#dark maedhros

[arlenianchronicles]

More from my dark!Mae AU, this time featuring both twins! Originally it was just going to be Maedros and Elros (right), but then I found that the composition worked with Elrond in it too, so I added him on the left! I’m really glad I did XDD

I wasn’t able to get the twins as glowy as I was hoping, but I’m overall happy with how it turned out! Elros, as the one who mainly plots and plans in this AU, is holding two daggers to symbolize that. I imagine one of them is for Elrond, but Elrond isn’t quite ready for that yet ^^;; He’s more often the face of the twins in public, so to speak -- acting as the obedient son who is very sweet and doesn’t get in trouble, which helps to put Maedros at ease.

[sesamenom]

Gil-galad Variations, featuring all the gil galad theories i've encountered.

[adwendoodles]

And it was said that Feanor held no love for the eldest son of Nolofinwe, despite his close friendship with Maedhros his son...

aka: @pearlescentpearl's favorite Fingon-Feanor dynamic.

[ayaosguqin]

“Dark deeds done in pursuit of Light”

The shadow of doom

@officialtolkiensecretsanta this piece belongs to anon who shall be revealed in 24th of December

My gift to you is basically : Feanorians,or at least most of them, being miserable ;)

[camille-lachenille]

Ten little Finwës

Ten little Finwëans went out in exile; One was slain in the dark and then there were nine.
Nine little Finwëans fled with stolen ships; One burned on water and then there were eight.
Eight little Finwëans fighting in the night; One was defeated and then there were seven.
Seven little Finwëans chopping up Doriath; One was chopped in halves and then there were six.
Six little Finwëans slaying their kin; A sword pierced one and then there were five.
Five little Finwëans going in for a Silmaril; One got killed and then there were four.
Four little Finwëans going out to Sirion; One red-headed fell and then there were three.
Three little Finwëans running in the dark; A fiery chasm swallowed one and then there were two.
Two little Finwëans sitting in the sun; One wandered away and then there was one.
One little Finwëan left all alone; He lived longer but was deceived and then there were none.

This has been living rent free in my brain for way too long and I needed to make it everyone’s problem. Sorry not sorry.

[melestasflight]

A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain.

I think quite a bit about this comment Maedhros makes in regard to Thingol in the early days of Beleriand, and how much it has to do with his decision to keep the Silmaril until the very end. Even when he has lost everything else: brothers, lands, honor. He has this, at least -- the piece of treelight that has cost him everything. So he holds his own even as the Silmaril burns his one remaining hand, even as the flames consume everything else.

[mirra-kan]

MAEDHROS | THE BURDEN

Everyone has his burden. What counts is how you carry it. Merle Miller

[yourlocalnetizen]

Credits to: lorica-art, Elena Kukunova, Bella Bergolts, alystrea, Kinko-White, & Serwen-101

[averagenolofinwean]

Feanorian elv: I'd like to clarify that I do not own or hide a silmaril nor do I have the intention of doing so.

Maedhros: That's what she said.

[cilil]

Dark romance prompts request - Stalking - Maedhros/Fingon/Melkor

dark romance prompts

♡ prompt: stalking & interspecies sex (rare pair bingo)* | Maedhros x Fingon x Melkor ♡ synopsis: Fingon chances upon Maedhros in the wilderness Valinor and makes love to him - or does he? ♡ warnings: identity theft & related consent issues**; also obligatory reminder that they're half-cousins ♡ short oneshot (~900 words)

**the rare pair part is ofc not the Russingon, it's Melkor's involvement

**Mae is enthusiastically consenting to doing this with Finno, but... well... you see the prompt, characters and warnings, so...

"Maitimo." 

Maitimo looked up from his book when he heard Findekáno's smooth, deep voice and saw him smiling down at him. 

"Finno!" He quickly closed it and rose to his feet to greet him. "What are you doing here? I didn't even hear you coming." 

Findekáno chuckled and interrupted his efforts to peck his cheek in greeting by pulling him into a kiss. Lips on lips, heat, that familiar smell... Maitimo melted into his embrace, closing his eyes. 

The twins, he mentally assured himself, should be gone for a few more hours anyway. 

"I had a feeling I would find you out here today," Findekáno said when they parted. "Still, I consider myself no less lucky to be greeted with the sight of the most beautiful prince of the Noldor." 

"There is no need for either flattery or formality," Maitimo replied, though the warmth in his voice and the blush on his cheeks betrayed his true feelings. 

