#rog fic

[the-acid-pear]

y'know. generally when i ship Jack with any of the phones, it's Jack with all three Dsaf 3 phones. because poly ships are a thing and i'm indecisive as fuck.

but uh. you can tell Rogersport is my favorite of the ships with just Jack and One of the phones considering i wrote a whole fic with One-Sided Rogersport as a major plot point.

I Was Not Expecting For Roger’s Characterization To Be More Accurate Than I Was Intending It To Be In That Fic

(this is in reference to you posting the screenshots that basically prove Roger was at least Somewhat interested in Jack. holy shit. that fic was my first attempt at writing Roger with my limited knowledge on the guy. How The Fuck Did I Get It Basically First Try)

- dogboyjackkennedy

NO BC LITERALLY BRO IS SO DOWN BAD FR honestly lowkey they both are, those two are flirting almost constantly, it's just a joy to watch.

I mean hell even look at this fragment (there's a bit more before and after it's just very long) of this exchange. Anyone else would've told Jack to fuck right off but he couldn't even finish his sentence he ended just changing topics.

Plus him saying he's gonna blush when Jack tells him he's happy to see him or acting like being called his favorite employee is a love confession or... yeah. Many Such Cases !

[twelfthadept-fics]

Asarat

Glorfindel remembers the terror of that night and as he looks at the festivities in full swing below him, he has to remind himself again that this is not wrong.

Glorfindel has begun to settle into his new life, but holidays still take some getting used to.

For @glorfindelweek! I meant it to fit the Day 3 prompt (Friendship) but it kinda morphed into Day 4 (Celebrations), so, uh, not sure exactly how to tag that...

[sallysavestheday]

Tengwa #20

I worked my way through the SWG Tengwar Challenge last month with a drabble per tengwa but never posted them here. Let's do one a day!

Here's #20:

Óre (heart) Rôg had not expected to ever know tenderness again. Not after the mines, the branding, the lash. Stumbling into Gondolin had seemed like a dream – the pale rocks, Egalmoth glimmering on his dark horse, the company tense and watchful under the moon. To have been welcomed as he was would have been enough, but he has had the gift of more. Friendship, lordship, life. There is nothing he will not do for this city, for these, his people. Morgoth cannot plumb the depth of Rôg's contempt. Let his orcs and Balrogs learn the true meaning of the Hammer of Wrath.  

Full collection is here on AO3.

[pillowenvelopchair]

I think shes neat

(@un-local ‘s tarnished from her fic Still Waters Run Deep go check it out!!)

[that-angry-noldo]

"Halt!"

Rog bared his teeth, his hand instinctively reaching to his sword. He felt his companions shifting behind him, their eyes piercing through the opposing elves.

Their opponents were better armed and in... healthier condition. Rog noticed few archers in the trees, and pursed his lips.

"Who are you, where are you going from, and what are your intentions on these lands?" the other leader called out. "Answer now!"

Rog couldn't make out his opponent's face in the dark of the night. He cursed his luck and squeezed the sword's handle.

"My name is Rog the Black," he growled. "Where I'm from is not your business, but I assure you, we want nothing with this land aside from quick passage. Now, if you may, get out of our way, for our temper is quick and our patience is pretty f-cking thin."

"You are coming from a direction we would expect from orcs, not from the Quendi," the voice said. "You are lucky we didn't shoot you and your people down when you were far enough, Rog the Black. Nothing stops us from slaying you now."

"Oh, I dare you to try," Rog grinned harshly. "You insulted us enough by comparing us to orcs, unnamed leader. We will go forth, even if it means staining this snow with blood - and I assure you, none of it will be of my people."

"You are outmatched," the voice grew colder. "And you're not gaining yourself points by threatening my people. You will be down in a matter of minutes."

"Good luck," Rog spit, "killing those who already died. I repeat for the last time. We only want to come through. We have no intention to make harm to this land."

"You are coming from Angband," the voice said harshly. "Rare escaped the Iron Hell, and none escaped it in such great numbers. Why should I trust you?"

"I say you watch your tongue, for you have insulted me twice already," Rog hissed. "Each of these people behind my back saw horrors you won't ever comprehend, suffered the pain you couldn't ever endure, and looked Moringotto Himself in the eyes - you think any of their wills could've been tampered with? Indeed you are as foolish as you sound, if you deem yourself able to stand between us and our home! Now, get out of our way - or bare your swords and fight like men you think yourselves to be!"

"Put your sword away," the voice ordered. "And consider us even, for as I insulted you twice, you insulted me two times in response. Your goal is reasonable, but same was my concern - though I see, now, that you burn too bright to be under Enemy's will. Still tell me, Rog the Black - are you sure you'll make your way home?"

"The Iron Hell itself couldn't hold us," Rog answered. "Whatever lies between us and our destination should rather get out from our way."

"Maybe, but do you have provision, medicine, weapons aside your rusty swords?" his opponent demanded, and didn't wait for an answer. "Exactly. There is a fortress not far from here. Come with me, and I will make sure you have all the necessities."

"Your change of temper is surprising, and, frankly, disturbing," Rog said, and fel at least forty pairs of eyes pierce through him with an extreme level of dissapointment. "How should I know you're not walking us into a trap? Just give us the passage, and we'll be out of your hair by the morning."

"I will tell you my name," the voice answered simply. "I believe you won't need any further explanation."

Rog was silent, waiting for the person to finish their sentence. Somebody lit a torch.

"Maedhros Feanorion," said Rog's opponent in a steady voice, looking at him with steady green gaze, torch flickering in his hand. "I'm glad to welcome you in my realm."

... well, Rog thought. Life sure loved surprising him.

[maya-tl]

Hi! For the fics requests... I have two ideas, not sure which one would be better. Please, choose what you like the most <3 1)  "True! -- nervous -- very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?" for Fёanor Or 2) "I have to hide! I don't know why, but I have to hide. Now!"  for Maeglin

Gondolin was beauty given shape.

