lamplit hours @lumecalar - Tumblr Blog

it is not for thy valor only that i send thee

but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight

and a light that shall pierce the darkness

an 18+ only, multi source book oriented roleplay blog for multiple tolkien muses. also found at @gatheringrust and @asfreshfallensnow . read my about! not multi fandom. a queer, trans, and poc inclusive space.

junimorpmemes

lgbtqa+ headcanon meme

Because for some reason I haven’t found many of these floating around!

1. What gender identity does your muse identify as?

2. What sexuality does your muse identify as?

3. What is your muse’s romantic orientation?

4. Is your muse out or no? Do they intend to come out?

5. How did people generally react to your muse coming out?

6. Is your muse full of pride? (meaning, do they wear pride pins or shirts, proudly express themselves? Or nah?)

7. If your muse isn’t canonically lgbtqa+, what made you decide to change this? Alternatively for ocs, why’d you decide to create them this way?

8. Has your muse experienced discrimination for their orientations?

9. Has has your muse’s identity evolved to what it is now?

10. Do they dress more feminine, masculine, or androgynous?

11. If under the trans umbrella, have they transitioned at all? Do they plan to?

12. Who was your muse’s first crush?

13. How did they come to realize their identity? Was it early on in life or later on?

14. Has your muse ever secretly dated someone because they were afraid of what other people might think?

15. Has your muse ever dated someone they weren’t attracted to just to get people to be less “suspicious”?

16. Have they ever been to a pride parade/festival? Did they enjoy it?

17. Were there any people or characters when your muse was young that seemed to influence their identity?

18. How did they react to discovering their own identity?

19. Was there an “aha!” moment, or was it a more gradual discovery? Did anyone help them discover their identity?

20. Does your muse fall any of the “stereotypes”?

menelvagor

from don marshall's instagram

6 for Earendil/Elwing

nsfw gif prompt

#c: elwing #ic #nsfw #pxnxply

tooledspies

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐆𝐈𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓.

send a pair + number into my inbox! i own none of these gifs and acquired them through gif packs.

[ FF ] / [ MF ] / [ MM ]

Elentelumë knocked on the door and waited for some time, fiddling with the leaves of the flowers in their hands. Soft blues and creams, tied neatly with a bit of rope and a gull feather as they thought Elwing might like— it felt more rustic that way. They’d begun to rock on their feet, just enough to notice but only if one looked a little too long. Even when they appeared, the healer was quiet for a time; for what words they’d practiced felt foreign in the moment.

“I… You… may not use the title anymore, but I still thought it only right to bring you a gift of some kind. You are my parent— which kind is of little consequence. I was not certain if you would care much for flowers, but I do hope you like them.”

(Mother’s Day gift from Elen :,) )

Elwing had gone a thousand festivities like this alone— no, more, they reminded themself. The first few centuries they had spent alone, especially after learning Elros had passed away. A handful of times, they had gone to visit their own mother, and had come to experience that same bitter sweetness again. The knowledge that their children were parted from them perhaps forever, did ache. This first year, though, of Elentelumë’s return, Elwing had nearly utterly forgotten the holiday altogether, so accustomed to its space in their own peripherals without celebration.

When they answered the wooden door of the lighthouse, Elwing was still in their oversized dressing robe and pajamas. They hadn’t expected company whatsoever. Especially not their child. But their expression immediately went from bleary and half mussed, to alert, then soft, silver eyes pooling like moonlight at their child’s offering.

“Oh, Elen.” They saw how nervous it left them, too, and felt a twinge of their own nerves. It must have been strange to be seen as a parent and a child again, for the first time in ages all. Who had last celebrated Elwing as a mother, or Elen as a child? How many ages had it been?

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Their voice cracked unbidden, as Elwing realized it was both melancholy for all the years parted, and joy, for the first presence at such a time, catching in their throat. “Here, I should find a vase. Do you—” They paused. “My goodness. I was about to offer tea, but you have your children and family to spend the morning with. This is so very thoughtful, Elen. I can’t express how grateful I am, that after all this time…” Elwing cleared their throat, clearly trying not to get too emotional about this. “Thank you.”

#you’ve got me crying in the club good god!#ic #c: elwing #gezelligheiid

sidmarillion

❰❰ TACKLE ❱❱ sender hugs the receiver so hard they almost fall over / do fall over (turgon to fingon @lumecalar )

@lumecalar || extremely self-indulgent meme

Findekano had tried to catch his brother, as he did every time he returned from an expedition and Turgon barreled into his arms for a hug. It was their tradition.

