morph your features. Caranthir watched with a hint of amusement as your initial indignation gave way to sheer panic. He couldn't help but feel a sliver of satisfaction.

"Not clouds, but I hope this will do, princess?" Caranthir asked before you could launch into a tirade. He was already striding towards the council room, his steps purposeful. Behind them, your servants stood frozen, aghast at their princess being carried off like a prize-winning pumpkin.

A stunned silence followed him, broken only by the rustle of fabric against fabric. Caranthir, for all his outward stoicism, couldn't help but imagine the amused stares of the approaching elves. Carrying a human princess in his arms felt about as graceful as an elephant attempting ballet.

But then, a small sound reached his ears. A hesitant cough, then a whisper so soft he almost missed it. "I guess this will do."

"What did you say, princess?" Caranthir asked, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. He loosened his grip slightly, the weight of you shifting ever so slightly in his arms.

Your hand, surprisingly strong, reached out and clutched at the loose fabric of his robe. "Thanks," you mumbled, the defiance finally melting away from your voice. Perhaps the thought of a bumpy landing was more motivation than gratitude.

Up close, Caranthir could see the details he'd missed before. The way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, unfairly long as some might say. The scent of your perfume, a strange mix of floral and something faintly spicy, filled his senses. He felt a shiver run down his spine, a sensation entirely unrelated to the cool air.

Suddenly, the walk became filled with a different kind of tension. The merry jingle of your earrings seemed to echo in the otherwise silent path.

Then, a surprise. Your hand reached up, a single strand of his long, braid captured between your fingers. He stopped short, surprised by the sudden touch.

"I like your hair," you declared, tilting your head to examine the braid you held captive. "An elven trait or some crazy good shampoo?" You compared a lock of your own hair to his, pouting slightly at the difference in texture.

Caranthir felt a warmth creep up his neck, entirely separate from the exertion of carrying you. He cleared his throat, surprised by his sudden fluster. "Elven trait, princess," he managed, his voice a touch deeper than usual. "Though good shampoo wouldn't hurt."

A smile bloomed on your face, brighter than any jewel you adorned. "Maybe we can make a trade then," you bargained, a playful glint in your eyes. Now that was something Caranthir understood. A trade.

He couldn't help but chuckle, a low rumble in his chest. Negotiation was second nature to him, and the prospect of bargaining with a human princess who valued hair care products over gold or land was an unexpected amusement.

"A trade, you say?" he raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his voice. "And what treasures do you possess that could possibly be worth the secrets of elven hair care?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Peacock feather fans for a lifetime of lustrous locks?" you offered, your voice laced with mock seriousness. "Perhaps pearly earrings that shimmer like moonlight?"

Caranthir fought back another smile. "Those trinkets are no match for the secrets you seek, princess." He countered, enjoying the banter.

"Then surprise me, elf-lord," you declared, feigning offense. "Show me what wonders your elven shampoos hold that are worth more than all the jewels in my father's vault!"

The council room doors loomed ahead, and Caranthir knew they couldn't postpone the real negotiations any longer. However, a mischievous glint entered his eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, this alliance wouldn't be so dreadful after all. In fact, it might even provide some… entertainment.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

What do you think would’ve happened if instead of the three Cs, Maedhros and Maglor had been the ones to fight Dior?

I mean we know they’re much more skilled and less bloodthirsty and rash than the rest of their brothers. So here’s an AU:

I think we’d see Mae and Mags come out on top, and assuming they’re out of the main hall, the rest of their brothers would probably make it out of Doriath alive. Elured and Elurin make it out with Elwing.

With all seven still around and watching each other’s backs, I imagine Sirion would be much the same, all all them surviving. The addition of Elwing’s brothers and their soldiers turning on them, *might* turn the tables just enough to kill a couple of Fëanorions, probably Celegorm and Curufin who are still bitter about Luthien and Dior. But I feel it’s more likely due to inexperience, Elured and Elurin are killed, not necessarily by the Fëanorions themselves.

The silmaril ends up with Elwing and we get the same situation of Maedhros and Maglor asking for it back and Elwing throwing herself off the cliff. Mae and Mags genuinely do not want to be here but the letters were refused and the Oath calls. Elwing probably knows her brothers were killed by word of mouth or seeing it herself and legged it.

Enter Elrond and Elros who’d have a more interesting (and fun) time of things with 5-7 sons of Fëanor around. Maedhros would back Maglor on caring for the twins though, less consumed by the oath with all his little brothers alive and kicking. And in canon he did go searching for Dior’s sons. Caranthir probably doesn’t really have an opinion on them, Amrod and Amras are willing to follow their brothers’ lead on things (also when are they ever gonna have a chance to see identical twins again. I think they’d get along pretty well.) I don’t see any of them being particularly hateful towards the kids. Celegorm and Curufin seem to be most susceptible to the Oath and giving in to their nastier sides might be a bit more of a problem, but there’s enough brothers to keep an eye on them. And I think they’d warm up eventually, reluctantly though it may be. Curufin was a father first, remember, it’s more natural for him to care than not.

