#tiny tyelko

[nailsinmywall]

Tiny celegorm VS maglor 1:0

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

Maitimo: *scary scarred warlord mode on*

Tyelko: Aww 🥺 *pat pats his head as he's standing on his tippy toes*

Maitimo: ...😮‍💨

I see in fics that Maedhros uses his height/scars/general big scary vibe to intimidate his brothers.

And I get that. I use it too.

But hear me out.

Having a sibling both a lot older and taller than me, and several cousins much taller and older than me, height and looks does little to intimidate even at their most furious. If anything it becomes something to poke fun at even more like ‘really? That’s what you’re gonna do cause you can’t win this argument?’

So I think it would be really funny to see:

Maedhros is so used to using his height/scars/etc to intimidate people in Beleriand, he forgets his brothers literally Do Not Care, will call him a drama queen to his face, then go right back to doing whatever they want. Probably with more determination because he’s so insistent on stopping them. While also sifting through their mental pile of blackmail of how Nelyo used to trip over his feet during his growth spurt, and embarrassed himself in court That One Time before learning to control his temper.

Mae might be a little more succcessful with cousins but even then it’s 50/50 and to his dismay, he ends up looking exactly that. A dramaqueen.

…He does get pats of commiseration from Turgon and Fingolfin though. They’ve both been there.

[pastelsugar6w6]

Tiny little itty bitty Tyelpë (literally still swaddled and toothless) learning to speak. He says atya and ammë which is fine and good and understandable but then the race is ON for which uncle's name he says first. Tyelko is so assured that bby will say his name first because he is Curvo's favorite brother so it stands to reason he'd be Tyelpë's favorite uncle. He's willing to bet money on it and Curvo also puts his bet in with Tyelpë saying Tyelko's name first. Ambarussa bet on each other respectively. No one is allowed to bet on Nelyo because babies love Nelyo but he puts his money on Káno. Káno bets on himself.

The next name Tyelpë (kinda) says is "Yoyo" (Moryo)

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

Hide & Seek

“Are you sad, Uncle nolo?”

Nolofinwë jumped despite himself, before looking around for the source of the squeaky voice belonging to one tiny elfling with silver hair.

The prince sighed and massaged his aching eyes before managing a smile.

“Tyelko…no, pitya. I'm just…thinking.”

“Thinking about sad things?”

Nolofinwë wasn't sure what he was expecting. Certainly shouldn't have been entertaining the idea of Tyelkormo giving up so easily. The child was too curious for his own good.

“Some, yes.”

Tyelkormo’s lips pouted, and his faint, silvery white brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. It took everything in Nolofinwë’s power to not scoop him up in his arms and give him a hug.

Both he and Findekáno were in that age when they insisted to be treated like grown ups, but while Findekáno still accepted hugs and affection with grace, he doubted he would have the same luck with Tyelkormo.

Instead, he patted his lap gently and Tyelkormo, after looking around and finding no other comfortable place in that deserted hallway of his Haru’s palace, empty of any seats but the chair he himself occupied, came forward and climbed up his lap with some effort. Nolofinwë was not stupid enough to think about offering any assistance.

They sat like that for a while, watching the reflection of Laurelin’s light on the great pond in the western garden. 

Until Tyelkormo, having sat still for too long, started fidgeting, throwing him careful glances with the same frowning face. Until he could not bear the silence any longer.

“Did what Atya said earlier make you sad?”

Nolofinwë froze in his place, not daring to look down and meet the eyes of a child.

How Tyelkormo had come to hear their conversation? True, it was not anything Fëanáro would think twice about before saying it in front of children, but Nolofinwë found it uncomfortable.

And it was not something he had not heard before, either.

You're not my brother, and no son of my father. Stop calling me that, Indis Son. I don't need to be your charity case. I have all the family I need.

But for some reason, today was one of those days that his heart decided to allow itself to feel the hurt. And by his luck, his little nephew was also privy to the hurtful words and his own broken heart.

“You were not supposed to hear that, Tyelkormo.”

He allowed so sternness to cloud his voice, and he felt Tyelkormo’s nervous shifting.

“I…Finno and I were playing hide and seek. I didn't want to eavesdrop. I know it's not something a good elfling does.”

Nolofinwë couldn't help but smile.

“No. It's not. And what should you do now, sweet one?”

Tyelkormo’s hand fell on his, where it rested protectively over the child's waist.

“I'm sorry, Uncle. Will you forgive me?”

Nolofinwë looked down to find huge blue eyes staring at him, shame and guilt evident, but there was some hope also.

He kissed his head, and if Tyelkormo was mad, then he could deal with it.

“Forgiven and forgotten.”

Relief washed over Tyelkormo's face, and he grinned and hugged his middle as much as his small arms could reach.

Nolofinwë returned it, and just like that, his pain was forgotten, even if for a little while.

Tyelkormo raised his head all of a sudden, his eyes nervous and he quickly looked away when his eyes found him. He clearly had something to say, but wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

People often called him a brat and inconsiderate, but if not blinded with anger, the child knew when to say what, and when he couldn't.

“You have something to say. Say it, my boy. I won't be mad.”

Tyelkormo’s gaze found his quickly, not any less nervous, but definitely more confident. He nodded, nonetheless, and what exited his mouth was a welcoming surprise.

“Atya lies. He wants brothers. No, he needs brothers! Being a big brother is great! And Curvo also loves me like you love Atya. I think…I think he's saying that because he feels like being mean, and you're the one closest to him. I do that sometimes, but I always apologize, because I don't want Káno or Moryo to be sad because of me.”

Nolofinwë’s jaw hung open, and despite himself, he could feel his eyes swimming with tears he had refused to shed until then.

Tyelkormo's proud smile fell when he saw that, and a look of immense guilt overcame him. He could see the child's lip starting to tremble slightly, frustration at himself bringing tears to his eyes.

But before he could, Nolofinwë’s arms tightened around him in an embrace, so that his face was buried in his stomach. He couldn't bear to look at him.

“Why Moryo? And Kano? Why not Nelyafinwë? Or even Curvo?”

He found himself asking before he could think. He didn't know why it mattered, and his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

Tyelkormo took a minute to respond, and when he did, his voice came out muffled, but with stuttering or hesitation.

“Because…they get mad. And they get sad, so I know they care.”

They get sad…so I know they care.

Arafinwë cared not for their eldest brother’s affection. He did not insist on calling Fëanáro brother. He was just as proud as their mother. He didn't beg.

Not like Nolofinwë did.

They get sad…so I know they care.

Curious how the answer to years of pain and heartache came from the mouth of a child barely out of toddlerhood. But maybe it should not have been so, for what is their disagreements and arguments but two brothers butting heads and scuffling like mere children?

“Tyelko! I'm gonna get you! And then your candies will be all mine!”

Findekáno giggled loudly from across the hallway, still out of sight.

Tyelkormo tensed and started struggling to get out of his arms, and Nolofinwë let him. He slid down his lap, held a finger to his lips to silence him, and disappeared down the other end of the hall like a silver tornado.

Nolofinwë sat there, unmoving but for the fond smile growing on his lips.

