#Lorien au

[ll-but-its-random]

In and AU where Lorien isn't destroyed yet, and they actually become the Elders (possibly the ones who have to stop Setrakus Ra):

Who'd be the leader? -Loridas (corresponding to Number One) was the leader of the Elders. Then again, Pittacus Lore (Number 4) was the strongest. That and the fact that the Elders before chose to put them in order of potential, weakest to strongest, making Nine the supposed leader.

Would Ella be an Elder? - possibly not with Setrakus Ra banished.

What would their Loric names be?- I NEED TO KNOW OR I'LL START MAKING SHIT UP ISTG.

I also found the names of the Elders and assumed whom they correspond to so:

One: as Loridas

Two: as Cleobulus.

Three: as Solon.

Four: as Pittacus Lore.

Five: as Periander. (Fun fact this word is Greek for tyrant and I can see why he'd be this guy).

Six: as Chion.

Seven: as Bias.

Eight: as Thales.

Nine: as Myson.

Ten: as Setrakus Ra. Forget it.

What do you think?

[aroace-number-eight]

wanted to gift something for @infinitysgrace while they were on the annual LL posting spree! thought you'd like to see the first four kids just mucking around :3

[aotearoa20]

Penance: Part Two. One/Two/Three

There is a part of Este’s gardens that bleeds into Mandos. Silvery trees that line a small path up to the great stone doors. It is on one of the Halls uppermost levels and most fëar avoid it if they can. Curufin could understand why. He felt ill and unsteady in the pale half-light, it was too close for the dead to be to the living. A thin, shimmering barrier lopes over him and his brothers and everything on the other side in blurred just slightly. He could just about see a Maia clad in grey approaching and with him a tall dark figure.

“Maglor,” he whispered because he could not help it. Because his spirit sang at the sight of his elder brother and there was nothing in him that could stop it. Everything is transparent in Mandos. He heard the others shuffling and sighing behind him. It had been so long.

He could not wring his hands - they kept flickering in and out of existence - but he watched them spoke to one another. Their words melted against the barrier, a useless hum of noise but he seemed alright. Damned spawn of Lúthien had had them worried over nothing. Celegorm called over to him and Maglor turned his head. He nodded slowly but before he could say a word a flash of light from further down the path stole all their attention.

Someone else, came forward out of the trees. Curufin could not have recognized them, even if he tried. How could he when in their hands, bright and clear and sharper than anything else he’d seen in the suffocating dark, he could see it. The last of their Father’s Silmarils.

He shuddered and hated himself for it. Behind him someone, Amras maybe, whined like a wounded animal. It was so close. Without much thought he reached forward, the edges of his fingers dissolving as they brush against the boundary line. A hand comes up and grips his shoulder. Caranthir, he knew, they all remember the last time they tried to escape through here.

He doesn’t even know his name, the one who held the gem, but he came up to Maglor and the Maia. He spoke even as his brother trembled, taut as a bowstring. A sudden fear gripped his heart. The constant pressence of the oath had been a companion of his for as long as he could remember. He had carried it’s burden until the scraps of the person were burnt to dust. If this was really the end – if, for he has lived far too long in the world not to suspect this to be another trick of fate – would there be anything left of him at all.

“It will kill him,” Maedhros’ voice was deep and dull.

By the edge of the doorway Namo stands, two Maiar are at his side. All but his eyes are obscured behind a veil and they are fixed on Maglor.

“If he does we shall be there.” He replied gently.

And then the stranger holds out what is all in all a very simple circlet, with the jewel fastened to it. Maglor snatched it into himself and wails. Námo’s Maiar brush past him, catching his brothers fëa brefore his body hits ground.

Curufin tried to speak. He reached out again, this time for Maglor. He thinks he might have screamed too. For a moment everything burns. It is as though something is ripping out his heart and every artery that grows off from it, carefully and cleanly as pulling the backbone from a fish. He falls to his barely corporeal knees and thinks he must be coming undone entirely and then... nothing.

He put his hand to his chest. A sob caught in his throat. There is nothing there. Beside him Morifinwë was also crying, but he takes deep needless breaths in between. When he looked he saw a light in his eyes that he knew died in his own, centuries ago. Curufin looked back down at the slate shards that line the garden path. Tears dry on his lashes. He felt nothing.

“So the agreement is sealed,” Námo said, as Maglor was ushered into the dark, “When you are remebodied in the Gardens, there will be someone to guide you to those you will serve.”

“To whom will we be going?” Celegorm spoke up.

“It has not been decided, you will learn once you wake.”

“Don’t separate Ambrassua.” Maedhros very nearly ordered.

Námo nodded and looked across them all, “You are not obliged to leave now, some of you I’d even counsel to remain a while longer.”

His eyes land on him and Curufin seethed. He crossed his arms over himself, trying to cover up the gaping emptiness within his being. How he hated this place. Hated being forced to take any sort of form. He was exposed. Everyone could see everything. Or the severe lack of anything.

A body at least could hide the lack. No, He would not stay here to be mocked or pitied or worse, not for all the jewels under the Earth.

“We will go together.” He heard Maedhros say and nodded vehemently. Whatever waited out in the Gardens had to be better than this.

[shittylorienlegaciesaus]

AU where Lorien doesn't exist and the cepans are just from a cult and the Garde are abducted children

In this AU does that make Adelina the best one ??