"Are you sure?" Findekáno's hand travelled down his back, stopping just above the curve of his backside. "Perhaps I could find a form of flattery that's more agreeable to you?" 

Breathlessly, Maitimo laughed. This time he was the one to pull his secret lover into a kiss. "I wouldn't say no to that..." 

It was not the first time they did something like this, stolen moments of intimacy when they managed to have time to themselves away from family and political obligations. Kisses and touches swiftly grew bolder, and Findekáno wasted no time gently pushing his half-cousin to the ground and getting on top of him. He was radiant in the light of Laurelin, Maitimo thought dreamily, bathed in a warm golden glow that made him look so beautiful and regal, as if he was no Elf at all and one of the Ainur instead. 

"I want you, Maitimo." Findekáno's eyes darkened with desire, as did his voice. There was something commanding in his tone, but Maitimo found himself more turned on than concerned or offended. Between the ambiguous, polite things he would be told at court and his brothers being either secretive and closed off or demanding, it was refreshing to hear another calmly state his intentions. 

And it was flattering as well, to be desired by a loved one. 

Thus Maitimo happily acquiesced, helping Findekáno undress both of them and turning to lie on his stomach when asked. He spread his legs eagerly, moaned when one finger entered him to start preparing him and sang his lover's praises. 

"That's it," Findekáno whispered to him in-between movements and, "well done." 

In his lustful haze, Maitimo barely noticed that he was less patient than usual, that he held him more firmly, that his cock penetrated him faster and more roughly. All he could think of was Findekáno desiring him so badly that he couldn't help himself and how loved and wanted it made him feel; no word of protest ever left his lips, only the occasional pained grunt when his body was pushed to its limits. 

Little was left of the grace and dignity of two Noldorin princes as they made love in the wilderness of Valinor, more akin to amorous couplings of Yavanna's kelvar. Findekáno had long since seized a fistful of his lover's hair to make him arch his back, thrusting as hard and deep as he could, and their voices chased a couple of birds away. His stamina was remarkable, Maitimo dimly noted, particularly for being in such a lustful mood, but he was too far gone to dwell on it. 

They continued their lewd liaison until they were both exhausted, panting heavily and covered in sweat, as well as other liquid remnants of their love-making. Maitimo wanted to turn around to properly snuggle up to his lover in post-coital bliss, only to find himself unable to when Findekáno's weight on top of him kept him in place. 

"Rest now, Maitimo. I shall keep you warm." 

There it was again, his mother-name in place of his epessë. He almost hadn't noticed it earlier in his surprise and excitement, but now that he was lying still and coming down from his high, the drowsiness overcoming him was tinged with confusion. 

Findekáno's lips grazed the back of his neck, feeling strangely cold. 

It must be because we both got so heated, Maitimo thought and closed his eyes to rest. 

He hadn't even realised that he had fallen asleep until he once again heard Findekáno's voice, louder this time and filled with worry. 

"Finno?" he mumbled, squinting up at him. "What's wrong?" 

"You ask me what's wrong?" Findekáno shook his head. "I was looking for you because I just happened to run into Tyelkormo who, when I asked about you, said that the twins came home hours ago without you — and now I find you sleeping naked in the middle of nowhere."

He glanced down at his half-cousin's body and added, "Though it seems as if you... enjoyed yourself at least."

"What are you saying, Finno?" Alarmed, Maitimo rose to a seated position. "You were there. You made love to me. You told me to rest." 

"No, Russo." Findekáno's brow creased with worry. "I did no such thing. I swear I only just came here. Whoever was with you, it wasn't me." 

Maitimo suddenly felt an ice-cold shudder go through him. "Then someone else wore your skin to take advantage of me." 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars @urwendii

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The same song

This is for the writer's challenge (1,3 and 6-ish) by @silmsmutweek

Pairing: Maedhros x Maglor | Himring

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Sibling incest | Sexual activity | Use of silk gag

Word count: 400+ words

Summary: Maedhros and Maglor make the most of the time given to them when the others are away.

Rating: Explicit | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

The sun had already begun its descent. They were abed at this strange hour, the pelts a twisted heap around them.

Maglor could neither moan nor plead. The strips of silk over his lips stopped him from doing so. His eyes still communicated his feelings—the fire that blazed from within. It made him dizzy, helpless and weak. Fresh needs tore through him like lightning piercing darkened skies. His body spasmed. It was an involuntary response, no doubt, but it wove its spell all the same, sending white-hot sparks surging through Maedhros. He shuddered, moaned like he had never done before.