Findekáno did not take long to appear, small, bare feet soundless against the carpeted floor.

His eyes lit up the moment he saw him, and he bounded towards him with sweet giggles and wide arms, ready for a hug, and how could Nolofinwë deny him?

His son was scooped up in his arms easily, his slight figure disappearing amidst his own long and stuffy robes.

“Atya! Have you seen Tyelko? I've been seeking for hours! I can't keep seeking!”

He exclaimed loudly, and if Nolofinwë strained his ears, he was sure he hear the squeaky giggles of another child, hiding somewhere down the hallway.

Nolofinwë grinned, and held a finger to his lips.

“Can't say. It wouldn't be fair now, would it? I believe in you. Go find him and get your ransom, son!”

And he set him on his feet again, and sent him away with a pat to his back. Findekáno pouted at first but seeing his serious face, determination replaced his sour expression and with a small wave of his hand, he was gone.

And Nolofinwë sat there, no longer solemn but full of hope he had not felt in a long time.

Fëanáro could hide behind his fake hatred and disgust as long as he wanted, and Nolofinwë was going to keep seeking for his love, until he found it.

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 4: Carnistir

for @feanorianweek, also available on Ao3

"No! Bad Moryo! Spit it out!"  

Tyelkormo didn't know how his baby brother got his grubby little hands on their mother's golden clasp, but Carnistir happily chewed on it with his non-existent teeth.  

Despite Tyelkormo's best efforts to wrest the object away from the baby, Carnistir held onto it with an iron grip, and stuffed it further inside his mouth. The boy tried once more to pry the tiny fingers off of the clasp to no avail until he was finally fed up.  

"Atya!!!" He hollered. "Moryo is eating jewellery again!"  

"What!" came the alarmed response all the way from the other side of the house, and soon after the rapid thuds of running footsteps rang out in the halls.  

Fëanáro took one look at the scene, then immediately hoisted Carnistir into one arm. With his free hand he cleverly picked the clasp out from between tiny fingers and his son's mouth.  

Carnistir's face turned an angry red in an instant, reaching for the shiny gold item in his father's hand. To stave off the incoming tantrum, Fëanáro quickly replaced the clasp with his own larger finger and popped it into the baby's mouth.  

The roose worked for maybe half a minute, Carnistir chewing and chewing on his father's finger. However, he pretty soon spat it out, the first mewls of discomfort passing through his lips and he reach for the clasp once more.  

"Ah, he's teething," Fëanáro observed.  

"What's teething?" Tyelkormo asked.  

"It means that Moryo is growing his teeth out," the father explained, and headed for the cupboard that should hold all the baby items, such as his sons' used teething ring, Tyelko trailing after him.  

"Growing teeth is a painful thing, so Morifinwë is trying to smooth the process by chewing on things. The gold of your Ammë's clasp is cool, a sensation which distracts him from the pain, and gold is a soft metal, so it's not so hard on his gums to bite down on it."  

"Huh..." Tyelkormo processed this new information for a moment.  

Finding the teething ring, Fëanáro offered it to Carnistir. The baby latched onto it, chewed it a bit, then that too he spat out, making a scrunched-up face of disgust. After a while, the ring was forgotten, and he went for the gold clasp yet again.  

"...Seems like he's got a taste for the finer things," Fëanáro said.  

"He's stupid," Tyelkormo proclaimed. "What if he swallows it?"  

"At least Moryo's not trying to cannibalise other elves like you did," Makalaurë chimed in as he passed the hall on his way out.  

"Hey! Elves are more food than metal is!" Tyelkormo yelled back, and he set off after his elder brother to continue arguing.  

Fëanáro left his sons to their bickering and finally allowed Carnistir to have Nerdanel's clasp again. He then headed for his study, ideas of making a teething ring made if solid gold floating before his mind's eye.  

[tilion-writes]

So I’ve been learning how to crochet… behold—tiny Tyelko and tiny Huan!

(The base doll and hair are slightly modified from a free pattern from the blog Little World of Whimsy, and I made Huan by following along to this video.)

[themalhambird]

I think Smol Tylepë should get to use Huan as a baby walker because tiny elfling taking earliest tottering steps with a hand clutched in Giant Pupper's fur is an adorable image and also, you know Huan is being SUCH a responsible baby sitter. It's never that Curvo leaves Tylepë with Tyelko and therefore Huan is also there, Curvo leaves Tylepë with Huan and there Tyelko is also there

@verecunda

[actual-bill-potts]

PROMPT TIME can I have some m&m and “enduring grief and anger in silence” please!!

hehe yes beloved <3

TW for discussion of death and funeral practices

Nelyo had not cried once after Atar’s death.

He had wept, bitterly and without comfort, after Atyarussa had died. There had been a kind of grim satisfaction in Tyelko’s face; Curvo and Moryo had been silent, Curvo tall and straight at his father’s shoulder; Minyarussa had simply stood, swaying, eyes so bright he looked like a sick animal. Makalaurë’s own eyes had been dry; he had been full of fear so hot he felt as though he were burning along with his youngest brother, and in his mind only one thought had circled, round and round like the wheels of an organ-grinder: at least one of us is now safe.

But Nelyo had cried and cried, doubled over on the ground like he was playing again on Atyarussa’s little drum-set, and Minyarussa had stared at his shaking eldest brother with a dull sort of relief on his face. Atar had half-heartedly said, “Get up,” then shook his head and strode away as Nelyo behind him gasped, “the baby, our littlest one - the baby -”

He had raged at Makalaurë, after. “Why did you not weep? Little Atyarussa! My brother the musician, composer of dirges, can still weep for a pet rabbit lost these hundred years, but not his smallest brother, who we were as fathers to -”

“You were, perhaps,” said Makalaurë, not caring that he was being cruel, not wanting to think about it, “but I had other matters to attend to. In any case, brother, at least he is not here.”

Nelyo’s face had frozen in open shock; but all he had said was a quiet, “It should have been me.”

Only - only now Atar was gone, and it seemed to Makalaurë that some rotted abscess within him had torn open and was draining, for he could not stop crying. There was grief for the father who had lifted him upon his broad shoulders when he was tiny, and swallowed his dislike of the Vanyar long enough to send Makalaurë to Valimar for tutelage - for a little - and taught him his letters. And there was grief for the days of his youth, the bright happy house and his mother’s unshadowed eyes; and finally, finally - where had it been before? - there was grief for his littlest brother, for whom he had fashioned a little violincello and whose piping voice had lifted with him in duets.

It was his turn, now, to lift his voice in mourning; but Nelyo was silent, and refused to help spread what they could gather of Atar’s ashes in the fields that were taking shape by the lake, laying him to rest as close to Cuiviénen as they could manage. He and Minyarussa stood on and watched, twin shadows of Ammë.

Does she grieve for us, he wondered. Will she know he is dead, and did not know whether he meant Atyarussa, or Atar, or himself.

But after, Makalaurë could bear it no more. “Why will you not weep for him? Our father is dead!” he demanded in a whisper in their tent. And then, pouring out of him, “you wept more for Findekáno, who is alive! Atar will not see the hills of Tirion on Túna again, nor Finwe his father; he is Doomed, and all of us with him! Will you not weep! For us, if not for him!”