This is terrible why would i come up with this

It really is a shitty au when Henri's the bad guy /lh

[tathrin]

I'm working on some Background Timeline Nonsense for my Celebrimbor In The Fellowship AU fic and trying to put together stuff in a way that both makes sense and is fun (and reconciles some of the Unfinished Tales mess). I've already blathered at poor @babybat98 about this, but I figure I might as well subject the rest of you all to it share it here too, in case anyone has Thoughts or Suggestions:

A Timeline of the Lords of the Woodland Elves.

506 F.A. Doriath is sacked (about 30 years before the Third Kinslaying at Sirion).

By 511 F.A., refugees from Gondolin and a few Drúadain joined them there, and by 525 Earendil and Elwing were wed and ruling the Havens of Sirion.

539 F.A., the last of the Fëanorians show-up in Sirion and do their usual silmaril-slaughter, and Elwing jumps off the cliff. The Havens are left in ruins, and Morgoth has control of all Beleriand, blah blah blah.

545 F.A. the Host of the Valar land in Beleriad. The War of Wrath begins.

590 F.A. Morgoth defeated, War of Wrath ends, First Age ends. *Galadriel probably doesn't actually marry Celeborn until now, possibly because of the whole "don't marry during war" thing the Calaquendi tend to do? unclear, because everything involving them is unclear lmao

1 S.A. the Grey Havens are built in Lindon, the only place in Beleriand that really survived the War of Wrath.

By 20 S.A. Galadriel and Celeborn leave Lindon, where Gil-galad is now king (probably crowned because of Galadriel's influence somehow? Unclear, again!). Galadriel and Celeborn go to Eriador and dwell near Lake Nenuial, where they are accounted "the Lord and Lady of the Eldar in Eriador" according to one version of the Unfinished Tales. They have a lot of Noldor, Grey-elves, and Green-elves with them at this time. Now for the fun backstory stuff...what if we say that Celeborn, Oropher, and Amdír were all basically BFFs from their youth in Doriath, and will remain thus for many years before the eventual splintering around 750 S.A.?

So, as of S.A. 10-20 when Galadriel and Celeborn leave Lindon, what if we say that Amdír and Oropher are with them also at this point, and with them their sons? They can be part of the company of mingled Noldor and Iathrim who are mentioned there at Lake Nenuial, with Celeborn (relative of Thingol) and Galadriel (sister of Finrod) as the "highest ranking" of their little quartet, and also the ones (especially Galadriel) who care the most about rank/leadership, and thus fall naturally into that role both in behavior and in the eyes of everyone around them, while Amdír and Oropher are more advisors/etc (maybe they end up in charge of guarding everybody, as the Warriors of the group). Amroth could be as young as 110 right now if he was just a wee little lad when Doriath was destroyed, barely an adult, or at any rate easily less than 200 yet. Perhaps Amdir never made it to Sirion at all, and only rejoined his son after the War of Wrath? (Perhaps Amdir's mom died in the Kinslaying, like Nellglind?) Regardless, Galadriel and/or Celeborn could have been doing most of the looking-after of him during the War either way, and thus we get Amroth as sort of "their kid" like he was in that draft, while not actually being their son which wouldn't make sense. Maybe Celeborn looked after both Amroth and Thranduil while the other adults were involved more in the fighting, given that picturing either Amdir or Oropher NOT fighting if they were still in Beleriand at this point is difficult (albeit not impossible: they could always have gone "fuck this shit, this is a Calaquendi Problem, you deal with it") and Galadriel is The Mighty One while Celeborn is more chill (and because I like not having The Woman be the one doing the child-minding lol). Alternatively, they could have all fought to varying degrees, with young Thranduil the one charged with looking after younger Amroth? idk most of the War of Wrath is pretty hand-wavy even in Tolkien's stuff so this can stay vague lol

At any rate, we pick-up the thread with our next Known(ish) event:

300 S.A. is when Celebrían is probably born. At this point, her parents are presumably still in Eriador. So, we could have them all living together as a little found family unit of survivors at Lake Nenuial, with Amroth and Thranduil acting as sort of older brothers/cousins to Celebrian. Perhaps she has more of a brotherly relationship with Amroth, who is younger, and a little more distance between her and Thranduil, because he's so much older (and lived through the trauma of everything more directly)? He sees himself as the Sensible And Mature One who has to look out for the younger/more naive kids, perhaps? At some point, of course, there must be some kind of a falling-out of some sort between Oropher and Galadriel/Celeborn, because we need to have some reason as the driving factor (combined with the increasing numbers of Dwarves in Moria, which we know Oropher wasn't pleased by; hello Doriath Trauma Round One!) for him to do the whole "moved his people north three times" from the original location of Amon Lanc in order to avoid being near Galadriel and Celeborn in Lórien. Perhaps the falling-out can be traced back to Ost-in-Edhil somehow?

