Unbetitelt

[piyo13sdoodles]

it's that time of year again!!!! here's an entry for the @tolkienrsb of 2025, featuring a mysteriously preserved gil-galad and balin who discovered him! you can read the fic, Into Darkness Fell His Star, HERE starting september 6!!! :DDD and here is the link for promo post + tags and summary

[piyo13sdoodles]

INTO DARKNESS FELL HIS STAR BY GOSCHATEWABN

a fic for the @tolkienrsb 2025

rated G - 5.9k - balin - ereinon gil-galad - ori - elrond peredhel - friendship - dwarf & elvish friendship - light angst - angst with a happy ending - reunions - aeglos - slide #54 In the deep darkness of Moria, an ancient being slumbers. Until Balin, Ori, Óin, and their company wake it from its sleep.

READ ON AO3 - REBLOG THE ART

[goschatewabn]

Thank you so much for working with me! 💛

[bioethicists]

diet culture is so rooted in the idea that our bodies are machines that our minds have to outwit. it pushes for the idea that hunger is something you have to “beat”, that cravings are an annoyance to ignore or outwit, that the way our bodies want to look and want to be is something to fight, that it needs to be helped to do things it was built to do.

here is the liberating truth- your body is so smart and it is trying to help you. it works so hard to keep you alive- sometimes it fails at what it’s trying to do, sometimes it does it in unconvential ways, but it is trying to keep you alive! hunger is our body saying “we need food”- it’s not something to ignore or supress. cravings are our body saying “we need a specific type of food”- they aren’t something to trick or prevent. natural weight and weight distribution are our body saying “this is the shape in which we work best”- they aren’t something to control or reduce. denying this is what hurts us most- even though diet culture tries to tell us that listening to our bodies and treating them with kindness and forgiveness is wrong.

[antiterfbutch]

yes, absolutely, all of this, thank you!!

do you know why dieting is so hard? it’s because your body is fucking smart and is trying to protect you

do you know why you get food obsessed when you diet? it’s because your body is sending you signals to eat.

do you know why you get brain fog when you diet? why you might get cold or irritable? why you get tired and lazy? it’s because your body is trying to conserve energy by reducing energy output for things like thinking and generating heat

do you know why your weight loss plateaus and eventually you begin to gain again and why somewhere between 96-99% of weight loss attempts fail in the long term depending on which study you’re looking at?

it’s because your body is fucking smart and is trying to save your ass. studies have repeatedly shown that weight loss often results in your body down regulating your basal metabolic rate, possibly permanently, because it’s trying to keep you from fucking starving. it literally begins to burn fewer calories as a means of trying to save you.

the entire point of building fat is to save you from starvation, so that’s why people tend to gain their weight back and then some after dieting. your body doesn’t understand dieting, but it does understand starvation.

your body is extremely smart, actually. it’s trying to take care of you. please return the favor!

[goschatewabn]

Our bodies are extremely smart! But unfortunately they have a few blind spots. If you get into the habit, our bodies start telling us that things like alcohol and even drugs are pretty neat, after all.

And unfortunately sugar, while it's THE ORIGINAL SOURCE OF FOOD ON THE PLANET (seriously, look it up, it’s sooo fascinating) is also addictive.

To tell if your body actually needs something or is addicted is pretty simple, though. Try cutting the one thing it craves out for about two weeks. (No cheating at all, or the result is invalid)

If the craving intensifies, you really, really need that. If it lessens or goes away, you just beat an addiction.

As a general rule of thumb, seasonal cravings (like oranges and oily fish in winter) and occassional cravings (every other week) are important.

Daily cravings like a hot cup of cocoa every evening are more likely an addiction.

Now, I am not saying those are actually bad. But realizing which is which is knowledge, and knowledge is power. Never let someone take the power away from you.

[an-eldritch-peredhel]

History, myth, philosophy, and friendship. A relic of Gondolin, a distinguished gentlehobbit, a lord of Rivendell, and several beings of a Maiarin persuasion.

If Bilbo being a menace, Elrond being eldritch, Gandalf being done, and Eönwë being confused appeals to you, if you hold any interest in religion and philosophy in Arda, or if you're just looking for @tolkienrsb fics, read:

The Icon - @goschatewabn

And check out my art post where I go into detail about the process of planning, drawing, cutting, sanding, gluing, painting, gilding, and suffering through what is easily my best work to date. I spent at least 3 hours translating the text I wanted into Valarin and then transcribing that in Sarati. It was a lot.

[goschatewabn]

This turned out to be one of the most fascinating works of art I have ever seen. I feel deeply honoured to have been able to work with @an-eldritch-peredhel

[leftforthestars-deactivated2024]

if prev was a cat, what color fur would they have ?

calico

orange

black

white

cream

tortoiseshell

tuxedo

grey

sealpoint

brown

other/something really specific

see results

Voting ended onMay 3, 2024

reblog for sample size !!

[mithrilhearts-deactivated202508]

Trope Tier List

I did this a few years ago, and wanted to see how my view on tropes I enjoy/don't enjoy, changed. So, I invite you guys to play!!

Updated link!

Tagging @elvain @thedragonsmaug @fantasyinallforms @lucigoo @mathelaw @conkers-thecosy @imakemywings @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @sunnyrosewritesstuff and anyone else who wants to play!

[i-did-not-mean-to]

All right, all right...