"A little longer," he promised. Maglor writhed beneath him, the beginnings of his spend already starting to spill. "Be patient, just a little longer."

I cannot. Not anymore. Maglor ached to form the words, to tell his brother he could hold back no longer. He squirms again, catches his brother's attention. Maedhros lowers his gaze. His lips curl at the corners. 

Impatient little thing. He took Maglor to hand, his strokes tender yet ceaseless. Maglor closed his eyes in unconditional surrender, trembling with each stifled gasp. They rose together, soaring higher and higher, reaching the highest place of bliss, and then-

And then-

Maglor could do nothing but clutch at broad shoulders, holding on even as they fell and shattered, lost in each other's bodies and the rapturous pleasure of it all. He heard the hoarse cry. Shivered when warmth poured onto his belly. Everything grew silent. 

His eyes flutter slowly, then open. He found his brother above him, his arms shaking from exertion. He became aware of the light of the setting sun spilling into the chamber, of the furs beneath his back. Eyes as blue as brilliant jewels drowned in those of sparkling silver. No words were said. Were words truly needed? Meadhros did not think so. He slid out after he had softened, rising to trembling knees.

"Let me," he offered, reaching behind Maglor to undo the knot and remove the wisps that silenced him. Maglor took a deep breath. He could speak freely again. 

"The others are near." He sat up straight and turned to face the window, fear burning brightly in his eyes. "I can hear the hounds already."

It was the same song as always, since their first stolen kiss, since their confessions beneath the stars, since they shared the same chambers for reasons other than innocent fondness. Maglor was afraid—afraid the others would find out; afraid the others would learn how their forbidden bond slowly formed and how neither denied the other. And Maedhros was ready to reassure him, never losing his patience. 

"They are far away still," he replied, his voice still thick with desire. "But if you are afraid, let me help you clean and dress. Then we can greet the others with none of them being the wiser." 

[arlenianchronicles]

Thought I’d try designing Sauron for my dark!Mae AU, so here he is! It’s a bit of a messier sketch than usual, but at one point it was just sitting in my drafts, so I decided to just touch it up and post it XDD

AU-wise, I imagine Sauron’s the most fashionable out of everybody; plus he gets a kick out of parties and masquerade balls since that’s when he can use the full extent of his wardrobe! So Maedros is often forced to put on more feasts and balls than he thinks is necessary whenever Sauron visits him at Himring loll

[sesamenom]

Day 6 Objects & Symbols for @tolkiengenweek: Silmarils.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Jealousy & Confession - Maedhros x Fingon

Dear anon, it's my joy and pleasure to give you this sweet(ish) slice of Russingon!

They truly are the best! I love them so much! <3

Words: 1 070

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon

Warnings: A hint of sadness, a bit of obsession, a confession, and yes, they're still half-cousins :D

Gritting his teeth, Maedhros swallowed a few times to dislodge the lump of bad conscience in his throat.

He had no right to be doing this, and if anyone was to catch him—lurking around behind corners and nearly folding himself in half to keep his prodigious height from drawing too much attention—he would have been hard-pressed to find a reasonable explanation or excuse for his current shameful behaviour.

It had all started, a few weeks ago, with an innocent crush which had soon devolved into outright obsession; Fingon—the object of Maedhros’s single-minded preoccupation—had only had to bat those dense, dark lashes at him while laughing at an honestly rather mediocre joke for the pale, freckled ginger to completely lose his mind.

In his head, he could hear Maglor drawling that this was all just a consequence of his genetical make-up and unusual upbringing, and that thought alone made Maedhros clam up and grit his teeth petulantly.

Of course, his father was known for being inclined towards mad fixations, and Maedhros had spent a shocking amount of time denying his own needs and desires to keep an eye on his younger siblings instead, but he was not about to readily admit that he might have sustained any kind of emotional or psychological damage from these circumstances.

So what if Fingon’s open smile and the way he consistently seemed to “accidentally” touch Maedhros when they spoke drove bashful heat into his hollow cheeks and made his heart beat faster with helpless agitation?

It didn’t mean that there was necessarily something wrong with him.

Hiding behind a beautifully carved column to watch Fingon talk to a young girl, on the other hand, was so irrefutably an indication of onsetting madness that even Maedhros could not explain it away.