Never had Maeglin, accustomed only to the twilit canopies of his father's forest, seen so much white; the polished floors of white stone and the towering columns of white marble reflected the blinding midday sun like a mirror.

He had been afraid, at first, of the marvellous city upon which he could not gaze without pain blooming behind his eyes. Then he had been in awe, wondering at the exquisite craft of its architects, and then he had been fascinated.

Not at the sprawling markets or the splendour of the House of the King, or at the merry fountains bubbling away in the square, no. It was the armoury which caught his attention first, and from there the path led him easily to the smithies, beckoning him inside.

It was there he met Rog, Lord of the House of The Hammer of Wrath, an Elf of mighty build and stern of face clothed in the typical array of a blacksmith, who welcomed him gladly and humoured his request of touring the forges.

As Rog was informing him of the workings of the largest furnace Maeglin had ever seen, which belched fire and ash even as they used it, he opened his mouth to ask a question in the barely passable Quenya his mother had taught him.

There was a deafening crash followed swiftly by harsh words that grated on his ears, and Maeglin swivelled around, the hammer he had been inspecting slipping from his suddenly numb hands and clattering to the floor. The heat of the smithy grew around him and squeezed his lungs like a vice and his pounding heart sent a wave of blood rushing past his ears until it was all he could hear.

Rog's voice came through muddled, as if he was attempting to speak around a cloth.

"My Prince?"

Maeglin found it exceedingly difficult to breathe.

"My Prince, are you alright?"

"I have to hide." The sound of his own voice startled him, and the concerned face of Rog swam into his vision, his brow furrowed in alarm.

"You—"

"I have to hide," Maeglin repeated more urgently, hardly hearing himself, "I don't know why, but I have to hide. Now!"

Maeglin would have bolted towards the nearest exit had firm hands not grabbed him by the upper arms and shaken him vigorously, and that action alone shocked him out of his stupor, the scenery and bustle of the forge rushing back with crystal clarity.

Rog turned him sideways. Through the heat distorting the air around them, Maeglin spotted a handful of people bent over an assortment of scattered tools next to an upturned barrel; snippets of conversation in Quenya reached his ears and he realised that someone had accidentally tripped over the barrel and sent its contents tumbling onto the floor.

"My Prince."

Maeglin blinked and turned back to find Rog watching him stoically.

"Are you with me now?"

Maeglin went to nod, then blinked some more as he processed the words. "You speak Sindarin," he blurted out, and watched as the corner of Rog's lips twitched upwards.

Maeglin must have also spoken in Sindarin, reverting to his native language in his moment of panic.

"I do," said Rog, offering no explanation, "Are you with me now?"

"Yes," said Maeglin, then looked aside as Rog released him, "I'm sorry, I—"

"No need, my Prince," Rog interrupted, "Many of us who have crossed the Ice can't stand the cold. Some relive the horror of it at the slightest noise. Whatever you have endured is not my business."

As Maeglin turned over those words in his head, trying to make sense of them, Rog gave him a friendly slap on the back and began moving away, gesturing for him to follow. None around them paid them any attention, the people huddled around the tools returning to their posts once the mess was cleared as though nothing had happened.

"Come," Rog said simply, "I shall show you to the bellows."

Gondolin was beauty given shape. Perhaps his mother had been right, Maeglin thought while he followed Rog deeper into the bowels of the forges of the House of The Hammer of Wrath.

This could be his home after all.

*

Send me a quote and I'll write a short snippet around it! Remember to include the characters you want me to write for!

[finnritter]

Gondolin Week 2023 - Day Two: Ceremony of Silence

Aredhel, FA 319, June 1

It is a dangerous feat, Aredhel knows, looking for sunrises in Nan Elmoth. She stubbornly tells herself that the only danger lies in how fickle the branches of even the thickest trees are up here, how easy it is to miss a foothold in the dark, and how long the way down. She, of course, trusts her skills, shaped by years and years of scraping her palms and knees on rough bark, and she reaches the top of the mighty beech crown with ease, trained eyes even finding a spot where she can sit and lean against the trunk in what borders on comfort.

Truly, she thinks, as she looks down and imagines how many bones she would break if she fell and yet without any trace of fear that it will actually happen, how dangerous it is to catch as little as a sunrise here.

The real danger, no, the other, lesser, danger, the one she spitefully banned from her mind, she resolutely shoves away. because she is not afraid of him. Why should she be, she chose him of her own free will, there is nothing to be afraid of. She will not be caught anyway. Who would catch her here, and why should it be wrong. Being caught is barely a danger at all.

It is easier, somehow, banning all thoughts of him up here. The further she climbs, the higher she reaches, the lesser she feels the dark, eerie gloominess of his ban on her. It is easy to fall into his steps, his routine, down there. It is easy to forget about time and space, to open up to his grasping possessiveness, to the knowledge that she is his whole world. She and the child that he yet knows nothing about.

Up here, further from his grasp and the spell he seems to have casted over the forest, it is easier to consider not telling him about the child at all. But what would that solve? Nothing if she were to stay here.

Aredhel turns to stare down into the abyss below her again. One hand she lets dangle, then the other, still entirely trusting her sense of balance to keep her safely on top of the branch. She thinks about falling again, the true danger up here, reminds herself that she ought not be scared of a person she had decided to love, and lets her head drop back to stare up into the darkness of the canopy above her.

She might have missed the date. Time is hard to keep track of, here, without sun or stars to guide her. But the exact date doesn't matter, as she is not truly celebrating. There is no one to burst into laughter and song with her on the first ray of light that would maybe be able to force itself through some of the cracks in the canopy this high up. On the contrary, the birds would start singing way before the first light of day, as they do every morning.

And yet, she sits in silence, and in the noise of her own thoughts, and waits for the night to fade.

Rog, FA 401, June 1

It has taken Rog a while to get used to living in a city as big as Gondolin. 

After his escape from thralldom, he has sought solitude and stillness first of all, until he noticed, that while initially more soothing, he could only really start to heal with company and a purpose.