This time, he and a sundry assortment of friends and cousins had ventured south of Tirion, to the plains before the Hyarmentir where there were rumored to be great beasts with cloven hooves, not unlike cattle kept by the Eldar, but larger, with darker and thicker hides. They had, indeed, found the creatures, and brought back meat to cook, hides to tan, and large horns from which might be fashioned any number of things. Usually, Findekano kept horn to make buttons, but these were so unusual that he thought they might be put to better use as large swaths of decoratiive inlay, or knife handles.

That is to say, he was very heavily laden with packs containing what he'd hunted when Turgon ran into him at full speed, grinning from ear to ear. And he'd been growing like a weed, it seemed, in the eight weeks Fingon been gone, because they were nearly the same height now, and Turgon was only forty years old; he had at least ten years more to reach full stature.

That was how Fingon ended up falling down in front of his entire family, then rolling around helplessly balanced atop his too-large pack, like a turtle who couldn't right itself.

"Help me up, you little beast, this is your fault!" He yelled at Turgon, laughing uncontrollably. "And then tell me how you seem to have doubled your weight in two months! Is there any food left in Tirion, after this growth spurt? Or is the meat I brought back our only hope?"

lumecalar

There was no better day than the days upon which Fingon returned to Tirion. It was not entirely that his company was preferential above all others, to Turgon. Indeed he had cousins and friends and old playmates, and had always greatly loved the company of his father. Fingon alone did not bear the weight of his little brother’s affection. But he always brought back wonderful stories, and tales of great adventures that he was much too cloistered to have of his own, even at forty. Great beasts, whether ungulate or some other form of creature (pards, serpents, swine, and great birds alike), were always a source of wonderment for the whole family, but so too were mountains and plains, rivers as new as the day, caves to the very bowels of the earth.

Wherever it was that Findekano went, Turukano’s imagination would follow, even if his skinny, ever-growing legs could not keep up. Though he was a diligent student, in the week before Fingon had been expected to come home, Turgon’s eyes had drifted to the bright hillsides and mountains out of the window of his study. His tutor’s lessons fell on deaf ears, and the excitement of anticipation left the boy jumpy. And then– a flash of blue.

Before his brother’s standard had even grown completely clear over the hills, Turgon had been fleet-footed, sprinting on the path to meet him. Their sister yet clung to their mother Anaire’s skirts, and their father had some delay behind him, but when Turgon barrelled into Fingon, he couldn’t help but laugh, knocking his brother over entirely before half the household, and leaving poor Fingon (who was shorter than Turgon remembered), thrashing on the ground.

Turgon pushed himself up on his knobby knees, and laughed first, his voice cracking noticeably. He was too giddy to be self conscious of the sound. “I have not at all doubled in size, brother,” said Turgon, reaching down a hand. “I think you’ve shrunk! Along with everyone else around here, except perhaps Irisse. And it seems all the plates at dinner are getting smaller too, I shall warn you now.”

#ic #c: turgon #sidmarillion

menelvagor

ANSWERED ASK // ELENWË

Bellatrix — Sender wipes blood from Receiver’s lip with their sleeve. (turgon to elenwë) -✧- @lumecalar

Elenwë leaned against the wall as her chest rose and fell rapidly with the effort from her fight. She took a fist to the face and it split open her lip, causing her to stumble for a moment before her fury was renewed and she responded with fervor. Unfortunately, this time she had lost against her opponent who was swifter than her.

Now, she rested beside her partner who worried over her wound and her blossoming bruises. "Worry not, my orne; I shall be fine, as always," she reassured, reaching out for one of his hands, even as her knuckles bent and protested.

She hissed in a quiet breath from the sting in her flesh as Turgon wiped her lip clean. "Oh, your sleeve-" she began, knowing what he had sacrificed to do such with his usually perfectly kempt clothing. She was almost annoyed on his behalf. Elenwë replaced Turgon's hand with her own and wiped the rest of the streaked blood away with her dirty fingers.

"A tad less graceful than you today, I fear," she said with a lopsided smile, rubbing her thumb on the side of Turgon's hand. How she loved to watch him dance and stride through the halls, a creature so like the vines and trees moving with the wind. Sometimes her elegance could match his as they held onto each other and swept across the tiles, and other times he danced and she wrestled.

lumecalar

It was not for lack of pride in his partner that Turgon so worried at the bloom of blood at Elenwë’s split lip. Indeed the regard he held her in remained as high as ever. There was a hale strength to her body that he had yet to meet, a quality to her beauty that was born of a robust temperament and an enthusiasm for all she touched. It was, at times, if Turgon should be asked, like looking upon Oiolossë at dawn, capped with gold, as unmoving as the foundations of the world and as radiant as the very treelight reflected from it.