No surprises here, I think...There is only one thing that really makes me feel physically ill, so...all the rest is fair game :D

I've decided to order this into things I purposefully contrive and delight in, things I like on principle (and that I love reading), things I write a lot but would not say I "like", things I write for others, things I usually don't write (but could?), and ...that thing.

Tagging @cilil, @a-world-of-whimsy-5, @urwendii, @goschatewabn, @maglor-my-beloved, @the-red-butterfly (because so different from mine, no doubt), @lathalea, @legolasbadass, and @frosticenow

Have fun! No pressure!

[goschatewabn]

This was fun! And made me realize I am actually a lot more picky than I thought. XD

[bob-artist]

My brain: You have so many tight deadlines. So many things on your weekly schedule. So many important jobs. You have to get important work done!!!

My hands:

[elentarial]

my friend @goschatewabn, here is your gift for @ainursecretsanta

I loved your prompt “trying to understand the Incarnates and differing moral/ethical codes”

Please enjoy some Eönwë/Arafinwe/Gil-Galad below the cut

They're going to touch; Eönwë can see it. Eönwë knows it.

They're going to touch, and it's going to be more than the touch of friends, and it's going to be more than the touch of brothers-in-arms. It's going to be more than any touch Eönwë has ever given to another, and it's going to tear Eönwë's heart out, and it's going to rip his honor to shreds, but he cannot look away.

He will not look away.

They are both bare from the waist up, their breeches slung low, color riding high in their damp skin. Gil-Galad knows his way around a body for death and love both, and the way he touches Arafinwë frames him like art in Eönwë's eyes. It's a caress, along tight sinew, and hard, flat muscle, and it makes Arafinwë crash like the tide - Eönwë can see the blue ocean in his eyes ebb in and out with every blink, every flicker of his tawny lashes against his pale cheeks.

Arafinwë's hands are sure and rough and astringent like herbs. Eönwë knows the smell and firmness of his skin from when Arafinwë plays the role of healer among his captains. The hands of a king are said to be the hands of a healer, but Eönwë often forgoes any offers from Arafinwë. Those hands conjure up too many filthy apparitions, and Eönwë must not be distracted from his task. The Host of the Valar cannot afford to fail. 

Now, those hands hold Gil-Galad by his elbows the same way Arafinwë holds his bridled horse by the reins to control it. Gil-Galad sprawls his fingers over Arafinwë's hip bones as Arafinwë leans closer and reels him in.

They are kissing now, and Eönwë digs his fingers into the arms of his chair; he will bleed  from the beds of his nails before he blinks before he allows himself to acknowledge before he lets his lips part on the panting gasp of air that writhes in his lungs.

Gil-Galad's mouth parts easily for Arafinwë, but he doesn't stay passive. He pulls Arafinwë closer and slides his hands up Arafinwë's sleek back until he can cradle Arafinwë's head in his hands. It makes Arafinwë tighten up and take what he's given, pulling a moan from his throat that sounds almost unwilling.

"Come," Gil-Galad murmurs against Arafinwë's damp skin, "Let him hear you. Let him see how much you want this," and Arafinwë's eyes shudder closed. "Let him know ," Gil-Galad says, and Arafinwë makes a sound so wanting, so dark, that Eönwë wishes everything and everyone far away so that he could put his own hand on his cock without fear of repercussion, of shame.

His eyes slip closed, and he cannot help but let out a breathy moan, swept away.

"Herald," Gil-Galad says, and Eönwë's eyes snap open again only to light on Gil-Galad on his knees, drawing Arafinwë's trousers down slowly, decadently, like the slide of dark blue cloth over Arafinwë's knees is somehow beautiful. The sight of Gil-Galad looking up at Arafinwë and Arafinwë looking down, and their lust akin to desperate worship passing between them, will reduce Eönwë to nothing.

His fingers ache from their grip on the chair, from not being in contact, from not touching . He feels every place that the laces of his clothes constrict his skin, reminding him that he's trapped -in his armor, in his role as herald of the Valar, in his own propriety. Gil-Galad's trousers have fallen low enough to reveal the curve of his arse, and Arafinwë is naked save for the shackles of his clothing, loose around his ankles. As Eönwë watches, Gil-Galad opens again for Arafinwë, only this time for his cock - his mouth is hungry, arrogant, and eloquent as it takes Arafinwë in.

Arafinwë's spine bows and noises like this are destroying him, and he welcomes it, just rounded beautiful syllables of nonsense. Eönwë thinks he can ride this out and look away (his wings flutter nervously) until Arafinwë's hand fists in Gil-Galad's dark hair and draws his head back so that they look at each other again. The way their eyes meet, and the thin dribble of saliva that connects them from Gil-Galad's mouth to where Arafinwë is hard - the ties that bind them are so strong.

"Eönwë," Arafinwë breathes as Gil-Galad draws him down to the floor so they can kneel together. "Eönwë, look at me." His voice is barely more than a breathless whisper.

Eönwë does as he's told and stares hard at the scene before him as Arafinwë pushes Gil-Galad back onto the skin rug. "This isn't something you have to hide from," Arafinwë rasps, and as he unfastens Gil-Galad's trousers, Gil-Galad reaches into his pocket and produces a bottle. His eyes are unfocused with every curl of Arafinwë's fingers on his body, but he doesn't need focus - Arafinwë has enough of that, sloppy and warm though it is.