“He murdered my brother,” said Nelyo, quite casually, “why should I weep? As for the rest, we have been Doomed a long time since, and I shall not grieve twice what I was commanded not to grieve once. I will fulfill our Oath; is that not enough?”

Makalaurë blinked back tears, again, and said, “Not for me; where is my brother?”

“He died on the ships,” said Nelyo; and they did not speak again until the messenger from Moringotto came.

[lamemaster]

Maedhros with a Singer S/O

Request: I was wondering if you could write a headcanon/fic for Maedhros with a singer female elf s/o. 💖

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: Romance and ANGST

AN: went a little overboard

"Are you, perhaps, Prince Makalaure?" Your first words to Maitimo were uttered at the doorstep of their house in Valinor. He was young back then, a brother to only two others.

You stood there as Makalaure's tutor, a name his mother had mentioned. "Uh, no, I am Nelyafinwe. Laure is inside; please come in," he invited you inside.

"Forgive me, Prince Nelyafinwe," you smiled sheepishly. "I am supposed to instruct Prince Makalaure in music. Could you please call him?"

And so it began, as your fate entangled with Maedhros'.

Months later~

"Are your parents not here to learn more about Prince Kanafinwe's performance?" Your words were plain but they cut Nelyafinwe deeply. They wounded his Finwean pride. How could you ever look at him with pity in your eyes?

He could see the judgment. You pitied him and his brother. You saw them as neglected elflings, perhaps nothing more. "My parents love us very much, but they are masters of their craft. As their sons, Kano and I understand that." Nelyafinwe looked at a tiny Kano sitting by a giant harp, playing it with a small smile.

But he had also seen the excited look in his brother's eyes when he took the stage. Kano had scanned the crowd for any signs of Feanor or Nerndanel, but his eyes had found only Maitimo, his brother, who had rushed here after his own classes at the palace.

"It was important for Kanafinwe today," you did not back down. You had wanted your student to get his recognition today. "He prepared for this very diligently." You paused; your heart ached as you noticed the subtle disappointment in your student's eyes. "I would like to talk to your parents and maybe discuss this…"

Nelyafinwe's heart stopped. You would talk to the crown prince of the Noldor for your student? Why did you care so much? And his parents…they were too absorbed in their own worlds. Would they ever listen to you?

His Atar would not like you. And his Amme was always too tired. What if they fought because of you? No, he couldn't let that happen. Kano and Tyelko got scared so easily. He couldn't let them see that again. He couldn't let you witness this.

"You, a mere tutor, want to talk to our parents? Do you even know who they are? Masters of their craft, their lives are different from yours. Kanafinwe is their son, and he understands his responsibilities." Nelyafinwe allowed his voice to carry the edge of rudeness. "Our parents create art greater than you can ever fathom. It is born out of their souls." Maybe that would scare you off.

But it didn't. Instead, you blinked at him, unfazed. "Forgive me, I do not possess mastery of music as your parents do for their craft. I do not pour my soul into my creations because somehow, to me, creation is not about taking a part of me and the world around and putting it into my art. Instead, it's about the joy of doing it. Creations should lend peace of mind. They should imitate the world around us, not take us away from it."

"Maybe that's why you are just a tutor, not a master," Nelyafinwe's words were sharp, but they served to hide his own shame. A shame you did not cast upon him, but one he had draped himself in. "Come, Kano, I am sure we can find you another tutor who might be more suitable," Nelyafinwe called for his brother, who looked at him with teary eyes. His nose and cheeks were flushed from his efforts to hold back his tears. His lips trembled, but he persevered, fighting the sobs.

Kano looked at you, pleadingly. You bent down to his level and kissed his forehead. "Why are you so morose? You did so well today, dear," you consoled your student. It seemed as if this entire interaction with Nelyafinwe had terrified him.

You stood back up. "I am sorry to have offended you, my prince," you bowed to him without a trace of resentment in your voice. "I just want the best for my student." You looked down at Kanafinwe, who still held your gown in his tiny fists. "And I am certain that Kanafinwe will soon surpass me," you smiled at him. "I will live to see my dearest student become greater than any."

"You will always be better than me!" Kanafinwe hugged your legs and buried himself in your gown, allowing his tears to flow freely. "I don't want another tutor, Nelyo, please…let her be my tutor, please." You supported your young student and picked him up in your arms, wiping his tears away.

Even decades later, as the entire Valinor praised Kanafinwe for his talent, your student still called you the best, now your brother-in-law. Somehow, your fate was set to stay with Nelyafinwe, who once detested you. You didn't know when the love came, but it arrived, and neither of you could resist.

Your romance started later in the years, first as a friendship, then grew only deeper with your shared affection for Kano, who had now grown too big for both of you to baby.

Nelyo tried to get Tyelko to learn from you, but it was a failed venture when he had to drag his younger brother to you for the second month. That was the sign that the eldest Feanorian had to find another reason to meet with you. It led to a hurried confession next to a sulking Tyelko, one of the liveliest confessions in Valinor's history, especially when you both had to physically carry an uncontrollable Tyelko back home.

Your marriage to Nelyafinwe was beautiful and peaceful. You followed him to Formenos, to Tirion, and to the shores of Alqualonde. In your marriage, you only knew how to follow him. Even when your husband didn't have the courage to face you with his bloodied face, you cradled his face, wiped his tears, and sang him the song of peace. The wavering of your own voice didn't matter. Your screaming morals were shunned. You comforted Maitimo.

You would have followed him on the ships if it weren't for a tiny Idril clutching your gown. Your youngest student needed people around her, and her mother, Elenwe, needed help. So you stayed behind, watching him leave in the bloodied boats. You kissed him goodbye with a promise of a quick reunion.

And you waited to follow him. With Idril in your lap, you sang to her all the songs your husband loved. You could feel him still in your bond. But the ship never returned to get you. All that came was the whisper of smoke. They were gone. You couldn't fathom such an act of betrayal by Maitimo, even with your resentment.

Next to Turgon's host, you sought to find your beloved on the nether shores. Your anger did not vanish, it lived in your heart. You wanted to meet him and ask him about his abandonment of you.

But you never got the chance. You felt your heart stop in the freezing depths of Helcaraxe. Your body was dragged down by all the weight you had been carrying in your bags. The darkness pulled you closer to an unknown end. But you could see him now. His hair flowed effortlessly in the water, his eyes glimmered even in the dark, and he smiled at you. He was calling you. You reached your hand to him. 'Maitimo,' you called out to him.

"What do you mean she is not here?" Is she reborn?"" Maedhros' spirit trembled. The Halls of Mandos had always seemed like a distant beacon of hope the only reunion that he had imagined for him and you, but now they had become a void, a cold emptiness as if the Valar had forsaken them even in their death.

The Maia looked at him with eyes full of pity. "Your wife did not make it to Mandos' Halls. Her soul has been trapped in the depths of Helcaraxe." The words cut through his spirit like shards of ice, and he felt as if he was being consumed by a relentless storm.

