Sudden feeling tonight for Elrond and the few things he was allowed to keep and claim from Maedhros and Maglor.
Years after the end of the First Age, he is used to people searching for bits of Lúthien in him, telling him that his hair shines just like hers under the stars. He is used to people saying he has his father's eyes, the same blue-green as the sea that Eärendil inherited from his own father.
Elrond is used to being a constellation made of tiny pieces of his famed ancestors: Lúthien's hair, Eärendil's eyes, Elwing's jaw, Dior's height, Turgon's expressions.
In the early Second Age, as he builds his life in the Noldorin court, those kinds of comments happen often. He meets more and more people who knew, from near or far, one of those ancestors. As they look at him, they see those kings and princesses lost to the ages. And Elrond does not fault them. He considers himself to be made of all those parts that once belonged to somebody else.
Yet, as Elrond continues to make a place for himself, most people do not see the eight-pointed star embroidered at the collar of his clothes or etched into the clasp of his winter cloak.
They do not see it, or they choose not to acknowledge it, because this claiming of Maedhros and Maglor is not something Elrond is supposed to do.
Elrond never claims them publicly and never speaks of them. But he cannot let them go altogether, either. He would never be allowed to publicly ask to be named as their son. The memory of their deeds is still too fresh in Elven memory, and it will remain so for centuries.
Yet Elrond cannot let them go.
So he claims the eight-pointed star for himself and puts it wherever he can. Maedhros and Maglor are a part of him as much as Lúthien or Eärendil, and placing those little stars upon his clothing is his way of making them part of the constellation of parents everybody sees in him.
Though few and far between, Elrond occasionally meets someone who sees Maedhros and Maglor in him more than any of his other parents. And those small similarities, he keeps close to his heart.
Galadriel's soft laugh as Elrond argues against another loremaster in Gil-galad's court. Makalaurë of old would have had the same opinion, she says, her eyes shining, lost in a memory lit by the Trees.
Ereinion's tired but friendly smile after a long day of court. Thank Eru one of us inherited Maedhros's silver tongue for diplomacy and patience for politics. I would have thrown my wine goblet at that Sindar's head long ago if you hadn't been here.
Celebrimbor's exasperated sigh as he follows Elrond out of his workshop after spending too long away from his bed, convinced to go eat in exchange for a song. You are as annoying as Uncle Maitimo. At least you're as sweet as Uncle Kano when it comes to convincing people.
Those comments, those similarities, Elrond keeps close to his heart. Because to him, they mean that Maedhros and Maglor made him theirs just as much as he made them his.
Those tiny parts of them, he allows himself to keep as bright little stars in his constellation.
okay okay, hear me out, Aaron Hotchner (post Hailey’s death) with a male reader significant other who isn’t with the FBI.
Reader is super harmonic with Jack and they’re all very domestic together so when aaron is able to be on cases continuously and spontaneously without having to call anyone to look after Jack, the team gets suspicious cause, wdym hotch doesn’t call jessica or anyone else?!?
and then they’re all like, so who’s this mystery lady, and well… it isn’t a special lady
hope your holiday was nice :)
Just Some Guy (In Hotch’s Kitchen)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! Reader
Word Count: 1.5k+
DNI: Fem-aligned
Author's Note: When I tell you i ran to complete this request, I am not joking. This is hilarious. 🤤
I think I'm getting better at dialogue? Description has always been my strong suit, and I have a tendency to make character's a little ooc, but after *Whisper* binge watch the earlier seasons again.. I think i'm using more language that the character's themselves are using. 😋
As always, feedback is appreciated! Hope you enjoy :))
No one suspected anything at first. Which, frankly, was the embarrassing part. Wheels were up. But apparently, so was Hotch’s mood. Which was… not standard protocol.
He was still there at 7:30 sharp, still crisp in suit and tie, still handing out case files like clockwork. But the edges had changed. Subtly. The kind of change you only noticed when you knew what the old shape used to be. And the BAU had quite the bit of experience with it.
The first clue was the phone calls, or the lack of them.
“Wheels up in 30,” Hotch said, stepping out of his office one Thursday afternoon, file tucked under his arm.
Emily blinked. “Don’t you need to… call Jessica?”
Hotch paused a fraction too long. “No. It’s taken care of.”
And then he walked off. Like that was normal.