Gil-Galad nude is pink-brown and lush-looking, darker than Arafinwë, flushing red on contact. Arafinwë eases one of his legs up into a tight bend, foot flat on the floor, and reaches between them with fingertips slicked with whatever Gil-Galad's bottle contained. 

"This isn't something you must hide from," Arafinwë repeats. "This is something you can have. Watch me, Eönwë," he bites his lip and presses his fingers home. Gil-Galad's body roils under his attention; his face turns to Eönwë, mouth a hungry wet space, his eyes deep, dark, and disbelieving.

"Please," Gil-Galad says, loud and crackling, and Eönwë doesn't know who he's pleading with. Arafinwë does - he kneels in the spread of Gil-Galad's thighs, pulls them together, and aligns himself carefully but quickly. " Please ."

"He's ready for me," Arafinwë says and starts to lean forwards and in. "He's done this before; he likes it -" Arafinwë's face flushes beautifully - Gil-Galad's is wrecked.

Eönwë will not; he  will not try to guess how that feels. He will not put himself in that sordid dream; he will not want this. There are claw marks on the wooden arms of his chair where he has scored deep in his determination. He will wash his clothes himself rather than let Arafinwë or the others see his weakness in sweat marks and the stains on the inside of his small clothes where his cock rubs, already damp and only getting wetter in dripping pulses.

"- but when you do this to me, I'll be tighter, you'll have to go slower, Eönwë, you'll have to be soft with me. I - I haven't, before -"

"Please," Gil-Galad says again, interrupts, and it's Eönwë he's begging now, "Eönwë, it has to be both of us." Arafinwë's beyond talking now, his body making slapping noises, groans, twisted breaths, but no words. Gil-Galad levers himself up, arching like a cat and trying to drag himself closer. "Eönwë, he needs  you -"

Eönwë is the weakest of the maiar at that moment, but he could never ignore a plea. His shirt he tears, his trousers and small clothes he drops as he stands, and the rug bunches under his knees as he grabs the bottle that had fallen to the side. Arafinwë is rutting now, sunk between Gil-Galad's legs and hardly moving except for the shuddering rolling of his hips.

The bottle is full of oil. Eönwë almost fumbles it, but Gil-Galad's hand comes up to catch it. "Steady," the younger high king says in a voice that is anything but. "You will know what to do." He pushes himself up, and Arafinwë slips out, hissing as he does so. Arafinwë drops to all fours pliantly, his head hung low between his shoulders, and Gil-Galad gentles him with a hand on his jaw and one in his hair, soft kisses to his eyelids and the corners of his mouth.

Eönwë wants to watch the intimacy between the elves longer, but more than that, he burns to give Arafinwë what he desires, and Arafinwë, with his back bowed and his legs spread, is telling him what that is. So Eönwë wets his fingers and begins.

At some point, one finger sliding becomes two pushing, three begging. Arafinwë's voice has returned, and his words have been lost again in the mire. Eönwë looks up to see Gil-Galad's hands tangled in Arafinwë's golden hair, drawing Arafinwë's mouth up and down his cock slowly.

Gil-Galad's eyes are butter-soft, fire-warmed when he says, "Now, Eönwë." Eönwë kneels up and finds his way home.

Arafinwë's body is a vice, is a vise - it corrupts him, holds him firm, and sinks into the sin of it, the surety and the surrender, gives himself to it. His own actions become a hazy mirage, something he cannot track because he has this glorious heat, and it has become all he can feel.

He and Gil-Galad have Arafinwë between them, the shortest distance there has ever been between them, connecting them like a line. Arafinwë and Eönwë fit like a weld fixing a break between halves rather than connecting two wholes. 

One by one: Gil-Galad, then Arafinwë, then Eönwë, they spend themselves, and Gil-Galad's release drips from Arafinwë's mouth like honey from the comb. Arafinwë spits himself on Eönwë and comes to completion with a sobbing cry and a twisting, desperate motion like he has to push himself yet further. Gil-Galad holds him up with stiff fingers and soft kisses until Eönwë loses himself in Arafinwë's body.

And he is lost. Perhaps he will never be able to return home unchanged after all that has trespassed, but he has the two high kings to guide him. Eönwë is the weakest of maiar. But Eönwë does not have to be alone any longer.

[goschatewabn]

I am still not finished alternating between cooing and giggling maniacally!

This is just so perfect! Thank you so much! 💕💕💕

[cilil]

From: Dís

To: Ecthelion

Gift: A shiny rock

They are courting and discover their shared love for sparkles!

(Also please ignore if those characters or ship is not to your liking. They have consumed my brain...XD)

♡ To: Ecthelion ♡ From: Dís

𝓐 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

"I have something for you." Dís looked up at her companion with her usual pride, yet her eyes held a certain warmth and softness – a recent and most welcome development. 

"You do?" Ecthelion asked with a smile. "I would love to see it." 

"It's a gift. I hope you appreciate it." 

"I most certainly will, my lady." 

After briefly narrowing her eyes at him, Dís held up a small ornate box that Ecthelion gladly accepted. He opened it to find a beautiful, sparkling stone – a gem perhaps, though he didn't know which kind – resting on a small pillow, and when she gave him an encouraging nod, carefully took it into his hands. 

The stone was of a milky white colouration, but glittered in shades of blue, green and pink as he rolled it back and forth in his palm to admire it from all angles. 