There, catching her breath, bleeding, he could not help but remember she was given incarnate form, and liable to bleed and exert and breathe. It was almost miraculous. Turgon lowered, craning his neck– not half so graceful as a heron or a willow’s bough– and turned her jaw with a cautious, narrow hand to inspect the injury. Far be it from him to stop her from fighting. Could he stop the tides, or the spring? It was just as much a part of her nature, and one he admired just as greatly. “I know you shall be well,” he said. His voice was low, quiet, and as ever, the same even timbre, without inflective passion.

Would it be too great a burden to tell her of her loveliness in this moment? Turgon stopped himself here, his hand following the lead of hers and pulling away, for a moment wondering how odd it must feel to her that her suitor was now gawking at her, hunched over in the hallway as he wiped away her blood with his sleeve.

His sleeve! At her mention of it, he glanced down at the applique and hem, now dotted with bits of crimson, and laughed. “Your lip was only moments ago split, and your concern rests on my sleeve?” Turgon rolled both long sleeves up and knotted them, exposing his thin forearms and the pleats of lining. “Trust that you are more graceful than I am in matters of both true contests, and of temper. It is possible,” he said, the strand of his voice growing only slightly more terse, “that I am only free at this hour because my brother was cheating and I left our practices early. You have behaved better than I have, by treating with your opponent at all.”

#he’s such a moony eyed teenager. come on turgon #c: turgon #ic #menelvagor

matrose

@swanmaids made a really good post 🫡

#HOLY SHIT

eluredlost

@lumecalar @elurinlost

"All right. Sit down you two. We need to go over something."

Elured rolls out the chalkboard. "This is very important. This

elurinlost

@lumecalar @eluredlost

Elurín looks at the chalkboard and then to his brother, with a worried expression. He does not want to disagree with Elurín, but he cannot deny that Maedhros had made him quite the scrumptious breakfast that morning that conflicted with the monster label....

lumecalar

Elwing stared at the chalkboard discerningly, their round silver eyes peering at the face. It was hard to tell with just chalk who Eluréd was drawing, and they stood, walking to the board and hopping onto a stone to be able to reach. “If that’s Maedhros,” they said, smudging the chalk with their chubby finger, “you should draw the bugs he caught with me last week in his hand! We got patter-pillers. And rollies.”

eluredlost

Eluréd could see the doubt on his brother's face. This was the problem. That creep does a couple nice things and they forgive him?

And now his sister is smudging his hard work!! He stared up, tamping down his annoyance. They're just kids after all.

"His fists are closed," he pointed to where he'd drawn them, "he's crushing the bugs because he's evil. He'll play with you and he'll cook for you until you get in his way. Remember that."

lumecalar

Elwing’s nose wrinkled as they looked at their brother. Hm. Elwing had a hard time really wrapping their mind around why their brothers talked about Maedhros and Maglor the way they did, and they knew something intangible stood between them. They assumed it was a trouble for grown ups. “He didn’t crush the bugs,” they mustered at last, slumping against the chalkboard. “We should give him a test. How do you tell if someone is bad?”

#elurinlost #eluredlost #c: elwing #ic

eluredlost

@lumecalar @elurinlost

"All right. Sit down you two. We need to go over something."

Elured rolls out the chalkboard. "This is very important. This

elurinlost

@lumecalar @eluredlost

Elurín looks at the chalkboard and then to his brother, with a worried expression. He does not want to disagree with Elurín, but he cannot deny that Maedhros had made him quite the scrumptious breakfast that morning that conflicted with the monster label....

lumecalar

Elwing stared at the chalkboard discerningly, their round silver eyes peering at the face. It was hard to tell with just chalk who Eluréd was drawing, and they stood, walking to the board and hopping onto a stone to be able to reach. “If that’s Maedhros,” they said, smudging the chalk with their chubby finger, “you should draw the bugs he caught with me last week in his hand! We got patter-pillers. And rollies.”

#elwing has one bar and that’s it #eluredlost #elurinlost

swellbythewind

The Ruin Of Doriath

the last memory of Doriath，move on in sorrow

not my art but my commission.

Artist：我死了你们就满意了

rpmemesbyarat

Recommend romantic candidates for my muses and see their reaction!