Except it wasn’t. Because since Haley’s death, every late-night or last-minute case came with a Hotchner-adjacent logistical flurry: scrambling for backup, adjusting for Jack. Jessica dropping everything. Garcia babysitting. Morgan teaching Jack how to throw a football in Quantico’s parking lot because nobody else was available.
But lately?
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
It kept happening. On Friday evenings. At 2 a.m. calls. Even once on a Saturday morning, which felt borderline blasphemous!!
Jack was always fine. Always “covered.” Always “already sorted.” And Hotch? He was weirdly relaxed about it. Not relaxed-relaxed, he was still Hotch, but in that quiet, steady way, like he was sleeping more than three hours a night. Like he wasn’t drowning anymore.
Naturally, the team spiraled.
It was Garcia who said it first.
She popped her head into the bullpen one morning, a pink thermos in one hand and her nails painted a dazzling electric blue. “Okay, question,” she said, “and this isn’t gossip, it’s concerned and loving observation, but… has anyone else noticed that our dear Unit Chief has stopped calling Jessica when we go wheels up?”
Reid looked up from his screen. “I have. It’s anomalous.”
“Exactly!” Garcia beamed, spinning in a slow, graceful circle like the drama demanded movement. “So I did some snooping—light snooping, just on the surface web, and Jessica hasn’t posted a photo of Jack in months. Which, I mean, okay, privacy, sure, but also.. why??”
Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
JJ chimed in, her voice quiet but curious. “He’s… seeing someone.”
“Oh my God.” Emily’s face lit up. “Hotch has a girlfriend.”
Reid frowned. “There’s no behavioral evidence to support that hypothesis. He hasn’t altered his routines, his scent is the same-”
“Scent?” Emily raised an eyebrow.
“I mean cologne. He hasn’t changed brands.”
“Thanks, Sherlock.”
“But it could still be someone,” JJ said thoughtfully. “He’s been… softer. Around the edges.”
“Softer,” Garcia repeated dreamily. “Like a stale marshmallow left out just long enough to get that perfect chew.”
Morgan grimaced. “Baby girl.. Why would you say that?”
You were elbow-deep in dinner prep when it happened; knife in one hand, sauce simmering low on the back burner, and Jack perched on a kitchen stool, legs swinging, rattling off planet facts between bites of sliced cucumber.
“The sun doesn’t count, right?” he asked, licking salt from his fingers.
You shook your head, amused. “Nope. Sun’s the center. Tell me again, what’s the biggest planet?”
“Jupiter!” he grinned. “Easy.”
“Starboy strikes again!”
The house smelled of garlic and sesame oil, warm light bleeding in through the kitchen window. You moved around the space with practiced ease—pan to counter, towel to hands, reaching above the sink for plates. It had been a long day, but the kind that settled into your bones without complaint. The kind that felt earned.
Then you heard the front door unlock.
You glanced at the time, Aaron said he’d be home early, and it tracked. You wiped your hands, already smiling, half-ready to tease him about forgetting the scallions.
But it wasn’t just one pair of footsteps.
The hallway creaked.
And then-
Six people stepped into your home like they were walking into a hostage situation.
Emily blinked first, frozen halfway into the room. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Um.”
Rossi stopped beside her, mouth half-open. Garcia’s glitter-coated eyes were huge. Reid hovered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if this counted as breaking and entering. JJ gave you a polite, deeply confused smile.
You, barefoot in Aaron’s hoodie, holding a wooden spoon, said the only thing you could think of.
“Uh, hi?”
“Oh my God,” Garcia whispered, visibly short-circuiting.
Morgan stepped forward cautiously, like he was worried you'd vanish. “Hey. Sorry—uh. Are.. you the babysitter?”
“Family?” JJ guessed, tilting her head. “Uncle? Cousin?”
You blinked. “Well, um, not exactly…”
Aaron walked in behind them then, adjusting his tie like this wasn’t a sitcom moment from hell. Jack darted straight to him.
“You brought them!” he chirped, latching onto his dad’s side.
“I didn’t mean to bring them,” Aaron said, sighing.
“Wait.” Emily’s voice cut the air. “Wait, wait, wait.”
Reid’s eyes darted to you. “Wait. If he lives here, and Jack knows him, and he’s wearing your hoodie—”
“Holy shit,” Emily whispered, eyes wide. “You’re his boyfriend.”
You blinked. “I mean… I’m not the boyfriend. I’m his—well, I guess I am the boyfriend. But also like… Jack’s stepdad? In spirit. Or, you know, ..macaroni art.”