He has more than enough of both, now, and by now he is able to embrace the ever-present noise of wheels clattering over cobblestone, metallic clanging that could be heard ways away from the several forges of the city, and people chatting and singing outside his window from early in the morning to deep in the night. 

The noise of the city belongs to his new life like food and drink, and he has learned to love it even after his initial hesitations. And yet, this one night every year, when everything stands still for a few hours, the only sound being the bright rippling of the water in all the fountains, never lost its magic to him. It is a little like taking a big breath of fresh air after stepping out of a stuffy room, or like stretching a sore muscle until the tension abates.

He likes the quiet of the night before Tarnin Austa, not only for the glorious moment of breaking the silence, but also for itself. A perfect opportunity to let his thoughts wander free, and to watch others doing the same.

Egalmoth, who is standing next to him, hands folded behind his back and gaze turned up to the stars, has a tiny smile drawn across his face, one that makes him look thoughtful and pondering and as young as he actually is. He senses Rog’s looks on him and turns towards him, the smile widening into a full grin. The movement catches a reflection of the starlight in his jewellery, a small taste for how the long awaited sunlight will soon make his whole outfit glitter and sparkle. His thoughts are surely on the feast, on the celebrations to come, always focussed on the future with anticipation and hope. 

Rog returns the smile, and looks forward to the first words he will speak with his friend on this first day of summer.

On his other side, a few steps behind him, Ecthelion and Glorfindel are perched up on a half-height wall, the latter shuffling around as subtly as possible every other minute. Glorfindel may be surprisingly good at not talking, but he is not very good at not moving, which, although not strictly necessary, is mostly common practice all through the night of silence. He falls a little out of place in between the stillness of the king and all his lords and ladies assembled high above the city on the palace's grand balcony. 

The starlight seems to dim the golden radiance that encapsulates him wherever he goes, and the night shadows his resolute face in an almost roguish sombreness. It is hard to guess what he is thinking about, but the bold restlessness is clearly written on his face and into the way he leans back on his arms now, making his shoulders roll back and his upper body tense like a cat before pouncing.

This is in stark contrast to Ecthelion, who sits still as a statue, even while wearing his most formal pieces of armour, his hands resting on his knees and his chin raised. His eyes are open and he seems too alert to be appearing anywhere close to sleep, and yet Rog can imagine that he is nowhere near this reality at the moment. He must be letting his thoughts roam, an attempt to rest and clear his mind for the night. And still he looks, as always, like an image of pure control.

This is also true of the king, who is standing in the middle of the balcony, close to the railing, as if keeping watch over his people. And yet, his restraint is not natural, not effortless. It never is. 

While Rog has always been endlessly grateful for Turgon's kindness and inclusion towards him and the people who everyone knew as his house nowadays, he knows his king not as well, not as personally as some of the other lords do. He wonders, sometimes, if all that stiff composure is hiding any cracks,

His eyes dart over to the unfamiliar silhouette that stands next to him, a lean, cowering shadow, all stiff shoulders and hunched back as if he wanted to vanish into the invisible shade his uncle throws over him like a cloak. 

Rog, who usually has a good eye for such things, can not tell how old the boy is. He handlea himself like an adult, albeit a young one, but something about the way he clenches his jaw and the defiant tightness around his mouth make him look so young. Elflings grow up a lot faster in times of war, but for his sake - and for Aredhel's, whose bright spirit and boldness he still misses sometimes - he regrets that the same seems to be true for elflings raised alone in a forest.

Like Egalmoth before, Maeglin catches his gaze. Unlike Egalmoth, he doesn't smile, but he also doesn't look away. Rog imagines him staring at him, although it is hard to tell through the dark-toned lenses protecting his sensitive eyes not only from sunlight, but also curious glances thrown in his direction. And still, it is not hard to guess what he is thinking of. 

Rog looks away first, not wanting to protrude the boy’s privacy. He follows Egalmoth’s gaze again instead, carefully leaning his head back until the view of the stars up above them almost makes him dizzy. 

They are bright tonight, piercing the sky like a million needles through a dark sheet of cloth. It is quiet, and it will be quiet till morning come. 

Rog closes his eyes and turns his gaze inwards instead, revelling in the silence.

Maeglin, FA 510, June 1

The memories of the first Tarnin Austa he has experienced are very muddled in Maeglin’s brain. A lot more important things have happened in that year, a lot more things that kept his attention more than a festival he did not want to celebrate.

Of the celebrations themselves, he remembers barely anything. He has slipped away early, most likely. Presumably, nobody has expected him to stay very long or attend at all. He can’t even remember why he chose to come at all. Not that it matters, now.

The only thing he does clearly remember is the moment midnight struck and the city fell silent all of a sudden. Of course he had been explained the customs and rites of this particular night, and yet he did not expect the ceremony of silence to be so impressive. So terrifying.

He has most likely thought, back then, that he would like that part of the festivities the most. The city is noisy, always, and it used to be more than off putting for him that there was nowhere to flee from this persistent lively hum. Blocking it out has become second nature to him now.

And yet, on this first night of his first June in Gondolin, waiting to welcome the day - even though Maeglin did prefer nighttime to the sunlight even then - he was standing next to his uncle, whom he had known only for a few short and messy months, and was so taken aback by the silence that he had to stop himself from trembling in fear.

He has since gotten used to it, he likes the ceremony now, it feels uplifting and like a moment to breathe, but back then, the silence was just oppressing. Dreadful. He felt, all of a sudden, alone with his thoughts, even more so than in his still almost empty room or any other quiet corner he liked to withdraw to. The universe felt endless; the space in his lungs too small, and he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop seeing things that he wished to just forget. 

