#atarinkë

[anattmar]

Sir🫡

[lovefairymina]

(batsyforyou's celebrimbor as baby headcannons is giving me baby fever rn so here I am haha)

When I'm finally finished with cleaning the mess tyelpe made earlier and after taking a much needed bath, i walk over to curufin, seeing him rocking tyelpe gently back and forth before placing him in crib, I mouth a silent "is he asleep?", when he nods, I sigh in relief. I shake my head, still being able to hear tyelpe's giggles in my mind as he made his dinner fly all around the kitchen and as he smacked my face with it; I snort silently, little piece of shit, here he was, finally asleep, sleeping like an innocent angel after exhausting both me and curufin. Putting an arm around Curufin's waist, I lean into his side, resting my head on his shoulder as we gaze down at the crib together where tyelpe rests. I can't help but smile at the sight, it really was exhausting, taking care of this little one, but Eru, seeing him now, sleeping so peacefully, it was the most adorable thing ever! I sigh again, I can't belive he was our precious baby... I place a gentle a kiss on curufin's shoulder, gazing up at him softly "curvo, my love, i want one more..."

“One more what? Kiss to my shoulder? You know you are free to give me all the kisses in the world, darling,” he muttered and leaned closer to bridge the gap and kiss your forehead, however, his lips never reached. Instead, he noticed your frown and shaking head as your eyes darted to a sleeping Tyelpë. Then the clogs turned and he smirked. “Oh! You want another troublemaker...very well then.”

[aldanil]

Atarinkë and Tyelkormo at hunt, inspired of Celegorm’s designs from Dhelglore (on Instagram)

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Love notes to the Fëanorians

Author's note: Tried something new with this one. Imagine slipping a little note under your fav Fëanorian's door :)

-

Carnistir

A rose you are, dark and deep as the sunset’s crimson embrace. 

Your petals rain on me like prayers. 

My fingers, pierced by thorns as sharp as your tongue, 

long to be intertwined with thine on this day. 

Makalaurë

It dawned on me, 

like the fog loves the rain —

I love you.

Like the tides pledge themselves to the shore — 

bound to you, I am. 

Tyelkormo

When I think of you, I bloom.

In the most peculiar ways, I flourish. 

Maitimo

Only the whispering winds

could convey my sentiments to you.

With open hands

I dwell. 

Atarinkë

Your piercing eyes, 

have magic trapped inside.

How I linger in your gaze,

awaiting your touch.

See me, hear me, ruin me. 

Ambarussar

Do indulge

in these verses dedicated to you.

Conjured up from deep inside, 

to wherever you are. 

Heartfelt laughter is what you are, 

brighter than an innocent smile,

lighter than the air I breathe.

Love is never enough,

for my feelings run deep, 

deeper than one word could ever convey.

[grey-gazania-fic]

Spark

A brief moment between a young Curufin and his future wife. Started for a B2MeM prompt from a few years ago, "meeting your future spouse". Rated G.

“I’m going to visit Mánaiwë tomorrow,” Atto said over dinner. “You should come along, Curvo. It’s been quite a while since you’ve seen Nyellë.”

“The last time I saw Nyellë, she hit me over the head with a toy cow so hard that one of its legs came off,” I said. It seemed necessary to point that out. Mánaiwë was a good friend of Atto’s, and I’d known his youngest daughter since we were both small, but my relationship with Nyellë had always been a little rocky.

Across the table, Maitimo snorted into his soup. “As I recall, she did that because you kept pulling her hair,” he reminded me. “Because you ‘liked the way her curls bounced’. You were hardly an innocent victim.”

“And that was fifteen years ago. I’m sure you’ve both matured,” Atto said, giving me a pointed look. “Mánaiwë tells me she’s been apprenticed to a firework maker. You’ve read a fair bit about pyrotechnics lately. I’m sure the two of you will find something to talk about.”

“Do I have to?” I asked, realizing even as I said it that the whine in my voice was unbefitting of a thirty-five year-old. I was more than halfway grown, not a small child anymore, and Ammë was already conveying with the look in her eyes alone that I was acting immature.

“Yes,” Atto said. “You have to. You don’t spend time with enough of your peers, Curvo. You know I’m pleased by how hard you work in your lessons with me, but you can’t spend every day in the company of the same half-dozen people. Besides, Mánaiwë has been asking after you. It would be rude of you to stay home.”

“Fine,” I sighed. I was comforted only slightly by the way Tyelko caught my eye, indicating with a look that he was sympathetic to my position. Different though we might seem at first glance, my older brother was probably my closest friend, and he understood my reluctance to tear myself away from the things that interested me for a social visit that was bound to be awkward, if not outright boring.

Perhaps, once I came home tomorrow, he and I could meet up with Irissë, our favorite cousin. That, I thought, would be a reasonable reward.

continue reading on AO3

[silmawensgarden]

Fëanáro & baby Atarinkë

I have a HC that baby Curvo used to love dressing up in his Atar's clothes. I wanted to draw an unproblematic baby curvo 😂

Bonus: Young Fëanáro WIP.

Inspired by my friend @atarince 💕😊

Also somewhat of a gift for them. I hope you like it!

They have amazing art! I really recommend taking a look there!

[leucisticpuffin]

@feanorianweek, Day 5. Curufinwë loves taking things apart to see how they work. Putting them back together is more tricky.