Morgan dragged a hand down his face. “Man. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Rossi looked around—the kid art on the fridge, the socks in the hallway, the way Jack had started humming to himself at the table again. He smiled, small and sure. “Well. I’ll be damned.”
Aaron stepped beside you, his hand brushing lightly against your back. “Everyone, this is my boyfriend.”
You gave a half-wave. “Nice to meet you, officially ..There’s food, if you want it?”
There was a beat of stunned silence. Then Emily muttered, “I need to sit down.”
Jack popped his head out from behind Aaron’s hip. “Dad said they might find out.”
Hotch glanced at you. “He also said you’d panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” you said, calmly placing a wooden spoon into the sink. “I’m surprised. There’s a difference.”
Garcia squeaked. “You make dinner? Like, actual food? From scratch? With sauce and everything?”
You smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. I kind of… do most of the home stuff. Aaron works late, and I freelance from home, so it makes sense. And Jack—well, he’s easy to cook for. Kid likes sushi and peanut butter, so we’re golden.”
Morgan stepped in, still sizing you up like he was waiting for you to reveal your criminal record. “How long has this been going on?”
Aaron answered that one. “A little under a year since we met, we've been together for about.. 7 months, though. I didn’t want to introduce him too early—not until Jack was ready.”
“I was ready,” Jack said. “I told him to keep him.”
You reached over and ruffled his hair. “It’s true. I was basically adopted.”
Hotch let his hand rest lightly on your upper arm, casual and open in a way he rarely was around anyone else. “He’s the reason I’m still standing.”
That shut everyone up.
Later, after the team had accepted drinks and second helpings and Jack had shown each of them his solar system three times, you stood in the kitchen with Emily and Garcia as they washed dishes by hand.
Garcia dried a plate and gave you a side-eye. “So. Be honest. You cook, you clean, and you co-parent. But do you also bake?”
You laughed. “Sundays. Banana bread. Family tradition!”
Garcia made a strangled noise and collapsed into Emily’s side.
Emily just smirked. “You know you’ve ruined her, right?”
Across the room, Aaron stood with Morgan and Rossi, a glass of red wine in one hand and his other still resting lightly on Jack’s shoulder as the boy excitedly explained the rings of Saturn.
“He’s good with him,” Emily said, nodding at Jack.
You looked. Watched the way Aaron leaned in just enough to listen, the way his eyes crinkled when Jack said something silly.
“He’s better with him,” you said. “Not just good. Better than he was when he was alone.”
Garcia bumped your shoulder. “So are you gonna make it official or what? Rings? Vows? Doves?”
You grinned. “..Eventually. But for now? We’re good like this.”
The next morning at Quantico, Morgan stepped into Hotch’s office with a coffee and zero shame.
“Hey,” he said, sliding into the chair across from the desk. “So. Mystery solved.”
Hotch raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to make this awkward, are you?”
Morgan grinned. “Absolutely I am.”
Hotch sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “What do you want to know?”
Morgan leaned forward. “You love him?”
Hotch didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
Morgan nodded, then held up the coffee like a toast.
so, i don't usually do a lot of original posting on here. as a writer, posting my work online has always had its issues, and those have only worsened lately.
however, recently, i submitted this poem to a litmag supposedly specialising in works of resistance, preferably from marginalised groups, and was declined. it happens, but it made me think.
the poem draws parallels between the battle of culloden in april 1746 (which saw roughly 2,000 scots killed within a single hour, marked the end to highland culture and led to a ban on many aspects of it, such as the wearing of kilts and tartans and the speaking of the gaelic language, and was the last large-scale weaponised resistance of scots against the english) and the fight trans people face across the UK (as well as the US, and many other countries) at present. it also mentions the colours of green and purple (and white), which were the suffragette colours first, and are now the colours that make up the genderqueer flag, but have as of late been increasingly claimed by TERFs, as led by J.K. Rowling, former witch-inventor, now witch-hunter general.
i first wrote this poem in april 2025, when the whole EHRC thing first came up in the UK. i really wish it weren't still, and perhaps more than ever, relevant over a year later.
but because it is, i decided to post it on here instead. what use is it sitting in a niche litmag that maybe a hundred people are going to read. that's not what i want it to be. i want it to be a battle song. i want it to bring courage to my trans+ siblings - be it just one single person (i know my following is tiny, but sometimes, on tumblr, that's irrelevant) or however many it may reach.
wherever you are in the world, whatever struggles you're facing at the moment - remember that your mere existence is an act of radical resistance. be strong, be angry, be kind to yourself, and live. you're not alone. and pride is very much still a protest.
also, if you're in the UK, and you're a trans person or an ally of any flavour, please contact your MP before 30 june - a motion has been tabled as of 1 june that, if passed, could yet stop the new EHRC draft code from otherwise automatically becoming law. you can find more info on how to contact your MP on the trans+ solidarity alliance's instagram, and you can check the motion's progress/supporters here:
Tolkien: I love all the elves equally. I don’t have favorites.