He could feel the pain and fear flow out of him like water and so he clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists until his knuckles were cracking. He didn’t want anyone to see - feeling stripped naked every time someone looked at him and their eyes met - and he didn’t want anyone to feel either. He worried that Idril might feel his terror, and he tried his hardest to hide it from her. She shouldn’t see him as the weakling he was, she shouldn’t like him out of pity, she should stop looking at him like he was a child-

…

Over a century later, Maeglin is not scared of the silence, anymore. He can master his own thoughts now, and even if he slips up sometimes, time has made him used to even the most horrible of unwanted thoughts. He can look his worst memories in the eye now because he knows that they are just that: Memories. His mind, and what he does with it, is his own. At least that much he has learned here.

Or so he thought.

In the past weeks, even the loudest forge has not managed to drown out the turmoil the Enemy has left behind in his head. There are voices, and pain, promises and threats mingling together in a way that makes him barely aware of what of it is real and what isn’t. It doesn’t truly matter. He felt like he had a purpose when he was sent back, at least, but even that is gone now, along with the bare threads of morality he thought he had been taught, somewhen, somewhere.

He thought he had settled with that, thought he could steer his body to its purpose like an empty shell.

But now the uncommon silence of the city weighs down on him like a tower crashed down, and the night is eerie and terrifying. His mother’s dead eyes stare right through him. His father’s last words are mocking him. Why didn’t he die sooner? Why didn’t he tell anyone what he did? Why is the city not yet up in flames, because it should be, he wants it to be, this cursed place that he used to love despite everything. His home. He wants it to go up in flames, wants it to crumble under pressure like he did. 

A thought comes to him that he should worry about still being in the midst of it when it catches on well-deserved fire. Surely that was not the bargain he struck. Not that he cares much either.

It’s too quiet. It’s too loud at the same time. Maeglin plunges himself into the noise, this time, instead of trying to force it out, until he feels himself dissolve in it, acid eating into his bare flesh.

For the first time in many years, he wishes more than anything for the night to be over.

[animatorweirdo]

Maedhros, Rog and Glorfindel with a thrall reader

(Nothing much. Hope you enjoy!)

Warnings: Mentions of captivity, mistrust, death, slavery, killing, torture. Violence, scars, comfort and trauma. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maedhros 

-Former thralls taking refuge in Himring were nothing new to Maedhros. He knew what they went through, so he welcomed them after making sure they weren’t possible threats and spies heavily influenced by Morgoth’s corruption. 

-He was no fool, so he was careful who to let in and keep out of his fortress despite the opinions of others who would rather see all of them out without giving them a chance. 

-It was because of the darkness that touched their kin ages ago, and now they lingered as their mangled selves in the forms of orcs. It made the elves weary as they looked for the signs of the same corruption in the faces of the escapees. 

-You were one of the refugees, seeking shelter and food after escaping from the iron hell and traveling by foot. 

-Like all the other thralls, you looked scarred and tired and must have lived in Angband for a long time since you gained some grey strands of hair. Maedhros pitied you since you most likely suffered a lifetime in that place, and he knew too well how cruel and kind your captors were. 

-He gained interest in talking with you after a rude confrontation with one of his people. They had begun insulting you while you were waiting on the side for some food. It was unprovoked, so Maedhros considered coming to your defense since you did nothing to deserve the slander until he noticed how other thralls came to defend you from the elf. 

-They became aggressive and would have ended up in a fight if you didn’t interfere and tell them it was alright. Your fellow thralls calmed down, and you managed to persuade the elf to leave without trouble. 

-How you interacted with other thralls gained his interest because they seemed to respect you and didn’t hesitate to come to your defense. You also bore a smile after the confrontation, like it was funny and nothing too big to get agitated about, even though they scolded you for being too soft to handle such rudeness. 

-Maybe it was your calm and peaceful nature that attracted Maedhros to you as he soon found himself talking to you. 

-You were respectful and soft-spoken. Your first thought you were causing trouble when Maedhros came to meet you. He assured you were not causing any problem, nor was anyone you knew, but you did make him curious and wished to converse with you. 

-So you two began talking a bit. 

-The reason you waited aside was to wait for others to take their share of the food before taking some for yourself. 

-Maedhros thought you were too humble until you smiled and mentioned you couldn't care for others without horrible consequences, so you were glad you could now and not feeling guilty about it. 

-He was curious what you meant, but he concluded you were forced to decide for someone’s fate like he once had. A terrible choice no one should have to make. 

-You then mentioned you just simply enjoyed the food. 

-You had almost forgotten how many flavors there were in the world, so you just want to enjoy it and savor every taste with no hurry. 

-The distributed food was said to be tasteless and gross, but it was better than what you had eaten in years spent in Morgoth’s prison, so you thanked Maedhros for his kindness. 

-Maedhros found somewhat enjoyment in your positivity despite what you went through. 

-When he questioned about your connection with other thralls, you explained you helped them during the escape from the iron hell. You traveled together, so you grew some bonds and became protective of each other. 

-He was impressed and managed to conclude a plan that might help the former thralls and his people to reconnect and heal, and you agreed to help him with it through your connection with your fellow thralls. 

-Maedhros found camaraderie with you as time passed, and you two managed to help the refugees to live among the people of Himring. The skepticism somewhat managed to subside.

- Since you two shared the experience of being former thralls, Maedhros found enjoyment in your company, sometimes coming for a simple talk over tea. You were always very welcoming to him and sometimes shared new recipes you learned from others. 

-You found a new hobby in cooking. It was relaxing and helped you cope with the things from the past. It was easy to control your restless thoughts in the soothing process of mingling flavors and textures. And it gave joy to others as a bonus since you often had dinners with those you considered close. 

-Maedhros respected that since it showed you were gradually healing. He envied you since his way of coping was a bit unhealthy, and he had not really considered finding a new way to cope with his trauma. He had given up hope for peace and acceptance long ago.

-He was used to living with it, not talking about it to anyone, and trying to appear as a leader his people needed. Even though: he was still haunted by his experiences. 

-He sometimes invited you to events so you could enjoy other delicacies of the culinary world. Seeing your smile and the expression of joy just felt right. The world felt brighter when you gushed about the slight citrusy flavor of the pie or the pleasant aftertaste of mint in the tea. 