Indeed, he was painfully aware of just how insane and worrisome his behaviour was for—even if he was special to Maedhros in every way—Fingon was kind and charming to every person he met, be they a random stranger or a family friend.

Thus, it was entirely unreasonable to feel as if every smile that was graciously bestowed upon another had been stolen from Maedhros who was far from destitute to begin with; he had six brothers, doting parents, and many friends.

So how could it be that he so yearned to bathe in Fingon’s benevolent attention as if he was gilded and hallowed by every sweet word and amused chuckle?

When the girl lifted her hand to push back one of Fingon’s braids, Maedhros growled.

As that feral, rumbling sound echoed through the hollow, aching cavity of his chest, the tall redhead was at last torn from his frenzy. Shame washed through him, hot and healing.

At last, he averted his eyes to slink away and seek refuge and solace beside a remote, forgotten fountain he had loved since his earliest childhood. Nobody would find him there, and he’d be free to bask in his own misery and self-reproach in relative peace.

Cursing himself bitterly for so unreasonably growing possessive and jealous, he hastened away.

“Huh?!”

Upon hearing the startled sound escaping the soft, rosy mouth of his friend, Fingon turned around instinctively to scan their surroundings.

“What is it?” he asked tensely—even though he had tried to arrange everything so that nobody would notice his absence, he could never be entirely sure that none of his younger siblings or cousins had followed him in pursuit of a tasteless, puerile practical joke.

“Nothing,” she chuckled, embarrassed by her nervous reaction. “I thought I had seen a flash of copper and gold in the distance, but it’s gone. Surely, it was but the light dancing on the columns. Do not try to change the subject, friend! You know you have to talk to him sooner or later! Just confess your feelings, you’ll feel better afterwards, no matter what his answer will be!”

Nodding unconvincedly, Fingon rose to his full height and squared his shoulders—he was no coward, and he agreed that he could not go on like this.

His every waking moment was consumed by intrusive thoughts about the gleaming eyes and alluring smile of one he facetiously called “friend”, and his nights were all the more upsetting as his mind painted pictures of puzzling promiscuity that haunted him well beyond the borders of Irmo’s realm.

“Go!” the girl cheered and gave him a gentle push.

Usually, finding Maedhros—tall as a tree and thrice as charming, may Yavanna forgive him—was not a difficult feat, but Fingon had to visit many a spot he knew to be amongst his friend’s favourites before he finally stumbled upon the long-limbed beauty, curled up on himself by a defunct fountain.

“Hi! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! How are you?” he chirped, hearing himself how shrill and breathless his voice sounded.

“Oh!” Maedhros looked up in surprise, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously almost at once. “I would not have expected you to seek me out…”

“I need to talk to you,” Fingon burst out, and his heart sank when he saw Maedhros’s face melt into an impassive, almost hostile mask that was so unlike the beautifully vulnerable flush he had come to love.

“Me? I’m sure there are plenty of other people, much lovelier than I am, you could be conversing with,” Maedhros grumbled, burying his face against his updrawn knees as the bitter, accusatory tone of his voice hit him.

“There is none lovelier than you,” Fingon whispered. “And I’d rather sit in silence by your side than listen to the most skilled orator to have ever been sung into existence…”

Slivers of silver emerged like crescent moons above bony knees, and Fingon dropped to the ground to clasp those slender, long-fingered hands in his own.

“I cherish our friendship, please believe me, but I must confess how much deeper my feelings run than mere amicable affection, lest I run mad with longing…”

“I—you—but…the girl?” Maedhros stammered, unheedful of the dreadful confession he was making.

“What girl? There are no girls,” Fingon laughed, kissing Maedhros’s tense, white knuckles in an expression of exuberant joy. “There is only you.”

And, because he was indeed not the most gifted or eloquent creation to have ever existed, Maedhros surged forward to capture Fingon’s smiling mouth in a searing kiss in lieu of a formal acceptance of his much-yearned-for, miraculous suit.

@fellowshipofthefics here's another one for this month!

No monthly challenge would be complete without these two!

Lots of love and well-wishes!

-> Masterlist

[gwaedhannen]

Maedhros & Maglor Week day 6: Respite

WIP of something for @maedhrosmaglorweek that became too long to finish in one day. fem!Maglor/Elwing, Maedhros/Eärendil, background Elwing/Eärendil. Most of this is from the Maglor/Elwing section as that's what I have written so far.