"It's so beautiful," Ecthelion said reverently. "What a gorgeous thing... I could look at it for hours, nay, days –" 

"Don't. I don't have as much time to waste as an immortal like yourself." Despite her harsh words, Dís was smiling, immensely pleased with her gift. 

Ecthelion sat down on the ground so they could admire the stone together, and she used the opportunity to make herself comfortable on his lap. 

"This one is an opal," Dís explained, "one of the most beautiful I could find. Mahal left many gifts for us deep in the earth, gold, silver, gems and so much more. We cherish them, and I hope you will too." 

"I wouldn't dare to disrespect the maker of your esteemed ancestor," Ecthelion said. "And thank you for this most wonderful gift, my lady. I shall cherish it as well." 

"Good. And..." Dís allowed herself to lean back against his chest. "If you enjoy looking at stones, I may be persuaded to show you my own collection sometime."

[goschatewabn]

Ah, this is so sweet!!! Those two are just adorable! Amazing idea with the opal, those are really beautiful.

Thank you for indulging me in my adoration for this practically nonexistant pairing!

[greyjedijaneite]

My WhiteOliphaunt person was @goschatewabn. (Sending a message and @-ing you in case Tumblr eats one of them.)

Link to my fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52455163

@whiteoliphaunt

[goschatewabn]

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I love it si much! 💕

[goschatewabn]

Family baggage

For: @kokiri85 at the White Oliphaunt exchange!

Characters: Elrond, Celebrimbor, Maedhros, Fëanor

Rating: Gen

Summary: In which Elrond and Celebrimbor are being haunted by ghosts of the past. Literally.

I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! 💙

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[veliseraptor]

that ‘pakige?’ post but me, a couple hours after posting a fic, like ‘comints?’

[kitten-kin]

[leahazel]

F5 F5 F5

[kitten-kin]

… F5 F5 F5 F5F5F5F5F5

[wolfsrainrules]

WHEEZING

[kokiri85]

[elentarial]

Written for @whiteoliphaunt 2023.

Characters: Idril, Turgon, Glorfindel

Words: 1118

Warnings: None

Giftee: To be revealed

Synopsis: Turgon plays a game with Idril to help her adjust to life in Beleriand, but Glorfindel is much bentree at it than he is.

“And I’ll be the princess, and you can be my knight. But you can’t have serve any  Ladies other than me because Ammë wouldn’t like that. But you can be my protector, you know, so nothing evil will get to me. But they’ll probably have to eventually so you can rescue me.” Idril nodded firmly, bouncing up and down on her toes.

Turgon gave his daughter a wry smile. Occasionally Idril seemed to understand the severity and weight of their flight across the Ice. But other times, such as now, his daughter acted as if her mother was simply visiting a relative for afternoon tea. She was just so young to have experienced everything she had. If playing this silly game gave Idril even a measure of normalcy, Turgon was more than willing.

“Why can’t I be the princess and you be the knight?”

Idril considered this. “Well, I suppose you could be, but I don’t want to be a warrior, and I don’t think you’d make a very good princess, anyway.” She paused and added, “Sorry, Atya.”

“Aww,” he said but grinned to ensure she knew he was jesting. “All right. What are you the princess of, then?”

Idril gave him a look that only a few small elflings could have managed, the one that eloquently expressed just how completely dense she thought grown-ups were. “Nevarast, of course. What a silly question.”

“Well, you could be the princess of all of Beleriand if you wanted, my dear. Like – whatever her name is. The maia’s daughter.”

“Luthien,” Idril supplied promptly. “I hope I get to meet her someday. A real princess. I think we could be very good friends.”

“Who said that you aren’t a real princess?”

“Of course, I’m not a real princess, silly. I’d have to marry a prince, or you would have to be a king.” Idril nearly rolled her eyes, a gesture that she had to have learned from Aredhel. “I just like to pretend to be a princess.”

“But you are a princess,” Turgon said almost enthusiastically. “Your great grandfather was High King of the Ñoldor in Aman.”

“Atar,” said Idril, surprisingly high-handed for her tender years, “This doesn’t have anything to do with our game.”

“I beg my lady’s pardon,” Turgon said and dropped his head in wounded supplication. 

“We’re starting,” Idril announced and struck a pose. “Lord-“ another pause. “Would I call you Lord Turukáno or Lord Atya?”

“Lord Turukáno is fine.”

“All right. Lord Turukáno, then, approach the throne? ---this is the throne,” she said, pointing at the chest she perched on top of. “So that you know.”

“Of course,” Turgon said and approached the throne and knelt – even if he was still several heads taller than his daughter this way. “My lady.” he adopted his most officious voice, something similar to his father’s or grandfather’s, and Idril giggled – “What is your pleasure this day?”

“Good,” she said, pleased, “You’re good at this – I mean. You are meant to report back on the success of your quest.”

“My quest? What was my quest?” Turgon looked up briefly with a perplexed smile. Idril frowned at him.

“I don’t know, you make it up! I shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“Oh,” he said. “I only thought you might have had something in mind-“

“You’re breaking up the story!”

“Sorry.” Turgon ducked his dark head down again. “My – quest, my lady. Of course. The quest – succeeded admirably, though our brave comrade Lord – Lord Laurefindil has-“

“What about me?”

Idril squeaked, then jumped, then beamed. “Glorfindel! I mean – Lord Laurefindil, you may approach the throne – I’m sitting on it. You can be a knight, too! I’ll knight you. Queens can do that, right?”

“I thought you were a princess,” Turgon murmured, offering Glorfindel a glance that said please play along. 