750 S.A. is approximately when Eregion is founded, and construction is begun on Ost-in-Edhil. 750 S.A. is also around when we're told that Oropher and Amdir took up lordship of their respective Silvan lands (although I'm already deviating from those details a bit because fuck colonialism lol; but that's easy enough to do and still claim canon-compliance due to the vagueness of all of this in "canon" anyway, so we'll still use that as the rough date of when the Sindar refugees came to Laurelindórenan/Greenwood, and just say the whole "king" thing in Greenwood happened later and the Noldorian historians never caught the nuances, shhh) So if we extrapolate from all that... What if the falling-out happens because of Eregion? What if Amdir and Oropher are not about to accept an open and friendly relationship with the local Dwarves, after what happened to Thingol and Doriath; and Galadriel, with her foresight and her stubbornness and her Noldorin love of craft (and the fact that her first main trauma was Alqualondë long before the Sindar were scarred by the Battle of a Thousand Caves), refuses to let her Goals™️ be held hostage to their grudges and trauma, and insists that the only way forward for this land is hand-in-hand with the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm. Celeborn reluctantly sides with his wife (even though he loathes dwarves as much as any of them) over his friends, and Amdir and Oropher go off in a huff with those others of the Elves of Eriador who aren't interested in More Noldorin Bullshit, crossing the mountains and joining with the Silvan Elves in the east. So:

750 S.A. Amdir and Oropher leave with a group of followers, while Galadriel and Celeborn found Ost-in-Edhil with Celebrimbor, the two of them being taken as Lord and Lady of Eregion while he's (presumably) just in charge of the smiths for now.

1000 S.A. Sauron, not wanting to start shit with the western elves or Numenorians right not because they're too strong (and presumably just not giving a shit about the little Wood-elves in their forests), beings building Barad-dûr.

1200 S.A. Sauron tries to beguile the Elves of Lindon, and Gil-galad tells him to fuck-off. He tries again in Eregion, and despite Galadriel going "big nope!" the Gwaith-i-Mírdain there welcome him.

1350 S.A. Sauron manages to get Galadriel ousted from Ost-in-Edhil, and Celebrimbor becomes lord of the place. Galadriel and Celebrían leave via Moria, and spend a while in Khazad-dûm with their dwarven friends before making their way eventually to their old friend Amdir and foster-son/brother Amroth in Lórien, where they are welcomed, and Galadriel and Amdir reconcile (possibly enthusiastically, possibly awkwardly) but Celeborn, refusing to step foot in a dwarven kingdom, stays in Eregion, where he is "disregarded" by Celebrimbor. So I like to picture him skulking about as That Grumpy Old Man muttering and scowling at everybody as they pat him on the head and go "there, there grandpa" and whisper apologies to whatever dwarf he's offended today.

1500 S.A. by this time, the Seven and the Nine are made, and Sauron leaves to go make the One Ring in secret in Mordor.

1600 S.A. Sauron makes the One Ring and proclaims himself as Sauron, and ready for war. Celebrimbor goes OH FUCKSHIT and runs through Moria to consult with Galadriel in Lórien. He gives her Nenya, and she convinces him to send the other two to Gil-galad in Lindon, and get them the fuck out of Ost-in-Edhil.

1605 S.A. Sauron's immediate attempt to start said war is potentially delayed by the first two of the Istari, the Blue Wizards, who in a much later draft of Tolkien's actually came to Middle-earth during the Second Age, long before the rest of them, rather than all coming over together. Instead, he had them come over with Glorfindel, and while Glorfindel hung around to help Gil-galad et al they made their way East, to try and save the tribes of Men who had fallen under Morgoth's worship, and to discover where Sauron was hiding, and work against him. I think I want to go with that version, simply because I like the idea of Glorfindel coming back with some of the Istari? But I ALSO like the idea of him having fought in the Last Alliance, which means I need him to come over before Gandalf, Saruman, and Radagast do in the Third Age. So this splits the difference nicely! So, as of 1600: the valar have gone "oh fuck!" and thrown two maia and one reborn elf on a boat and thrown them back to Middle-earth to clean-up the leftovers of the mess left by the War of Wrath when they failed to drag Morgoth's most powerful lieutenant back to face judgement in Valinor OOPSIES, presumably because they figured out that Shit Was Hitting The Fan thanks to the whole One Ring Thing being big enough to be Noticed By The Powers lol Anyway, thanks to Morinehtar and Rómestámo being fucking badass, Sauron's plans for war are delayed several years, and Celebrimbor has time to hide the Three and presumably to warn the Dwarves about the Seven. Ooh, what if we say that he's been spending a lot of this time trying to devise some way of un-linking the Rings from the One Ring? He apparently has the Nine with him when Eregion falls, and Sauron just takes those, but the Seven and the Three aren't there; maybe he was working on the Nine, and knew the Seven were safe in Khazad-dûm where his dwarven smith-friends were doing the same there? And that's why he never tried to destroy them: he was still holding out hope they could be saved, be fixed. That he wouldn't have to destroy the greatest things he ever made, and all the hopes he put into them. He just needed a little more time...

1693 S.A. the War of the Elves and Sauron (finally) begins.

1695 S.A. Sauron slinks through the Gap of Rohan, thus avoiding the Elves in the Greenwood and Lórien, and invades Eriador. Thanks to the Númenóreans having cut down many of the Trees of Minhiriath and Enedwaith, the people in these lands welcomed Sauron's conquest and let him pass without trouble. (Well done, Númenor! Didn't anyone ever teach you deforestation is bad?) Celeborn leads the forces from Eregion (presumably having said "I told you so" to Celebrimbor a few times) and they manage to defeat the first wave of Sauron's army, but are then overwhelmed and forced back to Ost-in-Edhil. Gil-galad hears about this and sends Elrond leading a force from Lindon to help, and also sends messages to Númenor pleading for help. Nobody answers (men, pah!). Elrond's force is too small, and can't break-through to get to Eregion to help.