Maglor waits upon the waves for her fall. The houseboat is a compromise, and a convenient method of rules-lawyering. It is not quite in Edhellond, whose lord has little patience for kinslayers but whose lady has a softness for her only remaining cousin on these shores, and not quite on the Outer Lands themselves, where the Doomed may not walk again. But Elwing has never been keen on following the rules of the world before; rules which say she should have died in the cold with her brothers, should have handed her father’s (her father’s) jewel to its rightful owners, should have died on the end of Maglor or her brothers’ blades, should have died in the surf, should have died on strange seas, should have died a mortal in the immortal land. And Maglor may have been a follower all her life, but the world no longer watches her deeds, no longer judges and pities. She may do as she will. Maglor watches the descent from on high, the Evening Star fissioning and a fragment tumbling down to Arda-that-is, resolving from firmamental myth into bone and feather and weight in her arms. Little else can survive the transition, but every time she bears a single strand of red-brown hair, safe in her beak. A promise, a reminder. Payment for catching her. Maglor takes the hair, presses it to her lips, weaves it into the braid with its companions. Elwing slides to the deck, bird into woman, the shift woven from her own dark hair materializing over pale skin. White stars are patterned upon, and a white tree embroidered over the breast. They make their exchanges. Elwing dances as her heart wills while the wind which boosts her leaps threatens to carry her away, and Maglor’s tempo keeps her grounded. Maglor sings laments for the long-shambling corpse of Númenor, and Elwing’s tears wash her scarred palms clean. Elwing offers news from the sky, of strange new continents beyond strange new seas, of mountains high and forests deep, of faces lifted skyward in hope. Maglor offers news from the land, of a distant valley and the young twins who fill it with song, of kingdoms finding their places in a quieter world, of those who still remember Menegroth and its many lanterns. She does not speak of Valinor. She does not speak of childhoods.

Eärendil’s giddy mirth is impressively contagious, and Maedhros almost without realizing it is cackling in laughter alongside him as Vingilótë climbs out of its dive, careening upwards back into the Heavens where the stars gleam with laughter of their own. The Mariner drags him down for a fierce kiss (how in the name of Ulmo’s sopping tits did a descendent of Turgon and Galdor Orchal end up so damned short?), and by the Flame Imperishable, Maedhros has never felt so alive.

[thecoolblackwaves]

Maemags Week 2024 Feb 19: Trust/Distrust

For @maedhrosmaglorweek day 2

Warnings: Kinda Dark, Angst, Grief, Complex-Probably-Toxic Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Monster Elves

Long was the path they marched.

Dior was dead. Orodreth too. Their father, brothers, Felagund, Findekano, most of their kin, soldiers, allies, friends. Maglor’s adopted sons had grown and flown the nest, one likely never to be seen again, not even in the Halls.

The earth beneath their feet was scorched and dry, the wildlife scarce, and the air stagnant like a rusting pool of blood. Maglor trudged along beside his brother, a Silmaril clenched in his trembling fist. Every step he took jarred it against the searing burn in his palm and sent waves of pain through his body. Maedhros, he was sure, felt the same pain.

He dared not ask his brother if he feared losing his other hand as well. Maedhros would not deign to answer him. The same way he kept the flint stone tucked away in a pouch beneath his cloak, hidden from Maglor’s fingers, and Maglor spent days in silence when asked what he wanted for supper.

On the same nights Maedhros would rest with his naked back to Maglor, allow him to massage his forearms with charred fingers, and present him with small birds crushed to death under a large boot.

Maglor ate the birds and carefully wove their brittle bones into his brother's hair. Maedhros would not light a fire. He rested his Silmaril upon a small stone to illuminate their camp and Maglor did the same.

The stars in the sky dimmed in comparison to their Father's creations. How could a canopy over Arda come close to the light of divine creation, love, devotion, passion, anger, righteousness, madness? It was their making and their ruin. Beheld at last, alone in a wasteland not even Orcs crossed.

Maedhros could bait him to sound with a careful word or a soft look.

‘Come hither, lover,’ his eyes would say and Maglor would laugh until he was breathless, then scream himself raw until the words overflowed his hroä in a babble of hoarse Voice. Maedhros would chant along, carried by the commands whispered in that terrible, seductive voice. He gave himself up to his brother's whims, inane as they were, battered as they made his trembling feä. He yelled his anger into the sky and Maglor crooned him a song of grief and loathing and pity.

They concerned themselves not with the volume of their release; what beings resided here that they could not see coming miles away? What beings cared for their existence in this wretched space?

Long was the path they marched, and lonely was its course.