“Well, princesses probably can, too,” Glorfindel allowed. “And what happened to me? What’s this quest?”

“You were mortally wounded,” Turgon said humorlessly, “And I’m getting to the quest's purpose. Try to look a little more mortally wounded, Laure.” Glorfindel promptly flopped to the floor. Idril giggled again. “Now. Our brave comrade Lord Laurefindil has been gravely wounded, but we have brought back the – the rare wild kittens, even though the savage Laiquendi did their best to stop us. Their weapons were no match for our speed and skill.”

“And modesty, too,” Glorfindel murmured, Turgon scowled at him.

“A kitten?” Idril asked. “Why would I want a kitten?”

“Because you like them, Itarildë ” Turgon exclaimed sheepishly and more than a little exasperated. “It was the first thing I could think of. You still like kittens, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Idril said, “All right,” and promptly readjusted to her role. “Say not so, brave Lord Turukáno! Never should our knights have to pay for their bravery with their lives.” She snuck a look sideways. “But he’ll be okay, right?”

“My lady,” Glorfindel announced from his place on the floor- wiggling away from Turgon’s boot when he huffed at Glorfindel’s actions– “The balm of your tears would heal any wound.” Idril stared at him blankly for a few moments and then brightened.

“Oh – oh! Of course, Lord Turukáno-“

“Very formal,” Glorfindel offered, sounding amused.

“Be quiet. You’re supposed to be at death’s door.”

“Does death have a door?”

“Lord Turukáno, I thank you for the wisdom of your council. Now, if only the Valar will help me save this worthy knight!” Idril hopped off the chest and hurried over to Glorfindel, where she sat cross-legged and pretended to cry.

She stopped a few moments later and poked Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Fin? –I mean, Lord Laurefindil?”

Turgon didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out when one of Glorfindel’s blue eyes opened slowly, then the other, and then he was blinking and lifting one hand to his brow as though he were horribly faint. “—my lady,” he said in a voice that was nearly a perfect facsimile of their cousin Canafinwë. Idril jumped to her feet, clapping her hands.

“It worked! It worked!” She pranced over to where Turgon was still kneeling and kissed his cheek. “My brave, brave lords! You are the best knights ever, and if I do marry a prince, then you’ll be my guard all the time.”

“Of course, my love, Turgon said patiently. “That’s just how it’ll always go.”

“Did I walk into something I shouldn’t have?” Glorfindel murmured from the floor, and Turgon shot him a look while Idril scrambled back onto the cedar chest.

“Just go with it,” Turgon mouthed, and Idril knocked her knuckles on the chest.

“Are you listening, Atya- Lords Turukáno and Laurefindil?”

“Yes, milady,” they chimed dutifully and bowed their heads to receive their orders.

[cilil]

AO3 recommendations overview

A good chunk of the recommendations I received - thanks again to all those who sent me something! - were from AO3 and I couldn't always find a corresponding Tumblr post to reblog so I decided to make a list for convenience (an attempt at sorting has also been made). Please go show some love, enjoy and happy holidays/happy new year!

₊˚⊹ Ainur

♡ Back In Evernow by @the-red-butterfly (Melkor & Manwë, Gen)

♡ Feathers and Friends by @elennalore (Manwë & Ulmo & Maglor, Gen)

♡ Whenever our paths cross by @thedaughterofshadows (Tilion, Arien & Ilmarë, Gen)

♡ Go Get Him by @glorf1ndel (Eönwë x Arafinwë, T, WoW)

♡ To be Made of Fire by @hirazuki (Mairon & Arien, Gen)

♡ Worth While by @hirazuki (Mairon & Eönwë, T, WoW)

♡ Redeeming graces cast aside by @mirkwood-hr-department (Melkor & Nienna, T, canon divergence)

♡ No Sooner Looked by @verecunda (Melkor x Mairon, Eönwë, T)

₊˚⊹ Elves

♡ So do our Minutes Hasten to their End by @maglor-my-beloved (Caranthir x Haleth, Erestor, T)

♡ Anywhere With you by @last-capy-hupping (Maedhros x Fingon, past Melkor x Maedhros, E, modern AU, heed warnings)

♡ What Happens at Camp Eglarest, Stays at Camp Eglarest by @polutrope (Daeron x Maglor, T, modern AU)

♡ of a harsh and caustic nature (the root of hope) by @oopsbirdficced (Caranthir x Finrod, T, soulmate AU)

♡ A Compass Pointing North by @elentarial (Celegorm x multiple, E, modern AU (cam work))

♡ Pour Out A Drink For Me by @nothinghereisworking (Caranthir x Haleth, T)

♡ Star Anise by @maglor-my-beloved (Fëanor & Nerdanel & their children, Gen)

♡ Bureaucratic outcomes & oversights by @sortumavaara (Glorfindel x Erestor, M)

♡ Snow white and the hunts(wo)men by @goschatewabn (Celegorm x Oromë, M, ABO)

♡ Laws and Customers by @z-h-i-e (Glorfindel x Erestor, little Arwen, Gen)

♡ glade-song (Galadriel x Melian, M)

♡ Slow Flights by @searchingforserendipity25 (Maedhros & Irmo, Gen, coming back to life)

♡ The Seven Trials of Fingon the Valiant by @melestasflight and @polutrope (Fingon, various pairings, T)

♡ My Bones Divide and Shake by @sallysavestheday (Celegorm & Oromë, Gen)