He longed for a glimpse of you, for a touch, a word, something to reassure him that you were still there. He had been longing for ages. "Why can I not feel her? Our bond...it's not broken? Why did no one bring her back?" Maedhros demanded, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and anger

The Maia's voice was solemn. "Her fea did not depart her hroa. It is unaware of its death. The freezing depths of Helcaraxe prevent her body from decaying. Without even a sign of rot, the soul cannot leave. To the fea, the hroa is undamaged and, thus, still capable of holding it. Maybe there is another reason we do not know, but this is the best we can tell you."

For so long, you were trapped in those lifeless waters, alone and cold. Maedhros felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if he had failed to protect you, to keep you by his side. "Let me go. I will bring her back," he offered without hesitation, his voice unwavering. "My healing, my past, my present, my future, the laws of the Valar can all wait. I need to go to her. Please, let me go!"

But the Maia's response was crushing. "You cannot," they said, their tone unyielding. "No quendi can leave Valinor anymore. Your wife is doomed, like the rest. No one can force her to return."

"She did not do anything wrong!" Maedhros' voice rose with desperation, and he knelt in anguish, his spirit trembling. Tears may have eluded him, but his soul wept. "Please, bring her back. Let me go to her. She didn't harm anyone. She just wanted to be with me." Yet only silence met his pleas, and it echoed in the emptiness of Mandos.

In the depths of water surrounding you, you finally had him to yourself. You could sing for hours and Maitimo would still look at you lovingly. Urging you to sing in the solitude.

Your heart was at peace. Next to Maitimo, the world faded into oblivion.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

MAY-U - Turgon x Caranthir

AH @elentarial, my friend! Have some cheeky Turgon for your nerves!

It was such a blast to write these two again! Thank you very much for submitting them! <3

Characters: Turgon x Caranthir

Prompts: Blind Date - Librarian - That's now how you talk to someone

Words: 2 200

Warnings: /

“No, Moryo, absolutely not,” Maglor spat, leaning suavely against the worn frame as if the half-closed door, obscuring the bigger part of his face, did not in the least disturb him. “You’re going on a date, not to a funeral!”

Grabbing the first item he could lay his hands on, a cherished book about ancient economies, Caranthir let his arm snap back to fling his unusual missile at the unwelcome intruder.

“Oi, I’m merely trying to help you! Nelyo has worked so hard for this,” Maglor lamented, lifting his skilful, pale hands in mock defeat while letting his unfairly handsome face melt into the doleful mien of one unjustly accused of a heinous crime.

“As if,” Caranthir grumbled bitterly. Nevertheless, he started undoing the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt again. He’d quite liked the way the colour—a red so rich and dark it looked almost black—had complimented his complexion, but he had to admit that Maglor was much more stylish than him.

He had no other choice but to believe the mouthy fool!

“I think you should wear Curvo’s green shirt,” Maglor went on. “I just so happen to have it here.”

Cocking one eyebrow, Caranthir leaned back slightly. His younger brother was not known for letting anyone borrow his clothes without kicking up a fuss and starting a fight—hence, Maglor must have shamelessly stolen the garment from under the little one’s upturned nose.

“Tyelko’s and Nelyo’s wouldn’t fit you,” Maglor explained. “And you’ve told me one too many times how much you loathe my, if I may say so myself, impeccable and editorial style.”

“What’s wrong with my own clothes?” Caranthir muttered petulantly.

“They’re ugly. We all believe you’re doing it on purpose too! Even Námo wouldn’t be caught dead in those rags…caught dead, get it?”

Slapping his thigh, Maglor tossed his loot across the room with surprising accuracy. “Don’t let Curvo see you in it. And wear the tight pants mom bought for you last Yule!”

Caranthir grimaced—he hated those trousers with a burning passion. They made his legs look pathetically spindly and revealed his deplorable lack of a well-rounded, bouncy behind to anyone with even just a single involuntarily straying eye.

“Someone is waiting to meet you,” Maglor grinned. “Do you not owe it to them to at least pretend you’re somewhat of a catch?”

“Káno, stop antagonising him!”

Their oldest brother appeared, as ever surrounded by a halo of red hair and dignified impatience. “You look nice, Moryo. Wear the Yule-pants! And comb your hair properly!”

“This is ludicrous!” Turgon grunted as he was tempted to brace his feet against the wall to tear at the door with his whole body weight like some ridiculous character in an animated TV show for children. “Let me out, you idiot!”

“Say you’ll go on the date that I organised for you because I love you!” Fingon screamed through the door. He was stronger than he looked, and—unbeknownst to Turgon—he’d roped their sister into helping him keep the door closed despite their brother’s valiant efforts.

Ever since a rather unfortunate accident involving Argon, the cellar door, and about a dozen firefighters, there were no key left in any lock in their house, and manoeuvres such as the one they were enmeshed in at the present moment had to be fought out by strength and stamina alone.

“Fine,” Turgon finally relented. “I’ll go, but you and that wicked vixen of a sister shall do my laundry for two weeks.”

He’d known that it had been a mistake to leave his clean, orderly flat to come to the cesspit of chaos and destruction that was his family home, but his beloved older brother had invited him, and he’d felt compelled to spend some time with his siblings.

After all, they were constantly whining that they never got to see him.

“A blind date! This is real life, not a romantic comedy!” he grumbled as he swept past his giggling siblings to find something appropriate to wear.

“You can’t tell me that you spend all your time at work in the aisle of the encyclopaedias, Turno,” Fingon chirped. “We all know you’re lonely. As your brother who, it bears repeating, loves you, I’ve unbent the earth to secure this prime candidate for you.”

“Pah! We shall see!” Once more, Turgon was woefully certain that he was walking right into a trap, but—where his family was concerned—he couldn’t help trying to keep them happy and safe, and so he took his woollen coat off the hanger and went off to his date as one rode into battle: grim and determined not to fail.

Pacing up and down the street in which the small, cosy restaurant lay, Caranthir wondered for the seventeenth time whether he should not simply sneak away.

He could simply go to a dark pub and wait a few hours before returning to his familial home with an elaborate lie about where he’d been and what he’d done.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t sure how truthful Maglor’s depiction of their brother’s involvement was—if Nelyo had indeed set up this charmingly casual meeting in a tasteful ambience, there was a distinct chance that he’d also be made aware of Caranthir’s notable absence.

Thus, he traipsed across wetly shining cobbles aimlessly until a deep, full voice resounded behind him, hailing someone—as there was nobody in sight but him, Caranthir correctly deduced that he was the one being addressed in so gruff a manner.

“Hey you! Have you been set up by well-intentioned but ultimately clueless loved ones?”

Whirling around, Caranthir felt his eyes widen as they travelled along a tall, athletic frame that ended in a sharp-featured, alluringly stern face.

“My brothers have coerced me,” he admitted, drawing closer automatically. “They’re convinced that I’ll be eaten by a horde of cats I don’t even have…”

“Ah,” the stranger chuckled knowingly. “Believe it or not—the fate they project for you would be kinder than the one my siblings are painting for my own sorry self. If their teary-eyed prophecies are to be believed, I shall be buried under an avalanche of books that will slowly grind my bones to dust as I decay, ruining the tomes and leaving my family heartbroken.”