Also Tolkien: …and here’s High King Gil-galad, scion of kings, star of radiance, the noble fire, flame of hair and eye, who rules over one of the largest elven kingdoms, is the only elven king to wield a spear, is likely descended from two of the most powerful Houses, begins one of the most crucial alliances between elves and men, and successfully bears TWO elven rings of power for a time. Yeah and he clocks who Annatar is immediately and defeats Sauron so hard he loses the ability to take physical form for years. Oh and he was so famous and awesome and beloved that even the hobbits sing songs about him. Btw.
If I could forge a community like Celebrimbor himself, I’d make one for Rings of Power positivity ONLY. No doom, no discourse, just vibes, pretty elves, and dramatic slow-mo shots. No more ship bashing, no more antis to ruin everyone's days, no more bullying- Imagine that. Wanna share headcanons? sure. Wanna show everyone your last fic or edit made on your fav song? of course!
Like just peace, good old fandom vibes and no awful people T-T
[EDIT: The tumblr community has been made!! You can find the infos on here!!!]
Eobard is unhinged about Barry, well all know that, but I think Barry would *also* stitch Eobard's lifeless corpse back together and reanimate him if it came to it
Reading rahaeli's bsky feed is an education in itself. I did not realize it was so common for undercover agents to join even harmless social activism groups and try to encourage people to do things they could be arrested for. The song has about a dozen verses, all of them based on incidents that resulted in felony charges o.O
The whole thread is very worth reading, especially since the incoming administration has been been very clear that they want to criminalize being trans or supporting trans rights. (Among other things.)
I think more games with romance should include polyamory as an option. Not just because of inclusion purposes but also because a lot of these games are super long RPGs and I sure as hell don't have time to replay the game 5 times to romance everyone I wanted to.
Polyamory would also make speed running like 200% more fun. Romance Everyone %. Divorce Everyone %. Romance everyone EXCEPT one specific guy glitchless. Secret ending where the polycule kicks the player out of the polycule and all of them date each other without you and getting it involves like 200 stupid glitches including letting the game run for 48 real world hours doing nothing for the low % speedrun.
Head canon Things Celebrimbors smithing assistants have seen him do after he told them ‘Fëanor’s hammer is a very important family heirloom and elvish artifact and it should be treated with care’
Absent mindedly stir his tea with it when writing a scroll
Accidentally drop it into his breakfast
Juggle it and toss it in the air without looking
Throwing it at them shouting ‘catch!’ and laughing
They find it in random places around the city
Using it to crack open a nut that all other nutcrackers have failed to open
Using it to keep the forge door open
Threatening mosquitoes with it
Lean his chin against it when stuck in deep thought
Chewing on it when stuck in deeper thought
Talking to it
Using it as a shoe horn
Placing seeds on it to feed the birds or forge mouse
hotch and elle and the killing of their respective 'main' unsubs
if i see one more fucking person say
"oh its so unfair that elle got fired for killing a guy when hotch literally did the same thing and everyone praised him for it"
i think i just might lose it
lets break this down and actually think critically about this
when hotch literally did the same thing
wrong!! what did hotch actually do?
hunted down an escaped (after being arrested and identified) and prolific serial killer that had assaulted him in his own home and targeted his family
listened to said serial killer murder his wife over the phone
entered a literal fight to the death with the serial killer where he had to beat him to death with his bare hands because otherwise both him and his son would have been murdered next
it was self defense. pure and simple. he had no gun, no weapon other than his hands and he knew that if he stepped away, it would be over. there is quite literally nothing else could have done.
what did elle do?
hunted down an uncharged and unconfirmed suspect
tried to provoke him into attacking her
when that didn't work, shot him and planted evidence as well as lie about what happened when the police arrived
did the guy deserve it? absolutely. he was a scumbag and a rapist and deserved to die. but the show makes her actions inexcusable for a reason. you cannot do that as a law enforcement officer. you cannot go and shoot someone who is not actively threatening you, especially not without evidence. additionally, the reason he was uncharged was because she panicked during the undercover mission.
i agree that she definitely wasn't ready for it, and that someone else should have been the bait but she was asked and she confirmed that she would be okay.