-Seeing you happy might have turned into his new way of coping. 

-Even though: you two have grown friendly with each other. You did not share a lot about your past in Angband. You said it was hard to talk about, which he understood perfectly as he rarely spoke about his experiences. 

-You did share that you were forced to survive the fighter pits where they threw the thralls to fight for their lives. It was a sick form of entertainment for them. 

-You managed to fight the orcs and other monsters, but you got forced to fight your own people too, and you never truly healed from it. 

-Maedhros knew what you meant. He had seen the arena and watched how his people were ripped apart by the orcs and many other types of monsters. He understood that you got forced to fight and possibly kill those you did not want to kill. It was something he respectfully did not inquire more about from you. 

-Your soft-spoken demeanor and peaceful nature might have been misleading, but your scars and the callouses on your hands proved the truth in your words. He could sense the guilt that still bothered you to this day. 

-It motivated him to help you heal from the dark past that you both shared. 

-He thought he knew everything about you, but he was wrong when one day there was an ambush outside Himring. 

-When he heard about the ambush and remembered you were on that group that got ambushed, he rallied his men and hoped it wasn’t too late. 

-There were many dead, but you were standing before the orcs. Covered in blood and a sword in hand as the orcs ran away by the sight of you. 

-The look in your eyes showed many things to him. Fear, anger, shock, and emotion to fight for your life. It looked like you had conflicting memories running through your mind. It was the look of someone forced to fight, trying to survive. 

-Maedhros was glad, but he was careful to approach you and take you back to Himring since in your state you could have confused him as your enemy. 

-It took time for you to calm down, but when you did. You confessed about your past in Angband. The ambush made you remember things and feel like you were back in the pits. 

-You remembered all the orcs and monsters you faced and all the people you had killed because of your feeling of danger and urge to survive. 

-There was a lot of blood on your hands, the blood of the innocents, and the guilt ate you alive when you were finally out. 

-But this was not all…

-As one of the most surviving fighters in the pits, you received some special attention from the dark lord that still gave you nightmares. It was all because you refused to die. 

-You swore you would never hold a sword again so you wouldn't hurt anybody, but now it happened again, and all you could remember are the pits and what the dark lord had done to you. 

-Maedhros was understanding and couldn't do much but offer his comfort. One assuring thing he told you was that he was thankful that you saved his people from the ambush. 

-Maedhros felt inclined to keep you safe from the world. He had grown to care for you and did not wish to see that look on your face again. In his eyes, you were another poor soul who had suffered too much by Morgoth’s hands. 

Rog 

-As a former thrall, Rog often welcomed former thralls to his house. 

-The people might be skeptical and mistrustful, so he tried to help them get comfortable and rehabilitate after years of trauma. 

-He did not expect to see you after the next group of refugees that arrived in Gondolin. 

-You knew each other, so it was a happy reunion between old friends. 

-Rog didn’t even mind that you came to hug him as he was just as relieved to see you alive and well. 

-He welcomed you and made sure you were comfortable before you two decided to catch up on the events. 

-You two had met in the mines. You two used to converse before you got taken away to fight in the fighter pits. 

-No one ever survived for long in the pits, so Rog assumed you had died since it was technically a death sentence to anyone. He had no idea you had survived and lived long enough to escape. 

-He apologized because if he knew you still lived. He could have come to rescue you. 

-You did not blame him. You assumed the same thing when you didn’t hear about him for a long time. You were happy to see him alive and well. 

-You two had spent some time, and Rog introduced you to many people.

-You found enjoyment spending under the sun in the gardens of his house. You would sit on the grass, close your eyes and just bask in the sunlight with a smile. Rog found your content beautiful and made sure no one would badmouth you for being a thrall and ruin your pastime of simply enjoying the sunlight. 

-The only warmth you ever felt was the burning steel and the uncomfortable heat in the caverns of Angband. The cells were deadly cold, so the sunlight was a gentle welcome. 

-You tried reading but soon figured your reading skills had diminished over the years in captivity, so you tried to ask for Rog’s help with embarrassment in your eyes. 

-Rog was understanding and only chuckled, trying to assure you that you could ask anything from him. He employed Ecthelion’s and Penlod’s help in educating you again in reading and writing, but he enjoyed reading to you when it was just two of you. 

-Sometimes you wandered into his forges, waiting outside with a book in your hand before finally mustering the courage to ask him to read to you in the garden. 

-It became a habit, and you always apologized if you were disrupting him at an inconvenient time. He always had to assure you never bothered him in the first place. He found your behavior amusing since the group you came along with held you in high regard, yet you were shy to ask for his help or time. 

-Your timid nature just made him more protective of you. You were short compared to him, and you confessed what you went through in the pits and how much guilt you still carried in your heart for taking other lives who were forced down there with you.

-Sometimes, you couldn't sleep properly and found comfort in his voice when he read to you. 

-Rog understood your pain well. It pained him to know what you went through. He sometimes only wanted to wrap you up and keep you safe in his arms. 

-One thing he and some people miscomputed about you was that you were a frail soul who suffered much, but the truth couldn't be more clear that you were still a pit fighter. 

-Rog once accidentally tripped on his foot when he came back, and you were there to catch him with no problem. He was almost double your size, and there you held him asking if he was okay. 

-The incident didn’t end there. Your strength became more apparent when you wanted to try arm wrestling against Egalmoth, who was one of the most powerful lords in Gondolin. 

-Rog was worried about you since Egalmoth was one of the buffer elves too, but his concerns soon flew away when you managed to flip Egalmoth off the table, silencing everyone who watched. 

-Rog couldn't help but laugh at the predicament. 

-You apologized in panic. You might have gotten too excited and gone all out. 

-Rog was to assure you that day Egalmoth would not hold it against you. He at least found a new rival in arm wrestling since his pride was damaged a bit, and so did his arm. 

Glorfindel 

-Rog introduced you to him. Glorfindel was curious about this old friend of Rog’s, so he took time to meet you and was kinda enamored with your shy and peaceful nature. 