♡ Nothing gold can stay by @mirkwood-hr-department (Thranduil x Glorfindel, E, long fic)

♡ Something in the Darkness by @hirazuki (Eöl x Aredhel, M)

₊˚⊹ Dwarves & Hobbits

♡ You Should Be Safe With Me by @fantasyinallforms (Bilbo x Thorin, E, canon divergent verse)

♡ And I’ll say I love you, and I’ll say that I do by @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book (Bilbo x Thorin, Gen, modern AU)

♡ Flowers that Never Die by @frosticenow (Bilbo x Thorin, T, pre-canon)

♡ Fuck Thy Neighbor by @lordoftherazzles (Bilbo x Thorin, E, modern AU, accidental marriage)

₊˚⊹ For Orc lovers

♡ Scars of Silver and Gold by @niennawept (Adar x OFC, E, ROP verse)

₊˚⊹ Old/older favorites that helped me through difficult times back in the day:

♡ Catechesis by @lvsifer (Melkor x Mairon, E, pope AU my beloved)

♡ the path of ecstasy by @bodhvild (Melkor x Mairon, E, heed warnings)

♡ In Utumno's Deeps by @foxindarkness (Melkor x Mairon, E, heed warnings)

♡ distractions by @tarmairons (Melkor x Mairon, baby dragons, unrated)

♡ Just This Once by @crackinthecup (Melkor x Mairon, E)

♡ ... and I burn for you by @echoesoftheforest (Melkor x Mairon, E)

♡ Desire by @dragonofmordor (Melkor x Mairon, E)

♡ Sacrament by @mayakoroz (Melkor x Mairon, E)

I was a lurker back then and too shy to comment or make myself known, but I saved links to my favorite works and never forgot about them. Better late than never.

₊˚⊹ Gifts for yours truly

♡ His Malicious Majesty by @i-did-not-mean-to (Mairon, various pairings, M)

♡ Where there's smoke, there's a fire by @i-did-not-mean-to (Melkor x Mairon x Gothmog, E, modern AU)

♡ Dog eat dog or something like that by @i-did-not-mean-to (Melkor x Mairon, puppy, gen)

♡ Aber bitte mit Sahne... by @i-did-not-mean-to (Melkor x Mairon, Gothmog x Eönwë, E, coffeeshop AU)

♡ Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? by @i-did-not-mean-to (Melkor x Mairon, Gothmog x Eönwë, E, mafia AU)

♡ Reaching for the stars by @i-did-not-mean-to (Manwë x Varda x Yavanna, T)

♡ The adventures of Crablor by @goschatewabn (Crablor x Faramir, E, heed warnings)

♡ Broken traps by @ruiniel (Andreth & a wolf, T)

₊˚⊹ Art collections (is this cheating? No idea - but this is my event and I loved these so let's put them in as a bonus)

♡ Kinktober by @sortumavaara (various, E)

♡ Kinktober by @elanna-elrondiel (various, E)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Free Use

Happy Holidays, pervs!

While I sit somewhere, keeping my mouth shut to avoid drama (God, I hate family functions), I will offer this outrageous piece to y'all.

The idea has been thrown around by several people in the NSFT server, and I thought: Why not?

So, have another kind of fraternal piety love tonight from me!

Prompt: Free Use

Characters: Morifinwë Carnistir and his brothers (in an x way, not &)

Words: 2 305

Warnings: Incest, first-degree hands-down incest, double-teaming, oral sex, anal sex, toys, oh also canon-death and non-canon purgatory...It's not brutal but it IS morally questionable :D

“Oh, is this really necessary?” Celegorm groaned and promptly used his newly made hands to scratch his behind. “I understand that we’ll not be voted the most popular of re-embodied citizens, but I hardly think that a quarantine is warranted.”

“Count your blessings,” Maedhros interjected sharply, his eyes consistently drawn to the twins who were monkeying around on the bannister of the broad staircase leading to the first floor of the deserted mansion.

They had been confined in this realm between the Halls and reality as a sort of trial-period; Námo had informed them, not unkindly, that the Powers preferred making sure that their murderous impulses had truly abated.

“And what if they haven’t?” Maglor had sighed—he had joined the familial fold late and had been taciturn about where he had been and what he had seen in the meantime ever since.

“Well,” the Lord of the Halls had shrugged lopsidedly. Everyone had known that, beyond that opaque veil of his, he had been grinning.

“If we are still those nightmarish monsters,” Maedhros had commented morosely, “then we’ll end up killing one another—no harm done—and we’ll end up back in the Halls for another cycle of deep cleansing and air-drying, isn’t that so?”

“You are hardly my laundry list,” Námo had chortled, “but you’re not entirely wrong either. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t represent our motives and reflections as quite as callous and heartless—you are used to one another, and you’ve been true to your blood throughout your very eventful lives, it consequently seems probable that you’d bear each other’s company easily.”

The cacophony of laughter that had erupted at that had visibly startled the decorous, august judge, but he had kept his peace.

“It is not for long,” he had promised instead. “Believe it or not, there are people who are awaiting your return quite impatiently.”

“Not,” Maglor had declared dramatically.

“Maybe mum?” the twins had piped up, ever hopeful of finding forgiveness even after all the terrible things they had done.

“It certainly is not him,” Curufin had commented dryly—he had a difficult relationship, tinged with obsessive love and deep resentment, with their father, and he was still coming to terms with both the ideas of having to stand before Fëanor once more and never meeting that imperious gaze again.