Safe to say by the time Elrond and Elros go to Gil Galad, they’re very well trained in all manner of things 😂

As for the fate of the Fëanorions, they wouldn’t go for the last ditch attempt Mae and Mags did. From the eldest’s perspective, there’s too much to lose. I want to say the stones might be passed off to them, if only to prove a point, and whoever picks them up would no doubt be burned, but there’s no suicides. There’s no endless lamentation.

In reality though there’s probably still a battle by the chest, the oath awakened and clawing with the stones so close. There might be more of a push to bring them back to Valinor to stand trial, but they’re a force to be reckoned with and Eönwë knows they’d rather die than be dragged back. The Fëanorions are let go with the stones, but instead of being tossed away as the Valar expect, the chest is kept and they go on.

With the oath mostly fulfilled much of the weight across their fëa is gone, and Curufin and Celegorm head out to keep an eye on Celebrimbor. Elros might have a temporary tagalong in Maedhros and Caranthir (new kingdom needs someone with experience to get the economy up and running.) Maglor and both Ambarussa keep their distant eye on Elrond.

(Annatar didn’t expect the seven biggest pains in his Master’s back to greet him at Eregion’s gate, two Silmarils in tow, burning him to the core. Celebrimbor doesn’t know whether to be horrified or thankful. Back in Lindon, Elrond - the one who tipped them off - is cackling and Gil Galad is Concerned TM but decides he’s better off not knowing. His cousins are insane on the best of days.)

Alternatively, Elured and Elurin perhaps remembering how reluctant Maedhros and Maglor were, how Maedhros pleaded with their father to just return the stone so this could all *end*, immediately send the silmaril back when the letter comes. Or maybe they’re just cooler headed and see the logic of returning the stone. Things settle. The Valar do eventually get involved. Silmaril two and three are regained then reclaimed by the brothers as mentioned above. They might burn. They might reject the holders. But the oath is fulfilled and that’s all that matters in the end.

[earthshine-moon]

Fëanorians on The Great British Bake Off

We got Bake Off back tonight (fuck yes! bring on autumn!) and this concept has been swirling around in my mind for the last few hours

This is the long version but here’s the short one if you don’t want to read this much

Caranthir: he doesn’t have a creative talent like most elves (aside from tax evasion) but damn can he BAKE. He can’t decorate by any sense of the imagination but it’s impossible for him to bake anything that isn’t absolutely perfect

He’d make it about halfway but he’d be sent home when Paul and Prue realised his presentation wasn’t improving at all.

Maedhros: literally the complete opposite. Can’t bake, but he’s so good at decorating he could make a pile of uncooked batter look incredible. And he does.

Like he can follow a recipe exactly. Down to the last word. But it never works. He says that “some force from the unseen world intervenes at the last moment and everything falls apart”. It doesn’t. He just can’t bake

Honestly probably wouldn’t even make it past the application stage but if (by some miracle) he did, he’d be out first week. Everyone watching at home would be shouting at the GBBO twitter (X) account for sending home the gorgeous redhead so early

Maglor: I stand by what I said in the short version: he wouldn’t even be in the tent. He’s in a field somewhere composing music and singing.

But if they managed to drag him into the tent, he’d be pretty average at everything. He’d scrape through by the skin of his teeth until about the semi-finals.

He’d be best friends with Noel from the start.

Amrod and Amras: again, I stand by my statement: they’d be making something entirely different to the brief but whatever it is, it’s delicious.

But I’d also like to add that they would either refuse to do anything separately or would have their own mini competition going on between them. No middle ground

I’d like to think they’d win it simply because they can bake and decorate really well, but realistically they’d get thrown out before the second challenge was over

Celegorm and Curufin: the tent’s on fire. No one knows how

The only thing I will add to this is that I’ve just realised that this implies the tent set itself alight the second C&C stepped foot inside it. And that is very amusing to me

[gay-casscain]

no but a star trek au for the silmarillion. like the vibes are there, the sense of exploration that turns into dread the longer you go, the way crew is family and everyone else is hostile, the responsibility,,,

Maedhros is the captain of Feanor's old starship, which isn't affiliated with the Federation anymore, and trying to figure out how to balance his crew's needs with his own morals and his obligation to his father.

Maglor, as the ship's counselor, also functions as the first officer, spends a solid half of his time trying to repair the ship's reputation, and the other half of his time ruining his ship's reputation.

Celegorm, the security officer, feels solely responsible for his family's safety, especially after his father forced the ship out of the safety that the Federation provided. He gets more extreme in his response to threats every time, more scared for his family.

Caranthir, the chief medical officer, who can't do anything when his brothers start dying, and who lets himself die with them. He doesn't have the proper medical equipment anymore, anyway.

Curufin, the cheif engineer, who is so protective of his dad's ship that he refuses to make repairs or replace parts. He lets the ship get less and less efficient, then less functional, until it's just barely limping along.

Amrod and Amras, navigators, who have been in space for as long as they can remember, who no longer care where they're going.

anyway i think it would also make a killer kidnap fam au