Note: They do not have to be ones my muses would like!

soulrph

"𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙳" 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂.

i was gone for a while, but god help me lads i used that time to my advantage! here's a delightful prompt request from a darling friend of mine, i love you to pieces, and i hope you enjoy them as much as i enjoyed making them! these prompts are for HUGS, idk how i made it angsty, but i did. ily all!! unclench your jaw!! stretch your arms!!

[ PROTECT ] - sender wraps receiver in a hug in order to protect them from a potential or present danger.

[ REUNITE ] - having been apart for some time, sender, upon seeing receiver for the first time, sprints to give them a hug. (be emo w this okay PLS--)

[ BATTLE ] - unsure about their survival, sender and receiver see each other across the battle field, and race into a tight, giddy embrace with each other.

[ SHIELD ] - sender pulls receiver into a hug to prevent them from seeing something horrific.

[ COMFORT ] - noticing that the receiver has received terrible news, sender offers them a hug as a means of comforting them during this difficult time.

[ RELIEF ] - sender gives receiver a relieved hug.

[ TEARS ] - sender/receiver/both are in tears, and as such, a hug is shared between them.

[ GREETING ] - sender and receiver share a hug while greeting each other.

[ FINAL ] - sender gives receiver a hug that is either knowingly or unknowingly the last hug they'll ever share.

[ GOODBYE ] - while parting ways, sender gives receiver a hug farewell.

[ HAPPY ] - having received joyous news, sender turns to receiver for a delighted hug.

[ JUST BECAUSE ] - sender hugs receiver "just because".

[ HIDE ] - in order to hide receiver from people chasing them, sender pulls them into a tight hug while hiding their face from view.

[ TACKLE ] - sender (playfully) tackles receiver into a hug.

[ TICKLE ] - while hugging the receiver, sender begins to tickle them.

[ SIDE ] - sender gives receiver a side hug (aka pulling their arm around them and pulling them into their side.

[ OPEN ] - seeing receiver, sender opens their arms out to them for a hopeful embrace.

[ CUDDLE ] - sender and receiver shared a hug that's now upgrading into a cuddle session.

[ TRAUMA ] - having both experienced a massive trauma, sender and receiver share a hug in efforts to comfort one another in the aftermath.

[ TERROR ] - sender hugs receiver out of sheer fear.

[ SAFE ] - having just saved the receiver, sender pulls them into their arms for a protective hug to assure them they're safe.

[ GRATITUDE ] - overwhelmed with gratitude, sender pulls receiver in for a hug to express how thankful they are.

[ MORNING ] - sender gives receiver a hug to say good morning.

[ OKAY ] - sender gives receiver a hug in order to assure them that in the end, everything will indeed be okay.

elurinlost

Continued from here

"My pocket is magic!" He assured her with a gentle smile, producing the 'egg' from his pocket to prove it had remained in one piece. It did not feel right to lie to Elwing... but surely it was harmless, and he could not bear to think of how upset she would be if he told her the egg was simply a rock!

Returning the rock to his pocket, he took his little sister by the hand and set off with her in search of berries. "We will go slow," he promised dutifully. "For the egg."

@lumecalar

lumecalar

Elwing nodded gravely. Her egg would be very safe with Elurín and she took his hand, nestling their fingers together securely. “Red berries and blueberries and purple berries and black berries and not eating the white ones or green ones.” There had been a song that their Atyo had taught her about safe berries, but what lingered in her mind was the way good berries looked. “Maybe we give them to the baby bird in the egg! Peep peep peep!”

#ic #c: elwing #elurinlost #YES i know i love the little egg

honeyedstxrlight

[ stitch ] sender stitches receivers wound. (from turgon @lumecalar )

injury themed prompts | accepting! | @lumecalar

“I am fine, uncle! I do not need all this fuss!”

Auriel tried to tug her hand back the moment Turgon caught it, but his grip was firm and entirely unmoved by her protests. She squirmed where she sat, shoulders tense and chin lifted in stubborn defiance, as though sheer determination alone might convince him the deep gash across her palm was nothing more than a scratch.

It most certainly was not.

Blood had dried in dark streaks along her fingers and into the cuff of her sleeve, and now that the worst of it had been cleaned away the wound looked even larger than she remembered. An ugly split in the skin where the stone of the tower wall had scraped and torn when her grip slipped. Auriel stubbornly refused to look at it for long, instead fixing her attention somewhere over Turgon’s shoulder as if the carved beams of the chamber ceiling were suddenly fascinating.

“This is hardly anything,” she insisted, the words coming a touch too quickly. “Truly. I barely felt it.”