1697 S.A. Ost-in-Edhil falls. Celebrimbor is tortured into giving up the location of the Seven, but dies without revealing the Three. Sauron, not being an entire idiot, guesses that they're most likely with Galadriel and Gil-galad anyway, but is pissy about being resisted, and turns Celebrimbor into a banner that he carries into battle. Elrond's tiny army is about to be overrun when the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm attack Sauron from the rear, along with the force of elves that Amroth has led through Moria from Lórien, (because whatever Issues™️ his father might have with Dwarves, he's not about to let his foster-father die). This allows Elrond to gather the survivors of Ost-in-Edhil, including presumably Celeborn, and flee. The Dwarves are driven back as well, but they shut the Doors of Moria and Sauron can't get in. Haha, thwarted by Celebrimbor and his previous sweetheart, sucks to be you Sauron! The Doors of Durin are apparently not opened again until the Fellowship of the Ring comes to them (although that doesn't make sense, because Gandalf and Aragorn both passed through Moria at least once before LotR, so they must have been opened at some point; but perhaps the text only means they were not left open again after this point, and is not referring to when/if they were ever opened from inside by someone walking through and out?). The retreating elves found the stronghold of Rivendell, to which many of the survivors of Eregion flee. (Celeborn, presumably, says "I told you so" a lot at this point too, but not often enough for them to murder him.) The rest scatter, some fleeing Middle-earth altogether and some disappearing into the Wild with others fleeing through Khazad-dûm (before the Doors are shut, presumably) thanks to their dwarven friends, and make their way eventually to Lórien, where they join their fellows who left Ost-in-Edhil earlier and merge with the Silvans and Sindar there.

by 1700 S.A. Sauron has overrun all of Eriador except for Rivendell, which is besieged, and Lindon, where Gil-galad is also barely holding him off at the River Lhûn and Mithlond. Finally the Nûmenorian fleet arrives, and kicks Sauron's ass all the way back to Tharbad, although he burns the forests of Minhiriath and Enedwaith as he goes. He gets caught in a pincer between the main force and a smaller one that Ciryatur landed at Gwathló behind him, and barely escaped "with his bodyguard" to Dagorlad. It is unclear at this point if Sauron actually HAS any or all of the Seven, or just knows where they are; sources say that Durin at least was given his Ring by Celebrimbor himself, so perhaps Sauron never actually manages to collect all the Seven at this point? but still has his original influence over them. He does have the Nine, we know, because he gathered them up when he came to Ost-in-Edhil and defeated Celebrimbor on the steps of the House of the Mírdain.

1701 S.A. the first Council is held in Imladris, when Galadriel and Celebrían come looking for Celeborn and meet-up with all the other leaders of the various forces of Elves and Men. They decide to make Rivendell the new elvish stronghold in Eriador, as Eregion is in ruins and remains thus. Gil-galad at this point gives Vilya to Elrond (it's unclear when Cirdan gets Narya, because of course is it; he might already have it, or he might not get it until Gil-galad marches to War in Mordor, although wtf was he thinking leaving Narya behind when he went to war just when he would need its power most? Gil-galad wtf mate???) and declares him his vice-regent. This is also when Elrond and Celebrían meet for the first time. (Presumably at this point her foster-brother Amroth teases her mercilessly about her very obvious crush on Gil-galad's pet peredhel, and she probably smacks the crap out of him for being a jerk.) At some point after this, Galadriel and Celeborn (and Celebrían presumably) leave Rivendell to live near the sea, probably because Galadriel was apparently "striken with sea-longing" the moment she put Nenya on. They go to Belfalas, which will be later called Dol Amroth, and apparently visit Lórien at least twice more before the end of the Second Age, but we don't know anything else about them here.

At this point, there isn't much relevant canon information until the Last Alliance happens, since most of what's going on of import now is happening in Numenor, but let's hit the highlights in case we want to expand on any of this later.

2251 S.A. the Nazgûl appear.

3262 S.A. Sauron taken to Numenor as a prisoner.

3319 S.A. Numenor sunk, Sauron flees back to Middle-earth, and the world is reshaped.

3429 S.A. Sauron seizes Minas Ithil.

3430 S.A. formation of the Last Alliance.

3431 S.A. the Last Alliance marches to Rivendell.

3434 S.A. the march to Mordor, and the Battle of Daglorlad, where Oropher and Amdir both die. Siege of Barad-dûr begins.

3441 S.A. Sauron defeated (for now), war is over. Thranduil and Amdir go home with their scant surviving forces.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Day 6 for @eonweweek

"Willing companion"

Prompt: Duty

Pairing: Eönwë/Argon (Arakáno)

AU: Pleasure houses of Lórien AU

Themes: NSFT 

Warnings: Kissing | Aphrodisiacs | Petting/Sensuality

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: Eönwë find a companion for himself when he calls upon one of the many pleasure houses of Lórien.  

Minors DNI | 18+

The Gardens of Lórien were uncommonly vast, filled with a great wealth of flowering bushes and vines, yew and cedar, juniper and oak, and pines that exuded soothing odors. Its many pools were dark and deep; stars sparkled within their depths, and great scores of fireflies flittered about their borders, glittering like gold in the dusk.

Eönwë did not halt to admire the beauty that lay before him. He drew his cloak closer to him and continued down the path he tread, for the Maia did not come to seek out the peace the Gardens provided all those who came upon them. He came to seek out the indulgences it offered instead.