“Do you have that many books at least?” Caranthir inquired, feeling oddly captivated by the rich timbre of the stranger’s voice which made him think of spiced hot chocolate and warm plaids on a cold winter’s night.

“I’m a librarian,” the other replied quietly. “Not the most exciting job—hence why Fingon, my oldest brother, thought that I needed an intervention. My name is Turgon, by the way.” “Fingon,” Caranthir repeated slowly, letting the name melt on his tongue. “He does not, by any chance, step out with a tall, lanky ginger?”

“Maedhros, The Beautiful? Why, yes? My brother is obsessed with that man,” Turgon answered without hesitation or false sense of coyness.

“Oh, that blasted liar! I’ll cut the strings of his favourite harp!” Caranthir cursed under his breath. So much for the heroic effort his brother had made on his behalf—he’d simply stuck his head, and possibly other body parts, together with his accursed boyfriend to get their respective boorish brother to agree to a blind date!

“I take it you know the red-haired Wunderkind?” Turgon asked sharply and held open the door.

Without really having noticed that they’d been moving while talking, Caranthir found himself stepping into the fragrant warmth of the restaurant.

“He’s my oldest brother. Not that anyone would believe that, what with him being so handsome and all…”

“Hey! That’s not how you talk to someone—not even yourself. I have no trouble believing that you’re related!” Turgon interrupted cuttingly. “The freckles and fierce look are a dead giveaway!”

Caranthir’s mouth opened and closed a few times without emitting more than a choking wheeze so shocked was he by the matter-of-fact compliment. He’d never been the kind of person to attract much gratuitous flattery, and so he didn’t quite know how to react properly, especially because Turgon’s eyes were confusingly clear and steady as if he’d not just said the single most gratifying thing Caranthir had ever heard.

“So, what is it you do?” Turgon questioned calmly as they were led to a little alcove in the back of the establishment by a discreet, soft-spoken waitress. “Just so I know how much I have to cut back on the ‘boring’ discussions.”

Blinking owlishly, Caranthir had to admit, if only to himself, that it was easy to see similarities between his brother’s sparkling paramour and the dignified but kind beauty sliding into a chair opposite him with perfect grace.

“I’m an accountant,” he croaked. “By all means, tell me about lists and tabulations.”

“Oh, I see why they thought this would be funny,” Turgon grimaced. “If my sister is to be believed, I’m boorish, headstrong, and deplorably tedious in all I say and do.”

“That was not my impression thus far,” Caranthir contradicted diplomatically. “Also, you wouldn’t even want to hear how my brothers describe me.”

“Shy, wicked smart, and as irascible as sensitive,” Turgon shot back without batting an eye. “At least, that is what I seem to recall from the most awkward dinner I’ve ever had to sit through.”

“Oh no,” Caranthir whispered in a long, sighing exhalation. “Nelyo and Káno are the charming ones, in general. You’ve not experienced true awkwardness until you’ve been to one of our family dinners.”

“Is that an invitation?” Turgon grinned. He turned to take the menus the waitress was holding out to them, giving her a grateful smile, and set them down at once without so much as looking at them.

“I didn’t have much faith in this endeavour, but I do not seek to purposefully, petulantly—as my siblings would say—sabotage it. So no, please don’t come to dinner with my six brothers and mad parents!”

“Fingon loves them,” Turgon commented softly. “He speaks very fondly of all of you. Either way, do you feel like proving our siblings wrong…Should we be adventurous?”

He spoke that word as if it was a naughty concept, and Caranthir couldn’t help the surge of frantic, electrifying energy pulsing through his every fibre and driving heat into his face.

“Yes,” he hummed even as his heart started pounding wildly in anticipation.

Turgon struggled to control the uncomely frown of concentration that threatened to overtake his brow; his eyes burned fiercely, and he regretted having given in to vanity and exchanged his glasses for contact lenses.

Why had his face chosen this exact moment to betray him? The corners of his mouth twitched as a soppy smile tried to claw itself to the surface, and his forehead quivered as he attempted to recall every tiny fragment of information about the charming stranger sitting across the table.

Surely, the disgustingly amorous idiots dancing through his parents’ house must have said more about one so extraordinary as Caranthir. Why couldn’t he remember?

Fingon might have had a point after all when he’d accused Turgon of never even listening to anything he said.

His future brother-in-law called him “Moryo”, but every time Turgon’s watery eyes returned to that narrow, beauteous face, all he could see was light.

Not only was this unexpected treasure a sight to behold, but Caranthir was indeed ruthlessly smart. He followed Turgon’s rather theoretical tangent about filing systems effortlessly, interjecting witty comments and clever jibes at all the right moments.

Moreover, he’d instantly agreed to let their waitress compile a tasting menu for them, so—despite his reassuring gravitas and reticent demeanour, he was not as risk-averse as everybody believed and claimed.

In a word, against all odds and despite his own scepticism, Turgon had to concede that his jolly, often frivolous brother had managed to conjure up the man of his dreams.

Maybe, the sullen librarian now mused, he could have spared himself the stress and indignity of this whole ordeal if he’d just been more open to Fingon’s invitations to accompany him to various events that had been attended by not only Maedhros but also his mysterious brothers.

The selection of dessert miniatures was served much too soon, and Turgon glared vindictively at the old clock hanging on a crooked wall. Where had the time gone?

“You don’t have to stay,” Caranthir said sharply, following his gaze. “I think we’ve played the game long enough for them to be satisfied with our effort. I’d totally understand!”

“I don’t live at home,” Turgon replied distractedly. “They don’t expect me back anyway. How much mischievousness have you left in the tank?”

“Years of it,” Caranthir gave back immediately, his voice ringing with conviction and renewed enthusiasm.

“Wouldn’t it be a lovely revenge on our meddling siblings if you wouldn’t go home either?”

“And where am I to hide?”

“I know a place. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

The intense darkness—hell fire and heavenly abyss—of Caranthir’s eyes seemed to swirl like galaxies trapped in finest crystal as he cocked his head curiously.

“Lead the way, handsome stranger,” he said resolutely. “I shall follow you anywhere!”

↬ Masterlist

Thank you so much for joining me on this new adventure.

@fellowshipofthefics here's the next one for May!

Lots of love from me!

[curufiin]

Open + Tyelko?

open sesame the boys!

Tyelko is playing with Huan, and therefore has nothing actually on him other than dried meat and a stick. But off to the side is his usual things, which includes:

One large bow of yew wood.

A quiver, with arrows made by Curufin. One arrow in particular looks extra deadly.

A satchel containing bandages and various medicinal plants.

This time, he has come with a weaved basket. There are already some mushrooms, edible plants, and roots inside, along with a seperate satchel of tasty looking berries.

A spear. It has Curufin’s signature over-decorated style.

Compass!

A notebook and pencil. The notebook is well worn.

Cool rocks he found.

Some mint leaves in a tiny little pouch.

A small waterskin.

Of course, more treats for Huan.

[nailsinmywall]

Trick or treat! 🦇🦇🦇

Beginning of a small celegorm comic i started years ago ;) cliffhanger lol guess what happens nextttt

[polutrope]

#13 doing crafts with maeglin Celegorm and Aredhel?