"but they should have realised that she would have panicked" why? up until that point, she had been a brilliant agent and had never given any indication that she might not be able to do it. again, she told both hotch and gideon that she'd be fine. why would they doubt her? she's good at her job.
everyone praised him for it
also wrong!! emily and rossi look at him in nothing short of horror when they run in to find him beating foyet to a pulp. even morgan, while comforting him, is obviously disturbed by the scene.
hotch and his team also faced a hearing about the aftermath of the case. it didnt matter that foyet had been stopped and that he and his son were safe, he still had to justify every single action he took.
there's another counterargument here that "well they might not have praised him for it but they understood why he did it" and... yeah? again, self defense.
anyway. this is one of those topics that makes my blood boil. i love elle. do i think they way they never brought her up again was unfair? yes. do i think that the way she suffered because of a choice gideon made was unfair? yes. was she wrong for shooting that guy? honestly i'm kind of glad she did.
but im sick of people saying that their circumstances were the same because they weren't.
people also love to cite misogyny here and while CM has a fair amount of it (dont get me started on the treatment of paget and aj) its not fucking misogynistic to recognize that what elle did was illegal and hotch didn't "get a pass" for what he did just because "hes a man"
TLDR: stop comparing elle and hotch's situations with the intention of pointing out the inequality of their treatments because their situations were in no way comparable.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Celebrimbor in the fourth age, bored and bitted, finds a red wolf in the forest after a party at Elrond´s new valley house. He might have an idea about who he has found - no he is sure of who it is, but if the Valar couldn't do a better job of capturing Sauron, Celebimrbor is under no circumstance giving him over to them! After all, he knows the Úmaia best!
Or-
Celebrimbor has found a red wolf that acts like a tamed dog towards him, but a wild warg towards everyone else, and won´t hear any criticism despite his friends' concerns, also did Elrond mention the glowing eyes of the creature?
Word: 1300
He wouldn´t say he had been shocked, but surprised to some exchange.
It had been a bit under a yén already since Elrond returned with the ringbearer to Valinor. And of course, the Maia who insisted on being in the service of Nienna, though he felt little inclination to dwell on the nature of its service - not that he cared much for it.
Two others of the ring fellowship had returned, so Elrond, in his wisdom and grace, had naturally called for a small gathering to honor their reunion when the bigger celebrations had calmed, allowing for a more intimate exchange of tales and friendship. It all really came down to the fact that both the dwarf Gimli, his Sinda Legolas, and Celebrimbor himself had voiced a desire to meet the other.
Or more precisely; Celebirmbor wanted to meet a dwarf again. He missed Narvi, after all, and would easily settle for the next best thing. The Sinda seemed to have dragged himself with Gimli, who had just laughed it off.
The gathering itself hadn’t been anything of significant importance at first glance; it started with a few stories of Gimli and the Sinda´s adventure after the defeat of Sauron. The only Maia he had ever really been able to stand. Oh the irony. Tales of valor and mischief that echoed through the years. However, as the evening wore on, the conversation inevitably veered toward darker themes, and the shadow of Sauron loomed large over their discussions. Finrod, with his innate sense of drama and history, had invited himself into the conversation, adding weight to the topic, but thankfully Elrond, ever the diplomat, skillfully steered it away again to the lighter subject of smithing and things Celebrimbor knew about and found interesting. Not that Gimli and the Sinda Legolas didn´t have good stories, Celebrimbor just knew there were more interesting topics out there. Such as smithing. Or Sauron, he guessed.
Thus, as the conversation ebbed and flowed around him, he allowed himself to indulge in thoughts of the craft, pondering the possibilities that lay before him, while the shadows of Sauron lingered at the edge, ever a reminder of what had been, and what could have been.
He should have known something was coming; he had felt odd the last few days. An unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of his fëa, and the creature before him was undoubtedly the reason why.
He had been on his way home from Elrond´s gathering when he stumbled upon it as the sky had slowly been darkening into a red and orange hue. The air thick with the sweet scent of blooming Ornemalin.