There were many to be found, hidden within the manses Lord Irmo himself devised for all those seeking freedom from both loneliness and the constraints of acceptable conduct. For Eönwë, it was an escape from restraint and duty—duty to his king, duty to Valinor. All through his long life, he had served other beings and other causes without complaint. Now, for a brief while at least, he wished to free himself from the yolk of duty and serve his own desires. And his desires were many.   

“Hail and well met.” The Maia who greeted him upon entrance into the House of Cedar was garbed in sheer wisps of lavender and blue. He was one of the many attendants who willingly offered themselves to please and service those who called upon them. And they could never be harmed; Irmo did not take kindly to any being who mistreated those who served him in any manner. “Do you desire a mask, my lord? A libation to ease your comfort?” 

“A mask would do very well indeed,” Eönwë replied. The other Maia knew who he truly was, for he came to the House of Cedar once before, after having heard of its many amusements. But he had no cause to fear. The Maiar who served in the pleasure houses never revealed the identities of those who came to them for any matter. “And a cup of something light and fragrant would serve for now.”

The Maia guided him to a secluded, dimly lit room filled with masks and veils of all shapes and hues and helped him remove his cloak. “You may choose any of these,” he said, arranging the cloak neatly on a little hook driven into the wall, “and then you may join the others. I shall bring you something to drink while you are in the hearth hall.”

“My thanks.” Eönwë was grateful to be free of his cloak. He felt strange also, for his earthly form was smaller in stature and without wings, and the light in his eyes was dulled to mimic the paler light found in the eyes of the elves. Still, he made peace with the lack in all, for this was the form he chose himself when he decided to call upon the House of Cedar. He did not wish the other visitors to discover who he truly was.

The hearth hall was already full when Eönwë entered it. Many an elf and Ainu were seated upon wide pillowed benches, or they had gathered beneath gilded lamps in groups of twos and threes, their voices faint against the finger drums that were beating out a slow, spellbinding rhythm. Many had gone to great lengths to conceal who they were. Others, on the other hand, did not hide a single aspect of themselves. Some were eating and drinking and laughing, and others were engaged in more intimate pursuits. Eönwë reached up to touch his mask. Golden roses and golden leaves adorned a field of white lacquer, and his lips were left exposed. The herald of Manwë did not mind this; the mask was to serve as an adornment, for, after all, his form was not his true form.

“Your libation.” The Maia who attended to him before came forth with a tray full of delicate glass goblets. Eönwë accepted one and took a sip. It was Miruvórë, fragrant as the flowers in the Gardens themselves and as golden as the dews that fell from the leaves of Laurelin. He sighed with pleasure.

“A fine choice,” he said, raising his goblet. The Maia bowed his head and took his leave.

Eönwë walked among the others, sipping at his Miruvórë and speaking quietly with those who stopped to have a word with him. He was patient and respectful as always, and he kept an ever-watchful eye on those who were present. Someone was bound to capture his particular attention before long.

And that did indeed happen, while he paused to admire a troupe of tumblers twisting and contorting their bodies to form various shapes. A lord was seated in the shadows behind them, his body concealed beneath the folds of a thick velvet cloak, and his face hidden beneath a heavy hood. All that was truly visible of him were his hands and his boots. Eönwë went to him, and made himself known.

“Hail and well met, my lord,” Eönwë said. He bowed. “Might I be so bold to ask as to why you are here, hiding in the shadows?”

The lord startled. Then he remembered his courtesies, and he said, “Hail and well met, my lord. This is the first time I have come upon such a place.” He lifted his gaze to better look at the one who approached him, revealing an ornate mask that shielded most of his countenance save for his nose and lips. “And I fear both the discovery and the ridicule that would surely follow if my presence here became known. That is why you have found me like this, hiding in the darkness.”

The lord did not have to reveal his identity, for Eönwë already perceived it, having recognized the deep, lilting voice and the eyes that gleamed like beaten bronze fresh from the forge. He was prince Arakáno, the youngest son of the Noldorin prince Nolofinwë. And he was here in this pleasure house, seeking diversions of his own, no doubt.

“I know who you are, my prince,” the herald whispered, “and I give you my word not to reveal it. Perhaps, if you desire it, that is, we could go somewhere quieter and amuse ourselves. That is why you are here, yes? To seek diversions with a willing companion?”

Arakáno startled again. Then he composed himself when Eönwë smiled warmly. There was much kindness in his eyes, and it set the prince at ease.

“That is what I desire, yes,” he said, rising. His great stature was further proof of his identity, but that meant little here. There were others like him, and the one who stood before him was taller than even he. “And it is also why I came here, my lord. Where I live, it is hard to find a willing companion outside of the bonds of marriage. And there are certain expectations placed upon me, much like my brothers and my sister. It can be most stifling at times.”

“I understand that all too well,” Eönwë returned. He drained the last of the Miruvórë and gave the empty goblet for an attendant passing by to take. “But nothing further will take place if we stay as we are, talking between ourselves. Wait here a moment. I will procure a chamber for us both.”

The chamber that was given to Eönwë in the end was large and airy and lit by only a few candles. The roof was made of a web of gold beaten to the thinness of delicate thread, and the floors and the walls were made of thick cedar beams; each had been polished and darkened to a fine finish. There was a little table in one corner, laden with food and drink and other delicacies. A chest of drawers stood next to one wall, and beside it lay a wide and inviting featherbed covered with silken sheets. Eönwë crossed over to the table first. He picked a gold bowl and offered what it held to the prince.