-He was welcoming and friendly, so you couldn't help but be charmed by him. He had been more welcoming than many others who had met you and known you were a thrall. 

-Glorfindel showed you around and included you in engaging conversations, making you smile and giggle at his jokes and funny stories. 

-He didn’t inquire much about your past in Angband since many would rather not talk about it, but you did share how you knew Rog and how you got forced to fight in an arena to survive. 

-You were aware that your kind of thralls were perceived to be dangerous and killed without hesitation, so you thanked him for his generosity. You did not remember someone showing this type of kindness to you. In a place like Angband, kindness was a twisted thing that carried mangled promises of suffering and pain.

-Glorfindel was moved and could almost feel the pain in your heart, so he decided to try and make your life a bit brighter and happier. 

-He would invite you to spend some time and join a party or a special event. He made sure you would have fun, and no one would criticize you for your scars. 

-You didn’t mind the scars. People would see them as rather horrendous, but you liked to think they were your trophies of what you survived. You were not weak. You survived and proved to the dark lord you’ll be free one day. 

-Glorfindel liked the way you thought and considered you as one of the strongest people he had ever met. 

-He felt motivated to ensure your life would be filled with nothing but love and happiness. 

-One peculiar quirk you grew was collecting tiny toys or stuffed animals. 

-You explained there wasn’t a huge reason for it, except that it helped you to cope a little and maybe connect with the childhood you lost after being captured by the orcs. 

-Glorfindel would feel heart touched by that and made sure no one would mock you for it since it helped you to cope and make you smile. 

-One day, he invited you along to a festival. There was a stall where you could win prizes for hitting the hardest in the game. 

-You wanted to try it because there was this fluffy toy you wanted. 

-Glorfindel offered to pay for the trial and was slightly prepared to do it himself since he couldn't help but doubt you might fail.

-He slightly misjudged you because the next thing you did, you punched so hard the whole thing started to shake and broke apart. 

-He and the stall owner were shocked to see the broken mess and you standing there with an awkward expression.

-You felt ashamed, but the stall owner was too amazed to complain about it and allowed you to have the fluffy toy since you did win it fair and square.

-You were happy but couldn't help but still feel bad for breaking the thing. Glorfindel assured you it was alright even though he couldn't help but wonder what other things you could do with your arm strength.

[rushingheadlong]

Just wanted to say, thank you. For continuing to post on this blog years after the Borhap hype has gone down. You’re one of the first Queen blogs I followed, and I’m happy to see you still here. ❤️

What a sweet message, thank you so much! ♥

I definitely never thought I'd still be on this blog over four years later (let alone running two more classic rock blogs!). But I've loved Queen since I was a kid and there's always new things about them to learn and enjoy, so hopefully I'll be sticking around for a while longer yet!

[doodle-pops]

The Delicate Crafting of Love

Rog x reader

Request: Rog x fem!reader fic where he hires her to work in his forges and then takes a liking to her because they’re both kinda introverted and independent? Bonus points if he ends up asking her out by the end of the tale. :)) - anon

Warning: fluff, confession, shy-love

Word Count: 1.9k

Synopsis: “Of all the finer things...I had worked with in this world...nothing has ever been as precious as you,” he paused to catch his breath before the rest flew from his lips with delicacy.

He stood nervously twiddling his thumbs as he held the polished wooden box in his hands, standing in your workshop. Rog was awaiting your arrival for over fifteen minutes now and for some reason, he felt as though you weren’t going to arrive at all when in truth, he was just overly early. Not wanting to mess things up, arriving earlier than you seemed like a head start in the right direction to make an impression on you should his plan be executed successfully. The entire forge was empty since he gave all his students the day off so he could have to area to himself...and you.

With a deep breath and a quick fidget of his clothes, he paused when he heard the sound of metal doors opening in the distance before the loud slamming of them, signifying your entrance. Your footsteps were lighter than usual, considering that you were a blacksmith, thus robust and heavy. Rog had never considered you light on your feet, even though it was a natural trait of the elves, most blacksmiths were a tad bit heavy when walking.

With each passing second as your footsteps grew in his direction, he suddenly found himself cold sweating and looking for anything to let his eyes fall on to distract his nervousness. A bead ran down his temple and dropped onto his neatly adorned robes – garmented in his finest wears, red and black – leaving an obvious wet patch on his clothes. From the distance, it was noticeable but for Rog, his mind was too far to notice. His eyes cast themselves on a pair of swords resting on holders, double blades, with the inscriptions in Quenya written on the handles. He couldn’t help but remember all your little conversations during the time you both spent crafting the King’s sword together.

“What made you want to become a smith?”

Holding the sword between the tweezer, you quelched it in the water as Rog stood on the sideline observing. He’s been dying for you to communicate with him, but you were too focused, no questions from your end were asked.

“Uh, my atar was a smith back in Valinor and I used to um – like to be around him in the forges. I found it fun. Making little creations with him and playing around caused him to teach me,” as you were speaking, Rog didn’t miss the smile that grew on your face as you spoke about your reason. Perhaps he found how to get you to open up more.

“And what type of creations did you make?”

“There was this time um – uh – it was very strange looking that started my career, but I had attempted to make a music box, but it didn’t appear so,” chuckling at the memory, your little invention managed to catch Rog’s attention and urged him to move closer and sit on a stool as you inspected the blade. Careful not to cut yourself, from the corner of your eye, you observed how he leaned in curiously awaiting an explanation.

“What is a music box?” His eyes were sparking with innocence as he marvelled at the idea.

“I’m not sure if I remember how to make it, but a music box is um – it’s like a box that plays music from a fork that looks like a hair come and brushes against little hollow bumps on a cylinder as it rotates. It makes the music.” You were so unsure about the making of it since it was a failure on your first attempt, but to Rog, it sounded like the greatest invention ever.