Love this prompt! There will be a part 2 to this, hopefully tomorrow, using another of your prompts. ~1.3k words, featuring Aredhel/Celegorm, tiny Maeglin, plus Elenwë and tiny Idril. Rated G. Posting these to AO3, here. Prompt list. Little context: Aredhel and Celegorm are related by adoption only (Feanor was adopted). They dated in university and recently got back together after Aredhel's divorce. She and Maeglin are temporarily living with Turgon and Elenwe. See Beleria Cast of Characters for more!

Aredhel plopped Maeglin on the ground at the end of the walkway and fumbled through her hip bag for her house keys on the way to the front door.

“You’re sure your brother’s not gonna be home?” Celegorm asked.

She glanced back at him. He was hoisting one of their two stuffed shopping bags over his shoulder to free a hand for Maeglin to hold. Huan trotted beside them.

“No,” Aredhel answered, “he’s been spending most days at the university now that classes are over. Says it’s quieter than home.”

“And Elenwë?” Celegorm asked.

“Idril has swimming lessons after school. Then they usually go visit my mom and dad afterwards.”

“She’s already doing swimming lessons? Isn’t she, like, three?”

Aredhel chuckled as she turned the key in the lock. “No, Tyelko. She’s five. She’s in first grade.” She pushed the door open. “Hello?” she called.

“I thought you said no one was home.”

“Well,” Aredhel grinned, “you never know. A lot of us live here!”

Celegorm eyed her warily as he passed over the threshold behind her. He kicked off his boots and proceeded to the kitchen where he dumped the bags on the dining table and flung his bulky coat onto the couch. As Aredhel hung her own coat in the closet, she watched Celegorm help Maeglin onto a chair. They set about unpacking the craft supplies.

“Hey!” Aredhel said. “Don’t bring that all out yet. Turno’s gonna kill me if we don’t put down something to protect the table! And Lómion, you need to take your boots off, dear.”

“Oh yeah,” said Maeglin, seating himself to yank them off. He threw them on the floor and Aredhel sighed. She let it go: proper shoe etiquette would be a battle for another day -- one when she wasn't also fighting against Celegorm's unhelpful behaviour modelling.

“Okay,” Aredhel said to her son, “why don’t you go get your paints and brushes from our room?” Maeglin hopped off the chair and trundled off down the hall. “Tyelko, help me set up here.”

A few minutes later, the three of them were seated around the table, now adequately protected by a bright yellow vinyl tablecloth. Open tubs of paint, each speared with a fat paintbrush, were lined up down the middle. Celegorm tore open little bags of glitter, pompoms, googly eyes, and many sequins shaped like stars and trees and snowflakes and (for some reason) dinosaurs, then handed each of them off to Maeglin. He in turn inspected each new material with wonder before dumping the bag’s contents into recycled plastic containers.

Aredhel carefully removed coloured paper sheets from the pad and spread them over the table.

Yule pop classics spilled from the speakers and Huan, mercifully, was curled up contentedly on the couch after a long walk earlier that day.

Maeglin clapped his hands. “Craft time!” he said gleefully.

He grabbed two sheets of paper and shoved them in Celegorm’s direction. “You fold, I decorate,” he instructed.

“That’s it? I just fold?”

“Yes, and make sure it’s straight,” Maeglin said soberly. “Don’t be sloppy.”

Celegorm laughed.

“All right!” Aredhel had pulled a crumpled list from her bag and was smoothing it over the table. She counted up the names. “Looks like we need… twenty cards? I am probably forgetting someone. Let’s see. My brothers, Mom and Dad, your brothers, your parents, Grandma, Finarfin and Eärwen, Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, Galadriel. Any other family?”

“Orodreth,” said Celegorm.

“Oh, shizzle, you’re right. I always forget him.”

“Who’s Oro’deth?” Maeglin asked.

“You haven’t met him yet, Lo-lo. He’s in the army.”

“Does he have a gun?” Maeglin asked, amazed.

“He probably does, yes.” Aredhel added Orodreth to her list. “Tyelko, do you think I need to do two for Amrod and Amras?”

“Yes,” said Celegorm.

“Really? Okay, well that’s another one then.” Aredhel set the list aside. “We better get to work. Whose card would you like to make, Lo?”

“I wanna make one for Uncle Finno.”

“Great! He’ll love that.”

“I’m gonna draw a spider on it because he’s Spiderman.”

“That’s right, he is, sweetie.” Aredhel grinned remembering Maeglin’s enthusiastic reception of her brother’s Halloween costume.

“A spider. How festive,” Celegorm drawled.

Maeglin snapped his head up to look at him.

“Don’t worry,” said Aredhel, “Celegorm is just grumpy because he’s not a superhero like Uncle Finno.” She winked.

“Oh.” Maeglin frowned, thinking. “You can be a superhero, too. You’re… Dogman!”

Celegorm shook his head, but Aredhel watched the flush of satisfaction claim her boyfriend’s cheeks at his new title. They shared a smile across the table.

Gradually, the table filled with bedazzled handmade cards, laid out to dry.

Maeglin, however, was unimpressed with his adult companions’ work.

“That’s it?” He wrinkled his nose at Celegorm’s latest uninspired creation: a green tree decorated with sequins against a red background. “You should put more effort, Tyelko.”

“Noted, boss,” said Celegorm.

“Put a dog on it,” Maeglin suggested, and turned his attention back to the card he’d spent the last twenty minutes on. He had almost completed the border of alternating star and dinosaur sequins around the folded blue sheet.

“Who’s that card for?” Aredhel asked.

“Idril,” he replied. “Blue is her favourite colour, she told me. And I like dinosaurs.”

“That’s sweet,” said Aredhel, stroking his mop of black hair from his eyes.

“I like Idril,” Maeglin said.

At that moment, a key clicked in the door. “Hello?” It was Elenwë. “We’re home!” There was some muttering and rustling, then Elenwë strode into view.

“Doggy!” With a delighted shriek, Idril darted past her mother and clambered onto the couch beside Huan. The dog obligingly lifted his chin to receive her pats and scritches.

“Oh my goodness,” Elenwë said as she entered the dining area and caught sight of the crafting chaos cluttering the table. “You have been busy! Oh, hi, Celegorm.” There was a tense moment of silence; then she smiled. “Nice to see you.”

Celegorm exhaled audibly. “You too, Elenwë. You look well.”

“Shoot, what time is it?” Aredhel said. “Sorry, El, I thought we’d be done by the time you got home. We can clean up—”

“It’s no problem,” Elenwë said, pulling some leftovers out of the refrigerator. “Maybe we can make some with you, what do you think, Idril? Do you want to do some crafts?”

Upon seeing Idril, Maeglin had risen to his knees on the chair and assumed a stooped, defensive position over his card like some sort of gargoyle. His wide eyes bore into Idril, but she was far too preoccupied snuggling with Huan to notice.

“Yeah, okay,” Idril agreed.

“No!” Maeglin snarled.

“What?” Aredhel and Elenwë asked at once.