Usually, he stayed with his Atto and Atarhanno in Formenos, and Elrond had found a lovely valley between the Fëanorian city and Tirion, so there wasn’t really anything to complain about in terms of his housing possibilities. Elrond himself had even offered him a room in his new valley when Celebrimbor first had begun complaining about all the crowding. Not that he had the heart to inform his friend that his family had heard about it in many many yén´s, probably since his first yén.
Celebrimbor had declined the offer. Obviously.
It was on that fateful day, the exact day he sensed the change in his fëa to be precise, that he finally succumbed to the pull, and in a moment of recklessness, he threw his hands up, gathered his most important belongings before embarking into the wilderness. He sought refuge in Haru’s old vacation house, a worn manse, secretly used and kept neat by Arafinwë when he had the time, where the echoes of laughter had long since faded into silence.
Food and metal he could call for with ravens. Yet, of course, Elrond, the ever watchful protector, had sensed his flight and found him not even two passings of Isil later. He had come in person to drag him back to his new valley home for a week, insisting that companionship was vital, especially with the gathering approaching. The last day of that week had arrived too quickly, and now that he pondered it, it became clear that Elrond had likely known where Haru’s house was all along. He had likely also known that Celebrimbor would “camp” there for a little yén as Atto called it.
Why did Eru ever think it wise to give that damned pereldar apacen!?
Stopping before the creature he had come across, he could not help but wonder if it was indeed dead, for it lay there, partially obscured by an aimless scattering of dirt and sticks, as if Yavanna herself had pondered to bury it alive.
Its unnaturally long black legs sprawled before it, helpless and contorted, alike one of Ungoliant's children. The creature's body, a shocking red, did seem to be with life, although faint, as he observed its shallow breaths, each exhale a rough whisper against the silence of the forest, so faint you couldn´t hear it unless you knew it there.
Upon closer examination, he noted that the black fur on its back was longer than the rest, giving it an unkempt appearance of a failed first age warg. Its head, resting on a surprisingly long neck lay flat against the dirt strewn forest floor, bore no signs of the mane one might expect from such a beast. Yet, as he peered at its features, he could not stifle a laugh that bubbled up from deep within. A reaction born from the pitiful sight of the creature before him.
“While you look profoundly pissed, Saura,” he mused, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, as he peered into the black dots that served as eyebrows atop the creature's head, dropping over its fiery red and orange eyes, giving it a tired and irritated look. Its eyes glowing like a weak flame, as though they were the very embers of a dying fire inside its hröa, casting an eerie light in the dimness of the forest.
“Far from charming,” he continued, his tone taking on a mockingly sympathetic lilt, “just so you know.”
The creature did not answer him, merely looked at him helplessly and confused. Was that a shiver? But he- it was a Maia, and the Ainur could not freeze, last he heard.
A thought hit him. He had heard of some of the Úmaiar who lost their sense of self and time, some even turning into mindless animals after the War of Wrath, and had the creature before him not done something similar to both Maia and Eldar alike, turning them into servants of its foul master? Had it really destroyed itself so much?
“Do you even know where you are? What happened?” he asked.
Of course, it hadn’t lost itself. It was just manipulating him. But the Valar had not done well enough to find it, so Celebrimbor would keep his old friend to himself; after all, he had missed someone to talk to who really knew him, and how to keep conventions interesting.
With a firm resolve, he bent down to lift the creature up, feeling the fragile form quiver slightly in his grasp. He carefully set it upon his horse, ensuring it was secured.
As they began to move, Celebrimbor cast a glance over his shoulder, half expecting to see shadows of the past looming behind him. But there was only the quiet expanse of the forest and his horse with the creature, and the wind rustled through the trees. Maybe-
"What became of you?" he murmured softly.
Perhaps there was still a flicker of the Maia he once knew buried beneath the layers of sorrow and confusion.
“I warned you did I not?” he sighed as he led the horse closer to the mante.
---
So Mairon is right now a weird mix between a maned wolf and a red wolf.
Elvish long year (144 solar years) = Yén: Quenya
Mellyrn = Ornemalin: Quenya; the best translation I could find meaning “bearing yellow flowers” growing in Lórien (and the gardens of Lórien too, and in the middle of the third age slowly being spread across most of Valinor according to my own HC)
Half elf/peredhel = Pereldar: Quenya
Foresight = Apacen: Quenya
Cruel/evil/vile/stinking/foul/wretched - evil-smelling/putrid = Saura