“Ah, we’re off to a good start, I see,” Námo had cheered and released them into the haunted house of Fëanorian guilt.

It had taken less than the equivalent of a day for them to be at each other’s throats, and another one until the boredom and restlessness threatened to make them do something terribly reckless and undeniably wicked.

“Love and peace,” Caranthir muttered darkly. “As if those were things that came easily to us! I’m sure that the old crow has lied, and nobody gives a fig whether we’re back or not!”

Some profound emotion distorted Maedhros’s face, and Caranthir grimaced in disgust.

“What use is a body if I can neither hunt nor fuck,” Celegorm lamented.

Caranthir was about to spit out a devastatingly judgemental comment when—to his surprise—all his brothers agreed.

“Wait, you’ve all…” he gasped, too shocked to keep up his mask of haughty disdain. “All? Who?”

Maedhros shrugged almost apologetically—everyone groaned in unison to keep him from going on a long, unnecessarily poetic tangent about Fingon’s hair, thighs, or plump ass.

“Daeron of Doriath…amongst others,” Maglor replied with winning bonhomie; when his siblings turned to him as one—wordless astonishment writ plain on their blank faces—he laughed melodiously. “Have you seen those…fingers? That creature had a truly blessed tongue, let me tell you that. I wonder if he’s somewhere out there…”

“Ew!” Celegorm hissed—Doriath and its inhabitants were still a touchy subject for him, and Maglor had the good grace to conjure up a contrite mien.

Mollified, the silver-haired hunter gave his younger brother—pitiful virgin that he was—a braggartly smirk. “Too many to count but let me just say that some of the names of the people having partaken in the feast that was…is my body would astound you.”

“And not in a positive way,” Curufin grumbled viciously. “I have a son,” he then proclaimed with exaggerated gravitas. “My sexual past is not a matter of shameful, clandestine imbroglios.”

“As if,” Celegorm said snidely.

Turning away from them, Caranthir looked at his youngest brothers—their faces were still smooth, freckled, and painfully open despite the shadows that occasionally flitted over that seemingly unsoiled canvas of innocence—and cocked his head.

“Oh,” Amras chuckled awkwardly. “We’ve spent quite a bit of time in the wilderness being little feral savages! Why? Moryo…have you never…”

Their open-mouthed disbelief was somehow more deleterious to Caranthir’s confidence than the others’ open derision had been.

“I was otherwise engaged…” he tried to justify himself, panic driving heat and colour into his sullen, brooding face. “Don’t look at me like that!”

Celegorm’s gaze—the eyes of a hunter, of a predator, of a cold-blooded murderer—slid over his tense frame like a caress.

“That’s an idea,” that dangerously amoral being of chilling bloodthirst and reluctant tenderness whispered thoughtfully. “We could teach dear Moryo…what better way to show that we’re committed to the values of love and unity?”

Again, the accursed brood of Nerdanel, the Wise, and Fëanor, the Spirit of Fire, proved that their moral compass was a fickle thing for everyone agreed with varying degrees of enthusiasm but enough dedication to frighten Caranthir half out of his wits.

“Nelyo is gentle. He’s also a great kisser!” Maglor was the first to speak in the tense silence that followed this stupefying resolution. “Maybe, we should let him start. It’s his right as the oldest after all.”

Caranthir flinched—he had believed, trusted, and followed his oldest brother from his first, thready wail to his last dying breath, and he did not doubt that he’d be as easily led by his tenderness as he had been by his grim determination.

“So be it,” Maedhros sighed and curled his left hand—long-fingered and strong—around the silken nape of Caranthir’s delicate neck to pull him into a kiss that started with soothing familiarity.

Caranthir had felt those cool, smooth lips against his cheeks, his brow, and the crown of his head countless times before; surely, it was hardly any different to have them slide reassuringly against his own.

All too soon though, he was pulled to his tiptoes by the sheer strength of that towering, powerful body, and he found himself gasping and whimpering softly into the blazing heat of his brother’s open mouth.

Maedhros, Caranthir learned, had retained an imprint of either their father or his own death that he kept safely tucked away inside his soul—his kisses burned like fire and tasted like hot metal.

Despite the sharp smell of scorched skin clinging to his nostrils, he leaned in greedily, drinking liquid flame—scalding but leaving no marks—from his oldest brother’s lips.

“Primogeniture over beauty,” Celegorm hummed somewhere beyond the red haze of conflicted desires and needs ravaging Caranthir’s soul. “We’re quite happy to merely watch! Curvo and I can teach him a thing or two about roleplay and toys.”

With a squeak of alarm, Caranthir tried to disentangle himself from the impossibly long limbs of one aptly named “The Tall” to find out to whom his least civil brother had been talking, but he was helplessly enmeshed in a power of which he had not been sufficiently wary, as he now realised with sudden clarity as he found himself unable to move.

“Ah Káno,” Maedhros chuckled against his kiss-bruised, gaping mouth. “How good of you to join us.”

Caranthir wanted to refuse—he ended up shifting, ever obedient despite his cantankerous mood, to allow the Mighty Singer to relieve him of the uncomfortable constraint of his breeches and close that exceptionally skilled, terrifyingly mighty mouth around his leaking cock.

Another whimper tore itself free, and—to his dismay—Maglor was true to himself and harmonised with his involuntary exclamation in a vibrant, melodious hum.