“No, we can’t make cards with her!”

“Why on earth not, Lo?" Aredhel asked. "You just said, you like Idril. You’re making her a—”

“No, I don’t! Am not!” Maeglin snapped, and turned his glare on Aredhel. “I never said that. She’s mean, I don’t want her to make cards with us.”

Idril looked up from patting the dog. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms and scowling. “I won’t.”

After some conciliatory efforts on the part of both their mothers, Maeglin and Idril’s dispute was settled, and the children agreed it would actually be quite nice if they all made cards together.

Plates of leftover lasagna and salad were passed around to fuel their efforts. After dinner, Celegorm took Huan for a walk and came back with a bag of marshmallows and a box powdered hot chocolate from the corner store, winning the adoration of the kids and the intrepid gratitude of Elenwë and Aredhel, who exchanged knowing looks as both of their children downed cups of sugar at 8pm.

It was in this way that Turgon, coming in exhausted after a ten-hour day of grading papers, found them.

[fictionfordays]

Kissing Tyelkormo

Tyelkormo x GN!Reader

CW: Kissing (obvi), lil hair pulling, tiny bit of lip biting

A/N: I thought the gif was cute ^3^ muah!

Back to Main Masterlist | Tolkien Masterlist

❀ Kisses with Tyelko... kisses. With. Tyelko. Omg where do I start ???

❀ Man is so sexy and dominating, even with something as sweet and pure as a chaste kiss on the cheek

❀ He loves to make eye contact before allowing you to feel his lips against yours

❀ His lips are warm and surprisingly soft

❀ He likes teasing you and testing the waters before diving in deeper. His lips will ghost over yours as he breathes in your scent. You're so intoxicating without even realizing.

❀ He's surprisingly tender, as well. The way his lips press against yours slightly harder each time they touch. His hands remaining on your waist, though you can feel the small twitches in his fingers as he grows impatient

❀ At first, he struggles with holding back his wildness. Not wanting to scare you and wanting to show you just how much he cares for you

❀ But eventually he just loses it. The feeling of the tip of his tongue flicking against your lips before he nibbles your bottom lip

❀ His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, holding you closer to him as you gasp quietly at his sudden roughness

❀ His wet muscle glides and dances against your own, your lips melding together, your breaths growing heavier and heavier

❀ He LOVES when you tangle your fingers in his silvery strands, passionately tugging to your heart's content

❀ Ooh and if your bite his lip? Oof. Forget whatever innocent little ideas you had.

❀ He'll smirk against your lips, voice an octave deeper, "A little eager, are we now, little mouse?"

Tags: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers​ @asianbutnotjapanese

If you want to be added to my taglist, leave a comment or dm!

I do not own these characters. All rights to the original creators. All content—created rights are reserved to Wallabypriate©2023.

[tinwe-the-local-assassin]

Tinwë The Local Assassin's (Tyelkobaldo Fëanorini on AO3) fanfiction Masterlist

For the sake of easier access to my stories, I thought I'd make a list of them.

Hope you enjoy them if you decide to read them!

1. A Final Farewell:

The aftermath of the second Kinslaying through the eyes of the third son of Fëanáro as he laid on a pool of his own blood and the blood of the boy king who died by his hands.

Words: 1,135

One-shot

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Celegorm lays dying, and he regrets.

As I've said before, I'd change everything about this, but I'm pretty proud of the emotions and character dynamics. Besides, the feels...🥹

____________

2. Life Is A Give And Take:

Battered and drenched from a late winter storm, Celegorm, lord of Himlad, returns home after a long absence from his lands.

Instead of some well deserved rest, the only thing awaiting him there is more trouble.

And maybe, closure.

Words: 2,784

One-shot

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Celegorm's been searching for Aredhel and her son for months now, focused to the point that he forgets a very important day. His brothers are there to make sure he won't miss it.

_________

3. Tyelkormo's Fautuatar:

It's Mettarë and Tyelkormo has a mission.

What is mission his, you ask?

It's catching the elusive Fautuatar, of course!

Words: 2,970

One-shot

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A Christmas special and gift for my friend, @sadtimo. Inspired by her amazing artwork. Hope she shares it one of these days so you can see it too!

Besides, little Tyelko is adorable, and Fëanor is a good dad. (For the most part.)

And this is where the HC of Fëanor and Tyelko being pranksters and partners in crime came from.

__________

4. A Gift For brother:

Young Írissë, feeling helpless as to what she should get for her dearest brother's begotten day, resorts to the last option available. Consulting with Tyelkormo, her (unfortunately) best friend.

Words: 4,013

One-shot

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A birthday present for my very own dear Findekáno. They're not on Tumblr, so I can't tag them.

I RPed as Aredhel for a long time before choosing Tyelko as my main character, so she's also a very beloved character. And the besties dynamics she and Tyelko have remind me of my own irl best friend, making me very fond of these two. It's a very wholesome story and one of my favorites I've written, and the Turgon and Aredhel sibling rivalry is just to die for. They're cute. 🥺

__________

5. A Friend To All:

Glorfindel's begotten day through the eyes of Idril Celebrindal and her descendant.

Words: 2,120

One-shot

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A wholesome story with a tiny Idril and Glorfindel as the youngest grandson of Finwë. (The son of Findis headcanon)

Another birthday present to a friend of mine who, similar to Glorfindel, is a friend to all.

__________

6. Hasty In Guilt:

Twenty years old Tyelkormo leaves his home behind after a fight with his father.

Angst and trouble ensues.

Words: 15,428

Chapters: 9/10

---

This is perhaps the only story I didn't plan for beforehand and just went where the characters took me. It was supposed to be a one-shot, turned into a mini fic, and I'm really hoping to finish it in the upcoming months.

_____________

7. A Door to the Past:

Secrets shall never remain hidden in this House of Cards.

Or; the lives and secrets of the middle children of Fëanor after their deaths in Doriath through the eyes of their remaining brothers.

Words: 5,879

Chapters: 3/3

---

This is another story I'm very proud of. Basically, the remaining brothers (Amras, Maedhros and Maglor) are planning to leave Amon Ereb behind shortly after the Sack of Menegroth because they can't defend it anymore. Maedhros asks them each to take responsibility to sort through their dead brothers' belongings. Some secrets are revealed, and no one is handling it well.

___________

8. Of Raccoons, Kittens, and Star Princesses:

Maitimo Nelyafinwë Russandol had to face one of the most scary challenges of his life:

His younger brother Tyelkormo having turned into a real raccoon.

Words: 4,774

One-shot

---

This is one of the most hilarious and wholesome things I've ever written! It's littered with references only my friends can get, but I don't think it makes it any less enjoyable if you like being served a healthy dose of Finwian chaos. Another birthday present, this time for my dear @sadtimo

Also, I think Tyelko being a raccoon in disguise is pretty much canon at this point, isn't it? 👀

____________

9. Our Story Had Always Been Written In Blood:

From the beginning to his end; Celegorm Fëanorion's story through the windows of his quil and ink.

Or, a sneak peak to the world of the journal of the third son of Fëanor from the time he learned how to write to his very end. It is sad, it is romantic and most of all, it is sincere, even if at times he was dishonest even to himself.