“Something to sweeten the tongue,” he said, “and inflame one’s passions. Take one, my prince. No harm will come from it.”

Arakáno came to him and took one of the sweetmeats for himself. It was indeed sweet against his tongue, and it stirred his blood, making him feel warm and feverish and lustful. Then it melted into nothingness, but the fires it kindled within remained. The prince flushed profusely, uncertain if he was to make his new desires known.

“Do you wish to go further?” Eönwë said. He took a sweetmeat also, closing his eyes in delight when he felt what bloomed to life after it was consumed.

Arakáno was still uncertain, and it showed in his eyes. Eönwë set the bowl down and went to him. He reached for him in two quick strides, and he took his hand into his own. It was finely formed and strong, and it trembled against his. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips against the inside of the prince’s wrist before wetting it with his tongue. The prince moaned softly and shivered.

“Yes?” Eönwë asked.

Arakáno was now certain, having grasped onto something that passed for courage. “Please.”

Eönwë gathered him into his arms, and he kissed him. Then he undid the clasp of the prince’s cloak, savouring the sigh of gratitude that followed when it slipped off the elf’s shoulders and pooled around his feet. Then they kissed, and they kissed. Eönwë grew bolder. He caressed the prince’s arms, his back, and his sides. His lips found the crook of the prince’s neck, and he tasted the salt that still lingered there. Arakáno threw his head back and moaned again. He clutched desperately at his companion’s shoulders and then stroked his hair; so overwhelmed was he by his own passions. They had grown even stronger, and in ways he could never truly describe. 

“More,” he all but sobbed. “I desire more, my lord.”

The Maia did not have to be told more. “Lay down there my prince,” he said, and he drew away to disrobe himself. “And give of yourself to me. I will tend to the rest.”

Arakáno’s eyes widened when Eönwë undressed himself. Even in the form of an elf, the Maia was uncommonly fair to look upon. His eyes were bright and clear and fierce, and his hands held much strength. The prince felt the proof of this strength himself when they held each other and kissed. And he would be his. For a few brief hours, this lord, whoever he was, would be his. 

“Lie down, my prince,” Eönwë repeated softly.

Arakáno willingly obeyed. He climbed onto the featherbed without further prompting. Eönwë followed him, his hands reaching out to loosen the laces of the prince’s boots, the sash of his robes. They soon formed a growing pile of raiment that had been thrown unceremoniously onto the wooden floor. The mask, however, remained. Eönwë thought the prince looked quite lovely with it. Then he paused for a moment to better admire the elf in his unclothed form.

“You are beautiful,” the Maia confessed. He leaned down to kiss the prince, and to renew their embraces.  

tags: @cilil @asianbutnotjapanese

[youssefguedira]

lotr au snippet for you all this evening please enjoy them <3 (as always for @spacegirlsgang!)

Yusuf nearly doesn't approach him at all. 

Regardless of what Andy had said, when he reaches the small balcony she'd pointed him towards (more of a ledge, really, given its lack of any kind of railing) and sees Nicolò sitting there, his legs hanging over his edge and his back to Yusuf, shoulders slumped like he's carrying the weight of the world, it feels like something he shouldn't be witnessing. So he almost turns and goes back the way he came, certain that Andy, or one of the hobbits, or even Sebastien will do a better job, because Nicolò hates him – but his job is, in part, to make people smile. He is not as much of a fighter as everyone else in this cobbled-together company, but that he can do. 

Either way, before he can do anything, Nicolò turns and looks at him over his shoulder. He doesn't say a word. Yusuf is pinned in place by his gaze. 

"Hi," Yusuf says after an uncomfortably long pause. "Andy– I wanted to see if you were okay."

Nicolò's lips quirk up into the tiniest of smiles at that, so slight Yusuf wonders if he'd imagined it. He turns away, his back to Yusuf once more.

 "I know I'm not – I know we aren't friends, really, but. If you wanted to talk," Yusuf ventures, trails off mid-sentence when Nicolò shows no response. Maybe Andy was wrong, and he doesn't want company. Certainly not Yusuf's, at the least. 

He decides to try one more time, at the least so he can tell Andy he did try, and because it wouldn't be right, he thinks, to leave him like this without one more attempt.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

Nicolò is silent long enough that Yusuf considers leaving, but then he looks over his shoulder once more and nods. 

So Yusuf makes his way across the short space from the door to the ledge Nicolò is sitting on. He lowers himself down carefully, conscious of the fact that it's not particularly wide and there's barely an inch of space between them, and then swings his legs over the edge to mimic Nicolò's position. Below them, Lorien, in all its magical, eerie glory, and above them, through a break in the canopy of leaves, the stars. Somewhere, the elves are still singing the lament for Quynh, though it's faint, now. 

"I'm sorry," is what Yusuf says, because he can't think of anything else. From this distance, Nicolò's eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks – he looks tired. 

"Thank you," Nicolò responds. He doesn't look at Yusuf. Just keeps staring ahead. 

"I didn't know her well," Yusuf says, "but. She was kind." 

Nicolò is silent for a long time. Then – "She was my sister," Nicolò says, so quiet it's barely audible. 

And Yusuf doesn't know what to say to that, because what can he say? So instead, he sits in silence, and waits. 