That was Rog’s first successful attempt at conversing with you and it was most certainly not his last. Noticing that little talks about crafting brought comfort to your mind and allowed you to open up, Rog made every conversation about crafting so he could talk with you, and it was like that for days and weeks. More and more, he would learn little about you and your background through your stories about crafting. More and more, he would fall hopelessly in love with you, but he had his doubts about the interest being returned. Being an introvert like you, Rog was clueless about the inner working of love.

How to read the signs of attraction or interest? He was able to stand closer to you and allow your elbows to knock without flinching or your shoulders to bump. One time, you both reached out for the chisel and your hands touched each other. He couldn’t tell if you were shocked or disgusted, your face was blank. He on the other hand was blushing at the contact. Rog knew that you were tricky when it came to impressing, just like him, so he had to think outside the box if he wanted to deepen the bond between you both.

He remembered how he used to watch you from afar every day, marvelling at your passion and dedication to forging as well as your quiet nature. You never once spoke up to him, and yet, you had captured his heart. Working in the most distant section of the forge, your workshop was set up and there you spent all your time interacting…with the materials, not people. Rog would catch glimpses of you hard at work, hammering away at the piece of steel to craft a sword or jewellery, and he was always amazed. The crease marks on your forehead or between your brows as your frowned while focusing would cause him to smile, your concentration was most certainly one of a kind.

Each morning that passed, you would quietly walk into the forges with your head lowly to avoid eye contact while politely announcing your morning greets before disappearing into your safe and comfort zone. You barely spoke to anyone, even him, and it urged his curious mind in wanting to hear more. The first time you spoke, you were querying the amount of material that the miners were to deliver, they were short on a few kilograms which caused some smiths to have less to work with. It was deep and savoury. It was the type of voice he could spend hours listening to if you only spoke more. He understood from the moment he observed your nature that you were like him, but not with the hint of social skills which he had no choice but to possess. It was strange given that most of the smiths in the forges were introverts, but they would still interact with each other –

“My Lord Rog, what brings you to my workspace?” your morning voice rang out and cut him short of his flashback, informing him that you had not too long awoken and rushed to the forges. Snapping his head up from inspecting your swords, he gained whiplash from how hard he swerved his head to cast his eyes on your form. The fresh morning dew was still clinging to your hair making it appear dampened and the rosey blush on your cheeks from the early morning sun gave you a delicate rose-like image. Your skin was glowing under the starry droplets despite the dark coverall your wore, and your smile, he could get lost in the way your lips would lift to one side and show your dimple that sat beneath your lip.

Your smile towards him prompted the muscles in his face to lift and stretch his lips into an unconscious smile, returning the same lost-in-translation dazed look. The both of you said nothing as you stood facing one another, staring and breathing in the same air. Eyes of adoration met eyes of curiosity. His amber eyes glowed with mirth the longer he stared and took in your features, reminiscing. The box that rested in his hands felt lightweight and it was as if he had forgotten about presenting it. Forgetting to breathe and placing the item down on the counter, Rog causally approached with confidence and a hint of nerves. His stature was of greatness as he towered over you by more than a foot. The little nerves that was dancing around the edges urged him to make his move.

He opened his mouth to speak once, twice, thrice and then he stopped. There weren’t the right words invented for him to use to express himself the way he would have liked to. All those lessons from Penlod on what to say went out the door and into the fire – Rog’s mind was rewiring to compute his own expressions. You, on the other hand, weren’t concerned in the slightest that he had something to say, you were lost in his presence, he never felt like this before, not in the months gone by as you both worked together. He was warm and tender and you wished to be embraced by it.

“Of all the finer things...I had worked with in this world…nothing has ever been as precious as you,” he paused to catch his breath before the rest flew from his lips with delicacy, “no gem shines as brightly as you do, and it is a sight that I wish to behold until the day I die. To marvel at your beauty and greatness, to bask in the warmth, the joys and light you bring forth…long have I wished for this, but too fearful to say. But now, would you…would you let me have the honour of spending the rest of my life with you, starting with a simple courtship?”

“M-Me? Are you sure about that my Lord?” you couldn't help but feel gladden in your heart at him feeling affectionate towards you, but the insecurities poked you to disregard the truth.

Nodding his head before speaking, Rog looked you fixed in your eyes, “As sure as I'll ever be...unless you do not wish...to be?” His heart clenched at those words not wanting to believe that being a reason or the reason for your hesitation. To him, it was impossible to not feel affectionate towards you. You had not once pushed him away even when he asked you to have lunch with him during your break, so what could be the reason?

“No, no, it's just...well – I just can't seem to understand why you would like...me. What have I done to make this possible?” you responded with a humorous chuckle, still finding the situation impossible. Your voice was so meek he had to strain his ears to pick up each syllable, or perhaps it was the heavy downpour of the rain playing musical notes against the roof.

It was then Rog felt a cold shiver crawling up his spine. He had rehearsed his confession, but not a detailed reason on why you were his choice. He understood what he felt for you was real, and that he did like you, but there was so much to say and he didn't know where to start. For a moment, you watched as Rog blanked out as his eyes dilated while they focused on you before his lips started to move and his voice flowed, “...Everything and nothing at the same time. It was just you being you. I...I couldn't help but fall for you even though you didn't push me. I chose to fall because I believed you were worth it...you are worth it.”

With ease, you felt your lips trembling as they stretched in a smile that constantly faltered the more your emotions overcame you. Light laughter escaped your lips as the tears welled in your eyes, some being collected by your lashes giving your eyes a starry appearance. Gulping as you fought hard for a chance to respond because of the pain in your throat as you attempted to prevent yourself from crying, you dropped your head and bit your lips while nodding. You simply nodded your head as the best response you could have mustered at the time. Your shoulders shook with joyous soundless laughter that bubbled within your chest as you revelled in the elation of being loved and appreciated.