Words: 633

Chapters: 1/?

---

Tyelko wrote journals and started very early in life to help with his focus. This story is non-linearly and basically snippets of his life. I will be updating it with random moments from different periods of his life, so it is something you can read without worrying about updates. I know I'm not the best at keeping promises. 🥲

_______________

10. You're Going To Be My Best Friend Forever:

Celegorm celebrating the birth of his best friend throughout their lives.

Words: 3,526

Chapters: 1/2

---

Another one of my favorites and a birthday present to my one and only Curvo @catstartd

I really need to finish it, though, again, it can be read as it is because it's complete.

Basically Tyelko, Curvo and birthday cakes.

_____________

11. Mysterious Kisser:

Tyelkormo Turcafinwë participated in Oromë's annual hunting competition in the hope of making his master proud and adding the Crown of Antlers to his collection of trophies.

He got much more than he bargained for, and it could be what he had been waiting for all his life, or a nightmare from a land he had never set foot on.

Words: 3,457

Chapters: 2/?

---

I think I pretty much explained the context. All I can add is that the sibling feels in it makes me want to jump from a cliff in a good way.

____________

12. The Phantom of Himring:

Celegorm, having infiltrated into Himring after its fall, find himself amidst the sea of enemies whom had wronged him and his people.

Presented with opportunities, he just can't bring himself to walk away without serving justice.

Words: 6,693

One-shot

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Nirnaeth Arnoediad has taken everything from Celegorm, and he wants revenge.

He returns to Himring to retrieve some important belongings of his and his brothers, and what he finds there gives him the right excuse to do what he does the best: kill.

I think this is something I'm the most proud of. It was very rushed because I wanted to post it for Fëanorianweek in March, but despite that I don't think I'd change anything about it.

I also think the idea was inspired by Arya Stark and her revenge on House Frey in my subconscious.

_______________

13. And I Wove the Light of Laurelin Into Your Midnight Tresses:

Fingon Findekáno and the tale of his golden ribbons.

Words: 1,714

One-shot

---

Basically what it says. How Fingon came to wear his signature hair accessories and his journey onto becoming Blingon Blindekáno.

_____________

14. Maeglin Lómion's Summary of A Day With the Lord of the Golden Flowers:

Uncle Turukáno wanted Lómion to plan the new year's celebration with his cousin. Lómion thought he wanted him dead and was too shy to tell him so.

Laurëfindelë was there to prove them both wrong.

Words: 2,033

One-shot

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This is the crackiest thing I've ever written, period. 🤣

Basically, Lómion is being a goth and Glorfindel his usual sunshine self. You gotta know it won't end well.

_____________

15. The Rush of Sinyala:

Only a day left until the New year's, and the house of the Crown Prince Fëanáro doesn't have its Larsarno ready yet.

After years of disappointments from his parents, Maitimo was ready to make this Sinyala a memorable one. But he needed his brothers' help. Well, he was lucky, for they were never ones to leave his side in the time of need.

Words: 1,759

One-shot

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Well, I had a Christmas special. I'd not be a true Iranian if I didn't have a Nowruz special. Don't worry if you're not familiar with this holiday. The story is basically a simple introduction to our traditions, but Finwianized.

_____________

16. And You Made My Words Take Flight:

Tyelkormo, Makalaurë's brilliant baby brother had a problem.

He could not talk. At least, not in the tongue of his own kindred. Makalaurë was determined to help him.

Words: 3,010

One-shot

---

This is one of my cutest writings. Nothing but tiny baby Fëanorians being cute and fluffy. Tyelko, a master of the tongues of birds and beasts struggles with Quenya and nothing could be more real than this.

A birthday present for my friend, @charri-fish

____________

17. Mistake of A Lifetime:

Nethien wasn't ready to say farewell to him all those years ago, when she abandoned him and the rest of their people on the shores of Araman.

Closure was offered to her in a silver platter of hate and disgust, and she took the offering with gladness.

Words: 10,461

Chapters: 6/6

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Of my Nethien or Female Celegorm au. Basically, she and her ex-fiance meet for the first time after the burning of the ships, and things somehow go worse than Nethien could have ever imagined.

If you want to know more about this au, check out my post with the Daughter of Fëanor AU!

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18. Finwians One Shot Collection:

(usually) short one-shots of Finwians, filled with humor, fluff and angst.

Words: 4,304

Chapters: 3/?

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A one-shot collection for those shorter pieces which are spurs of moment writings but too good not to post. I still post those separately here, but this is for people who prefer the Ao3 format.

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19. One Life For The Sake of the Rest:

Fingolfin goes to Angband, and Celegorm is but a witness.

Words: 4,884

Chapters: 1/3

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This...gosh... I personally blame @inthehouseoffinwe for this. All these Amazing Uncle Nolo feels came to me after reading her headcanon post.(Which btw, check them all out. They leave you traumatized but satisfied.)

I don't really want to say more, besides asking you if you've read about the myths involving sleeping and souls? If yes, then you'll probably guess what it is about early on. If not then you'll find out once I update it verrry soon.

All right. That is all I guess! (Published, that is)

Can't wait to update this list in the summer with more writings!

[whovianofmidgard]

First Lines Meme

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway

Thank you @dreamingthroughthenoise for the tag!

1) The Finwëan Book of Recipes: Excerpts

Ingredients: 

2 cups of flour 

2 and 2/3 sticks of butter

3/4 cup of ground walnuts 

3/4 cup of honey/powdered sugar

1 vanilla bean

2) 2025 Fëanorian Week Ficlets: Baby Edition

"Haru?" 

Among the sharp clanging and tinkling of metals being hammered into shape, the Aulendil kept half an indulgent eye on the little mop of red hair toddling around the forges. 

3) What Big Teeth You Have

"Don't stray from the path," Ammë told Tyelko when he left to deliver a change of clothes and some bread and wine for Atya in Lórien.

4) A Strategy for Seduction

Five Valian years were quite a long time to be parted from family, Maitimo thought. 

5) Relics

Documented for the Royal Archives of the Reunited Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor

Subject: Itemised Record of the Elven Relics Sold from the Elrond Peredhel Collection

6) Can't Find the Words

Through winding paths and shadows dark,

Their guide the distant starlight spark,

Elves harkened to Oromë's horn

To leave their woes and life of fright,

Towards the Valar's promised...

7) Feast of Schemes

“My dear cousins!” Fingon broke away from his escort in a charge, urging his steed to where he could see the two sons of Fëanor riding in from the East.

8) To Parley, or Not to Parley

"King Regent..."

"I shall be with you momentarily."

9) Eagerly Expecting

Fëanáro observed his son with great amusement as he shadowed Nerdanel's steps, trotting quickly after her on small legs.

10) Nolofinwë’s Foolproof Way of Dealing with Your Half-Brother! 100% Success Rate! Guaranteed!

The first memory Nolofinwë has of Fëanáro he is only a tiny elfling not even a full year old.

Some no pressure tags @meadowlarkx @thecoolblackwaves @deadqueernoldor @thescrapwitch @theheirofashandfire and anyone else whi wants fo do this