Had he been able to breathe freely, Caranthir might have cursed him, but he could only whine pathetically as the nimble ministrations of the most dangerous throat in history sent white-hot sparks of madness racing up his tense spine.

“I always knew that he’d be good at that,” Curufin snapped. “He was always yapping. There had to be a way to shut him up—I guess that was what Daeron intended at first.”

Far from being annoyed or even vexed, Maglor chuckled, and another wave of indescribable pleasure made Caranthir release tides of moans into the parched desert of Maedhros’s voracious mouth.

For as long as he could remember, he had prided himself on being moderate—the very archetype of a middle child—and he had to admit that there was no small amount of sheer, barefaced terror surging within his heart now as he was assaulted at once by Maedhros’s hidden, destructive fire of well-banked greed and Maglor’s ostentatious, roaring ocean of open hunger.

Confusion, shame, and mindless rapture swirled in disorienting clouds through his mind until he came undone with a strangled cry.

Everything suddenly stopped spinning before bursting into a flash of blinding light.

“Sleep now, Moryo,” the warm voice of his oldest brother came as if from very far away. “The others shall be dutifully waiting for their turn.”

When he was alone, Caranthir wondered whether his lonely spirit had merely invented that scene of absurd debauchery and whether—if it was not so—he even wanted to learn about all the dark secrets and corrupting skills of his esteemed siblings.

As he finally drifted off into exhausted sleep, he found that—in his heart of hearts—his need and curiosity were stronger than his natural reticence. He’d see what the next day in the floating nowhere of their prison would bring.

Of all the things he had imagined the wicked, devious creatures bracketing him in the birth order to indulge in, iron chains and silken rope had not come to his mind, though.

Bound and gagged, Caranthir could but stare in spellbound horror as Celegorm and Curufin kept unpacking and laying out toys and devices whose purpose entirely escaped him—the only leads his frantic thoughts could identify were the broad, hungry smiles on their faces and the dangerous glint in their eyes. They had ever favoured each other, and Caranthir had never been able to shake the impression that he was an unwelcome impediment they both preferred to ignore.

Now, though, he had their full attention.

Implements of cold steel and warm stone were dutifully prepared before Celegorm nodded—instantly, Curufin engaged one of those clever, little mechanisms that had been his most cherished pastime during their youth, and Caranthir’s legs were inexorably pulled apart by some hidden beams attached to the soft restraints around his ankles.

“The twins are impatient,” someone purred. “We’ve promised to make sure you’re ready.”

Again, Caranthir wanted to refuse—everything within him wanted to scream his repudiation—and ended up accepting in a shivering voice.

Something sticky and cool was poured over his exposed flesh, and then they proceeded to work their gleaming tools into him with astonishing patience; his body relaxed little by little under their careful ministrations and gentle humming.

At some point, he realised that the first implement—exerting frightening and arousing pressure against his virginal hole—had long since been replaced by a sturdier, wider, more flared version.

“You’re taking this well,” Celegorm rasped. “Well done, boy!”

It was absurd to still yearn so pathetically for a single word of praise from his wild, winning brother, but Caranthir couldn’t help but beam with pride.

“Ah, we’ll be back. The duty and honour of aftercare is ours as well,” Curufin whispered into his ear and pressed a searing kiss against the side of his throat. “Be good, Moryo.”

Whining automatically, Caranthir had little time to lament the retreat of those who had left him thus—open, wanting, half out of his mind with unmet hunger—before yet another shift in the scene made him gasp for air.

“Hello brother,” two voices chimed as something else—hotter, softer, and somehow faintly pulsating—was pushed into him with a strange, gusty sound.

It took a moment before Caranthir realised that it had been a sigh—Amras and Amrod had arrived, and, true to their nature, they had not lost any time.

“Babies,” he spat to taunt them. He had known them from the moment they had first drawn breath, and he was sure that they’d be inevitably spurred into a furious frenzy by his feigned disdain.

As expected, the twin shadows—moving and acting as one terrible body with four strong, nimble arms—behind his back accepted the challenge.

Where Curufin and Celegorm had been careful and methodical, these new teachers displayed the sort of unbridled enthusiasm only the fearless and young ever dared channel.

Pounding into the willing flesh of their bound brother, one of them moaned softly into Caranthir’s reddening ear while the other let his hands and mouth roam all over the most sensitive skin of his body.

“Interesting technique,” a raspy voice praised, and Caranthir’s head snapped around to find his other four brothers watching from the sidelines.

“Why should they have all the fun?” Maglor complained.

“You had your turn,” Celegorm hissed, eager to defend his position as the next in line to get to enjoy Caranthir’s body.

“Peace,” the eager pupil said, his voice wavering as the steady movements, rocking him to and fro, made him shiver to his very core. “My sanity for our redemption—that was the deal! You may join in, and we shall see how long I can take the onslaught of your combined depravity!”

-> Masterlist (by @tolkienpinupcalendar)

Lots of love from me, please take care of yourselves!

[hirazuki]

Namo knelt before the broken spirit. It was a mess of broken notes, feeble attempts of melodies to hold itself together. - @melkors-defense-attorney

Melkor during his imprisonment in the Void, and Námo bringing him back out of it ages after all has transpired. Inspired by an absolutely lovely piece of writing by @melkors-defense-attorney that they were kind enough to share with me! (and that they should publish because everyone should read it 👀).