After a while, Nicolò speaks again. "Tell me about something." 

Yusuf nods, probably too quickly. "About what?" 

"I don't know." Nicolò tilts his head then, finally looks at him properly. "You're a storyteller, no? Tell me a story." 

There's something so quietly vulnerable in his voice, so exhausted, that Yusuf couldn't refuse even if he wanted to. "Okay," Yusuf says. "Okay." 

So he does. 

[ginfaerie]

Some Irmo maya, idk

[kip-loric]

I really love your gem AU for the Garde! How do the gems function for each of them? Is it how they access their Legacies? For John it makes sense because that's where his Lumen comes from, but I'm wondering if that's the case for the others too

I'm trying to make the placements fit with their powers or stories in some way, but it's working out with John the most (with his Lumen and healing being located in his hands). Five’s and Marina's kinda fit with their legacies (flight and breathing underwater), but mostly fit with their stories (Five can’t easily see or feel his stone, the church had Marina wear kinda strict/conservative clothing). I also thought about how the gem is where their weapon is, but only Nine and Five have constant/preferred weapons, so I scrapped that.

[hoeoftherings]

Naira entering the Hall of Fire:

Sorry for being late, my optician’s office was crowded…

Legolas running to her and grabbing her face: What’s on your face?! Are you in pain? Haldir! Aragorn! Come here someone!! She is dying!

Naira: Legolas, those are g-…

Aragorn tripping over a bench: Everyone, stay calm! Naira don’t move! I’m gonna save you! And for Gods sake don’t touch your face!!

Naira, pushing Legolas aside: Seriously, calm down, I’m not in pain!

Haldir just sitting on a window sill, laughing and watching them trying to wrestle Naira down: Perhaps you should listen to her from time to time…

[ll-but-its-random]

Percy Jackson flashbacks coming through:

(I know I'm posting a lot now, but if I leave it for later I will never remember)

Was wondering which godly parent/cabin each of the main characters would have, so here we are:

One: Aphrodite. (Goddess of Beauty). She's the phrase 'hot girl summer' personified, but she is also badass enough to get something BIG for a weapon at the armory. Probably a hunter of Artemis too. Silena Beauregard energy.

Maggie: Athena. (Goddess of Wisdom). Not the strategic kind, more reserved, but definitely resourceful.

Hannu: Demeter. (Goddess of Agriculture). Idk, I've seen this thing where someone asked why none of the Loric have plant powers, and I hc that it was one of his legacies yet to develop.

John: ... who? WHO? WHICH GOD DOES HE GO WITH? SOMEONE HELP ME OVER HERE.

Five: Ares. (God of War). I can see him having sort of a Frank Zhang energy first, which is basically the source of mockery there, until he goes crazy and someone has to ply him off the poor guy who triggered him.

Six: Zeus. (God of the Sky). Need I say more? She is the Thalia Grace of LL, and being a child of the big three is the only acceptable interpretation of Six's power.

Marina: Poseidon (God of the Ocean) or more likely Khione (Goddess of Ice). I mean, she breathes under water, ice is sort of water, but I think the whole "vengeance" thing makes her more of Khione.

Eight: Hermes. (God of Travel). Flying shoes? Yes. He would also dedicate himself to welcoming new campers because he's just that guy.

Nine: Ares. This probably goes unsaid, but Nine is just Clarice La Rue reincarnated in two different bodies. Him and Five started off on the wrong foot, but they insist to walk on it. Half-siblings.

Ella: Apollo (God of the Sun). Mostly the Precognition thing. She could be the next oracle or smth. (Rachel also happens to be INFP red-head and I am dying 'cause I just noticed).

Adam: Hades. (God of the Underworld). If this doesn't fit, nothing else does. If Adamus Sutekh and Nico Di Angelo are not congruent, I will question my existence.

Sam: Hephaestus (God of Machines). Except he tries to make things that look more modern, unlike the other things the Cabin makes that look like 19th century cars.

Sarah: Aphrodite. Sarah is so charming, she charm-spoke me into remembering to add her last minute.

[aroace-number-eight]

What if AU where the Garde (including Ella) were all already teenagers when the invasion happened and they had to escape to Earth

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i need to post more about the AU where, due to some kind of timeline fuckery, the five we know for most of canon and the retconned five from FoF end up stuck in a liminal world outside of time. they then have to work together to survive and find a way home.

(and, for that matter, decide whether they want the other one to get home. they are from points in their respective timelines where their goals are at odds to say the least, even if they won't be there to see how things in the other's timeline play out.)

retcon!five, who was raised by the mogs from the age of six, is significantly less prepared for this than canon!five on account of being much more sheltered all his life. he is also a whole lot less hinged than canon!five. and kind of a snotty princess. and way more of an asshole in general. honestly he would make canon!five feel better about himself by comparison if canon!five wasn't having to step in and be the one to use common sense and survival skills to keep them both alive

enter, at this point, a third five: cody, a human college student who's on a mental health break from school to get his head together when one day he goes for a rainy drive and finds himself stuck here. he is not remotely prepared to stumble across two traumatized, unhinged alien kid versions of himself with superpowers. but he can't help but feel responsible for them, and he makes the decision on the spot to take charge and get them all home.