Casting your teary eyes to meet Rog’s hopeful stare and fidgeting form as he nervously shifted on his feet, you grinned as the tears finally broke free and trickled down your face. Stepping forward and into his personal space, you stood just an inch apart and gleamed, “I never thought that there would be someone who would like me despite my...quiet nature...yet here you are my Lord.” You dropped your head to stare at his chest as you fought to conjure more words to respond, but all you managed were, “Your offer...it sounds nice.”

Despite the strange response, Rog understood your way of speaking and choked on a laugh. It was as if the room had been made brighter by your response. Rog was glowing in merriment at the revelation of succeeding with his confession. His hands shook as they lifted to swipe at the tears that flowed freely down your plumped cheeks. Large, calloused finger trembling as they tenderly stroked your face while he poured all his love into his touch. The hands of a crafter, delicately attending to the most precious and rarest creation of them all – Rog felt as if Aulё had blessed him after all his years of loneliness. And when he was finished, he dropped his hand to reach out to grasp your smaller fingers like a nervous child while looking at the contact in awe.

“Thank you mirё. Thank you for giving me this chance to love you for a lifetime.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @someoneinthestars @aconstructofamind @mysticmoomin @lilmelily

[weresmarterthanthis]

pls this fic broke me in pieces ESPECIALLY this scene with obi-wan and the meteor shower 😭🫶

english excerpt under read more (bc i love writing in aurebesh it's so pretty agsjhfh)

He lays in the grass, and just as he’s about to nod off, something bright catches his eyes. He sees it sparkling through the gaps in the branches. Curious, he sits back up and looks past the branches. In the sky, dozens of bright lights streak across the sky. A meteor shower.

...

He laughs, even as tears fill his eyes, even as loneliness spreads through the shards of his broken heart. The stars shine for him tonight, and though there is so much Obi-Wan has forgotten, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget this. 

@stolen-pen-name23 11/10 writing holy shit 🫶

[sunflowerrboyy]

what do we do with a fic that won't leave our head?

shall we leave it alone, shall we back off, should we play it safe?

NAH LET'S THE FIC OBSESSION BIGGER !

[chrissystriped]

​I was tagged by the lovely @elennalore to self-rec 5 fics. Thank you for the tag!

I'll shamelessly admit that I love a lot of my own fics (I'm writing them, because I want to have these stories to read, after all!), so I was looking for a theme and decided to rec fics that I wrote for fandom events.

Links provided for AO3 and SWG. (The Silmarillion Writer's Guild is an archive and community for works about Tolkien's Silmarillion. It's a very welcoming place and I encourage you to join us there.)

My Heart is with the Sea, my Heart is with you (TRSB22): Círdan hears about Gandalf's fall in Moria and sets out to recover his lover's body, if nothing else. While he travels he remembers his encounters with the Maia. Never thought of this ship before seeing the wonderful artwork of @rauko-is-a-free-elf for TRSB22​. I enjoyed writing this fic so much! There's angst, there's tenderness and a slow growing of love -- and because Gandalf is going to be sent back, as we know, it has ultimately a happy end. SWG: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/6036 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41382075

Hunting the Hunter (TSS21): Mablung and Beleg find the trail of a giant cat and decide to hunt it. I enjoyed to write the great friendship between the two of them and how they work together as a team. There's a conversation with an ent, a fight and the tending of wounds. SWG: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/6000 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35808001

Warmth (SWG Challenge: "Holiday Party): This one is part of my sprawling AU where there are good orcs on Tol Eressea and Melkor repents at the end of the First Age. It's starring two of my favourite OCs: Mablung, an elf, and Sharû, an orc. They have a history together, going back to Angband and Sharû still can't quite believe that Mablung would want to be his friend. It's cold in Alqualonde (even Aman gets something like winter sometimes) and the cold affects Mablung more than it usualy does elves because he crossed the Helcaraxe. Sharû is gifting him a warm knitted pullover. This fic is so fluffy and is giving me such soft feelings. SWG: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/5166 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35728996

Beauty in Dark Places (Scribbles and Drabbles '21): A ficlet about Celebrían exploring a cave and she's having so much fun. Because pretty much the only thing we hear about Celebrían in canon is so tragic, I wanted her to be happy in this fic. SWG: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/5822 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35165026

Vengeance is Mine (SWG Challenge: "Middle-Earth Olympics"): This fic is a little gruesome. Rog escapes from Angband and takes bloody revenge. I headcanon that 'Rog', demon, is the name the orcs gave him for what he is doing to the ones he catches. He keeps it as his fighting name and rarely tells people his name from before. SWG: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/node/4922 AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34657327

​​I've realised I love taking part in events like the ones above, because it often makes me write for characters I wouldn't write otherwise. Here are the links to the events' pages, I've had a lovely experience with each of them:

TRSB: https://tolkienrsb.wordpress.com/

TSS: https://officialtolkiensecretsanta.tumblr.com/

Scribbles and Drabbles: https://scribblesanddrabbles.weebly.com/

SWG Montly Challenges: https://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/challenges/by-date

I think most people already were tagged with this. And I'm really bad at remembering people's handles. It's like sitting in a dark room and guessing who else is here XD. But if you haven't been tagged yet, and would like to do this: I'm looking encouragingly at you in said dark room.

[comma-souptra]

If I do purchase a new laptop tomorrow I am going to put so many characters in so many situations

[so-red-the-rhodes]

lil RoNi spam because husbands. <3

[ela-draws]

Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang collab with @urwendii

=> AMAZING FIC COMING OUT SOON => Author's AO3

Eol's Fall - Aredhel's escort throwing Eol from Gondolin's cliff. From left to right: Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Eol, Egalmoth

Gondolindrim - The people of Gondolin and Aredhel's family reacting to this. From left to right: Rog, OC, Idril, Turgon, Maeglin, Penlodh

I headcanon that the lords of Gondolin who were Aredhel's guards (Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Egalmoth) were those who killed Eol in the end. I think it's interesting to explore how this event can be considered as kinslaying and how those who were/weren't involved in the First Kinslaying lived it. Especially Glorfindel who did not take part in the kinslaying and felt much guilt about Aredhel's fate.

@tolkienrsb