The moment the needle pressed through her skin, the lie collapsed entirely. Auriel sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, her shoulders going rigid despite every attempt she made to remain perfectly composed. Her fingers twitched instinctively, though she forced herself not to pull away again. The last thing she wanted was to give him the satisfaction of being right. Instead, her ears burned warm with embarrassment.

“It was not even that high,” she muttered after a moment, glaring at the opposite wall. “I had nearly reached the second balcony. I am certain if the stone had not crumbled beneath my foot I would have managed the rest without issue.”

In her mind she could still see it clearly. The pale stone of Gondolin’s towers gleaming in the sunlight, the narrow ridges between the blocks just wide enough for careful fingers to find hold. She had almost reached the carved ledge beneath the balcony when the piece of stone shifted beneath her weight. One moment she had been climbing, triumphant and breathless with the thrill of it, and the next her hand had slipped. The fall had not been far. She had caught herself easily enough. Unfortunately, the wall had caught her palm first.

Auriel huffed softly under her breath as another stitch pulled tight through the skin, her free hand curling into the fabric of her skirts in silent protest.

“You are making entirely too much of this,” she grumbled, though the heat in her face betrayed her irritation. “If anything, the towers are simply poorly designed. It is not my fault the masons did not account for the possibility that someone might wish to climb them.”

Her gaze flicked down briefly, catching sight of the careful stitches closing the wound.

“…I almost made it to the top this time,” she said under her breath, with the faintest hint of her remaining pride. “Which means it is only a matter of time before I succeed. Perhaps next week.”

lumecalar

It was not that Turgon disapproved in any meaningful way of Auriel’s escapades along the walls and towers— though such things did have to be pretended for the sake of them both, and his mild disapproval did play at the corners of his mouth as the golden-haired young girl tried to squirm out of care. He had, long ago, mended such cuts on poor Elenwë, who had ever been getting herself into tangles, scraping and skinning and scratching herself new collections of interesting wounds on her skin year by year. Aredhel had much of the same spirit, too, though her heart was something more wild and fey, and she seldom returned from her scrapes like a proud cat who would lick her wounds in peace.

And here he was, reminded of that very now-parted sister, in Auriel. Turgon learned healing very young. With hands patient and steady, he splayed her palm, so that no motion might pull the stitches apart as it would if left curled. She would heal quickly.

Turgon let her rationalize herself while he was quiet, concentrating on each small push and pull of the needle and thread. He’d found her passing through the hall, blood dripping down her hand, and had known without even a second glance or moment’s hesitation that whatever she had done had been foolish, childish, and borne of a natural curiosity. He paused, inspecting the work he’d done.

“I certainly accounted for that.” Turgon turned his head, still gazing at her palm before beginning another stitches. After all, he had designed every pillar, spire, and tower. “Do you believe you are the first person to climb the many towers? Prince Maeglin’s fair mother was partial to it, and if they were any less safe she surely would have fallen and hurt herself like this many times.”

There was, it seemed, no way for the King to deter her, and any prohibition placed on it would end up at Glorfindel’s ear and back to him as a dizzying complaint. There were things Auriel would have to learn on her own, and one of those would be to catch herself before she fell. “Next week is a hasty estimate, I think.”

#c: turgon #ic #honeyedstxrlight

lumecalar

"Aré, stoppp. That's gross," Argon whined, peaking from behind his hands as his sister prodded what he had only let himself glimpse to be a mound of darkish fur. //descendantsoffinwe

Aredhel jabbed a stick into the beast’s side. It was a wild goat, she was pretty sure of it. Separated from its flock, it had likely succumbed to a predator. It was very bloated, though, and stiff. The pelt would be no good. But it was disgusting, and that fascinated her just a bit. “It is,” Aré agreed, poking it again and peering at it. “I wonder where the rest of the goats are. Maybe tomorrow I should go looking for them!”

descendantsoffinwe

"Why does it matter where the rest are? They probably don't want to see you." Argon wished he wasn't seeing anything right now. "Could you stop making it make those sounds? I feel sick." And with that he plopped down on a fluffy mound of grass, dropping his head between his knees. Deep breaths. One, and two, and one, and two.

lumecalar

Aré, if it was one of her older brothers, would have called him a baby, and persisted with what she was doing (namely, investigating the sheep). But Argon was, as her younger brother, indeed to her a baby, and her responsibility in part. So she sighed, tossed aside the stick, and sat, legs criss-crossed, beside him. “You need some water,” Aredhel announced aloud, not yet conceding to an apology. She reached around for the corked water skin she took with her on her adventures.

#ic #c: aredhel #descendantsoffinwe

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