(or try to take charge, anyway. they may be stupid, and they may have been in a cult, but neither of them takes well to being told what to do.)

maybe it's how angry and scared they look; maybe it's that he wants to take the chance to be the kind of adult to himself that he needed in his life when he was their age; but he's got a car and an open road and some therapy under his belt, and that'll have to be enough.

then he realizes they're making out in the backseat and goes through the stages of grief like a lottery wheel

[shittylorienlegaciesaus]

All of the Garde are stuck in a time loop except they each think they're the only one in the loop. ft. Adam who isn't in the time loop and is having weirdest day of his life

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Stranger in a new land

Day 7 for @manweweek

Freeform

Characters: Vampire! Manwë, Námo, Irmo

Time of story 19th Century London, England

Themes: Meet cute | Soft | Fluff | Vampire! AU

Warnings: Irmo nearly gets into an accident (blink and you might miss it)

Word count: 900+ words

Summary: Manwë makes new acquaintances moving to a new city in a new country

This is also available on AO3

London was a hive of activity, even while it was caught in the grips of a chilly autumn. Manwë walked about this bustling city, amazed by the sheer throng of people hurrying past him like a fast-moving river flowing around a boulder: businessmen in their fine suits, mothers and nannies with children firmly in hand, ladies in splendid dresses and thick cloaks and elaborate hats promenading with their suitors and chaperones. The sound of people talking and laughing, along with the din the many carriages and horses plying London's streets created, added to the chaotic cacophony filling the air. Manwë stayed out of other people's way, watching, listening, and discreetly observing. He was a stranger here, having only just arrived in the country after he had acquired a home beyond the outskirts of the city for himself.

“Good evening.” He smiled and doffed his hat respectfully at a young lady who dared to look at him appreciatively. She giggled and looked away before turning to whisper something to a friend who walked out of the nearby shop, her bags full of yarn and thread and lace and bright new ribbons. Manwë continued walking, having little interest in looking over his shoulder. The ladies were beautiful, to be sure, but neither of them caught his eye. Not in that way.

And I could not make myself known to them even if I desired to, he lamented, for I could not risk having the true nature of who I am being discovered.

Manwë was a vampire. He was turned by another while he lay at death’s door. It was what he wanted—to be spared the call of the angel of death—and it was granted to him willingly as an act of gratitude. He never truly regretted his choice, save for those fleeting moments when he came across friends talking and laughing or when he came across companions lost in love. Until now, he did not allow himself the joys of such things, for his companions would age while he remained unblemished, and mortals feared what he and others like him stood for.

We are death and sin made flesh. We are all that they think is unnatural and wrong. Manwë closed his eyes to the cold wind that swept through his silver hair, breathing in the scents of new apples, freshly baked bread and cake, and hot, roasted chestnuts that drifted with it. If he had been mortal, Manwë thought with a smile, his stomach would have rumbled fiercely.

“Irmo! Irmo, get back here!” Manwë's delight in what greeted his senses disappeared when a young man cried—exasperated—as he chased his brother around onlookers who quickly moved out of his way. “Irmo Lórien Fëanturi! Stop running this instant!”

“No!” Irmo returned gleefully, evading his older brother’s repeated attempts to catch him. He ran and ran, running as fast as his little legs could take him, flashing cheeky, dimpled grins at anyone who passed him by, and hooting with wild joy. It was all a game to him, and he enjoyed it immensely. He did not stop, not even when others tried to reach out in their vain attempts to catch him on behalf of his much-put-upon brother. Manwë had also seen the little boy racing toward him. He made haste to swoop down and scoop the child into his arms before he could run around him and onto the path of an oncoming carriage.

“And who do you belong to, young master?” Manwë said, dipping gracefully to his knees and smiling at the little boy who struggled in his grasp.

“He belongs to me. Well, our family, that is.” Námo reached them, nearly out of breath from the merry chase Irmo subjected him to. “Thank you, truly, for stopping him before he hurt himself. And my humblest apologies, sir, for him getting in your way.”

“It was no trouble. No trouble at all.” Manwë straightened himself after Irmo was placed into his brother’s care. Then he introduced himself. “I am Lord Amân Mānawenūz, of Taniquetil. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The name he gave was an old one, and it had once belonged to a distant uncle of little consequence. No one had heard of that name since that uncle perished nearly six hundred years ago, and Manwë only made use of it on those rare occasions when he had to introduce himself.

"Námo Fëanturi,” Námo said, extending his hand. When Manwë stood there and looked at it, puzzled, he let it fall to his side. He must not know our ways, he thought to himself. “And this bundle of never-ending delight is my brother, Irmo.”

Irmo squirmed in his older brother’s other arm, but he rewarded the one who saved him with another cheeky grin. Manwë could not help but smile at them both.

“I am pleased I was able to be of assistance to you," he said.

“We were heading toward that teahouse over there to meet our sister," returned Námo. "You are more than welcome to join us, if you like, Lord Mānawenūz.”

Manwë wanted to do nothing more than refuse the invitation. He opened his mouth to speak, to politely say no. Then he stopped himself from doing so. What he was offered was an invitation to have tea with people he would never see again, not an invitation to dine with a lover. No harm would come out of accepting such a request, so long as he was careful not to give too much of himself away. And, he told himself, what better way to learn about this new city than by talking to those who actually lived within it? He took a moment to decide before saying, “Yes. I would be honored to join you and your family."

Little did he know how much his life would change after that day.

[amaritheartist]

Another wood burning art!

(Dec/25/22)