(The horse belongs to Carnistir, and Curufinwë will be in deep trouble when he finds out - but he's trying not to care about that.)

[eerieechos]

Fashionably late to Fëanorian week here’s Curufin

[mag-lore]

@feanorianweek day 5- Curufinwë Atarinkë

[anattmar]

Curufin😌💅

[lovefairymina]

(yes it’s the enemies to lovers trope…. Well, the start of it.)

“Hey, watch we’re your going!” Y/N snapped as an elf bumped into her. She looked up to glare at the elf. Curufin. Of course.

Curufin had hated her from day one, not that she knew why. The two went out of their way to cause trouble for each other. “You watch where you’re going.” He glared at Y/N, who groaned angrily. Y/N scoffed furiously, glowering at the prince, who nastily sneered, “No wonder your family sent you away.”

Y/N flinched as the words came out of his mouth. It was true. Her family had sent her to the Feanorians. Not that she knew why. Before she knew it, tears spilled out of her eyes, and she shouted, “Why do you even hate me so much?!” Before storming down the hall, and shutting herself in her room.

Unbothered by your tantrum, he made his way out of the house and towards the forge where his father awaited him for his next lesson. Grabbing his apron and gloves, he attired himself and moved over to the materials to start his daily lesson, rolling his eyes at the replay of your behaviour earlier.

[aldanil]

I HC that, when he was young, Atarinkë also created his own writing system which he named “ Curufinwëo Tengwassë”, inspired from the famous Fëanoreva Tengwassë from his Atar. But this alphabet was only for his personal use, and he always kept it secret.

[memoriapraeteritorumbonorum]

Letters to Atarinkë - II

In my world, there are several ways to tell someone’s fortune. Some people read it in others’ coffee grounds or tea leaves. Others like to look at people’s hands. It is said you are born with this gift — you cannot learn how to tell fortune. There is something about a person’s skin that makes it rather difficult for me to fully grasp their existence. 

Your hands are rough, marked with years of hard work. I imagine following each line on your palms, reading each little story engraved into your skin. Some lines are meant to tell how long you shall live, others about your love life.

Looking at your life line, I see a young elfling discovering his love for craftsmanship. I imagine each tool you have ever held throughout your life, and how they all melded into your hands and left their mark flawlessly. How many times you may have burned yourself when working too close to the fire or deciding not to wear your protective gloves because it’ll be just a quick job, no gloves needed for this one. 

Your love line confuses me. Somehow, your hands seem to be as private as your heart. I can make out junctions and branches indicating how you may have created beautiful pieces of art for a certain someone, how those pieces took hours, even days to make, blistering your hands mercilessly. It makes me smile, thinking about the way they must have shook when you were about to present your work to the elleth of your desires, eagerly waiting for her reaction — hoping her hands would clutch yours wholeheartedly, squeezing them reassuringly and reciprocating your sentiments. 

I wonder how thick your skin must be. For some reason, I keep imagining you casually picking up a hot cup of tea while all your brothers are struggling to hold onto theirs because Curvo, the cup is way too hot, are you mad?! 

How I would love to hold your hand. Just to feel your skin on mine. A skin that has so many stories to tell, too many for me to speculate about in this letter alone. I imagine it to be cold, calloused, yet soft at the same time. You have your genes to thank for that, or whichever oils you use to treat your hands after a hard day’s work at your smithy. I imagine my hand to be incredibly small compared to yours, too delicate and untouched. The stories on my skin are of different nature, moreso through freckles and little scars acquired throughout my childhood as well as tan lines from numerous rings I was wearing during Laurelin’s season. Maybe we will meet someday, and you will indulge me in my haphazard fortune telling, deciding to craft a ring just as intricate as the lines on your palms — and thus contributing to the story on my skin.

[grey-gazania-fic]

[SWG link here]

A brief moment between a young Curufin and his future wife.

[gardensofthemoon]

No graves

Curufinwë Fëanáro has a heart of fire and a mind of metal. His eyes are bright and fey; his voice is silver, rouses armies. Of fire he is made, and to ashes he burns. His sons weep.

Curufinwë Atarinkë has a tongue of poison and a heart of coal. His eyes are slate and anguished; his voice is soft, yet frightens kingdoms. Of ice he is made, yet to ashes he burns. His son forsakes him.

Curufinwë Tyelperinquar has a hand of silver and a heart of gold. His eyes are blue and trusting; his voice is bright, inspiring scholars. Of flesh he is made, and on a spike he bleeds. His lover kisses his lips.

[thelordofgifs]

Hmm actually as a follow-up to this post, let's rank all of the names Nerdanel gave her sons from least to most fucked up:

Makalaurë (gold cleaver). Literally fine and normal (also pretty). Probably why he ended up among the more well-adjusted of the lot.

Ambarussa (top-russet). Unimaginative, but alright.

Tyelkormo (hasty riser). Mostly ok? If, as The Shibboleth of Fëanor suggests, a reference to his quick temper, possibly a little mean but probably fine.

Carnistir (red-faced). Not exactly complimentary, but whatever.

Maitimo (well-made). Sure let's just name this kid for his looks as a deliberate fuck-you to everyone who wondered at Fëanor marrying someone "not the fairest of her people" that's going to be fine.

Atarinkë (little father). Ever wondered why this one ended up Like That? Hmm??

Umbarto (ill-fated). UM???