anna | 40s | canadian |
current hyperfocus: first age elves |
ask me about my silmarillion brainrot
swg instadrabbling prompts 2025
idle fic [just ao3 links]
idleleaves writes things
idleleaves makes things
Summary: "Just a burn," Curufin says with a dismissive shake of his head, but it's no minor scald—his hand is bandaged from wrist to fingertips, and his work table has been left littered with tools, metal filings, and oil-soaked cloth.
Maglor and Curufin, after their father's death and brother's capture.
tolkien: here is a vast mythic tragedy about pride, doom, exile, and the long defeat.
me: understood. anyway, curufin is having a bisexual crisis in a forge.
For the minific prompts, R for Maedhros and Fingon?
Unsurprisingly, Finrod got involved in this, too.
in thirds - Fingon & Finrod & Maedhros and their respective fathers, 0.6k, G, years of the trees, drinking, consequences, father-son relationships.
Three princes idiots, three hangovers, and three flavours of regret. Or, the morning after Maedhros, Fingon, and Finrod sneak into Fingolfin's wine cellar.
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Rating: General
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Caranthir & Nerdanel
Additional Tags: Re-embodied Elves, Fourth Age of Arda, Post-Canon, Parent-Child Relationship
Summary: The invitation does not go unnoticed; it had arrived before midday, and Nerdanel remembers the look in Caranthir's eyes as he'd read it without a word.
Nerdanel, Caranthir, and post re-embodiment guilt.
and breathe again - Curufin/Finrod, 0.4k, G, fourth age of arda, established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, re-embodied elves
Curufin and Finrod, after Curufin's first post re-embodiment visit with his son.
* * *
The rain ceases mid-afternoon, though the sky remains a flat, featureless grey. Finrod opens a window despite the chill in the autumn air, breathing in the scent of wet grass and fallen leaves, then turns his head sharply as his front door opens with a creak. He finds Curufin in the entryway, still holding the key Finrod had pressed into his hand the previous winter—the one he'd all but refused to use.
Curufin's eyes give nothing away; his silence and clenched jaw say enough. Finrod sighs, and doesn't reach for him. "Come sit down," he says—a heartbeat too late—as Curufin brushes past him and walks down the hall to Finrod's study, still wearing his cloak. No fire has yet been lit, but Curufin moves to stand at the hearth before he unfastens his cloak and drapes it over a chair. His arms fall to his sides and stay there, fingers curling into his palms; Finrod shuts the window, and pulls the curtains across.
"How is he?" Finrod asks, calm and careful.
Curufin clears his throat before he speaks. "Fine," he says, and swallows hard. "He's fine. He's alive. He's—" His voice wavers on the last word.
Finrod's chest tightens, but he convinces himself to quietly avert his eyes. His study door is still ajar; he closes it, then turns to straighten a collection of books that had been neatly stacked to begin with. He sets out paper and an envelope for a letter he means to write in the morning, and gathers the quills that had been scattered across his desk.
Curufin's breath catches.
It's little more than a soft, unsteady sound, yet Finrod raises his head immediately—and stops with his hand in midair. A tear slides down Curufin's cheek; he's not gentle as he scrubs his sleeve over his face. Finrod sets down his quills. He doesn't rush to Curufin's side, but closes the distance between them one slow step at a time. He lifts his arms, wraps them around Curufin, and waits. A long moment passes before Curufin shifts; he leans into Finrod with a deep sigh, resting his hands on Finrod's back. Curufin's tears are near-soundless, marked only by hushed, hitching breaths. He stays in Finrod's arms, and doesn't object when Finrod rubs a hand up and down his spine.
Curufin calms, after a time, and steps back. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve, shaking his head when Finrod offers a handkerchief. Finrod kneels to kindle a fire, then gives it time to catch before he stands again and holds out his hand.
"Tea or wine?" Finrod asks.
"Wine," says Curufin, and threads their fingers together.
* * *
Serves me right, really - the new chair is velvet, and I should have known that it would be a cat magnet. 😂 Never mind that I put the old chair right beside my desk so the cats could Proximity Loaf (tm) - River's discerning fluff prefers velvet.
tell me about "the weight of bones"??? that sounds neat!
That one is Caranthir, Haleth, with aging, mortality, and anticipatory grief. It's one I've wanted to write for a long time, but I fear it may just end up lackluster if I don't do it just right.
